#long skinny white boy hours

[contagiousiridescence]

did anyone order a dollop of whipped cream?

[unusualtfs]

The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but… 

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

[pastafossa]

Something really special and tear inducing happened with Pip today.

(TW for pet loss, not mine but someone else's)

So we were going into the vet for a quick shot he needed, and for a final check on the cut on his leg. So me and him got there pretty close to closing (final appointment of the day), around 3:45 when it closed at 4. And as I'm walking in, I pass a woman hurrying out. She's in tears, and my heart just breaks for her. She gives Pippin a quick, 'hi puppy' and shaky pet in passing.

But then we go through the door into the waiting room. And another woman is sitting there on the bench, cradling a small collar and just sobbing. Sure enough, the little candle is lit up on the counter for pet loss. And I'm not sure what to do - do I offer a hug? Tell her I'm sorry for her loss?

But Pippin decided he knew what to do.

I need you to understand Pip for a second. He has been with us for 3 weeks. The rescue/foster before us had him for 6. This dog is only 9 weeks removed from that horrible farm where he was beaten, neglected, and left outside by himself at all hours and seasons. He did not have love or training. So, he's learning. He still jumps a bit, paws at people. He walks ok on a leash, like he'll pull but not yank, and he's easily distracted. Easily excited by love or attention because he's not used to it. I do not think this dog has ever seen someone cry. He has not been trained to know what to do when someone is upset.

So there's Pip, seeing this distraught woman sobbing in front of him, with - as far as we know - no experience or context he could make a decision by.

In a heartbeat, I'm yanked across the room - something he does not do - so he can reach this woman. He abruptly slows for the final approach, tail gently wagging, and very softly nuzzles at her in a way I haven't seen him do before. And this poor woman reaches down, carefully cradles Pip's head, and whispers, "hi baby, soft boy. My boy was soft too."

And then she just... cries with him, her head on his.

I glance at the receptionist (who may have teared a little like I had) and I kinda tip my head towards them, a 'can I wait to check in?'. I get a nod, and a mouthed, 'we can wait.'

So I just sat down quietly next to her. Let her cry and pet him. He'd done his big lean on her legs with his head in her lap, carefully adjusting whenever she did. After about five minutes she told us - me and Pip - about her dog. 18 years old, one she'd had since he was a puppy. She showed Pip her dog's collar, and showed me pictures on her phone of this dog, a cute little white fluffball with a HUGE doggy grin. And she pets Pippin more, and asks about him - his name, how long we've had him, whether he can sit yet because her boy took a bit to learn. We talk about Pip's skinny head and I get a watery laugh out of her when I tell her I call him corndog brain since I'm pretty sure the only way a brain could fit in his long narrow head was if it was corndog-shaped and went down his snout. We're there for about fifteen minutes before a tech comes out with nose and paw prints and she stands up. Pippin stays right with her, leaning calmly against her side as she takes the prints, her fingers buried in all the fluff around his neck. She gets a hug from the tech, and then leans down to do the same to Pip. And before she goes (Pippin trying very much to follow), she looks at me and just quietly says, '...thank you for letting me borrow him. I needed that.'

I have no idea how Pippin knew what to do, or how he can be like this even after being treated the way he was. But I'm really glad he could help that woman.

[dragonfly0808]

Please please please make the winx rewrite playlist on Spotify

Mkay so… I got way too invested and wound up making a 5 1/2 hours long way-too-detailed playlist

This is the link:

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas Official Playlist

And if you want to know why I chose each song, down here is the way-too-detailed-explanation of the playlist!

First off; I chose 2 songs to represent each season

Season 1- Wings by PIXY and Faerie Soiree by Melanie Martinez

Season 2- What’s up Danger by Blackway and Black Caviar and Different World by Alan Walker and Sofia Carson

Season 3- This is War by 30 seconds to mars and Nightmares Never End by JT Music and Andrea Storm Kaden

Season 4- Tiller’s Prayer by Sabrina Jordan and Ribs by Lorde

Subsection here for the main song of each arc for s4

Arc 1- Generation Why

Arc 2- The Old Therebefore (the singing to snakes version cause it’s more dramatic)

Arc 3- What Was I Made For? By Billie Eilish

Arc 4- Spinnin by Madison Beer

Season 5 will be… Nightmares Come to Life from HSMTMTS and Long Live by Taylor Swift

Next I chose 2 songs for each member of the Winx

Bloom- Rising by Julia Lester and The Albatross by Taylor Swift

Stella- Sober II (Melodrama) by Lorde and skinny dipping by Sabrina Carpenter

Flora- Envy the Leaves by Madison Beer and Mouth of the Eden by Sabrina Jordan

Musa- Whispers by Halsey and the grudge by Olivia Rodrigo

Tecna- Invisible Chains by Lauren Jauregui and idontwannabeyouanymore by Billie Eilish

Aisha- The Tradition by Halsey and Comfort Crowd by Conan Gray

Subsection for my 3 main songs I associate with the girls:

A World Alone by Lorde

WOKE UP by XG

For Good from Wicked

Continuing with the boys

Sky- Lie by Jimin and In My Blood by Shawn Mendes

Brandon- Something Big by Shawn Mendes and Thumbs by Sabrina Carpenter

Helia- Cough Syrup (the Glee version) and Speak Out (Acoustic) from HSMTMTS

Riven- Boy in the Bubble by Alec Benjamin and BLUE by Billie Eilish (cmon ‘I thought we were the same birds of a feather now i’m ashamed’ is so Driven coded it’s not even funny. And the whole final part from ‘you were born bluer than a butterfly’ is just so perfect for him.)

Timmy- The Other Side and Summer Child by Conan Gray

Nabu- Wool by Flatland Cavalry and Die Alone by FINNEAS

Subsection for my 3 main songs I associate with the boys:

Youth by Shawn Mendes and Khalid

ON by BTS

The Story by Conan Gray

Next, songs for the couples!

Skloom: lovely by Billie Eilish and Khalid, Surrender by Natalie Taylor (and in the future) Maybe this Time by Joshua Basset and Sofia Wylie

Stella and Brandon: There’s no Way by Lauv and Julia Michaels and R.E.M by Ariana Grande

Flora and Helia: Canada by Lauv and Alessia Cara and Venus Sunrise by Lia Marie Johnson

Rivusa: Ain’t No Doubt About It from ZOMBIES 3 (partially as a joke but also cause that song is absolutely so them) Alley Rose by Conan Gray and ESPECIALLY Vermillion by Sabrina Jordan

Tecna and Timmy: Someone You Like by the girl and the dreamcatcher and Tell Em by Sabrina Carpenter

Aisha and Nabu: Tornado Warnings by Sabrina Carpenter and safety net by Ariana Grande and Ty Dolla $ign

Next, songs for different characters and a few couples!

Icy- 28 Reasons by SEULGI

Stormy- The Lighthouse by Halsey

Darcy- Partners in Crime by FINNEAS

Darcy and Riven- Getaway Car by Taylor Swift and Astronomy by Conan Gray

The Trix- Lightning by Little Mix

Daphne- Can’t Catch Me Now

Valtor- Burn the Witch by Shawn James and Castles Crumbling by Taylor Swift and Hayley Williams

Daphne and Valtor- Dynasty by MIIA

Now Roxy’s squad!

Roxy- Control by Halsey and How Villains are Made by Madalen Duke

Shirley- Matilda by Harry Styles

Naten- Kid in Love by Shawn Mendes

Alexa- Follow the White Rabbit by Madison Beer

Chimera- Wandering (Don’t Go) by Hues and Lia Marie Johnson

Chimera and Naten- The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

Roxy and Shirley- On My Way by Sabrina Carpenter and Alan Walker

The Sibling Squad- Grow by Conan Gray and Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Then I put a bunch of songs that just remind me of the Winx or help me get into a writing mood, I’ll just put the title here cause I’m getting tired

Rise

odd eye

run for roses

untouchable

ringo

s-class

thunderous

lion

secret story of the swan

panorama

centuries

voltage

flesh & bone

legends never die

lifts

Finally, I put a song for Selina and what will be the main song for season 6

For Selina: Fall Little Wendy Bird Fall by Lydia the Bard <- this is exactly the vibe future Selina will have for reals

And finally, the main song for s6:

Til Forever Falls Apart by Ashe and FINNEAS

Wow… I def put way too much thought into this.

Anyways, hope u enjoy!

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 --- three.

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 3.9k words.

note: FINALLY we get to the beginning of the juicy bits. Rip Graves. I never liked him anyways :o. reblogs and notes are always loved and appreciated!

The number of times you were right, was very slim to none. You were right about hot tea being nothing but assaulting to your tastebuds the few times you tried to give the drink a chance. You were right about how stupid politics, and the government were just how they chanted about making your country amazing and equal again. You were right about how hot cocoa and hot chocolate were two different drinks. One was hot milk and cocoa powder, while the latter involved actual chocolate being involved in the process of making the delicious beverage. You were lastly right about seeing Graves again. Manifestation and crossing your fingers had nothing on your ability to predict that you'd manage to get the man into your home and sitting across from you.

A cooling mug of bitter coffee sat in the curve of his palm while he laughed over the details again about the night he first saw you at the club. Thanks to the help of a flirty intoxicated Izzy, she left yours as well as her and Veronica's numbers written on a liquor-damp piece of receipt paper for Graves' boys to fight over who could have whom for late-night hookups if they so wanted. Graves had called you during your lunch break at work, somehow he had known in the universe that you were thinking about him to take the time to call. You never answered unknown numbers, but this time you had. Your cheeks flushed when you heard his drawl over the phone's speaker. His tone sends your heart to flutter in its trapped cage of your ribs. Your coworkers must have thought you were weird for smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl who was talking to their quarterback crush over the phone for the first time.

You two had chatted about the hour break you had during lunch. Your three-day-old takeout leftovers were left untouched in favor of flirting with the man and trying to work out a day and time to have him come over for a cup of coffee as an excuse to catch up on the missing details of the rest of the night. The sound of idle laughter filled your home's warm living room/kitchen area. You covered your giggles with your coffee mug while Graves went into detail about how he found his friends' clothes missing after Izzy and Veronica had convinced them to skinny dip in the pool of the Air B&B the boys were staying in for however long. Their clothes were hidden among the crooks and crannies of the house while the boys played drunk Marco Polo in the pool temp water.

Veronica and Izzy had soon left them after that, miraculously striding out of the home just as Graves had been dropped off by his Uber. He graciously bought them both a ride home, none the wiser to the panicked voices of his friends outside in their rented pool. "I've never seen anything quite as pale as the White Sands in New Mexico than Ox's bare ass streaking through the place trying to find his clothes. " Graves laughed over your small giggles the image had brought both of you.

Comfortable silence lingered between you two as you both sipped from differing tastes of coffee. His eyes never left you, nor did they hide the way they watched your throat move as you swallowed a mouth full of overly sweet coffee and cream.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I never asked my guest." Graves' eyebrows rose when you set your mug down, a change in your expression caught his attention. You were now standing. Coffee mug drained to bitter grounds and sugar granules. The stain of your lipstick imprinting on deep green ceramic. "If he wanted a tour of my home, you've been here for an hour but your story was so funny I didn't want to interrupt. "

Pretty blues swept over your small place. A lofted house isn't much to get lost in, but there was more to just a chic-looking home in the middle of nowhere. What's he got to lose? A pretty woman taking him on adventures that would give him excuses to have his hands on you so you don't stray away. Count him in. "Alright, darlin'. " The harsh push of his velvet-lined barstool squeaked against the floorboards when he stood to rise as well. An arm extended in such a gentleman-like way, offering it out to you. As if he wasn't charming enough for someone you've known for a night and one day.

His muscles were strong against your smooth skin when you wrapped your arm around him. Ignoring the flush threatening to surface on your cheeks from the smell of his cologne teasing your nose, you guided him to the backdoors of your home. French doors opened to greet you with the interior of your large greenhouse. Your aunt sure had a green thumb in her youth, and nothing was more convenient than having nature practically share doors with her. In honor and overwhelming gratitude you had for her giving this house to you, you decided to take up the art of gardening and plant caring. You weren't the best at it. Then again you just moved in and you only started with little seedlings of seasonal flowers and already potted house plants. Veggies and fruits were another challenge you'll learn after you can manage to not overwater or uproot your aloe vera plants for the third time in a month.

Outdoor paper lanterns cascaded in swoops over both of your heads. It cast a warm, soothing glow that contrasted your evening's dark, rainy gloom. Rain splashed down on the thick glass of the greenhouse; only achieving a cozier feel to your little slice of nurtured nature. Plush loveseats of dark and white colors decorated the corners of the space and openly invited you two to sit down and chat more with one another. Thankfully, Graves had better ideas and had plopped himself down into the dark green loveseat. He practically sunk into rich velvet, as he dragged you by the arm you linked with his, downwards. You didn't have the chance to protest or even outright gasp when your back collided with the strong contours of his chest.

"It's lovely. " Graves' hummed into the curve of your ear. His blue eyes fell from the stoic gold lanterns above you, to now the curve of your neck. He couldn't help the temptation of leaning in to place his lips against sweet-smelling skin. "But. I have something lovelier." His voice husks out, words muffling into whispers against the back of your neck.

Ample kisses, slow and steady cause rows of pinks and reds to bloom along the thin skin. His large hands settle on their rightful place on your hips. Just like those nights ago, they decide to squeeze and paint beautiful bruises under the fabric of your short skirt. He's a multi-tasking pro for letting his mouth ravage the curves and bends of your neck with his hot tongue and lips; while his hands decide to paw and knead the more tender flesh of your inner thighs. His large palms cover your thighs so nicely enough, that they ward away the chill of the falling rain outside solid glass windows.

Your head falls back onto the curve of his right shoulder. The angle is a little uncomfortable and hard to get used to, but it's so worth it when he licks a wet stripe down the slope of your exposed throat. Your breath hitches. Cheeks flush a cherry red when you feel his lips curve against your wet skin from your reaction. Sure, thinking about picking up where you last left off wasn't in your mind when you decided to invite him over. You couldn't even begin to predict how a simple chat over coffee, would lead to those rough hands pushing your skirt up enough to let the smooth planes of your panty-covered mound. Both the forest's and Graves' hungry eyes soaked in the black satin underwear you wore. Thank god for doing laundry before he came over, or else he would have seen the crustiest pieces of fabric that were held together with two pieces of thread and a wish. The storm outside had taken the chance to have thunder drown out the deep bellow of a groan from Graves' throat at the sight. All for him. Only for him in this moment, and by God was he glad he didn't decide to go fuck some other chick than follow through with your plans today. He was so lucky.

So lucky in fact that his luck happened to attract another lucky individual to this show you and him were putting on together. You really should consider where you were and who could be potentially watching you getting your panties ripped off of your thighs and tossed in some random direction.

The fold of Simon's hood shrouded his face in black shadows, but it didn't obscure the sight of those thighs parting at the large palm that encompassed your clothed cunt. Hidden lips curved into an amused smirk when he watched you start to hump the stranger's hand. His fingers tingled at how your pretty spine curved upwards, lips parted in silent moans that he would burn down cities just to hear on repeat. Such a pretty thing you are, letting yourself be touched in ways that only looked like soft-core porn compared to what images were running through his fucked mind right now.

The grass squished under his boots, imprints of his soles pressing the greenery into perfect evidence that he was watching. It wasn't hard to find you if you were to find these footsteps later when you're doing your yoga outside in the afternoons on sunnier days. It's not hard to run through every single female owner of your type of branded red car. He found the name and credit card information that you used to buy your vehicle too pleasantly quickly. Child's play as Alejandro liked to say with bright white teeth and brown eyes winking in mischief. He knew your age, your blood type, your eye color, home address, date of birth, fuck even what size of bras you like to wear. It's especially easier to have someone hack streetlight cameras, and every building that owns security cameras, to watch your car drive through empty city streets to get home. Fewer cameras, and less technology surrounding your dusty roads home. He's a man with connections, thank the stars for the 141 and Alejandro's buddies. He'd kiss the man on the mouth with ruddy tongue and all if it meant getting to watch you get off for his eyes every single night.

The humidity in your greenhouse seemed to kick up a notch when your cunt made the filthiest noises against the grooves of Graves' palm. Your breaths were storm clouds of lust and babble of pleas that rained down over your heads. Your moans were thunderous claps of straight energy that made your ears ring and muscles string taut with arousal that pooled warmly in your stomach. Graves' touch was the strike of lightning hitting dry trees in your barren forest. His fingers were electricity that curled through sopping folds to press against your G-spot and alight you with hot flames that crackled and popped under your skin. It was everything that led to a disastrous wildfire that overtook your body and made your legs snap wider when you burned hotter and hotter in his hands. Your body danced and wriggled under his strong grip. Graves was the idiotic man that made this wildfire of yours worse, he was the one to pour gasoline on your inferno when his thumb rubbed hurried circles to your clit and watch you fall apart in crackling embers of charred wood and soot when your body couldn't handle its heat any longer.

The evidence of Graves' arousal rubbed against the swell of your bare ass. Rough denim chaffing silky skin a blushed pink. He wasn't giving you much of a break to let your thoughts become coherent. The sight of his slick-covered index and middle finger scooping up your sweet essence and shoving them in his mouth only encouraged the aching thrum in your belly to begin all over again. You could taste yourself on his tongue when greedy hands wrapped around the back of his neck, and you forced his head to bend down to sloppily kiss you over your shoulder. Tongues swapped spit and remaining salty tangy slick that stained Graves' tastebuds happily. It wasn't even qualified as what your kisses were at this point. It was heavy petting of flicking tongues and hungry moans into the hot caverns of your mouths'.

Between the heavy petting and Graves' shameless rutting against your ass. One of your hands crept behind and between your writhing bodies to fumble blindly with his zipper. His moving hips aided in his zipper pulling down. The release of pressure made Graves groan out in relief, his head falling back with a sigh; allowing your spit-covered lips to press wet kisses along the column of his throat as best as you could at this angle.

Just as your hips had lifted to allow yourself to finally spin around and pull Graves' jeans off his legs; a loud bang echoed over your lustful activities and the thunderstorm outside. It sounded like someone or something had made an impact with the curved glass of your greenhouse. Whatever it was, it was heavy and had enough force to send both of your gazes to the direction of where the noise came from. Graves stood up from his loveseat, eyes still shiny with desire. Jeans threatening to fall around his ankles comically. "Probably a stupid deer. Things run into your damn headlights if you drive fast enough." His voice drawled out to the back of your head. Too nonchalant compared to you. You would jump at any loud noise or shadow if it was too scary-looking.

Blame it on the realistic horror movies that get put out nowadays for your fear and paranoia. "You sure? It doesn't sound like it was a deer. We'd hear it scream or cry in pain." Your head whipped around to look up at him. Shoulders taut once more like they had been when you were alone in your car and found that flower in your passenger seat.

A snort left the man. A shit-eating grin threatening to overtake kiss bruised lips. He found this hilarious. Much to your annoyance, he was going to patronize you like you were some kid afraid that there were monsters in your closet and under your bed. You could tell the next words he'd utter would turn your mood sour in an instant.

"Awh, lil darlin' afraid of a big bad buck?" You were right. "You want me to check it out, sweetheart?" Yes. No. Yes. Maybe? You've got to be overreacting, right?

Your round eyes and shallow breathing were much of an answer to him than if your pretty mouth had opened and half begged half whispered for him to go see if some brain-dead animal had rammed its thick cranium into your glass window and killed itself willingly. A shake of his head and a small breathy chuckle left his lungs. He fixed his pants with an amused sigh. "Suit yourself, darlin'. Wait right here. Won't be long."

His steps thudded out of your greenhouse, and back into your home. You could hear your front door opening and closing. You could hear the muffled stamping of his boots walking down the couple steps of your front porch. It was so quiet if you had the will and ability to, you could hear the crunch of dirt and gravel crunching under Graves' soles. Instead, you were deafened by the trickling of rain and the occasional clap of soft thunder that rumbled in the distance. You stood there, waiting and listening. Two minutes went by. Then another minute passed. Then another; and another; and another. Five minutes, you stood there. Skirtless, with your slick cool in your goosebump-flecked skin. Graves wouldn't take that long to walk around your property, right? He's not an idiot to go wandering into your forest at night and lose himself in the thick canopy of branches and pine needles. He was just going to go around the side of your home and check out the perimeter of your greenhouse. It doesn't take five minutes to do that. You would know, you've done that a couple of times in the past to embrace the outdoors on your yoga mat.

Hastily you bent over to collect your discarded panties and skirt. Heart skipping a beat here and there while you got dressed. The uncomfortable stick of your panties to your lower lips made you shiver in more than just fear for your sanity. You were becoming too aware of how alone you were and how long Graves had been gone. You swallowed, fists clenching at your sides. Damp palms being creased in half-moons from your fingernails while you turned your head to gaze outside to the dreary moonlight night. Your mouth opened, nerves steeling for your voice to call out to Graves.

What didn't come out of your parted lips wasn't Graves' name in a questioning manner, however; but a scream that was ripped from your shaking lungs when lightning ripped seams through the sky and illuminated the very large handprint spotted with watery crimson that stained your glass wall temporarily. The quick flash of bright light had you screaming for something far different than what you wanted to be screaming for that night. Awash tiny rivers of red and the imprint of a stranger's bare hand had been more than a sign to ditch waiting around for Graves to show up. Your heart had leaped into your constricted throat as you bolted into your living room. The door separating your home and the greenhouse was slammed behind your body. It was hard enough to rattle the frame and the wall of your house.

Sweaty fingers fumbled blindly in the dark of your home to turn the lock on the door. Your breaths were harsh and coming out faster and faster. In some fucked sense, you wanted to scream out in the open that you were right once again. You were always right. You were scared out of your god damned mind, on the verge of having a panic attack but you were right. Graves was out there. Maybe that was his handprint on your glass and some animal had decided to hurt him for making fun of it. Maybe it wasn't an animal.

Your mind screamed logic and facts. It couldn't have been an animal. Animals that were killed were noisy to some degree. They would snarl or cry out before attacking their prey. It would have made Graves scream in pain if he got bit or ripped apart in the jaws of some bobcat or wolf if they even have those where you live. If the forest surrounding your home was even home to such dangerous creatures that stalked around your home every night. It had to be something human. Someone was out there. A homeless man crazed on drugs and was able to hurt some innocent person for the money in their wallet just to score a new high. Maybe a serial killer who got off on killing vulnerable people who were out in the dredges between night and evening; just waiting to bury their blade into their victim's throat and hack away till they were lifeless and bloody on the ground.

You spun around on your heel, pressing your spine against the sturdy wood of the door. Something to help you ground your senses and coax the terrified screams that were clogged in your esophagus. The back of your head thunked back, your eyes squeezed shut. Just breathe. You can focus on trying to breathe even if there was some knife-wielding maniac perusing around your estate just waiting for you to be dumb enough to go after Graves in hopes of finding him. You weren't stupid, sure a little dumb at times, but not stupid enough to die like every annoying side character in a slasher movie.

Inhale. Exhale. Tick tick tick goes the clock hanging above your head.

Inhale. Exhale. Ba-dump Ba-dump Ba-dump goes your heartbeat that slows microscopically. Good, progress.

Inhale. Exhale. Open your eyes and look around to find the cellphone you left on the counter next to your coffee cup so the cops can come and save you.

Inhale. Exhale. Feel your entire face go white and mouth open in silent screams when you find a lone red peony placed right on top of your phone screen. Your stomach twisted in knots over and over again till everything in your gut curdled. Next thing you knew, you were vomiting in your kitchen sink from adrenaline and fear. A slurry of coffee and lunch and breakfast painted the sterling silver tub.

This isn't happening. There's no way that this could be happening to you. Some sick freak that not only broke into your car but now your house and could have hurt Graves just to leave behind flowers for you isn't possible. Yet the chill of the now-becoming night air only confirms your delusions into a sick reality. Your head turns over your shoulder, not bothering to rinse your mouth out. The whites of your eyes threaten to pop out of your skull when you see the front door is wide open. Blooming constellations and the expanse of your dirt road greet your bulging eyes. Again, does your heart race ever faster, the color and feeling in your entire body threatening to drain at a rapid state that leaves you uncoordinated.

With legs equivalent to jelly, you cross the expanse of your small home. Eyes trained on the young night sky that taunts you with its ever-calm presence. Even if your world is starting to crumble and fall into ruin, the sky and gentle breeze in the air remain ever the same as always. You told yourself you wouldn't be the dumb blonde that wanders out and gets killed by the crazy slasher in movies, but yet you find yourself standing in the open doorway. Your eyes can't focus on staring in one place for long. Always flicking in every direction at the smallest of noises that nature makes. Your ears strain for the crunch of footsteps that are somewhat human. Your fluctuating pupils fought to try and find the silhouette of a man out in the growing shadows between the thick bark of the trees. Still, you could find nothing of the sort, no crazy killer. No dead body of Graves strung up in a taunting manner there to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

However, what you did find when your head had tilted down just enough, was a crudely carved ' S ' in the painted black steps of your front porch. The ragged edges and points of the single letter tarnished your quickly dissolving sanity, your home, and your plans for the rest of the night. The single letter stared up at you for just a second later. That was until you turned tail and retreated into your home, the front door slamming shut behind you, so you could finally call the cops.

[two-red-lungs]

I Can’t Hardly Stand It

BFF!Eddie/Fem!Reader NSFW

Summary: College guys, despite your best attempts, have been leaving you high and dry and desperate in the bedroom. Now, with you back in Hawkins for winter break? Let’s just say your six-foot-something best friend is looking like a real good way to relieve some of that long-standing sexual tension. 

That is, if you don’t ruin your friendship in the process. 

Word Count: 5.5k

How do you ask a friend to be more than a friend? To lift a foot and place it, however tentative and skittish over the well-established boundary? To enter into a realm of unknown, unfamiliar feelings that, in all likelihood, could destroy that friendship? Crumble it to dust? How the hell does one do that, exactly?

It was a question you had been turning over and over in your head for days, hoping that contemplating it enough would bring you a sudden enlightened answer. But nope. It was still the same agonizing question. You thought it, and in your mind you saw Eddie’s eyes. Big, brown, wet and wide. 

How do you ask your friend to fuck you?

When the idea first came to mind you discarded it like a deer stumbling away from a car on a highway. The thought was obscene. Way outta line. You and Eds… you went back years. Maybe a decade at this point. You and him in fifth grade, goofin’ it up out on the playground in the Indiana winter cold, play-fighting with sticks as swords. And now, him calling you once or twice a month: the connection long and expensive and only affordable if all you said was hi, how are you, that’s great, talk to you later. But NYU was your dream school. He knew that. He’d encouraged you to take the scholarship, to get the fuck out of the sleepy town that too often trapped people in little lives that went nowhere. 

And you did. You did it. Packed your shit and left, moved into a freshman dorm buzzing with excitement and academia and dirty laundry. It was fun. New York was big and loud and alive and full of cute boys to meet. Oh, meet them you did. Date after date, smiling faces, clumsy, heated kisses. 

That’s where the problem really was, see. 

You wanted it. The big sin. La petite mort. And without fucking fail, every single skinny-legged eighteen-nineteen-twenty year old you collapsed into bed with was baaaaad. Like, painfully, stupidly, unbelievably bad. Their breath stank or they sweat too much or they popped off like bottle rockets against your bare thigh after just a minute or two of naked squirming and sloppy makeouts. And that left you alone, buzzing with a deep, red hunger. Unfulfilled, day after day. Month after month. It made you realize you needed something more. Someone you could talk to, tell what to do, share information and words with without it feeling awkward or dictatorial or rude. Someone who wasn’t, by and large, a stranger. 

Your mind went to one person and now you just couldn’t fucking shake the idea. Kept seeing it in your head. Kept thinking what if.

The plane from JFK landed back in Indianapolis for winter break. Snow was high outside, brilliant diamond-white against cerulean sky, icicles trimming the roof over the pick-up zone in great crystal stalactites. Your breath was fog in the air. And, right on time, god bless him, the familiar brown-and-tan Chevy Nomad van came rolling up with tire chains that growled against the heavy ice. 

Your heart jumped directly from your chest into your mouth. Eddie rolled down the passenger window. 

“Lookin’ to hitchhike, hot stuff?” He was grinning ear-to-ear, brown eyes crinkling. Ever the comedian. When you muddled through the dirty snow and tugged on the locked handle a few times, that grin got bigger. “Gas, grass, or ass. Can’t let you ride for free.”

“You let me outta the cold right now, Munson, or I’ll have to resort to violence.”

“Oooh, scary. Fine. Get in here.”

 He’d driven three hours out to get you, through a small snowstorm and over miles of ice, and three hours back. Not a single complaint. Not a peep. No, instead, Eddie was all sunshine smiles and wicked, warm cackles, asking about your adventures in the city and pulling animated reactions. His rings winked in the cold winter light slanting through the van’s dirty windshield, and his hair was just slightly longer (and drier) than when you’d left four months ago. But he was the same old Eddie, really. Taller than you by a million miles. Soft, broad lips with a sprinkle of new-growing mustache. Bitten fingernails, long eyelashes. A voice like tire rubber and tobacco smoke, which he reeked of. 

Funny. It was easy to downplay how much you missed him when you were sequestered in the warrenous dorms at NYU. Now, with him a foot away, watching his veiny hands tap tap tap on the wheel to the rhythm of ‘Rattlehead’? There was heat in your bones. Lapping across your skin, over your cheeks when you glanced down at his narrow thighs, the way they flexed when he accelerated. You hadn’t considered the what if throughout the years of being friends with him. Now it wouldn’t leave your brain. Now that what if brought new thoughts. New need-soaked mental imagery. 

Christ, you were hopeless. A single thought about Eddie’s legs flitted through your mind and it brought that roaring wall of unfulfilled heat back with a vengeance. You needed a drink, or several. Or maybe a mallet to the head.

When the Hawkins town sign blew past on the frosted asphalt road to town and Eddie offered you a beer, you leapt at the chance. Especially when he’d enthused about his uncle already booking it to his shift at the plant by now. It wasn’t until you were stomping snow off your boots on his stoop in the late afternoon sun, walking into his shared trailer and getting hit by that unequivocally Eddie smell that you realized the error of your ways. Maybe, just maybe, hanging out alone with the guy you’d been sexually fixating on for weeks in the place you imagined him in the most at night, a hand between your thighs in the dark, wasn’t a good idea. 

Eddie popped the top off a heineken in the narrow kitchen and handed it to you. His fingers were icy from the winter chill, smooth against yours. You hid the way your hand jerked a bit by bringing the drink up to your mouth, not even bothering to set down your carry-on before taking a hefty pull. 

“Two more months and I can buy these babies on my own. Twenty-one, here I come.” He boasted warmly. His mane of hair shimmied and shook as he fought with the cap on his own bottle: it popped off, plinking against the cabinet before escaping to the linoleum ground, and he scurried after it. You got a long lecherous view of his broad, lithely muscled back under his tight Megadeth shirt before he stood up again, blowing hair away from his mouth. “Won’t even need to use the shitty fake ID ol’ Ricky had made for me.”

“It is pretty crappy.” You agreed. Your mouth was dry. God, you two were so alone right now.

“Yeah. I’m, like, genuinely surprised nobody’s called me on it yet.”

“Is Charles still manning the gas station? That guy’s ancient. He probably doesn’t have the energy to call the cops on you when you’re buying a six-pack.”

Eddie snickered and fuck, it was like liquid sunlight, all soft and good. Another thing you hadn’t realized you’d missed, its effects diminished over the phone. “That’s totally it. Hadn’t even crossed my mind.” He leaned on the counter and sipped his beer, looking down at you and tilting his head to the side. His hair followed like water. “Damn. I kinda missed you, Agatha Christie.”

You swallowed, hard. It was difficult to be under his gaze, now. Knowing the fantasies you’d had. Those brown eyes dredged up every sweaty, slick-fingered moment of imagination between your sheets. “You expect me to be surprised by that?” You replied with a plastered-on smile. “The six-hour commute and free beer kind of gave it away.”

He thunked a hand against his chest. “Foiled again. You see right through me. C’mon.” His beer bottle clinked on the fridge as he passed you, swaggering to him room like he was king of the world. “I got a new strain shipment and a ‘lil freebee along with it. You’re gonna dig it, for sure.” He turned around in his bedroom doorway with dramatic fury, a hand clutching each side. “Two words: Purple haze.”

“Lead the way, king ditchweed.”

“It’s not ditchweed!”

It wasn’t ditchweed. It was, in fact, a nice, smooth smoke. That’s what you elected to focus on, passing the blunt between you and Eddie on his bed, the window cracked just enough to circulate the air but not enough to turn his cramped, messy room into a freezer. 

He was leaned up against the headboard, all relaxed, that smile-crinkle under his eyes near-permanent. Eddie took the blunt from you and took a hit, exhaling through his nose: vapors curled up the sides of it and into his curtain of dark hair. 

You remembered your fantasy from a week ago, about the ball of that thick nose pressed hard against your clit while his broad, flat tongue punched deep into your— you cleared your throat and shifted around, working sensation back into your buzzing cross-faded limbs. 

Well, the sun's gone down, and you're uptown. And you're just out runnin' around: I can't hardly stand it, you're troublin' me! Lux Interior was whining, Elvis-esque, on the record lazily spinning on Eddie’s player. “Okay.” You conceded. “This is good.”

“The song, or the weed?” He brought up a sock-clad foot to deflect your attempt at hitting him, laughing. “What? New York mighta changed your taste in music. Mighta made you forget how good the Cramps were, and shit.”

“You know I was talking about the weed, dummy.” Soft, sentimental affection in your voice was as unmistakable as anything. You just couldn’t help it. Eddie smiled, pressing his lips together and looking away: your eyes drifted to the tendons in his long neck. Beautiful. You wondered how they’d feel under your tongue. 

“So. Tell me about the city boys.” He said after a few moments of comfortable silence. When you groaned and put your face in your hands he chortled. “Seriously! Are they cool? Do they do slam poetry? I bet they’ve got you just hooked, huh. Ridin’ the subway and shit.”

“We don’t have to talk about boys, Eds. I can’t imagine that’s entertaining for you.” 

The metalhead shrugged and took another drag. “Can you blame me for wanting to keep tabs on your bodice-ripping paperback escapades?” He cupped his face, mimicking a cherub. “That’s just how good of a friend I am.”

“Alright, alright! You ham.” You turned that what if over again in your mind. “It’s been. Weird. I’ve met a lot of guys, sure, but. I dunno. They’re not… great?”

“Define not-great. Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Uhh, mega-honest. Obviously.”

“Eddie, they’re shit in bed.”

Eddie exploded into a cacophony of coughs, thumping his chest and bending away from the headboard. Only when he was done, eyes watering, did he speak, giving a disbelieving shake of his head. “Wow, that was… honest.”

“Hey, you asked.” The ragged hem of your comfy travel shirt was looking really interesting right now. You chose to focus on it. “I’ve, uh. Been with a couple guys, now, and each time, they’re just…” You sucked on your teeth, trying to phrase it tactfully. “Selfish. Like I’m not even there. Like they don’t care at all about me. And I’m half the fucking equation in that— that goddamn horizontal tango, you know?”

“That sounds pretty frustrating.” Eddie, for once in his life, sounded serious. His voice was soft, like he cared. 

“Trust me, it is. I thought about calling it quits a couple of times, y’know? But I’m human! I got… wants. And needs, and stuff.” The silence after your words was deafening, and the record switched softly-playing tracks. The what if came back. And fuck it, you were a little high and a little tipsy and hey, if bringing this up ruined everything, you’d be on a plane to New York in a few days anyway. “You know how you used to, like… joke? When we were high? That it was just you and me, whining about being lonely, and we should just.” You struggled. “Help each other out. Let off steam.”

Eddie stared. And stared. His eyebrows lifted. For a moment you were worried he would be frozen for eternity. “Uh. Okay. I, hah.” A laugh of disbelief jumped out. He pinched his nose and shook his head. “Okay, uh. If I’m, uhh… misinterpreting this, feel free to, like, punch me. Just… full force. You, uh…” God, how many interjections could this man use? “You wanna. Have sex with me?”

“It’s so weird, I know.” Your words were a blurting, flushed, panicked tumble. You hadn’t really registered it until he said it out loud. “It’s so totally weird, and I shouldn’t have said anything, seriously, just forget it—”

“No, no.” He wetted his lips nervously, that pink tongue darting out. Eddie’s eyes were wide. “No, uh. It’s— I get it. We all, like. Get a little backed up sometimes, right? Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“God, you did not just say backed up—”

“You know what I mean!” He ran a hand down his pink-flushed face, hunched forward and cross-legged, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel his body heat. “Jesus. Jesus shitfuck.”

“Eds, let’s just pretend I didn’t say—”

“We could. We could do it.” He interjected. That tongue between his lips again, trapped, a little slice of wet, shining pink. “Um. I, uh. If it’s something you wanted to do.”

Your stupid betrayer heart was drumming double time, making your palms clammy and face red. “You don’t have to say yes because of me.”

“Hey. You’re a chick, and I’m a dude, and that’s like, basic biology 101 so… I wanna.” His gaze, skittish, like he was a timid fawn, met yours for a second and it was like steel against flintstone. It sent a zing up your spine. “It’d just be like… helpin’ each other out, and shit, right?”

“Yeah.” God, your mouth was dry. You hadn’t felt like this, shaking like a virgin, since you were sixteen. You’d laid yourself emotionally bare in front of him. Told him you needed to be touched. Loved. And he’d said yes. “Just helping.”

A beat of silence. Then another. Then another. Eddie leaned forward and then you were kissing.

It was a wet, searing thing. Like a current of electricity was passing between you, hot and bright and so, so unlike anything you’d felt at fucking NYU. He grunted against your mouth, leaning forward into you. Then there was a hand on your knee and god, fuck, fuck your life, that wasn’t supposed to feel good. That wasn’t supposed to feel like your skin was lighting up gold under his palm, and yet here you were. Illuminated by his touch like a celibate. 

“You gotta,” Eddie spoke in breaths, crowding you against the thin wall of the trailer, heat bleeding from his chest through his shirt, “tell me what you need, ‘kay? Promise?”

“More.” You replied immediately. You grabbed at him on instinct, getting a fistful of his shirt, tugging it up, up over his head: he moved with you immediately, pulling it off like it offended him, and oh. His nipples were dusky-dark pink, his pectorals small hills. The skullish demon head over his heart was staring you down. 

Eddie pressed a sloppy kiss with searing lips to your upper cheek, eyes centimeters from yours. Looking at you all gentle and needy. “Can I take your shirt off? Please, I wanna—” He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed. “Wanna see you.”

“Yeah.” Your voice trembled like an autumn leaf. “You can see me, Eds.”

His hands were so broad and firm. They rolled your shirt up over your head: Eddie hissed through his teeth. “God, fuck. Fuck me, man. Look at you.” That dark brown gaze was locked on your tits, the way your bra cupped them together. “Those New Yorkers have no idea what they’re missing, man.”

“Eddie.” You said softly. His gaze snapped back up to you, framed by dark curls of hair. “Touch me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can, uh. I can do that.” His lips parted as he touched you, hot palms traveling up your ribs, over your shoulders. He dipped his head, planting kiss to your collarbones: it was like you’d been shot, a slow, scalding heat spreading from that point. Eddie held one of your hips and slowly, ever so slowly, eased you onto your back. You knew he could see your jackrabbit heart racing in the veins on your neck, see the way your shallow breaths were so fucking fast. 

When you pawed between you two, sticking an arm against his burning-hot stomach to fumble with the fly of his jeans, he made a choked noise and grabbed your wrist. Eddie was breathing heavily against your face, holding himself over you with one arm braced by your head. “Wait, wait.” He took a deep breath. Hairs tickled your face. “Uh, just. Just wait.”

“I wanna touch to you too, Eds.”

He looked like the words falling from your lips were as good as head. “Jesus— not yet. Not— I don’t wanna end this too fast, and if you keep, haah—” another expletive when you pressed fingers blindly to his fly, down against his dick, “— doing that, that’s where we’re gonna end up.”

With a hum of frustration at being denied, you tilted your chin up in a demand for another kiss: he conceded without a fight, saliva-slick lips heady and addictive. You felt like you could kiss him forever, like this: the curtains drawn, early dusk darkening the room, his skin against yours sending frissons from your head to your toes. You pawed like an animal. Fingers clutching his back, feeling his shoulder blades move under his skin, his ribs expand and contract. 

When you brought a thigh out, knee bending to hook a leg around his narrow hips, he seemed to make up his mind. “Fuck, okay.” He broke the kiss again. “D’ya think— can I take your pants off?”

“Yeah. Yeah, god, Eddie, please.”

Like it was a goddamn race Eddie had your buttons undone and you were helping him shuffle your pants down and throwing them to the floor. He made another noise in the back of his throat and rested himself at your side, up on one elbow. Eddie put a hand on your sternum and slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragged it down. His face turned up to you every once in a while: checking in. Making sure you were still here with him. His fingers caught on the hem of your underwear for a second and you sucked in a breath, but he kept going. 

Feather-light pads landed on the lips of your pussy over your underwear. So light you could barely feel it. They traced up and down in slow, careful circles. Eddie looked almost hypnotized by the fact that he was even touching you: he watched his own hand like it was a magic show. 

“Tease.” You huffed out, bucking up slightly against his fingers. 

That crooked smile returned. “Nah.” He looked at you with affection. “Just tryin’ to make it good.” Those finger pads went up, up, up. Eddie tracked your expression, lips parting gently when your eyes bulged because oh, yep, that was your clit he’d caught for a second. He focused in on that little stiffening nub, snug under damp fabric, and the muscles in your stomach curled. “Ohhh, fuck. You like that, huh? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You barely eked it out. “Feels nice.”

“Bet nobody gave her any attention at your college, huh?” His words hit you like thunderbolts, and you swore you felt yourself clench around nothing. Eddie’s tongue was trapped between his teeth again. He thumbed your clit round and round in circles. 

“Eds.” Your voice was a warning, desperate though it was. “More, c’mon.”

“Tell me what you need.” Maybe with someone else the words would have come out commanding, domineering. But Eddie was looking down at you with those big wet eyes like you’d hung the moon, like he’d do anything to please you, lips parted all rosebud-soft. 

“Get inside me. Please. Just— your fingers, put them in, please.”

Still laid out long beside you, his fingers crept underneath the hem of your underwear, rasping against your trimmed bush as he slowly pulled the fabric down, down, down, till it pooled around your knees. “Fuck.” He said again, intelligently. “Fuck. Fuck. Can’t believe you’re letting me do this.” A finger ran down the parting line of your folds as he spoke and you jerked like a woman possessed. “Can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, god.”

His finger hooked at your soft, sopping, willing entrance. “Wait.” You blurted. His veiny hand froze. “Two. Two, uh, fingers, Eds.”

“Okay, yeah. Okay.” His voice shook. And then those long, calloused, beautiful fucking fingers were delving into your flesh, just thick enough for a little stretch, a little delicious addictive burn: if you weren’t so hyper turned-on by the sight you’d be embarrassed about how absolutely sopping you were. 

Your walls fluttered around his fingers and he looked like he’d died and gone to heaven. “So warm.” Was all he got out unevenly. There was no warning before he was slowly and rhythmically fucking you with his fingers, the slick squelch loud as thunder. The sight of his broad hand disappearing between your gently parted thighs was... addictive. You held his forearm tight as he fingered you, your grip moving with each slow thrust. 

This was fantasy. This was perfect fucking gratification. Sweating nearly-naked on his messy duvet, surrounded by his quintessential smell, Eddie inches away from you all laid out with a tent in his jeans so hard it looked like it hurt. This was just like your daydreams. Better, even.

You let your head fall to the side, where he was laid out all long next to you. It rested against his chest. You could feel the hum of his hummingbird heart behind the flesh and bone. “Eddie...” the word was a breathy sigh, but it earned him dropping his head over yours, pressing a wild, wet kiss to the crown of your head, leaving his mouth there. He groaned into your hair when you squirmed, thighs shifting, clenching around his fingers. 

“Shit— sorry, hold on, thing is fuckin— killin’ me, hurts so bad.” He muttered hoarsely, pulling fingers from your heat to fumble with his fly. His digits were too slick to get a grip on the zipper and oh man if that didn’t do something for you. You reached across your stomach without a second thought and pulled it open, and hello.

Eddie was so hard it looked like it ached. The head of this fat cock peeked out from the top of his briefs, so red it was nearly purple. It was shiny, smeared with drooling precum that slicked up the turtleneck skin around it. 

You thumbed the shaft over the fabric. Eddie sounded like he’d been socked in the gut. “Ohhhhkay.” He wheezed out. You crept upwards, dragging down his underwear and popping his bobbing cock out. It twitched, kissing his hair-dusted abdomen for a moment. God. You’d never wanted anything in your mouth so badly. You bet he tasted good: like salt and skin and Eddie.

The noises he made when you cupped him, running a loose grip up and down his shaft in lazy pumps, should have been illegal. They made the soft, wanton and slick heat between your legs feel like a bonfire, like an ancient calling demanding you do what humans had been doing for centuries before you. 

You wanted to swallow him to the base. Wanted to stay there for eternity, feeling him throb under your fingers and feeling his fingers in you. But poor Eds was on a timer. And you wanted as much as you could get. 

“Eds...” You trailed off, looking at him, how he held himself coiled-up tight while you touched his dick, like he was focusing so hard on not cumming. His wide eyes glittered in the low light. You kissed him again: quick and messy. “Can we...”

“Yeah.” His reply came out as a squeak and he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Please.” 

“We need a condom.” 

“Right.”

He was off the bed like a shot, shaking the mattress, flinging open bedside table drawers like a mob croney coming to collect debt money. He rifled through their contents with extreme (almost desperate) prejudice. The prize was found: a shiny gold-foil-wrapped Trojan. Seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, framed between your knees in front of you, dick twitching in the air and foil between his teeth? That was a sight that was going to be burned into your mind for the rest of your life. 

Eddie tore open the condom with his teeth and spat out the corner. He fumbled to roll it on with shaking hands. “Shit.” He hissed, the condom springing off several times. It was like someone had set him to vibrate. 

Your hand closed over his bigger one. Slowly, together, you got the condom on: shiny and off-white on his cock. 

He was still huffing like a racehorse. You couldn’t blame him: your body was alight, all active like you’d run a marathon. You didn’t know what it was: it was never like this with other guys. Little touches didn’t set you on fire. Gentle, caring fingers didn’t make you gush. 

With Eddie’s help you laid flat onto your back once more and eased your hips to the edge of the mattress. He stood between them, thighs pressed against mattress cover. His hands were warm on your thighs: kneading them, drifting up and down a few times while he looked down at you, his chest patchy with blush. 

“You sure?” He asked. There was anxiety in his voice. This wasn’t just being handsy. This was all the way. 

“Yeah. ‘M sure.” When he let his cock rest on your pelvis, hefty and scalding, you swallowed hard. “It’s you, Eds. I trust you.”

Eddie bit down on his lower lip, hard, and lined himself up with you. It was only when the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance and your pussy clenched rhythmically in reply, in excited hopefulness, that you realized how true that statement was. 

That’s why this was taking you apart. Not because it was sex. Or good sex. Because it was Eddie. 

He pushed into you slow with a hand clamped down on each thigh and it was like seeing god. The breach was fat and full, heat on heat, no resistance. You both made noises. He fit you like a goddamn glove. 

Eddie swore, over and over, when he got up to the hilt. His eyes clenched shut, face screwed up, steeling himself against the overwhelming pleasure. And for you, that was agony.

“Eds, c’mon, please, please move.” You weren’t above begging. 

“Fuuuuuck me, man.” He groaned out all high and breathless, and then he was clenching his teeth and snapping forward, hips bumping against you so hard it made the fucking bed sway. He fucked you like he was trying to keep you, like he was trying to make this the best you’d ever had: he even canted his hips up, hunting for that spot inside you that he’d read made girls go mad. 

“So good, so wet, god, so good,” Eddie rambled like a lunatic, a drop of drool falling free from his red lips. “So fucking warm, huh, aren’t you? Yeah you are. So nice and warm, warm on my dick, fuck, love how fucking soaked you are.”

You were in heaven. No, somewhere better. Somewhere where sex wasn’t a sin and you were getting your guts rearranged by your best friend, the guy who knew you the best, who saw you, the real you. “Eddieeeee.” You almost couldn’t get it out, breath punched out of you so deliciously with each thrust. “My clit, Eds, touch it.”

He brought a hand to it instantly, fingers sliding through the wet where his cock spread you open and dragging it up in rough, wild circles around your clit. You could see all his dark-eyed focus was on you: fucking you, filling you, giving it to you exactly how you had needed it for so long. Taking care of you. 

Fuck, that thought was gonna make you cum.  

“More, please,” You begged, “so close, Eds, so—”

“God, fuck me man, you— you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you cum, oh my god.” Eddie spoke like he couldn’t stop himself, all disjointed and panting over the pornographic slap of his balls on your ass. “Wanted to see it for so long, please, please, lemme see it, lemme see you—”

His begging, his disclosure, his desperation— you went careening off the edge into the abyss while he rubbed frantically at your clit, and you swore your eyes rolled up into the back of your skull.

There it was. The thing you’d been craving, bone-deep, for months. 

The perfect orgasm. 

Drifting back to earth, you had a body made of melted butter. A body made of summer sun and amber. Pure contentment radiated through every single immaculate cell. 

Eddie was still fucking you. Short, uneven thrusts, sweat beads rolling down his chest, long, wild hair sticking to his face. His brows were down in focus, lost in sensation. You lifted two shaking legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking him into your snug cunt. He looked up at you in hazy, pleasure-drunk shock, and then you squeezed down on him as hard as you could. 

“Fuck!” Was all he barked out, and then he was doubling over, staggering forward against your hips, pelvis stuttering. Gripping your thighs like lifelines. He thrust once, twice, three times more, and then Eddie— your exhausted, beanstalk-tall, wild-child Eddie— collapsed on top of you, heavy as all hell. The crown of his head was right under your nose, and you could feel his ribs against yours. 

He couldn’t see you right now. You let yourself smile fondly, satedly, into his hair. 

Together you breathed raggedly, radiating body heat. The clock in the kitchen, past the ajar door, continued to tick. The silence was no longer charged: it was honest, relaxed. Fulfilled. 

“You’re so heavy.” You said eventually. 

“Thanks. I’ve been working out.” Eddie’s voice was muffled in your tits. After a time, though, he raised his head. Propped himself up a bit on his elbows over you. Spat hair out of his mouth. “So, uh.” His lips opened and closed like a fish, awkward and unsure. “Was that, um. Good for you, or...?”

“Of course it was good, Eddie. Obviously! Don’t ask stupid questions.” You replied with mock seriousness: an age-old bit you’d always done with him. A sign that hey, no camaraderie lost, right?

He played along, looking mock wounded. “Well, I didn’t want to assume. It’s not like it went on for an hour, or ended with a squirt, or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You laughed. He was staring at you in that fond way again. The guitar pick on his necklace tickled your clavicle. “I mean... we have the rest of the night, right?”

He looked stunned. He blinked a few times. “I mean— yeah, like, if that’s something you want to—”

“I want to.”

Another blink. The tongue made its reappearance. “Okay. We can... okay. Yeah.” The slow grin began its climb onto his broad face. “We can totally do that. All-nighter.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

The Munson landline was a little ragged, but it worked. “Yeah, mom, I can’t wait to see you too.” You said into the phone tucked between your ear and bare shoulder as you leaned against the kitchenette counter, hand in a bag of chips. You watched Eddie fight a box of waffles for their delicious cargo and pop four into the toaster. “The snow’s just real bad right now. You know how it is. I’ll get in tomorrow, I swear.”

Eddie slowly shook his head, hands on his hips, hitting the disapproving church-mom pose. He mouthed for shame and wagged a finger. You threw a chip at him. It plunked ineffectually off his bare chest. 

“Love your too, mom. Yeah, I’ll sleep warmly tonight. Bye.”

“Oh, you’ll be sleepin’ warm, alright.” 

“I knew you were gonna say that!”

“How could you possibly know what I was gonna say?”

The two of you returned to amicability, trading jabs and scoffs and sparkling smiles: but in your mind, somewhere in the far back, you held on to what he’d divulged in the heat and fervor of the moment. That he’d wanted to see you cum. Wanted to see it for ages. 

He’d thought about you. Like you’d thought about him. You tucked that away for later. Now, though? Now you were laughing your ass off while Eddie juggled burning-hot waffles with his bare hands before dumping them onto a plate and flapping his singed palms about like a bird. 

So. How do you ask your friend to fuck you? Turns out, sometimes, you just ask.

[trashbin-nie]

CHAPTER 3: Car Ride Home

Do NOT copy/translate my fics. Reblogs are always welcome!

TW: mild sibling violence (typical sibling things)

Summary: Rosa Winters NXT women's champion, cousin Trinity (aka Naomi), introduces her to Josh Fatu, her boyfriends brother, and they hit it off this is their story

Hehehehe, you guys commenting brings me joy! We gon’ pretend there wasn’t like a 3-week break in between here. Also, Spanish is NOT my first language. It’s also super rusty, so lmk if the grammar/sentence structure is off

Anyways, enjoy chapter 3. It's kinda short though apologies

Tags: @reignsboy19 @yana3sworld

Rosa fell asleep

Also, these two are my very first tags, so thanks, guys. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far 🥹

.

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(Josh POV)

She fell asleep.

Damn near right after her story too. 

She went to our school and had a crush on a guy who slammed her with a football during my senior year. I was on the football team, and, of course, what luck, she conveniently doesn’t remember the guy’s name! 

This has to be some sick joke.

“Hey man, sorry,” Jon said glancing back at me. I guess Trin fell asleep too, didn’t have time to notice, all wrapped in my head and shit.

“Nah uce, it’s fine. She don’ know who it was,” I shrugged and continued glaring out the window with my arms crossed.

Jon sighed and shook his head. “Lil’ bro c’mon we both know it was you. You da only one on the team that damn near murdered a cheerleader our senior year!”

“Jon, ain’t neither one of us knows that for sure. Could’ve been anyone else she talked to afterwards might not have been me. I can’t even remember,” I said waving him off. I could feel him rolling his eyes.

“Boy- You gon tell me that you don’ remember us walkin’ home after that day you sent that poor tiny girl flying off that people tower and talkin’ ‘bout “bro that girl was fuckin’ hot as all hell” and a bunch of other things? I ain’ buying what chu sellin Uce,” he said. 

“You both are real lucky that girl could sleep through a damn nuclear bomb cuz you ain’t quiet,” Trin said adjusting her position.

“Sorry Trin, but he trippin,” Jon said pointing at me.

“I ain’t trippin Jonathan,” I said shaking my head.

“You are Josh. I only brought it up cuz Jon was tellin me ‘bout it a while ago,” She said, unmoving. “I’m sorry she couldn’t remember your name, or whoever’s name if you’re insisting.” She raised her arms feeling my glare.

“Can you three musketeers shut the hell up? Some of us are trying to fuckin’ sleep in this damn car an I’m tellin you right now it’ll be all queen of hearts, hablando mal de la cabeza. Pendejas,” Rosie said groggly.

She angrily threw her pillow on my lap, ripped off her seatbelt, and slammed herself onto it on her side quickly going back to sleep.

We all froze.

“Trin… I thought you said she'd sleep through a hurricane?!” I whisper-yelled holding my arms up avoiding touching the girl suddenly sleeping in my lap

Trin stared in shock, “she's never woken up through talking before!” She yelled.

Thankfully the rest of the ride went smoothly, Trin fell asleep an hour after the fiasco, and I wasn't far behind. Jon woke us up when we arrived at the girls house.

It was a large two-story home painted white with stonework by the door and a black roof. The lights were still on when we pulled in, so someone was awake.

Jon shook Trin, waking her up.

“Oh good, the twins are still up,” she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She unbuckled and got out heading to the door, and before long two tall skinny men emerged from the house. Jon and I both slid out of the car, me more gently trying not to wake Rosie.

“Guys, this is David and Daniel, the Winters twins, and Rosie's older brothers,” Trin said.

“Sup, names Daniel, just call me Danny. I take it the ray of sunshine is passed out in the back seat as usual?” He asked, All of us nodded. “Well, David, its yo’ turn I woke her ass last time, and I'm still recovering from the  black eye.”

“I never-” David started, but after a dark glare from his brother changed his mind “ugh fine!”

David slowly shuffled his way to the back seat on the passenger side and slowly, with a shaky hand patted his sister's shoulder lightly she adjusted a little but stayed asleep  Danny rolled his eyes telling him he had to shake her harder. He looked at his twin with the nerves written on his face. 

He shoved her a lot harder and we heard a groan.

“I thought I told you that I was trying to sleep!” She groggily yelled, her brother being met with a shoe to the forehead.

“Well, you ungrateful whelp. You're home now so go to yo’ damn bed,” David said.

“Just carry me,” she said. David rolled his eyes.

“Absolutely not, you can walk in after that nice black eye you just gave me,” He said.

Rosie gave him a stank face ripping her bag from the floor, slamming the car door, and stomping up to the door.

“Damn worse than usual what did y’all do?” Daniel asked holding a fist to his mouth.

“Woke her up in the car,” Trin said, laughing as we watched a big beefy Rottweiler jump on Rosies half asleep form. “Now Dexter is all riled up.”

Jon and I shared a look.

Ain’t no one told us there was a big ass Rottweiler here!

[thesandsofelsweyr]

I have an idea similar to this prompt. (Ok, not really, but the prompt reminded me of the idea that's been rattling around my noggin.)

When Slade arrives in Venezuela with his damaged ex-Robin in tow, he orders Jay into the shower since the kid smells like dogshit. (He considered hosing the boy down but decided that was too much work when the kid’s arms and legs still functioned. Mostly.) Jay's still traumatized by the last time he set foot in a shower, and just crouches on the floor, unmoving, except for the trembling that shakes his entire frame. While the hot water floods over him, he grits his chattering teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to think of anything except the feeling of the Clown's hands all over his naked flesh again, those pasty-white fingers crawling over his skin like so many roaches skittering over a pile of trash. An hour later, long after the water turned cold, Jay limps out, covered only by a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s visibly uncomfortable—shoulders hunched, head sagging, eyes downcast behind a curtain of stringy black hair plastered to his skull, scrawny arms crossed over his gaunt chest in a futile attempt to hide his ruined body from view. The kid’s shaking like a leaf; dripping wet, yeah, but still crusted with what looks like dried blood, dirt, and probably his own shit. Goddamn it. Slade's annoyed. That pasty-faced asshole neglected to tell him that he'd have to play nursemaid or he'd have demanded double. Fast as a striking snake, he grabs the kid by the skinny arm, drags him back into the bathroom, rips off the towel, then shoves him back under the shower and turns on the hot water. The pathetic kid lets out a whimper as he stumbles to the wet floor, then he's cowering in the corner of the shower, bony knees pulled up to his chest, fleshless arms curled over his head. Hard to believe this mewling heap of skin and bones is the same loud-mouthed little prick he'd brawled with, who'd given him a bloody nose on one occasion. The Clown really did a number on this brat. Not only is he afraid of his own shadow now, there's hardly an inch of skin not marked by cuts or burns or punctures or abrasions. Slade even spotted some words carved into that skeletal torso. How long had this kid been a guest of that psycho? He idly wonders as he picks up the bar of soap and lathers the tattered oil cloth before tossing it on top of the boy. The boy jolts at that like he'd been kicked in the ribs. Slade folds his arms over his chest and stares down at the sniveling hunk of human Jell-O. "Get yourself clean, or I'm taking you out back and using the hose. Don't think you'd much fancy that." Slade waits for another "yes sir" as the boy slowly uncurls, although he'd already warned the kid to knock that shit off—he wasn't into whatever fucked up roleplay those two had going on. But a trembling hand only reaches for the cloth then starts to scrub his filthy body. Well, at least the kid's obedient.

[ladykailitha]

Royal Pain Part 25

I make two promises about the end of this chapter. It's not what it looks likes, and that it WILL be fixed in the next chapter.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8 Pt 9 Pt 10 Pt 11 Pt 12 Pt 13 Pt 14 Pt 15 Pt 16 Pt 17 Pt 18 Pt 19 Pt 20 Pt 21 Meta Pt 22 Pt 23 Pt 24

****

Steve was keeping busy. He was! Running a shop full time and his apprentices were only half way through their training, he didn’t have time to moon over Eddie.

But as much as he wanted to lie to himself he knew that there were too many times that he spent checking his phone for text messages, voicemails, and IG DMs. It was lame. And worse?

He had to watch this.

Vickie walked up to Robin. “Hey, babe. Can you show me how to do the multiple scheduling again? The time I tried, I accidentally scheduled all the way out to the year 3025. Which really, really shouldn’t be possible.”

Robin giggled. “I think they had to put in an end date and went as obscene as possible thinking that they wouldn’t have to update it in their life time.”

Vickie blushed and ran her hand up and down Robin’s arm. “Thanks for showing me again.”

Robin nearly fell out of the chair. Vickie quickly grabbed her and barely managed to prevent her from taking a nosedive.

“Right,” Robin said, ducking her head to hide her flush of embarrassment, she showed Vickie how to do the scheduling again.

He turned to Chrissy. “Please save me from this disaster, Duchess. It’s killing me.”

“You wish is my command, my liege,” she purred and stalked toward the reception desk.

Her outfit was barely this side of professional, but considering what other artist wore in their shops, he couldn’t call her out on it. It was pretty much the preppy pastel version of those other shops. Tight, light blue, skinny jeans with a baby blue tank top and white suede jacket, draped artfully on her elbows to show off her tattoos.

She leaned over the desk giving Robin and Vickie an eyeful of her perky breasts. She reached over and curled one of Robin’s loose strands of hair around her finger. Robin turned absolutely red.

‘You coming to Club Rainbow tonight?” Chrissy simpered, using the easier to say nickname for the Rainbow High Club.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she said, glancing over at Steve and then back to her. “With E–with it being so quiet lately, I figured we weren’t going.”

Chrissy smiled. “I’m always down for bright lights, pumping music, free flowing booze, and...” she leaned closer, “pretty girls.”

If Robin had been red before she positively scarlet now.

Chrissy twisted so she was leaning back on the desk. She flicked a long nailed finger under Vickie’s chin. “How about you, green-eyed girl? You coming, too?”

Everyone’s jaws dropped.

But it worked.

Suddenly Robin was tripping over her feet to say that of course she was going clubbing tonight, that of course she was. And that she was clearly out of her head to even think to stay home.

“Good,” she said, tilting her head back to look at Robin upside down. “Now convince your boy over there to join us.”

Steve gasped. “Traitor!”

Chrissy laughed. “Come on, Steve, you need to get out and feel the earth move under your feet for a night!”

His phone rang and suddenly his was on his feet in an instant.

“Hey, Eds...”

“Baby,” Eddie breathed into the phone. “You sound tired, you okay?”

“No, I’m good.”

“That’s good to hear, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “You doing anything fun this weekend?”

“We were thinking of going to the club tonight,” he murmured. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Go, have fun, babe,” Eddie said. “You deserve it.”

“I guess.”

“Hey, while I’m thinking about it,” Eddie said nervously. “Did you find someone to fill my tattoo slot?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t,” Steve replied, pained. “I wouldn’t just have someone come in and fill your spot, Eds. That’s your three hour block of time, because you’re coming back, right?”

“Of course, I am, Stevie,” Eddie said gently. “I just worry about you losing money you could be making.”

“I know it’s twelve hours I could be making more money, I know that. It’s just–”

“Hey, babe,” Eddie said. “I’m being rushed out the door. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“No, of course. Miss you lots.”

“Miss you more.”

He hung up feeling worse than before he got the call. It had only been three days, but he felt his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

He walked back to the reception area, rubbing the end of his nose. He cleared his throat. “You guys go on ahead without me tonight. I don’t feel so good.”

The three girls shared glances but nodded.

Argyle took a deep breath. “Why don’t Jonathan and I come over with pizza while the girls go to the club?”

Erica came out her room with a grin. “Did someone say club?”

Chrissy cheered. “Hell yeah, girlie. We are going to have so much fun.”

Steve thought about the offer while the girls made plans, then nodded. It was better than being alone and he was really starting to like Jonathan now that he had broken it off with Nancy.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

The entire shop breathed a sigh of relief.

The club would have been better with its loud music, lots of people, and free flowing beer, but pizza night with the guys was good, too.

“Wait!” Steve said, his brain catching up through his fog of misery. “Erica is only eighteen!”

“Buzzkill.”

*

Sunday was awful. Dustin and Suzy kept gushing about how cool it was that they knew someone who was playing with Metallica.

He was thankful when his phone rang. He walked out to the front porch to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, kid,” came the warm voice on the other end of the line.

“Wayne?” Steve looked at the time on his phone. It was a little after seven.

“I figured since we were both missing our boy, I’d give you a call.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Steve murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but yeah I guess he can’t call you if he’s on stage.”

“This is alright, yeah?”

“No, course it’s okay, I appreciate you thinking about me.”

“How have you been holding up?”

“It’s only been four fucking days and it’s liking I’m missing a limb. I can’t imagine what you felt when he moved to Indy.”

“That’s different,” Wayne murmured, “I knew it was coming. This was sprung on ya, it was bound to feel like shit. What’s eating ya?”

“God, I don’t even know. It’s just when we were finding our feet, the rug got pulled out from under us and I feel like I’m the only one that fell on my ass. And I know that’s not fair to Eddie. I get to live my dream, but he’s not allowed to live his? What kind of shit boyfriend would I be?”

“A hurt one,” Wayne muttered. “I always tell Ed when he gets like this he has two choices with me. You do all the talking and I listen. Or I do all the talking and you let my voice wash over you like a warm, comforting blanket.”

Tears slipped down his cheeks and he hurried to scrub them away.

“You talk, I just need a kind voice on the end of the line.”

Steve listened to him talk about the book club and a used car he bought recently when his truck finally gave up the ghost. He let the warm slow Southern drawl just wash over him and soothe his soul.

Finally Wayne ran out of things to talk about, but by then Steve was feeling better and they said their goodbyes.

And somewhere in Hawkins Wayne stood his kitchen with tears of his own streaming down his face, missing both of his boys.

*

Steve’s heart leapt every time he got a call, a text, a voicemail. He tried not to sound disappointed when it wasn’t Eddie. He made doubly sure he didn’t sound like that when Wayne called. They were both missing Eddie and he wasn’t about to take it out on him.

Robin was getting more and more concerned. She knew that he wasn’t sleeping, that he was barely eating enough to function and was pretty much living off Monsters and coffees too large to be sane.

She really got concerned when he ordered a six shot espresso and downed it in one gulp.

“Steve...” she said warningly.

“I took it slow like everyone wanted,” he spat out bitterly. “I respected his space and his pace. I rescued him from his evil ex. I dotted all the Is and crossed all the Ts and I’m stuck here wondering if he’s going to find someone better than me. Someone who likes metal, not just go to his concert because he’s the playing. That he’ll find another tattoo artist. A better one. One that will really let him fly. That he’ll pack up and move to LA and I’ll be here with a broken heart and shop I will learn to resent.”

“Oh.” Because what else could she even say to that. Because sure, he could do what Max did and just follow Eddie to LA, but he couldn’t do it immediately. He still had at least four months mentoring Chrissy and Argyle. Eight months on the outside. And by then what would be the point of moving out there.

If Steve was like this after a week, six months would kill him.

“You don’t know what’s going to happen,” Robin said. “You just have to trust him to talk to you and do what’s best for both you. How has he sounded when he calls?”

Steve frowned for a moment. “I guess like me, happy to hear my voice, sad that we’re apart. But there is this tiredness underneath and a hint of anger.”

“At you?” she asked, putting her arm around him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think so, but he won’t talk to me about it.”

“He probably doesn’t know how to say it,” she said wisely. “Just give him time.”

Steve nodded.

*

Steve made the first impulsive decision he’d made since deciding to be Hop’s apprentice.

He was going to get a tattoo. He made the appointment with Hop and calmly explained what he wanted and where.

Hop leveled him with a glare. “You sure you want this? You’re an artist yourself, Steve. You know how hard it is cover up a mistake. If I do this there is no going back.”

Steve nodded. “I want it because even if it doesn’t work out, even if we go our separate ways, I want something to remember him by.”

Hop took a deep breath and started his work. It didn’t take long. It was a small tattoo, simple enough in its design. He would have done it himself if Robin hadn’t stopped him.

Soon it was done and Hop scooted back on his chair. He cleaned Steve up, bandaged it, and wrapped it in plastic wrap.

“There you go, kid,” Hop said. “I hope it’s what you wanted.”

Steve nodded. “It is. I promise I won’t regret getting it.”

Hop sighed and got to his feet. “You’re smart man, Steve. A good tattoo artist, too. You’ve been through so much in such a short time. I think you need to take a break and just think. About the shop, your apprentices, your employees, friends, Eddie. Decide what you want and then go for it okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s just I’m the only full artist at my shop, I can’t take time off without closing it.”

Hop nodded back. “I’ve been there. I just worry about you.”

Steve sighed. “I worry about me too.”

*

Steve was vibrating out of his skin. The band was coming home today. He was going to see Eddie today.

But when the bus pulled up to the depot and they all filed out, there were only three of them.

Miranda and Jeff were hugging and kissing, Brian and Cecil were hugging. Even Gareth was getting swamped with hugs from his twin and mom.

But–

“Where’s Eddie?” Robin asked first. And Steve was grateful that she was there.

The other three members of the band looked at the ground, around them, anywhere but at Steve.

“He made us stop in Hawkins,” Jeff murmured and even Miranda was starting to look concerned.

“He wanted to spend a couple days with his Uncle Wayne,” Gareth said.

Steve heart plummeted to his stomach. “He’s not coming home?”

“It’s just for a couple of days,” Brian hurried to explain. “The tour just gave him a lot of things to think about.”

“Oh.”

Steve turned on his heel and ran out of the depot, shouts of his name following him out.

****

Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

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[sparkles-and-trash]

When Keigo was 16 he kept getting in trouble with his handler at the Commission and gets sent to «voulenteer» at an animal shelter.

It started when he pierced his own ears, then he dyed his hair bright red to match his wings, and when he finally got busted reading files he had no business reading his handler put their foot down.

However, Keigo was rarely allowed outside of the Commission on his own, and secretley he looked forwards to a few hours without handlers and in company of some cute animals.

He hadn’t had the chance to meet many, but he goes in with a positive attitude as always!

What he didn’t expect was just how freaking attached he would get to the little creatures.

Not just the cute puppies and kittens, but the wildlife ones who were there for treatment as well.

He cried for the first time in years when he and the vet running the shelter released a now healthy possum that he’d gotten especially attached to.

After a while Keigo was allowed to run the night shift himself, as there was nothing to do besides keeping watch, and Keigo were just two years away from being a full fledged pro hero anyways.

He’s a little nervous the first night, but he truly has no reason to, because it all goes well.

Until there is a president knock on the door, that is.

Keigo knows there could be people coming in with animals all times of the night, so he sharpens a feather and carefully opens the door to peek out.

It’s hard to see the person outside properly because of the rain and the dark, but it’s clear that whoever it is isn’t bigger than Keigo, and is holding something gently in his arms, so Keigo opens the door.

The person stumbles inside on shaky legs, and Keigo is shocked to see it’s a boy, probably around his own age, gently cradling what looks a lot like a baby racoon.

The boy himself is wearing a oversized, ragged, and most of all wet hoodie, and his skin is shockingly pale, his turquoise eyes standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin and white hair.

He was kinda really pretty.

Also really skinny, pale and shaky, but most of all, pretty.

After a little back and fourth between them, mostly consisting of Keigo trying to understand the pretty boy’s raspy, quiet voice, but after a while Keigo has the raccoon in a warm and safe cage and have called the owner of the shelter.

Just as he’s about to turn around and thank the stranger, he realizes with a sinking feeling that the boy has already left.

Luckily, it doesn’t take that long until Keigo gets a second chance.

Two nights later, a familiar knock on the door makes Keigo’s wings fluff up and he excitedly runs for the door.

Once again the pretty boy is standing there, this time he’s carrying a small cardboard box filled with way too young kittens.

«Someone just left them,» the boy says in that quiet voice of his, and Keigo’s heart squeezes.

«I got it,» Keigo say with as much reassurance he could muster, and as he took the box from the boy he noticed just how thin and freezing his hands were.

Keigo had a feeling the boy wasn’t keen on accepting any charity, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare him off again, but luckily he thinks quick.

«Could you help me with them? Just for a few hours!»

The boy looks startled, but after a few beats he finally nods.

So together, the boys carefully warm up the tiny kittens, feed them some bottled milk, and make sure there’s no visible injuries on them.

When the sun starts rising, the boy gets antsy, and Keigo tells him it’s okay if he needs to leave.

«I could use your help again tonight you know?» Keigo adds shyly as they’re about to part in the doorway.

The boy looked up trough his fringe, meeting Keigo’s eyes straight on.

«Really?»

Keigo smiled.

«Yeah! They’re a lot of work, and it gets really lonley here at night anyways.»

The boy nodded slowly.

«I’ll try my best,» he said hoarsly, and Keigo nodded.

«One last thing?» Keigo added nervously.

«Yeah?» the boy asked, already halfway out the door.

«What’s your name?»

The boy looked paniced for a second, before he whispered the answer.

«It’s Touya.»

Keigo beamed.

«Cool! I’m Keigo!»

Touya actually smiled a little at that.

«Yeah, you told me that already Birdie.»

Keigo blushed and ran a hand trough his hair.

«Heh. Right.»

Touya smiled shyly before he dissapeared into the first signs of dusk.

Keigo was already looking forward to the next night shift.

For the next few weeks the boys kept this little routine up.

Keigo would sneaking buy some takeout and insist he got too much and didn’t want to throw out the leftovers, and Touya would pretend to believe him.

They would talk about very light and unpersonal topics, but they still get to know each other slowly, and get more comfortable around each other as they work with the kittens together.

When Keigo’s voulenteer period is close to ending, he’s real sad about it.

He tried to beg his handler for more time there, but the upper heads of the Commission flat out refuse.

Keigo hated himself for waiting until the last night to tell Touya. He was such a chickenshit.

He hates himself even more when he finds a letter on the doorstep when he arrives.

The tattered envelope only has one word on it.

«Birdie ~»

Keigo takes a deep breath, and opens the letter.

«Hey Birdie.

I’m so sorry for leaving this way.

I know you know my situation better than you want to admit, and you probably know that it’s a risky one.

I won’t tell you much, for your own sake, but I needed to say thank you.

For treating me like a person, and for pretending like you didn’t know I was starving, or that I needed a safe place to spend the nights.

I’ll never forget your kindness Birdie.

- T»

Keigo’s heart breaks for a million reasons that night, for the boy without a home, for the friend lost, and for the death of the warm feelings he’d been experiencing for the first time.

For the next two years Keigo kept that letter with him, the memories of the pale boy with the pretty eyes who was his first real friend one of the reasons he got trough the last gruelig years of Commission training and hero prepping.

A bit ironic, all things considering, but Keigo had no way of knowing that, yet.

Yet.

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 2

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 2: Shopping List

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, alcoholism / alcohol dependence, parole/pre-trial release, infant / toddler, past romantic & sexual relationship implied, smut, AA meeting, flashbacks, our boy is a liar liar pants on fire, awkward conversations

Notes: So, about how long this is... WOOFTA. I couldn't cut anything, though, so whatever. Let me know what ya think! Thank you for reading!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

It was an unseasonably hot and miserable day. The morning air was already acting like adhesive on Frankie’s legs, sticking them to the varnished dining room chair. He raised a spoon to his mouth, admiring the perfect ratio of sugar-sweetened milk and Froot Loops he was able to collect. When he engulfed the spoon and squee-geed its contents into his mouth, he swung his short, skinny legs back and forth with glee. The menagerie of artificial fruit-like flavors melded with the creamy whole milk in a softened crunch. 

It was his favorite breakfast. 

His dad sat at the dining room table next to him, trying to lift the spoon to his lips. The utensil vibrated in his grip. Each time he tried to raise a bite out of the white ceramic bowl, the spoon started vibrating and thwarted his efforts. Frankie watched his father with curiosity. 

“What’s wrong with your spoon?” Frankie asked through a mouthful of cereal. 

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” was the response that came. His dad then dropped the spoon onto the tabletop with a clatter, splashing droplets of red-tinted milk. He pushed his chair out hard and stood up. The loud scratching noise it made on their tiled kitchen floor buzzed inside Frankie’s head and made him wince. 

He watched his dad’s broad shoulders as he loafed over to the refrigerator and retrieved a silver can from the door. It hissed and opened with a metallic crack.

Frankie returned his gaze to the offending spoon, squinting to see if there was some kind of kryptonian green glow to the object. There wasn’t. Like he often did, Frankie mentally reviewed the evidence he collected that supported his working theory. 

The dark, loosely curled hair. Squared jaw. Broad shoulders atop his tall, muscular frame. Disappearing for hours at a time, only to return either jubilant or so exhausted he stumbled around the house until he fell asleep. Frankie always secretly knew it was because he was out trying to save the world. 

Sure, his dad wasn’t white, or a journalist, but certainly the people at DC Comics had to conceal some parts of his father’s identity. They couldn’t name him Jose Rolando Morales outright. That would be dangerous. 

The spoon had to be contaminated by kryptonite. And those shiny silver cans held the antidote. Frankie noted that his dad brought at least one anywhere he went. Between them in their beat-up car’s cup holder armrest, lining the refrigerator door like an aluminum forcefield, in a cooler by his feet at Frankie’s softball games.

Frankie determined that the world was lousy with kryptonite radiation, so his dad had to be vigilant. 

Now, as Frankie swings his legs out of the queen-sized bed that’s temporarily his, he stares down at his own shaking hands. A burning in his chest urges him to take the antidote. To return the equilibrium within his body, consequences be damned. 

The digital clock on the desk by the foot of his bed reads 6:30 AM. The house is completely silent, just like it was when he finally fell asleep only 3 hours ago. He balls his hands into tight fists and squeezes. The tremors ripple through the clenched muscles of his forearms. 

Frustration twists through his veins as he stares down at them. He gets to his feet and takes two strides across the cramped room to the dresser, where he fishes out a clean pair of boxers. The floor tracks his footsteps with groans and squeaks as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

He flips the shower on HOT and steps into the water. The pin-sized streams pelt him and roll down his body in sheets. His palms press against the wall and he leans over into the scalding onslaught. He savors the way it stings his skin, leaving him red and buzzing. 

The water swirling down the drain entrances him. Drowns out the roar of his mind and body begging him for a drink. Temporarily stuns the overwhelming need that burns through him hotter than the steaming water. 

A knock at the door snaps him out of the hypnosis. He shakes his head and picks up the bar of soap, “One sec.”

When he emerges, wearing only the clean pair of boxers he brought with him, a cloud of heat and condensation follows him into the hallway. You’re leaning against the wall, crossing your legs, wiggling in place to keep from pissing your pants. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, glancing up at your face just in time to catch your eyes wandering down the length of his body. Your cheeks start to flush when your gaze catches his. You push past him and slam the door behind you. 

It reminds him of the way you looked at him when you met. Then, too, your gaze lingered long enough for him to catch you. You introduced yourself, all tongue-tied and flustered, desire written across your face in bold type. 

He had to remind himself to behave. To ignore the tingle of temptation settling at the base of his spine. That’s never really changed when it comes to you, though, has it? 

A smirk tips up the corner of his mouth as he pads through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into his bedroom. He gets dressed and returns to the kitchen, where he finds you pouring coffee into two ceramic mugs. You take one and breeze past him into the living room. The one you leave behind is obviously for him. It’s black and you leave ample space for his jittery hands to slosh coffee around without spilling over the sides. 

Although, he can’t prove that this is why you started leaving a large gap of space when you pour his coffee. You’ve never talked to each other about the shakes, you’ve never asked if it’s easier for him that way, or anything. One day he was struggling to perform this usually mindless task without spilling hot coffee all over himself, and the next you started leaving space in his mug. 

It could just be a coincidence. But he doubts it. 

Like you do every morning, you set the steaming mug down on your cheap, black coffee table and sink into your hand-me-down couch, all scrunched up in a ball with your ankles crossed and thighs close to your chest. You pull out a notebook and pen and start making lists. Your plans for the day. He settles at the opposite end of the couch and scrolls through the news on his phone. 

Neither of you say anything until you finish your second cup of coffee. This is usually when it’s safe to start speaking. 

“What’s in the books for today?” he asks. 

“Well,” you start, tapping your pen against the notebook, “It’s the, um, family dinner tonight. So I was thinking of getting stuff to make lasagna.” 

A smile stretches across his face. He raises his eyebrows, “Lasagna? You know it’s just the two of us, right?” 

You tilt your head and glare at him, “So?” 

“That’s an insane thing to make for two people,” Frankie snorts. 

“Ok, well,” you roll your eyes, but he sees the beginnings of a grin on your lips, “I happen to know that you love lasagna,” your eyes flick to his for an electric jolt of a moment, and your face deepens a shade. You drop your gaze to the notebook with a shrug, “And we’ll have hella leftovers.” 

A warmth radiates across his chest. It spreads to his face in a smile as he nods, “Need help with anything?”  

“No, that’s ok,” you assure him, shaking your head. 

“You sure? I have nothing else to do today,” he offers. 

Your eyebrow quirks and you tilt your head to the side, “No other options, might as well hang out with me?” 

Frankie frowns, “Whadda you mean?” 

You just chuckle and shake your head, glancing away, “Nothing, it was a joke.” 

His eyes follow you as you stand up and tiptoe through the kitchen to refill your coffee mug. When you return, you fold your legs up in front of your chest and balance your steaming coffee cup on your knee. Something about your “joke” feels like a rock in his shoe. 

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asks directly, tapping his fingers to the tops of his thighs. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Yes,” he states. This leaves no room for speculation or insinuations on your part. 

“Alright,” you shrug. A satisfied smirk plays on your lips, “Lemme finish this cup of coffee then we can go to the store.” 

Frankie trails behind you, leaning onto the shiny plastic handles of the shopping cart in aisle 5. Its wheels squeak across the low rise carpet defiantly. Holding your grocery list scrawled on a frayed notebook paper in one hand, studying a can of tomatoes in the other, you don’t notice his eyes drifting up and down your body with admiration. 

It’s been difficult to resist this temptation. Old habits die hard and all that. He finds his gaze lingering on you frequently, unable to stop his mind from getting swept up in a tidal wave of memories. It doesn’t help that the two of you have walked these same grocery store aisles dozens of times. 

The first time feels like a lifetime ago. You were poking around the kitchen, going from the fridge to the cupboards, then from the cupboards to the fridge, sighing quietly to yourself. He watched you out of the corner of his eye as he fed Sarah a bottle, amused at how you hovered around the doorway between your respective rooms, seemingly trying to decide whether or not to approach him. 

When Sarah slurped down the last of her formula, he stood up to burp her over his shoulder, giving her soft, encouraging pats on the back. You were still standing in the middle of the kitchen, scrunching your face up at the recipe on your phone like it was a puzzle. 

“Need help finding anything?” Frankie stepped onto the fake oak wood linoleum of the kitchen. 

Your eyes flicked to his, face flushed hot like he pantsed you instead of asked you a question. He couldn’t help but notice the way your gaze dropped to his mouth, or how your tongue darted out to wet your lips before you responded, “Um, yeah, sorry. The recipe calls for milk, I used the last of it earlier today. I was looking for a substitute, but, um, I don’t think there’s anything else I can use.”

“Ok,” he nodded, “Did you want to make something else?”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip and worried away at it. You pressed your eyebrows together, inquiring, “Would Mrs. Morales be upset if I made something different?” 

Frankie frowned as he thought about this, considering how fickle his wife can be. Case in point, she insisted that you stay and make dinner while Frankie watched Sarah instead of delegating both tasks to him. This resulted in them paying you to be there for two hours longer than he thought was necessary every day. 

“Or we could go to the store? ” he proposed. 

“Oh, you don’t have to pack Sarah up, I can just go-”

“Let’s all go,” he suggested, switching Sarah to his other shoulder, “I have to get some formula and a few other things anyway.” 

“I could, um, stay here with her, too,” you covered your mouth as a nervous chuckle escaped it, “You don’t have to-”

Sarah released a loud belch and spit up onto Frankie’s shoulder. He groaned, then grimaced at the sour scent that wafted into his nose. 

You burst out laughing. The sound was melodic and bright, and he’s pretty sure you snorted a little. A genuine smile broke out on his face as he handed his daughter off to you and went to change his shirt. 

By the time he returned, you were crouched in front of the car seat, buckling the five-point harness over Sarah’s small body, cooing and babbling back and forth with her. From his vantage point, he could see the white lace of your underwear peeking out over the top of your jeans. 

He let his eyes linger on them, imagining how you would look wearing that pair of panties alone. He wondered what they smelled like. What they tasted like. 

All the blood in his body rushed to his dick. You leaned over further to tighten the straps, exposing more of the white lace. His tongue ran along the seam of his lips. 

How damp could he make them before peeling them off your body? Judging by how starry-eyed you got around him, it wouldn’t take much for you to saturate the delicate fabric. 

“Ready?” you stood up and swung Sarah’s diaper bag over your shoulder. 

He shook the filthy thoughts from his head and rubbed his hands together, “Rock ‘n’ roll.” 

You picked at your fingernail polish the entire drive. Avoided looking anywhere but out the passenger’s side window. He snuck glances at you, despite the sirens going off in his head, warning him to keep his distance. 

When he parked the car and went to get Sarah’s car seat out of its base, you came around to the door and pulled a tangle of thick navy blue fabric out of the diaper bag. 

“I can wear her so we don’t have to lug around her car seat,” you mumbled. 

He furrowed his brow, “Wear her…? What is that?”  

“It’s a babybjörn! You haven’t used this yet?”  

“I have no idea what that means,” he chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. 

“It’s, um… it’s like a kangaroo pouch,” you held the strappy contraption up for him to see, “You wear it and then put her in it and you can carry her around hands free. She loves it.”

He nodded, “Oh. That’s pretty neat.”  

“Do you wanna try?”

You held it out to him, and he accepted it, only to inspect it at arm’s length like the foreign object it was. 

“Here,” you laughed and took it back, rearranging it until there were two definable holes to slide his arms through, which he did. 

“Um, ok, turn around.”

He spun and faced the opposite direction, letting you fasten the device from behind. 

“How the fuck do you do this alone?” Frankie muttered, holding his arms out to the side as he turned around and inspected the completed product. 

You didn’t answer him, just retrieved Sarah from her car seat and helped get her situated in the baby carrier. Once she was nestled into it, and he was tummy-to-tummy with her, she looked up at Frankie with her big, dark eyes and smiled wide, showing off a single pearly white tooth. 

“See? Look at how happy this sweet lil baby is,” you cooed, booping Sarah’s nose with your index finger. Inadvertently, you laid your head against his arm when you did this. Frankie felt his lungs expand and his skin tingle. Those sirens started going off again. 

Sarah blew a raspberry in response and squealed in delight. 

He pushed around a shopping cart behind you, tossing things in as he went along. Sarah cooed happily and watched the world around her with amazement. 

Every once and a while, his eyes caught yours and held your gaze just long enough to make his heart skip a beat. Each time, you got flustered and looked away. He always thought you were attractive and found it cute how obvious your crush on him was. It was flattering. 

But that trip to the store was the first time he knew he fucking wanted you. 

Is that why you insisted on coming to this store today? Going out of your way just to plague him with the reminders of how things were? To show him how your relationship has weaved into so many fucked up directions, neither of you know where you are on the map? 

“Daddy!” 

The sound of Sarah’s voice yanks him from his thoughts. His gaze flicks to you just in time to see your eyes widen in panic at what’s behind him. You step towards the cart and toss in the can of tomatoes. 

Frankie turns around and sees Angelica, shoulders squared and expression steel as she approaches. His face breaks out into a wide smile as his eyes land on Sarah, who has no idea what “dynamics” or “tension” mean or how they could possibly make a difference between her and her daddy. Her dimpled smile when he makes eye contact with her is quite possibly the only thing that has given him hope in the past week. 

“Mi princesa!” he exclaims, abandoning the shopping cart, gravitating towards his family. Sarah claps her hands together and extends her arms to Frankie. He plucks her from the cart and holds her on his hip. 

“What’re you doing here?” Angie spits. His eyes flick to hers and he shivers at how cold the glare is. It always amazes him how she can make her golden brown eyes somehow seem icy. 

“Just getting some groceries,” he shrugs, then looks at Sarah, “How are you, sweetheart? I miss you.” 

“Frankie, put her back,” Angie demands. 

Her voice is low and serious, but when he meets his daughter’s ecstatic gaze, he shakes his head. He tears his eyes away to level them at his wife, “I’ve been trying to set something up so I can see you two. Have you seen my texts?” 

“Yep,” Angie responds. 

Frankie stares at her expectantly. 

She stares back, unflinching as she states, “I don’t want Sarah to be around her .” 

“She doesn’t-“ he takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes, “I can go wherever you want. She doesn’t have to go there.” 

Angie purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything. 

Frankie clenches his jaw, then sighs, “We’re not seeing each other, Ang. I swear. She’s my roommate. That’s all. Things have been over with us for a year. I’m still in this with you.” 

She scoffs and folds her arms across her chest, “Who says that I’m in this with you? ”

“N-nobody,” he stammers, “I just- I don’t know, is that what you really want? To just throw this all away?” 

She’s silent as she contemplates this. Her stance and features soften. 

“I love you, Ang. I love our life together. And,” he presses his eyebrows together and takes a step towards her, “Listen, I- I know I fucked up. But this living situation is a means to an end. Honest. I still wanna be with you.” 

She studies her husband and their child, then sighs, arms going slack at her sides, “Are you doing anything tonight?” 

He turns this question over in his mind a few times. Yes, he does. The first of Ralph’s prescribed “family dinner” with you. The phrase feels like a betrayal to his wife and daughter. Isn’t it just as important, if not more important, that he try to put his life back together with his family? 

“I have a Sunday night meeting,” is what he tells her, glancing behind his shoulder instinctively to see if you’re within earshot. The aisle is vacant, so he turns back to Angie and shrugs, “But I can see if I’m able to skip it.” 

“Ok,” Angie allows one corner of her lips to flick up into a smile, “Come over for dinner.” 

“Yeah?” he grins, looking over to Sarah, “Want me to come and have dinner with you, Princess?” 

She just giggles in response, her deep brown eyes meeting his with glee. 

“What time?” he asks Angie. 

“5:00,” she smirks, “Does that work?” 

“It’s a date,” Frankie beams in response. 

“So, just to be clear,” you itch your eyebrow and sigh, “You’re blatantly disobeying Ralph’s request for us to have family dinner-“ 

“But for dinner with my actual family,” Frankie interrupts as he leans the passenger’s seat back a bit, crossing his ankle over his knee. He presses his fingers to his lips and looks out the window. 

“So I just got all this shit for nothing?” 

“I don’t want to fuck this up with her,” he tells you, casting a hopeful glance your way. 

It meets your eyes, but you look back to the road and shake your head slightly. 

“What?” he asks defensively. 

You scoff and shake your head harder now, then roll your eyes, “I just…” 

He waits for you to continue, but your teeth catch your bottom lip and your face softens into a sadness that feels like a punch in his gut. 

“Nevermind,” you mumble under your breath. 

The rest of the drive home is quiet and awkward. After you pull into the garage, you kill the engine and practically sprint into the house. He grabs all the flimsy plastic bags from the trunk of your car and brings them inside the house, dropping them in front of the fridge before knocking on your closed bedroom door. 

“What?”

Your voice wavers, regardless of how abrasive you try to make it sound. 

“Can I come in?” he requests. His hand rests on the doorknob, waiting for your permission. 

From behind the door, he hears you sniffling, but you don’t answer him. Stomach acid starts to bubble up inside his throat. When he knocks on the door again, and you spit, “Oh my god, what? ” 

“Do you want me to see if Ang will do dinner a different day?”

“I don’t give a shit what you do, Francisco.”

His eyebrows raise and he blinks at the door, knowing damn well that phrase means exactly the opposite of what you’re asserting. With a small sigh, he pulls out his phone and sends a text to Angie, explaining that his PSO told him the meeting was mandatory, then asks to reschedule. 

“Ok, well,” he hollers towards your door from the kitchen, as he unpacks the groceries you just bought, “I’m gonna start making this, then.” 

You don’t respond, so he eggs you on further, “Do I defrost some hamburger for the sauce?”

Silence. He grabs a 1-pound chub of ground beef from the freezer and sets it down on the stovetop with a clunk . 

“Oh, and for the sauce, do I just add Italian seasoning to the tomatoes and cook it?”

He casts a glance to your closed door. Nothing. 

“You put the noodles in uncooked, right? I don’t need to boil them?”

A moment later, the door swings open and you come into the kitchen shaking your head, “I swear to god, Frankie-“

His face breaks out into a satisfied grin and you meet his eyes. Yours are swollen and wet. You fold your arms across your chest. 

“I rescheduled with Ang,” he explains, “We’re gonna get together on a different day.” 

You nod solemnly, then avert your gaze to the stove and sigh, “You can’t just set frozen meat on there to defrost, it’s gonna bleed all over the place.” 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“And I got Italian sausage, it’s way better than hamburger in lasagna,” you smirk and raise an eyebrow at him, unfolding your arms to put the frozen chunk of meat back inside the freezer, “Get the saucepan, I’ll show you how to make it.” 

“Saucepan?” his forehead wrinkles in confusion. 

You snort and shake your head, “Absolutely hopeless.” 

“Holy shit,” Frankie groans. The dining room chair squeaks as he stretches out, “That was so good. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you flash him a close-lipped smile and push the remaining lasagna around your plate. 

Both of you have avoided the open and honest communication Ralph had assigned for as long as possible. Now it’s the only thing left on the agenda. Frankie’s chest tightens as he tries to think of what to say to you. The scrape of your fork against the dinner plate is sandpaper on his spine. It makes his ears itch. 

You clear your throat and set your fork down, then turn to him. Your eyes are dull and overcast, lips all puffy and full of color as a result of your anxious biting. He resists the urge to brush his thumb against your cheek and feel your warmth. 

A deep breath expands your lungs, then you croak, “I hate that I’m always your backup plan.” 

The words hang in the air as they seep into the folds of his brain. 

Frankie shifts in his chair. Its squeak breaks the uncomfortable silence in a way that somehow only makes it more unbearable. He was expecting your anger. Bracing for it, really. But this? This vulnerability you volleyed into his court? 

It makes his heart pound heavy in his chest. Wriggles between every vertebrae down his spine. Settles in his stomach like lead.

He shakes his head in protest, unable to stop the lie from crossing his lips, “You are not always my backup plan.” 

The statement coats his mouth with a slimy residue. 

Your shoulders slump as you deflate, eyes glazing over with disappointment. You drop your gaze to study the plate in front of you, chewing on your bottom lip. Then you take another deep breath and push your chair out behind you. You stomp off to your bedroom and slam the door. 

He sits for a while in silence, waiting for you to return. When it’s obvious you’re committing to your bedroom isolation, he clears the table and washes the dishes. 

While drying his hands on the dish rag over his shoulder, he walks back to your bedroom and holds his ear to the closed door. Sniffling and sobbing cuts through the quiet periodically. His jaw gnashes back and forth as he stands with one knuckle cocked against the door, contemplating whether or not to knock on the door and apologize. 

“My name is Frankie and I’m an alcoholic,” Frankie drones. The metal folding chair squeaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

The chant echos around the church basement from the circle of his fellow miserable fucks: Hi, Frankie. 

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure what to-” he presses his mouth into a flat line and looks to the ringleader, David, for assistance. 

Frankie surmises that David could be a middle school principal if he isn’t already. He looks like he once had a full head of short brown hair, but his hairline is now receding and peppered with grays. He’s clean shaven, wearing a white long-sleeved dress shirt, yellow tie, and khaki slacks. His cadence is diplomatic and metered with a southern coastal drawl. 

David frowns and crosses his long legs while responding, “You can talk about how long it’s been since you drank, what brings you today, where you’re at in recovery. Whatever you want to get off your chest.” 

Frankie raises an eyebrow and rubs a hand over his face, then brings his palms to his thighs where his fingertips thrum nervously, “Ok. Um, well, I haven’t drank in a week and a half. But I want to. It’s all I wanna do, if I’m being honest. Everything is such a shit show right now. I don’t even know where to start. My wife threw me out last week after I was arrested,” he pauses and thinks about that assessment, then tilts his head to the side, “Well, I guess, it’s not really the arrest. The person that I’m staying with, we have a history, and, my wife-” he clamps his mouth shut in frustration. Why can’t he explain this? 

“It’s… complicated. Anyway, Two weeks ago, everything was fine, now it’s like my whole world is flipped upside down. I’m out on bail, can’t drink, facing a felony, living with my ex, and my wife is probably filing for divorce. I fucking-” he stops and looks at David, “Sorry, can- can I swear?”

David shrugs, “Go ahead, bud.” 

“I fucking hate it. And I have to go to these meetings three times a week, call my PSO every day, always talking about what’s going on in my life and what I’m feeling. Everyone always asking what I’m fucking feeling . And I have no goddamn idea how to answer. I’ve never had to fucking do this before. I fucking hate it, it’s bullshit,” he finishes, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his mouth before one more, “Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize. Thank you for sharing,” David nods with a calming smile that surprises Frankie, then looks around the circle, “Who else would like to share?” 

While waiting at a bus stop, Frankie stares at the bar across the street. He tries to calculate the odds of him getting drug tested within the next few days.Fuck, it would be good to get lost in a whiskey haze. A small vacation from his mind. 

Maybe just one. 

The bus roars down the street, right on time, pulling him from the temptation of those neon lights. He stands up off the bench to meet it. 

After scanning his bus pass, he searches for a place to plant his ass, settling on a window seat he doesn’t have to share with another person. A lanky, pale twenty-something man sitting in front of him starts digging through a crinkly McDonald’s bag. The deep fat fried scent of french fries wafts back into his face and his stomach growls in protest. 

While the city of Kissimmee passes by his window, Frankie wonders what you made for dinner. Whatever it is is probably better than McDonald’s french fries. Even if it’s just leftovers from last night. The past week has reminded him of what a good cook you are.  

And, god, he misses his daughter. His house. His truck. His bed. His wife. But to be spending time with you again, shooting the shit while you occupied your hands preparing dinner… It was good. Reminded him of those first few months, after you came out of your shell around him, before he kissed you for the first time. 

You hadn’t yet found out that he’s a fuckup. He would talk you into having a beer with him while you cooked. The timid exterior would melt away into the smartass he came to know and love. 

Maybe he should have just left you alone. Let you do your job. You would’ve never set up a prepaid calling account so you could accept collect calls from county. He would have never broken your heart. 

His stop comes up, so Frankie pulls the cord and gets to his feet. Before he hops off and starts towards your place, he thanks the bus driver. The evening air is soupy hot and he regrets not asking you to just pick him up from the meeting. Although, he never gathered the courage to console you last night, so you probably don’t want to do him any favors. 

He walks a few blocks, until the little tangerine orange house comes into view. The weight in his chest settles down further with each step. He wants a drink. He wants to go home. Not this one, though, the real one. 

This is fucking bullshit. 

Frankie opens the front door to find you curled against the couch, swiping through tinder on your phone as Friends plays idly on the TV. A nonsensical pang of jealousy stabs through his guts when you swipe right on Rory, 32, who’s posing shirtless next to a surfboard. What the fuck kind of a name is Rory, anyway? 

“Hey,” he calls to you as he kicks his heavy work boots off onto the shoe tray. 

“Hey,” you glance at him through your tortoiseshell glasses, then up at the TV, clicking the phone screen off as you tuck it away under your leg. You’re wearing a pair of floral cotton pajama shorts that have to have just a 1-inch inseam. The swell of your ass peaks out the bottom. Your hard nipples are outlined against your tight gray tank top. 

He remembers how soft and warm your skin was against his. The quiet little moans you made when he kissed your neck. The things you would whimper against his mouth you were alone behind locked doors. 

“I heated up some lasagna for dinner,” you inform him without looking up. 

Frankie glances from the kitchen, to you. He thinks about the way the two of you left off last night, then plops down on the couch, “Listen, um, I wanted to tell you...”

You slide your eyes from the TV to his face, then tilt your head in question. 

“I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” he looks down at his hands as they wring together, “And everything that you’ve done for me in the past. You’ve always been just… fuck, so great,” he taps his fingers to his lips and shrugs, “I don’t deserve you.” 

The corners of your mouth upturn into a peace treaty, “I appreciate you pulling glass out of my foot.” 

“Anytime,” he thrums his fingers against the top of his legs, then turns to you, “I’m getting you LED bulbs, though. Can’t believe you’re still using incandescent. That was your first mistake.”

“Wow, that is the most dad thing you could possibly bitch at me about,” you deadpan, then snort as you turn your attention back to the TV. 

“How is it healing up?” he asks, ignoring your comment as he tilts his head at your feet. 

“Fine,” you assure him, lifting your foot to show proof.

“Let me see” he hums, wrapping his hand around your foot and pulling it closer for inspection. The gasp of air you intake when he touches you is almost undetectable, but he notes it. Arousal pricks his skin when he realizes he should stop. Those old, familiar sirens start going off in his head again, warning him to proceed with caution. 

But you’re sitting there looking absolutely fucking irresistible. It’s killing him. The subtle rumblings of lust in his belly, and in your quiet little gasp, stick to his insides and prod him on further. 

“Oh yeah,” he mumbles, running his thumb over the elevated patch of skin that’s now sealed, “Looks way better.”

You start to giggle and pull your foot back. His eyebrows raise and he seizes it, a wide smile transforming his eyes to crescents, “Oh, are you ticklish?” 

The pads of his fingers trail up the sole of your foot and you start laughing this fucking champagne laugh, all sparkling and effervescent. You writhe and scoot closer. Your hands fly to his wrist as you whine through your rosy-cheeked laughter, “You know that I am, Frankie!” 

And your body is wiggling closer still, and you’re smiling and laughing, squealing breathlessly, “Stop- please stop-”

It’s almost the same cadence as the breathy moans you’ve huffed against his lips countless times, “don’t- don’t stop- ”

You go on the offensive, releasing his wrist so your fingertips can graze against his rib cage. God damn you, the tickle creeps across his ribcage, making him giggle, quickly escalating to a howling laughter when you continue. He lets go of your foot and grabs your hands, pulling them away from his sides, but the onslaught continues when you swing your leg over his lap. Your knees settle on either side of his hips when you wriggle one hand away and go back for more. 

Fingertips in his armpit, sending shockwaves of laughter through his body until he throws his head back and his hat falls off. He opens his eyes and you’re straddling him and smiling and laughing, and your gaze catches on his. 

Chests heaving, tears of laughter streaming down your cheeks, hips pressed together so close that there’s no way you don’t feel how fucking hard he is right now. The urge lingers for just one second before he acts, pressing his lips to yours. 

Your sweet, soft lips respond, kissing back with urgency. He abandons his attempts to pull your hands away from his body. Instead, his grasp drops to your waist, pulling you closer. You bring your fingertips to his scalp and rake them through his hair. A shudder rolls down his spine. His hips jerk against yours. 

His lips part and your tongue rolls against his, hands cradling his head, pulling his hair into your fists. The power in your kiss tugs at the edges of him. He bites back a moan and tightens his grip on your waist. His hands slide up the shirt clinging to your chest, cupping your breasts, thumbs rolling soft across the hard buds. You gasp in response, but don’t stop kissing him, even when your breath becomes labored and sweet little whimpers bubble from your lips onto his. 

You start to grind against him, a sliding scale of pressure along the length of his cock, sending his heart racing and body tingling. You part the kiss to throw your head back and face the ceiling, panting and whining as you rub yourself against the zipper of his jeans. The loss of your lips sends him reeling. He wants to taste you, and brings his mouth to your nipple to fulfill the need. 

You moan when his tongue draws wet circles on the hardened bud, and look down to meet his eyes with a smoldering gaze, lips puckered, dragging your fingernails through his hair, nodding down at him enthusiastically, never ceasing the steady rhythm of dry humping. He switches sides to tease the neglected breast, and he can feel your body shudder at the stimulation. Your hand tugs on his, guiding it to your mouth. Soft, humming lips wrap around two thick digits. You rut them in and out of your mouth, dragging moisture out with each thrust, soaking his fingers with your saliva. 

He throws his head back against the couch, groaning through gritted teeth as the desire stoked in his abdomen becomes unbearably tedious, “I wanna fuck you, baby, please.”

You take fingers from your mouth, then bring those puffy, swollen lips to his ear and purr, “Then fuck me, Francisco.” 

His breath hitches as the command slithers around inside him, sticking to the most primal of instincts and dragging them out to play. He buries his hand in your hair and grabs a fistful, pulling your head back to expose the column of your neck. He drags his tongue up your neck, relishing the salty bite of your sweat, then husks, “Take off your clothes, sweetheart.”

You stand on shaky legs. Both of you pull your clothes off, piling them on the living room floor. Then you climb back onto his lap, knees settling on either side of his hips. 

He drinks in your form, eyes drifting up your skin until he meets your gaze. Your lips press against his for a languid kiss as you lower yourself down, tip of his cock dipping into your hot, tight cunt. His head rolls back against the couch, sensitive nerve endings along his length firing on all cylinders you work yourself open, engulfing him inch by inch, breathy moans falling from your lips. 

His hands find the soft skin of your hips and he spurs you on, guiding you to roll your hips on his, setting a steady, luscious pace, filling his center with ecstasy with each gentle thrust. He groans, “You’re so fucking tight , holy fuck- Look so fucking good riding me, baby.”

Your eyebrows draw together and you moan at the praise, bpm of your hips increasing just enough to stoke the fire inside and break him out in a sweat. You lean forward to take his lips in a kiss, running your tongue against his, passing whimpers back and forth between your mouths, reveling in the blissful ache of your bodies sliding together. 

He runs a hand down between your pumping thighs and starts drawing easy, slick circles around your swollen clit. You respond with a guttural moan, arching your back towards him, hands pressing against his thighs for support as you rut up and down his slippery cock. 

“That’s right, sweetheart- Jesus Christ - you feel so fucking good,” Frankie babbles. 

Your eyebrows crease together and you look down at him, nodding with your lips pouting into an O as you whimper breathlessly, “So fucking big, you stretch me- can’t take it all- ”

He nods with a moan and undulates his fingers faster now, “You can take it baby, I know you can. You can do it.”  

You bite your lip and bury him to the hilt, pulling a choked sob from both of your throats. Ecstasy fills his vision with stars as you find a rhythm sliding your cunt down his shaft until he disappears inside you. He grits his teeth, “Fuck yes- take that cock, baby, just like that-“ 

Your body starts to quiver and your moans grow more frantic. You fold over and press your lips to his, sloppy and dazed, whimpering, “Fuck me, Frankie, please- give it to me-“ 

“You want me to give it to you, hmm?” he pants and brings his hands to your hips, digging into the soft skin so hard his knuckles tinge white. 

You nod, grabbing onto his shoulders with the same ferocity, then growl, “Fucking give it to me.” 

Holding your hips down, thrusting into you deep and hungry, ripping a moan from the back of your throat, he grunts, “Is that what you need, baby?” 

An airy whine escapes you and your face contorts with pleasure, “Yes- yes, fuck yes-”

“Sweet girl wants to get fucked hard, is that what you need?” His words surface from the most depraved part of his brain as he sets a brutal pace.

Your beautiful face gets hot and flushed, breath coming in frantic gasps against his mouth, “Fuck yes- fucked hard- you fuck me so good-”

“Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Hmm?” he pants, then groans into a kiss on your lips, wet and heavy, vibrating against him as your body bounces in time with his thrusts. 

You nod frantically and your fingers dig into his shoulders deeper. His muscles start to tense as your sounds and movements seem to disappear, just a shattered inhale with your face all twisted up with pleasure. Then your body seizes, quivering and shaking as you release a strangled moan, convulsing around him. 

“That’s it, baby, cum for me,” he rasps, not letting up in his tempo as he works you through the orgasm. The tingling spreads at his core, overtaking his body, pushing him over the edge. His hips snap up into you, painting your walls with his cum. 

You climb off of him and lay back on the couch, ragged breath and limp noodle body. His head rolls back and his body sinks into the couch as the feel-good chemicals make their way through his system. His heaving chest settles, madness draining from his psyche, replaced by a calmness. When he looks over at you, you meet his dazed smile with pained eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile falling into a frown. 

You sit up and grab your shorts, shoving your trembling legs in, one after the other, muttering to yourself, “Exactly what I told myself I wouldn’t fucking do.” 

“Hey- it’s ok-” he sits up and places a hand on your forearm, which you rip away immediately. 

“Don’t- ok? It’s not ok,” you snap, pulling your shirt on. You sniffle and hide your face behind your hair as you frantically search for your phone.

“I won’t tell Ralph-”

“It’s not about that and you fucking know it,” you grind out, then growl, “Where is my fucking phone?!”

He shakes his head as he slides his boxers back on, standing to pull them over his hips, “It’s really not a big deal, sweetheart.” 

You throw your hands up in frustration, then stand on your toes, pointing an accusing finger at his face as you yell, “It’s not a big deal to you! That’s exactly what the fucking problem is! You-” your face crumbles and tears well in your eyes. Your shoulders slump and your bottom lip quivers, but you meet his eyes and sob, “You know how I fucking feel, Frankie. And you’ve made it clear that you don’t feel the same way. And I just keep- fuck ,” you lower your face to your hands, drawing shattered breathes. 

His chest aches like it’s raw. When he swallows, the muscles in his throat feel swollen and thick. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss your tears away. He wants to take back all the times he told you no. 

No, I can’t be with you. Not like that.  No, I won’t leave her.  No, I don’t love you. Not like that. 

But he’s not going to do that. It wouldn’t be fair. What he told you was the truth. He can’t do anything about that now. 

“Just, forget it. It won’t happen again,” you exhale a shaky sigh and run your hands through your hair, then finally spot your phone under his pants crumpled on the floor. 

He says nothing as you snatch it up and walk back to your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. 

“How did your first meeting go?” Ralph asks. 

Through the phone line, Frankie can hear him clicking his black pen, and imagines he’s sitting in his tiny white-washed office within the Osceola County Corrections Department, hovering over a notebook with the corded phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

“I don’t know,” Frankie answers truthfully, “I don’t think I’m like those guys. I really don’t think I have a problem.” 

Ralph’s sigh crackles in his ear. The pen clicks again. Frankie thinks then that it’s not a notebook that Ralph is hovering over. It’s a worksheet. A pre-printed worksheet he keeps for every call with his parolees, with little blank spaces typed at the top for Ralph to fill in the name and date. He’ll file this one away in the folder titled Francisco Morales, saving it as proof for how much progress he has or has not made when his court date comes. 

“Mr. Morales, do you know what I’m looking at right now?” 

Frankie leans back in his office chair and crosses his ankle over his knee, then thrums his fingers against the armrest, “A worksheet?” 

Ralph laughs heartily at this, “I do have a worksheet. What else?” 

Oh, for fucks sake, what is this? 

Frankie’s turn to sigh now, “I don’t know, what?” 

“Let me give you a hint: 2015, public intoxication. 2018, felony drug possession and trafficking. 2019, DUI. 2020, public intoxication and assault. 2021, public intoxication and assault-” 

Frankie gnashes his jaws together and sits up, then cuts Ralph off, “My record, I get it.” 

“How many times a week would you say you use alcohol to alleviate your PTSD symptoms?” 

“None, now,” Frank grumbles, tapping his index finger on the desktop. 

“Before your arrest, smartass,” Ralph retorts. 

“I don’t know, I had a few beers when I got home from work-“

The pen clicks. 

“How many beers? Be honest with me.”

“Six or seven, maybe more.”

“And on the weekend?” 

“I’d go to the bar and have a few drinks.”

“How-“

“I don’t know, Ralph, enough to have a good time. Eight, maybe? It depends.” 

“Would you drive home?” 

“Not every time. A friend or my wife would bring me home sometimes. Sometimes I’d walk.”

“Uh huh. And your friend, would that happen to be the woman you’re currently living with?” 

“Not… always,” Frankie lied. He remembers all the times he texted you when Angie wouldn’t pick up, when he knew the streets were ripe with police and he couldn’t risk driving home. 

“How are things going with her? Did you talk to her about how things left off on Sunday?” 

Frankie is silent as he tries to compile the right answer to this question. 

“Honestly,” Ralph tacks on to his question. 

“I think if I’m honest with you, you’re going to put a stop to all this and send me back to jail,” Frankie admits. 

“Are you drinking or using drugs?”

“No.”

“Any other crimes?” 

“No.”

“Then try me.”

Frankie gulps and stands up, moving to the corner of the small, empty office he shares with two other aircraft maintenance technicians. He speaks in a hushed tone, “We had sex last night. She said it was… a mistake. And it won't happen again.” 

“Uh huh,” Ralph clicks his pen, “And what do you think about it?” 

Frankie exhales all the air from his lungs, deflating his shoulders as he shrugs weakly, “I think it was impulsive. I had such a fucking bad day. I wanted to feel good.” 

“And did you achieve that by having sex with her?”

“No,” Frankie chuckles to himself, “No, I feel much worse now. I’m a piece of shit.” 

“Do you wanna know what I think?” 

Click. 

Frankie groans, “I don’t know, do I?” 

“Well, I’m gonna tell you anyway,” Ralph declares, clears this throat, then continues, “I think you’re in a hole. But you don’t wanna do anything about it. You don’t acknowledge it, try to get out, or nothing. You want everything to fix itself. Well, guess what, buckeroo? You gotta get out of the damn hole somehow!”

Frankie closes his eyes and his head falls back in exhaustion, “It’s such a fucking mess, though, Ralph.” 

“You’re goddamn right it is. But, the good news is, you have help. You have the AA meetings three times a week. And I know you don’t think you have a problem, but just humor me and go along with it. Do the steps. Participate,” his pen clicks once, twice, “You have a friend that has been willing to post bail for you, house you, quit drinking with you, and support you in this journey-” 

“And I fucked it up-” 

“And you need to start treating her like a person , not a doormat you can stick your dick into. Make it right. You hear me?” Ralph orders. 

“Yes, sir.”

Click. 

“And, then of course, you get to talk to me every day. And we love our talks, don’t we, Mr. Morales?” Ralph laughs. Frankie grins, but doesn’t respond. Ralph continues, “Next item on the agenda: Wife and daughter- any luck with them?” 

“Angie said I could come visit them on Saturday,” Frankie says with a tone of optimism. 

“That’s good news! When you see her, see if you can work out a consistent schedule.”  

He sighs in response, “I’ll try.”

“Hang in there, kid. It’ll get better. Trust the process.”

When Frankie gets home from work, you’re in the small galley kitchen, hovering above a scratched-up white plastic cutting board as you dice an onion. You hum along to the music playing over your headphones, bobbing your head from side-to-side in time with the rhythm. Blue flames lick the bottom of a stainless steel pan on the gas stovetop. 

Swallowing hard, he approaches you and shoves his hands into his front pockets. You don’t see him. His teeth catch the smooth inside of his cheek and bite down. He casts a contemplative glance to the front door, then back to you, before his shoulders slump and he sighs. 

Frankie clears his throat as he leans back against the counter and crosses his arms, “Hey.”

“Jesus Christ -” your body jolts upright, hand darting from the onion to clutch at your heart. You pull the headphones down around your neck and gasp, “You scared the shit out of me!” 

Your eyes only meet his for a moment before you blink and drop your gaze to the onion. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, then straightens his spine. His eyes wander to the front door again, Adam’s apple bobbing thick in his throat. 

You say nothing, just cut the white bulb down the middle, then start to dice the two halves. The sharp chopping sound pulls his attention back to you. 

“What’re you making?” he asks, peering down at the saucepan that’s heating a shiny, slick pool of greenish-yellow olive oil. 

“Spaghetti.”

He nods in acknowledgement and scratches the stubble on his neck. His mouth flattens into a straight line and he looks down to his feet, “Do… you need help?” 

“Is there something you want from me, Frankie?” you snip, shooting a glare at him before you turn your attention back to the onion. 

The words he wants to say sit at the end of his tongue but they won’t leave his mouth. His jaw clenches, as if he’s subconsciously holding them prisoner. 

You lift the cutting board and hold it above the shiny hollow of the pan. The paring knife scrapes against the rough plastic and pushes the diced onion into the oil. Steam hisses from the pan up into your face. You turn around, take two steps towards the kitchen sink, then toss the cutting board and knife into the basin. 

Its clatter ricochets off the walls and makes him wince. 

You spin around to face him with your arms crossed, eyebrows arched in annoyance, “Fine. Get the hamburger out of the fridge.” 

The onions sizzle and pop from inside the pan. Without hesitation, he nods and pushes himself off the counter, then retrieves the meat from the refrigerator, unrolling it from the butcher’s paper. He plops it in the middle of the saucepan, earning a loud hiss from the oil. 

You return with a pot of salted water and start the burner beneath it. Your arm brushes up against his and you both recoil at the contact like as if touched by a livewire. You take a sideways step, increasing the proximity between your bodies. 

Tension hangs in the air like a noxious gas. Frankie’s skin feels exposed and raw in its presence. He peaks over at you and mutters, “I’m sorry for last night.” 

You don't respond. You don't move. For a brief moment, he thinks maybe you’re not even breathing. 

Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the ground beef around the pan, then clears his throat and sighs, “We shouldn’t have, um… I mean, I shouldn’t have, y’know…” 

You blink and cross your arms in front of your chest, “Are you done?” 

A red, hot wave of frustration creeps up his spine and starts to boil in his chest. His jaw cocks to one side and his eyes flick to yours, “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Like you don’t care.” 

“Maybe I don’t,” you shrug and avert your gaze to the linoleum tile.

“Yeah, ok,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

You huff and throw your hands in the air, “So I’m supposed to have feelings but you don’t have to?” 

“I don’t not have feelings for you,” he states. His stomach flips as the admission comes out in the open. 

Your brow furrows and you tilt your head, then look up at him, searching his face. 

“But… I don’t know, I don’t think we can be… more than this. Roommates. At least not right now,” he admits. Your gaze drops to the floor again.

You’re silent for a moment, then nod, “I think you’re right.” 

Bubbles start to rise to the surface of the salted water. Frankie stirs the ground beef around the pan, flipping it to reveal gray-brown crumbles. 

The two of you sit there for a beat, both contemplating whether or not to explain your reasoning. Both of you wonder the reasoning behind the other’s conclusion.

“You want me to season this?” Frankie asks eventually. 

You nod, “Yes, please.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[junkiepunkie]

Harry Potter era Wolfstar fic excerpt.

Hey peeps, this is half a chapters worth of my Wolfstar fic for your consideration. For context this chapter is centered around the moment the Dementors attack Harry and co on the Hogwarts Express...

September 1st, 1993.

The Hogwarts express was a fascinating thing. Too large and ominously lit to be comforting, and yet it held so many comfortable memories. Remus stepped on and welcomed the escape from the bitter cold outside. It was too early for the sun to have touched anything but the hills in Scotland. He had decided to arrive at platform nine and three quarters a couple hours before even the most eager families would, 3:30am to be exact. He'd done this in his first year, been the first on the train and fallen asleep for most of the journey, and woken up to a pile of chocolate frog containers stacked on his head by a certain James potter and some slap-happy second years who'd caught onto his game halfway through. Remus beamed at the memory as it flooded him. He walked down the carriages, drumming his fingers over each and every door, stopping at the third from the end. His compartment had always been this one, the one that he swore just had better seats and a nicer handle. He slipped in, hauled his suitcase up into the storage shelf, and slid down to the window-hogging section of the blue-green backwards facing seat. 

His breath caught as he noticed the burn mark near the corner of the window. Marlene and Dorcas had a fascination with lighters in their fifth year, and had stupidly trusted Sirius to hold one while they "changed into their robes" (made out violently). God, Remus couldn't believe he was back on this train, after all these years of denying he had ever had magic, denying he had ever known his best friends. It was for Harry, he reminded himself, he had to keep Harry safe. He pulled his robe up over his head, tucking himself into it as much as possible. He ought to get some sleep in him before the train was flooded with teenagers. It was only a second before he drifted off he remembered his Walkman and headphones and discreetly slipped them on, hidden entirely by his cloak. He pressed play -already in the clutches of sleep- to a mixtape of 'oldies' rock. Moments later he was drifting off to the sweet sounds of Marc Bolan and his revolution.

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

September 1st, 1971.

Remus was jolted awake by an eruption of laughter and a gentle shower of items on his head. He sat bolt upright without hesitation.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he demanded as a swarm of kids in long robes and perfectly white shirts laughing came into focus.

At his tone alone most of the mob scattered, only the youngest looking few stayed, two of them sitting and one standing coolly in the doorway. Remus' eyes trained themselves on the least scared looking of the mob, a skinny short-ish boy with an unkempt yet somehow cool mop of black curls, round glasses, and a red and gold tie -that clearly wasn't his- on his head. 

"hey, hey, it's all in good fun mate!" the boy spoke with a middle-class London twang "it's just... right, to be fair you did fall asleep on a ten hour train ride full of teenagers."

Remus averted his gaze to the stack of items that had fallen off his head when he woke. He huffed with relief as he realised it was just empty sweets containers.

"oh. ehh... Sorry?" he offered with a laugh "you know you really shouldn't mess with strangers. I almost fucking beat you up."

The Londoner laughed, revealing dimples that seemed somewhat extra pronounced as the sun hit his light brown skin. The boy standing to the side -the one with hair like Remus' but a grin like the devils- also chuckled, but the boy directly across from him, the most chubby of the group, who's hair was chestnut and poker straight, looked scared out his wits. The Londoner noticed this and put a hand on the boys shoulder.

"You're all good Pete, he's not actually gonna punch you." he reached out his hand "i'm James potter, and this cutie is Peter Pettigrew, he's not great with confrontation."

Remus grinned, shaking James' hand firmly "noted. I'm Remus. Remus Lupin."

James smirked "well, Remus, I took the initiative to get you a couple of sweets. Didn't know what you'd like so i just got a little of everything."

He pointed to a small pile next to peter, who had now loosened up and began smiling. Remus looked in awe at the collection. 

"fuck off! How much do I owe you? cause i don't have much on me but i'll pay it back I-"

James chucked a chocolate frog at his head "don't be stupid! It's just sweets, you're not paying me anything."

Remus went to object but found himself physically unable to open his mouth, naturally he started to panic. He flailed for a few seconds before his mouth finally burst open. He gulped in the air around him like a mad man.

"Potter's rich. Don't give him a sickle." The boy -who Remus now knew from his accent was at least partly Scottish- at the door stated, his wand in his hands.

Remus stared at him wide eyed.

"what did you just do to me?!" he exclaimed "who are you??"

"what do you mean, it's just a charm- ohhh... muggleborn?"

Remus scoffed "not exactly."

"what do you mean not exactly."

"Barty-" James started

Remus shook his head. "nah, I get it. I'd want to know what that meant too. Dad's a wizard apparently but he didn't tell us, and my mums not, but also she's dead so, its not like that bit matters."

There was a moment of silence amongst the carriage before Barty spoke up again.

"right. well, sorry I brought it up. Erm... you know I hate to do this James but you know my dad and, since he might as well be a mud- a muggleborn, I'll be off." He began to walk off but then turned on his heel for a moment. "hey, scars!"

Remus groaned. A fabulous first nickname. "mmhm"

"if anyone gives you trouble the spell is Oscausi. Just point the wand at their face, and, well, you know what it does now I guess."

Remus nodded with a certain respect. He didn't know why Barty couldn't talk to him because of his heritage but he knew that the guy was alright. He watched as the Scot walked away, almost shoulder barging a smaller, long haired kid. Remus hadn't yet placed the gender,

"Black." Barty acknowledged.

"Crouch." the kid echoed, looking like they was about to fill the space Barty had left vacant, maybe even sit beside Remus. Barty put his hand out.

"A half-blood and a Potter. Your mother's still watching through the window."

The kid rolled his eyes. "and the day I find a toss to give about that birthgiving leech, i'll thank you for the heads up. Move."

Barty did as he was told and sauntered off quickly. "your funeral!"

The kid, on closer inspection, looked to be a boy. His dark wavy hair just scraped their shoulders, and his loose sleeved shirt and elegant black robes just screamed money. This kid was rich with a capital rich, but -Remus thought- he did look kind.

"Can I sit there?" he asked voice dripping with wealth, looking Remus in the eye. Wow. Remus hadn't seen eyes like that before, they were a greyish-blue but so light, yet deep. Like they were layered. The image Remus conjured in his brain for them was origami, so delicate and truthful. He nodded dumbly.

The posh kid smiled broadly. "good. I'm Sirius- ( Re d light. Screaming. Remus felt it like a bone in his cheek cracking.)  Black. And you are..."

(1996. "You were going to let him kill Snape, Padfoot! What was I meant to do!")

"Remus... Lupin. Remus Lupin."

"Cool name Lupin- ( LOONY LUPIN'S A WEREWOL-

"so, what house do you think..."

"Remus. I'm so sorry... it's the Potters. Sirius he-"

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

Remus almost threw up as he jumped out of his chair, noting only for a quarter of a second, a boy who he almost swore was James Potter. Harry, he figured, the blast from the past not helping his current situation of having his trauma unmasked.

"none of us are hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go." 

It hurt to say that name.

The Dementor stayed where it was He took a deep breath and pointed his wand, picturing James' house on Christmas, and all the laughter surrounding the tree.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" 

[preciadosbass]

9/8/24 [draft from friday — DAY OF THE TRIBUTE CONCERT!! i promise this gets interesting]

woke up at 9 watched the rest of that pierce the veil giant jenga interview while feeding boris. afterwards i got dressed into the same thing as yesterday because it was all set out [silverstein shirt, checkered black + white/black and red studded belts, knee high converse, band bracelets, diy can tab necklace, a big-ish chain, black ripped skinny jeans, danger days mcr zip up, and my pin covered backpack.]

once id done i rushed outside to cuddle with him [boris] and tried to spend as much time with him as possible before leaving. i came back inside at 10:35 and straightened my hair with the new straighteners that my hairdresser dropped off. it didn’t work even though i was doing the exact thing she had done previously when i got my hair dyed for the first time so i tried again. once that didn’t work my mum called my hairdresser and she gave me some tips but i ended up doing my hair AGAIN [11] with the old straighteners and it sort of worked, but my hair obviously looked fried.

once that was over and done with i checked on boris and made an outfit check for the fell out boy + the black charade concert. at 12 my mum handed me one of my depop packages thatd come so i opened it in my room and it was my frank iero + gerard way posters!! on the back of the frank one [showing his tattoos at the time] was a poster of the band in full; the back of the gerard photo had two extra photos of ray + mikey and text that im yet to read; and the back of a mcr poster with a little text about mcr being anti objectifying [etc] had frank explaining the meanings behind his tattoos. [photos at end]

i also took a few photos of this deceased moth my dad found for me a few months ago. i’ve been meaning to for ages because i know it’s too far gone for me to actually preserve it. because i was already ready to leave i kind of just paced around and went over to boris every now and then while watching jackass edits. i said my long goodbyes to boris and we left for the hotel at 1. i once again listened to the [unconfirmed] concert setlist on the way there. the drive was about 3 hours and once we’d eventually got to bedford we put all our stuff in the hotel room and set off to do some charity shopping [thrifting].

just like yesterday, there was only around 2 that were open and none of my family had any luck — but we did see two unopened shops and kept them in mind to possibly check out tomorrow before leaving for home. after that and briefly looking around town we went back to the hotel. my parents stayed there with me and my sister for a while until going out for dinner. while they were away, my sister connected her nintendo switch to the tv and i played a few silly games with her.

this lasted up until 7:10 when my parents got back. i hadn’t been told what time the concert was and my dad just so happened to check the time and we had to leave. thank god he checked because we would’ve missed it otherwise. we left just 5 minutes later and rushed around town. we tried to go through a shopping centre as a shortcut, but we got halfway in before we were told that the door in the direction we were heading had already been locked. so we frantically got out and started asking people where the venue was.

we did ask people earlier but nobody knew. we came across this really friendly couple that asked who were we’re going to see and i honestly thought they were about to come along. they seemed to so into the whole thing. when had thanked them and were walking off i heard the woman say something to her partner and i’m suspecting it was about both me and my dad dressing matching with our clothes. we arrived at the venue at 7:40 with quite a decent amount of time to spare. my dad asked the security woman where the best area for us to stand would be [due to our height] and she showed us to a heightened platform. we went to stand there but saw the barrier was somehow not even full.

i stood right in the centre of the stage at the barrier. i took a few photos of my place in the crowd because i’ll probably never be this close to a live band ever again and took a few selfies with my dad. the concert started at 8:10. fell out boy we’re on first and they were phenomenal. most of the stuff they played were from american beauty/american psycho so there were a few songs i didn’t know off by heart. i took lots of videos and finally had the chance to jump when ‘patrick’ jestured to. with the other two concerts i’ve been to i haven’t been able to because at cavalera conspiracy, i was seated; and at pierce the veil, i was perched on a pillar on the tips of my toes. i really liked the way ‘pete’ played bass. the guy singing as patrick also pointed at me a ton and gave me the mic for the song saturday. it was AWESOME.

here are the songs i know they played: ‘love from the other side’, ‘the phoenix’, ‘uma thurman’, ‘grand theft autumn/where is your boy tonight’, ‘a little less sixteen candles, a little more “touch me”’, ‘this ain’t a scene, it’s an arms race’, ‘saturday’ [‘gerard way’ came out for the screaming part], ‘i don’t care’, ‘centuries’, ‘thnks fr th mmrs’, ‘my songs know what you did in the dark’ [[light em up]], and ‘sugar, we’re goin down’. during the interval the person next to me complimented my dads pierce the veil shirt and we joked about it because it’s mine, he was just dressed up like me. the same person asked if i’d seen pierce the the veil and said they went to a show too. my dad also got me a pint of water and i tucked it behind the amp infront of me.

at 9:30 ‘the foundations of decay’ started playing so me + everyone else knew that the mcr tribute would be on soon. sure enough they did, in the killjoys outfits. [‘gerard’ had even put on a bright red wig] i especially loved the whole atmosphere even more when they came on. everyone got extra pumped as soon as they started playing and admittedly i did too after seeing mikey’s signature bass and the person playing his ‘role’. they played nanana first and i didn’t see in the moment, but my dad was singing along to it. at 10 there was a small interval and the band switched into black parade outfits — and OH MY GOD did ‘frank’ act so much like actual frank. nobody was really recording ‘mikey’ and when he noticed i was, he looked at me directly [a couple times] and purposely went up to front and played his bass on the speaker infront of me. also, when they played ‘i don’t love you’ ‘gerard’ came into the crowd and at one point was right behind me and i didn’t notice for ages XD

it’s magical when there’s nothing like this around your actual area and this is the closest you’ll get. seeing someone act as mikey is enough for me. the songs i know they played were: ‘look alive sunshine’ [i was full on screaming this im so surprised i didn’t mess up like i usually do], ‘nanana’, ‘this is how i disappear’, ‘the sharpest lives’, planetary [[GO!]], ‘thank you for the venom’, ‘helena’, ‘the end.’, ‘dead!’, ‘mama’, ‘teenagers’, ‘famous last words’, ‘im not okay [[i promise]], ‘welcome to the black parade’ [‘frank’ went right infront of me and pointed at my camera during this]

the concert finished at 10:30 [they took a photo of them + the crowd and mikey sat on my water lmaoa] and i had a look at the merch before realising my dad had walked off. when i found him he was asking if they had any setlists and the backing guitarist from fell out boy shook his head but he got me a black charade pick from his amp which is 100x better!!!! [photo at end] on the way out of the venue i got a picture with ‘gerard’ and went on about the pick and the bass the entire walk back to the hotel. [media of concert at end.] once we’d gotten back to our room i told mum about the concert and showed her a few videos. afterwards i noticed jackass was on tv so i watched that for a while up until 1 when i had a tiny nap.

my sister got to sleep quite quickly so after getting into my onesie i asked my parents questions about boris. my mum got mad because of how panicky i was getting but i did eventually finish and then said goodnight to boris via a picture of him while sitting in the bathtub [😭]. im not sure when i went to sleep, but i’m guessing 2:30. photos below ⬇️

have a good day/night O_o

[eddiemunsonw]

Couple retreat

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re working your usual days at a couple retreat when a metalhead catches your attention.

CW / Disclaimer: Eddie is kinda smooth - Pottery activities - smut - but also fluff - lots of flirting

Author’s note: My first Eddie Munson fic sooo please be kind!

Can also be found on ao3 under username: eddiemunsons

At your work, nothing was unusual. You saw all kinds of couples. Some fit the books how you'd expect. The cliches, Barbie and Ken type of stuff. The jock and the cheerleader. Others looked like a mirrored version of each other, opposite sex or not. Some couples were slightly more unusual, unusual meaning you wouldn’t expect them to be a couple if you saw them anywhere other than a couples retreat, for example. But, having seen a lot of those, you got used to the fact that not all couples made sense, least of all the Barbies and Kens. It enlightened you to see how two very different people complimented each other, or how others had turned into the other to the point of copying their clothing style. Or maybe they had always both worn that type of stuff. You just liked to fantasize about all those unknown worlds that you only got to see some tidbits of.

Your first workshop of the day was painting. The retreat had several activities that couples could participate in, which varied from sports, to spa treatments or creative workshops such as your own. Aside from painting, you also gave a pottery and knitting workshop.

It was a rare moment for you when a metalhead wandered inside. Not because it was a metalhead, but because you weren’t used to seeing hot guys within your age group at the retreat. He wore an all black outfit, tshirt tucked into his skinny jeans, his white shoes only matching the outfit so well because they were so dirty. His long, wavy brown hair reached past his shoulder and you vaguely noted you were jealous of his lashes. And the fact that he wore eyeliner? Hot. Not only that, but he was covered in tattoos as well. He was followed by his girlfriend, who was only a bit smaller than him with short, light brown hair. Her clothing style was the opposite in terms of tightness, as she very much seemed to prefer baggier clothing. They picked two easels next to each other near the back and you watched curiously as the man huffed his bangs upwards at something she said. They seemed to be getting along well.

Sometimes a couple retreat was used to save a relationship, other times just to celebrate it. Which one of the two it was, was always easy to spot by the amount of bickering the couples did. The sweet banter these two had was nothing of the sort. A few more people wandered in, filling up most of the seats. As you scanned the room, you happened to meet the metalhead’s gaze, who easily managed a smile in your direction. A smile so charming you needed to mentally slap yourself, reminding you of the fact that this wasn’t a single retreat. Oh, if only.

“Good morning everyone! My name is Y/N and I will be guiding you through your art journey of the upcoming two hours. In front of you there’s an empty canvas. Intimidating to most, even myself and I’ve filled lots of these bad boys.” You cringed at your choice of words when the handsome man in the back chuckled. “To start off, pick up the pencil you’ll find at your easel and draw a dot, or a line, whatever you want.”

You watched as everyone did what you suggested, some even putting a giant line all across the canvas paired with some soft giggling. A hand shot up and of course, it was him. To make it easier to address people in an easy manner without forcing the couples to have to introduce themselves at every activity, they wore name tags. Which is how you learned that the metalhead’s name was Eddie once you approached him.

“Yes?” you quipped with a kind smile, which he returned.

“I uhm, don’t have a pencil,” he said, gesturing at the empty spot where everyone else had found theirs. The girlfriend, whose name was Robin, wore an amused expression which you couldn’t quite place. You assumed she enjoyed doodling the weird little guy on her canvas.

“Oh! That’s odd… Sorry, I thought I checked everything thoroughly,” you said with an apologetic smile as you handed him the pencil you were still holding. “Here you go.” 

As he took the pencil from you, his fingers brushed yours and you felt a heat creep to your cheeks when he smiled up at you.

“Thank you,” his gaze flicked down to your own name tag as if you hadn’t introduced yourself a few minutes ago. “Y/N.”

You gave him a nod and walked back to your spot. To keep the class entertaining for everyone, you gave them several options to do. They could either try their hand at realism with a random object from the cabinet, draw the outline of their hand and decorate it however they wanted or go a fully abstract way and just draw whatever comes to mind. Everyone was free to choose whichever type of paint they wanted to use and soon most people were walking around to gather their stuff.

It wasn’t until you started walking around the room that you noticed Eddie’s gaze was following you intently. You weren’t sure who to scold harder. Yourself, for becoming flustered under his piercing gaze, or him, for devoting his attention to the wrong person. After all, his partner was right next to him. When Robin elbowed him and pointed at her painting he looked away and grinned at her creation. You missed her surprised glance at his canvas, and the elbow she gave him after he shrugged with a grin.

Occasionally you answered questions from people, usually regarding technique or they were just looking for a little nudge of inspiration. Eddie’s hand shot up again, his expression matching that of a child who got an unexpected bag of sweets. You went over to him and stood next to his easel.

“Yes?”

“Y/N?” Eddie started sweetly. “Could you…” He seemed to change his mind halfway through his sentence and got up instead, peering into your eyes as he nearly closed the distance between you two. Your eyes widened, but before you could take a step back he already sat down again. “Thank you,” he quipped. “Just needed to know the color of your eyes.”

You turned your head at his canvas curiously and noticed that he had drawn a woman. It was stylized, but very obviously based on you. Don’t blush.

“You’re painting me?” you asked in disbelief, despite the proof on his canvas being very obvious. Eddie nodded, already picking up his tiny paintbrush to add your eye color onto it.

“Yup,” he responded, popping the p, “you like?”

“It’s very good, really expressive, too,” you complimented him. It was the truth.

“Well, you are,” Eddie said with a soft smile. “It’s what makes painting you so interesting.”

To avoid any more of wherever this was leading, you moved to look at Robin’s canvas. She had decided to use her hand and was currently drawing floating astronaut cats around the elongated fingers.

“This looks so fun! You have a great imagination,” you told her with a smile. Robin beamed at your compliment.

“It started out as a happy mistake but now I’m actually pretty happy with it.”

“Happy mistakes are the most fun of all, honestly.” She nodded in agreement. You went on to watch the works of others as well, giving them tips if they were looking for help and otherwise you just complimented them on their work. Once the workshop ended, you led everyone to another room where they could leave their paintings to dry further as you needed to make room for the next workshop. After everyone left, you rearranged the paintings a little and added a group number onto the canvases so they would be easy to find later on in case one got lost somehow. When you suddenly heard the shuffle of feet, you looked up, eyes wide.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was Eddie. Robin was nowhere in sight. How long had he been standing there? Had he ever left the room? Several questions popped up into your mind but you mostly wondered where Robin was and why he wasn’t with her. Not that you couldn’t be separated from your partner or anything, but the look in his eyes simply had your alarm bells working overtime.

“That’s alright. Can I help you?” you decided to ask.

“I just wanted to say that you can keep the painting, if you want. Would be a little odd of me to keep a painting of a stranger in my house, I think,” he said with a soft smile. You partially agreed. It didn’t have to be weird, but he had definitely made it weird by making it a thing. Secondly, there was just something about the way he spoke to you, that made you overthink his every move.

“Oh, uhm, thank you! That is very sweet,” you responded politely and you really tried to ignore what him leaning against the doorpost so casually like that was doing to you.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He seemed to really enjoy saying your name, for whatever reason. You were about to tell him you had to leave, when he spoke up again.

“So… how does it feel like, being around couples all the time? Does it make you miss your partner or are you taking notes on how to keep the relationship exciting?” he asked.

“I don’t have a partner,” you said quickly. A little too quickly. His smile grew wider and he pushed himself off the doorpost.

“Oh, I see. Then how does it feel being single and surrounded by couples?”

“Sometimes, it causes longing. Other times, it feels like a relief,” you answered honestly. “How long have you been together with yours?” Curiosity be damned. Eddie looked at you for a moment as if you had grown a second head and then started laughing. It was more of a giggle. You frowned, unsure what was so funny about that.

“Rob and I? We’re friends. Her girlfriend broke up with her recently, but your cancellation policy is pretty shite so she couldn’t get the money back. She wasn’t sure what to do with it so I offered to come along, make it a fun weekend. So far so good.”

Eddie watched you carefully and visibly relaxed when you weren’t phased by the mention of “girlfriend”, and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he slowly approached you.

“Is it rare to have two single friends here? I mean, I know it’s not what it’s meant for, but… surely this isn’t the first time?”

Shaking your head, you walked around the table, creating more distance between the two of you.

“It’s not, but it also doesn’t happen often. I’m sorry about her girlfriend, by the way. It’s nice that she can do this with you instead. Our policy does suck. Don’t tell anyone I said that though, it’ll get me fired on the spot.”

“I won’t. Scout’s honor. It can be our secret,” Eddie joked, once again approaching you. This time you didn’t back away. Once you stood nearly toe to toe, he looked down at you, still wearing that enticing smile. “What’s not a secret though, is that you have really pretty eyes.”

Your face flushed bright red, no longer able to avoid the consequences. Looking for words and failing, you tried to think of something factual to say instead.

“I-- I give pottery class too. On Sundays. So. Tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled at the random information and you cringed to yourself. Way to go, Y/N, Jesus Christ. He bit down his lip as he smiled, making him all the more attractive. Damn him.

“Good to know,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you there, then. Bye for now, Y/N. My platonic partner in crime is probably waiting for me.”

“Y-Yeah. Have a good… rest of the day,” you finished lamely. With another chuckle and a charming smile, he left you alone in the room. Finally, you let go of a heap of air you didn’t know you had been holding. This was trouble. He was trouble.

THE NEXT DAY

It was embarrassing how often Eddie crossed your mind the next day. You hadn’t been able to get him out of your thoughts since the moment he left and when you saw him and Robin leave the spa dressed only in fluffy white bathrobes, it hadn’t helped at all. His hair and chest had still been damp, making him look impossibly hotter. Especially when he paired the smile he gave you in passing with a wink.

Before pottery class, you had stupidly been fixing your makeup and your hair and cringed at your reflection in the mirror once you were done. You watched the door anxiously, greeting everyone who entered the class and… no Eddie and Robin. You hated that you felt disappointed that he didn’t come. It wasn’t as if he owed it to you. To be honest you still weren’t sure what had gone down yesterday. All you knew is that he had left you wanting more.

Since it was the last class of the day you took your time cleaning up, gathering all the scraps of clay from the pottery turntables and sat down with that and your own piece that you hadn’t ended up using. You sat down behind one of the turntables and pressed your foot down on the pedal gently as your fingers worked the clay. As it slowly started to get shape you lost yourself in the process, sounds drowning out until you could only focus on the soft humming of the turntable.

“You’re really good at that.”

“Jesus Christ! Fuck!” The swearing left your lips without thinking and it seemed to amuse him even more judging by the soft laugh coming from him. Once again he was leaning against the doorpost in that sexy way. Arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side and that sneaky smile on his lips. You took your foot off the pedal, now looking at your ruined… whatever it had been. The sudden voice had caused your hands to clutch the clay and turned it into mush.

“Hello to you too,” he chuckled. “Eddie’s fine, though.”

“Alright, Eddie,” you said with a gentle smile as your nerves calmed down a little. “This is kind of just me doing my work though.”

Eddie pushed himself away from the doorpost and closed the door behind him. He walked closer to you, hands in his pockets as he looked down at your ruined handiwork.

“Sorry about that. What ya makin’?”

“Don’t know, really. A flower pot, a bowl, wherever the clay takes me,” you joked. He smiled and rested his hands on the back of his hips instead, making his shirt tighten deliciously around his chest area.

“Can you teach me?”

The question lingered for a moment while you decided what you were going to say. Teach him? Like, right now? He could’ve come to the workshop instead, technically you were off work already. It was just you and your need for reusing scraps that had kept you there.

“That’s what the workshops are for. There’s one again tomorrow morning,” you told him, briefly glancing up. Eddie’s expression was slightly unreadable, though he did form a pout at your words.

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning. We were just here for the weekend.” He stared intently at your face and it started to make you nervous, even more so when he took a step closer and reached out a hand towards your face. He swiped his thumb across the corner of your mouth, then showed you the tiniest speckle of clay that had apparently landed on your face when your hands impacted it earlier.

“Oh, thanks,” you said as you tried to ignore the heat of your cheeks. “That’s a shame, then. I hope you two had fun.” Eddie smiled softly as he flicked the piece of clay off his finger, noticing the barely there twitch of your eyebrow.

“We did, we did. Still would have loved to learn some pottery. We wanted to join, you know, but the class was already full. Robin’s enjoying a sauna right now.”

“Why didn’t you join?”

“Not really my scene,” he sighed. “I mean, none of this is, really, but saunas are where I cross the line,” he added deftly. You smiled and nodded.

“I prefer a swim over a sauna,” you shrugged. “The heat of the sauna is a little uncomfortable to me.”

Eddie enthusiastically threw his hands up at finding someone who shared his dislike for saunas.

“Right?! I’ll never forget how the first breath of fresh air felt after I got dragged into one of them by a friend ages ago. Felt like a newborn baby escaping that literal hell.” A laugh rolled over his lips, remembering the moment as he gazed towards the door in thought.

“Anyway… Since I’m here and you’re here and there’s a piece of clay between your hands that needs fixing, d’you reckon you can show me how you do it?” he asked and pursed his lips. You sighed softly, though your smile betrayed that you didn’t mind.

“Fine,” you relented. “Sit down.”

“Alright.”

You expected him to sit across from you, or next to you. But when you heard the scraping of a stool not long before you saw his legs appear on either side of you, you realized he had decided to sit behind you. Not only that, but he inched forward to look over your shoulder, his breath already tickling your cheek.

“I didn’t expect you to sit behind me,” you admitted, ignoring that your voice sounded a little more high pitched. Eddie shrugged.

“How else am I gonna follow the movements of your hands? It makes no sense if we don’t sit in the same direction,” he told you matter-of-factly.

“Isn’t that type of guidance usually not the other way around? With the student sitting up front?” you mused out loud. Eddie’s lips let go of a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, but… in our case that also doesn’t make sense ‘cause you’re smaller than me. How’re you gonna do this?” And with that, he leaned forward against you, his chest to your back, chin tucked over your shoulder. You were relieved his hands still rested on his knees, although that view certainly did not help you from losing your mind either. Three rings on one, one ring on the other. A shaky sigh escaped you when he brought his hands together in front of your stomach, apparently remembering the rings and wanting to take them off. He was practically hugging you from behind.

“Rings gotta go, I assumed,” he added as a form of explanation while stuffing the rings into his strained pockets. You nodded silently.

“Alright, so. Your hands over mine or mine over yours?”

“I—I’d say mine over yours but that might not be convenient,” you said softly. Your body was screaming at you. Not to leave, no. You wanted to stay in this position even if it killed you. Which you felt like it would, if your heartbeat was anything to go by.

“Cool. Let me put my hands on yours then, I won’t add pressure. Just wanna follow your movement, teach.”

“Teach, huh?”  you mumbled.

“Well, yeah. You said so earlier. Teacher and student. Unless you don’t want me to call you that.”

“Teach is fine.”

“What about ma’am?”

“Sure.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Ye— what?”

“Only stating the facts. You’re a right sweetheart for teaching me.”

“Right…”

You took the clay in your hands to even it out a little before starting and glanced at his jeans again, hands resting back on his knees.

“Your clothes might get dirty, just a heads up.”

Eddie smirked and turned his head slightly closer to your ear.

“I don’t mind getting a little dirty,” he mumbled softly, sending a shiver down your spine. He could probably feel it too.

“I— Okay. Uhm, I’m going to start,” you announced so that he could get his hands ready, or whatever he wanted really. Sure enough, his hands came up to wrap them around you with little to no pressure. They were slightly bigger than yours and warm on top of your own. You felt the calluses on his hands and silently wondered why he had them. What kind of work he did to get them. He followed your hands onto the clay while watching as you slowly dug your thumbs in, his focus all on you now. It made your heart only beat faster.

His lean onto you became heavier as you went on, his thighs now wrapped around your legs properly, making you sit completely against each other, with no space left.

“Am I doing good, teach?” he asked to break the silence after a while. You tried to think. Was he doing well? Depends on what exactly he was supposed to be doing. He held his hands in place perfectly, letting you do the work. You were on autopilot, unable to think about making anything other than the most basic shape. The gentle weight of his hands on yours was something else. It felt too good.

“You’re doing great,” you managed to say. Eddie hummed and gently wedged his fingers between yours. You let him.

“So how often do you come across a funny person thinking it’s way better to try and mold a cock instead?” The question would have been innocent if he hadn’t pressed his front against your back a little tighter after saying that.

“Oh— Uhm, sometimes. But when you make something really long and don’t do it with care, it’s gonna fly all over the place.

“Show me?”

“You want me to ruin this bowl? We were doing so well!” you protested with surprisingly more bite than you expected to have.

“I’m in no hurry to ruin it and remake it. See where the clay takes us? Besides, sometimes ruining something can be quite beautiful if you ask me.” His thighs flexed, pressing a little more snug against you as he started to lead your hands into making what would soon look like a very unhappy cock with no balls. The giggle that escaped Eddie when you started to lose control over the shape together was endearing and you lost your care for making a bowl. He could make ten cocks for all you care if you could hear him laugh like that again.

“What else, what else. Turn off the pedal, ma’am.” You lifted your foot off the panel as told and waited. He went ahead and took the clay into just his hands this time and started to knead until he could sculpt a shape that you didn’t immediately recognize until he grabbed one of the tools used to create shapes in the clay and started his detailed work of a clay cunt. It looked surprisingly accurate, but you weren’t really surprised. His drawing of you had been really good too.

“Didn’t know we were in sex ed,” you joked halfheartedly. Eddie smirked.

“Just thought we’d even it out. Alright. Next bowl. This time we’ll finish it for sure.” You wondered why you didn’t believe him for a second and then concluded that maybe he was bored already.

“What’s the most fun you’ve had this weekend?” you asked to make light conversation.

“Right now. No offense to Robin. This is just… exceeding my expectations for this weekend.”

While he spoke, his thumb slid over the clay cunt, digging his finger between the folds he had created and back up to circle the clit with his thumb. He had just wet his hands in the bowl that sat between your legs too, as if you needed to see it glisten on top of it all. If you hadn’t been aroused by the sheer sound of his voice and his breathing down your neck for the past half hour, you surely would have been now.

“Yeah it’s quite the uhm— unexpected turn of events,” you mumbled quickly, eyes glued to his hand playing with the clay. Eddie nodded against your shoulder.

“It sure is.”

You felt relieved when the cunt disappeared and turned into a random bowl of clay again with your help. While you found distraction in making this bowl as perfect as possible, Eddie was having none of it. His hands lay palms upwards on his thighs, undecided if  he wanted to continue. Just as you were about to ask if he was done making a bowl, you felt something wet against your neck. For a moment you thought you had imagined it but sure enough, there it was again. This time with more determination. His tongue dragged a long stripe from your collar all the way up to your ear, a sigh escaping his lips. You gasped softly when his lips came together to nip at your skin slowly in several places. He was taking his sweet time and you had no idea how you managed to continue shaping the bowl in front of you. With his nose, he pushed to be granted a better angle as he really started to work your neck now and you let him. You could feel him smile against your skin.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” he whispered. “Ya nervous? Or just excited that this thing is taking such good shape already?”

The second question made your heart skip a few beats, quite literally so and the gasp that left you had more to do with lack of air in your lungs than being shocked at the question. His hips pressed harder against your back, his erection now evident as he shifted a little. You doubted he was talking about the bowl. His teeth gently grazed your neck paired with his tongue, his kisses audibly wet as he groaned softly against your skin. The smirk on his lips grew bigger and it took you a moment to realize you had completely squished the bowl. Again. You managed to lift your foot off the pedal and leaned back against him when he started to suck on your skin. His hands came back to cover yours again, massaging the clay through your hands as he wedged his fingers between your own. You felt your jaw slack, a wanton gasp escaping your lips. As a form of payback for how he made you feel, you pressed your hips backwards into his. A choked moan left his mouth, drowned out by the pressure his lips had on your skin as he sucked. When you did it again, he spoke up.

“Sweetheart?” A whisper that tickled your neck, the softest gush of warm air flowing over the wet patch he made before. You waited for him to continue.

“Do you reckon we can drop the pretense? Kinda wanna touch something else than this chunk of clay.” You swallowed and you were sure he could hear it, but even if he did he didn’t make it obvious.

“Do you want this?” he continued softly, his teeth gently grazing your neck paired with his tongue. You felt yourself nod, eyes still on the bowl but hands working without real direction from your brain.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His hands lifted from the clay and wrapped themselves around your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he worked your neck with no restraint this time. A moan louder than you had anticipated left your lips without your control and you rolled your hips in response. A whispered “Fuck,” was heard in your ear which graced your lips with a smile. 

You could tell his hands were a mix of water and clay when he started to squeeze your boobs through the relatively thin fabric and your hands flew to his thighs, squeezing tightly in response.

“Hm. Y’ like that?” he asked softly, feeling your nipples harden under his touch. You nodded wordlessly again. He tutted.

“Na-a-ah. Wanna hear you say it baby.” Somewhere in between his question and waiting for your answer he had undone the buttons on your shirt and pushed his hand under your bra.

“B-Back room,” you stammered. When Eddie made no move to stop, you put your hand onto his.

“Eddie.”

“Sorry, sorry. Too much?” he asked quickly, worry evident in his voice. So smooth and caring. Bastard.

“Let‘s go to the back room. This one doesn’t lock,” you mumbled.

“Oh, yeah, I noticed,” he responded in a hushed voice as if it was all a secret. “Isn’t that the thrilling part though?”

“I’d rather not get fired, as hot as you are,” you sighed, impatient for him to make up his mind so you could continue. A chuckle left his lips.

“Hot, huh? My oh my aren’t you a seductive teach.”

“You’ve been making eyes at me since the beginning,” you remarked. Eddie nodded, reluctantly freeing you from the delicious prison that was his body, stepping away.

“Of course I did. Have you seen yourself?”

You ignored the compliment in favor of washing your hands and getting the clay from between your fingers when he already started walking in the direction of the back room. Before he could pass you, you stretched one of your legs backwards to block the way.

“Wash your hands,” you told him. Eddie halted and grinned at your bossiness.

“Feisty. I like it. But I already made you dirty ma’am,” he sighed as he brought forward a hand and slid a finger between your boobs.

“You did, but if you want to do anything like you did to that clay creation of yours earlier, you better have clean hands.” 

You had never seen someone wash his hands so eagerly. Suddenly cold, clammy hands found their way around your waist and pulled you against him, his nose already tickling your neck again. A shriek rested in the back of your throat but you managed to let it subside.

“Come on sweetheart,” he urged you. “That’s as clean as they come. You can’t wash off the sinful sounds you’re about to make under my touch anyway.”

You chuckled and turned off the tap, turned around and slid your hands under his shirt on his back.

“So cocky.”

“Jesus H. Christ that’s cold!” he shrieked, yet made no move to get away from your touch. A giggle escaped you.

“Now you know how that feels,” you murmured. “Come on.”

“Yes ma’am.” He followed you eagerly, grasping your waist as he walked right behind you which should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. 

The back room revealed a cozy lounge with a couch, which had been the main goal of you wanting to go there. Eddie seemed to understand, because he immediately took a seat and pulled you onto his lap, his eyes hazy with want.

“Way better angle,” he mumbled as he admired your body, his hands wandering up and down your sides. You nodded, his touch both relaxing and enticing you as you dipped your head to kiss his neck.

“Oh,” he sighed, a near moan but he tried to keep it cool. The longer you continued, though, the more he started to moan and the stronger were his hands grasping at your waist. Your hands disappeared under his shirt and he easily complied when you tried to pull it over his head. He wasted no time pushing your open shirt down your arms and rested his hand on the clasp of your bra and looked up. A quick nod from you, and the bra was off.

His eyes unapologetically met up with your boobs, taking them in as his hands massaged them gently, completely enamored by them.

“You’re so fucking hot, Y/N. It’s criminal.” 

He brought his lips closer to your chest, leaving butterfly kisses all over it while he played with your boobs, thumbs flicking over the hardened nubs. You threw your head back when he started to work his tongue around your nipple and could no longer hold yourself back from grinding down on his hips, eliciting a moan out of him as well. In a moment of courage, you brought your hand down and palmed him through his jeans, causing him to groan around your nipple as he bucked up his hips for more friction. His hands moved down to undo your jeans and you quickly shimmied them off as he got up to do the same for his own. Footwear followed, leaving you both in just your underwear. He hooked a finger around your panties, gently pulling.

“These too baby?” he asked, though it practically sounded like he was begging, eager to get his hands on what was behind that tin layer of fabric. You granted him a sly smile and brought your hand back to his bulge, holding his shaft more easily now that his jeans were out of the way.

“Only if these come off too.”

“No need to ask me twice,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your lips as he pulled his boxers down, freeing his hard cock which he pushed back against your palm immediately. His kisses became more demanding, rougher, while his hand slipped between your legs. He rubbed you through the fabric and smiled against your lips.

“So wet for me already, huh?”

“You were making out with my neck for a while, what did you expect?” you responded sassily and he chuckled darkly. “Besides…” you added while you spread his precum over the head, “you’re not far behind in terms of arousal.”

“Fuck, baby, your hand feels too good,” he sighed as he buried his face in your neck, quickly stealing a nip of your skin. You could feel him patiently working on a hickey, his fingers now moving past your panties to feel your slickness before he took them off completely. He sat back, admiring you with a lustful gaze, his hand coming up behind your thigh.

“Lift this one over the back,” he ordered, giving your ass a light smack while you got in position. He licked his lips, now face to face with your cunt and he rolled his eyes as he inhaled your scent.

“Need a taste,” he said hungrily, grabbing two handfuls of your ass as he brought you closer to his mouth. A broken moan fell off your lips when you felt his flattened tongue lick through your folds and circling your clit slowly. He moaned in response and drunkenly started eating you out, needing to taste all of you, every drop until it started to dribble down his chin and you had to hold yourself back from grinding against his face though he surely wouldn’t have minded. 

You were starting to get close when you felt a different rhythm surging through his body, the source of it being his hand pumping up and down his cock vigorously. Looking down you cupped his cheek, slightly bashful as you caught his hazy expression. You nearly forgot what you wanted to say when his nose hit you just right, his tongue strongly licking inside your cunt.

“S-Stop jerking off.”

His eyes widened and he whined softly, but the rhythm stopped, his hand tightly gripping his thigh to stop himself from continuing. He chased your cunt when you pulled away from him, desperate to get a last taste and licked his lips in anticipation.

“Eddie…” you started, kneeling down, legs spread on either side of him, “fuck me.”

If the light wasn’t playing tricks on you, his eyes turned even darker at your command and he grabbed a condom out of his jeans almost too smoothly, ripping it open with his teeth before easily sliding it down his cock.

Unexpectedly, he lifted you up and walked around the couch, putting you on the backrest with a subtle grin.

“Perfect height,” he murmured, not long before he attacked your lips again with a passionate kiss as he eased himself into you. Your moans melted together in sync with your bodies, his thrusts taking him deeper until he was all the way in and started fucking you at a quick pace, needing you around him. Your kisses turned messier, catching each other’s lips became harder as he increased his movement but you made it work. Tongues darting out trying to catch each other, desperate hands roaming over bodies and eyes that managed to meet every so often. The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your moans was all you could hear and the thought of how thin the walls were only briefly distracted you before Eddie hit a particularly sensitive spot and it was all forgotten.

Once you started clenching around him, Eddie lifted his head from where he had been kissing your neck, his brows knitted together.

“You close baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” you cried out, and with a nod he put your hands around his neck and grabbed your waist to fuck you impossibly harder. The more his moans broke off and turned into soft whines, the closer you knew he was and you clenched your walls around him to help him along, needing the friction yourself as well. He came with a stutter of his hips and didn’t waste a second to bring his hand down to rub your clit while he kept the rhythm up without a pause. With the added stimulation you reached your climax as well, your teeth sinking into his neck as you choked out a moan followed by a whimper. He slowly eased his pace, showering your neck with kisses until you leaned back and he captured your lips in a sweet kiss.

His smile was beyond charming when he rested his forehead against yours, damp hair clinging to it.

“I’d like to sign up for more private pottery lessons, sweetheart. If you’ll let me.” he mumbled sweetly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“As long as you don’t mind that it will happen in a different location, without any clay, then I’m all for it,” you teased. Eddie laughed softly and nodded, stealing another kiss from your lips.

“I think I could get into that, yeah. Also,” he started, wrapping his arms around your waist, “we’re gonna go on a date first. As a token of my appreciation. Unless…”

A flicker of doubt passed his eyes and you were quick to dissipate it with a kiss on his cheek.

“That sounds lovely, Eddie.”

“Good. Great! It’s a date, then,” he said, visibly relieved. You nodded in response and smiled sweetly at him.

“When?”

“This Saturday?”

After dressing yourselves again, you exchanged phone numbers and it was soon decided that he would pick you up for dinner after work on Saturday. Handing you back the pen that he had used to scribble your details on, he smirked.

“Remember that I didn’t have a pencil at the painting workshop?”

“Yeah?”

Out of his pocket, Eddie took a similar looking pencil with the logo of the retreat on it. A mischievous smile was plastered on his face.

“I actually did have one. Just wanted you to come closer.”

“You sleazy bastard.”

“What can I say? I know what I want.”

“You do, hm? What do you want?”

“You. And some food. I’m fucking starving.”

“Way to ruin the mood, Eds,” you said jokingly while trailing your finger around one of his wavy locks.

“It’s that, or my stomach will cause an uproar while we’re making out.”

“Hmm. Could be fun.”

“Maybe. You know what’s also fun?”

“Tell me.”

“More kisses.”

He couldn’t get enough of you. And while you may not have been ready to admit it to yourself right at that moment, the feeling was mutual.

- FIN

[emetoniche]

Sushi Gone Wrong

Okie dokie guys, got that food poisoning fic up for ya’ll. It’s a long one, but it was worth the extra time spent writing. It turned out pretty good. It’s the first one I have all four of them together, but I’m hoping to do some more like that in the future.

tw: emeto, some very light scat (not even for more than a couple paragraphs, I don’t usually do scat, but this seemed to fit with the theme. Also, torturing Justin is my favorite hobby. He’s my babyyyy)

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Justin was excited about his date that night. Roan had been looking for a good sushi place for ages, and he was over the moon that he was the one who had finally found one. The restaurant, called Sushi Don, came highly recommended by Justin’s best friend Eddie, and his Eddie’s boyfriend Callum. Apparently, the two boys visited the place at least once a month, so they clearly knew what they were talking about. Eddie had reserved a table for four, at six o’clock that night: a double date. It was a Saturday, so classes were out and homework had been finished in the campus library earlier that morning. A relaxing evening was the perfect end to the week in Justin’s opinion.

Roan slid into the passenger seat of Justin’s silver Toyota, dressed in a stylish pair of black skinny jeans and a soft, white halter-top. Around her neck was a silver necklace with a tiny diamond charm on the end, and her dark hair was loose, but fell perfectly around her face in waves. Justin couldn’t help staring at her for a few moments. Even after the two years of being together, sometimes he still couldn’t get over how gorgeous his girlfriend was. Roan caught him staring and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you gonna stare at me all night, or are we actually going out?” Her tone was playfully sarcastic, and she was smirking slightly at him as she spoke. Justin laughed, putting the car in reverse to back out of the driveway.

“Yeah, yeah,” he retorted, “we’re going. But we could’ve left a lot sooner if you hadn’t had to stitch yourself into those pants.” Roan gasped, pretending to be mortally offended.

“Excuse me,” she huffed, “but, I thought you said you liked these pants. If you don’t, I guess I’ll just throw them out. Maybe my ass looks better in sweatpants anyways.”

Justin’s eyes went wide. “No no no!” He was backpedaling furiously now. “No, you’re right! Those pants are hot. It’s worth the wait!”

“That’s what I thought,” Roan said. “So hush up and drive, I want sushi!”

When the couple arrived at Sushi Don, a small Japanese-style building just off the main highway, Eddie and Callum were already waiting for them inside. Justin held the door open for his girlfriend, shooting Eddie a sheepish grin. “Sorry we’re late guys,” he apologized. “There was some trouble with… her choice of jeans…”

Roan glared up at him, but Callum just laughed. “Trust me Justin,” he reassured, “if I could get this guy here to wear pants that tight, I would wait all night to see it.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, poking Callum sharply in the ribs. “Yeah, not happenin big guy,” he said over Callum’s high-pitched squeal. “I am not trying to squeeze these legs into pants like that. Ever.”

Callum sighed dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “You never do anything I want,” he groaned. Roan laughed, patting him on the arm sympathetically.

The four spent the next hour devouring eight rolls of sushi, and when they were finally done, all of them were comfortably full. Roan slumped back into Justin’s arms with a contented sigh. Justin gave her a kiss on the head, then turned back to Eddie and Callum, who were poking each other in the stomach trying to compare who was more full.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” Justin told them, already sliding out of the booth. The meal had been paid for, and Justin was starting to get tired. Roan looked equally exhausted, but Justin knew she was too stubborn to say anything about it, at least not while the other two were around.

Eddie nodded, shoving Callum out of the booth. Callum grunted, smacking Eddie’s arm as he stood. “Why you gotta be so mean to me,” he whined, glaring at Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Cause you like it,” he retorted, hands going to Callum’s hips and pressing their bodies together. Callum tilted his head slightly up so he could look Eddie in the eyes. “And when we get home, I’m going to be even more mean. Tie you to the bed maybe,” Eddie added in a growly murmur.

Roan stood up with an exasperated look on her face. “Geez guys, wait till you’re in the car at least,” she groaned, shaking her head. “You two are gonna give me diabetes with all this sweet, mushy stuff.”

Justin wrapped an arm around her, reaching his hand down to squeeze her ass. She squealed, reaching back to slap his hand away. “Mushy stuff is your specialty though,” Justin teased. “You never stop at home.” Roan gave him a light elbow to the gut, to which he groaned dramatically. “Owwww…”

Justin and Roan parted from the other couple just outside the restaurant. The drive home was mostly uneventful, apart from nearly hitting a squirrel stupid enough to walk out onto a highway. About five minutes from the house, Justin glanced over to see Roan looking slightly uncomfortable. “Everything okay baby?”

She jumped slightly, as though brought out of deep concentration. “Huh? Oh, yeah, fine. Just a bit nauseous. Probably ate too much, it was all pretty good.”

Justin was unconvinced, but Roan looked more herself when they reached the house, chattering on about one of her fitness clients. As he brushed his teeth a half-hour later however, Justin noticed a faint twinge in his own stomach. He tried to convince himself that he had also eaten too much, but the coincidence of both him and Roan feeling off at the same time was eating away at him. He paused, bracing himself on the bathroom counter, staring upwards pleadingly. “Don’t let it be what I think it is,” he muttered. “Please, God, don’t.”

Justin collected himself, rinsed off his toothbrush, and wandered back out into the bedroom. Roan was already curled up in a ball under the covers, eyes closed, but when Justin flicked the lights off and climbed into bed beside her, she said, “Justin, how common is it to get food poisoning from sushi?”

Justin’s stomach lurched. Ohhhh no. She was voicing his concerns all too well, only increasing his dread for what he now was almost positive was coming. “Oh, uh, not sure. Probably not very,” he replied, forcing his tone to stay calm. “Why do you ask?”

Roan grunted. “Nothing important.”

The next two hours, Justin lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He was hoping that if he focused hard enough, his stomach would stay only mildly uncomfortable and not progress into true nausea. It was not working, to say the least. By midnight, he had his hand on his stomach, palm rubbing circles. He was just starting to feel a bit more confident in his stomach rubs, when the bed jolted violently beside him. He sat bolt upright as Roan threw the covers to the foot of the bed and scrambled into their bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

As concerned as he was, Justin was almost too terrified to follow her. He knew what he would see, and he did NOT want to see it. Eventually he worked up to courage to creep over to the door and knock lightly. “Roan? Baby, are you okay?”

“Fine, go away,” came the call from inside, followed by a stifled retch. Justin’s skin crawled, but now that the situation was firmly established, he made himself accept his fate. They had gotten food poisoning from that restaurant and he was most likely going to be in the same place Roan was. Unfortunately for him, he had an incredibly weak stomach, where as Roan was literally known for her steel stomach. She had practically no gag reflex, could watch people vomit with no issues, and had eaten things such as scorpions and mice without so much as a groan.

Against Roan’s wishes, Justin opened the bathroom door, stepping in and closing the door back behind him. Roan was in her knees in front of the toilet, hair hanging down in her face, sweat clinging her shirt to her back and chest. She glared up at him from the floor, forehead pillowed on her wrists resting on the toilet seat. “I said go away,” she rasped, voice already raw from retching.

“And when do I ever listen?” Justin had the reply ready the second she stopped speaking. He moved over and knelt by her side, gently pulling her hair back. For a brief moment, Roan tried to push him away, but she apparently decided she needed his help because she let him continue without much of a fight. Justin had just gathered all her hair in his hands when her back arched, shoulders hitching up to her ears in a retch.

Justin hurried to put his hand on her back, rubbing it while muttering soothingly to her. Her slender frame trembled with the force of another gag, this time bringing up a thin stream of stomach contents and leaving a strand of spit hanging from her bottom lip. “Holy fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “Fu-uUURgHGH” A gush of vomit splashed into the toilet, leaving Roan breathing hard.

Justin’s stomach was struggling through all this. He already had been starting to feel sick, and the sight and smell of Roan vomiting were just making things worse. He turned his head away, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into his arm. A grating retch sounded in the bathroom, followed by the splash of thick puke falling into the porcelain bowl.

It was a serious fight at this point to keep his stomach contents where they were supposed to be. He was trying his best to keep holding Roan’s hair back, but he had to stop rubbing her back so he could press his hand to his mouth to stifle his own empty gags. His eyes were still closed when the toilet flushed. “Damn… That hurt like fuck, but I feel so much better now,” Roan told him. “I think I’m done, my stomach feels a lot better, thank Go-” She broke off as she got a good look at him for the first time since she had started throwing up. “Holy shit babe, you look awful.”

“Gee, thanks,” Justin muttered, taking those slow deep breaths people take when they’re trying avoid puking. He didn’t open his eyes, trying to use the blackness to center himself. It wasn’t working. He felt Roan’s hands on his shoulders, guiding him towards the toilet. “No, go lie down, you’re sick.” His voice came out much weaker than he meant it to, but he managed to open his eyes through the towering waves of nausea crashing down on him. He saw Roan shake her head in exasperation, giving him a small smile.

“I’m fine, you know how my body works. I already feel almost normal. Five more minutes and I’ll be back to one hundred percent. You on the other hand…” She trailed off, looking him over. “Yeah no, I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere.”

Justin gave a small laugh, slowly closing his eyes back as his stomach roiled inside him. He could already feel Roan’s caretaker mode switching on. She always got so concerned and, in her words, mushy when he was sick. He leaned into her arms to hurry her switch along, moaning softly. Playing it up? Definitely. But it worked like a charm.

Roan’s voice was soft, practically a coo, as she said, “Aw, baby, I’m so sorry, you must feel so sick.” Justin nodded pitifully, giving her another little moan. It was less of him milking it this time though, because he stomach had finally decided it was done with messing around. He forced himself to sit up and open his eyes, moving his hands to brace himself on the toilet’s rim. His breath had gone shallow.

Roan got onto her knees next to him, just as Justin had to her only minutes before, one hand on his stomach and the other rubbing his back. “Shhh… just let it out baby, it’s okay.”

Justin’s stomach took this as an invitation to begin expelling everything inside it. He gagged harshly, a thick rope of saliva trailing in the toilet water. Another retch had heavy chunks sliding up his throat. He had to choke up the sludge it was so thick. It slid off his tongue into the toilet with a visceral splat. The sound made him retch again. The vomit that came out this time flowed much easier, sending a flood of relief over Justin even through his misery.

In the brief space between gags, Justin sucked in deep breaths. His head started to spin, the bathroom swirling circles around him. He could no longer see straight; everything was a blurry mess. The spinning in his head made his stomach revolt again, and a thin trickle of stomach acid fell from his lips.

As soon as his stomach began to feel like it was done with vomiting, his lower abdomen cramped horribly, causing him to wrap his arms around himself and groan. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…” He was panting now, and while his head had mostly stopped spinning, he still had his eyes squeezed shut against this new pain. “Baby…” He paused, hopelessly embarrassed. “Baby, it’s…”

Roan stared at him for a second, then finally noticed his change in expression from nausea to pain. “Oh shit, it’s okay Justin, I understand,” she reassured him, helping him to his feet. “Just breathe, you’re gonna be fine.” Once she got him standing, she tugged his pants and boxers down. He was still too immobilized by the cramping in his intestines to do it himself. Roan guided Justin backward until he was sitting on the toilet.

Justin managed to get ahold of himself enough to realize that Roan was still standing beside him with her hand on his shoulder. “You should go,” he moaned. “I don’t - ah ow - I don’t want you to see me like this.” His cheeks burned. He was completely humiliated. Roan had helped him when he was sick before, but never like this. Sure he had thrown up on her multiple times, woken her up in the middle of the night to help him puke, and been unable to help her clean any of it up, but this was something else entirely. This was horrendously disgusting; he didn’t want his girlfriend to have to deal with it.

Roan snorted, rolling her eyes. “Okay, seriously? I’m not even going to dignify that with a proper answer.” Her tone softened, voice dropping. “Justin, I’m not leaving you in here alone.”

Justin couldn’t decide if he was more grateful or more humiliated. He loved her so much, and how willing she was to stay by his side, but he still wasn’t super keen on the idea of shitting his guts out in front of her. As it turned out, he didn’t have much of a choice, because his guts clenched suddenly, sending a heavy stream of fire pouring out of him. His teeth clenched as the torrent continued, focusing intently on Roan’s hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the horrible smell that made him want to vomit again. Roan must have seen something in his face, because he heard the scraping of plastic on tile. When he opened his eyes briefly, there was a trash bin sitting under his head.

As much as he didn’t want to, he dry heaved over the bin, the sensation and smell getting to him far to easily. He finished with the toilet before he finished with the bin. It took a few more heaves that brought up nothing but stomach acid and tiny bits before he finally sat up, confident he was done. This was when he noticed that Roan was no longer in the bathroom.

A bolt of disappointment and anger struck him. She had said she wouldn’t leave, but she just snuck out without a word while he was immobilized? He couldn’t believe her. After cleaning himself and the bathroom up, Justin walked back into the bedroom. Roan was sitting crisscross on the bed with her back to him, her phone up by her ear. She clearly didn’t hear him come in because she kept her conversation going without even glancing back at him.

“I know, but still. And you’re sure it’s not that stomach bug Callum had a couple weeks ago? Alright then. Yeah, I know, sounds like a stupid question now that I think about it. All four of us at once? Too big of a coincidence. Yup, you guys too. Bye.”

Roan put her phone down on the bedside table, slipping off the bed and turning towards Justin. She froze and blinked a bit when she saw him standing there. “Oh, hey babe, feeling any better?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Justin grunted. He didn’t really want to be mad at her for leaving him, given everything she had already done for him, but he was still so miserable that he felt a bit betrayed.

“Everything alright?”

Going over to his side of the bed, Justin grunted again. “Mhm, just fine.” A moment later, sitting on the edge of the bed, he felt Roan’s hands on his shoulders, sliding over his bare skin.

“Come on Justin, I know something’s wrong. Why are you mad at me?” Her words were murmured in his ear, her breath tickling his cheek. Somehow, even after vomiting, her breath still smelled minty. He wondered briefly if she had taken a breath mint or something.

“Nothing, I just- ” He paused to gather his thoughts. “I just wish you had said something before you just walked out of the bathroom. You just left me there.”

“But baby, you told me to leave. You didn’t even want me in there to begin with.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I don’t know, it’s stupid. You’ve already helped me a lot. Sorry.”

Roan slid over to sit beside him, their thighs pressed together, her head on his shoulder. “No, it’s not stupid. I said I would stay and I didn’t. I’m sorry sweetheart, I shouldn’t have left you.” Justin tilted his head to rest it on hers, breathing in the strawberry scent of her hair.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “Hey, who were you talking to by the way?”

“Hm? Oh, Eddie. He and Callum both are sick too. Eddie’s thrown up four times, but he ate the most of the sushi, so it’s not surprising.”

Justin nodded, lying back and pulling Roan with him so she was curled up against his side. His stomach still gave pitiful rumbles every now and again, but it didn’t feel like he was going to puke anymore. He just wanted to lie there with Roan and enjoy the feeling of her warm skin touching his.

[thatwriterchaotic]

Noisy Neighbors Chapter 5

Omg finally an update for this series. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to write another chapter. I've always loved this series I just didn't know where to take it. Anyways let me stop rambling and let you all enjoy this chapter.

Summary: Tonight was your date with Murphy. He told you to get dressed and he would be by at 8 to pick you up. You couldn't wait for what tonight would lead too.

Pairing: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: [18+], slow burn, complicated feelings, miscommunication, fluff, little bit of angst because why not. drinking, cursing, mentions of drug use, smoking.

Your POV:

Tonight's the night. Your date with Murphy was finally here. You had been waiting all week for this. Your job had been taking up a lot of your time lately. Apparently a big story about these two brothers was going around. Saving Boston from the mob and how they were heros. You didn't pay much attention to it. Other than looking over and editing papers at your journalist job. You sighed and glanced at the clock getting lost in your thoughts. It was about an hour and a half before Murphy would be coming to pick you up.

You got up from your bed, deciding it would be time to get ready. Heading towards your bathroom to take a shower. A faint buzz came from your phone in your pocket. You smiled seeing it was a text from Murphy.

Murph <3

“Can't wait to see you tonight beautiful ;)”

You giggled and set your phone on the counter. Feeling your heart race with excitement. You got into the shower and washed your hair. Then your body. Then the annoying part was shaving. Once you were all finished. You turned off the water and wrapped a towel around your body. Grabbing another to dry off your hair the best you could.

An hour had gone by and you had just finished your make up. Making sure everything was perfect just for Murphy. You wore a simple knee length dress. A small slit on one side. A cute pattern of small strawberries spread out across it. The skinny straps and the sweetheart neckline accentuated your chest. Making it look absolutely stunning on you. The last thing you needed to do was slip on your shoes and grab your purse.

You jumped a little hearing the sound of a car horn go off. Knowing that must have been Murphy waiting for you. You rushed and slipped on your simple black heels and grabbed your purse. Rushing out of your apartment and down the stairs. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest when you approached the car. Wondering if he borrowed it from Doc. Seeing it was a much older model and the boys rarely drove. You smiled as Murphy stepped out and went to your side. Opening the door for you.

“After you Madam” Murphy said with a smile. He thought you looked absolutely stunning in that dress. The way it shaped your body so perfectly. He had to adjust his pants a bit after you got in the car. You watched as Murphy walked back around and climbed into the driver's seat. “So where are you taking me tonight?” You asked finally wanting to know what his plans are. Murphy smirked and looked over at you. “It's a surprise, and you look absolutely stunning in that dress las” Murphy said sweetly. His cheeks a soft shade of a pink.

You couldn't help but smile from his compliment. He didn't look too bad himself. Freshly shaven besides his normal goatee. His hair was brushed just right, besides a few strands that stood out of place. Which you found adorable. He was dressed in a white button up and a pair of clean black slacks. And of course his signature black trench coat that he never left without. He looked so handsome, it was kind of hard to take your eyes away from him.

“Says you, did you get all dressed up just for me?” You asked softly, noticing how his cheeks and the tips of his ears turned a darker shade of red. He nodded shyly and placed his hand on your tigh. His thumb gently caressing it. “Had to look good for you, mo ghrà” Murphy said with a smirk as he started up the car. Leaning over to peck the side of your cheek softly. That made your heart flutter. Seeing Murphy being so sweet was new. Yes, he wasn't a major flirt unlike Connor but it was nice to seem him be serious about their date.

Eventually they arrived to their destination. Murphy helped you to get out of the car. Demanding that you covered your eyes until they got inside. You thought it was silly but you listened to him. Even though you did stumble a little as he guided you out of the car and onto the side walk. Then inside of a building, hearing a door shut behind you. Murphys hands rested on your shoulders and then up towards your hands that where covering your eyes. “You can look now, I hope you like it” He whispered softly into your ear as he slowly pulled your hands away from your eyes.

Your eyes settled as you looked around. Realizing that it was McGinty’s but completely different. A single table for two placed in the center of the room. A simple tablecloth with candles and flowers placed in the middle. Some petals laid scattered around the floor. The lights where dimmed just right adding to the romantic atmosphere. It was perfect. Everything was perfect.

You turned around facing Murphy, tears threatening to well up in your eyes. “You did all this for me?” You asked. Murphy noticed the tears, he quickly cupped your cheeks and wiped them away. “Of course I did las, and hey no crying don't want to ruin your make up” He teased making you both laugh softly. You smiled and leaned in. His forehead resting against yours.

How about we sit and enjoy the dinner I have for us? Go get ice cream for dessert after” Murphy spoke softly as he kisses your forehead. You nodded as he moved to pull your chair out for you before he sat down. He was being such a gentleman. You sat down as Murphy set two plates on the table. It looked delicious. You both sat there quietly at first. Glancing at one another from across the table. Soft music played in the background. He was really trying to make this perfect for you. “Wow Murphy, I'm really impressed by all of this” You said softly. He smiled as he opened a bottle of wine. Pouring a glass for you and then himself.

“Only for you, wanted to prove to you how much I care about you” He admitted as he lifted his glass, taking a sip from it. You watched as his lips wrapped around the edge of the glass. Your mind going else where. God he looked so good in that white button up. The first two where undone. Catching a glimpse of his tan skin underneath it. You felt your legs squeeze together slightly as your cheeks ran hot. Both of you started to eat. Talking back and forth about work and how your day was. It was nice to talk about mundane things with him.

As the date went on Murphy became bolder. His arm laid across the table, holding your hand in his. His thumb gently caressing your knuckles. He seemed to be genuinely intrigued about your work and what you enjoyed in your free time. You couldn't seem to pull yourself away from those piercing baby blue eyes. The way his lips turned up into his slightly crooked smile. You felt yourself swoon over him. “C'mon love, let's go get some ice cream” Murphy said as he stood up. His hand still holding yours in his. You giggled softly in excitement as you left McGinty's and started walking towards the park.

It didn't take long until your feet started killing you in your heels. You whined softly and Murphy stopped looking at you. “you okay las? Something wrong?” He asked noticing your discomfort. “It's my heels, they are killing my feet” You complained. Next thing you know Murphy picked you up bridal style. His arm resting underneath your legs and the other tightly wrapped around you so you wouldn't fall. “Murphy!! You don't have to carry me” You protested first until he looked at you with that loving look in his eyes. “Nah, you barely weigh a thing and I'm not having my lady be in pain.” He said sweetly. Loving the way you fit perfectly in his arms. Like you where meant to be there.

Hearing him call you his lady made your heart pound in your chest. You liked hearing him call you that. “Say that again” You asked. Murphy smiled “Soo you do want to be my lady?” He teased loving the way that your cheeks would flush each time. “Say it again Murphy” You begged. He chuckled and repeated himself. “My lady, My lady, My lady”. Your cheeks went red again as you hid in his neck.

It didn't take long to get to the ice cream stand. Luckily they where still opened. Murphy carefully set you down on a bench. “I'll be right back, you sit here and look pretty for me” He said softly as he approached the ice cream stand. Getting two scoops of your favorite flavor of ice cream and the one for himself. He came back and sat next to you handing you your ice cream. It was peaceful. The two of you sitting in the park, eating ice cream. He turned towards you and noticed you got some on your nose. He reached up and gently wiped it off with his thumb. Licking it off his fingers. You giggled as the space between you grew smaller. Your ice cream now long forgotten. He took your hand in his and sighed softly.

“Listen (Y/N), I really like spending time with you. Something about you just brightens my day. You always seem to know how to make me laugh. Getting to know ya has been one of the best choices in my life. Kinda glad my brother was blasting music that night we met. What I'm trying to say is, I would like to be more with you. I want to be with ya.” Murphy finally admitted. It felt like a huge brick lifted off his chest. You looked at him and smiled softly. Reaching up to cup his cheek. Closing the gap between you.

This kiss was different. It was slow and intimate. It felt like you where both pouring all your feelings and emotions for one another into it. Eventually you had to break away for air. Murphy had a big smile on his face as he looked at you with adortion. “So is that a yes?” He asked. You giggled and nodded your head. “Yes Murphy, that's a yes”. This would be a night you wouldn't forget..