#pullout test

[spacebell]

ok my anxiety has decreased since early morning

[roseband]

im FINALLY (literally ten years too late) helping my fiance collect the documents for his brother to get his 1.5 time on tests, after their mom denied his disability services for over a fucking decade cause she realized the 700 sat scores are kinda her fault...........after a decade of not listening to any of his teachers

god I fucking detest the twat they came out of.

[rememberwren]

Weeks of bad behavior from your lieutenant have you convinced that he can't get laid. You take matters into your own hands.

Ghost/fem!reader. Rough sex, a nearly submissive Simon, PIV, unsafe sex, pullout method, flimsy premise to explain gross fucking, ruined orgasm. This has been on my laptop for ages please take it. 2.5k

-

It’s your breaking point. 

Once you reach it, a strange calm comes over you. The mission is over, Price has finished taking you all to task for your failures, and Ghost has specifically taken you to task for your own—just like a typical man to notice the speck of sawdust in his Sergeant's eye and ignore the plank in his own. For so long (far longer than just the length of this arduous mission), the friction between Ghost and the rest of the team—between Ghost and yourself—has been building. Like two fault lines grinding alongside each other, there was bound to be a break somewhere. 

You just hadn’t expected it to be you. 

And you hadn’t expected it to be like this. 

“Lieutenant, can I have a word?” you ask, walking damn near double time to keep up with Ghost’s steps. 

“Negative,” he says. “Whatever it is, save it.” 

“No can do. It’s important, sir.” 

“Doubtful.” 

“I insist, sir,” you press, pushing your speed into a light jog so that you can come to stand in front of him and block his way. He reluctantly stops, dark eyes blazing from behind his mask. He’s stripped down, gear abandoned but no less intimidating nor lacking in height or width. Still you keep your chin up, refusing to back down. Something has to give, and it won’t be you. 

“Two minutes. Go, Sergeant.” 

Your eyes scan the hallway. Here won’t do, even if it is night time and the base is quiet. You know that the quiet can be deceiving. Spotting the supply closet, you bound over to check that it is unlocked and—score. It swings open silently, the inside dark and smelling faintly of lemon-scented cleaner. 

Ghost hesitates. 

“It’s important sir,” you promise again. 

You don’t promise that it will take two minutes or less. 

Rolling those dark eyes, he sweeps past you into the closet, flicking the lightswitch. The overhead light hums to life, casting a tinny ivory glow over the room. The shelves are well stocked with supplies, most of which aren’t for cleaning but are typical office supplies instead. There is just enough room inside for a man to lay down if he wanted to. 

You’ll have to test that to see. 

“Take your cock out.” 

Silence, for the length of nearly three of your heartbeats. Ghost’s head tilts, eyes narrowing where he stares down at you. He leans down a little as if to hear you better and asks: “Excuse me, Sergeant?” 

You straighten your spine, refusing to be cowed. “You heard me. Your cock. Get it out.” 

“Why the fuck would I do that?” 

You raise your chin a hair. “The recruits have been talking. They say your bad mood is because you can’t get laid. I’m here to fix that, sir.” 

“Getting your intel from recruits was your first mistake. Of many.” 

“Either I have faith that you aren’t always this much of a bastard or I give in to the belief that you really are. For the sake of my own sanity, I’m choosing to believe the former.” You find a few pins for your hair in your uniform and begin pinning it back, keeping the extras tucked between your lips and talking around them as you prepare yourself to suck his cock. That strange calm is still over you, but beneath it you can feel your better judgment panicking. You’re propositioning your superior officer right now. This could lead to your discharge, and not an honorable one. 

But something had to give. It was either your spirit, or your mouth. 

You drop to your knees even though he hasn’t even reached for his belt yet, hoping to rush him along. His dark eyes follow you, and you see the heat in them. The fingers on his right hand twitch. 

“Do you...want me to do it for you?” you ask, your voice a conspiratory little whisper. It’s the last little push he needs and then he is reaching for his own belt, undoing the clasp and opening it. He unfastens his pants. Beneath his jeans you can already see the bulge forming; proportionately huge compared to the man it belonged to. It made your teeth ache, like the thought of eating something sweet. 

Maybe you were both crazy.

His cock is uncut, a dusky flush just a shade darker than the skin on the back of his hands. His girth is nice; his length is nearly obscene. It takes all of your self control to keep from outright balking at the size of him—though the weepy little cunt between your legs certainly is intrigued by the sight. 

“Well?” he says. “Don’t just stare at it. Suck it off.” 

You reach out and flick the sensitive head cruelly. He hisses, hips jerking away from your touch. “You don’t give the orders here, Lieutenant. If you want your dick sucked, you’re going to be nice to me, once and for all.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Ask me nicely.” 

“Yer the one who begged me in here—!” 

You let out a sigh. Drastic measures… leaning forward, your soft cheek brushes against the silky smooth skin of his cock. It twitches against you, burning hot. You turn and let your heated breath fan against it. For all his outrage, Ghost has grown perfectly still above you, not trying to find the perfect angle to slip his cock past your lips or anything else of the sort. 

“Come on, Ghost,” you whisper, lips brushing against him. “I’m about to do something very nice for you. Isn’t it only fair that you ask nicely for it? I’m not asking for much. Just say…please suck my cock.” 

“Suck my cock,” he says. Then, like a murderous afterthought: “Please.” 

You sigh again and shift to stand. His hand is suddenly on your shoulder, pressing you back down. 

“Don’t,” he says, sounding less like the prat he is. “Please. Go on. Will you?” 

“You want me to?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes what?” 

“Please,” he says through his teeth. 

Leaning back on your haunches, you place the softest, chastest little kiss on the head. He’s aroused enough that the foreskin is just beginning to pull back, and you let your tongue out to lap softly at the exposed head, listening to the way his breathing stutters and stops, the way the leather of his gloves creaks as he makes fists as his sides. 

“Try to fuck my face and it’s over,” you warn him. “You might be thinking of how badly you need this—and I know that you do. But don’t forget this: I need it more. I need this more. If we’re going to work together with any semblance of civility, I need this. Do you understand?” 

“No. But I get the gist.” 

“Good enough for me.” You open your mouth and take the head past your lips, suckling on it. He lets out a harsh breath through his nose, cock jerking against your tongue. You can taste precum already, and you’ve barely done anything. No wonder he’s been such a bastard lately. Has he been fucking his own fist at all? God knows that you’ve spent more than one night with your pruning fingers buried to the knuckle inside yourself, hand over your mouth to keep from shouting Ghost’s callsign when you cum. 

Leaning forward, you take more of him into your mouth, enjoying the heavy weight of him on your tongue. He is burning hot, smells and tastes faintly of sweat from the mission, but you don’t mind; living with so many men has almost given you a strange appreciation for the scent of hard work. Maybe Ghost’s most of all. You take him as deep as you comfortably can, but there are still a few solid inches outside the wet warmth of your mouth. 

You work one hand down your pants and underwear, finding the sopping wet slit between your thighs. Using three fingers, you stroke yourself leisurely from hole to clit, soaking the digits. Above you, Ghost mutters a curse, head tilting almost curiously as he searches for a better angle to watch your hand move beneath the fabric of your pants. Removing it, you hold it up to show him the filmy slick drenching your fingers before wrapping that fist around the base of his cock. 

“You get that wet just from thinking about sucking some cock?” 

Your eyes narrow dangerously, slowly pulling back until just the flushed head rests on your tongue, wondering if he’s being mean enough that you need to stop and remind him of his manners. Apparently just the threat of it is enough; he lifts his hands in supplication, mouth twisting a little beneath his mask. 

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything. Didn’t your mother teach you that, Lieutenant?” 

It’s his turn for his eyes to narrow dangerously, an expression that would likely put the fear of God in a lesser man or woman. But with your teeth so close to his cock, you’re not yet afraid. Before he can open his mouth and ruin anything else, you swallow him down as deeply as you can, feeling the thick head press at the back of your throat, your jaw aching. You can taste yourself on his cock and the thought has you whining around his length.  

“Fuck,” Ghost mutters. His hand touches your hair—not to grab, but just to pet. “Yer a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

You hum in delight at this unexpected praise. It goes straight to your soaked core, fanning the flames of the ache between your legs. You are a pretty thing, and you are glad he’s noticed. To reward his good behavior, you lean in until the head nudges the back of your mouth again. Tongue out, breath held, he slips even deeper into the warm channel of your throat. His ragged exhale is as sweet as a moan. 

You give him a few more minutes of your mouth before you grow bored without your own satisfaction. Slipping him free, you work his cock in your slick fist and say to him, voice wrecked: “Time to see if you can lay down in here.” 

Turns out he can, as long as he keeps his knees bent a little. Straddling his waist only emphasizes to you how obscenely thick he is, and you have to stand to shuck your pants and panties down and off altogether. You cast a brief glance toward the door—there is no lock from the inside—but no risk means no reward. 

“I don’t have a condom. You’ll have to pull out. Tell me when you’re close, alright?” 

“Alright.” 

His hands reach for you, gripping your wide hips as you straddle him again. You plant one hand firmly against his chest but hold no illusions that you could actually pin him in place if he decided to move. You lower yourself to brush your soaked slit along the length of his cock, back and forth, until he is soaked in your arousal. 

His mouth opens to say something smart, something that will have you gritting your teeth, but instead you rise up onto one knee and sink down on the head of his cock. It’s all you can take before that pinch of pain strikes you, freezing you in your tracks. His mouth is parted beneath the balaclava, wet, quiet pants that dampen the fabric with each breath. You take your time stretching yourself open, thighs burning in time as you lift and lower yourself over him again and again. 

“Touch me,” you demand of him. 

For all his earlier mouth, he seems content to be obedient now, his gloved fingers searching for the space where you both are joined. The leather traces along the seam where his cock disappears into your cunt before following your parted lips up to your clit. His thumb circles the aching bud with a firm touch, and it helps you ignore the pain as you take another inch of him inside. 

You ride him like that: both your hands on his chest feeling the way it hitches as it rises and falls, hips jerking and swaying as you find the angle that suits you best. 

“Lean back,” he demands. “I want to look at you.” 

“No time,” you pant. “It’s been way longer than two minutes, Lieutenant. I do hate to be wasting your time.” 

“Fucking hell,” he sighs, eyes rolling.

“Don’t forget to tell me when you’re close.” He grunts in acknowledgement, his fingers going sloppy between your thighs. That’s not good enough. You bark: “Lieutenant, do not forget to tell me!” 

He laughs. 

You go to lift off of him, but his laughter turns belly up and dies so quickly, morphing into a strange, desperate little sound as he stops working your clit and grips at your hips, pulls you down more firmly against the cradle of his thighs. 

“I mean it,” you say through your teeth, taking one of his wrists and prying a finger loose until he has no choice but to let go or have it broken. You guide his hand back between your legs. “Don’t cum before me, either.” 

He sits up, jostling you, forcing you to change your angle. His mouth comes down hard against yours, fabric on skin, but you don’t turn him away, lapping at the cotton like it’s his tongue as you kiss through the mask. 

Feeling things slipping out of your control, you press him back down with both hands, pinning him to the floor. The sound of flesh on flesh is loud in the enclosed space. At the apex of his thrusts he brushes against some deep, untouched space inside you that has you digging your nails into him, feeling that ache in your belly writhe and twist into something fearsome. 

“I’m close,” he grits out. 

“Not yet,” you hiss. 

“I said I’m fucking close—“

“Wait for me,” you growl. Then, knowing that you can catch more flies with honey, you soften your tone: “Please, don’t cum yet.”

He shuts his eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters, scrambling for control, fingers digging into your thighs, unsure whether to pull you closer or tear you off of him. “Shut up, shut up, shut the—fuck up.”

It’s your turn to laugh, feeling your release right there, coaxed forward by this pleasurable torture you’re inflicting on him. Never did you think that seeing your superior officer suffering like this would give you so much satisfaction. 

“So close,” you whisper, the tips of your fingers tingling with it. “Simon, I’m gonna—“

When it bursts, your teeth snap closed around a whine, jaw tight as your cunt clenches around him—

—and he jerks you off of him, sending you sprawling against his lower thighs as his ruddy cock twitches and spurts pearlescent seed, one dexterous hand wrapping around the shaft as he jerks himself off through it even after ruining your own. You stare, gobsmacked at his audacity, pussy still twitching and clenching around empty air, the stolen pleasure leaving behind a vicious ache. 

“You bastard,” you mutter. You bat his hand away, gripping his cock and beginning to jerk him off. When you smile, it is mostly teeth, something feral and mean. “Let’s try that again.” 

[alisonsfics]

place to crash

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: carmy steps in as your knight in shining armor when your apartment’s electricity breaks, which makes you both test the line between friends and something more

word count: 2.9k

warnings: swearing, whole lotta fluff

“Oh, come on. Hurry the fuck up,” you muttered to yourself. You were currently on hold with the electricity company.

After a hectic service at the Bear, you had come home to your pitch black apartment with no power. The one thing you wanted to do was curl up and eat some leftovers while watching some tv, but that clearly wasn’t happening tonight.

“Hello? Are you still there?” The man’s voice echoed through the speaker. “Yes, I’m here,” you said, quickly. You didn’t want to risk him hanging up on you and having to start this process all over again.

“So, it looks like our crew has already gone home for the day. We can’t send anyone to look at it until tomorrow morning.” He told you. You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. “Alright, thank you. Have a fantastic night,” you said, passive aggressively.

You threw your phone down onto the kitchen counter.

With the electricity out, that also meant no air conditioning. You pulled your hair up into a quick ponytail. You were already sweating, so you knew there was no way you could stay at your apartment for the night.

You glanced back down at your phone, and it felt like the answer was staring you in the face. You opened your contacts and saw the one person you knew you could always rely on.

You clicked on Carmy’s name, smiling to yourself when you saw his contact photo. It was a goofy picture of the two of you from a party that Sydney threw. He had his arm haphazardly thrown around your shoulders. You were sticking your tongue out at the camera while he kissed your cheek.

You both had a history of becoming more affectionate than normal when you had been drinking. That night was a great example.

It only rang once before he answered. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?” He asked, immediately. Having seen Carmy less than an hour ago, he knew something was going on if you were calling him so soon.

“Hey, I’m fine, no need to panic. I just have a little favor to ask you, but you can totally say no—” you started to explain before he interrupted you.

“You’ve got it. What do you need?” He answered without a second thought. It made your cheeks heat up. Carmy was always ready to drop everything for you.

“You don’t even know what it is yet, Berzatto.” You told him, giggling to yourself. You couldn’t see him, but you could perfectly imagine the way he’d shrug. “I don’t need to know. I have no reason to doubt you.” He said, simply.

“Not even gonna make me work for it?” You teased him.

“You never have to work for it. Not with me,” he told you, honestly. Every time you talked to Carmy, it became harder for you to pretend you weren’t head over heels for him.

“Alright, well the power is out at my apartment—” you started to tell him. “Come stay at my place tonight,” he offered. You felt so grateful for him.

“Are you sure it’s not a burden? You don’t have to feel pressured to say yes.” You assured him, but you knew his answer wouldn’t change.

“Of course I’m sure. I’m not letting you stay at your apartment with no power. Come on over. I’m making dinner now. You eaten yet?” He asked. “No, not yet,” you told him.

“Alright, perfect. I’ll make you a plate, and I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he said, and you could hear that he was smiling.

“Thank you, Carmy, truly. I’ll see you soon,” you said, before hanging up.

You quickly grabbed a bag and stuffed some essentials inside it before heading out the door. Carmy’s apartment was only a short walk from your apartment. After five or ten minutes, you were at his door.

You knocked on the door and heard a lot of noise on the other side. “It’s open,” you heard Carmy yell.

You turned the doorknob slowly before walking inside. You saw Carmy turning his pullout couch into a bed. He was neatly fixing the blankets and adding some pillows.

You also noticed the table was set with two plates of pasta, and you couldn’t tell where, but from somewhere in the apartment jazz music was playing.

“You didn’t have to do all of this for me, Carmy,” you said, feeling guilty. He put a final pillow on the bed and walked towards you. “I wanted to,” he said, simply. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“I’m sorry about your apartment,” he said, sincerely.

“None of that is your fault, Carmy. You don’t have to apologize.” You replied. His hand grazed the small of your back, and he gestured towards the dining table. He even made sure to pull your chair out from the table for you.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, unable to get the smile off your face. You always felt like a giggly schoolgirl around Carmy. “Only the best for you,” he jokingly flirted, but wasn’t willing to push it any further.

Carmy cared about you so much. You were practically his world, and he was terrified that if he told you that, you’d leave.

After eating dinner, you both got ready for bed in Carmy’s bathroom. It made you feel like a married couple, and you had to force yourself to ignore it.

“I know I’ve asked you like ten times, but are you sure you don’t want my bed? I can sleep on the couch.” He offered, wanting you to feel right at home. You grabbed his hand without thinking about it.

“Carmy, you are so sweet, but I promise that sleeping on a couch will not kill me. I will be fine, sweetie.” You told him. You weren’t sure where the pet name had come from. You’d never called Carmy “sweetie” before.

Carmy had practically jumped out of his skin hearing the name roll so smoothly off your tongue. He only wanted to hear you call him sweetie from now on. It took everything in his power to not confess his love to you right then and there.

“Okay, fine,” he gave up, knowing you were more stubborn than he was. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into a tight hug. You happily wrapped your arms around him as he held on to you.

You were taking in every part of this moment. You could smell his cologne, the same one he’d worn since you met him. You’d told him how much you liked it once, and he promised himself he’d never change it.

“Goodnight. Sleep well,” he said, kissing the top of your head and leaving you smitten.

You walked into the living room, and fell asleep within seconds of crawling under the blankets.

In the middle of the night, a sound woke you up. You jumped to sit up, looking around to see what the noise was. The bright LED numbers from the clock read 3:42. You realized the sound was someone jiggling the doorknob on the front door.

You jumped off the couch and ran into Carmy’s bedroom. You were half awake, and it was the only thing you could think of.

You reached forward and placed your hand on Carmy’s forearm, trying to wake him up. He jumped up as soon as you touched him.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quickly. Even being half awake and in a dark room, he was somehow still able to sense that you were afraid. “It sounds like somebody’s trying to come in the front door.” You told him, which woke him up fast.

He grabbed the bat from beside his bed and headed towards the front door. Your fear only made him more confident. He knew that he needed to step up and protect you.

You stayed behind him. He got within a few feet of the door. Then, you both saw the door start to open.

“Get the hell out,” Carmy threatened whoever was on the other side of the door.

The door quickly was flung all the way open. “Cousin, chill the fuck out. It’s me.” You both heard Richie say.

You both breathed a sigh of relief. Carmy dropped the bat down to his side, irritated at Richie. “Do you know what time it is? What the fuck are you doing here?” Carmy asked him.

Richie flipped on the light switch and held up his spare key, as though that explained his presence.

“Oh shit, Y/N? What’re you doing here?” Richie asked, finally noticing you standing behind Carmy.

Before you could even answer, Richie’s eyes darted between the two of you. He saw Carmy just in boxers and you in an oversized tshirt, which he assumed must’ve belonged to Carmy. Then, it made sense to him.

“Oh wait. You two are hooking up?” He asked, smirking at the both of you. Richie was the most convinced of all your friends that you and Carmy were meant for each other. He saw it all, especially the way that your’s and Carmy’s gaze always found each other in a crowded room.

“No!” You and Carmy both quickly assured him, but Richie’s smirk didn’t fade. He didn’t believe either of you for a second.

“She’s just sleeping here tonight,” Carmy tried to explain.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure there’s been lots of sleeping going on here.” Richie teased, causing Carmy to put his head in his hands.

“The electricity is out at my apartment, so Carmy’s letting me crash here tonight. That’s it,” you tried to shut Richie up.

“So you came here for the electricity?” Richie asked, very aware of the double entendre. He loved how much he could get under yours and Carmy’s skin with just a few comments. “You’re the worst, Richie.” Carmy said, exasperatedly.

“See, we have the pullout,” you said, gesturing towards the couch. You saw a mischievous glint in Richie’s eyes. Richie was like a brother, so you knew the joke he was going to make before he even opened his mouth.

“The pullout COUCH, you fucking child,” you said, smacking his arm. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carmy with his eyes trained on the floor and his hand covering his mouth as he tried not to laugh.

You crossed your arms and frowned at him. “You are not helping,” you said, glaring at him. He quickly held his hands up in surrender, not wanting you to hit him too.

Richie moved past the joke, but wasn’t quite ready to stop teasing you yet.

“The couch looks pretty messy to me. I wonder how that happened.” He teased. You knew that was just trying to get under your skin, but if you stopped denying what he was saying, he’d be so much worse.

“Yeah, cause I jumped up in a panic thinking someone was breaking in.” You defended. Carmy placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles. You and Richie were the two most stubborn people he knew, and he knew that neither of you liked to lose an argument.

“And little Carmy was ready to protect you? I won’t lie, that’s pretty sweet, dude.” Richie said, watching the way Carmy’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink.

“So, why’re you here?” Carmy asked, changing the subject. Richie plopped himself down on the couch. “I need to crash here too. My neighbors are in a big fight and they won’t shut the fuck up.” Richie explained.

“Well, you aren’t staying here. Go find some other fucking place to stay.” Carmy said. He didn’t want anyone to break up his alone time with you.

“That’s not what you told her.” Richie argued, gesturing towards you. Richie had a point, but Carmy would never tell you no.

“Richie, just please leave. Besides, there’s nowhere for you to sleep,” Carmy begged him. Carmy knew if Richie stayed out, it would ruin everything with you. Richie would tease every move he made, and he couldn’t be as affectionate with you. That should have been Carmy’s first indicator that you both were more than friends.

“I’m taking the couch, you two figure out the rest.” Richie said, grabbing you both by the wrists and shoving you into Carmy’s bedroom. Carmy went to open the door, but realized Richie was leaning against the back of the door.

“Richie, let us out,” Carmy begged. You went and sat down on Carmy’s bed. “Carmy, c’mere, you know Richie’s stubborn, and he won’t give up,” you said, patting the spot next to you.

“Reminds me of someone else,” he teased you as he sat beside you. You lightly smacked his arm. “I am not stubborn. I was out there defending myself but also defending you. He’s gonna be insufferable at work tomorrow. He’ll tell everyone that we hooked up, and we’ll never hear the end of it.” You rambled.

“He’s been trying to get us to hook up for years, it might just be easier to actually do it and shut him up.” Carmy joked before he could process the words he was saying.

You felt your eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, Carmen Berzatto. Did I mishear you? Did you just suggest that we hook up?” You asked, truly stumped.

“Don’t look at me like that. I was just joking.” He tried to backpedal. He couldn’t read your expression, which was a first. It was because if he’d actually suggested it, you would have said yes immediately.

“I’m sorry about this. First, your apartment. And now, Richie being Richie.” He said, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “Carmy, none of this is your fault.” You said, grabbing his hand and tracing your finger over his tattoos.

You both were painfully aware of the fact that you’d never been this physically close before. This was beyond the level of affection that you both could defend as friendly.

“So, if it wasn’t Richie, you were gonna protect me?” You asked.

“Of course, I was. I’m always watching out for you. Gotta keep my girl safe,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

You sat straight up. Once again, you thought you’d misheard him. “Oh, fuck it,” he said, cupping your face and kissing you roughly. It didn’t take you any time to kiss him back.

He pressed his palms against your back and carefully pushed you back onto his bed. You ran your fingers across his toned chest. You could feel his muscles flex under your touch.

“I thought you said you were joking,” you teased him as he pressed kisses down your jaw. He let out a soft chuckle, his chest shaking against you. “Why? Do you want me to stop?” He teased.

“Fuck no,” you mumbled, cupping his face and pulling him down to kiss you. His fingers fumbled with the hem of your tshirt, letting his hands slip under it and caress your skin.

He felt you groan against the kiss and took it as a sign to keep going. One of his hands crept higher up your chest while he removed his other hand. He grabbed the bottom of your shirt and was ready to pull it over your head when the door burst open.

“Richie, the fuck? Get out,” Carmy yelled, quickly pulling your shirt back down to make sure you were completely covered. You hid your face in Carmy’s chest, not wanting to face Richie. You could already imagine the smug grin on his face.

“Well well well,” Richie said, in his signature “I told you so” tone.

Carmy didn’t want to put up with his gloating. “Richie, enough. Out!” He repeated, grabbing a pillow off the bed and throwing it at Richie’s face. The whole time he kept one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him and letting you hide from Richie.

Richie jumped backwards to dodge the pillow and finally closed the bedroom door. As soon as the door clicked closed, Carmy cupped your face with one hand and kissed you again.

You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as he ran his hand down your side. He let his fingers trace every inch of your skin.

You placed your hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Did I do something wrong?” Carmy asked, immediately concerned.

You quickly shook your head, trying to reassure him. “There’s nothing I want more right now, but we can’t do this with Richie here. You know that, Carm.” You said, caressing his cheek.

“One part of my brain knows that, but the other part knows how long I’ve waited for this, for you,” pressing a soft kiss against your cheek, “but you’re right.” he said.

“We’ve waited this long, what’s a little longer?” You joked, smiling up at him. He kissed your forehead, falling in love with the way you were looking at him. “Tomorrow night. I’m gonna take you out to dinner, and we’ll have a real date. I’m gonna spoil you.” He said, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, leaning forward to peck his lips.

You both sat in silence, soaking in the moment. You both knew that it was perfect, and you wanted to remember it forever.

“You look really pretty in the moonlight.” You complimented him, admiring the way Carmy’s curls framed his face.

“You’re making it really hard to not fall in love with you,” he teased, pulling you in for another kiss.

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[urhoneycombwitch]

heart like a hearth

roommate!Eddie x roommate!Reader it's the holidays, and goddamn everyone is home- you and Eddie haven't had a moment alone in weeks. good thing you know a boy with a van and an alibi...

foreword: Roommates!au cinematic universe expands: extended family unlocked! YES this was supposed to come out over the holidays NO I won’t be changing the setting but don’t worry it’s not overly/grossly Christmas-y. as one anon astutely pointed out, this Reader tends to be the most OCD of all my Reader iterations so I hope her actions/line of thinking reflects this disorder and not just due to being an ass, yanno? happy readin’ <3

cw: drinking, smoking, weed usage, R is related to Max (no specificity), R is referred to with a few fem nicknames (girl, princess etc.), van fucking (secluded spot!), fingering, oral (R receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected PiV, brief argument, angst (resolved), R plays feelings close to the chest 

wc: 8.1k

___

Eddie’s been shockingly well-behaved recently, and you’d almost think it’s due to the looming threat of a Naughty List if it weren’t for the simple fact that he hasn’t had time to behave otherwise. 

The last few weeks leading up to Christmas have been, so far, a whirlwind of constant noise and color. Your and Eddie’s apartment is conveniently central enough from various friends and family, and the two of you have been blindingly busy playing hosts. 

Your cousin, Max, came by train last week, along with her best friend, El, and a ragtag group of Eddie’s former D&D minions. Three whole days of cheesy holiday crafts, winter movies, and braiding the girls’ hair while Eddie ran a gripping oneshot campaign; giving way to late evenings, El and Max sharing the pullout couch while the boys took up what little was left of the floorspace like cozy little sardines.

No time after the kids were sent off, either- Robin was insistent on making you a proper boozy eggnog from her heirloom recipe, which had Nancy offering to bring her famous chocolate crinkles, and just like that, you were signing up to throw another party.

The Best Ever Eggnog Bash (Robin’s titling) has been raucous fun so far- Eddie paid all the neighbors off with various gifts of booze, weed, and/or Wheeler’s cookies, so last night, the karaoke machine got turned up to ten and much spiked (Best-Ever) eggnog was imbibed. 

Everyone was either too inebriated or too tired to drive afterwards, so an impromptu sleepover was called for- blankets tugged from all corners of the apartment again to make soft sleeping pallets for Robin and Nancy, while the rest of the boys (Jon, Argyle, and Steve) passed out like a pile of puppies on the couch.

In the morning, it only seemed natural to keep the party going- Robin had planned to stay through the weekend, anyways, and everyone else was loath to cut short their holiday break. 

Around lunchtime, Jeff and Gareth showed up with instruments in hand, expecting a rehearsal session but were instead greeted with plates of grilled cheese and a knotted ball of lights that no one had been able to untangle yet. 

They’re in the corner of the living room, now, bickering over the sound of a Crosby record as Jeff loops the string of lights around Gareth’s waiting hands. 

Jon and Steve are sharing a joint on the couch, giggling at a test pattern on the TV screen; Vicki, Robin, and Argyle are in various states of lap-sitting and stool sharing at the breakfast bar, a wasteland of cookie decorating ephemera spread across the counter.

“I think we did this backwards,” Nancy says, thoughtful and amused, passing you a freshly-cooled plate of gingerbread men. “Should’ve saved the alcohol for after the fine motor skill activities.”

“And deny the elves this simple joy?” You reply, sardonic and equally amused, setting the plate in front of your friends. Robin’s eyes light up, and Argyle nearly spills a whole flute of tequila in his haste to stake claim.

“The frosting will make you sick if you keep eating it,” Nancy cautions, but Robin’s already stuck the spoon in her mouth, pulling her choice of cookie in close and muttering with dogged determination to a blushing Vicki- “Gonna make you the best gingergirl ever. Seriously. It’s gonna blow your socks off.”

Longsuffering, Nancy sighs and leaves to check the oven. Eddie whirls into the living room hoisting a clear tub of board games above his head that rattles as he shakes it, truimphant- “Found it. I’m about to Dutch Blitz you into the next century, Harrington.”

“I wanted to play Boggle,” Steve whines, but his protests are quickly swallowed by the swarm of helping hands rearranging the living room; all the furniture gets pushed to the edges while Eddie deals in players on the carpet. 

Something about Eddie is particularly magnetic today- he’s wearing this maroon knit sweater gifted from his uncle, lean biceps flexing under soft fabric whenever he leans to place a card. The deep red is a great color on him, contrasting so nicely with his wild dark curls and glinting silver rings; so nicely, in fact, that you’re driven to distraction, ogling him openly from your spot mixing icing by the sink.

The thing about Eddie behaving himself? It’s kind of driving you crazy. 

You’re used to the bickering, the good-natured arguments, Eddie pushing your buttons until you snap or bend. You were expecting at least some skirting of the Rules- sneaking into your room after all your guests were asleep, maybe leaving a hickey that couldn’t be explained away- but he hasn’t progressed past fleeting, friendly touches and interactions.

(Well. Except the other night at the bar. But you’re sure everyone was too tipsy to see under the table, his hand inching up your skirt...)

And then, with stunning clarity- you realize you miss him. Like, you actually, truly, miss Eddie. He’s sat on a carpet just a few steps away, profile softly backlit from a nearby candle, and you’re aching to be closer.

As if tuned in to your frequency, Eddie looks up to catch your eye. Time and noise fade into the background of your thoughts; for a moment, it’s just you and him.

Just a few more days, you think, trying for telepathy. Then it’ll be just us again.

He gives you a wink from across two rooms, and the grin breaks on your face before you can think to stop it.  

___

Later in the afternoon, you’re using the only available sink in the bathroom to wash frosting from your hands when Eddie pokes his head around the partially-open door.

“Hey. We gotta go to PJ’s.”

He’s wearing his black leather jacket, your puffed winter coat folded over one arm, ringed hand curled around the doorframe as you finish drying your hands.

“I can do a snack run.” Agreeable, you take the proffered coat to put on. PJ’s Corner Store is less than two blocks away, but if you send Eddie out alone into the big world with a simple task there’s no telling when he’ll be back. “I’ll be quick, you stay and host.”

This last word ends on a tease as you zip the warm coat up to your chin, Eddie following your lead into the hallway even as he shakes his head. “Nah, that’s no good We’re out of cigarettes, too- stole Emerson’s last one.”

“Hey,” Gareth squawks from the kitchen, mouth full of gingerbread. 

“You shouldn’t be smoking ‘em, anyways, kid,” Eddie says, sagely, sticking the filter of a fresh cig between his teeth even as he lectures. 

“Well apparently we’re going to PJ’s,” you announce, hooking a thumb at Eddie behind you in a gesture of it can’t be helped, while inside you’re buzzing with the possibility of walking with just Eddie. Two blocks there and back, all that quiet snow…

There’s some protest at both hosts abandoning the party until everyone learns that the corner store has snacks, and then you’re fielding a barrage of requests and organizing spare change and crumpled bills into your pocket.

Eddie meets you by the front door, walking backwards while giving Nancy strict instructions for holding down the fort- “Don’t let those shitheads in my room, Wheeler, I’m counting on you to preserve state secrets-” -then he reaches past your head for the coat rack, pulling the length of Robin’s green scarf from its hook before wrapping it snug around your neck.

As he tucks the frayed ends into your coat, you notice the glint of van keys that he must’ve palmed silently from the other hook. 

“Thought we were going to PJ’s,” you whisper. 

Eddie pulls his hands away but not before trailing his fingers against the bare side of your neck, leaving a cascade of goosebumps in their wake, and replies in the same low, conspiratorial tone- “Who says we’re not?”

Finally, after scattered last requests you’re borne out into the cold on a wave of cheery goodbyes. The second the door shuts, Eddie’s tugging at your coat sleeve.

“Let’s go.” The order is gentle but weighty enough that your swirling questions are quelled, for the time being- you follow close on Eddie’s heels down the building stairs, boots crunching into the layer of fresh snow as he leads you across the parking lot.

At the van, Eddie carves ice from the windshield, strong arm moving the scraper in a solid arc. You hazard a glance at the apartment windows, an internal sigh of relief when you realize Eddie had parked on the west side out of view. 

“Not really sure what your angle is, here.” You’re not trying to poke the bear, this time, you’re just genuinely confused and a little on edge, unused to taking a backseat where planning is concerned. 

Eddie doesn’t answer, and you follow him to the other side of the windshield as he continues scraping, talking all the while. “I just mean- we can’t be gone long. Nancy’s responsible enough but if she starts drinking, too, then all bets are off. And it’ll probably look weird, you know, if it’s just you and me gone for so long. And we really should get snacks-”

“We will,” Eddie says, interrupting for the first time to open the passenger side door. “In you get.”

Eddie loads you into the van (rather like a dog, you think, petulantly clicking your seatbelt), then gets in himself, turning on the engine to blast vented heat throughout the van. 

The speakers crackle to life, and as Eddie turns onto the main road you fiddle with the radio dial until soft, instrumental Christmas music plays on low- a welcome respite from the weekend’s cacophony of noise.

You’re a little sad to be missing out on what would’ve been an extended walk; the roads are clear, and in less than two minutes, PJ’s appears down the street like a beacon, lights from the OPEN sign glowing against a backdrop of white.

Sad, that is, until Eddie drives past PJ’s.

“Eddie.”

A direct response to the note of warning in your voice, Eddie keeps his eye on the road but reaches for your hand (previously, tightened into a fist around your jeans). 

Once you allow his fingers to weave between yours, Eddie uses the stoplight as an opportunity to turn towards you, thumb brushing over the tops of your knuckles as he asks, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The answer comes so easily- you didn’t even have to consider an alternate option. Your trust is not something simply given, and Eddie knows it; there is still this lingering part of you, though, that wants to push back.

As a sort of self-protection, a longing for the familiar, you ready an argument. “But-”

“Nope!” Eddie interrupts, tugging at your hand in his grasp, almost jolly in his denial. “No comebacks. No skirting. I wanna hear you say it.”

The light turns green, but with no cars in at least a mile radius, Eddie’s foot stays firm on the brake, his bright, intense gaze fixed on you. 

You have a sudden urge to dash yourself against the passenger side window, or maybe to jerk the car door open and roll out onto the dirty snow of the sidewalk. A stifling, panicked feeling that would be overwhelming if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is watching you so tenderly, even while the wheels of your mind work overtime.

A brief few seconds that feel like an age, and then, with a squeeze of his hand, words that take shape and form in a voice quiet but sure- “I trust you, Eddie.”

His grin is wide, even as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, dropping your hand in favor of the wheel as the van resumes its speed. “Atta girl. Wanna show you a place.”

The van cuts a smooth path up a sloping westward street, warm holiday lights from the row of houses reflecting colors in the snow. There’s another stop sign at the top of the hill, and Eddie turns left again, steadily climbing, until the road flattens out.

A road sign declaring DEAD END looms and then passes your window; at the same time, the paved road turns to gravel. Not for the first time, you’re grateful that Eddie learned to drive on the harsh backroads of his native Tennessee hometown- it means he’s adept at guiding the van through a wintered forest to get to the other side.

The other side turns out to be well worth the wait. The snowy boughs of thickened trees give way to a clearing, and Eddie parks a safe distance away from the edge of the hill while still close enough for you to take in the view.

You unbuckle, leaning into your forearms on the dash for a better look, a soft exhale of exclamation- “Wow.”

It’s a spectacular sight- the city sprawls in shining white, pinpricks of winking lights everywhere that make the whole thing look like a blanket of sequins.

You’re keenly aware of the fact that Eddie isn’t looking at the view, he’s watching you take it in for the first time; you throw him a bone, flopping back into your seat with a sweet smile just for him- “Killer spot. Almost worth the adrenaline of thinking you were gonna axe murder me the whole time.”

Eddie scoffs, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it into the depths behind his seat. “You know I prefer a sword as my murderous weapon of choice. Smoke?”

A hand-rolled joint sits between his fingers, your arched eyebrow in response, incredulous- “Seriously? How much time do you think we have?”

“At least three hours,” Eddie says, confidently, straightening his legs into the footwell to fish the lighter from his front jeans pocket. “I showed Nance where the weed brownies are and told her to go crazy.”

With the movement of his legs, the red sweater rides up, a strip of tantalizing milky stomach and smattered trail of dark hair immediately burning itself into your brain. You swallow against the dryness in your throat, questioning even as he lights up- “When the hell did you have time to bake?”

“I have my ways.” Eddie inhales. Smoke pours from his nostrils, the whites of his teeth when his head swivels to catch your eye. “Made a batch while you and the kids were out. Our dear guests will be blind to time, trust me.”

“I do,” you insist, hot shock of fluster in your chest, shedding your own jacket that joins Eddie’s with a harsh throw before deciding you actually can’t let this one go. “I just… did you forget El’s dad is a cop? Like, badge and everything.”

“So?” 

If Eddie wasn’t smoking, you’d be half as distracted- he’s in his natural element, knees spread, head lolling on the seatback, a hazy cloud around the loose black curls that settle and shift on his shoulders. 

“So, you should maybe be more careful. You’re really not worried about getting caught with contraband out on your- on our counters, for that matter?”

It’s an argument quickly losing steam as the air grows heady with weed; Eddie takes another drag before reaching to stick the end of the joint between your lips. “Why would I worry when you’ve clearly got that covered for the both of us?”

Your brows knit together, a thunderous expression fixed on its target as you take a drag, baring your teeth on the exhale. Eddie chuckles, eyes already lightly red-rimmed as he watches, coos, “My little dragon.”

“I’m serious.” The joint is pinched between your own fingers now, but when Eddie reaches for it, you move quicker, holding it out of reach. He pouts, draping himself with dramatics over his armrest as you shake your head- “Eddie.”

He acquiesces, a goofy, deep forward-tipped bow that sends tendrils of his hair swinging across the knees of your jeans, one of his big hands wrapping around your upper thigh to steady himself. “Sweetheart. Y’know I always kid-proof my shit. I solemnly swear my allegiance to your best judgement.”

Eddie knows just what to say and do to diffuse your temper- you can’t be mad or annoyed with the crown of his head practically in your lap, supplicative and good-natured. 

You take another lungful of smoke, this one traveling direct to the contours of your brain, dampening the stress and lighting up the sensation of Eddie’s hand on your leg.

“Bring me here just to smoke?” Your free hand lifts, sets itself on the top of Eddie’s head- you note the way his shoulders stiffen slightly, the way his fingers curl tighter into the doughy flesh of your thigh. “Or did you have other, more nefarious intentions?”

Eddie dips so low his lips touch just near his thumb, warm breath of his groan seeping into your skin even despite the layer of denim. His other hand grasps your hip, subtly pulling you closer to the edge of your seat. “Yeah. I intend to break Rule Two in a major way.”

Oh, right. The rules. ‘Apartment as neutral territory’ being one of them. 

The joint sputters when you take a final hit, a small hiss when you snuff the end into the ashtray tucked snugly in a cupholder, leaning over the expanse of Eddie’s stretched spine notched through his sweater. “The van counts in my book. As far as neutrality goes.”

Perking up like a kid at Christmas, Eddie lifts his head, still half in your lap but chocolate eyes shining with hope (and no small amount of lust)- “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

It’s all the encouragement Eddie needs to make his move, pulling with intention now until you’re out of your seat and in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, pelvis settling into the crook of his own where a familiar hardness can be felt.

Eddie attaches himself to your neck, kissing desperately down the column as you arch into him, hands roaming down your back, another breaching past the hem of your top to feel your ribs.

“Fuck.” Already breathy and it’s been ten seconds. It should be embarrassing but it simply isn’t, not with the way Eddie’s finding his way to your bra, cupping and squeezing over the soft fabric like it’s all he’s been thinking about. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Been weeks, princess.” His breath slides hot over the wet marks he’s leaving, teeth nipping at your collarbone, a soft groan when your hands find their way back to his hair, fisting around the soft anchor of his curls. 

Eddie’s other hand not busy with your breast slides to the front of your jeans, a deft maneuver as he pops the button and slides his fingers past the elastic of your underwear; a hoarse, choked moan when he feels the slick accumulated there.

In awe, he draws his hand up and out, leaning back just to hold it up for the both of you to see in the soft backlighting of the dash. As his ringed fingers separate, stickiness glistens and webs between the digits. 

Chest heaving, cheeks burning, you shrug, feigning casual even with fistfuls of his hair in your grasp- “Like you said. It’s been weeks.”

Eddie puts his hand back where it belongs, between the apex of your thighs that automatically try to snap closed as his fingers hit against your clit like a pulsing homing beacon, just for him. He works you up quickly, panting and wet noises the only companion to the wintry silence, like you’re the only two people in the whole city.

He slips two fingers past your entrance, curling them just right, hitting against that spongy spot that makes your legs tremble and pulls a warbled moan from the back of your throat. 

Your arms resting on his shoulders spasm with the mounting pleasure, unintentionally bringing Eddie’s face in line with your breasts (an angle he’s more than happy to take, giving your other breast some mouthy attention through the layers).

“I’m- oh, fuck me- fuck, Eddie. I’m close.” 

Your body responding far faster than normal (it really has been weeks, after all), the falling is fast approaching, heel of Eddie’s pumping hand hitting perfectly against that fizzing bundle of nerves. 

That tight resolve is worming its way in- you don’t want this to end. You want Eddie’s mouth on your chest, his fingers warmed to your core temperature, you want it always.

He can tell, because he always can, when you’re holding back; the small, subtle ways in which your body stiffens and tries to restrain itself. 

Eddie tries to play stern, even as his cock throbs painfully, pinned under your squirming thigh- “Don’t hold back, sweetheart. You know I’ll give you another one. C’mon. Let it go.”

It’s all the encouragement you need. The coiling tension snaps in a sparking, roiling heat, gushing around Eddie’s steady and quick tempo; hopefully this spot is as soundproof as it feels, out here at the edge of the world, a sharp, whining cry as you come and fall apart. 

The aftershocks cause full-body tremors, while Eddie soothes with hands and voice, murmuring praises and calling you names that make your head spin like “good girl” and “sweet thing”.

Panting, you manage to lift your forehead off Eddie’s while his hands drop to your hips again- he looks fucking wrecked. Hair sticking up at the back thanks to your handiwork, pupils blown so wide the black is swallowing the gentle brown, a blush of pink at his cheeks. With a crooked smile, he asks- “Gonna let me top this time?”

A call and response, one that shakes a giggle from your shivery lungs- “I’ll think about it.”

Eddie gasps in phony surprise. “Wow, it really is Christmas.”

Rolling your eyes, stamina returning, you pat the tops of Eddie’s shoulders before using them to push yourself from his lap. The cry of his protest is short lived once he realizes you’re just moving to the back of the van, arranging the two discarded jackets for extra padding.

You make quick work of your shirt and have just shoved the waist of your jeans down to mid-thigh when a loud thunk startles you into looking up- in his eagerness to get back here with you, Eddie’s foot got caught in his seatbelt.

He curses, lying flat on the floor of the van looking like a gangly marionette while trying to yank his foot free. Your laughter has him twisting to watch, head tilting back to try and catch your eyes until he lurches free with an oof. 

Disentangled on his hands and knees, Eddie frowns when he sees the kicked-aside pile of your jeans and top, and starts with whiny reproach- “Heyyy. I was supposed to do that part. You-”

In a single swift move, you twist the clasp of your bra and shove it off, revealing the full sight of your breasts to the end of Eddie's stopped sentence. He gets with the program after that, expeditious to the point of humor, stripping down to just boxer shorts as you lie back on your elbows, body molding to the comfort of padded flooring. 

“That sweater really does look insane on you,” you comment, the rich red a blur as it’s flung to the corner. “Couldn’t stop staring, earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie’s brows waggle a suggestive dance as he crawls forward, stretching out over your supine form, kissing between the valley of your breasts. “I’ll send Uncle Wayne my regards.”

“Maybe no blood relative talk right now,” you gasp out, his lips forming a suction over your left nipple.

A wet pop as he moves to the other, considering- “Probably a good call.”

In what is quickly becoming a familiar facet of sex with Eddie, he can’t seem to stay away from your pussy for long. Ever since the first time you fucked, Eddie’s been lightly obsessed with figuring out your body, all the ways in which it can tick and sing for him alone- and he’s proven to be a quick study. 

Drawn like a magnet, his lips leave damp patches as he kisses his way down your torso, across your stomach; you’re heaving with unsteady, anticipatory breaths as Eddie’s teeth catch at the band of your undies, as his hands pull-slip them down your thighs and off. 

You’ve never felt more well and truly fucked, in every sense of the word, than when Eddie’s mouth is on your cunt. 

It’s an art form, really- the particular attention he pays to all the small hotspots you didn’t even realize were a thing: the bony bridge between inner thigh and pelvis where your femoral artery whooshes in response to his canines; the tender skin just under your weeping hole that makes everything clench when his tongue deftly prods. 

Fucked, as in where the hell else am I ever gonna have it this good; conversely, fucked as in can’t possibly hold onto that thought with his tongue where it is.

His hands can never agree on a favorite place, usually taken to roaming about your body- this time, his right rests solid on the softness of your stomach, keeping the rolling wave of your body at the mercy of his lips while the other hand squeezes the fat of your upper thigh in a tight grip. 

It’s impossible to stop the cacophony of sounds that spill out, nearly drowning out the slick noises of Eddie familiarizing himself with the inside of your cunt; sharp gasps, moans, a cry as he dips back in, out again, thighs shaking, closing around the silver hoops that line the shell of Eddie’s ears. 

When his clever mouth moves up to pull the aching bead of your clit into a suction, the space between your ears goes white as the damn snowscape outside.

“Jesus fuck, Eddie. Oh, my god- don’t stop. Please don’t stop, that feels-”

In response, Eddie moans, sucking harder, taking his hand from your thigh to fit two fingers into you, wall of muscle swallowing him greedily. Your spine arches from the padded floor, heels digging in where your legs are slung over Eddie’s shoulders, hand burying itself in the soft crown of Eddie’s hair. 

“Oh- fuck, fuck, Eddie- Eddie, Eddie…”

There’s a distant awareness that you’re babbling but you know Eddie likes it, loves that he’s the one making you fall apart past the tight boundary of sound you usually keep; the pads of his fingers coast against the front wall of your cunt once, twice, and your second orgasm of the evening hits with the force of a freight train. 

The pleasure wracks through your frame, fevered flush sparking down to the tips of your toes as it moves through your seizing muscles. Your hips jolt upwards, a pleasant counter pressure when Eddie’s hand on your stomach stays firm, keeping your pelvis aligned so there’s not a moment away from his mouth. 

Eddie’s tongue draws out the feeling on your pulsing clit while his fingers stay at that perfect angle, driving into you with the same fast-patterned stroking that keeps your rapture spiraling. The pleasure starts to ebb but still he laps at you, head shaking back and forth like a dog, pinning your wrist to the floor when you squirm and seize up, foggy and helpless to the flow of euphoria. 

He pauses, finally, your body going lax the instant his mouth leaves to start kissing his way back up your stomach. In the waning light from the back van windows, Eddie’s chin is shimmering with your slick.

You have a sudden, desperate need to kiss it off him. Rule Number Four be fucking damned, you want to kiss this boy, full on the mouth. Unbelievable you’ve both stuck to it for so long- the desire welling within is something two orgasms can't begin to touch.

Would it be so bad… your heart pounds, blood chorus singing through your veins as Eddie gets closer, crawling up your body. Your better judgement is not at play here, dizzy and sick with affection, reaching up to touch the black-inked wyvern on his bicep, tangling the fingers of your other hand into the chain of the swinging guitar pick necklace.

The interior of the van has warmed with the heat of your combined bodily movements, but when Eddie shoves his boxers down and off you could swear the temperature spikes three degrees at least.

Eddie’s mostly focused on both of your lower halves, a ringed hand at the ditch of your knee pushing it towards your chest, spreading you open that much further to line up at your entrance- so he doesn’t see the way you’re looking at him. The way your eyes are drinking in every bead of sweat, every contour of his bowed head and tight shoulders.

With his other hand planted on the floor of the van just by your ear, Eddie uses the extra stability to drag his cock through your soaked folds, using your spend to coat the heavy tip and generous length. 

The hand under your knee cinches tight, Eddie hissing through his teeth- “Shit. So wet. S’all for me, sweet thing? Hm?”

“Yeah.” You’re struck dumb with wanting, unable to play coy, urging Eddie in closer with a heel at the small of his back. “All yours. Please-”

A sharper tug than you intend shortens the silver lead, hauls Eddie’s face shockingly close to your own, his breath puffing out tantalizingly close to your lips, lashes blinking rapidly in surprise against your cheek. 

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, voice husked, sheathing himself into your cunt with achingly slow precision. “Okay, sweetheart. All mine.”

His forehead bumps gently into yours with each small thrust as he tests the waters, holding back even still, making sure your body is ready (a moot point as you feel wet enough to fill an inflatable pool by now). 

The thick head of his cock slides against that innermost spot, your knees rising to cage in the sides of Eddie’s torso; he lifts his head from yours just far enough to be able to see your face when his thrusts pick up intensity. 

Somewhere, there’s a loose hinge in the van that squeaks with each movement, grounding you with each rock of Eddie’s hips, each push and pull and delicious drag of his throbbing cock. Other noises, too: like your open-mouthed moaning, and the short ones Eddie makes each time he slams into you, exhale of breath halfway between a grunt and a sigh, his dark eyes still dancing over your face.

The pleasure is building again, everything mounting and climbing up to that peak. Eddie chokes out a “fuck” as the channel of your cunt squeezes him vice-like, hips faltering, rhythm skipping beats. 

It’s impossible to hold on to any one thought, fragments swirling along with all those firing synapses- the fresh layer of snow on the roads, coating the pine trees, the slatted roofs. Eddie’s chipped Garfield mug next to yours on the counter at home. 

Eddie’s fringed bangs, stuck to his forehead with sweat; the mole on his left peck, the freckle above his second rib; Eddie’s lips, the bottom one plush and dark from being bitten and abused by his own front teeth; Eddie’s lips-

In the end, you’re not sure if it’s the pull of your hand in the chain, or the fact that Eddie was already ducking down towards you again. 

What you do know is that it feels a whole lot better coming on Eddie’s cock when his mouth is on yours. 

As far as first kisses go, this one is sloppy, wet with spit and tasting of your cum, Eddie’s noise of shock quickly turning into a vibrating groan as he kisses you back. His tongue is still coated in a layer of your slick but once you suck that away you finally get a pure taste, for the first time, of him. Of Eddie. 

It’s this thought that freefalls you headlong into orgasm, taking Eddie with you, bottom lip taking the pinch of Eddie’s teeth as he comes, too, warmth blooming as his cock spits out weeks’ worth of pent-up release. 

“Fucking hell,” Eddie says against your lips, enjoying the novel feeling while trying to regain his breath. “Jesus christ. You okay? Was that- I mean, it was good?”

In the honeyed afterglow, you press a palm into Eddie’s cheek, relishing in the fact that you can feel his smile when you reply, honest, “Very good. The best.”

As if unsure he’s allowed to now that the moment has passed, Eddie doesn’t kiss you on the lips again, instead planting a chaste but no less adoring one on your cheek. Carefully, he sits up, then helps disentangle your body from the weave of his own. 

Your head swims as you take the proffered hand to sit up, arms automatically crossing over your chest; Eddie digs through the clothes pile and offers you things one at a time; underwear, bra, a sock, then the other, quiet and attentive until you’re fully dressed.

The dampness between your thighs is vaguely uncomfortable but nothing can be done about it until you’re back at the apartment. You sit cross-legged on the padding of Eddie’s coat, blinking at the boy gathering his clothes until he catches you and grins back, softly. 

Eddie asks, like he can read your mind, “Still okay?” 

At the base of your throat, something stings. “Um. I don’t know.”

Eddie’s mass of black curls pops through the opening of his sweater, which he shifts to jam his arms into. “Don’t know if you’re okay? Or…”

The sentence hangs in the air as Eddie looks at you, partially dressed in his boxers and Christmas sweater, looking flushed and curious and adorable. The stinging moves to the corners of your eyes, fingers tangling into each other with nerves and plummeting hormones. 

“I’m okay, I’m just- I’m just sorry.”

Eddie snorts, like the idea is ridiculous, shaking the wrinkles out of his jeans- “For what? Being crazy hot? Can’t fault you for that, babe, kind of the whole point.”

The tears that are threatening to spill aren’t allowing you to join in on the jokes, not yet. Same as earlier, your voice quavers, brows drawing together as you stare at your twisting hands- “Sorry for kissing you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie’s tone is faux chipper, like kissing you is a totally normal occurrence that didn’t just blow his world open, doing an awkward crunch-wiggle forward to get his jeans on. “The day I accept an apology for one of your kisses is the day I should be sent to the guillotine. Without trial.”

The brand of his lips hasn’t left yet, your tongue poking out without permission to swipe over your bottom lip, skin buzzing and still tasting like him. “We- I should at least try to stick to the rules.”

Was the kiss your doing, though? The way he was looking at you, just before you pulled him in- almost like he was waiting for it. Waiting to kiss you- 

Still in a jovial post-sex mood, Eddie buttons his pants and perches on a spare amp box in the corner, boots sitting between his socked feet. “Sure thing. Just, ah, running the stats here- I don’t think the evidence stacked against our very epic but very secret dalliance is bound to be hidden for long.”

“Right.” This, at least, is a normal topic of conversation, hearkening back to the times of ten minutes ago before a kiss fucked everything sideways. 

You lift a hip to pull Eddie’s coat out from underneath, folding it over an arm just to have something to do.  “Well, there’s always an alternate explanation. I’m getting good at those, y’know- borrow a tasteful scarf to hide hickeys. ‘I was late because of the dentist, the vet, the traffic-’”

“Always one for excuses.”

There’s not an ounce of joking in Eddie’s tone this time, enough derision to make you look up, sharp and sudden- “Excuse me?”

This time, Eddie is the first to drop his gaze first, hair falling over his face as he bends forward to fit his foot in the mouth of his boot. “Nothing.”

A hollow thunk as his heel makes contact, then he reaches for the other boot with a weary, flat laugh, shaking his head under your tense gaze. “You just- you don’t think they’ll see it? Smell it on us? All the l- the- y’know, the affection? The intimacy?”

The Word he swallowed sits in your own throat, just behind the sting. The cool tips of your fingers slot over your eyelids, Eddie’s coat in the crook of your elbow smothering your senses with spiced cologne and nicotine. Maddening. 

In the dark behind your fingers, the tears gather. The Rules, once a lifeline to your structured self, now seem childish and hurtful. You say the one thing you’re able- “I’m sorry.”

Another dull thunk for his second boot, and then you hear Eddie rise, feel the soothing brush of his touch on the crown of your head as he passes- he doesn’t even sound mad. “Don’t be. S’okay.”

The handle on one of the back van doors pops, preceding a metallic creak and a rush of cool air. You drop your hands from your eyes, watching the profile of Eddie’s face against the backdrop of wintry woods as he crouches at the van’s edge, drawing in lungfuls of crisp air. 

The cold leeches in, bringing with it a sense of exposure, taking all the smells and heat of sex from the coziness of the enclosure and lifting it all out to be scattered on the wind. You have a strange feeling of wanting to reach out and hold onto the last of it, as if it were tangible. 

Eddie’s boots crunch into the snow, but he doesn’t go far, just steps a yard or so away. Through the single open door his back is turned, shoulders rolling, neck stretching from side to side, working out the kinks. 

Longing aches through your bones; you want to bury your face into the space between his shoulder blades and breathe in that musky, rich red fabric. You don’t feel as though you’ve earned that right, somehow. 

Instead, you snag your own boots and coat to jam on, joining Eddie under a sky paled with early evening light. He stands silently, eyes fixed on the trees, breath a floating cloud around his head.

You stand just as silent, shoulder to shoulder, Eddie’s black jacket still tucked in your crossed arms. Silent until you can’t bear it, bouncing on the balls of your feet against the icy wind that cools the sweat under your arms and back with a chill.

“I know you don’t want me to be, but I am. Sorry, that is. I don’t-”

The tears are back. You swallow them down, determined to loose the words from your lips, however clunky, because Eddie deserves to hear them at the very least. “I don’t know how to function without rules. Without some sort of- cage, or, like, something to hold me in, ‘cuz otherwise I-”

In answer, Eddie breaks his deer-like stillness to turn, pulling you into himself, arms wrapping you up in a solid hug. The warmth starts to creep back in as he rocks you gently, dropping  kiss to the top of your head before saying- “I know. I know, honey, because I know you.”

Tears make wet tracks down your cheeks, dampening the front of Eddie’s sweater, even as you make a watery attempt at humor- “No, you don’t. Don’t even know my middle name.”

“Sure I do. Guessed it ages ago. Obviously Albert.” 

His hug tightens when you sob a laugh, clinging to him, words still fighting to the surface- “I’m just, sorry, that I’m the way that I am and I can’t change it, not right now, at least, but it’s hurting you and I just am so s-”

“Honey, honey,” Eddie’s mumbling over your stream of consciousness, pressing in closer to rest his cheek on your crown. “Don’t have to be sorry. ‘M not hurting. Not from you, never from you. I like you so much-”

“I like you so much,” you sniff, pulling your head up to look at him even through the tears so he knows you mean it. 

You’re met with a wide smile, a winner, the kind that shows all his teeth, bright enough to rival the snow- “Oh my god. You have a crush on me?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing at his chest but weak enough that he chuckles at the effort, basking in the extra touches.

There’s an unfortunate lack of time but you take what little aftercare is afforded, hearing the thump of Eddie’s heart under your ear, relishing the feeling of his hold. Though the winter air is bitter with cold, it helps to clear your mind from the sex-weed-shame loop. 

Spoken into the fibers of Eddie’s sweater- “I just… don’t want to share you yet. It’s stupid and complicated but I want it to be our thing, for a little while longer. Just us.”

“Just us,” Eddie repeats, kissing the parts of you he can reach- forehead, temple, line of scalp. “I can swing that. Not too different from now, hm?”

“It will be, though.” It’s a promise that scares you, but one you’re confident you can make in good faith. You just need some time. “Promise.”

With one last squeeze, Eddie lets you go, taking his coat from your arm to slip into, patting around for his keys and jingling them with a wink- “Your chariot awaits, princess.”

___

As it turns out, Eddie wasn’t, in fact, lying about going to PJ’s, which is why you now find yourself under the harsh fluorescents of a corner store aisle with your roommate’s cum drying in your undies. 

“Snakes.”

Zoning out on the racks of candy, Eddie’s sudden word from just behind your right shoulder makes you jump.

“What?” You cast a glance backwards. 

In response, Eddie’s jacketed arm brushes yours when he leans past you for a bag of gummy snakes. He’s already got an armful of various chips and a 6-pack of beers, the bottles clinking as he shifts. 

“Robs won’t eat the bear kind. Said the shape makes her too sad to eat.”

You consider this, sliding a bag of peach rings off the metal line for Nancy. “But biting a snake’s head off, that’s all good and fine for a tree hugger?”

“She’s an odd duck,” Eddie agrees, wistful, plastic crinkling under those big palms that were mapping the shape of your body not twenty minutes ago. 

“Well, you’d know all about that, huh?” You knock a shoulder playfully into Eddie’s side.

The look he gives you is mischievous, sparkling through the frame of long, dark lashes. “If it quacks…”

Earlier, you’d used the payphone to call home while Eddie hunted for vittles- a short drive back, but nonetheless you were anxious to know the situation you’d both be walking into. 

Annoyingly, Eddie was right again- Nance sounded unusually giggly, telling you all about the epic blanket fort the boys had built under Robin’s orders, the background filled with drunken and otherwise intoxicated chatter. Not even eagle-eyed Nancy noticed the time you and Eddie spent away- all she asked about was the food supplies. 

At the counter, a lone employee bags the snack fest with disinterest, retrieving Eddie’s requested pack of smokes and sorting the crumpled bills you provide with barely a word.

Eddie’s eyes keep darting to yours, nostrils flaring, hamming up the humor, and it’s getting harder not to laugh each time, corners of your mouth twisting to keep the noise from bursting out. 

If there’s something funny, Eddie wants to share it with you. He’s always been generous. 

In the glittering snowscape of PJ’s parking lot, Eddie plucks at your sleeve before you can open the passenger door. 

“Got somethin’ for ya.”

You turn with a frown, eyeing him suspiciously- “If you just spent real money on a pack of those skeezy ‘sex pills’ from the front counter I’m actually not interested.”

“No, no, it’s-” Eddie slings the grocery bag handles to his other arm, rustling in his coat pocket to procure a small, flat parcel of brown butcher paper. “Your Christmas present. Didn’t wanna give it in front of all those other weirdos.”

There’s a loop of white string tied in a knotted bow; you smile softly, taking the gift from Eddie’s proffered hand and plucking at the string. “But- I didn’t bring yours, it’s sitting under the tree-”

“I know. It’s cool, I’ll open it day-of if you want, I just… wanted you to have this now.”

You think about the shiny new record waiting at home for Eddie as you unwrap the present with burgeoning glee- in the middle of the paper lies a circlet of weaved fabric, in varying shades of forest green and cerulean blue. 

It’s not until you lift the loop into the air that you realize what it is- a friendship bracelet. 

“Max and El helped,” Eddie explains, in the nervous, self-conscious way of a gift-giver. “Had a whole craft sesh while you and the boys were out ice skating. Don’t think they quite believed I was makin’ it for Jeff, but…”

He trails off. You’ve just noticed the tiny silver pendant dangling from the center of the bracelet, about the size of your pinky nail- it dances with movement, casting glints of light from its surface, the engraved E flipping in and out of sight. 

“Couldn’t craft that one. Need a little more real-world metal working practice under my belt for that.” Eddie hooks a thumb in his belt loop for emphasis, rocking back on his heels. “Got it when I went to the big city last month.”

You run the pad of your finger over the engraving, feeling the grooves of the letter press up against your skin, shocked into silence. 

“And- uhm, I mean, if you hate it, or if it’s, like, totally weird that I just gave you something with my initial on it-” Eddie is full of fidgety nerves, making a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate general whateverness- “I didn’t mean it like an I own you sorta thing, you’re your own woman- person- obviously, and you can totally just throw it to the birds-”

The parking lot and nearby street is empty, but even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have stopped you from pulling Eddie in by the jacket collar and kissing him breathless. 

He makes a little mmph of surprise, then gets with it, kissing back, letting you direct the show with a fistful of his lapel. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, a lovely pink flush in his cheeks as he chases your mouth for one last kiss.

“Thank you,” you whisper, genuine, lifting your right wrist for Eddie to take- “Will you put it on me?”

With gentle dedication, Eddie fits the bracelet around your wrist and ties the ends together, silver pendant sitting perfectly at the base of your hand. 

“You’re comin’ for Christmas, right?” Eddie’s taking his time with microadjustments of the fit, using the excuse to trail his long fingers around your upper arm while he’s at it. “Don’t think I officially asked you yet, just sort of assumed.”

He’s petting the inside of your forearm, almost to distraction. 

“Wayne won’t mind?”

Eddie snorts, a double-squeeze to your wrist as he fiddles with the ends of the bracelet. “You kidding? Pretty sure that spiteful old man would lock me out of the damn trailer if I showed up without you.”

Despite the cold, warmth blooms through your limbs, a holiday spent with hot chocolate on the Munson couch a fortifying future indeed. 

Eddie pulls your wrist to his face, meeting it halfway for a kiss before giving your hand back. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go see what damage those holiday hooligans have wrought on our apartment.”

[tinylilacbun]

Teenagereader! Can you do like JJ picked us up from a party and were drunk so he takes care of us?

The moment you called JJ he immediately got into action, catching the keys from the Twinkie that John B tossed to him when he heard you slurring on the other line, clearly drunk and at some party based on the loud music blaring in the background.

He isn't mad, not at all, you're just a teenager testing your limits and having fun in life, there's no harm in that it's only natural, he did much worse when he was your age.

JJ is actually quite amused and a little touched that you called him to come pick you up and not your dad in a drunk haze, thank god.

He's still worried of course, knowing all kinds of stuff that can happen while being intoxicated, having experienced a lot of them himself.

You'll always be his little sister, and he'll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you, he vowed that to himself.

That's why he didn't hesitate to make his way towards the party you barely managed to tell him over the phone, telling you to stay put and to not go with anyone that isn't specifically him.

A good 10 minutes drive away he pulls up to the beach where a keg party is in full swing, stepping out of the Twinkie as he scans the area for you.

Eventually he spots you leaning heavily against one of your friends while laughing loudly, shaking his head with a chuckle as he makes his way towards you.

"Jayj!" You beam, throwing yourself into your big brother's arms, giggling drunkenly against his chest.

"Seems like you had a lotta fun, huh?" He snickers, trying to keep you upright as your body sways. "C'mon, let's get you home."

You only nod, letting him lead you towards the van, barely managing to keep your footing as JJ helps you into the passenger seat, putting on the seatbelt for you.

When he lifts his head you grin at him with heavy eyelids, hiccuping one time. "I love you jay."

He chuckles, already prepared for the emotional drunk talk you'll probably pour out now, ruffling your hair. "Love ya too, cupcake."

He shuts the door before rounding the Twinkie to get into the driver's seat, starting the engine and wheeling onto the road.

Soon you arrive at the Chateau, the others ask if you're okay but JJ just gives them a thumbs up as he practically carries you inside.

He lets you flop onto the pullout couch with a huff, making sure you're laying comfortable and have one leg dangling over the edge, momentarily leaving you to get a bucket in case you don't make it to bathroom in time.

"You'll have one hell of a hangover tomorrow but lucky for you, your big bro knows all the tricks." He chuckles as he sets the bucket next to the couch, grabbing a blanket to drape it over you, smoothing some of your hair from your face. "Sleep tight, sis."

"Wait..." You mumble out, taking hold of his wrist before he could leave. "Stay 'til m'sleeping?"

His expression softens even more at the quiet plea, nodding his head and sitting down by the edge next to you, waiting patiently for you to fall asleep.

He'll definitely tease you to no end when you wake up tomorrow.

[coquettepascal]

his gutted rabbit

summary: you wanted this. have your cake and eat it too. 

tags: 18+, not smut just nsfw, no outbreak au, use of alcohol, irresponsible drinking, dubious consent (bordering on dddne,) reader is referenced to as a girl, reader has a vagina, severe age gap (reader is twenty, joel is somewhere in his fifties,) dark-ish!joel, bad morals basically, neighbor!joel, maybe dbf!joel, this is very subjective, ooc joel and idgaf, regrettable PiV, use of pullout method, angst.

a/n: i call this joel awful!joel because he’s just a man in this fic. also you are not obligated to read this if it makes you uncomfortable. this fic is supposed to be uncomfortable.

(1.4k, not beta read)

Joel was only a passing face and a name in your journal before tonight. 

You’ve had a crush on him for a little while now, you’re pretty sure any girl on your street does. He was Joel Miller, the handsome dad who anyone could depend on for a favor. Though he’d become more busy lately, you’ve been seeing him more often and the two of you have become friendlier. It isn’t like it’s weird, he’s talked to you in passing once or twice, but only really when your parents were around. They liked Joel and didn’t think of it twice when you said you were going to his place for dinner. 

You knew it wouldn’t just be dinner. The moment you stepped into his house you were bent on getting what you wanted, what you fantasized about. Nothing would live up to what you thought he could give you, no one would be able to make you feel small the way he would. Your proof was non-existent, maybe fantastical and overimaginative, but you were willing to test it all. 

Between the pages of your journal and in the folds of your brain lay your wishes to be chased by him, to seduce him and have him at your will. “I want to be like a tricky little rabbit that he can’t help but want to run after,” you had written mere nights ago. You would be so beautiful, maybe a giggly drunk, and he’d make love to you in a way that only a man would. Joel, in all his strength, would use his body to imprint you on his mattress and in the making of that, you’d imprint on his heart. He’d make your lackluster girlhood mean something, he’d make a woman out of you, yet not take advantage. 

It would take some convincing. It would be worth it. 

It doesn’t take long. (why didn’t it take long?)

The first thing Joel chases is the amount of shots you take. By the time the living room is painted in the shades of a summer sunset you’re both laughing at the sound of each other’s laughter and getting too close on the couch. More drinks lead to more touching, and then a kiss, and then you get what you want. Joel chases you up the stairs while your feet stumble, socked feet almost slipping on the shining hardwood in the dark. Laughter bounces louder in the hallway, so loud it vibrates the tiny glass panes in the framed pictures on the wall. Your hands fumble with the door handle when you reach his bedroom. He crowds behind you, heavy and warm with inebriation as he sloppily places his hand over your own and bursts into his bedroom.

Then his eyes chase you as you crawl backwards up his bed, rumpling his sheets. You don’t remember when your clothes came off, or who had taken them off, it wasn’t important. It’s happening, he wants you, and you’re getting what you wanted. Joel’s eyes trail from your hardening nipples down to your crotch, where your thighs are still pressed together. Here is where you begin to feel small. He seems so much bigger suddenly, and suddenly you are much too little. A shiver runs up your back, one that feels like tv static, and you try to convince yourself it isn’t fear as he crawls on top of you. 

He feels like an arrow in you. Sharp, aching, and fractured pains pulse in your vaginal walls as he tries not to move, a futile attempt at being gentle. Your eyes are swimming with alcohol, the same drunkenness that makes his words slur as they fall from his sloppy lips. You didn’t think it would hurt like this, you were so sure you wanted it.

Then, just as that feeling fades, and he thinks it’s okay to move, it starts to feel bad. Really, really bad. You watch as he shoves himself into you, his movements messy since he’s so fucked up, and you start to really see all that’s wrong with what the two of you are doing. Joel is only supposed to be Joel. He is supposed to be that friendly neighbor, the one who helps you and your parents with groceries, who fixes the garage door when it breaks, and he’s supposed to call you “kiddo,” and “sweetie.” He’s supposed to do all these things because he’s a grown man. You can see that he’s grown into the wiry greys that have started to grow into his beard and in the hair just above his ears, you can see it in the way his hands are softening with age, the skin thinning, and you can feel it in how the bones of his hips creak against the flesh of your legs that are wrapped around him. You, a girl, are having sex with a grown man, one who should have known better, one that is now inside you.

This needs to be over, it needs to be over and soon. You don’t feel small, you feel tiny and scared, and you are only a girl. You are not meant to be chased by a man this old and you know that now, but it’s too late. It’s too late, isn’t it? Your belly hurts all of a sudden, the pounding beat against your cervix feeling like it’s about to make that alcohol come right back up. He’s sweating on top of you, exerting too much energy, and that’s somehow making you feel more nauseous. You’re so inebriated you can barely understand whose limbs are whose. He has made you feel small, but in a way that makes you want to cry for your mama. Desperately you want this to be over. You know you’re drying up, and fast, and if he doesn’t finish soon then that’s only going to make you hurt more.

“Where should I–” he grunts, clearly close. 

As much as you want it to be over though, you want to tell him to come nowhere. Not inside you, and not on you, but what choice do you have? You’re already here, you wanted this. 

“On me,” you decide, trying to ignore how tight your voice is. There aren’t any tears in your eyes, but there’s a burning weight behind them. When he pulls out of you, you shut your eyes and try to pretend the warm splatters that hit your skin are raindrops, just raindrops. Not Joel, you’re outside, and it’s raining, and you’re okay, and you didn’t make this mistake. It’s just raining. 

You can still feel it on you even after he wipes your belly clean. The skin almost feels itchy, taut where the liquid had laid on you. Joel is laying beside you, still catching his breath, and he reaches out to touch your hip, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“Never thought we’d do somethin’ like this,” he jokes. Joel sounds more sober now. He’s more sober and he’s still lying there beside you, the two of you naked. Why is he still okay with this? Why does it seem like he wanted this all along?

“Did you think about it?” You ask. It’s a stupid question, one that will hurt you no matter what, but you already feel so betrayed. How could he give in to you? How could he let this happen? Isn’t he the adult here? 

“Tried not to,” Joel says. That almost feels okay, but then he keeps talking. “Couldn’t help it sometimes.” 

“Couldn’t help it.” Like you’re some irresistible thing, some off limits object. Bile stings the back of your throat but you swallow your vomit down. Maybe if you act okay with this then it will just end up being a funny story, a stupid mistake you both made. Maybe if you just pretend, then maybe you’ll be able to look him in the face again someday. 

Earlier you felt the excitement of taboo, the rush of playing a game. You felt in control when he was chasing you, when you led him up the stairs. Of course you didn’t think you were being hunted, you started this game with this man who you didn’t think was bad. You thought you were in control, that he was prey in your trap, but prey don’t chase. Prey don’t chase. 

Laying in his bed, nude, you are everything you thought you wanted to be. The fleeting dream of being his gutted rabbit, gently dissected, has become too real. You didn’t know what being gutted was until he was splitting you open, and though he was a kind man, you still bled. Small on the left side of the mattress, with your ears back and your cottontail between your legs, you wonder how long you will bleed for.

[umathurwin]

pogue chicken

john b routledge x kiara carrera; nsfw 18+ below the cut

Summary: Pogue chicken.

That’s the only way he could think to describe it. JJ and Pope played gay chicken for years until it started to get too serious and they couldn’t look each other in the eye for a day or two afterwards and John B wasn’t sure who exactly won or lost. But this time, instead of two friends who needed to fuck it out, it’s… wait.

***

Or, Kiara and John B decide to test the waters of what's considered 'macking'.

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Kiara held the lid tightly on top of the blender and hit pulse, making the ice and protein powder jump and spasm in the glass. When the contents became stuck, she shut it off and shook the entire unit on the counter with a clanging noise before turning the blades back on. 

John B stumbled in, heel of his hand pressed against his eye socket. He marched over to the kitchen and yanked the cord to the blender out of the wall. 

“Kiara, I’ll kill you,” he said, skipping over the question of why she was making a damn shake when the owner of said blender and the powder inside it was so hungover he could die. 

“What?” she asked innocently, inspecting the now-dead blender to see if she could maybe choke down what she’d done so far. Nope. “I needed a pick-me-up after last night. I can give you whatever doesn’t fit in my cup. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Y’know what sounds nice? A McDouble. That’s got protein too,” he said, grabbing a to-go cup from the counter, dumping out the tequila mixture, and replacing it with sink water. After chugging most of it, he poured the rest directly over his head. “How are you not in fucking shambles this morning? You had, like, a fifth all to yourself and I nearly pulled trig for you.”

“I don’t get hungover,” she smugly announced, plugging the blender back in and giving him a warning look to step out onto the porch. “Alcohol and I just have… a synergy.”

“The frontman of Smash Mouth had a similar philosophy.”

Before he could reach the front door, she made eye contact with him and turned the blender back on. He winced and tried to open the door, but it was still locked from the night before. “Wait, wait!” he pleaded until she shut the machine off. “Is that… my shirt?”

Kiara looked down and nodded at the Tijuana Panthers shirt she’d stolen from his room last night, before accepting the half-made pullout. “Sure is,” she admitted smugly, twirling around in it and giving him confirmation that she only had on panties underneath. “It’ll make its way back to you, I promise.”

John B smirked, hand on the doorknob. “How about right now? Just go ahead and take it off—”

Kiara turned the blender back on once again. John B actually made a pained noise, and dipped out to the patio. “I am never drinking again!” she heard him shout from outside.

***

They threw a rager at the Chateau three days later.

It wasn’t even justifiable at this point, the amount they were partying, but JJ always seemed to wave it off with some variation of it’s summer! Why not? Not to mention he’d gotten a job recently at a liquor store and eagerly helped himself to a few items here and there that he marked as defective or damaged. Pope bets he’ll last six weeks before the owner catches him smuggling out a handle or keg. Cleo bet two.

Still, John B had thoroughly learned his lesson after the Memorial Day party last week, and monitored his own pouring. He even used a shot glass he nicked from the pub on the boardwalk to measure out the vodka, keeping him at a respectful buzz that JJ had surpassed at lunch.

Speaking of: his blonde liability was already starting to brag to partygoers about his famous trick— a back tuck off the roof, a stunt that last had him limping and swollen for three days—and John B knew it was time to collect him.

“Hey, brother!” he asked, throwing an arm around his neck and steering JJ away from the dubious audience he’d amassed, who were only slightly let down by the loss of their show. “Looks like you’re having a good time. You seen Pope lately?”

He scrunched his nose, thinking back to the six minutes of memory he was working with by now. “Nah.”

“Kie?”

He shook his head, waves bouncing around, and he grinned at the dizzy feeling he’d already given himself. JJ lit up. “Oh! I did see Cleo go into your room earlier.”

John B snorted, draining the rest of his metered dose and throwing the cup into the black garbage bag lazily hung open on the oven. “Yeah. Stoner central in there.”

“Aha, we got one down!” JJ excitedly announced, raising his hand up for a high five. John B rolled his eyes but still returned it. “Let’s celebrate.”

Before he could even spit out celebrate what, exactly, JJ had already pulled him further into the kitchen and grabbed two storebrand Solo cups. He poured a bit of jungle juice mixture into both, sloshing reddish liquid over the sides and staining the counter. JJ reached for bottles and dumped in amounts without looking, hands working faster than his mind, faster than John B could reach out and stop him—

With two full cups, JJ grabbed both and gave a half-assed swirl to combine the warm ingredients. He shoved one into his best friend’s hand and already began a toast.

“Jayj, I’m really not sure I should—”

“To lesbians and virgins—”

“—I’ve been trying to be careful tonight—”

“—thanks for nothing!”

“Oh, fuck it.”

It’s one drink, he thought to himself. What’s the worst it can do?

He let his throat open and poured the spiked juice (or really, juiced spirits) down, swallowing without thinking. Most of it slid right down without hardly touching any tastebuds, but the denser juice coated his mouth with a syrupy acid. He tried to ignore the gasoline burn over his tongue and teeth, singeing his esophagus, around the lining of his stomach, churning, roiling, desperate to see the light again—

Yeah. He’s done for. 

He had to push JJ out of his way, who squeaked out a hey! at the shove. A countdown clock appeared over John B’s head, and it was only a matter of time before someone’s shoes took on a new tinge. And smell.

John B stumbled across the living room, bypassed his own bedroom where he could see people smoking a damn joint and nearly crashed into the shut door of his father’s room. His hands shot to the top of the door frame, fumbling around for the key until his fingers made purchase with cool metal. He was nauseous, not drunk, but it was still dicey fitting the key in and locking the door behind him once inside. 

The key clattered to the floor as he rushed to the bathroom, throwing open the door and sinking to his knees. Vomit had already filled his mouth, so it was just about aiming into the toilet and not making a bigger mess than needed. Tears filled his eyes and his nose ran as bile scorched his soft palate and splashed into the porcelain. Drool hung from his lips in between retches, which he appreciated as a balm even if it stained his t-shirt.

His carefully crafted buzz all came back up, just because his peer pressured him to take an AMF shot. Bastard.

“Christ, are you okay?” he heard from behind him, scaring him enough to jump and smack his head into the lifted seat. It’s Kiara, he realized, as he coughed up once more and rubbed his crown. 

“Yeah. ‘Cept for the concussion.” She entered the bathroom and grabbed a rag from the closet, then turned on the sink to warm up the water. John B continued panting into the bowl. “JJ is a persuasive man with a heavy pour.”

He struggled to his feet as she wet the rag and wrung out the excess. She handed it to him and he scrubbed his face roughly. “He’s great when you get to know him, I swear.”

John B rolled his eyes at her and threw the rag into the sink. “Why aren’t you out there? I thought you and alcohol had a synergy.”

“It’s called knowing when to stop, cowboy,” she explained, watching him flush the toilet and wash his hands up. Kiara leaned against the door frame with folded arms. “She said to stop. I took solace in here to avoid… well, to avoid JJ.”

He nodded understandingly, rinsing his mouth out with sink water. John B paused after turning the tap off, shaking his hands dry. “Wait. How did you get in here, anyways?”

Kie scoffed. “Top of the door frame. Yeah, I really had to answer your riddles three.” 

John B sighed, not as annoyed at the invasion of his safe space as he should be. He dug his damp hands into his eyes and shrugged out his shoulders. “Wanna go back out there, Lancelot?”

They weren’t supposed to be in there. Away from the crowd, that is. He’s the host and she’s the lively free spirit of every party, each of them floating around the function looking for vibes to curate and moods to lift. Sure, everyone had to tap out eventually, but he almost felt a certain guilt finding comfort in the back room alone with her as opposed to the middle of the active throng. 

Fortunately, she felt no such guilt. Kiara shook her head and stepped back to plop down on the bed, presumably where she’d been when he burst in and spilled his guts. “Wanna spoon instead?”

It was… a joke. Schrödinger’s flirting, where she meant it as much as he did. Good for her, John B is as playful as they come, and scrambled into the bed after her with a boyish smile. 

A small part of her wanted to face him, to teasingly imply she’d be the big spoon, but a much stronger part of her had been eyeing his thick forearms and was itching to feel them wrapped around her. So she rolled away, and let her friend slide in place.

It was warm enough that neither felt the need to clamor under the sheets, and the heavy body tucked behind her was throwing off plenty of heat anyways. He’s clingy, too, burying his face into her curls, nestling each of his legs behind hers, pushing her top thigh forward until his pelvis slotted against her ass. 

They were… awfully close. 

Poguehood meant physical touch and sacrificing personal space, a lesson she learned before leaving the seventh grade. Pope plays that chopsticks game in his downtime and forces everyone to make personalized handshakes. John B won’t let anyone pass by him without dapping him up. JJ had koala DNA, the way he clings to his friends. Even Cleo, who had assimilated just within the last eighteen months, had taken to running her fingers through Kiara’s hair absentmindedly when they caught up on old episodes of ER. Having her platonic associates permanently in her breathing room was just part of the game. 

Still…

“This doesn’t feel weird to you?” she mumbled, looking back gently until his nose brushed against her cheek. His soft breaths ghosted down her neck, never faltering. 

John B threaded his hands around her waist and interlinked his fingers. “Mmm. No, actually, it feels pretty good. If you can believe it.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to him a little more. Even in the dark, she could see he needed to shave, a 10 o’clock shadow coming in along his strong, twitching jawline. “You’re a dumbass. I just meant, like, Pogue rules? Y’don’t think this is crossing a line?”

He shrugged, eyes fluttered shut. “We’re just lying down. I don’t think this is crossing any lines.” Big John had a wall clock, an old-style mahogany slab that ticked heavily in their shared pauses. They could just barely hear it over the thrum of people and music on the other side. “I can shove you off, if you want.”

Kiara giggled. “Please don’t. I’m very comfortable.”

And with the vaguest hint of a green light, he kissed her on the cheek and pulled her closer. Her stop in John B’s bedroom earlier had her floating off into her dreams, and the steady ride and fall of his chest didn’t hurt.

At some point in the night, after the music died down and their guests threaded out to walk (stagger) home, the temperature dropped. Once the sun set and winds from the northeast swept in along the marshes, it was typical of Nags Head evenings to lose their grip on the afternoon fervor. Kie had cracked a window before lying down, though, so the chill crept its way into Big John’s room.

She woke only once when the sky was black, and she lay on his chest with his arm tucking her against his furnace of a body. Something stirred in her, blearily thinking of how domestic and comfortable they were like this. She adjusted her position a bit and he squeezed her shoulder unconsciously. So friendly.

In the dawn, they’ve separated to the point that his leg half-hung off the mattress. She peeled herself off the barely-disturbed blanket and slipped her shoes on. The key he’d dropped on the floor the night before was returned to its rightful place.

Kiara made sure to grab her jacket on the way out.

***

“You seeing the waves today?” JJ’s voice scratched out through the speakerphone, and John B shook his head like he was actually in the room with him.

“Not right now, since I’m not at the beach. And neither are you, so how do you even know what you’re missing?”

“Watching Tik Tok lives. Lotta tourists are out there today, probably since it’s a lot calmer than yesterday.”

John B scrubbed at his face. “You’re gonna get fired, dude.”

“Pshh. Never. I always keep my head on a sw— Hey! —oh shit, I— how many times do I have to tell you-? —call you later, JB.” Beep beep beep. 

“You totally fucking jinxed that,” Kiara announced, strolling into his living room from the patio and shaking her head. 

“I know. I’m glad he doesn’t believe in that shit.”

She dropped her backpack on a chair and looked around. “Cleo here?”

“Just missed her,” he tutted, going into the kitchen. “She and Pope went to see a movie. Think it’s a Return of the Jedi airing, or something equally nerdy.”

Kiara nodded. She rolled her shoulder back and flinched. “Holy shit. Yesterday was a mistake.”

“Speak for yourself. I broke some personals.”

She ignored him. “I knew we should’ve left before the waves got too big. My body feels like a beaten rug.”

“You just need a little more muscle to handle the big waves. Go to the gym more. Maybe after you drink all my protein shakes?” John B suggested, rummaging through his pantry for the chocolate powder he loved so much— and so did Kie. 

“You’re a jerk. I’m in pain, here,” she pouted, pulling off her t-shirt by the neck to reveal her bikini underneath. “Seriously, I was gonna go out again today, but I think I’ll legit injure myself.”

John B slammed the cabinet shut and came back to the living room. His lips tugged up a bit. “Well… I could help.”

“You finish working on that time machine?”

He furrowed his brows. “What, so you can not go out yesterday?”

“No. Avoid meeting you.”

John B clutched a hand to his chest, feigning deep offense. “Well, I was gonna give you a back rub, but never-fucking-mind.”

Her face lit up. “Wait, really? That would be so nice.” 

“Lie down.”

Kiara carefully lowered herself onto the pullout bed of the couch, permanently extended due to John B’s rotating roster of crashed-out guests. It wasn’t the coziest place to spend the night, she knew firsthand, but infinitely better than any backseat or front yard that their drunk friends often found themselves in. 

He followed suit, straddling her lower back and ass with his thighs and cracking his knuckles. “Let me know if i’m going too hard, yeah?”

“Right, like you could—”

With no barrier between his big hands and her back save for her string bikini, he pushed all of his upper body weight onto her back, forcing out several cracks from her tense spine. Kiara gasped, a pleasured noise that slipped out and right into his smug ears. 

“That’s it, just relax,” he cooed, digging his fingers into her ribcage and working at the tension in her muscles. “Think you could do that again for me?”

“I— what?”

“Shh. Deep inhale,” he instructed, sucking in a breath with her, “and exhale.” When Kiara obeyed, John B pressed again with a smaller, still satisfying crackle of her joints relaxing under his touch. “Perfect. Feel better?”

Um. Fuck, yeah, she felt better. Her elbows bent, ready to lift herself back up and thank him with a clear head, but his heavy hand met her shoulderblade. “Easy, girl. I literally just started.”

She nodded, mind swimming, and settled back down under his gaze. His hands smoothed out over the back of her ribcage, ghosting down and pushing back up. Air was forced out of her lungs with each draw of his hands, and she struggled to keep quiet. 

John B’s fingers worked over her back like he made it himself, knew exactly how her muscles should feel. Found every aching knot to massage out. Minded every sensitive spot to graze carefully and sought where he could really dig into the flesh to relieve pressure. That whole quiet thing was abandoned quickly, given he seemed to be egging her on, desperate for those sounds. Any move that made a little squeak, he’d do it again, harder, eager to hear anything he could wring from her tired, sore body. 

One particularly good thumb press against a thick knot not only forced a moan from her bitten lips, but caused her back to arch a little until her ass met his crotch and— oh. 

Kiara chuckled, brain fuzzy. “Are you hard?”

He shrugged, she could tell even with her eyes shut. “Natural reaction to the… noises. I can stop, if you—”

“No,” she cut him off, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate. “I don’t care. And your hands feel…” she inhaled as he coaxed into her skin more with his knuckles, “really fucking good.”

John B exhaled sharply. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Oh, and that made her stomach jump. Without saying anything, she reached behind her, knocking his wrists out of the way, and tugged the string of her bikini until it fully untied. “There… better access, right?” A real hefty barrier between him and what she wanted. 

It was quiet at first, and she briefly worried that she’d done something wrong, until he loudly gulped. “Yeah, yeah. Better access.” 

His hands rested on her shoulders, loosened under his manipulation but only just started. He trailed down her back, and even though it was just a thin strand of polyester keeping him from fully touching her, something was thrilling about getting his hands on her with nothing separating them. Salt-worn palms on terracotta, fingers splayed like vines. He reached low enough to rest his thumbs in the soft divots at the base of her spine. He kneaded around there, tempted to drop his hands even lower, but he got a better idea. 

So his fingers skirted up. Except instead of retracing their path up to her shoulders, they dipped around the sides to her hips and waist. He was firm, he knew she was ticklish with a light touch and he pushed between her body and her limp arms, but he eased up as he reached the sides of her tits that pressed out from under her and squeezed. It was purely unnecessary, the pretense of a massage all but abandoned, but she moaned softly and allowed him to essentially grope her. 

John B continued working, seeking out sensitive spots and kneading out the tension with his callused fingers, with the occasional dip to feel up her tits. Perfectly normal thing for two friends two do, but John B has always had big eyes and a matching stomach.

Kiara could feel his fingers toy with the string taut against the nape of her neck. “S’it alright… better access, y’know?” She tried not to smirk but she nodded gently, tilting her head forward so he could pull at that loop as well.

But it wasn’t enough to just untie it, he fully pulled the strings out of her hair and onto the couch. If she sat up too quickly, she’d be fully topless. Hell, she was fully topless now—

One of his hands remained on her shoulderblade, pretending to rub out a knot, while the other trailed up along her spine, cupping softly around the back of her neck, carding through the tighter curls at the base of her head. His hand was massive, something she’d known since giddily comparing hand sizes back in high school, but it was one thing to align your pinkies and wrists and another to feel the possessive clutch of his digits along her skull. He cradled her for a moment, seemingly taking in the feeling himself, then his fingers started to curl, tangling up in her locks.

Then he pulled. 

Sick fucking man, no good explanation for his behavior, but Kiara had no reservations so he continued. Her head tilted back just the slightest bit, giving into the grip he literally held on her, and the same noises slipped from her mouth but she said nothing. His other hand slipped down to feel her tit again, daring his fingertips to even slide between her and the mattress itself, chasing the sensitive peak of her nipple that pressed against the couch. Hilarious to think it started as a platonic backrub.

Gravel crunched under tires outside. All of John B’s work was instantly undone as her body stiffened underneath him. JJ.

His hands flew back to himself and he jumped off the pullout, shaking out his arms and looking away while Kiara scrambled for her t-shirt and slid it over her body. As their friend’s combat boots stomped up the porch stairs, they both looked down to realize her bikini top was still on the sheets, and he lunged down to snatch it up and stuff it in his shorts pocket. Her eyes were wide, but he flashed her a thumbs-up.

JJ, for all his brilliance and situational awareness, took no notice of their lack of breath, pink faces, or guilty demeanor. Or Kiara’s shirt being backwards. “Who wants to hear the story of how I got fired, and who wants to see what I smuggled out before he almost called the cops?”

***

Pogue chicken. 

That’s the only way he could think to describe it. JJ and Pope played gay chicken for years until it started to get too serious and they couldn’t look each other in the eye for a day or two afterwards and John B wasn’t sure who exactly won or lost. But this time, instead of two friends who needed to fuck it out, it’s… wait.

The stupid Twinkie held an ungodly amount of gas, a win-lose when you remember he could go ages in between fill-ups, but when every gas pump in the Cut ran on island time, those trips were a whole-afternoon event. And a bill, he thought, arms folded, back against the scorching van and brows knitted into a scowl. He eyed the meter ticking up slowly but steadily and thumbed at the seam of his bifold wallet. 

He’s a one-track mind kind of guy. It’s a miracle he even made it to the gas station when he hadn’t been able to think about a goddamn thing since the backrub. His palms still tingled. Sure, he’d been the one to pitch it, and things got a little out of hand by the end (or, in hand). But this was gonna have to end at some point. Hell, there were rules to this shit! At least… he thought there were. It’s been years, it’s not like he could remember why they all decided on a blanket ban on Pogues with benefits. Honestly, it didn’t even sound like something they’d actually agree to now, but there’d certainly never been any discussion of reneging something they took so seriously before.

Kiara clambered over the center console and leaned out of the rolled-down window, gingerly resting her arms on the door and squinting at the sun. “God, it gets hot in there. Does it have much longer?” 

John B jerked back to reality. Fuck, right, she’d wanted to join him on the adventure. He checked the pump again; only twelve gallons in. “Sit tight, sunshine.”

Technically, she started it, what with offering to spoon when he was vulnerable. Kiara literally invited him into bed with her after so many drinks, and he accepted, even though they’re just friends and it’s a pretty weird thing to do sober. He supposed he could lie to himself, act like he was just fucked up and would’ve laid on anything vaguely horizontal and not made entirely of hornets. It wasn’t his fault. 

“I’m going inside to get a Red Bull. You want anything?” she offered, stumbling out through the driver door and catching her balance on a cement pole. Once steady, she looked up at him and had to shield her face from the sun. 

“Uh—yeah. One of those Starbucks drinks. In the glass bottle?”

Then he remembered the smell of her tropical conditioner filling his nose and the smooth expanse of her skin against his. He thought of the pattern of her sleepy breaths, chest rising and falling as she relaxed in his arms. She was so soft, so warm in his arms and he thanked God above he managed to not get too worked up having her cinched up against him. He loved every damn minute of it, and if this was the game she was willing to play, then the backrub surely proved he was ready to win. 

Kie nodded. “You got it. Vanilla?”

Tired of being ripped from his thoughts about her, John B snapped his head over. “Yes, vanilla.”

She frowned and turned on her heel. “Yeah, take that tone.” 

The fuck was even his end goal? Bragging rights, only between the two of them? Sex? An awkward conversation where they mutually backpedal ‘before it gets too far’? What even is too far? Is the person who finds out the answer to that question the winner? What the fuck was so taboo and hot about sneaking around their friends over this stupid rule?

A less mature, less forethinking part of his brain wandered to where they’d go from here. The Pogues were famously pretty touchy, but something about a kiss just felt like a huge step to overcome. How the hell did they pass that off as platonic behavior? They weren’t European.

John B physically shook his head out. What the fuck was he even thinking? They hadn’t done anything wrong. He’s just… a weird perv for thinking about his friend like this, like he always had. The last week with Kiara was nothing more than average Pogue behavior: he’d had to cram into a twin bed at JJ’s house before, stiffly crushed against the wall as blondie drooled onto his flat pillow. Pope had cracked everyone’s spine before with this trick he saw online— he had John B cross his arms over his chest and lifted him with a stunning amount of strength, jostling his torso until his back sounded like a deck of cards. His bandanas were Cleo’s bandanas at this point. 

Nothing was weird about any of that, he decided, so it wasn’t weird now. 

Kiara skipped out of the store swinging a plastic bag on her wrist just as John B ripped off the receipt from the pump and climbed back into the van. In the passenger seat, she handed over his requested beverage, and excitedly tore open the cardboard backing of a Chapstick package.

“Thought you were a diehard Carmex girl,” he tutted, quoting her own words from when he noticed she’d made her latest tube into a keychain.

She held up a small pink stick. “I am. But my little crow brain saw they had strawberry daiquiri flavor, and it all happened so fast.”

John B pulled out on to the main road, nose scrunched. “Daiquiri? It doesn’t… actually taste like rum, right?”

Kiara popped the lid off and twisted the balm up. “Surely no? That sounds gross.” She applied a generous layer and pressed her lips together, getting a sense for the smell and flavor. “Nah, no rum. But there’s something else to it. Tastes like summer.”

He scoffed, slowing down for a red light. “Summer? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Fair. Guess you’d need to try it yourself to know.”

John B stuck his hand out without thinking, expecting her to fork over the tube and let him, y’know, try it himself. Instead, Kiara used that extension to grab his wrist, pull him close, and plant a messy kiss on his lips. It was far more than a friendly peck, really smearing the balm across his lips to transfer over as much as she could, and spit started to pool around both of their mouths until her eager tongue slipped out to catch the excess. His hands scrambled, one darting out to white-knuckle the steering wheel and the other on the center console, anything to ground himself on something that wasn’t her because holy fuck what is she doing why is she kissing me.

When she decided he’d gotten enough of a try, she let go of his wrist and allowed him to sit back. He absentmindedly pressed his lips together, brain slowly processing the sugary tang of strawberry and Kiara’s mouth on his lips. Sure enough, it did kinda taste like summer. No other way to describe it. 

“Light’s green,” she announced smoothly, admiring the mojito and piña colada that also came in the pack.

***

“Kieee,” Cleo sang from the front hallway. 

“Back here!” she called, voice echoing out of her kitchen along the oak floors that Cleo padded down. “Stop touching that!”

Cleo’s eyebrow lifted, and she nodded amusedly when she made it to the back and realized Kiara had a friend over. John B quickly rescrewed the cap onto an Everclear bottle as Kie measured out water from the sink. The Carreras’ kitchen had a fancy microwave that extended out from the island, and she carefully lowered the glass dish onto the plate. 

It was the tail end of her “cooking” session, most of the Jell-O boxes already opened with torn, dusty packets littering the counters. She had an impressive system, a German train station of premeasured spirits, Pyrex bowls, rows of plastic cups waiting to be filled. Kiara gestured wordlessly at the last of the Jell-O packs and John B, ignoring the scissors in front of him, ripped them open with his teeth. 

“Finally wrapping up this batch. I’m storing all of them in the fridge for now to get started, but be sure to keep them cold until tomorrow night to set,” Kiara explained, removing the bowl from the microwave and looking for the whisk. 

“Beautiful. I still think JJ is insane for askin’ you to do this.”

Kiara snickered. “What birthday boy wants, birthday boy gets.”

“I’ve never made these and not made a mess. You’re a lifesaver,” Cleo thanked again. 

“Oh, she’s made, like, four messes so far,” John B poked, making Kie roll her eyes playfully as she stirred in the blooming orange powder. 

Cleo’s eyes dragged over to John B, down to the phone in his hand and the white granite countertop on which he sat. “Are you plannin’ on helping her, or…?”

“No!” Kiara snapped, never stopping the whisk. “He can’t do fractions nor can he figure out my parents’ microwave. The only thing he’s allowed to do is pour.”

John B smiled and flashed a thumbs up. “Right where I’m supposed to be.”

Bartender Kie added the various clear liquors and finished stirring before snapping her fingers at the idling boy to start divvying out the cups. Cleo raised her eyebrow and mimed a whip-cracking motion, and Kiara nodded solemnly. 

Cleo opened the fridge, scanning over the scattered rainbow of cups that sat in a big Tupperware container. She roughly counted out how many of each color they had, glancing back at the ones John B was currently pouring, and Kie was currently lidding. “The green batch is a little small, no? Somethin’ go wrong?”

Kie’s face lit up. “Oh! No, but that reminds me. Green apples don’t have alcohol in them. They’re just plain Jell-O.”

She looked to John B, who shrugged innocently. “Why?”

“After midnight, slowly work these in. Wean him off. It’s always helped me slow him down while he thinks the party is still going.”

Cleo threw her head back, eyes closed, body swaying back with a loose grip on the fridge handles until her arms fully extended. “You’re so goddamn smart. Come here.”

She stepped away from the cold, letting the doors slam shut on their own, and grabbed Kiara’s face with both hands. Cleo tilted her head a bit and placed a big kiss right on her friend’s lips, who was too stunned to protest. Or care, really.

“If that’s what Jell-O shots get me, what do I get for making you dinner?” she asked, seemingly not noticing John B frozen in place.

“You get to watch me eat dinner.”

*

With Cleo’s car packed up with the shots and peeling out of the driveway, John B and Kiara waved her off from the patio. “Y’all come back now, y’hear?” he drawled, making her punch his shoulder playfully and turn back inside.

“Kitchen’s clean. Jell-O is out of my hair—literally… What do we do now?” Kiara hummed, thinking if there was anything worth watching lately. 

“Make out?”

It was her turn to ice up, avoiding eye contact. His fingers itched to reach out, to lift her chin, but it was a marathon. Not a race.

“A bit much, isn’t it?” Her voice was low, like they weren’t alone. 

He shook his head.

“Really?” she was a bit louder this time. She scanned over his dark eyes, tanned skin, full lips. “Things have been weird lately.”

John B knew many things about his friend Kiara. He knew she hated reality TV and having to drive. He knew she took off her shoes in everyone’s house except for JJ’s. She thought tarot was stupid but lived and died by her horoscope. She had a nearly rehearsed scathing rant about disposable vapes, but would beg for a rip whenever she’s drunk and at a party. 

He also knew she was never afraid to speak her mind, and she was tactful. This wasn’t about her. Had he misstepped, her thumbs would’ve been dug into his eye sockets back when he was giving her a massage. Before then, even. There was zero chance of overstepping with her, of crossing a boundary without her voicing it. Something he always loved about her. 

Yet she still looked up at him, white knuckling the granite countertop, blinking expectantly. Smart girl. Giving him an opportunity to throw his hands up and say, no, I’m actually done messing around with my hot best friend behind our other friends’ backs, thanks though!

… Right.

John B shrugged coolly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart. I don’t recall doing anything that friends don’t do all the time.”

Kiara withered under his hard gaze. “You always share Chapstick like that, I guess?” she asked, tossing out her final line. Last chance to back out. Make a joke of it on his way out.

He didn’t need the help, though. “How did Cleo’s taste?”

She narrowed her eyes— clever boy. Her face broke out into a smile. “My room?”

*

He was more handsy during the massage, she noticed. Holding himself back, she assumed, lest their casual makeout spiral into something neither of them can justify if questioned.

Still, he was a great kisser, especially when he got to show off a little more than caught off guard by Chapstick-sharing. John B sat on her bed with his back pressed against her wooden headboard, her straddling his thighs with her hands on his shoulders. His own hands rested on her ass, not tightly but enough to ground himself while he licked into her mouth. 

Her fingers slipped through his dark waves, careful not to tug too hard on his sensitive follicles. All she wanted was to guide his head back, positioning his face exactly how she wanted, and he was more than obliging. 

Kiara admired his attempts to keep his hands still, same with his hips. Any other man would’ve pushed this into something much dirtier already, but her well-behaved friend was struggling to keep cool while she moaned into his lips. She rewarded him with a grind downwards onto his crotch, and his fingertips dug into her hips. Almost a plea. 

Her fucking phone started ringing. 

It was uncharacteristic of her to even have the sound on, she wasn’t ancient. But part of her feared some issue with the shots and decided to have it ready in case Cleo gave her a call about a crisis. 

She leaned out from John B’s hold to reach her phone on the night stand, picking it up and answering without even reading the screen. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’d like to speak with Miss Carrera?” the caller asked, professional enough for her to not hang up but casual enough for her stomach not to sink into her ass. She climbed off John B’s lap, who whined softly with extended arms. 

“This is she.”

“Hey, this is Marissa from the Twin Liquors on Windjammer? JJ Maybank listed you as a reference, that you were his manager for two years?”

John B nearly broke a vessel in his skull trying not to die laughing, so she batted him away. Might as well try to secure another liquor plug now. “Yes! Yes, I was his supervisor and he was a great employee…”

***

John B emerged from his bedroom and was smacked with a loud ass haze permeating into the halls. Amazingly, the source wasn’t even indoors, but the trio of chuckleheads passing around some resin-stained glass on the veranda.

“Next rip is all yours,” JJ announced to the man adjusting to the sunlight, pretending he wasn’t about to politely pass it to Cleo at his right.

“All good here. I’m about to take Kiara to get her car detailed, and I don’t wanna drive too buzzed.”

Pope squinted, reaching forward for his water bottle. “Can’t she just get it vacuumed out at a car wash? Is that really a two-person task?”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. “I think she’s dropping off the car at some Kook kid’s house who owns a steamer and is saving up for a dirt bike. Guess it’s an all-day thing. I didn’t really ask about it.”

JJ pouted but still handed the bong to Cleo. “Are you sure? We might actually feel guilty for packing it with your weed.”

John B eyed the silver grinder in her lap. “That ain’t mine. You’re smoking Kie’s shit, so I would figure out a way to replace that ASAP.”

“What?” Pope threw his head back. “She’s gonna have our skins. Why is her stuff here?!”

He shrugged again. “Probably left it when she was here recently,” he mused, tugging on his boat shoes and revealing through cadence alone that he was withdrawing from the conversation. John B halfheartedly waved to the group and stepped out of the patio. 

With a single flick of the lighter, Cleo pulled until the shaft of the bong was the color of a peeled apple. She removed the bowl and cleared it in one go. “That doesn’t bother you guys?” she asked around the smoke, thin wisps puffing out of her lips. 

“You milking the glass?” JJ scoffed, eyes glazed over for many reasons as she exhaled a thick cloud. “No, it doesn’t bother me. I’m secure enough in my own manhood—”

“I meant John B and Kiara obviously fucking, goofy,” Cleo bit. She set the glass down and inspected the bowl to make sure it was cashed. “How long y’all think that’s been going on, anyways?”

JJ and Pope blinked dumbly at each other, waiting for her to burst out laughing at this obvious joke. “I…” the former started.

“What?” the latter finished.

Cleo sighed, handing the bowl and grinder to Pope. “If it were a snake. Maybe they’re not fucking yet, but they’re barrelin’ towards it. Why are they being so secretive about it?”

Pope took the equipment and started to pack the bowl without thinking, but he was still as confused as the boy next to him. “You think… Kiara and John B?”

“There’s just no way,” JJ piped up, finally finding his voice again after that initial shock. “John B hasn’t had a crush on her in years and Kie would die before she touched any of us.” 

“Yeah, you’re making an accusation that’s several years too late,” Pope stated, and his friend concurred.

Cleo nodded sagely. “Got it. So you two would judge them.”

“No!” they both shouted, but Pope thought he was ready to defend himself more. “I don’t care what they get up to. It’s just…”

JJ tensed up as his friend trailed off, and Cleo narrowed her eyes. “Just what?”

“The rules,” he blurted, and Pope looked over with wide eyes. “I mean, not rules, but—”

“Oh, Christ. What is he talking about?” she asked.

Pope lifted his shoulders up. “Well… there’s kind of… an agreement in our friend group. We called it no Pogue-on-Pogue macking. Just means we don’t fool around with anyone in the immediate friend group. Avoid drama, all that jazz.”

Cleo balked. “The fuck? How did that even come about?”

The boys shifted uncomfortably once more, throwing guilty glances at each other like puppies caught rooting through the garbage. “Long story short?” JJ started. “We lost Kie for a few years to the other side of the island, and when she came back…”

“Our balls had dropped and we all got crushes on her at once,” Pope finished crudely.

“And we figured the only way to keep us from tearing each others throats out trying to get to her first, was a neutrality pact. Can’t fight over who can have her if we all agree to keep our hands in our pockets.”

Cleo barked out a laugh. “I see, I see. But, you can imagine how that would piss Kiara the fuck off?”

The alarm returned to their eyes. “It’s not like th—” JJ sputtered.

“The rule has been inactive since…” Pope waved his hand around. “Fuck. A long time. Point is, we’ve all moved on, but if John B and Kiara are hiding something from us, it’s probably because they think we’d have some issue with it.”

“And you don’t?”

JJ laughed, eyeing her up and down. “Someone probably would’ve said something when we started—”

“Fair enough,” Cleo cut him off, holding up a palm and wagging her fingers at Pope to request the riches between his.

He handed over the prepared bowl and dusted off his fingertips, looking out at the door where their friend had left just moments ago and pursing his lips. “Do you think we should say something? Let them know we think it’s fine?”

JJ and Cleo locked eyes and answered at the same time. “No!”

***

Dog days of summer. 

All things considered, the Outer Banks didn’t have much of a problem with stray animals, so John B had never actually seen any rabid canines wandering the streets, minds melted out of their drooped ears and paws blistering on the pavement. It sounded cruel and unpleasant, but he’d always hoped it was just a figure of speech anyways.

Speaking of cruel and unpleasant— even with John B’s AC malfunctioning, she refused to take off her gray muscle tank. The fabric was splotchy with dark patches, mostly gathered around her neck where the sweat clung. He wondered if she just didn’t have on anything under it.

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to your place?” Framed like he was concerned over her, but ultimately a plea for his own comfort lest he sweat to death. 

“I told you,” she reminded him, “I’ve got family over. I guarantee you my house is not a place you want to be.”

He frowned. “They can’t be that b—”

“Do you know what a Pentecostal is?”

John B looked over. “… No?”

“Yeah. Because I care about you.” She took a deep inhale, and he chose not to press any further. “Why don’t we go to JJ’s place, if you’re so desperate to leave?”

“Hilarious that you would think his AC works. Have you seen how he maintains his truck?” Kiara pursed her lips and nodded. “He’s almost certainly figuring a way into the island club to swim.”

She lulled her head back, beguiled at the thought of her stupid friend jumping a fence for a quick dip until someone noticed. Her eyes fluttered shut and his eyes dragged down her figure. 

John B’s hands flexed and clenched again. The humidity clung to the skin between his fingers, and a finger-wagging part of his subconscious knew he would be derisively rejected for proposing any sort of physical contact in this weather. Which, fair. 

Like always, he had a better idea. 

“Y’know what always makes me feel better in the heat?” Kiara waited for him to finish his sentence, too fucking hot for games. “Sweating.”

Her head snapped up, eyes already cut at him. “I swear to God, if you suggest I go to the gym again, I’ll tear your eyebrows off your face.”

He winced. “They’re such a good feature of mine, too.” John B shook his head. “Not that kind of sweating. This requires no mobility.”

“Mm. My kinda exercise.”

“Jerking off.”

“Bitch, what?”

“No joke,” he defended with a lazy shrug. Didn’t even look over. “Makes you sweat, which cools you off. And you get a free orgasm out of it. Win-win.”

She squirmed on the couch, pressing her thighs together and sitting up a little. “S’that right?” Her voice caught at the end, a betrayal.

“It is.” John B had already peeled off his t-shirt when the temperature hit triple digits before noon, but his hand breached the waistband of his loose shorts up to the first knuckle. Just daring to slip further. “Wanna cool off together?”

*

“Fuck.”

Muttered desperately at the same time, something they’d joke about normally. Jinx, you owe me a Coke, and all that. But when they’ve both got eager, quick hands below their waistlines, not much is all that funny. 

They’re not physically touching, actually seated almost opposite one another on their own love seats, but what the fuck does that matter when they’re making heavy eye contact and only breaking away to focus on their covered fingers working themselves over? 

It was stunningly easy to convince her to join him in doing this. Probably because he’d decided for them by diving into his shorts and taking a hold of himself. She’d thrown an arm over her eyes at first, acted mortified that he would do such a thing in his own home, but refused to actually get up and go to another (hotter) room in the house. So she opted to watch, and eventually shrugged while popping open the button on her jean shorts. 

He was observant, watched the pattern she’d built up for herself. It was difficult to get the full picture with denim in the way, but he could tell she liked it fast, hot, dipping into her cunt for more of her slick and going right back to her clit. He wondered if this is how she looked when she was getting fucked, chasing her own pleasure with a cock inside her—

John B squeezed himself just a bit too tight at the picture, back arching and slamming his eyes shut to cut off the source. If he didn’t look at her, he couldn’t cum too fast. He thought. 

“You do this often?” she asked, fingers slowly dragging in and out of herself with her eyes glued to where his hand worked.

“I— huh?” His brain had entirely left. He was gonna need more context than that. “Jerk off?”

Kiara snorted. “No. Figured that went without saying. I meant, doing it with friends.”

Still on that, hmm. His index finger circled around the head of his cock, and he fought to keep his eyes open. “Not really. But I figure as long as we’re not touching each other, it’s still friendly.”

He expected her to laugh at this, he wasn’t sure why. All he got was the squelching noise of her two middle fingers coming to a stop in her pussy. “What if we did, though?”

John B whined. Not his proudest moment, but it was impossible to not feel flayed under Kiara’s gaze. His hand released his cock and receded from his shorts, and a pathetic string of precum connected his still-clothed dick and his palm. The strand broke and drooped onto his stomach, and he shivered. She watched keenly and smirked when she noticed the slight tremble in his touch. Quite cruel, considering her softball pitch, and he felt his entire chest flush. He realized he hadn’t answered her question. 

“I guess we just wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Fuck!” she whined, head thrown back against the couch and her hands momentarily stilling before continuing. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m—”

Made two of them. John B struggled to keep his eyes on his best friend making herself cum on her own fingers under the guise of keeping cool, all while he was painting the inside of his boxers. What a fucking joke.

They sat panting afterwards, each carefully pulling their hands out of their underwear, but Kiara is an overachiever. She brought her fingers to her mouth, dipping them between her lips and sucking off the slick that had gathered on them.

“Jesus Christ,” he blurted, blinking wildly at her standing up on shaky legs. She disappeared down the hallway to his bedroom, peeling off her shirt to reveal a toned, bare back. John B loved being right. “Where are you going?”

“Gonna take a shower. Hate to admit it, but I do feel cooler!”

***

Kiara flipped around in her bed. Kind of embarrassing, growing to prefer a crappy pullout or her best friend’s weak mattress over the nice Tempur-Pedic in her own bedroom. Honestly, if he heard her speak such sacrilege about her soft bedding, she’d get the silent treatment for days. Call her spoiled. 

One more turn to face the window and she tucked her hands under her cheek. The moon pulsed outside, illuminating the alcove and weakening around her area rug. She had tons of them scattered across the wooden floor, mostly to protect her from the chill as she padded around in the winter months. Also convenient for dampening the sound of her footsteps when she snuck out in high school. 

Or, y’know, anyone else’s footsteps. 

Her door had been left cracked open, the summer months making it hard for the bulging, aged wood to fit in the jamb, so she didn’t even realize she had a visitor until he slid into bed behind her and cupped a large hand over her mouth. 

His fingers tightened against her lips when she sucked in a gasp, and he shushed into her ear to help her relax. With the smell of his cedar marine cologne, the familiar warmth of him pressed against her, she softened, turning back to look at him with wide eyes. 

Rolling onto her back, Kiara adjusted to slot under him as he rested on an elbow. “Why aren’t you down with the others?” she asked when he dropped his hand. Her eyes trailed along his features, strong and highlighted by the soft moonlight. 

John B shrugged softly. “Couldn’t sleep down there. JJ snores.”

She nodded. “So you came up here to sleep?”

“Nope.”

He cupped a hand around her jaw to steady her face, planting a kiss that had her own hands flying up to his biceps. His touch revealed his waning patience. Whatever self control he’d garnered in this very spot a few days ago had leapt out the window and died. Now his fingers dug into her soft skin, claiming her and pinning her against the bed. He kissed deeply, like he was making up for lost time. Maybe he was. 

She wore only a t-shirt and underwear, the former he tugged off and threw across the bedroom. His eyes fell to her bare tits, hungry and possessive. “Fuck, Kie.” 

John B kissed her chest, biting the tanned skin and lightly sucking on her nipples, but he came back up to her face with another goal. He slotted himself on top of her, his thick cock sliding against her folds with only their underwear to separate them. They kissed, wet and deep as he pushed his hips forward. The shaft of his dick pressed against her clit, and she moaned into his mouth. 

“Mm. Again,” he demanded through a kiss, grinding his hips again and again, and she wasn’t able to keep up with making out anymore. Her head tilted backwards, and he had to go back to covering her mouth lest she wake anyone up from a floor away. “Shh, sweetheart. I know.”

It was easy to find a rhythm thrusting against her, grinding his cock against where she was so sensitive and hot. Her head twisted to the side, lips pressed against his wrist, so he dropped down to bite at her exposed neck.

She came with a gasp, digging her teeth into the flesh of his forearm to keep from crying out, and he continued fucking against her until she rode out her high. Kiara released his arm and licked over where her canines had left bruising indents. 

John B sat back, watching her steady her breath. The front of his boxers were wet, and he shamelessly reached down to adjust his throbbing cock while making eye contact with her. 

She held her legs spread, letting him gaze over where she’d already soaked through her panties. He greedily licked his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

What kind of question is that? They’d already made out multiple times. She’d just, in a way, cum on his cock. She nodded anyway, too horny to think rationally about what he was even asking. But John B hooked a finger around the side of her panties and tugged, leaned down, lips puckered— and oh. That’s what he meant. He kissed right on her clit, and she mewled. 

Kiara threw her head back, enjoying the feeling of his plush lips work around her clit like he was giving any other normal kiss. His tongue slipped out, frenching her cunt with drool that dripped over her hole and down her ass. 

Still sensitive from her first orgasm, she pulled at his hair as a plea for mercy. He popped off with a wet noise, spit and nectar glistening on his chin in the moonlight. “Yeah?”

“C’mere.” He obeyed, smiling boyishly and giving her a real kiss with his arm caging her head. Kiara wriggled off her underwear, pulling them down her thighs and off one leg until they caught around her ankle. Then she went back to kissing him. 

“Fuck me, please,” she asked kindly, fingers pulling at the waistband of his boxers.

“God, I— are you sure?” he asked, more begged, eyes dark and open wide. Nervous. 

“Now,” she snapped, tired of whatever they’ve been dancing around. The elastic slipped from her grasp before she could realize as he tugged them just enough to pull his cock out. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a hand around the base. John B slid the head against her folds, collecting the filthy amount of slick he’d gotten from her, and pushed the thick head into her fluttering hole. 

The squeaking noises of her bed springs were nothing compared to the wet slaps of his hips on hers. Almost too much foreplay, she thought, if his fat cock could ease into her so snugly and echo around the room. Her nails dug into his skin, she was so full, she could feel him reshaping her from the inside. 

“Christ, you take me so well,” he gritted out, watching him disappear into her. John B canted her hips up into the moonlight so she could have the same view. “You feel fucking amazing, angel. Y’like that?”

Kiara nodded wildly, whining every time he bottomed out and the dark brown curls at his pelvis stimulated her clit. “God, yes, it’s s’good—” she stammered. 

He pulled out, sitting back on his haunches and grinning at the way she keened her hips up desperately. John B’s big hand rested over her entire cunt, palm over her leaking, eager hole, fingers over her clit. He pressed gently, dragging the sweet mixture of them up and down her pussy, stopping to thumb at her swollen nub roughly. Kiara tucked her head to the side, thrown between the harsh friction of his calluses and the saccharine pleasure it still gave her. His palm was coated with her, between his fingers too, and he shamelessly brought his hand up to his mouth to lick it clean before going right back to her cunt. Her jaw went slack, and he shot a dirty grin up at her. He loved it, playing in the slick he’d gathered from her, getting her loose and hazy and high. 

It was messy, so fucking rich and sweltering and she didn’t even care that he grabbed her hips with his wet hand as he lined himself back up and fucked back into her. She didn’t care that he was clearly getting close, taking breaks to steady himself and slow his dick pulsing in her cunt. She didn’t care that he bit at her neck and collarbones, surely evidence that’ll be visible in her tanks and bikinis. All problems for future her. 

It was so easy to forget about her problems with John B. To let go. To break rules that felt concrete to her, experiment and learn. Of course, he’s her best friend. Just that, though?

He bottomed out, forehead dropping to her neck and panting against her chest. John B thrust once more, getting the very last bit of himself inside her until he was fully sheathed. “Fuckin’ hell, Kiara.”

“Yeah,” she whined, fingers in his hair, struggling not to pull. It’s not like she wanted him to stop.

Before he continued, John B paused to grab Kie’s chin suddenly but gently. He planted a soft kiss to her lips, delicate and intimate and juxtaposed with how he twitched obscenely inside her. Also, “Next time, in the van.”

She smiled, both at the idea itself and him assuming there’d be a next time. Kiara supposed she assumed the same thing anyways. 

John B pulled out only halfway, too eager to sink back into her that he couldn’t even offer a full stroke. That innate friendliness kicked in and she wanted to make fun of him, wanted to call him desperate and sloppy, but honestly— her eyes were rolling back into her skull as it was. God knows how she’d be if he could keep it together. 

“Fuck, are you gonna cum again?” he blurted, thrusts growing frantic and wild. “I’m close. I— fuck, if you don’t finish, I-I’ll eat you out until you cum on my tongue, I don’t give a fuck, oh my God—”

His pathetic babbling pushed her over the edge just as he came inside her, and Kiara had to bite down on his toned shoulder to keep from crying out. He came hard, balls tight and cock nestled as deep as he could manage. His fingers were clenched to her hips, keeping her still as she writhed and trembled all the same. 

They panted together, and John B didn’t pull out before grabbing her chin for another kiss. “Maybe during that next time, then.”

She smiled, adjusting the blankets as he settled down next to her. 

“So… who won?” she asked finally, and he didn’t even pretend to not know what she meant. 

“Obviously me. I don’t recall begging you to fuck me.”

“You literally crawled into my bed twenty minutes ago!”

“Well, you started it back at the house party.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Right. I started it. You finished it. So… you lost?”

John B looked over to her, one arm tucked behind his head lazily. He flicked his eyes down to her body, delicately covered by her top sheet, then back up to her gleaming brown eyes. 

“Sure. Big time.”

[blerb-f1]

Junge - Sebastian Vettel x reader

Sebastians Parents hate his career choice but at least you're here.

This is like a prequel to THIS fanfic - please beware that Sebs actual parents are incredibly cute and supportive and also i didn't mean to make like consistent songfics yet here we are. Its about "Junge" by "Die Ärtze"

hahahahaha

America's West, the vast prairie

And right in the middle of it: A small house

And in it: A concerned mother

2023 - Sebastian has just announced his retirement. You, his trusty Engineer since the Toro Rosso Days have spent the day looking back and reminiscing. Throughout the years you’ve had people come and go in your lives, but only you two and Britta, his manager, were truly consistent. One Group of People you absolutely couldn't count on were his parents.

They happily supported his Kart Career but going into F1? Never, F1 was for nobodies and troublemakers. If asked in which Michael would fall, they’d just say “Schumi is an exception”

Throughout the BMW Sauber Testing Years Seb would exist in the car given to him by BMW, friends apartments or hotels rented by Sauber themselves but never anything consistent. Once the move to Torro Rosso happened, with you becoming his equally young engineer, Red Bull made the decision to rent an apartment for you to share. Although you weren't a Red Bull Junior, Fate brought it this way. 

You’d taken way too many angry calls of Sebs Parents, causing you to one day chuck his mobile phone down the toilet- He was enraged but life soon improved until the worst day  happened. Your apartment was small yet cozy with each of you decorating their room lively. His covered in trophies and race suits, yours with study notes and smart looking graphs. Both however representative of your interests, with your shared common space housing your gaming consoles, a popcorn maker you bought thinking you’d use it a lot and a massive pullout couch someone put out for free which you transported home hanging off Sebs BMW X3 

Boy (Boy), why haven't you learned anything?

Look at Dieter, he even has a car!

Why don't you go to Uncle Werner's workshop?

He'll give you a permanent employment, if you ask him about it

Boy (Boy, Boy)

That was the first thing barreling out of a phone held to your ears. 

Sebastian and You had just entered the Red Bull Factory during off week to test new parts on the car. You, additionally, had more classes on being a Race Engineer. While you already were supporting him during races, you still had to study more to become better.

Just as you were about to enter the elevator, Helmut Marko came angrily flying towards you. 

“SEBASTIAN VETTEL! THIS IS THE LAST TIME I'M TAKING CALLS FOR YOU!” he shouted, throwing his Motorola towards you both. His moms shriekky noisy voice echoed through the speaker. 

His Cousin Dieter was a useless POS, whom his Uncle Werner, the workshop owner, coddled until there was no tomorrow. You had the displeasure of meeting them both when his parents sent them to your shared apartment, in hopes of building bridges. You both however preferred the Fernando Alonso Bridge and set this bridge on fire with a can of gasoline.

They were horrible rude upon intruding on your shared space. Dieter insulting your gaming setup, Werner complaining about your general decor and moving in. You’d gotten very fed up with them, opening the door and telling them to Leave that exact second.

Afterwards you and Seb had celebrated by ordering expensive Delivery Pizza while watching 100% Pirated movies. Most likely an Austin Powers Movie.

And the way you always look, holes in your pants, and always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

And your hair too, words fail me - do you have to dye it?

(What will the neighbors say?)

You never come home, we don't know what to do anymore

"DON'T GET THE TUB DIRTY!" you shrieked as Seb was trying to wash the dye out of your hair. You'd attempted to dye your hair purple and black with Seb being the one doing the work. He was, however, not good at being cleanly. He'd gotten dye inside of his gloves, on his pants and covered half of the apartment in the process. The washing out process was equally catastrophic with him getting your old bathroom tiles covered as well. 

As some dye was left over, you decided to apply it to his beautiful locks. You both came out very matchy. His hair had him look like a black-purple Raccoon and as he was a skinny boy, he looked more like a hungry raccoon than the fat ones you’d usually see rummaging on TV.

The day after you had an appointment with a piercer to get further piercings, the guy immediately thought you were a couple because of the matching hair.  You got multiple Piercings, each of them becoming their own memory for the future. You still remembered Brittas Expression as you turned up on Monday with all the metal jingling of your ears and in your face.

What you hadn't however expected, was receiving an invite to Sebastian's Aunts Birthday Party.  The Raccoon dye in his hair greatly contrasted the grown up BMW you found yourself in as you two were approaching Heppenheim. Seb took you along as an emotional support animal to better endure the party. You had met his parents before, the day they turned up at your house and another when they turned up at the factory. The day they had turned up at your house, you had your lovely neighbor open the building's front door. She was a lovely lady with hearing issues so you could be as loud as you wanted without bothering her. She often would cook for you in turn helping her with heavy tasks. She shushed them away and made you a hearty meal.

As the car pulled into his old home's driveway, you clearly saw people rushing towards the front door and stumbling out. Seb was clutching the wheel tightly, you both had been driving all the way from Austria so you were already pretty tired.

As you stepped outside you could hear his mom let out a surprised scream, it getting louder as Sebastian stepped out. Your favorite Piercing (a chain connecting from your lips to the ear) was glittering under the porchlight as his little brother rushed out, pushing his mom aside. He jumped upwards into Sebs Arms, possibly being the one most excited for his return.

“Who is this…Woman?” his mom asked, almost snakelike. 

“My Race Engineer and Roommate, Y/N”, Seb stated while brushing through his brother's hair.

Boy (Boy) don't break your mother's heart

It's not too late to enroll at university

You used to be interested in animals, wouldn't that be worth pursuing?

Your own vet practice, Boy

The dinner was uncomfortable to say the least. His aunt was to your surprise the one married to Werner, so he, the aunt and Dieter kept giving you dirty looks. His grandparents were equally unhappy with your both looks. Meanwhile his little brother was trying to show him pictures and awards. His Mom didn’t miss a single Chance to insult his driving career, only his dad stayed quiet. Then she started, talking about his love for animals and proposing he should become a vet again. A proposal, she kept repeating uselessly. 

Finally she dragged him away and his little brother approached you with shimmering eyes, inviting you to his room to show you his collection of things. 

You happily took the chance to flee from annoying relatives as you settled onto Fabians Bed, the sheets with car print giving way under your bum. The quiet mumbling from downstairs being way more endurable than the massively loud chatter. You would always pick the sound of a screaming V10, even if it would blast your hearring away. It would at least protect you from the pain of being repeatedly and hiddenly insulted.

knock knock

His father came in, face pulled into a mildly sad expression as he sheepishly stood in front of the room's door. you eyed him, waiting for more insults of your person to be hurled at you.

Instead however, he gave you a bag.

“Y/N, right?”

“Yeah”

“Please” he was a quiet man, his age clearly visible on his face. “Please give this to Sebastian. Heike, she… She isn’t herself . This isn’t like her. But Seb, he should have this back.”

You take the bag and gingerly lay it on the mattress next to you.

“If she’s gotten so bad, why don’t you leave her?”

“I promised to stick to her, in good and bad times.”

And the way you always look, piercings in your nose, and always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

Electric guitars and always these lyrics

Nobody wants to listen to that

(What will the neighbors say?)

You never come home, so much bad company

We will disinherit you

(What will the tax office say?)

How is it all going to end, we are worried

Seb and You were finally back home. Home, yes that’s what Austria had become for you both.  

The apartment was quiet until you rummaged through the cupboard, pulling out an  Electric Guitar and its required equipment. You gave Seb a cheeky grin before proceeding to play Wonderwall by Oasis. “Not Wonderwall…” Sebastian moaned.

You handed him the Guitar. “Then play something Better, Starboy!”

“But I don't know how to?”

“Just let it out!” you screamed before stomping around the living room, tumbling over collections of varying junk and memorabilia. 

clinggggg

You’d stumbled over the long forgotten bag his father had handed you. The Guitar abruptly stopped as Seb dropped it onto the Sofa while staring the bags contents

His first trophy, his favorite stuffed animal and his laminated photos of meeting Michael for the first time.

“Where did you get those from?” Seb asked with anger lacing his voice.

“Your father gave them to me.”

He looked between you and the bag's contents, difficulty enshrining his expression as you bent down, picking up the trophy. You lifted it, brushing your shirt over it. After a serious glance you shoved his newest trophies to the side and placed it smack dab in the middle. You could clearly imagine the little, then blonde boy, bursting with pride upon being handed it by his childhood Idol Michael Schumacher.

And you were such a sweet child

And you were such a sweet child

And you were such a sweet child

You were so sweet

And always your friends, I bet you all take drugs

And always this racket

(What will the neighbors say?)

Think of your future, think of your parents

Do you want us to die?

[thespianinthebackcorner]

Genshin artbook volume 1 pics!!!

i know I'm like a week late on this post but I had exams. Anyhoo here we gooo

It came in a box :)

And the back and front covers of the actual book's dust jacket.

This is under the dust jacket.

They're not like rip-out-of-the-book-and-stick-on-wall posters, just pullouts, but they're soooo pretty. I apologise for shit camera work

There's a section for characters, for artwork created for the game's releases and trailers, and stuff like event art and birthdays. Goes up to Kazuha if y'all are wondering. Just the highlights from here cause 1. Posting the whole book probably infringes on some kind of law and 2. It's got so much in it actually. It's like 2cm thick

Man and his son

They didn't put the siblings on the same page

Okay this kinda makes up for it. Putting two people who just low-key hate each other on the same page is hilarious

Putting the Iconic Liyue Lesbians on the same page but not the Iconic Liyue Gays. Dang.

They put outfits in there too!

beta test art :D

There are so many iconic pieces. And then they get into the version art too!

subject two in 1.2 is real. Y'all have no idea how excited I was when I realised the fault was real

I have never seen these pieces before but apparently they were 1.2 and 1.3 visuals

Promo pieces too! God I need Keqing's outfit like right now. Like on me. Help

They then give us art/screenshots from the character teasers!!!

Sweetheart ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I've hit the image limit so I'll have to reblog there's actually so much more I'm only like halfway through

[kcrabb88]

I can't work on this fic properly for a bit, but my QuinObi AIDS Crisis AU is definitely bubbling on my mental backburner stove (the thought is that Obi-Wan finds out he has HIV in the late 80s, progresses to AIDS in the early 90s, but manages to survive until 95 when the post AZT drugs that were much better came out and life expectancy improved greatly). Anyway, this idea popped into my head on my walk home yesterday and I'm too impatient not to share:

"I'm really sorry for bothering you," Shmi says as Obi-Wan shows them inside. "You know how it goes. Unless it's a plumbing emergency, it's always you have to wait until morning, and it's cold out. The thermostat's been finicky for a bit."

"No, of course." Obi-Wan wasn't ready for guests in his blue turtleneck sweater with the hole in the sleeve and his gray sweats, but letting Shmi and Anakin sleep in a cold apartment is out of the question. "Anytime you need it we're here." 

"Hey, you two," Quin calls out from his place at their tiny eating table where he's composing some lyrics idly on paper. "Cold, huh?" 

Anakin, bundled up in an oversize coat--probably from Goodwill--nods, and his nose, Obi-Wan notes, is a little pink. He'll have to pull out an extra blanket. The apartment is mostly clean if cluttered. One of Obi-Wan's flannel shirts is tossed over Quin's drum set. His half-graded freshman English papers are stacked on the kitchen counter. The coffee pot wasn't cleaned out this morning because they were both too busy. ACT UP pamphlets Obi-Wan helped draft are on the coffee table.

"I think we have some hot chocolate, Ani," Obi-Wan adds with a smile. "That might warm you up?" 

Except Anakin, who almost always answers with excitement--and greets him with a big hug when they meet at the diner for dinner--doesn't reply. He's staring at something with a grin. 

Ah. 

One of Quin's old concert posters hangs on the wall, framed. A red slash cuts through the eyes of a smiling Ronald Reagan.

The Annual Alphabet City Fuck Ronnie Fundraiser for AIDS, it reads. 1987. 

Quin's band had been the headliner that year. Before Obi-Wan's diagnosis. Before them. Well, they'd always been them. Official them. 

"Uh," Quin says, running a hand through his locs and shooting Obi-Wan an apologetic look. "Sorry about that." 

"Not at all," Shmi says with a grin. "Fuck Reagan. Bush too." She looks over at Anakin. "You're not allowed to say fuck yet." 

"Mom," Anakin complains. "I'm eleven." 

"Exactly." Shmi taps the edge of Anakin's nose. "Obi-Wan asked if you wanted hot chocolate but you didn't hear? Do you?" 

"Yes, please!" 

"You can have the bedroom," Obi-Wan says. "The sheets are clean. Quin and I can take the couch. And before you argue, it's a pullout. A nice one my dad bought. Insisted on buying. I should have you meet him one day. I think he'd really appreciate your art, Shmi."

"Obi-Wan," Shmi protests. "You need your rest." 

"I'm all right," Obi-Wan assures her. "That cold I had is gone and I'm feeling good this week." 

He shows them into the bedroom. 

And immediately turns red. 

There's still a box of condoms on his bedside table. Black, purple, and with a rainbow across the top. 

Durex Fiesta: for colorful loving. 

Obi-Wan, wanting to replenish their stock and always looking for the best brands, thought these would also amuse Quinlan. He'd been right. So right, in fact, that Quinlan wanted to test them out that very same night. Hence them being out.

"You are so red right now, Obi-Wan," Anakin says, matter of fact. "It's okay though. I know what condoms are."

In the living room, Quin bursts out laughing. 

[archivalofsins]

I'm about to be so for real for a second.

So, if anyone is interested in knowing why nothing has gotten done in any timely fashion- Hating myself forever for this by the way if anyone thinks they want to read what I'm writing more than me you're incorrect I really wanna read that shit too sad part is I gotta write it. Either way here's your queue to listen up because I'm only going to explain this in a post once.

And this is the most candid I will ever be about my personal life in an online setting.

Okay quick fire of reasons I haven't gotten shit done in regards to Milgram posts,

The US election results

Family issues

Being accused of two crimes in one year once on this very blog and another time this fucking week over the phone (we're gonna go into this one).

Mental health issues (I'm pretty sure you can tell why.).

Physical health issues.

Honestly anyone is lucky if they hear from me every two weeks. Only people I really care about hear from my ass daily. I'm putting in an effort to show up in a setting I actively despise when I come online. I'm not going to make that harder for me by doing something I don't want to do. If I've messaged anyone and haven't gotten to responding the reasons for that are also in here later on.

Generally though I tend to like in person stuff more than online.

Remember that test I took in October that was like ha this bitch has dysgraphia and also presents with coordination issues. Yeah they also quantified my suicidal/death ideation in that test and it was 94. They quantified family problems- it was 86. These are two highest scores on that psych eval. That's an A and B+ in god's worse running jokes.

Let's talk about it. Starting with suicide ideation it's been like that since I was in elementary that's a consistent thing they also diagnosed me with persistent depression. I'm not blaming it on that. That has nothing to do with this. Those things have both been here for years before this diagnosis. They're fine they can stay.

However they get exacerbated by the second thing. Family problems which were eighty-six. Alright let's be candid I'm the youngest child of my family having five older siblings. I grew up with my sister who is a year older than me. My other siblings are decades older than me. My brother was graduating from school when I was born.

My sister takes issue with me so much so that when I called just to check on her she went into a tangent basically going this is why I don't talk to you and you should apologize for stuff from when you were ten and eleven to me. She even got her significant other involved in this conversation so he could explain to me why he felt she deserved an apology to. Quick fire things of shit my sibling have done to me in no real order.

Threw out my bed. Yeah um I spent most of my adolescent years sleeping on a pullout in the living room (it wasn't always pullout couch sometimes it was a regular couch or the floor) because she needed to have a room of her own in our family two bedroom apartment. Also because her s/o needed a place to stay at a point. So a good chunk of my childhood was friend comes over where's your room you're standing in it- This is the living room. I sleep on that couch what about that other room back there that's my sisters room. Umm??

I have been informed by several people that's weird. That's a unique form of favoritism. After I apologized to her for shit I did when I was in elementary school um she continued to badger over text because I rightfully hung up on her when she did not apologize back. For literally threatening me with homelessness the year before last, tampering with my cell service, assaulting me in my own home last year, recording me and my friend in my living room in the same home while I was constructing a cat tower. Holding that recording over my head as black mail all of this year saying okay I'll send it and you'll see how wrong you were me going okay send it then I'd love to have it then her never sending it.

For anyone thinking got damn not all of that can be true. Isn't it really convenient she never received that recording etcetera. Guess what I've got the texts still! Where she literally sent me screenshots of the video she took of me in my home with time stamps on it. Lol-

This text conversation went on from October 23, 2024 to the 29th. Now heads up I'm going to call her delusional here and I'm going to give context to why this is. Over the course of our call she kept saying I wasn't shoving our father into his door I was trying to get through him. In regards to when she was coming out of his room to harass my friend and I. She changes up her story a lot.

She says that actually she never shoved our father. Our father says this is a lie I know it was a lie my friend who was there knows it was a lie. Because all three of us had to go file a police report on the matter at later date where everyone wrote on paper exactly what fucking occurred. She also yelled at me for an hour because she claimed my friend called her a bitch when she was recording us in my home.

Which would have been my friends right honestly but this was also a fucking lie. Like,

And my friend knew she fucking hit me because my arm was bruised and swollen. So, that's why she said that. This was like a little after our uncle died from cancer which is why I was fucking calling to check on her by the way and she decided to bring up something from over a year ago then stuff from over twenty years ago.

So yeah I called her delusional because she's either that or blatantly lying. Which given she never sent me that video she may just be blatantly lying.

Then before this shit some complete nimrod on here messaged me accusing me of cyberstalking them. Then got upset and lectured me after I blocked them. Like yes I fucking blocked them they accused me of a crime. This first instance of me being accused of a crime this year. It certainly gets better.

This week I got a call from Adult Protective Services who I found out after were over at my apartment when I was out with a friend. Saying hey so I just have to call and make you aware of these allegations and ask for your side of the story real quick. This happened in the middle of me discussing being uncomfortable with my sister coming over with my dad.

This very polite worker informed me that someone had called them alleging that I had committed elder abuse of the physical and financial exploitation variety. I went wow you're timing couldn't be greater I was just discussing my sister with my father and also me finding somewhere else to live post haste. Even if it's outside.

Because I can just go if this is going to keep happening. People will be like you know I'm going to harass this person online about how they talk about a piece of media what's the harm. I shouldn't have to say I'm getting harassed on and offline for people to know what basic human decency is. Some people know who the person that made that allegation online is and the behavior that they partook in to harass me and if you do or think you do good on you. Let's all move on it's not about them it's about me the victim of their inconsiderate bullshit.

If people focused less on vilifying perpetrators and helping victims imagine how many things would be solved by now. People talks a lot of shit about not being like Futa but everyone here likes taking down a bad guy more than they enjoy helping someone who's hurting get back up. That makes you all like Futa in my book in fact it makes you worse than him because he's actually shifted focus to helping others and being their for someone else.

While a good deal of people here are focused more on appearing good than doing anything good. It's all just fake consideration anyway. It's just something done to make an individual feel good in the moment and like they did something with themselves. But nothing has changes except a good deal of people in this fandom has incrementally made my life that was already difficult worse.

Because I'm literally an unpaid caretaker for my own father. I had to leave college to get a job in order to pay my father's rent, I got a credit and credit debt to take care of my dad and fix his junk car that can't run much at all anymore. This is the person this fandom has very consistently harassed for the crime of being critical of their favorite fictional character and talking about something they enjoy in a way some of you don't like.

So, I'm at a point where I have to actively build up energy to write something on this to post because each time. Because each time I think of writing or sharing anything in regards to this it feels like ripping a part of myself out to feed people who wouldn't lift one finger to help me if I was shot right in front of them. Then I think to myself that's no way to be some people are cruel and have wronged you but if you move forward always expecting the worse that's all you'll get.

The only person you can control is you. The only way you can improve your environment is through your own actions no one's going to help and expecting someone to swoop in and save you from all your problems is childish. You're gonna have to do the work yourself even if it's hard, it feels bad, your life isn't that great. It doesn't matter if you're uncomfortable what matters is you get the work done.

Because if it's something you love and want to discuss you should do that. Fuck what anybody else thinks or does. Which is a fine way to feel. That's true I'm not saying those feelings of mine are bullshit. However I am saying I'm tired, annoyed, stressed, feeling completely underappreciated and disrespected.

Because at the end of the day when people do shit like what my sister does or that other person. I'm told this is a two person communication failure you two just need to come together and talk it out. You're feelings are valid but you need to be the bigger person and considerate of the rest of this family or community.

That's not even going into the US election results. People have thought maybe it's burnout maybe you just need to take a brake from this to what? To what actually? Anyone who bothers to read this will have an understand what taking a break from talking about my interests is a break to now. Would anyone be taking a break from the things that bring you a bit of joy in my position?

On top of that my dad just got his tooth pulled and I now have to take care of him after being accused of abusing him. That's my life hey can you sleep on the floor, can you sleep on the couch, can you get out of the way until we need you to do something then when you do something we don't like we're gonna accuse you of a crime. What's that- That's not fair. Well you're feelings are valid but life not fair you really need to get thicker skin.

So, fuck it from my perspective I'm in a damned if I do damned if I don't situation where I don't even feel comfortable posting honestly on my own blog or safe in my own home. So who the fuck cares yeah I'll take that break.

And things will get done when they get done. Possibly when I feel like I'm not under constant scrutiny or will be attacked for just speaking. So yeah that's why.

Now I'm gonna go sit my balcony in the middle of winter.

[wildechild17]

Mag 7 wip

something I'm working on as a side project for NaNo, decided I'd share a little (not really) excerpt here, just because i could

Sam Chisolm wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but as he stood in the sparsely decorated apartment in London, it wasn’t… this.

It was, in fact, sparse. There was a small kitchen, a couch with a pullout that looked slept in, a bathroom, and a tiny closet. It was by no means a luxury place, but it was just one level above being condemned, if you asked Sam.

The man’s heart broke a little as he took it in. There was no sign of the occupant he was looking for, not that he knew who he was looking for—his boss had simply given him this address and said the person who lived here would be a good addition to the team if Sam could convince them.

Given the fact of who the rest of the team was made up of, Sam had two guesses as to whose place he was standing in. Past experiences told him one was more likely than the other.

Something caught his eye, a leatherbound book sitting among the blankets on the pullout. Curious, Sam wandered over, reaching for the book. He flipped through it, noting it was some mix between a journal and a scrapbook. The first entry dated back to just over eleven years ago, and Sam couldn’t help but read.

9-29-12

I’ve always known my family had powers… how could I not, when mom uses hers to heal those in our family, and when both she and gran have told me about other members of our… bloodline? Apparently, the blood is important… and their abilities.

I just assumed, like everyone before me, that it skipped generations… Instead, I woke up this morning with my own abilities. Powers… magic? I like the idea of calling it magic. Who knows, I may have them sooner and didn’t realize it… Skipper had died during the night, and when mom and Aunt Elenore asked who I was greeting this morning because to them it was empty air… I told them Skip, and I was then informed he’d passed in his sleep, so how could I be seeing him?

One quick test later, my mom declared that a) I had magic, and b) it could be classified as necromancy. That’s… a terrifying, truthfully, prospect, but… I can handle it. I hope.

At least it’s the weekend before fall break, so mom can help me figure out how to start managing it. I’m in senior year, so it’s not like I’ll have to hide it from the others as school for long. If I go to college, I can get by with strictly online classes, I think.

Mom suggested I use a journal to track my progress, but I’ve never been the best at keeping records, even school wise. Hopefully with something to keep track of, that’ll change.

I’ll make another entry when something of importance happens, I guess.

10-10-12   10-9-12/10-10-12

What the fuck is my life, truly?

With the influx of my powers, came something else… my memories. I guess necromancy and reincarnation can go hand in hand, because this isn’t the first time I’ve lived. I started having dreams and flashbacks during break, of an older version of myself set back in the Wild West. I thought it was just some weird dream/fantasy thing since… well, since I’m sort of obsessed with that era, anyways, but… no. It all came rushing back to me, today, during fifth period, which is my study block this year.

We got a new student… which, in a small town like Salem, is kind of a cause for chatter, and I wasn’t really paying attention until the guy sat next to me. When I finally looked at him…

Son of a bitch… it’s Vasquez. It all came back to me—Sam Chisolm, Rose Creek, Bart Bogue…

I’m… sort of embarrassed to say that I had a total breakdown right then and there. Mom actually had to come and pick me up early, it was so bad. It’s super late (early?), right now, almost three in the morning, and I’ve been catatonic all afternoon, according to her. So, I guess all these events really happened yesterday?

I’m getting distracted… I told her what had happened, what’s been happening, and she… didn’t seem totally surprised. Fact is, she’s the one who gave me the idea that my reincarnation ties in with my powers. Something about death being involved, which… makes sense, in a weird way.

Mom offered to keep me out of school for the rest of the week, so I can recover, but… I don’t want to do that. Maybe a day or two, but not a week. I want to talk to Vas so I can Vasquez, so I can sort of explain things to him. Hopefully, it’ll go well…

10-13-12 Update: It… I didn’t explain the powers thing to him. I didn’t want to freak him out, but I did tell him why I had my breakdown on Monday. He understood, because when his memories came back to him, he was a wreck for a while too.

He came over for the afternoon, and mom and Aunt Elenore absolutely fell in love with him. Bastard put on the damn charm. We didn’t get any schoolwork done, not like we really planned to, but we did catch up on things. What’s been going on in our modern lives, and he told me a little about what happened after I died in Rose Creek… His family travels a lot in this life, for his dad’s work. He’s got two siblings, an older sister and younger brother. I couldn’t resist and had to make a crack about his ‘three Maria’s’… he asked where mine was.

… I told him Maria died when we were kids. He sobered up pretty quick… guess he could tell it was a sore subject.

Anyways… my magic practice is progressing well. Right now, I can just see spirits, which is weird because they look like just regular people—for the most part. I’ve seen a few grisly sights, but I’m learning how to pick their energies apart from the living, so I don’t make a fool of myself in public.

Oddly enough, Vasquez has a couple ghosts hanging around him…

Sam flipped through the journal, heart twisting in his chest as he noticed a few entries more prominent than others. One, over Christmas break, detailing why Vasquez had ghosts—his father was a hunter of the supernatural, and the revelation apparently caused a rift between the two boys before Vasquez’s father himself had put things to right. He’d put the hunting behind him and was trying to settle down with his family… he could have never expected his son to befriend a witch—which, that had led to Joshua admitting about himself…

Prom. They stopped dancing around their feelings for each other and became official, and that entry made Sam smile, as well as the photos of that night that accompanied the entry. They did make a handsome couple. That was where Vasquez’s writing started slipping in on a few pages, offering extra insight or his own commentary to whatever Joshua was writing.

Graduation. Maybe too quick to those who don’t know about… us, but Vasquez gave me a bloody promise ring tonight. (you’re not actually complaining, are you? Fuck you, I’m keeping it forever thought so) and detailing a rough plan of the future. Plans to stay in Salem long enough to get through college, before moving. Maybe they’d find where Rose Creek was, if it was somewhere they could move to, settle down there. Ideas about where the rest of their motley crew were…

College. Joshua went into Anthropology and the Occult (seriously, guero? Bite me, texican), and Vasquez Art and Architecture (you know there’s a joke about cliches in there somewhere, right? Don’t you dare). Joshua seemed to develop a minor side hobby (?) in helping people with their dead loved ones, the spirits who hadn’t crossed over because of unfinished business (Jennifer Love Hewitt, who?) When they’d both finished their studies… Joshua was the one who proposed.

There were photos of various moments, in those early years. High school included prom, graduation, senior trip, homecoming week. After high school showed moving into their first apartment together, as they worked through college, domestic moments, moments with their families, college graduation, of the proposal, and later, multiple photos from the wedding. Tickets to various date locations, movies, and festivals, were taped in as well. It seemed Joshua (and by some small extension, Vasquez) was eager to keep track of everything.

But just after their return from their honeymoon in August of twenty-fifteen, the entries stopped. The next one wasn’t dated until January of twenty-sixteen. Reading it, Sam felt his heart stop and blood run cold.

1-13-16 I’m sorry, Ale… I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t… couldn’t save you. If I was faster… maybe you’d still be here. Maybe I could have… God, I’m crazy for thinking it… brought you back. If you’d wanted it… if maybe I’d seen you… your spirit, at least, maybe one more time, to ask…

There are limitations to my abilities… I can bring people back from the dead, but only within a set time… I didn’t make it with you… And I’m so sorry.

You must have crossed over. That’s the only reason I can think of to not see your ghost… it’d be just like you, too… you wouldn’t have wanted me to see you like that. I know you wouldn’t have. I know, but… goddammit it still hurts, you son of a bitch. If I could have just said goodbye…

… you were gone too soon. And those bastards… they’ll pay. Eventually, they’ll pay.

I’m sorry.

I… did find where Rose Creek is. It’s still a small town but thriving in today’s age. I’ll… I’ll go there. For us… for you.

Maybe I’ll find some sort of peace there.

Silence, for a few months, before another entry was made.

5-23-16 God, what have I done? I didn’t… I wasn’t… I didn’t mean for that to happen… I didn’t know I could do that.

I need to get away. From everyone. Anyone that I can hurt…

I’m so sorry Vas…

After that, there were no more entries. Sam flipped through the remaining blank pages and found nothing. Frowning, Sam went back to the last entry, and wondered what the hell might have happened for it to exist.

Actually, he wondered what happened in those last two entries in general—one was obvious. The other… not so much. He’d have to ask Matthew to investigate the dates mentioned, give or take a day or two. Surely, there’d be some sort of record online, somewhere—

“How the fuck did you get in here?”

Sam startled, the book falling from his hands and back on to the bed. He whirled around, coming eye to eye with Joshua Faraday. The first thing the older man noticed was how tired the redhead looked, with bags beneath his eyes, and skin pale. He stood as though the weight of the world was laid on his shoulders, but it didn’t distract from the, frankly, intimidating glare he was fixing Sam with.

“I know I locked the door when I left,” Joshua continued, and then his gaze flicked down to the journal on the bed, and his anger grew. He stood straight, and Sam swore the room grew colder and darker as Joshua set a bag of possible groceries on the floor, “You went looking through my personal things?!”

“Now, hold on just a minute, son—” Sam began.

“I’m not your son,” Joshua hissed, and there was no doubt about it—Joshua was altering the space around them. His eyes were beginning to glow, a toxic green that caused the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck to rise, “What are you doing here, Chisolm?”

“I came to offer you a job,” Sam said, quickly, and Joshua drew up short. A brief look of bafflement crossed his features as he stared at the older man, “That is, if you want it.”

The redhead crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

“Explain,” he said, shortly, so Sam did.

He explained how he’d been tasked with bringing a crew together (yes, the rest of the Rose Creek bunch, for the most part…) and that while Joshua’s name hadn’t come up directly, Sam’s own bosses had suggested Joshua could be an integral part of the team. This team would be dealing with threats across the world, both natural and supernatural. Clearly, Joshua would be a good addition, if he wanted to join.

“But… I’m not pressing you to,” Sam said, quietly. He glanced down at the journal, then back to Joshua, “You’ve clearly been through a lot already.”

Joshua’s expression darkened, lips thinning, but he said nothing. Just stared at Sam with those eyes of his still glowing. But he was silent, and Sam took it for a good thing.

“… would you have come for me, if I hadn’t been brought up?” Joshua asked.

Sam blinked at the question, but answered nonetheless: “Eventually, yes. It wouldn’t have been fair not to include you and—” he faltered, only because Joshua pinned him with a venomous glare, “We want everyone we can get. We worked so well together, before.”

Silence, again, and Sam could tell Joshua was right on the edge of accepting the offer, he just needed one last push.

“Who killed him?” Sam asked, pitching his own voice low—after all, someone had mess with those he cared about. He was angry thinking about it; Joshua startled, so Sam asked again, “Who did it? We can go after the sons of bitches with you.”

Joshua’s jaw clenched.

“Hunters,” he ground out. “Ones who didn’t approve of his relationship with… with me. I don’t… I don’t have exact names, though.”

“Then come with me,” Sam offered, holding out his hand. “Together, we’ll help you figure out who did it, and we’ll see them get what they deserve.”

Joshua looked down at Sam’s extended hand, before he looked up at the man himself. The temperature returned to normal, and the shadows fell away. The glow in the witch’s eyes faded, but they still burned with anger and determination…

Joshua took Sam’s hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Chisolm.”

[torreshalstead]

Your eyes in my life - Chapter 21

Summary - The night of Kim’s final layover as a flight attendant ended with a one night stand with a stranger she met across a bar.

6 years later, that same stranger walked into the 21st District and was assigned as her new Rookie and her life was thrown upside down. She hadn’t seen Adam since that night in LA. But she saw his eyes every day. In the eyes of their daughter.

Chapters - 21/23

Chapter Summary - Adam makes a surprising offer and Kim isn’t sure what to think.

Notes - this finally has a final chapter count (at least I think it does!) I love this family but excited for you to read the last few chapters ❤️ AO3 Link

‘We’ve got 4 weeks to find somewhere new and move out,’ Kim said, her words empty. Her apartment was her home. It was where she had brought Annabelle home on that first night, it was where she said her first words, took her first steps. She loved that apartment and now she was going to have to leave. And not just that, she was going to have to explain to Annabelle why she would need to pack up all her soft toys, all her hand drawn pictures on the fridge and find somewhere new to live.

The housing market in Chicago was a nightmare, she had managed to find her apartment for a steal but with inflation she knew she’d need to downsize to get somewhere close enough to Annabelle’s school and the district. Her mind was swimming, so much so she didn’t hear Adam’s words.

‘Kim, did you hear me?’ Adam said and Kim shook her head.

‘Sorry no, what did you say?’ She asked, running her hand over her head and down her tightly pulled ponytail.

‘Move in with me,’ Adam said. Kim’s head shot up to look at him, her mouth dropping open but she was met only with a small smile from Adam.

‘What?’ was all she could manage to get out.

‘Move in with me,’ Adam repeated, his voice still calm which the exact opposite of how Kim was feeling. ‘I’ve got a two bed apartment, I can sleep on the couch, it’s a pullout and then you don’t have to worry about finding somewhere else.’

‘Adam you don’t have to-’

‘I know,’ Adam said calmly but firmly. ‘I want to. Kim, you and Annabelle, you’re my family and I’m not going to see you turned out onto the street.’ Adam chuckled.

‘Adam…’ Kim sighed.

‘We can talk about it later,’ Adam said. Kim saw his smile flicker slightly and her own chest tightened. She wasn’t really sure why she was fighting it, it was probably the best option they had. Annabelle would love it, it would give her and Adam even more of an opportunity to bond. It would also give her the second parent support on a constant daily level, something she had always wished in the back of her mind that she had. But there was something else niggling her.

They had agreed to go on a date. Agreed to test the waters on that level of their relationship. A move from not just rookie and TO, not just parents, but to something else. Something more. But to move in together now, that’s just putting everything into fast forward. Surely it was a recipe for disaster.

But his face when he had offered, like he genuinely wanted it. That it wasn’t just the circumstances that had made him offer, that it was something he had been planning before.

‘Okay, later,’ she said after realising they had been in silence for far too long. ‘Thank you,’ she added before Adam slipped the car back into drive. She did mean it, she was thankful for him in more ways than one.

——————————————————————————

Adam walked back to their booth tucked into the cosy back corner of the bar, beers in hand. They had decided it was best to continue their conversation after work and neither wanted to try and speak in code around Annabelle so Kim had called Lia and she had agreed to stay a couple of hours later than usual and the pair had headed straight to the bar.

‘So do you want to start or do you want me to?’ Adam said with a grin as he slid into the booth. Kim always admired the way he stayed so calm even in situations as bizarre as this, inside her right now was a tornado trying to break free.

‘I will,’ Kim said, trying to put on a brave face. There was only one thing she wanted to say anyway. ‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Adam repeated, confusion appearing across his face. ‘Why what?’

‘Why did you ask us to move in?’ Kim clarified.

‘Apart from the obvious reason that you need somewhere to stay?’ Adam took a swig of his beer and raised an eyebrow at her.

‘Apart from that,’ Kim nodded.

‘Truth?’

‘Always,’ Kim said, clutching her bottle, the condensation was cool against her slightly sweaty palms. She both wanted to hear what he had to say but a part of her was nervous.

‘Okay,’ Adam said slowly as if preparing himself to answer. ‘Well it was always the endgame right? Me, you, Annabelle, together. A family. And I know you’ve said we are already one and I believe that Kim. This isn’t me belittling what we already have,’ Adam said with a little shake of his head. ‘But I want more. I want it all, the whole damn thing. I know we agreed to go on a date and technically moving in should be way down the line but we kinda messed up the line already didn’t we?’ He chuckled.

‘I guess so,’ she agreed with a soft smile.

‘I’m not saying we can go from zero to one hundred immediately, not suggesting you move in and we immediately cross that boundary and become something more, but it’s what I want Kim.’ He smiled bashfully. ‘And not going to lie but every time I have to say goodbye to you and Annabelle and come back home, it breaks a little piece of my heart. I love that kid and I want to be there for everything, the small things, the mundane, all of them. So I asked you to move in, I would have done it at some point anyway - sure it probably would have been after we had been on a couple of dates, and we’d have checked Annabelle was okay with it, but I would have done it anyway.’

‘You would have?’ Kim asked quietly. His words had knocked the wind out of her, him admitting that he wanted all of it. She never could have imagined him saying those things and now he was, and she wanted them too.

‘I would have,’ he nodded.

‘I always thought I’d do it all myself,’ Kim started, his admission lighting a fire of bravery inside of her. ‘Raise her, look after her, love her. I never thought I’d see you again. But then you walked back into my life. Our life. And getting to share her with someone else. Getting to watch you love her as much as I do. It was everything I didn’t know I was missing.’ Adam’s mouth had dropped open but Kim continued. ‘Raising her myself was hard, and I’d never regret a single second of it. But it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge. And I guess what I’m trying to say is this will still be a challenge. But it’s one I want to do with you.’ She reached across and clutched his hand and was relieved to feel him grasp back just as tightly. ‘We are already a family, but maybe the next step for our family is to live under one roof.’

‘So?’ Adam said, his open mouth had pulled at the sides and his grin was as wide as she had ever seen it.

‘We are moving in,’ Kim said dramatically, matching his smile. ‘As long as Annabelle is okay with it, but I have a feeling she won’t put up much of a fight.’

‘You’re moving in,’ Adam repeated quietly, the realisation of the decision they had just made evident in his voice.

——————————————————————————

They finished their beers quietly, both happy to sit in silence and let their minds wander at the possibilities that awaited them.

When they walked out to the car, Kim having left hers at the district so they could carpool, she suddenly grabbed his arm to pull him to a stop.

‘Everything okay?’ He asked, concerned.

Kim nodded silently and before she could second guess herself, pushed up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. They were warm and soft and she could taste the beer on them as she pulled back.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s all that can happen until I’m not your TO anymore, but I just…’ she trailed off but Adam nodded. He found her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

‘I get it,’ he said.

‘I’m going to speak to Voight in the morning, tell him if it’s still open I’d like to be considered for the Intelligence position.’

‘He’d be a fool to turn you down.’

‘And then I believe you owe me a date,’ she smirked.

‘I believe I do,’ he squeezed her hand again and Kim couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through her at his words.

[bearlee-giggling]

Do You Want To See A Magic Trick?

Lee!Adison × Ler!Honee (platonic)

Adison is my oc! Honee belongs to @altheadajoysoul!

Synopsis: Adi is curious about what kind of magic Honee performs in his sets, but becomes suspicious when hypnosis is mentioned.

Word Count: 889

Warnings: This is a tickle fic! (Both characters are 18+ but the fic is entirely sfw)

~~~

Adi stepped out onto his porch as he saw his good friend Honee strolling up with his suitcase. Honee would be in town for a couple of days for a short stint of his standup/magic show at a nearby theater, and where better to stay than a good friend's place?

"Bunny Boy! Good to see ya!" Adi exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Honee in a friendly hug.

"Hey, kid! Didn't know they let middle schoolers rent town houses in the city, but things have changed since I was your age, I suppose..." the older rabbit teased, plopping his hat on Adi's head.

Adi let out an indignant huff as he took Honee's suitcase and led him inside. "I'm just gonna ignore that-"

Honee laughed as the two of them crossed the threshold into the small but comfortable residence. Adi set the suitcase and hat down next to the pullout bed in the livingroom, on which he plopped himself down and invited Honee to do the same. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before Adi broke it.

"So, what's your set like?"

"Oh! I'm doing a mix of standup and magic. A lot of basic sleight of hand type of stuff to really level up the jokes with a couple fancier things thrown in here and there." Adi nodded, clearly curious. "Speaking of- do you mind if I test something out on you? I'm integrating it into my set for the first time- I just wanna practice it one more time before doing it for the show-"

"Sure, what is it-?"

"Hypnotism. It's all over the place online, magicians everywhere are going viral for it."

Adi snorted. "Dude, seriously? Everybody knows that hypnotism shit isn't real! It's all faked for views!"

Honee smirked. "Are you a betting man, Adison?"

He paused for a moment. "Not usually, but I'm so confident that I'm right that I will bet you on this."

Honee's grin grew playfully sinister, and Adi felt a pit growing in his stomach. "If I successfully hypnotise you, I can have my fun- and- I get to record what happens and do with it what I see fit."

Adi groaned. "Fine. But if you fail- you still have to keep hypnotism in your set. And I get to come to your show and watch you fail again in front of a live audience."

Honee stuck out his hand with an unsettling amount of confidence. "Deal."

Adi swallowed hard. How was he so sure about this? Nevertheless, Adi took his hand and shook it. "Deal."

Honee grinned as Adi looked up at him, their eyes finally meeting. "Now Adi..." The rabbit's irises flashed and began to spiral. Adi stared deeply into them, immediately entranced, and after a few moments, his expression went completely blank. "Do you want to see a magic trick?~"

Adi smiled and nodded, lying down on the pullout bed as Honee smirked and positioned himself over the human. "I think you deserve a bit of payback after doubting me~"

Adi nodded, tugging up the hem of his shirt to reveal his toned belly up to his lower ribs. Honee chuckled, straddling the boy's waist. "My favorite part of hypnosis~" Honee began with a sinister grin, "is that you can't lie to me~" He pulled out his phone, setting it to the side so it was ready to record when he decided it was a good time. "So with that in mind, Adison~"

Adi eagarly nodded his head. "Do it!"

Honee huffed out a surprised laugh. He knew that Adi wouldn't have been able to lie, but he hadn't even needed to ask. "You asked for it!~"

Honee flexed his hands into claws, hovering them teasingly over Adi's tummy as the younger boy squirmed through flustered giggles beneath him. Finally, the claws touched down, skittering up and down Adi's sides as he squealed with glee. Loud, bubbly giggles poured from his mouth. "wehEHE-!! honehEHEhe-!!"

Honee smiled, pushing up Adi's shirt a bit further to gently scritch at his ribs. "What's so funny? I haven't even started testing my standup on you yet-"

"FUHUHUHUCK-!!! NAHAHAHAHAAHA-!!!" Adi's laughter intensified in volume and grew more frantic by the second, so Honee only spent a few moments teasing at his ribs before tracing his blunt claws all over Adi's tummy.

Adi melted into a fit of squealy giggles, squirming and batting at Honee's hands out of instinct.

"Ah, ah, ah~ Keep those hands up will you, bud~?"

Adi nodded and dragged his hands up behind his head, after which Honee immediately spidered his claws into the hollows of Adi's underarms. "WEHEHEHAHAHA!!! PLEHEHEHEASE!!!"

"Please what? Keep tickling you?~" Honee giggled, tracing a claw right around the rim of Adi's navel.

"SHIHIT- FUHUHUHUCK-!!!" Adi was cackling loudly and happily now, arching his back into the ticklish madness. That is- until Honee dipped his claw into Adi's navel and began scritching. "NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-!!!! FAHAHAHAHACK STAHAHAHAHAHAAP-!!!!"

Knowing that Adi was unable to lie about what he wanted, Honee stopped immediately. He climbed off of Adi, off of the pullout bed, and scooped the still-giggling boy into his arms.

"Did you have fun, Adi?"

"Sohoho... sohoho muhuch fuhuhun-"

"Tired?" Adi nodded, nestling himself into Honee's arms. "Let's get you to bed."

Honee carried Adi to his room, and there his phone sat, long forgotten on the pullout bed.

[melaniedragonnsfw]

Frankly, in this day and age, I feel ashamed to live in a world where people use fanfics as sex ed.

You can get pregnant if you had your period the day after fucking with no protection.

Yes you also can get pregnant if you do it on your period.

The copper IUD can be used as an emergency contraceptive. It is literally shoving a nuke up your pussy. I would recommend to anybody. (however having it put in does feel like shoving a nuke up your pussy too. But it’s probably not as bad as going through labor lmaooo.)

The pullout method sucks and you will get stds and accident children. Stop it and wrap up.

Your partner is a bitch and a liar if they say that using a condom doesn’t feel good. What also doesn’t feel good is gonorrhea and childbirth. So, pick and choose my friend.

No, being cummed in is not worth the STDs, UTIs and raising an ugly child. (Lets be real if you’re getting sex advice from fanfics,,, your kid gonna be ugly as shit and is gonna grow up to be a failure. Wrap it up)

People lie and cheat all the time. Get STD tested even if you think they are loyal.

Birth control is sexy. So is condoms. Use both to be ultra sexy.

Wash your sex toys. Idk what the fuck is wrong with y’all. Your genitals don’t produce antibacterial soap. Clean that shit. You will get a yeast infection or any other bacterial infection.

Speaking of sex toys, if you don’t clean your toys and expect your partner to use them, you’re crusty as hell. And frankly if your partner gets sick. No, poisoned by your biohazard dildos, you should be dragged to the middle of the town square and burned at the stake.

Losing your virginity should never hurt. Your boo just doesn’t care enough about you to get you wet. idk what else to say.

Your pussy shouldn’t be tight. That means you’re not aroused enough. Try ticking your clit or something.

People with dicks can also get yeast infections and UTIs.

Squirt is not pee. Pee stinks like pee. Squirt slightly smells like a vagina.

Not everyone is into the same kinks as you and you should always ask before introducing them to your partner.

Fucking someone with poor hygiene can increase your risk of infection.