#that's the one my mom read when I was eight

[hannahssimblr]

“Is that everything?” Mom’s car idles as I haul my last suitcase out of the boot and onto the pavement. The wind is frigid, slicing through the tunnel of concrete and asphalt at departures, and whipping my clothes about my body like sails.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s it now.”

“Alright,” she says, and pauses, her face halfway turned, so I see her in profile from my place by the open boot, her sharp cheekbone silhouetted by the sunrays through the open floors of a car park.

“Right, well.”

“Yes. I better go.”

“Thanks for the lift.”

She hesitates, her chest rising and falling with a sharp breath. “I- It’s a shame you have to go,” she says eventually. “But it’s for the best.”

“Yes.”

“Call me when you land.”

“I’ll text.”

“That’s fine.”

I slam the boot shut, and she pulls away from the curb with a roar of her engine. 

“Would all passengers travelling to Berlin on flight DLH-3478 please have your boarding passes and passports ready for boarding? Flight DLH-3478 now boarding at gate 41.” 

“Welcome on board,” says a peppy flight attendant. “Can I help you find your seat?”

“No.”

I shuffle down the aisle to the sounds of sleepy murmuring from the other passengers. A combination of English and German. I find my seat and shove my bag into the overhead compartment. 

As luck would have it, I was randomly assigned a window seat. I squeeze in, my knees bent and nudging the seat in front of me. 

Next to me, an older lady, in her sixties maybe, struggles in. “Oh, goodness’ sake,” she says, in this lilting, Donegal brogue. “These seats weren’t made for tall fellas like you, were they?”

“Suppose not.” I turn my face to stare at the asphalt out the window. 

She settles in, hauling a heavy purse onto her lap, from which she unloads her reading glasses, a book with a WHSmith sticker on the cover, a BLT sandwich and a knitting project, still on the needles. 

I breathe slowly from my nose. 

“Terrible early flight, isn’t it?” She says, wiggling into her seat. 

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“I came all the way from Letterkenny. I had to get a bus at midnight. Imagine that. Took three hours overall. It’s desperate.”

“Mm.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Clontarf. It’s like, fifteen minutes away.”

“Oh, lucky you!” She pulls down the table, but soon has to fix it back in place when the flight attendant coming to close the overhead lockers asks her to. The handbag is repacked and squeezed under the seat in front. 

She happily talks over the safety announcement. “I’m excited about this,” she whispers as the attendant demonstrates how to blow up the life vest. “I’m visiting my sister. She’s lived over in Berlin for years and years. She’s got a German husband. Gerhard, and I’d say the last time I visited, well, we were trying to figure it out together when I was on the phone with her. Was it eight years? When was… No, it was 2001…”

When the engines roar to life, and the plane begins its slow taxi across the runway, she produces a bag of sweets from her cardigan pocket. “For your ears?” she says. 

“I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” She rustles the bag, and I look. They’re lemon bonbons. I like those. 

“Yeah, actually, thanks,” I say, and pluck one from the packet. I haven’t yet decided if I can eat it while my stomach is so knotted up and queasy. Maybe I’ll just hold it.

“What’s bringing you to Berlin?” She says, as the plane rounds a wide corner to reveal the expanse of sky over the flat of north Dublin. 

“I’m moving, actually.”

“Oh! Wow, isn’t that exciting?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

“What has you going to Germany?”

“College,” I say, because it’s all I think I can say. Something is happening behind my face. I clench my fist around the lemon bonbon, sticky in my hot palm. 

“All on your own?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, it’s a big change, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’ll miss your family and friends, won’t you? It’s not far, but you know how these things are. It’s never easy leaving home for the first time.”

“No.”

“You’re very brave.”

A murmuration of starlings cuts through the blue. “Mm. I suppose. I-” I break off as my voice catches. No. I think. Not here. So I blink, hard, but it can’t stop the tears coming, because they’ve been waiting, as though building behind a dam, and now at last, in the most inconvenient location on the planet, something has given. “I… um…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she produces a tissue and I take it, pinching it against the bridge of my nose while tears spill over and snot flows, my teeth bared. I can’t bear to look at her as she fusses over me, her hand stroking my sleeve. I sniff, and it’s loud, and thick, and humiliating. 

“Darling, you’ll be alright, c’mere, now, you can just let it all out.”

“Sorry.”

“No need.”

Like a mother, she murmurs vague, comforting sentiments as the tears pour, and build, and flood my vision until the view of Dublin blurs like wet paint. I sob until I think I’ll retch. The plane speeds along the runway, and lifts, and takes off into the sky, and I leave my little green island behind. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Once Upon A Grimm (2/?)

Summary: The world was far more complex than most people realized. Humans went about their lives, completely ignorant of the fact that there was a world of fairytales existing right alongside them. Well, not really fairytales. Not in the Disney sense, anyway. Many, like the Grimm brothers, had woven the truth into their stories, but the creatures they wrote about were even more nightmarish than their macabre and monstrous depictions. Creatures known as wesen. Supernatural, other-worldly beings who have always lived among humans and have always been hunted by those who had come to be known as Grimms. A struggle of secrecy, balance, and power among these species has existed since the beginning of time. This is a story of a man with his own struggle. The internal struggle of being a human, a wesen, and a Grimm, and the external forces that seek to eradicate one or all of his natures, especially those he tries to keep hidden. Fortunately, Killian Jones is not alone in his struggles nor his secrets. His personal savior, Emma Swan, has secrets and struggles of her own.

A/N: This fic is inspired by and will borrow from the NBC show Grimm. I confess I did not watch Grimm when it first aired, but absolutely fell in love with the show during a binge fest years later. If you have not seen the show, no worries! My beta - who has not seen the show either - assures me that it is not necessary. If you have seen the show, then I hope you’ll forgive the huge creative license I am taking with the material. This is not a strict Grimm retelling with Once characters. This is my own spin on the lore and cannon of both shows.

Sorry I am so late with this update. I underestimated how demanding real life was gonna be now that we are back in full swing with school. I'll do my best to stay on track going forward!

I cannot express how much I have enjoyed being a part of the @cssns all these years. Thank you to the mods who have kept it going year after year. We've had a terrific run! Huge shout out to @kmomof4 for always being my cheerleader and for her exceptional beta skills. A HUGE thank you and many fangirl squeals to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the amazing job she did on the cover art that accompanies this fic. Please go show her some love!

FYI: Because the show took cues from the Grimm brothers’ works, much of the vocabulary associated with the supernatural creatures was based on German or German coded language. For words like wesen and woge (which will be explained in the text) the w is pronounced with a v sound on the show. I’ll be using terminology from the show and more common creature names interchangeably within the fic.

Rated E (eventually) / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  / Prologue

Chapter One

Two and Half Years Later…

“What have we got?”

Killian approached the scene with his partner, Robin. Their mate and uniformed officer, Will, brought them up to speed, keeping his voice low as the men conversed on the walkway that led to the grand house towering before them.

“Grace Hatter. Eight years old. Never made it to school this morning,” Will informed them, reading over his notes. “Father says she left the house at a quarter to eight like usual. An hour later he got the call from the school telling him she was absent.”

“Do we know if he’s clean?” Killian asked, assessing the distraught man who was being questioned by other officers.

“No,” Will replied. “Dad’s name is Jefferson Hatter. We're looking into him.”

“Mom?”

“Deceased.”

“Okay. Thanks, mate. We’ll go have a talk with him.”

Killian and Robin continued up the walkway. When the father caught sight of them, he rushed down the front steps to meet them halfway.

“Are you the detectives?”

“Yes, sir,” Robin responded. “Detectives Locksley and Jones. Can you tell us more about your daughter? When you last her? What she was wearing?”

“Yeah, um…” The man took a moment to try and compose himself. His hand shook as he brought it up to run down his face. A shuddering breath filled his lungs and a sob caught in the back of his throat. “She uh, she left here about 7:45. She’s wearing purple leggings and an oversized, purple top that has a white rabbit on the front of it. She also had on a red hoodie and her backpack is pink and purple with her name on it.”

“Does she often walk by herself to school?”

The man, Jefferson, nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Ever since the beginning of the school year. She wanted… She wanted to be a big girl this year.” He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the freshly fallen tears drops from his face. “I was reluctant, but the school isn’t far and normally she walks with another little girl and her brother down the block.”

“But not today?” Killian inquired.

“No,” Jefferson answered. “Ava and her brother are both out sick this week. Grace walked alone yesterday, so I didn’t see an issue with her walking alone again today.” His face reddened, the tears now cascading down his cheeks as he pleaded, “Please. You have to find my little girl, please!”

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Robin promised him, digging a card from his pocket. “An officer is going to stay with you as we canvas the neighborhood, but if you think of anything else, give us a call.”

“Th-Thank you, detectives,” Jefferson said, taking the card then following one of the officers back to the house.

“So, what do you think?” Robin said under his breath as they turned back towards the street and surveyed their surroundings.

“If he’s involved then he’s an excellent actor,” Killian replied. “I think it more likely she was grabbed on her way to school. The question is… where?”

The street was lined with houses on one side, facing a wooded park area. The little girl would have made her way to the end of the block then turned to go around the woods. The school was located on the other side, about seven blocks away.

“We’ve spoken with all the neighbors who are home along the route she would have taken,” Will said, joining the detectives. “No one saw anything.”

“Maybe she didn’t take the usual route,” Killian said, jutting his chin towards the woods. “Maybe she took a shortcut.”

“Dad was very specific about the route,” Will told him. “He said Grace wasn’t allowed to cut through the woods.”

“Yeah, and we all know you did everything you were told when you were a kid,” Robin quipped, slapping Will on the back before heading towards the woods.

The three of them followed the worn path, carved out of the foliage by those who had used the woods as a shortcut over the years. Although focused on the task before him, Killian could not help but acknowledge how fortunate he was to do this job with his two best mates at his side.

It had been a series of unfortunate events that had led them here. Two and half years ago, he and Robin had been uniformed officers at different precincts and Will, after washing out of the academy years before, owned a local bar. After being attacked and having his life, once again, turned upside down, Killian had spiraled a bit. Neglectful of his duty and spending too much time at Will’s bar had made him a less than stellar candidate for detective, despite his high scores on the exam. However, everything changed once more the night Will’s bar went up in flames.

Though it had been deemed arson, they still weren’t sure how it had happened. The explosion and fire claimed the lives of more than a dozen officers and detectives from both Storybrooke and Glowerhaven. In the aftermath, personnel had been reshuffled, reassigned, and reevaluated, giving Killian a second chance at a detective slot and transferring Robin to the Storybrooke precinct. Will, determined to bring the perpetrator to justice, had reapplied to the academy and finished top of his class before being assigned to the Storybrooke PD.

Although the arson case had gone cold, Killian and Robin, with an assist from their favorite uniformed patrolman, had managed to garner the highest number of closed cases of any rookie or veteran detectives within the city or its outlying suburbs. Robin often joked that the reason the three of them were so good at this job was because in another life they would have been criminals themselves - and therefore knew how their perps thought - dubbing themselves the pirate, the bandit, and the thief.

Of course, he had no idea that Killian possessed abilities beyond those of a normal human detective which gave him an advantage. Abilities he was currently applying in the hopes of bringing this little girl home safely.

When the trail forked, the trio branched off in separate directions. Once out of sight from his mates, Killian crouched down and closed his eyes, homing in on the sounds around him as he inhaled deeply. Over the years he’d made peace with his wolf side. It wasn’t always easy to keep the wesen reined in, or explain away how he’d been able to accomplish some of the things his supernatural abilities allowed him to do, but as time went on he found ways to balance his human and wesen side.

Not able to pick up anything out of the ordinary, Killian resumed his search further up the path. A moment later, Robin’s voice called out.

“I’ve got something!”

Killian rushed towards Robin’s voice, arriving alongside an out of breath Will. Both men were too focused on the pink and purple backpack laying among the ferns to notice Killian’s lack of exertion.

“Grace Hatter.” Will read the name where it had been monogrammed in bright pink, confirming it belonged to their missing girl. “She must have been grabbed somewhere in this area.”

“Careful where you step,” Killian reminded them. “Will, call it in and inform the others that we have a crime scene in Wonderland Woods Park across from the victim’s house.”

Will stepped away to radio it in, leaving the detectives to peruse the area.

“Killian, we got boot prints here. They look fresh.”

Killian noted the direction of the prints and commented, “He took her this way.” Setting off down the path, he shouted over his shoulder, “Stay with Will until CSU arrives. I’ll see where the prints lead.”

Once out of sight, Killian crouched down again and took in a deep breath. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention and a primal growl rumbled in the center of his chest. He could tell the scent was wesen, although he wasn’t sure what species. There was something vaguely familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Never before, since his transition, had he ever wished for the moon to be in its full cycle. If it were, then his sense of smell would be stronger. He’d be able to discern the little girl’s scent better, as well as her abductor’s, and he’d be able to tell which direction the two had gone once they’d reached the road on the other side of the woods.

Cursing under his breath, Killian made his way back to Robin and Will. The Crime Scene Unit had already arrived and the area was being cordoned off so they could work making casts of the boot prints. Killian eyed Grace’s backpack as it was being bagged and tagged so it could be processed for fingerprints. He wished he’d gotten a chance to scent it, but the K-9 unit was already seeing to the task.

“There isn’t much more we can do here,” Robin told him. “Will and the other officers will follow up on the neighbors they didn’t get a chance to speak with earlier. Maybe one of their security cameras will have caught them coming out of the park.”

“Aye,” Killian said with a resigned sigh.

Clapping Killian on the back, Robin suggested, “Let’s go get some lunch. By the time we’re done, more evidence will have been collected and processed, then we can focus on whatever they found.”

“I suppose I could eat,” Killian relented. Robin was right. There was nothing more they could do that the other officers didn’t already have handled. They’d need their strength and their wits about them for the long afternoon and evening ahead. “Where did you have in mind?”

“How about Aesop’s?”

Killian cocked a brow his partner’s way. “Aesop’s? A bit swanky for lunch isn’t it?”

Robin shrugged. “I hear they have a great burger menu.”

“Mhmm,” Killian hummed. Something in Robin’s demeanor had him dubious as to whether that was the real reason. “I suppose we could check it out,” he replied with a shrug of his own, followed by a wolfish grin. “So long as you’re buying.”

~/~

“So that’s the real reason you wanted to come here,” Killian ribbed in a sing-song tone. “The lovely and elusive Miss Mills.”

Robin’s cheeks flamed pink behind the bun of his burger as he took as long as he possibly could to bite off then chew a mouthful.

“You know this constitutes stalking, right? Why not just ask her out?”

Robin swallowed and chased the bite with a sip of water, once again taking his time running his napkin over his mouth before placing it back in his lap.

“You’re hopeless,” Killian exasperated, getting up from his seat. He shot a wink over his shoulder to his mortified partner as he approached the nearby table, teeming with lawyers in their power suits. “Miss Mills?” he said in a feigned tone of surprise.

“Detective Jones,” she said in a friendly yet reserved greeting. “Funny running into you here?”

“Aye,” he said. “The lunch burger menu was recommended to Robin and me, so we thought we’d give it a go.” He gestured back towards the table Robin was metaphorically trying to hide beneath. Miss Mills - Regina - gave him a wave which he awkwardly reciprocated. “I won’t keep you,” Killian continued. “I was on my way to the facilities when I spotted you and just wanted to say hello. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, detective. A pleasure seeing you,” she replied, though her attention was not set on him but rather still subtly fixated on his partner.

When Killian exited the lavatory hall on his way back to the table, he slowed his steps and his lips twitched up in a smile. Robin and Regina were standing at the table conversing as the prosecutor’s colleagues were filing past, on their way out the door. Regina slipped Robin her card, her painted lip caught between her teeth, and he accepted it with a full, bright smile. Killian chuckled to himself, eager to take the mickey out of his friend, when something in Regina’s countenance shifted.

She’d turned towards the door, prepared to follow her colleagues, when her entire body went rigid. Something rippled through her expression and Killian was taken aback by what he saw.

She woged.

Regina Mills was… a hexenbeist?

No. He had to be seeing things. She couldn’t have woged. If she had, the entire restaurant would be in an uproar, especially Robin. There’s no way anyone would have missed the gruesome sight of a hexenbeist revealing her true form. Unless…

No. That wasn’t a possibility either. The full moon wasn’t in cycle yet, so there was no way he could have witnessed a demi-woge. Could he?

Regina’s features returned to normal, but her posture was still stiff and on guard. He followed her eyes to try and determine what had prompted such a response and was stunned to see another woged hexenbeist casually standing by the hostess stand. She had flaming red hair and was dressed in a tight, green dress. When her human face presented itself once more, she wore a smug, slightly challenging smirk.

Finally collecting herself, Regina marched past the woman without a word or backward glance, but the red-haired witch watched her all the way out the door and down the block.

“Did you see that?”

Robin’s question shook Killian from his shock, but a fresh, confused panic spiked within him. “See what?”

“The text,” Robin said, lifting his phone for Killian to see. “We’ve got a body.”

“A body?” Killian parroted, attempting to get his racing heart under control while processing what his partner said.

He didn’t see it, then. Didn’t see them change. Then why did I?

“Not Grace Hatter?” Killian’s heart dropped a little as his mind finally caught up.

“No,” Robin assured him. “Not the missing girl, but the captain wants us to take point on this one, too.” He beckoned Killian to follow him through the tables towards the exit. “I’ve already settled the bill. Will’s waiting for us at the scene.”

Before heading out the door, Killian scanned the restaurant for the red-headed hexenbeist, but saw no sign of her. He tried to shake off the unnerving feeling her and Regina’s woge had elicited in him. The mystery of why he had been able to see it at all would have to wait. He had more pressing issues to concern himself with.

~/~

“Are you sure this is even a homicide?” Killian heard Will ask under his breath. “Looks more like an animal attack?”

For the second time that day, Killian’s hackles rose. The scene before him was familiar. Too familiar. He could remember, as though it were yesterday, making the same inquiry to the detectives working a similar scene. A scene that had led to Killian being attacked and transformed. A scene that had been declared an animal attack after the DNA had come back as inconclusive. A scene where no other evidence had been left behind except…

“We got a boot print!”

Killian’s entire body reacted in a ripple of goose bumps and a sharp inhale confirmed the truth as a familiar scent penetrated his sinuses.

It’s him! He’s back. The blutbad who attacked me. The blutbad who made me. He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s killed again and… HE’S TAKEN GRACE HATTER!

“Oi! Kill, er… detective. You alright?”

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, mate.”

Killian’s Apple apple bobbed painfully. “We need to go see the Captain. Now.”

It was a quick ride back to the precinct, though Killian’s silent stewing had probably made it feel longer to his partner. Robin knew him well enough to not pepper him with questions when he was like this, allowing him space to get his thoughts together. It didn’t mean his mate didn’t side-eye him with furtive glances the entire way back to the station, though.

“Captain Gold, do you have a minute?” Killian asked at the open doorway of their captain’s office.

“For my two best detectives? Of course,” Captain Gold said, gesturing them forward. “How’s the investigation going into the missing girl? Or is this about the body we found? A jogger who was a student at the local university?”

“Actually,” Killian hedged, still unsure how he was going to convince his captain and his partner of what he knew to be fact. “It may be about both.”

“Go on.”

Killian and Robin took a seat in front of the captain’s desk. Leaning forward, Killian began to fill them in on what he’d pieced together.

“A little over two years ago, there was a hiker who was attacked in a similar fashion to how we found the jogger today.”

“I remember,” Gold said, nodding his head. “That was ruled an animal attack, wasn’t it?”

“Aye,” Killian said. “The DNA was inconclusive, but that wasn’t the only evidence left at the scene.” Flicking his eyes towards Robin, he said, “There was a boot print. Just like the one at the scene today. And that’s not all…” Sitting back, Killian wiped his hand down his face and let go a heavy breath. “The same day the hiker was attacked and killed, a little girl went missing in Glowerhaven.” Robin’s eyes widened and Killian knew he didn’t need reminding, but the Captain still needed to know. “I know because Robin helped work that case and we were mates back then.” Setting his attention back on his captain, Killian continued. “Look. I’m not saying all these cases are connected, but we did find boot prints where we suspect Grace Hatter was abducted, and it all feels a little suspect to just be coincidence.”

Captain Gold tented his fingers in front of him, and his eyes narrowed at Killian. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, after a few agonizing seconds. “It’s all too coincidental to not look into.” His eyes shifted to Robin. “Locksley, reach out to Glowerhaven and see if you can get a copy of the missing girls file from two years ago. Check it for any similarities to the Grace Hatter case. Jones,” he continued, focusing his attention back on Killian. “Follow-up on the boot print. See if the one from the hiker’s scene matches the jogger’s, then compare it to the ones we found at the abduction site.” With a dismissing nod, he added, “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, Captain,” the two detectives replied on their way out of Gold’s office.

“How did you put all of that together?” Robin asked. “Remembering that girl from more than two years ago who went missing the same day a hiker was mauled? I don’t think I would have put that together.”

“I don’t know,” Killian deflected. “Something about that night just… stuck with me, I guess.”

“Well, good pick up,” Robin said, clapping him on the back. “I’m gonna call GPD, then head over to collect those files. Check in later?”

“Aye,” Killian told him. “Later.”

It took Killian less time to confirm the boot prints were a match at all three scenes than it did for Robin to make it back with the files. Although it proved the crimes may be connected, the boots that matched the prints were a very common brand. It would be nearly impossible to find their suspect that way. Frustrated, Killian shot off a text to Robin and Will, letting them know he was gonna go out for some air.

There had to be a way of finding this monster.

Not that he hadn’t already tried. He’d gone back to the scene of the hiker’s mauling time and time again in search of any clues, hoping to discover the identity of the killer and the wesen who had turned him. Once the case had been cleared from homicide, investigators believing a wolf or mountain lion had caused the grizzly death, there had been little Killian could do inside the law. He’d been too preoccupied with the changes he was facing as a newly made wesen to pursue the blutbad on his own, and too worried about what his brother’s reaction might have been if he’d turned the case over to a Grimm. A Grimm who might have been able to detect such changes in his little brother.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel as though the jogger’s death and the missing girl were his fault. He should have told Liam about the rogue blutbad or gone after it himself.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.

Digging his phone from his pocket, Killian dialed his brother’s number and held his breath as the call rang.

This is Liam Jones. I’m not available to take your call. Leave me a message.

“Liam. It’s Killian. Call me back. I’ve got a situation here that might require your expertise.”

Typical.

Killian’s phone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Liam returning the call. Instead, the caller ID displayed Will’s name. Killian knew he’d been pouring over videos collected from neighborhood cameras, and he was eager to hear if he’d found anything that might help them locate the missing girl.

“Will? What you got?”

“Not much,” Will confessed over the phone. “I’ve checked all the cameras we collected from Tweedle Drive, the street the perp would have exited the woods from, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Nothing?” Killian asked, defeated. “From the whole street?”

“Well, there’s a bit we don’t have footage of, but none of the videos show any car, truck, or van he may have used to move the girl. The only vehicle on the street at that time was the mail truck.”

“The mail truck?” Killian repeated, an idea coming to him. “Do me a favor. Find out who was working that route today and whether the postal service issues a certain type of boot for their employees' uniforms.”

“You think it was the postman?”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” he told Will. “If nothing else, the postal worker may have seen something. We should track them down as a potential witness.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Text me the name when you’ve got it.”

“Will do.”

A renewed rush of hope filled Killian as he made his way back to the precinct, but it was hindered by a fresh realization.

If the postal worker did turn out to be their suspect, then he wouldn’t be going up against their usual perp. He’d be going up against a wesen. A blutbad. And not just any blutbad… his sire. The one who had turned him. Would he know? Even without the full moon bringing out his wesen characteristics, would his sire be able to tell what he was?

Killian stopped short of the station door and did an about face. He needed to better prepare himself for this confrontation, and there was only one person who would be able to help him do so.

Searching his contacts as he made his way to his vehicle, he prayed this call would not go to voicemail.

His prayer was answered.

“Hello?”

“Swan. It’s me. I need your help.”

~/~

The fingers of her left hand drummed against the counter as the nails on her right were being assaulted by her teeth. Normally, Emma Swan would not allow a situation to unnerve her this way. Of course, it wasn’t the situation, not really, it was the man involved in the situation. The man who only came in once a month to pick up his wolfsbane tonic and share polite pleasantries with her or her brother, who assisted her at the shop. The man who had agreed to keep things between them strictly professional after the one time thing incident that had occurred early on in their association. The man who had kept to that promise… until now.

He wasn’t coming here for his tonic - the full moon was still over a week away. He wasn’t coming here for tea, or spices, or herbal remedies, or anything within the purview of her business. No. He was coming here because he needed help on a case. He was coming here because he had nowhere else to turn. He was coming here because he needed… her.

Although they had managed to keep one another at arm’s length these past two years, it hadn’t been that way at first. The month following his attack and introduction into the wesen world, they had texted and chatted numerous times, having built a rapport by the time of the next full moon.

A rapport that simmered with attraction and temptation.

Fortunately, they had both understood the seriousness underlying his stay with her during that first full moon. Setting aside the obvious chemistry between them, they focused instead on the alchemy of finding the right balance of wolfsbane. Everything had gone as expected… until it hadn’t.

“Emma, sweetie,” Granny said in her admonishing tone. “Are you trying to drive us both mad with your fidgeting?”

“Sorry, Granny,” Emma mumbled, removing her nail from her teeth and flattening both hands on the counter.

The elderly woman’s soft, weathered hand covered hers and she gave it a light, comforting squeeze. “What’s got you all riled up? You said he was a regular customer.” Her eyes narrowed and her head tilted to the side. “Is it because he’s a lycanthrope?” Patting Emma’s hand she assured, “I may not look it, but I can still hold my own. If he gets unruly, then--”

“No, it’s not like that,” Emma said, cutting the woman off in a rush, not wishing her to get the wrong impression. “Detective Jones is much more disciplined than lycanthropes are believed to be. He’s… he’s a good man.”

“Then why on earth are you worked up in such a state?” Granny inquired. “I can practically smell the anxiety and tension wafting off of you.”

Emma chewed her bottom lip, then silently cursed herself. Get a grip, Emma. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she straightened her posture and schooled her features. “It’s nothing.”

Granny let out a dubious hum. “Try again,” she said. “If you want me to help a lycanthrope - and a detective to boot - that has you all tied up in knots then you’re gonna have to give me a reason.”

Emma released a heavy sigh. She knew Granny was right. The woman was going out on a limb for her, the least she could do was give her the truth.

Given that she expected the detective to arrive at any moment, Emma quickly told Granny about her and Killian’s first meeting, and the subsequent month that had followed.

“Sounds like the two of you became fast friends,” Granny remarked, though Emma thought she could detect something slightly off in the woman’s tone. “What happened?”

Glancing at the door, Emma wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved that he hadn’t arrived yet. She’d never told anyone what had happened.

“He came to stay with me for the full moon, as planned,” she began.

“Here?” Granny asked, knowing the proprietor lived above her shop.

“Yes,” Emma confirmed. “In my spare room. I wanted us to be close to the workshop so I could make adjustments on the fly.”

“What do you mean?”

Swallowing, Emma told Granny about the experiments they did, testing the effectiveness of the wolfsbane. “Things like, provoking his temper and trying to elicit responses that were more primal,” she hedged, with half a shrug of her shoulder, “to see how well he could keep control under such stimuli.”

“And?” Granny prompted. “How did he do?”

“He did great,” Emma said, then winced slightly as she added, “Until August showed up.”

A knowing huff left Granny. “Yeah. I’d imagine the presence of another male might have set him off a bit. Did your brother come away unscathed?”

“Barely,” Emma replied. “Killian didn’t know who August was and when he saw him hugging me he… woged.”

“As in… fully?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been intense for all of you.”

“It was,” Emma sighed. “I had to use magic to diffuse the situation, but once cooler heads prevailed and I was able to introduce the two of them, I thought things were resolved.”

“Until?”

Emma’s mind flashed back to the morning after he’d woged and tried to attack August. The morning after the final full moon.

“So… you made it through your first full moon.”

“Aye. Thanks to you, love.”

“No need to thank me,” she told him. “I should be thanking you.”

“For?”

“For not ripping out my idiot brother’s throat,” she said in a tone mixed with amusement and annoyance. “I told him not to come here this weekend, but does he listen?”

Killian hummed, a sultry, toe-curling sound, and sauntered forward. “Perhaps gratitude is in order then?” he murmured, tapping his lips suggestively with a raised brow and challenging smirk.

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathlessly. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

Another sinful sound echoed past his lips as he pressed further into her personal space. “Is that all your brother’s life is worth to you?”

“Please,” she scoffed with an eye roll, trying, and failing, to get her heart rate under control, knowing full well he could probably hear its erratic beat. “You couldn’t handle it.”

The corner of his lips lifted in a feral and taunting manner. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

The crack of the t against his tongue reverberated through her, and without thought she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, fusing her mouth to his. It took him the briefest of seconds to respond, inhaling deeply before thoroughly devouring her.

It was hot. It was primal. It was all-consuming.

“That was…”

It was a big fucking mistake.

“A one time thing,” she murmured, pulling back from his chasing lips. “We… we can’t do this. I… I can’t do this.”

Releasing him, she took several steps back, unable to meet his eye or look upon his confused expression.

“Swan,” he panted, both of them still working to catch their breath. “Have I… Have I done something? I know attacking your brother was bad form. Please don’t think I’m unaware of the seriousness of that--”

“No, it’s… it’s not that,” she said. “I know you didn’t really have control over--”

“Then what?” he asked. “What’s changed?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Emma rocked back on her heels and said, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to… I mean… this is all new to you and the last thing we both need is to complicate an already complex situation. I think it would be best if we… kept things professional between us.”

She braced herself for his response, expecting him to be angry. Expecting him to accuse her of leading him on, or taking advantage of him while he was vulnerable. She hadn’t expected him to run a hand through his hair while letting go a heavy sigh before agreeing with her.

“Aye,” he said, softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps now is not the best time to…” Flicking his too blue gaze up to hers, he gave her an earnest smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Swan. I think I’ll be able to manage on my own now, thanks to you.”

“You’ll still need the tonic each month,” she reminded him with a slight edge of panic in her voice. She didn’t mean for their association to end altogether. “And you can still call or text me if you have questions about--”

“Thank you,” he interjected, cutting her off before she could continue with her offer. “I’ll swing in for the tonic in a month’s time. I’ll be sure to let you know if there are any issues regarding the treatment.” Reaching up, he pawed at a patch of skin behind his ear. “I, uh… I should go. I have a shift in an hour.”

“Right,” she said, letting him pass so he could collect his things from where he’d set them by the door. “See you next month?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said over his shoulder as he exited the shop. “See you then.”

“Only… I didn’t see him then,” she told Granny. “I chickened out and left the order with August.”

“Are you telling me,” Granny chastised, “that you haven’t seen that young man since--”

“No!” Emma replied, indignantly. “Of course I’ve seen him. We just… it’s been…” Another heavy sigh expelled out of her lungs. “After our… shared moment, I did avoid him for a bit and I know he struggled to cope with his transition, which made me feel worse about how we left things, but then there was this fire at his friend’s bar, and he made detective, and I don’t know… something about him changed. Things were less weird when he came in and we managed to carve out this nice, albeit superficial, relationship and yet--”

“The feelings are still there?”

Emma laughed a rather hysterical sounding laugh. “Uh, no. No feelings. I mean, obviously I care about him, as a person, but my current demeanor has nothing to do with feelings.”

“Oh? What does it have to do with, then?”

Emma didn’t get a chance to answer the woman’s smug question. The bell over the door chimed and the two women's heads snapped in its direction. In walked Killian Jones, as handsome and alluring as ever.

“Swan,” he greeted with a reverential nod. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“Of course,” she managed to choke out, her mouth having gone dry. Clearing her throat, she gestured towards Granny and introduced, “This is, uh, Granny Lucas. She runs the new B&B and diner up the street. I thought she might be able to help. Granny, this is Detective Jones.”

“Please,” he said, taking Granny’s hand and offering it a polite shake. “Killian will do.”

“A pleasure to meet you, detective,” Granny said, obviously sizing him up. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

Her gaze still assessing him, Granny quipped, “Most lycanthropes have me wanting to rip out their throats within seconds of meeting them, but you… you’re different.”

Killian’s brows shot up and his eyes flicked to Emma even as he continued to address Granny. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage,” he said a little too calmly. “You know about me, yet I have no idea why Swan brought you in on--”

“Granny’s a blutbad,” Emma blurted out, causing his brows to raise even higher as his head snapped back to the elderly woman. “I thought, seeing as you said your case had something to do with a blutbad, and that you needed more information about them, that you’d like to have your questions answered by someone who--”

“Not just any blutbad,” he said, cutting her off in a tone laced with menace and anger. “The blutbad.”

Emma gasped. “The one who turned you?”

“Aye.” His gaze turned dark and his features hardened. “He’s back and he’s killed again. He’s even taken a little girl captive.”

“That’s terrible,” Emma said, keeping herself from reaching out to offer him a hand of comfort. “When did you--”

“Today,” he told her, catching both women up on the case of the little girl and the jogger and how he’d connected them to the cases from over two years ago.

“We found matching boot prints at the crime scenes, but I also detected his scent at each location. I knew there was something familiar about it, but didn’t put it together until I smelled it mixed with the jogger’s blood. It brought back the olfactory memory of that night,” he said, momentarily getting lost in thought until he shook his head and added, “Of course… I can’t enter that into evidence. Fortunately, we have a lead, but I am wary of confronting him without knowing more.”

“More?” Granny said, her countenance a bit stand-offish and very imposing. “Like what?”

“Like,” Killian hedged, wetting his lips and taking a moment to assess Granny as she had him. “Whether I’ll be able to know him by scent even if he isn’t woged. Typically, I can’t detect wesen by scent whilst they’re in their human form or see them demi-woge unless it's the full moon, so I can only assume he was in full woge when he abducted the girl and attacked the jogger.”

Granny remained stoic and stone-faced, still unsure whether she should trust the gemacht wesen in front of her.

“Look,” Killian said with a tone of authority Emma imagined he employed often in his line of work. “I know there’s a code among wesen. This desire to look after one's own kind. But this guy is a killer. He’s killed two people that we know of and may, even now, be holding a little girl captive, so please. Help me find him. Help me find her.”

The reminder of the little girl softened Granny’s features. “If he’s done what you say he has, then he’s putting us all at risk.” Quickly, she flicked her gaze to Emma then back to him, conceding, “You’re right. There is a code among wesen, but it only extends so far. It sounds to me like this blutbad has gone feral, and his behavior is only going to escalate the longer he’s allowed to run wild.”

“Then… you’ll help me?”

Her posture relaxed further and she stepped up to the counter, bringing her closer to both Killian and Emma. Nodding, she said, “Yes, I’ll help you.”

A relieved breath fell from Emma’s lips and she took Granny’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, Granny.”

Granny patted her hand then straightened her shoulders, getting down to business. “Now, I’m no expert on lycanthropes, but unless he fully woges, I don’t think you’ll be able to tell whether your suspect is the blutbad you’re looking for. If he is feral, then it wouldn’t take too much to provoke a response, but you’d have to be ready. Once he woges… he’ll be out for blood.”

Emma saw a shudder pass over the detective and she wondered if he was remembering his own experience with an uncontrolled woge.

“What about the girl?” Killian asked. “What motive would he have for taking her?”

Granny pursed her lips together then hesitantly replied. “If he’s feral, and attacked someone before, then he’s likely gotten a taste for human blood.” Killian and Emma both grimaced, sickened by the notion. “I’d wager he attacked and fed on that jogger first. Probably lost control. He knows he’ll be good for another week until the urge takes hold again, but by then it’ll be the full moon and it’ll be risky for him to be out and about. He probably took the girl in preparation of making a meal of her later. Taking her now gives him time to fatten her up.”

Emma thought she might be sick, and while she could see the shared disgust in Killian’s face, she also saw rage.

Granny caught his eye and imparted, “Having her will make him even more territorial and dangerous. So you’ll need to be ready for anything.”

“Will he, uh…” Killian began, haltingly. “Will he be able to discern who I am? What I am?”

“No,” Granny said, shaking her head. “I only made that quip about lycanthropes because Emma had already told me what you are… and I wanted to see how you’d react. You ought to know by now that wesen can only sense you during the full moon.”

“Aye, but he isn’t just any wesen,” Killian countered. “He’s my maker. Are you sure that won’t have an effect?”

“I don’t see why it would.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, a reluctant question seemed to pause at the tip of his tongue.

“So there won’t be any… connection between us, then? No weird side effort of my turning that would make me sympathetic towards him or beholden in some way?”

Granny scoffed and cocked an amused brow at him. “Such sire bonds only exist in fiction.”

Killian’s head fell in relief and Emma could now detect how much tension he must have been carrying over that worry.

“Gemacht sometimes latch on to those who aid and guide them through their transition, and many times that is the wesen who turned them, so if you were to have bonded onto someone it would have been the person who was there for you at the beginning of and during your first change.”

Killian’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Emma’s. Her heart stuttered, then began pounding in her chest while her breath remained trapped in her lungs.

Granny’s gaze volleyed between the two of them, her heading tilting to one side as she quipped, “I suppose that explains the pent up tension I’ve been sensing between you two.” A warm smile lifted the corners of her mouth in response to their awkward reaction to the call out, and she assured them, “Don’t worry. The bond was temporary. I dare say enough time has passed that it would be gone altogether.” Her no nonsense demeanor returned as she focused her attention solely back on Killian and asked, “Anything else?”

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Killian cleared his throat and said, “Just one last thing… Do you know who this blutbad might be?”

“Afraid not,” Granny told him with obvious regret in not being able to provide him a name. “I only relocated to Storybrooke a few months ago, and I find it best to avoid my kind as much as possible.” Her eyes fell down to the counter and on a bit of a grumble she added, “Bad things happen when we get into a pack. Especially when we see red.”

Killian’s eyes went wide.

“What?” Emma asked. “What is it?”

Killian locked eyes with her once more. “The little girl. Grace. She was last seen wearing a red hoodie. And the jogger and hiker both had on red jackets when their remains were found.”

“So, red provokes him?” Emma said, shaking her head in confusion. “But you weren’t wearing red when he attacked you. You were in uniform.”

“Which,” Granny interjected, “along with your natural demeanor of dominance and authority, he would have seen as a threat.”

“Which means he’ll likely view me as a threat when I confront him.”

“Most likely,” Granny warned. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and Emma knew she needed to get going so she could get back to the diner before the evening rush. “My advice,” she said, rounding the counter on her way out. “When you do confront him, do it alone. You don’t want him to feel trapped or backed into a corner, and if things go badly…”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

Extending her hand, Granny offered him a sincere expression as he accepted the gesture. “Take care of yourself, Detective. I hope you can bring him to justice, but if not… bring him down any way you can.”

With that, she said a quick goodbye to Emma then exited the shop.

“Tough old bird,” Killian said in her wake, causing Emma to huff out an amused breath.

“Yeah. Granny is… something else.”

“Terrifying, I believe is the word you’re looking for,” he quipped with a light chuckle.

The two shared a laugh then stood awkwardly regarding one another for a long moment before Killian cleared his throat and said, “Um… thank you, Swan. I truly appreciate your help. I didn’t know who else to--”

“It was nothing,” Emma blurted out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I was happy you called and that I could…”

Her words fell away and a wash of something akin to embarrassment or bashfulness swept over her. Her face was hot and her palms were starting to get slick.

You're being ridiculous, Emma. You’re not a silly school girl unsure of what to say to her crush. In fact… you don’t have a crush. This isn’t a crush. This is--

Killian’s phone chimed with a notification. Pulling it from his pocket, he checked the text and his grip tightened to the point that Emma feared he’d crack the screen.

“Killian? What is it?”

Slowly, Killian’s eyes lifted and met hers. The look that swirled in those blue depths made her breath hitch.

“We found him, Swan.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand in a way that caused her to shiver.

“Who is he?” she asked in a whisper, only vaguely aware that she was rounding the counter to move towards him.

His eyes never left hers and once she was standing before him, they flickered between her own as he answered. “His name is Quinn Adair. His address puts him outside of the city. Out in the woods.”

Emma swallowed hard as an eruption of worry filled her chest. “Are you… You’re not going to go after him now are you?”

“I have to, Swan,” he insisted. “He has Grace, remember? I have to get to her before he…”

Emma nodded, knowing that time was of the essence for that poor girl who was probably terrified out of her mind.

“Just… be careful?” she said, wetting her lips, which caused his gaze to drop down briefly. “And, um… Call me later so I know how it… so I know the girl is okay… and you.”

“Aye,” he said, pocketing his phone. “I will. I promise.”

She expected him to rush out after that, but he continued to stand there. Conflicted.

“Swan, I know this isn’t the time, but… what Granny said earlier. About us. About the bond that might have been created between us. Was that… Was that the reason you pulled away? Did you suspect?”

“Killian, I…” Emma didn’t know what to say. It would certainly be a plausible reason to give him. One that was safer than the truth.

It would be a lie, though.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving off the question and sparing her from having to answer. “As Granny said, whatever was going on between us at the time, it’s likely run its course, so…”

“So?”

Stepping forward, Killian grabbed her hand and lightly held it in his. A rush of goosebumps swept up her arm when his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“So… Maybe when this case is solved and things go back to relative normalcy, we could… try again?”

“Try again?” Emma parroted. A contradictory cocktail of hope, elation, dread, and panic collided within her as her good sense warred with her wants and desires.

“As friends, I mean,” he clarified, and in tamping down her own disappointment she missed the tone of it in his voice. “We had the start of something I was beginning to cherish and I miss…”

“Me, too,” she told him, turning her hand in his so she could give it a squeeze. Maybe it was reckless. She’d avoided close relationships all her life for a reason, and yet… “I’d love to start again. As friends.”

His smile took her breath away, but it was quickly schooled so he could focus on the dangerous task that lay before him.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, filled with concern about him facing his maker alone. “I know Granny said not to make him feel trapped or backed into a corner, but I doubt he’d see me as a threat. And I doubt he’d be expecting a witch.”

His lip curled up on one side. “As much as I would love to see him go up against your magic, I won’t put you in harm's way like that.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he quickly added, “Besides. I need to try and do this by the book. I’m a cop before anything else.”

“I get that,” Emma relented, begrudgingly. “But I’m going to keep my phone close by in case you get in over your head and change your mind.”

“In over my head?” he said in feigned offense. “I’ll have you know, love,” he murmured in a low timber, edging a bit closer to her. “If there is one thing I’m good at… it’s surviving.”

“Mhmm,” Emma hummed, meeting his taunting expression of challenge with one of her own. “Well, I’m going to insist that you stop by afterward in order to prove that to me.”

He smiled down at her, another message alerting from his phone, indicating it was past time for him to go.

“As you wish.”

Chapter Two - Coming Soon!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

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[thelampisaflashlight]

Me, rereading old entries in my diary: "I really need to start including the stuff that makes me feel good or at the very least okay in this thing, because I think I've read the line, 'I dunno, I'm just tired.' a touch too often after some of the most depressing bullshit I've yet to encounter, and I write angst for crying out loud." Also me, reading my diary: "Yeah, that really was some bull hockey, huh? Man, volume two of this series is something else..."

[kookslastbutton]

what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[erwinsvow]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

summary: you were a pogue, and now you're a kook. just like how once you were no one's, and now you're rafe cameron's.

author's note: here it is!!! imagine like s1 rafe with the s2 hair, and basically just having a former-pogue girlfriend through out the whole season. i just think rafe would actually be such a good boyf, he just needs someone to settle him down when he gets a lil crazy. follows the sequence of s1 until about 3/4ths down, where i just started making stuff up. you might read this & think no one would act like this.. and that's fine, i know they wouldn't, but this is a self indulgent story for rafe <3 part 2 of the other seasons maybe? enjoy!!

now spinning: black beauty by lana del rey (soooooo rafe coded! he just needs a hug and some pussy!)

word count: 13.5k

warnings/tags: wheeze is a toddler for no reason. reader isn't the biggest fan of the pogues at this point in time. smut: oral (f receiving), fingering, degregation, use of daddy, rafe calls reader kid because <3, lemme know if i forgot something!

“So that’s it? Really? Your mom is marrying a Kook and you’re moving across the island… just like that?” John B speaks to you as if you had any choice in the matter. You look at him sadly, but you’ve cried so much the last few days, it’s hard to find any more tears.  

You want to tell him, want to explain everything. The way your mom has been so lonely for years, ever since your dad passed away. The way she would pull double-shifts every week just to make sure you had the nice, trendy shoes and hot dinner every night. The way you grew up in the cut but it never felt any different than growing up in figure eight, because she took care of you.

And now it was your turn, to take care of her. Blake Richards was rich, and he wanted to take care of your mom, which meant for the first time in a long time, she would be the one being taken care of. And you owed that to her, you owed that much.

“I-I don’t really have a choice, John B. I mean, this is my mom. And she’s getting her chance to be happy. I can’t ruin it for her.”

“Yeah, I get all that but, like, does this mean you’re gonna go full-Kook on us? Because I think that would just be disturbing,” JJ says, and you crack a smile, even as you feel a tear spill down your cheek. 

“I don’t think I could ever go full-Kook.” It comes out quietly, a notch above a whisper.

“Hey, hey,” you hear John’s voice again, as he stands up to get closer to you. You feel embarrassed, the way your cheeks flush and heat up when he’s only a few inches away from you. He wipes the tear away with his thumb. “No crying, okay? Nothing has to change.”

The way he says it, you almost believe him.

“Right,” you say, still quiet. There’s a sob stuck behind your throat, and you don’t want the boys to know how upset you really are. You’ve stitched up these boys more times than you can count, set shoulders and bones and nursed bruises for them. “Nothing has to change,” you repeat, trying to convince yourself. Everything was about to change, starting with your relationship with them.

And that’s the one thing you wish could stay the same. Deep down, no matter how many times you were teased and laughed with, there was a part of you, buried away, that thought you would end up with one of these boys one day. Sweet John, funny JJ, smart Pope. Well, maybe not Pope. You’ve seen the way he stares at Kie, even when no one else notices.

But John and JJ, the possibility of being with one of them always lingered in the air. Even when they’re flirting with tourists or cracking so-called boy jokes that you just wouldn’t understand, you always thought they were your endgame.

If only you knew. 

Pope and Kiara drive up, just as you’re wiping away another tear. You’re dreading repeating everything to them, shedding more tears. 

౨ৎ

“Who is that?” Topper asks, eyeing some girl entering the club. Rafe was getting sick of Topper crying over every pretty girl he saw on the street when he was supposedly dating his sister. He hardly cared about Sarah, daddy’s favorite, but that was his family, and he wouldn’t tolerate disrespect to his family. 

“She must be fresh meat,” Kelce says, “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Tourist?” Topper questions. Rafe downs the rest of his drink. 

“Nah, man, see that guy ahead of her? That’s Blake Richards. My dad works with him, he’s a big finance guy. He’s a widower, but I guess not anymore.” 

“Step-daughter? Jesus,” Topper says. “It’s like a cheesy porno. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he married her mom to tap that, I mean-”

“Enough,” Rafe snaps. “Shouldn’t you be in a fight with my sister?” Topper blanches. 

“I mean, look at her Rafe. That is something special,” Kelce says, and then finally, Rafe lifts his head to look at you.

You look… confused. Your head is turning, taking in everything about the club, like you’d never been there before. A waiter comes up to your family with tall glasses of water, little pieces of cucumber and lemon floating around in them with ice cubes. Richards—your step-father—takes a glass and hands it to a woman who can only be your mother, with the same hair and complexion. Before he can take a glass to hand to you, you take it from the tray yourself, smiling and saying thank you. The waiter, some teenage Pogue, blushes at your affection.

When you start walking, continuing the tour, the waiter turns to look at you walk away, gawking like men do when they see something pretty. Rafe feels an overwhelming urge to punch the kid, and cover you up with his jacket. 

You’re not in anything too immodest, compared to what he’s seeing girls at the club walking around in, but it feels like it’s too much for the leering eyes that follow you. Your jean skirt comes down a little less than half-way to your thighs. Your shirt is white, with puffy sleeves and little buttons that tighten around the chest.

He sees a glimpse of cleavage, which makes his chest tighten uncomfortably, not in the way he’s used to when he sees a pretty girl. He wants to take his shirt off his back and slide it onto you, buttoning it up all the way and making sure no one else looks at you the way he’s looking at you right now.

“Rafe?” his friend calls, and he’s not sure which one. In your glancing, you turn towards Rafe and you lock eyes for a second. You must have noticed him staring. You probably think he’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem to care much at the moment. Your mother must have beckoned you, because you turn away in a second, walking towards the older couple, trailing behind them again.

“Be right back,” he says, leaving a confused Topper and Kelce behind him at the table. He cuts through the tables near the bar, entering the walkway where your family is already, but coming out of the other end. He gets there just in time to run into Richards, who’s leading the little group.

“Hi, Mr. Richards, right?” he says, holding his hand out. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Oh, Rafe, hi,” the older man replies, shaking his hand. Rafe grips hard, making sure Richards doesn’t think he has a wimpy handshake. Otherwise he’s never gonna agree to what Rafe has in mind. “I haven’t seen you in years, I mean you were half your height last time I was over at Tannyhill.”

“Crazy, right? Well I just wanted to say hi since I ran into you. How’s, uh Benny and Brax?” 

“I can’t believe you remember them, they haven’t been to Kildare in years. They’re good, yeah, Benny’s in California now, and Brax is out at law school, at Oxford.”

“Oh yeah, international law, right?”

“Yeah,” Richards says, smiling wide. “You’ve got quite a memory, son, I’ll have to tell Rafe when I see him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s around here somewhere.” Then, he makes his move. He turns his gaze to your mom first. He thinks about it briefly, but if he addresses you before her, your mom will be on guard. He knows how their minds work. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, I’m Rafe,” and he shakes your mom’s hand, but turns back to Richards for the introduction—something else in his little cheat-sheet of rules. Let dad do the talking, so he feels like he’s in control. 

“Rafe, this is my wife, Anna-”

“Nice to meet you, Rafe,” your mom smiles at him sweetly, and he smiles back. 

“-and my step-daughter.” You smile, and hold your hand out. He shakes your hand, gently, and looks at your face, because he can tell the smile is forced. He wonders why. 

“Nice to meet you.” he says, and you smile that forced way again.

“You too, Rafe.” You let go of his hand, and it’s good, because if he held on any longer, the adults would get suspicious.

“First time here?” he questions, still looking at you.

“Yes,” your mother answers, laughing, if not a little uncomfortably. “Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, it’s a lot to take in, I remember that much.” Richards smiles at him, almost beaming. He knows Rafe has been coming here since he could walk. That means the old man appreciates him trying to comfort his new family. Another step closer.

“It is,” Anna says, looking at her daughter. She has those worried eyes, the one Ward’s new wife won’t stop looking at him with. 

“Well, it’s the perfect place to be all summer. I mean, pretty much everyone our age is at the pool or the courts.” At his mention of the both of you, you look up from staring at your shoes quickly to looking right at him. He smiles. You don’t smile back. 

“Really?” Richards asks, still openly friendly.

“I mean yeah, Mister R, I remember Benny on the golf course, like, everyday. And Brax, I mean he practically taught half of us how to swim.” Richards nods and laughs, continuing small talk about his sons. Rafe sneaks another glance at you, and you look back knowingly, like you can smell his intentions from a mile away. 

“Honey?” your mom asks quietly. “Do you wanna go with Rafe?”

“What?” you reply quickly, surprised. You weren’t listening, and he tries hard not to laugh.

“Well, I can take you ‘round, introduce you to everyone. I’ll finish the tour if you and Mrs. Richards are heading up to the course?” He nods at the golf clothes your parents have on, that you are lacking. 

“I think that sounds great, right, honey?” Anna presses, and after you lock eyes with her, you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, sure,” you say quietly. Rafe smiles again.

“Great, great, yeah. Well, it was great to see you Mister R. Missus R.”

“Thank you, Rafe. Kiddo, you can ask for the car to go home when you’re ready, okay? Your mother and I are going to get dinner here.” Anna looks up confused, probably wondering how they’ll get back.

“I’ll call someone to bring the car back, honey,” he explains, and your mom smiles.

“I can also take her back,” Rafe interjects. “Tannyhill is the same direction, and I’m headed back anyways. If you wanna leave the car here.”

“Really, Rafe, that would be great, thank you.” You look even angrier than before, but the plastic smile spread over your face doesn’t faze them.

“Right, thanks, Blake. Bye mom,” you say, and then lean over to kiss her on the cheek.

You watch them walk away, chewing your cheek and turning back to Rafe with anger splashed all over your pretty features. 

“I can’t believe that worked on them,” you tell him quietly, smiling when your mom turns back to look at you before they turn the corner. Your parents were too gullible sometimes.

“Yeah, me either, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you reply right away. “And despite what you think, I’m not touring this place with you. I’m probably never coming back here after today.” You start walking away, in the opposite direction of your parents, when he chases behind you.

“Y’know, I don’t get you. Every girl your age lounges around here all day, and everyone else wishes they could.”

“Well, you know what they say,” you start, smiling sweetly, though he sees through it again. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Really?” he shrugs. “Never heard that before.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have.” 

“Come on, you’re not even giving me a chance. You don’t even know me.” You laugh at that.

“Yes, I do, Rafe, you just don’t recognize me.” You continue your brisk pace, looking for the exit and getting closer. He reaches out to grab your forearm, holding you back for a second. He guides you into the corner, between the hallway where there’s no one else around.

“Yeah, that so?” Rafe is almost caging you in. He’s so close you can smell his cologne and the scotch on his lips.

“I’m from Kildare, Rafe.” You try to break free of his grip, but it proves even harder than you thought. He holds you in place without even breaking a sweat.

“No, no, no, because I know every pretty girl in Kildare. And you’ve definitely never been here before, so-”

“Really? Even the ones from the cut?” You thought that would be enough to get him to drop your arm, but he doesn’t budge.

“Huh. So that’s why you’ve never been here. Old Man Richards married a Pogue and made her daughter into a Kook? Did I get that right?”

“I’m not a Kook,” you say, squirming, because you still don’t want to be trapped by him. His cologne smells good, your mind wanders and thinks, like ocean air and sandalwood. You snap out of it at once.

“Not yet, you’re not.” 

“I’m not going to be, either. A little money isn’t going to change anything for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, kid. That’s what everyone says, ‘til it does.”

“Rafe, let go of me, I said let go-” And he does let go, quickly, and your arm falls. Faint red marks appeared when he was holding on, what can only be a bruise tomorrow. He’s marked you, and you’re not half as angry as you would have thought. 

“Come on, kid, we’re finishing this tour. I promised,” he says, and the last bit is so mocking, you can’t believe mom and Blake fell for his act. 

He takes you around the entire club, shows you the restaurants, the spa, the pool. At least a handful of girls stare at the two of you walking side by side, but Rafe doesn’t look back at anyone. You don’t know how to feel about that.

The oldest Cameron isn’t a mystery to anyone in Kildare, but you don’t know anything about him besides what the boys have told you. JJ hates him, naturally, John doesn’t let you look at him in passing, and even Pope can find a few bad things to say. But right now, he’s not doing any of those things you would have expected once he found out you and your mom are from the other side of the island. The crude jokes and gold-digger comments are nowhere to be heard.

But you can’t write him off completely yet. After all, this is Rafe Cameron.

He finishes the tour on the golf course, so you can wave to your parents on the course. You’re sipping on a lemonade through a little pink straw, and he finds it hard to look away when your cheeks hollow to draw up the liquid. Your mom and Blake wave back, and you smile—genuinely—for maybe the third time that morning. 

“They’re good together,” Rafe comments, on the walk back to the front door, where his truck is waiting. 

“Do you really think that?” you ask quietly. You’re tired, he can tell, drained from trying so hard to make sure he knows you hate him. 

“Yeah, kid, I do. He’s been a widower basically my whole life. And he married your mom, so he must really love her.”

You can’t tell if he’s just saying it to get on your good side. You hope he’s not. Through all of this, all the crying and the suffering and how much you miss your old life and your friends, if your mom doesn’t at least end up happy, it’ll all have been for nothing. You feel more tears brewing.

“Thanks, Rafe,” you end up saying quietly, as you put on the seat belt in the passenger seat of his truck. His music plays softly in the background of the drive - rap, something you've heard before but can't place - back to Blake’s house. With your window down, you stare out of it and try to pay attention to the breeze in your hair rather than the entirely overwhelming scent of Rafe, which is all-consuming in his car.

Rafe turns to look at you every few minutes. You look perfectly in place in his car, leaning against the panel with your eyes closed. That means you trust him, even though every word you say makes him think otherwise.

Your eyes flutter open when he puts the car in park, outside the door to your house. 

“Home sweet home, kid,” you hear his voice in your ear, but he sounds closer than he should be. When you turn to look, he’s leaning over you and so close to you, you feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask quickly, heartbeat picking up and rocketing off. 

“M’just getting the door for you, kid.” His arm flexes, only an inch or two away from your chest, pulling the handle and swinging open the door. He leans back into his seat, smirking. “Why, what'd ya think I was gonna do?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in and swallow uncomfortably. Your throat feels dry and your palms are suddenly clammy.

“Nothing.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

You climb out of his car, shoes hitting the ground a little too hard. He strains his neck, trying to make sure you’re okay. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say, not meeting his eyes, closing the door behind you. 

“Anytime, kid. I’ll be seeing you around.”

You thought he would take over the second the passenger-side door was shut, but he doesn’t. He stays and watches you fix your skirt that had ridden-up on the drive, and walk into the front door, glancing behind you, just for a second, before going inside. And then you hear the roar of the engine, only after the door was closed and you were safely inside.

౨ৎ

You didn’t take it literally, that you would be seeing him again. Rafe seems like the type to play with his toys and get bored before long, but true to his word, you see him days later. And to his luck, you were feeling even worse than the first time you met him.

The morning started like any other—showering in a bathroom that’s just yours, and no one else’s, and attached to your bedroom. You can hardly remember the years when your dad was alive, but after he passed, you and your mom moved into a tiny two-bed, one-bath with your mom’s best friend. You were there for the next five years, until she got married and moved out, and it was just the two of you. But even in all the years since, you’ve never had your own bathroom until now. 

You shower as long as you want, whenever you want. Your room is in a completely different hallway than the master, where Blake and your mom sleep. You blast music at night, singing along off-tune from the bathroom, and would stay on the phone for hours with your friends. If anyone answered your calls anymore. 

It’s been three weeks since you broke the news to everyone that you were moving. Two weeks since you actually moved. One week since Rafe walked you around the country club and drove you back home, like you belonged to him. In that time, you’ve driven down to the Chateau twice, walked by Kie’s house, which is now just a few blocks away, and texted multiple times—all with no responses. At first you panic, thinking something’s happened, but then you realize this was what always happened. When you’re off on an adventure, you don’t think about who’s waiting for you back at home.

That’s what’s running through your mind when you run into Rafe again that day.

You had showered without interruption, taking your time doing your hair up just because you felt like it. There was no work to be done, no chores assigned to you anymore. Breakfast was always prepared when you went downstairs, so you took your time getting ready now. 

You missed a lot of things about your old life, but the limited time and constant rushing and anxiety were not among them. 

Your clothes were picked out with the anticipation of seeing your best friends again, your favorite overalls from the thrift store—which had been bought when you were still two sizes too small for them, and had been baggy on you until last year, but they were such a steal your mother refused to let you put them back—and a yellow shirt to match your ratty, yellow converse. They had been washed so many times they were more brown than yellow, but it didn’t matter much. 

This outfit was the old you, and it brought up feelings inside you that nothing in figure eight could change. You wore it because you wouldn’t look any different to your friends in this outfit, and for maybe a few hours, you wouldn’t be the girl in the fancy house with the country club membership anymore.

“You look nice, sweetie,” your mom says, when you head downstairs. She’s drinking her coffee at the table, your step-dad nowhere to be found. It’s eleven in the morning and she’s just woken up too, in her robe and slippers, and you smile, watching her more relaxed than you’ve seen in years.

You swing by her side of the table to give her a kiss, and steal a piece of toast from her plate. You’re relieved she doesn’t mention your clothes, not when she keeps offering to take you shopping with Blake’s money, which you keep refusing, but is getting more tempting every time you step in a puddle in these shoes.

“Thanks mom, I’m going to see the boys and Kie, I’ll be back later, don’t wait up!” and with that you’re gone, before you can discern the disapproving look in her eyes. 

Your junky old car, older than you by several years and still somehow the nicest thing you own—used to own, a voice chirps in the back of your head—is hidden around several fancy cars in the driveway. It’s intentional, you’re sure, and likely your mother’s doing. Nothing embarrassed her more than you handing out constant reminders of your old life to everyone around you.

And then you’re on the way to the Chateau, windows down and no music, since there was no way to connect your phone and the radio was busted by Pope a year ago, who claims he was trying to fix it. 

But it’s what happens when you get there that embarasses you the most—no one’s there, and no one will answer your call. You wait around for a half hour, trying to see if they come back, but they don’t. 

And that’s when it hits you. They were off on their adventures, and you weren’t just down the street anymore, which meant you weren’t invited. You get back in your car and slam the door, humiliated, tears falling down your face and probably ruining the makeup you had done, stupidly, this morning, because you wanted to look nice for them, like your old self for them. You don’t realize until later, after you were done crying, and seen Rafe again, that your friends didn’t want to bother you while you were adjusting to your new life. 

You feel betrayed, and the words that John had told you rattle through your head, because he was wrong. Everything had changed, and nothing would be the same. 

You take off, heading back home. There’s a big storm brewing and your Accord gets dramatic in the rain. It’s not until you cross the border back into figure eight that you realize two things. One, that you had just thought of your new house as home for the first time. And two, that you had never felt more alone. 

There’s not much to do about either of these feelings, besides stopping for the biggest bowl of ice cream you can reasonably carry back home, and eating it in your room, crying and watching You’ve Got Mail for the hundredth time.

So that’s what you do, pulling into the ice cream shop closest to home. Your car also doesn’t have the greatest functioning air conditioner, and you don’t need any more questionable stains in your seats, considering how many times JJ had borrowed it and returned it, promising you it’s nothing and that that spot in the back seat was always there!

In line, tapping your foot, calling your mom’s cell. Your eyes are puffy and your nose is red from crying. She’s not answering, but the unspoken rule of your little family is to always, always call when you’re getting ice cream in case the other wants something. You’ve only been gone something like two hours, and you can’t imagine what she’s doing that she can’t answer your phone. You dial Blake’s number, hoping he answers instead, and while it’s ringing you realize it’s your turn to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu yet. 

You turn to the people behind you, telling them they can go in front, but when you look up from your phone, you almost drop it. 

Of course it’s Rafe Cameron behind you. Of course. Who else would it be? Who else would keep catching you at your lowest moments? He’s with a little girl, who can’t be older than four or five, with dark hair and glasses, holding his hand patiently while staring up at you, while you stare at him and he stares back.

“Rafe, she said we can go in front,” she says, tugging on the hand she’s holding. 

“Yeah, Wheeze, I heard. Let’s go order and then thank this nice girl for letting us go ahead, right?” The little girl nods, and follows him up to order. Rafe looks back at you but then your step-dad answers, so you turn away, cheeks heating up. You don’t want him to see.

“Hi, what’s going on?” you hear his voice through the phone, sort of staticky and jumbled. 

“Hi, Blake, I just wanted to ask if you and mom wanted ice cream? I’m at the place… yeah, the one near the house.”

“Oh, yes, let me ask her, one second-” You hear him put the phone down, or cover the mic, and then, “Honey! Kiddo’s asking if you want ice cream.” 

You feel yourself soften a little bit at the nickname. And then you hear your mom and Blake talking back and forth, for what feels like ages. The girl behind the counter looks at you with a glare and you try to look back at her with an apologetic smile, but you’re a little fed-up from the emotional turmoil you’ve just endured. 

“Hi, sweetie, I’m okay, I had some at the club with lunch and twice in a day is just not a good idea-”

“Just get it, who cares? We can have it later tonight too-”

“What if the power goes out? It’ll melt, and then it’s just a waste of money-” Crap. You hadn’t thought of that.

“We have generators for that.” Blake picks up the phone again. “Hey, kiddo, get your mom her usual and make sure you use the card I gave you, okay?”

You hang up the phone, smiling, and then order. It feels weird, being oddly comforted by someone other than your mom or your friends for once. In your distraction, you don’t see Rafe and the little girl hovering near the freezer window that showcases all the ice cream they offer. When you’re reaching for the shiny black Amex, you hear him again. 

“I got it, kid,” Rafe says, pressing his matching card against the reader and pushing your wrist down and away. He does it so easily, without trying, just like he did in the country club. You look up at him stupidly, brain not registering what he just did and why he did it, and you don’t move for a moment. You don’t move until he leans down a little, close enough to smell that enticing cologne again but not nearly close enough. 

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’. And you should probably get out of the way.” You blink back up at him, and he’s smirking again. You feel kind of stupid, the way he’s talking to you, but you also don’t mind as much as you thought you would. The girl behind the counter yells out Next! and that’s when Rafe takes you by the arm, just above where he had bruised you, and moves you away himself.

“You okay, kid?” he asks, and you feel yourself melt like ice cream left in your car for too long. You don’t know if he really means it, or if he really cares, but you do know Rafe Cameron needs to stop talking to you like he likes you, or you’re going to be in trouble.

“Fine, yeah. Thanks, uh, thanks for the ice cream.” You’re still blinking slowly, stupidly, stuck in a daze. You should really get it together around him. It’s a little pathetic if a strong grip and a couple of nice actions gets you acting like this. That’s a problem for another day right now.

“Is she okay, Rafe?” the little girl asks quietly from beside him. 

“No idea, Wheezie. Why don’t you sit and eat your ice cream?” he replies, and she sits down a few tables away, beginning to shovel chocolate ice cream with a tiny wooden spoon.

“Hey,” he says, and you begin to snap out of it. It’s raining outside now. You hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the roof. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I am. I just had a bad morning. Sorry.” But you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

“Well, are you gonna talk about it and shit? ‘Cause I don’t know you that well yet but you’re kinda freaking me out right now.”

“I-I…I just-”

“You, you, you just?” he mocks, and then when tears fill your pretty eyes and he sees one slip down your face, his own eyes panic briefly. “Hey, hey, I was just joking, kid-” He pulls out a colorful chair for you, and sits you down next to Wheezie, who is still eating ice cream at an alarming rate. Your ice cream is ready at the counter, and he brings it down next to you, holding his own strawberry cone in his hand. 

“Hold this for me Wheeze,” he says, not really asking, and the little girl shakes her head right away.

“How’m I gonna eat mine then?” 

“Wheezie,” Rafe says, in a voice that you haven’t heard him use before—and then you realize how stupid you sound. You’ve talked with him twice, you don’t know anything about the voices he uses or how he sounds when he’s talking to this girl who can only be his little sister. 

“Can I have some?” Wheezie propositions back, and Rafe nods. “Okay!” she says, taking a bite of the scoop with her front teeth.

“So, y’gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to guess everything?” 

“My friends, I just keep missing them, or they keep missing me, maybe. I just wanted to see them. It’s really lonely here, that’s all.” You’re staring into his eyes, his really, really blue eyes that are currently a little alarmed and concerned, and the fact that they’re that way for you is making you a little dizzy. 

“Yeah, I get that. Sorry, kid, that’s the lay of the land, right? Not a Pogue anymore, are you?” 

“I don’t know what I am.” You feel silly and embarrassed for pouring your heart out over ice cream with Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t know you, and he never will.

“Well, right now you have a choice. You can sit here and eat ice cream with us, or you can go home and cry about it alone. But if you choose the second one, Richards and Anna will see you, or hear you, and ask about it. And I’m not gonna keep asking if you don’t wanna talk. So pick one before this shi-stuff melts, okay?” 

You nod dumbly again. You’d like to turn your brain off and let Rafe decide for you. 

“I need a spoon.” He smiles, not smirks, for a second, before getting up to get you a spoon.

A few things float through your mind while you eat ice cream with the Camerons. First, Rafe remembers your mom’s name. Second, Rafe doesn’t swear in front of his kid sister. And third, and most important of all, Rafe Cameron cares about you.

“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Wheeze, or rather—as you’ve just learned—Wheezie, comments.

“I was feeling really sad,” you reply, shoving another spoonful into your mouth, watching the little girl eye your peanut and chocolate ice cream inquisitively. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Boy problems?” she asks, and you can’t help but crack a smile. Rafe looks up from his phone momentarily 

“Not really, but a good guess. This would also apply to that situation.”

“My sister’s always got boy problems.”

“Really?” you ask, and then look up Rafe. “You have another sister?”

“Yes,” he says, in between licks of strawberry ice cream. You should really look away when he does that, because your heart rate is picking up. “And she’s even more annoying than this one.”

You laugh while Wheezie frowns.

“If I’m so annoying, why do you always take me for ice cream, huh?”

“She’s got you there, Rafe,” and you resist the urge to look at him, even when you can feel his eyes on you. 

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking, dork, that’s why.” Wheezie shrugs in reply.

“I’m not gonna finish all of this. You want some, Wheezie?” you ask, offering her your spoon. She looks back at you smiling, and then at Rafe for permission, who nods.

She digs into the pile left, while you finally give into the urge to look up at her brother again. He takes another lick of his ice cream and you look away within a second. 

“Been eating that for a while, haven’t you, Rafe?”

“Yeah.” 

Somewhere in between Wheezie eating so much of the ice cream so quickly that she gets a brain freeze, and Rafe finally tossing his half-eaten cone into the trash, it’s time to go home. And as much as you hate to admit it, you don’t want to leave. The rain is coming down hard outside, a preview of the impending hurricane.

“Drive here, kid?” he asks, as your feet hesitate by the door. 

“No,” Wheezie answers, “I came here with you, dork.”

“Not talking to you, kid,” he replies, rustling the top of her hair with his hand, getting an ugh, Rafe, in response.

“Yeah. Yes, I drove here. But my car doesn’t do so good in the rain.”

“Huh?” he questions.

“It’s old, okay. Junky. The AC is broken. And the radio. Sometimes she just stops, y’know?” You gesture to your blue car parked out front, the rusty, tiny sedan two spots down from his shiny truck.

“No, I don’t know. Richards lets you drive around in that thing?”

“She.”

“It’s a car. Barely, at that.”

“She has a name, okay. HoHo. That’s her name.”

“Alright, well, you’re gonna have to ditch the hoe, because I can’t let you drive home in a hurricane in… that.” You turn to glare at him. “Her, sorry.”

That’s how you end up soaking wet in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, Wheezie secured in her booster seat and Rafe even wetter than you are. He drops you home and says the two of you can go pick up your car tomorrow—if it’s still there, he adds at the end, leaning over you again to open your door. You stare at him dumbly again, which has now become a bad habit, and it’s not until Wheezie says you’re getting her wet in the back that you finally climb out and close the door. You stand behind the front door with your mom’s melted ice cream in one hand, and your phone with Rafe’s contact saved in the other, wondering what exactly just happened. 

౨ৎ

The next few weeks pass through as quickly as they came. Your car—to your chagrin and your mother’s joy—does not survive the hurricane. Blake gives you a fancy, luxury car to drive around in that he just had laying around, which you don’t believe for one second. But, your mom is pleased when you actually start driving it, and you can actually listen to music from your phone and enjoy air conditioning and the most luxurious of luxuries—a backup camera. 

The night of the ice cream shop incident, Rafe texts you. You were completely ready to wallow in bed, waiting for the text from him that never comes, drowning your sorrow in more ice cream, but he does text you. First and right away. 

R: Is it wrong if I hope hoho drowns tonight?

that’s so mean. she never did anything to you.

R: She’s kinda ugly. And what was that about no ac?

so she deserves death????

R: The impound lot at the very least

if she dies, it’ll be because YOU manifested it

R: Never thought I’d believe in that manifesting shit, but here we are

did Wheezie eat dinner after how much ice cream you let her inhale?

R: No.

R: Ur fault. You gave her yours

you gave her yours too

and btw, I offered her a bite. she ate the rest. not my fault

R: She’s five, genius

R: I’ll come around noon tomorrow. Sleep tight kid

౨ৎ

Somewhere in between picking up your car—which entailed no less than stopping for lunch, even more ice cream that you can’t stand to watch him eat, and driving through town to see how bad the damage from hurricane Agatha was, and altogether three hours together ending with a wet, heated kiss in his truck with the windows fogged up—and today, you’ve been with Rafe more times than you can count. 

And you try hard to suppress the thought that it’s just because he’s available, that the availability is the reason for your attraction. And then you catch yourself trying to justify why you want to see Rafe so much, this guy that you had just been assuming was bad because your friends told you he was bad, without much in the way of an explanation. 

But Rafe is the furthest thing from bad. He’s so sweet to you it makes you delirious. He picks you up all the time, even when you tell him you’re just at home, and your car is right there. He pays for everything, he opens every door, the gentle but teasing way he is with Wheezie makes you even more head over heels.

But most important of all, he calls you first. He texts you first. He makes you feel wanted, and you definitely, definitely, want him, so you don’t think twice before saying yes to accompanying him to Midsummers. 

You actually don’t know what it really is, besides for a big party. It was always one of the worst nights at the hospital—litters of teens with alcohol poisoning and from car accidents— so your mom would be working. When you turned eighteen, your mom paid for classes to become a junior nurse, and so busy nights like the one of Midsummers usually was, you would get called in too. So before this week, you’d never spent Midsummers doing anything other than cleaning wounds and fetching suture kits.

You tell Rafe this and he looks at you strangely, another of his looks you hadn’t seen before, with furrowed brows, and you flush and apologize, regretting even opening your mouth. 

You know you’re deeper than you thought when he takes your head between his hands and kisses you—messy, with tongue and spit left glimmering over your mouth, so much so that he wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb when he’s done. 

“Go get yourself a pretty dress, and we’ll have fun, yeah?” You nod stupidly again, the way you’re prone to doing around him. He must have realized you get a kick out being told what to do by him, what to worry about and what to focus on. 

You finally take your mom up on the offer to go shopping. Her and your step-dad are going to this thing anyways, but you can tell she wasn’t completely sure you’d go to something so Kook-y, maybe not just yet, and she doesn’t want to push it since your mood finally seems to have picked up. But then you tell her Rafe asked you to go with him, and the two of you smile and jump around the living room, laughing like kids. She’s happy for you and you’re happy that the two of you are happy at the same time.

Rafe sends you money for a dress—enough money to pay for a month’s rent at your old place. Your mom says your step-dad insists on paying. You feel like things are coming together for the first time.

You wander the stores, trying on different dresses and feeling like a scene out of a movie until you finally find the perfect blue dress. Blue for Rafe’s eyes and his suit jacket, because you’re not embarrassed to admit to him that you want to match for Midsummers. It’s patterned with little flowers, ruffles and lace moving in the wind when you twirl, and for once, you stop feeling like you need to pick a side to be on—Pogue or Kook—and you decide just to be Rafe’s for now.

The night of the party, Rafe offers to pick you up, but you tell him you’ll come with your parents. They’re both wearing shades of peach and salmon, the three of you together look like you’re headed to a baby shower, which you and your mom laugh about in the car ride there. 

You text Rafe to let him know you’re there, and tell your parents you’re going to walk around to find him. When you glance back, they’re talking with some of Blake’s friends, people he had invited to the wedding.

You see, what you can only think, is a glimpse of Pope, in his usual waiter get up, but he disappears before you can see where he was. His father is still there, though, and you make your way through the crowd to get near him.

“Hi, Mr. Heyward,” you say, smiling and unsure if he’ll recognize you. You don’t think he’s ever seen you in anything but your overalls or scrubs. 

“How can I help yo-wait, is that you, well I’ll be damned. You’re blending right in, aren’t ya?”

“Well, it took long enough.” You suddenly feel embarrassed, because he knows the old you, the one who wouldn’t be here in a million years. “Do you know where Pope is? I thought I saw him, I just wanted to say hi.”

“He just went off that way, but if you see him, tell him I still need his help over here, just like I did before he walked away—”

“Can I help with anything?” you ask quickly, but he shakes his head and tells you the direction Pope went in.

You follow it generally, trying to see where he could have gone in such a short time. But then you see all of them, and you can’t stop your feet from running over. Kie, JJ, and Pope, all standing and talking about something, but you don’t really care about interrupting. Kie’s all dressed up too, and you suddenly don’t feel so embarrassed.

“You guys,” you feel yourself gushing. “It’s been so long,” and you go in for a hug with each of them. 

“Wow, god, you look so pretty,” Kie says, and you hug her again. You don’t realize how much you missed her. 

“You too, Kie,” your smile is so wide it starts to hurt. “Isn’t this so weird, all of us here at this party? Where’s John B?” you ask, looking around. 

“So weird,” JJ says, and you notice the bruise around his right eye because he’s turning to look at Kie again. 

“JJ, what the hell happened to your face?” JJ doesn’t answer, he actually doesn’t say anything at all, which should have been your first sign that something was wrong. You look at him quizzically, before turning to Pope.

“Pope, your dad’s looking for you, I just went over to say hi-”

“Oh crap,” he says, heading back in the direction you just came from. “Sorry, be right back.”

“W-what the hell is going on?” you question Kie and JJ, searching for any answer, desperately hoping that it isn’t we don’t wanna tell you. Your phone goes off, twice, and you pick it up. The look on your face must have been beyond palpable to your friends.

R🧸ྀི: Come inside the house

R🧸ྀི: Got a surprise for you

“I-I gotta go inside,” you say, looking at the confused faces of your friends.

“What’s inside? I thought-”

“No, nothing, I don’t know, Rafe just asked me to go inside, and I haven’t even seen him yet-”

“Rafe? What, Rafe Cameron?”

“Y-yeah?”

“What are you, with him, or something?” JJ asks, and you feel your heart fall into your stomach.

“I-I yeah, maybe. I’m here with him tonight, he-” Your phone goes off again. “I’m sorry, I have to go find him, but I’ll come find you guys right after, okay?”

You leave the two of them there, looking at each other confused, looking at you like they don’t recognize you. And it stings, for a moment, until you get inside the mansion and find Rafe hanging out by the entrance, nursing a glass of scotch and eyes lighting up when they see you. 

Everything with him is like that scene from that movie. Lights go dim, you walk in slow-motion, the room goes quiet. He watches you walk up to him and his eyes take in everything—your pretty hair, your dolled up face, the way your dress moves when you walk, and most of all, that you’re here with him. He reaches his hand out to grab you by the waist to bring you in for a kiss. It’s not like the others, it’s chaste and soft and romantic. 

“Hi,” you breathe out, resting your forehead against his.

“Hi, kid. You look fantastic,” and he presses another sweet kiss to your temple. 

“We’re matching,” you say with a smile, taking in his blue suit jacket and the way you feel dizzy right now, and you feel his grip tighten around your waist. 

“Yeah, we are. Now get in line with me, we’re walking out together.” Your eyes are big like coins, because you understood that you were coming here together, but this is his family’s big night, if everything your mom and Blake told you was to be taken seriously.

You don’t have time to say anything, because Rafe’s nice parents line up ahead of you, and his two sisters behind you. Wheezie tugs on your dress and you turn to greet her and Sarah quickly, because then the doors open and you’re walking out, following Rafe’s lead, lots and lots of eyes on you, but only one pair of blue ones you really care about. 

You almost want to cry, the whole thing is so magical. You have a flute of champagne and a sip of Rafe’s scotch, and you are deliciously tipsy for the next two hours. Your parents come over to talk to you and Rafe, and you can see how happy your mom is in her eyes. You and Rafe dance until your feet hurt, and it’s only then, when he leaves your sight, that things seem to get back down to how they normally are. 

You can’t find Wheezie’s parents or Sarah anywhere. The little girl spilled ice cream on her dress and is crying quietly, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. You want to get her parents, because you think they can help, but you end up taking her to the bathroom yourself. With a damp paper towel, you wipe as much as you can, and you promise to get her another ice cream if she stops crying.

“It’s just a stain, honey, don’t worry.” You toss the dirty tissue and grab another one, wiping the tears and then letting her blow her nose. “It’ll come out when you wash it. And no one will notice because it’s so dark now, right?” She nods in agreement. “Do you wanna go find your big brother?” Another sad nod. “Let’s go honey,” and you take her hand and lead her back out. 

You’re not entirely sure what you missed in the last fifteen minutes. Everyone’s gone quiet, staring at what you hope is a trick of your eyes—all of your friends running from the party, hooting and hollering. Kiara’s parents look hopelessly upset, Mr. Heyward downright disappointed, and your mom scanning the crowd, trying to see where you are, until she spots you and Wheezie.

Her and Mrs. Cameron come running over, and you instinctively flinch, thinking the giant headpiece she’s wearing will poke you. You hand off Wheezie and turn to look at your friends, and you think, for a second, they’re waiting for you. They are, you realize slowly, waiting for you.

And you almost take off right then and there, until you feel Rafe’s warm hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see him bleeding.

At that moment, you turn right back around and head inside to the nearest room, sitting Rafe down on the bed and scrambling to find something to clean his wound with, and something cold to help the swelling, and in your panic, you don’t realize you’re rambling.

“I mean, what the hell was all of that? I turn around for two seconds and everyone’s running from the party like there’s a fire, and destroying things and throwing punches, I mean, I get they hate the whole Kook thing, but it was never like this before, even when I didn’t know you yet, and I-” you drop the frozen bag of peas onto the floor in your sudden realization. “I just let them leave. They waited for me. I didn’t go with them.” Your eyes fill with years. That’s a betrayal, not all the stupid stuff you thought was happening before tonight. They waited for you, and you turned right back around to go inside with Rafe.

“Hey, hey hey,” Rafe says quietly, taking your head in his hands again. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”

“You’re bleeding, Rafe,” you say, voice trembling. Your tears are ruining your makeup. 

“I’m gonna be fine. You know why?” he asks, and you feel more tears rush down. “Hey, hey, no crying.” Rafe wipes away the tears with his hand, then he brings his hands to your back and rubs soothingly. “You know why, kid?” “Why?” it comes out a whisper.

“Because you chose me. We’re gonna be fine, okay?” 

The way he says it you believe him. 

You spend the next two days at Tannyhill with Rafe, wearing nothing but his t-shirts and doing nothing but rolling around in bed. It’s been a month, maybe a little bit more, and you haven’t even had the talk yet—the sex talk. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s not ready for it, but you’re not ready for it, not yet. You’re working on it. He doesn’t make it easy for you, either. You’ve spent hours now, making out in his lap, grinding against each other until you make a mess all over his shorts and his hair is sticking up in every direction, and working your way up to telling him what you want. 

You’re almost there. You’re waiting for the perfect time. Which was almost right now.

“You like that? Shit-” he breathes into your ear, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of your neck right underneath. It makes you moan again, louder, until he clamps a hand—the one not three fingers deep inside your leaking pussy—over your mouth, barricading the noise from leaving. “Gotta be quiet, kid, you want the whole house hearin’ what a little slut you are?” 

His blue eyes, lustful and blown, stare into your own. You shake your head softly underneath the tight grip of his palm. You’re always obedient with him, but he really likes you like this. 

“Yeah? You gonna do whatever daddy tells you? Just so I keep my fingers in this tight pussy?” You nod compliantly, head falling back on to the pillow. His fingers are thick, and the cool of his ring rubs against your clit in the best way, in ways you didn’t even realize it could feel.

He keeps fucking three fingers in and out of you, moans muffled by his hand but not completely silenced. You must be making a mess, because it’s what he keeps talking about, rambling about your messy cunt, greedy and sucking him in, and how you’ve been cumming for him like a little princess for the last two days, but it’s never enough for you. 

It’s when he removes his hand and kisses you hard instead, tongue deep inside you mouth, the metal of his chain dangling on your chin, and you feel the similarly cool metal of his ring on you, you finish again, exploding around your boyfriend’s fingers and moaning into his mouth. He hears you, repeating his name over and over again, not Rafe, but rather daddy, and he swallows your chants into his mouth. When you calm down, he makes a show of licking his fingers off while locking eyes, and then you get flustered and bury your head into his neck. 

He laughs, because it’s so cute, but only for a minute. Then you two shower together and he makes another show, but this time out of you, kneeling on the floor of his tub while he paints your face with his cum, making sure to cover the necklace you’ve been wearing recently too, the silver, loopy little R hanging between your collarbone. 

Then you get dressed—a little pink dress that’s been his favorite recently, with buttons down the front and a pretty bow where your tits sit— and the two of you have lunch with his family like nothing ever happened.

Rafe drops you back at home later that day, gives you a kiss where he grabs the back of your head to bring you in, and then waves bye to your parents as he unlatches the door for you, in his usual way. 

౨ৎ

A week later, he does the same thing. Drops you off, drives away once you’re inside, and you’re starstruck walking back, so much so, you don’t realize there’s someone waiting for you.

It’s Kie, and Rafe’s sister, Sarah. You’re a little confused since you thought the two of them didn’t get

along,  but they look like they’re fine now.

“Hey, listen, we need you to help us. Can you come down to the Chateau later tonight, after sunset?” Kie asks, and you must look as confused as you feel, because Sarah speaks right away, before you can get a word out.

“You cannot tell my brother. Promise us you won’t.”

“Why are you asking me that? Why can’t I tell him?” Sarah and Kie exchange a look, and it’s clear to you that you are missing several pieces of the puzzle. “Guys! Come on, you-you can’t expect me to just be on board with lying to my boyfriend and showing up to help you guys without knowing what it even is, right? What’s going on?”

“We will explain everything, just please promise us that you’ll come,” Kie implores and you nod hesitantly. 

“And you won’t tell Rafe?” Sarah asks again.

“Come on. Pogues for life, right?” Kie says, and you get a flashback to your life two months

ago—doing anything for your friends and dreaming of how you’d end up with one of the boys someday. It all seems like a million years ago.

“Yes, yeah, yeah, I’ll be there. I won’t tell him.”

You guess that God was on your side today. 

R🧸ྀི: Hey kid. Busy with my dad today. Dinner tomorrow okay?

sounds perfect!! don’t work too hard! i'm gonna watch a movie with my mom and blake and stay in tn

R🧸ྀི: You got mail again?

you know me so well

R🧸ྀི: Have fun princess.

You set down your phone on your dresser, feeling like you could throw up your dinner. It’s just starting to get dark outside, and you’ve just lied to Rafe for the first time since you’ve met him. It feels terrible, like something’s gnawing inside you, begging you to come clean and confess, or not to go out at all. You think about it for a moment, maybe if he knows you’re with some of your old friends, it won’t be like a real lie.

Then you remember your old friends are the ones who punched him. You tell your mom you’re going to Rafe’s, and then you get in your fancy car that Rafe helped you christen the other day—in the backseat, specifically—and drive to your old life.

You park next to the Twinkie and get out, stepping into a slush of mud. Your shoes are new, and were clean, and you cringe internally at how much you started caring about these things. You don’t want Rafe to see you with dirty shoes.

The boys and Kie are sitting on the logs near the fire pit. Sarah is sitting right next to John B, looking at him how you look at Rafe, and then you realize the magnitude of just how much you’ve missed.

“Hey,” Kie says, looking up first, smiling. “You came.”

“Yeah.” You’re at a loss for words. Everyone looks the same. Everything feels so different.

A part of you wants to sink down between Pope and JJ, crack a beer, and laugh at jokes you think you would still understand. Another part wants to get into the fancy car and drive to Tannyhill. You opt for neither, standing a few yards away and letting the light from the fire cast its hazy glow over you and all your old friends.

“Did you tell him?” Sarah asks. She means it well, not in a rude way, but that’s how you feel. 

“No, no, I didn’t. He, he thinks I’m at home. With my mom and Blake.”

“Alright,” JJ says, tossing his empty beer can. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Listen,” John B says, getting up and sounding too sincere for your liking. “We all appreciate you coming. Because we need a favor from you, and it might not be easy.”

“I mean, I think it’s gonna be pretty easy. Unless Rafe is like, really, really crazy, like even crazier than we already know he is-” JJ says, but stops when Kie and Pope shake their heads. “What? She knows, she’s the one dating him.”

“Know what? I don’t even know what you want from me-”

“We need a distraction. For Rafe, okay?” John B starts.

“An hour, okay, that’s all we need, right guys?” Sarah asks, looking back at everyone. They nod, trying to convince you, except Jayj.

“Well, like, maybe a couple of hours. If he’s up to that, y’know, I don’t wanna assume shit ‘bout stamina and all that-”

“JJ,” Pope says, shoving the blond’s arm. “You’re not helping.”

“What?” you breathe out, even more confused than before. You start to get what they’re asking, you just don’t want to admit it.

“We need to distract Rafe, for an hour, or like two hours, and we figured you’re our best bet.” John B says, and you look at them with your mouth falling open a little.

“You want me to…sleep with my boyfriend, to distract him, so you guys can do something that you won’t tell me about?”

“Kind of, yeah. Pretty much.”

“And is, is this thing going to hurt him in the long run? Is he going to be upset? When he finds out what happened?”

“My Kook feelings radar is a little off, right now, but who knows, I mean hell, he might not ever find out,” JJ says, and you want to sit down, because your knees feel weak, but the ground is muddy and the logs are occupied. “If we do our job right, he won’t know for a long, long time, right guys?” A chorus of right, right rings around the fire. 

“And you’re not gonna tell me what this is about at all?” 

“Well, it might not be a good idea. Because, you’re dating him, and listen, we just need like an hour, and he never has to know you were a part of this, okay? I will never tell him, none of us will,” Sarah says, and you do believe her. But you can’t believe that they’re asking you to do this.

“And if he finds out, and he breaks up with me, then what?” 

“Yeah, I, uh, knew this was a bad idea. She’s not gonna do it, guys, so let’s just reformulate-”

“Oh, you knew I was gonna say no, JJ? Lying to my boyfriend? For the people who hurt him?”

“He hurt us too, y’know,” Pope says, and you feel your heart begin to race. 

“No, I don’t know, because no one tells me anything! No one answers their phone and no one’s here when I drive down. Kie, you live two streets away from me now. The first time I saw you all month was at Midsummers and then, today. Asking me to come here to lie to Rafe, to sleep with him to distract him.”

“No, no, we shouldn’t have asked you, because I knew you would say no, I told them-” and you can’t believe the words coming from your friend's mouth. “Look at you, you went total Kook on us.” 

And then you feel like they’re taking it all in. The R around your neck, the jewelry that sparkles in the light of the fire, all yellow citrine, for Rafe’s birth month. The pink dress that’s his favorite—you put it on this morning in case you ended up back at Tannyhill tonight. And worst of all, his white button up hanging from your shoulders, smelling like ocean and sandalwood and Rafe Cameron. 

“It’s like you belong to him now.” You feel a tear sliding down, but you wipe it away. 

“Maybe that’s because he was actually there for me, when I needed it. And I get it, maybe I should have tried harder. But you guys should have too.”

The group of you stand there in silence for a moment. Your phone goes off. You know it’s Rafe. They know it is too. It starts with Kie, and then a course of apologies from everyone. John B wipes away your tears like nothing has changed. JJ scratches his head, and then hugs you tighter than he ever has before. Pope tells you how much he’s missed you, how he had to start bandaging wounds in your absence. 

“I’ll distract him. An hour, that’s all you get. I’m not sleeping with him because you guys want me to, okay? So if he leaves, he leaves.” 

You take off for Tannyhill, leaving your old life behind and risking your new one all at once.

౨ৎ

Rafe’s phone goes off again, and he lets out a short, tight breath. 

Princess: are you still busy at home? i need you

Princess: please rafey

“I’ll be back,” he tells Ward, and before he can even respond, he’s out of the room, calling you. The line rings twice, and then you answer.

“Rafey?” you sound quiet, like you’ve been crying.

“Hey, hey kid. What’s going on? I told you I was working tonight,” and then he runs a hand through his hair, because he knows he’s fucked, if you’re crying and you need him, then he’s going.

“I know, Rafe, I just really need you, I had a really bad night-” “Woah, wait, I thought you were just with your parents?”

“I was, it just got really bad, I-I’m outside Tannyhill because I had to leave, and then I got lost and I was scared so I just came straight here.”

“Lost? Jeez, kid, it’s, like, down the street.”

“But I didn’t wanna bother you, ‘cause you were busy-” and then he hears a hiccup, and then a sob.

“Okay, okay, stay there, I’m gonna come get you,” and he hangs up the call. He darts outside, spotting your navy car and you inside, still in the same clothes from this morning, just wearing his shirt over it, like a jacket. He gets close and you climb out of the car yourself, jumping into his arms and burying your face into his neck, like you always do when you get like this. He can feel the way your body shakes under his arms, the wetness of your tears on his black polo.

“Okay, it’s okay now, come on, let’s go inside.” You make it up the stairs to his bedroom, when Rafe guides you inside and pulls his blinds, so no one peeks inside. 

He sits you up on the edge of his bed, squatting before you, hands in yours, arms resting on your knees. 

“You gonna tell me what happened?” You shake your head, another tear falling. You wish you could say you were pretending, but the tears find their own way when you think about the encounter you just had. You’re lying when you tell him it’s between you and your parents, but his reaction makes you regret it instantly. “Did they say somethin’ to you? Did they try something? I’ll go over there and sort it all out, okay, kid, don’t worry about a thing.” He stands up, running another hand through his messy hair, letting it fall in the moppy way it always does, over his forehead. “Stay here, okay, princess, I’ll be back.”

Then you realize he’s gonna go over there and talk to your perfectly happy, clueless parents, so you stand up and turn him back around.

“No, no, Rafe, don’t leave,” and then you melt into a hug, taking in everything about it. Rafe rests his chin on the top of your head, his arms tight around your back. He smells so good, and the way he’s taking care of you makes you realize a couple things. “Will you just…make me forget?”

Your boyfriend looks down at you, and you don’t shy away from his gaze like you often, when you get flustered. 

“Make you forget?” he questions. 

“I just don’t wanna think about anything else,” you start, undoing the bow of your dress, more cleavage revealing itself. “I just wanna think about you,” and then your fingers undo the buttons trailing down the front of your dress. It falls off your shoulders, and you stand before him, naked, certainly not for the first time but what feels like the most intimate it’s ever been. 

There’s a pretty lingerie set hidden in the back of your closet, what you had actually put aside for this moment, but you had no time to run home and get it, so you opted for the next best thing, taking your bra and panties off in the car ride here, shoving them into your purse, and hoping that Rafe was as tempted as you were.

“Just about me?” he questions, and you take his hand into yours, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

“Just you, Rafe. I’m ready, Rafey, I want you to fuck me,” and it seems like that’s all it takes. Rafe crushes his lips against yours, kissing you how he always does, tongue in your mouth and spit everywhere. He holds you by the back of your head and your hands run through his hair. You want him closer, even closer than he already is, than he possibly could be.

His hands leave your head and go down to your ass, grabbing both cheeks roughly and wrapping your legs around his waist. He drops you on his bed, head hitting the pillow, and you pull away for a second, to catch your breath. Rafe doesn’t let it happen, gripping your cheeks between his hand and bringing you back in for another kiss. You’re naked, and he’s still completely dressed, but you don’t miss the obvious way his hardened dick presses against your bare cunt.

You can’t breathe, and all your senses are overpowered by Rafe, but you also don’t really care. You keep kissing, moaning into each other’s mouths and gripping hair and skin that’s sure to leave a bruise tomorrow, until you feel him finally pull away for a second. You catch your breath, open-mouthed and heaving, eyes locked.

“‘M only gonna ask this once, kid,” he breathes, leaving another hot kiss on your neck, which makes you spread your legs further open with instinct. “Y’sure you want this? ‘Cause there’s no going back.”

You nod in that way you always have with him, telling him everything with no words at all. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against your neck, and you feel him bite down into the soft skin of the flesh there. You yell out, but it turns into a moan when Rafe licks his tongue over the wound. “That’s just so you can remember this night, okay baby?” You look back up at him, wet eyes, swollen lips, and flushed, sweaty skin. 

“Thank you, daddy.” He smiles, because you’re in for it now.

“You’re welcome, kid. Shit,” he breathes out, “I knew you’d like it, little freak.” He starts with more hot kisses, all the way down your neck, down your sternum, and stopping to press a kiss to each side of your ribs, before continuing down to your stomach. You whine from your position below him, one huge hand holding your hip in place and the other tracing the pattern of the kisses down, until he finally reaches where you want him to be.

“Gotta be quiet, kid, everyone’s home. You gonna let them all hear how much of a whore you are for me? Huh?” he mocks, and you shake your head fervently. “Good girl. You’re being so good, you’re gonna get a treat, okay?” You nod stupidly.

His breath catches for a second, when he gets down to your glistening cunt. He looks up at you from his position there, your chest heaving, tits bouncing with how much you’re squirming, how much you want him to do something. He moves his hands, one resting on your breast, pinching the nipple with his finger, and the other running a line down your pussy. Your whole body twitches up when he runs the metal of his ring over your clit, because he knows you really like it. 

“Rafe, please,” you cry, sounding stupid and fucked out, even though he hasn’t started yet. “Please, please,” and your hips jerk up. He pushes them down. 

“Be patient, kid. Gotta admire this virgin pussy for the last time before I ruin it, ‘kay?” You feel your walls tighten at his words, and you hope he missed the way everything just clenched, but it’s Rafe, and he didn’t miss a thing. “Like that, huh? You like being my little slut?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the damage is done.

Rafe dives in, and you let out a moan that you didn’t realize you were capable of producing. You clamp your own hand over your mouth, because you know he’ll stop if you get too loud. His tongue licks you up and down, and true to what you had always thought, he does know what he’s doing.

The hand pinching your nipples doesn’t relent, and the weight of his arm holds you down when you buck up as he pushes two fingers inside you, scissoring them to stretch your walls out. It hurts, in the best way, and before you know it, he’s added a third.

His mouth stays focused on your clit, and your legs tremble, even though it’s barely been a few minutes. It’s all of it, all at once. Being naked in Rafe’s bed, his hand groping your tits, the way he holds you down without trying, the smell of his cologne and his skin and his sweat, making you lightheaded.

His fingers push in and out, and when he hits that sweet spot inside you, the one your own fingers have never been able to reach but somehow, Rafe’s have become well acquainted with, you can’t help the noises you make.

You repeat his name over and over again, and you think you’ve felt the height of this pleasure, that nothing could surpass this feeling, until your stomach tightens in an entirely new way. Your fucked out brain gets it together for a minute, to feel the overwhelming, ecstatic pressure of Rafe’s tongue on your clit, spelling out his own name. Your stomach tightens, unbearably so, that coil winding up, but before he even finishes the F, it snaps all at once. 

You let out a scream—which you think is so stupid of you. But it feels so good, there was no way around it. Rafe reacts instantly, grabbing your hand that’s pulling his hair and using it to snap over your mouth, all while he rides you through it. 

His nose presses against your clit while he slides his fingers out, your pussy walls clamping around nothing, missing him already. He laps up the mess you just made with his tongue, the noise being so overwhelming, you want to scream again. 

You use your other hand to yank his hair, pulling him up to look at you, because you know you want to see this. Rafe, your Rafe, your boyfriend, with blown, wide eyes and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your juices, with the mess you just made, and then you collapse back down onto the bed. 

Your breathing is heavy. You aren’t sure it’ll ever go back to normal.

Rafe pulls his shirt off by grabbing it from the back, yanking it over his head. Your hand floats up to

touch his chest, to make sure he’s still real and not just a vivid sex dream, but he slaps it out of the way.

“What did I say, hm?” he asks, leaning over you. His face is just an inch too far to kiss. Your limbs feel numb, and you can’t pull him down yourself. You want to cry, because you want to kiss him so badly. “I said you had to be quiet, or everyone’s gonna know what a little whore you are.”

“I tried, daddy, I did-”

“I don’t think you tried at all, kid.”

“No, I did, I swear-”

“You’re lucky that I-” and before he finishes his sentence, you pull him down into another kiss. He tastes like you and scotch, and the combination is so intoxicating, you can’t pull away. “Hey, hey,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” and the soothing way he says it, you believe him.

“I’m lucky that you what?” you ask, unbuckling his belt and snaking it off the loops.

“That I love you, and I’m not gonna punish you tonight for not listening to me.” You drop the belt over your stomach, the melt part hitting with a little clink. You look back up at him, your eyes wide, you imagine, your cheeks flushed. 

“You love me?” you ask, quietly. You can barely hear yourself over the thud of your heart pounding in your chest.

“I do,” Rafe replies, running his hand to smooth over your hair, which you’re sure is a mess now. “Enough that I’m gonna fuck you now, but I had to say it first, because I’m gonna fuck you until you break.”

You’re speechless, watching Rafe unbutton his pants and kick them off, boxers going with them. He strokes himself once, twice, and you’re still staring up at his face, even though normally you would get distracted. 

He looks up again. 

“You ready, kid?” 

“I love you, Rafey,” you say, twisting your hands around to the back of his neck, pushing him into yet another kiss. You can’t pull away, even if you want to, you want him so close that you forget everything else in the world for now. While you’re kissing, he lines himself up with your leaking pussy, which has probably ruined these sheets, and pushes in the tip.

You pull back from the kiss, just to moan, but Rafe silences you with his mouth again. He pushes in more, and more, until you’re sure he’s bottomed out. Your cunt is so, so stretched, you can’t fathom this is what you’ve been missing out on, and it feels so good, like nothing has ever felt before, not his fingers, not his tongue, not any other part of him. 

“That’s halfway, kid, you doin’ okay?” and your eyes jolt up to his in a second.

“H-half?” you breathe out. “I can’t, I can’t take any more, s’not gonna fit Rafe, not gonna fit-”

“Hey,” he repeats, which always has that calming effect on you. “You let me worry about that, okay? Just relax this pussy f’me, okay?” and the way he says it, you do, because you have no other choice. He pushes in again, fast, hard, and then pulls all the way out. You’re too scared to look anywhere but his eyes, so you stay locked in on them, until he pushes all the way in again, and your eyes clasp shut.

“Oh, oh my god, Rafe-” And you don’t care who hears you this time. He pulls out again, just his lip still inside you.

“Look, princess, look down,” he urges, and you follow his instructions, because you always do. “Look where we’re connected, yeah?” He fucks in and out of you, slowly but then faster, and you do look, entranced at the way your pussy sucks him in, the way your cum is coating his dick, at the brutal pace he’s set. 

You look until you can’t anymore, leaning back against the pillow and watching Rafe above you, his face twisted in pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, mouth panting. He buries his face into your neck, and you grip the top of his shoulders, nails digging in, because you just need to hold onto something.

He told the truth, you think, in your fucked out, blissful state, that he was going to fuck you like he hated you, battering into your sore pussy over and over again. 

You repeat his name—daddy, not Rafe—until he shuts you up with a kiss, and he watches the strings of spit connecting your mouths when he pulls away.

“Just needed this dick, didn’ya princess? Just needed daddy to think for ya?” You moan in reply. “You got it then, kid, because m’never gonna stop fucking you. Y’never gonna think about anything else again.”

And then he finally does you in, because he presses down, right below your stomach, while he slams in, and you feel something inside you break, like a flood breaking through a dam. It washes out to every part of you, from your ears to your fingers to your toes. White hot pleasure runs its course through your body, cunt tightening and shaking, eyes rolling back, your spine arching forward. Through all of it, Rafe pins you down, and fucks you through it. And finally, deliriously, you open your fucked-out eyes, looking up at him.

“I love you, daddy,” and he cums before he can even pull out, messy rivulets shooting inside you, leaking out onto his expensive sheets. He moans into your neck, and his entire body slumps forward, and you giggle under the weight.

A few minutes pass by.

“Rafey, you’re gonna crush me,” you say quietly, sing-songy. You’re so happy, you’ve forgotten everything else that’s happened.

Rafe presses a kiss to your forehead and rolls off, slumping next to you. Your head lands on his chest not a second later, his arm around your shoulder and another kiss to your hair.

“Feel better, kid?” 

“So much better, Rafey.” 

You don’t know when you fall asleep, only that you woke up to the sound of your phone going on. You pick it up, trying to turn down the light so Rafe doesn’t wake up too. There’s one message.

JJ: I thought you said you weren’t gonna sleep with him?

౨ৎ

[papasmoke]

My name is Ruwa Romman, and I’m honored to be the first Palestinian elected to public office in the great state of Georgia and the first Palestinian to ever speak at the Democratic National Convention. My story begins in a small village near Jerusalem, called Suba, where my dad’s family is from. My mom’s roots trace back to Al Khalil, or Hebron. My parents, born in Jordan, brought us to Georgia when I was eight, where I now live with my wonderful husband and our sweet pets.

Growing up, my grandfather and I shared a special bond. He was my partner in mischief—whether it was sneaking me sweets from the bodega or slipping a $20 into my pocket with that familiar wink and smile. He was my rock, but he passed away a few years ago, never seeing Suba or any part of Palestine again. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.

This past year has been especially hard. As we’ve been moral witnesses to the massacres in Gaza, I’ve thought of him, wondering if this was the pain he knew too well. When we watched Palestinians displaced from one end of the Gaza Strip to the other I wanted to ask him how he found the strength to walk all those miles decades ago and leave everything behind. 

But in this pain, I’ve also witnessed something profound—a beautiful, multifaith, multiracial, and multigenerational coalition rising from despair within our Democratic Party. For 320 days, we’ve stood together, demanding to enforce our laws on friend and foe alike to reach a ceasefire, end the killing of Palestinians, free all the Israeli and Palestinian hostages, and to begin the difficult work of building a path to collective peace and safety. That’s why we are here—members of this Democratic Party committed to equal rights and dignity for all. What we do here echoes around the world.

They’ll say this is how it’s always been, that nothing can change. But remember Fannie Lou Hamer—shunned for her courage, yet she paved the way for an integrated Democratic Party. Her legacy lives on, and it’s her example we follow.

But we can’t do it alone. This historic moment is full of promise, but only if we stand together. Our party’s greatest strength has always been our ability to unite. Some see that as a weakness, but it’s time we flex that strength. 

Let’s commit to each other, to electing Vice President Harris and defeating Donald Trump who uses my identity as a Palestinian as a slur. Let’s fight for the policies long overdue—from restoring access to abortions to ensuring a living wage, to demanding an end to reckless war and a ceasefire in Gaza. To those who doubt us, to the cynics and the naysayers, I say, yes we can—yes we can be a Democratic Party that prioritizes funding our schools and hospitals, not for endless wars. That fights for an America that belongs to all of us—Black, brown, and white, Jews and Palestinians, all of us, like my grandfather taught me, together.

I want to be clear,” Romman said. “We’ve been in negotiations for days. This did not just come up…We’ve been talking about this for at least a week. In addition, the campaign told us that not getting a ‘no’ [initially upon first hearing the request] was a really good sign. For them to give us a ‘no’ the same day that Geoff Duncan [a Republican from Georgia] was on the stage—especially when it was my name—was just absolutely a slap in the face.”

[myspacebrat]

dial-a-thrill (part 2)

Phone sex operator!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you finally meet up with Eddie, the phone sex operator you’ve been spending your nights talking to.

⚠️warnings: smut 18+ mdni, very light angst, Eddie is in love love, pierced!eddie, reader is insecure due to her last relationship, a few uses of y/n but mostly nicknames (baby, sweet girl, angel etc.), reader gets high for the first time, dom/sub dynamics, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, first penetrative orgasm, the smallest daddy kink (mentioned once), creampie.

notes: thank you to my babes @lofaewrites @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @dearest-readers @inkluvs & @take-everything-you-can for all your help with beta reading <3

wc: 14.2k

“Would you like to maybe meet up sometime?”

Those eight words took residence in your brain the whole week, hardly being able to focus at work with the thought of finally meeting Eddie. Your nerves were jangled to say the least and you were nervous he wouldn’t like you or feel the same connection in person, or what if you didn’t like him? No that didn’t seem like the plausible outcome, you knew you’d like him. So your nerves continued to eat at you.

You had talked to him almost every night, after he gave you his personal home phone number. But even he with his calming voice and sweet words couldn’t mellow your mind

Finally when Saturday night rolled around, you were a mess of butterflies and sweaty palms. Your one saving grace was your best friend Lauren insisting she help you get ready, you hadn’t gone on a date in more than six months, said date being with your boyfriend at the time, so this was a completely new set of feelings. This almost felt like a blind date, which had never been your forte. Your mom tried to set you up on loads of them with the sons of men she worked with, you’d always tell her it felt too impersonal to not know a guy beforehand.

But Eddie was the exception, although in a way you did somewhat know him, the thought still did nothing to ease the fluttering in your abdomen.

“Alright” Lauren says with a clap of her perfectly manicured hands. “You go get in the shower, make sure you shave! And I’ll pick out your outfit.” She commands as she waves you off.

Lauren had been your best friend since grade school, and although she is now in a fully committed relationship, she had her fair share of dates before she met Paul. You could trust that she’d have you looking close to perfection when she was done.

While in the shower you exfoliate, wash and shave. Once your hair and body had been completely rinsed of your strawberries and cream body wash and rose petal shampoo and conditioner, you step out and cloth your body with your pink robe.

You make your way back into your room after wrapping your hair in a towel—

Eyes catching on the very revealing outfit that was layered out across the foot of your full size bed.

You scrunch your face up in distaste for the garments, Lauren notices and rolls her eyes with a sigh—

“you’re going to a bar y/n, not church okay? This is a perfectly acceptable look for the occasion.” You couldn’t disagree with her there.

“I know Laur, I just- I don’t know if I can pull that look off.” You say as you cross your arms over your chest.

“What are you talking about? Those legs and boobs were meant to be shown off.” She says as if it was common knowledge.

“Plus, these are all your clothes, if you didn't think you could pull them off then why do you have them?” She asks with a shrug of her shoulders as she sits down in the green tufted vintage chair opposite your bed.

“I bought them because I was working up the guts to eventually wear them someday.” You say in an almost defensive tone

“And what better time than now? C'mon, you’re meeting some guy you met on a phone sex hotline, if that doesn’t call for the sexy revealing outfit in the back of your closet you’ve been working up the guts to wear, then I don’t know what does.” She huffs out a laugh.

“Ya’ know what, you’re right!” You say with confidence.

“Damn right I am.” Lauren says back, making you both fall into a fit of laughter,

“thanks babe, I can always count on you to make me feel better.” You say with complete admiration for your best friend.

“Yeah, you owe me lunch. Now, try this shit on.” Lauren says with no real malice behind her words.

You left your apartment in the city at about 6:05pm making it into hawkins by 6:30pm.

You decide to roll down your windows as soon as you pass the ‘welcome to Hawkins’ sign, it had been a beautiful spring day and as the sun was setting the sky illuminated a pinky orange hue. The town smelled like hints of cow manure and fresh grass clippings. You could tell this was one of those small towns where everyone knew you and your business, that was something you were grateful you never had to worry about in the city.

You made it to Rips bar on the east side of Hawkins with five minutes to spare before Eddie and his band were to be on stage, the plan was for you to watch him play as he does every Saturday, and after you’d maybe play a couple rounds of pool before getting a bite to eat.

You didn’t mind the idea, and after learning that Eddie was in a band you were pretty excited to see him in his element, it also gave you some time to get a couple drinks into you before the initial meeting.

Before you turn off the ignition, you flip down the visor to inspect your makeup in the mirror, winged eyeliner still intact and red lipstick not yet smudged. You play with your voluminous curls, as you try to perfect the hair framing your face.

Stepping out of your red Acura legend, your platform Mary janes crunch on the rocky gravel of the parking lot while making your way into the bar.

You run your fingers down your black pleated skirt to smooth out any wrinkles that may have formed during your drive, adjust your white strapless corset top, almost making a split decision to grab the knitted cardigan in your back seat to hide the amount of cleavage you were presenting, but Lauren’s voice rings out in your head, the way she screeched “you’re a hot ass bitch!” At you, as you admired yourself in the mirror before leaving.

The recent memory making you chuckle as you grab the big golden handle attached to an even bigger red door. Swinging it open you’re hit with the different scents of cigarettes and leather.

you pull the white thigh high socks you almost protested against wearing, higher up your plush thighs before making your way inside.

The bar sits at the back, pool tables to the left surrounded by booths. The jukebox on the far left wall catches your eye, before you see a figure walk out onto the stage that sits front and center.

His long wavy brown hair flows beautifully past his shoulders, his guitar hangs off the side of his body, black ripped jeans, bullet belt, and a sepultura band tee that you only notice because your older brother is also a fan. His leather jacket hugs his biceps perfectly and his feet are adorned with high top Adidas.

You make your way over to the bar and take a seat on the round black leather chair, spinning around to continue ogling the man you hope is your date.

His whole being made the room feel almost unbearably hot, your mouth began to water as you fought against the need to clench your thighs.

The rest of the band struts on stage, settling in front of their respective instruments.

Eddie had told you all the members names and what they played:

Jeff on rhythm guitar

Grant on bass

And Gareth on drums

So that only leaves the man standing in front of the mic with his guitar now pulled closer to his chest to be Eddie.

He was fucking hot.

As you came to this revelation you had noticed a group of girls gather at the front of the stage, all of them eye fucking each member of the band.

It makes your stomach feel queasy, so you turn in your seat and order a Jack and coke from the very nice bartender, as an aide to calm your nerves and as a distraction, for now.

As the band starts playing, you recognize the song almost immediately—

Megalomania by Black Sabbath.

Eddie begins to sing into his microphone while simultaneously strumming his guitar.

I hide myself inside the shadows of shame

The silent symphonies were playing their game

My body echoed to the dreams of my soul

It started something that I could not control

Where can I run to now, the joke is on me

No sympathizing God, it’s insanity, yeah..

You sway in your seat to the music, singing along as you sip from your drink. Your eyes catch on the silver that decorate his fingers, your thoughts going to some really filthy places.

Eddie keeps his eyes closed for majority of the song, his playing must be full on muscle memory by now. Once he finally opens them, they scan the whole bar, finally falling on you.

They don’t leave yours, as the song crescendos to an end. You swallow harshly as all of his attention now seems to be on you, he looks over your frame with a shy smile before he sends you a wink.

The whole display makes your heart swoon. You could be any woman in this bar but his eyes chose yours.

That has to count for something.

Eddie’s eyes catch yours a few more times, and as you’re on your second drink you’ve gained a newfound confidence.

You wave to him with a wiggle of your fingers as you take the straw between your plump red lips, seductively taking a sip while never breaking eye contact.

Once the band's set is finished a younger man walks over to the jukebox and before you know it, shot in the dark by Ozzy is being played loudly throughout the bar.

Eddie and his band mates begin packing their equipment up, but as Eddie is putting his guitar away in its case, one of the girls from the front row walks up to him, she’s all big smiles and flirty touches.

He begins talking with her, you can hear her loud laughs even over the music. It makes your eyes roll and leaves a permanent scowl on your face.

The display makes your stomach turn. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe, Eddie didn’t really feel the way he said he did. Maybe, you should just get up and go home.

But before you know it the girl is headed to a booth that is now occupied by her friends.

Eddie’s eyes are back on yours, he's noticed you watching him out of his periphery, since the girl walked up to him.

He shoots you a knowing smirk, as he heads towards the exit with the rest of his band, you assume they’re going to put the instruments away, so you turn in your seat and begin to down the second jack and coke you’d been babysitting.

About 8 minutes pass and you’re convinced he took one look at you and left, your eyes begin to burn at the thought.

That is until you hear the deep rasp of your name being called behind you as he taps you on the shoulder, you swivel around in your seat to find the colporate.

Your eyes meet a set of beautiful brown doe ones, you stare into them for a second before he’s calling your name again.

“You’re y/n, right?” He asks, now not so sure he has the right person.

“Y-yeah, im y/n.” Your confidence wavers as Eddie stands before you.

Wow, he’s even more beautiful up close.

You both continue to keep eye contact as if breaking it would end your air supply.

But before you can continue to make a bigger fool out of yourself, you are hopping off the bar stool.

Eddie doesn’t miss the way your tits bounce as you do.

Now he was able to take you all in, and boy did he do just that. His eyes roamed your body from head to toe.

You hold out a hand for him to shake, accompanied by the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

He slid his calloused, ringed hand into yours and lightly shook it, never once breaking eye contact while shooting you a toothy smile, showcasing his pearly whites.

“Let’s sit.” He suggests, as he gestures to the bar stools.

Now seated, Eddie waves a hand to get the bartender's attention.

“How many of those have you had?” Eddie asks, closer to your ear in an almost whisper.

“Oh, um this is my second one.” You timidly respond.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight, I want you to be coherent during our date, alright?” Eddie says in an almost commanding tone that makes your face heat up and an ache form in your belly.

“Two waters.” He says to the bartender as he holds up two of his ringed fingers.

Fuck, those rings were really doing it for you.

The bartender puts the waters Eddie ordered on little napkins and scoots them in front of you both, the condensation already leaving the napkin wet, you continue studying it before Eddie breaks the silence.

“So, how’d you like the show?” He asks sheepishly, as his right thumb circles the rim of his glass, you could only assume it was out of nervousness, or at least you hoped.

“I loved it, you guys are really good!” You beam, “got quite the fan base too.” You chuckle, Eddie can read the jealousy in your eyes, from a mile away.

“You jealous, baby?” He teases, making you roll your eyes at his cocky words.

“Yeah right.” Is all you say back before you take a sip of your water.

He chuckles before he speaks again.

“Can I be honest with you?” He says while trying to catch your eye, as you continue to observe the drink in front of you.

“Sure.” You say as your heart begins to race, your eyes finally meet his as you slightly turn to him in your chair.

“You’re not what I expected.” He says with a side smile

Ouch

“I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations.” You snap with a slump of your shoulders.

“Whoa whoa, princess” he put his hands up in defense, “you exceeded my expectations.” He says with a wide smile, moving in closer to your exposed ear “you’re fucking gorgeous.” He whispers

“And this little outfit,” he tsks “is this for me?”

“Maybe.” You reply shyly, as you bite your lip.

You and Eddie sit at the bar a little longer; chatting, flirting and getting to know each other.

You find out he’s been at his hotline job for almost a year, he enjoys playing dnd in his spare time and he was raised by his uncle who he still has a great relationship with.

You also learn all the basics: his favorite color is red, his favorite food is Chinese and pizza, he’s a cat person and he collects vinyl records and comic books. You’re pleased to find out he’s essentially a nerd, like you.

You were even able ask him the ever daunting question of ‘what made you pick up a phone sex gig?’, which to that Eddie answered ‘eh, I knew it’d be easy money and I’d get to do what I do best, which is talk.’ That got him a very pleasing chortle out of you.

You both continue talking about your common interests of comics, horror movies and music for a bit longer, until he orders you both a beer and suggests moving to the pool tables, as they’re now empty along with the majority of the bar.

You step off the stool, platform Mary Janes sticking to the bar floor as you make your way to the tables, Eddie’s eyes are glued to the backs of your thighs and your ass in that little skirt.

You were absolutely hypnotizing and he knew keeping his hands off of you was going to be a challenge, all he wanted to do was run his fingers through your hair and pull your lips to his, rub his hands up your thighs and play with the waistband of your panties. He bet you wore some cute little lacey ones, maybe you didn’t wear any at all? That prospect made Eddie swell in his jeans, instantly.

You grab two cue sticks off the wall and hand one to Eddie, you rub the blue chalk on the tip before you pass that to him, too

Eddie removes the triangle from around the pool balls before he’s gesturing with his hand “ladies first.” He asserts, making you giggle before bending over directly in front of him, you hit the white ball with the tip of your stick making two solid balls into one of the pockets, before throwing a cocky smirk—

“guess I’m solids.” You proclaim while moving around the table to where the white ball is now sitting. You take the shot and the ball you had your sights on ricochets off the side missing the pocket by a hair.

Eddie smiles at you before taking his turn. You admire him as he bends over the table, his butt looks way too good in those black levi’s and the way his leather jacket hugs his body makes you bite your lip. You’re deep in thought before Eddie is calling your name.

“Y/n?” you respond with a huh as your cheeks heat up, “I said, let’s make this interesting?” He turns towards you, both hands placed over the top of his pool cue, he has an insatiable grin on his face that you just want to kiss right off.

“Okay, what do you have in mind?” You warely ask

“Everytime one of us makes a ball into the pocket, the other has to tell a secret.” He proposes with a sly grin.

You think about his words for a second, you didn’t have very many secrets, you were for the most part a good girl. You didn’t have any raunchy sex stories or a rebellious phase, so there wasn’t much to be revealed, but you figured Eddie had a ton so of course the smart thing to do was to agree, you would be an idiot not to.

“Okay, let’s do it!” You decide as you beam up at him, he nods his head in satisfaction before he’s moving out of your way for you to take your turn.

You make one ball into the pocket before you’re turning to him with a raise of your eyebrows, “spill, pretty boy.” You say before you could really think about your words, but before you can shy away and apologize, Eddie’s moving closer towards you with a smile on his face and a look in his eye you couldn’t quite read.

“Pretty boy, huh? That’s a new one… I like it.” He says in amusement, before he’s moving closer to you.

“My secret is, I’ve never had a real girlfriend.” He whispers closer to your ear.

“Ha-ha, yeah right! You have to tell an honest secret Eddie.” You roll your eyes as you move to grab your beer to take a sip.

“No, I’m being honest.” He says as his face slightly falls, you could tell from the look in his eyes that he was being genuine, but the confession took you completely off guard, there’s no way this sexy man never had a girlfriend. Also why was that the first secret he confessed? The whole thing made you beyond curious.

“It’s still your turn.” He says, making you file those questions away for later.

You walk back up to the table stone faced and in deep thought, you take your shot and miss before moving back to where your beer was, picking it up and taking another sip.

Eddie bends over the table, one arm stretched out at the front of the pool cue while the other grips the back, tongue out and in complete concentration.

Your eyes catch on a little silver ball-

Your breath hitches when the realization hits you.

His tongue is pierced

How have you missed that? The new information made your mind run rampant, what it would feel like to have it brush up against your tongue, your clit-

Stop

Before the thoughts could completely take over, Eddie walks around the table towards you with bouncing eyebrows.

“Tell me something good, sweetheart.” Your body almost goes slack at the nickname, god anything he calls you makes your head spin, or maybe it was these drinks? You think to yourself.

“Well, ummm, I’ve never gotten high before.” You confess, as your face grows hot.

“Is that a secret?” He asks with a squint of his eyes.

“I guess, my friends all think I got high with them once but I didn’t actually smoke it right, so I told them I was high cause I didn’t want to have to try again.” God, that’s such an embarrassing confession and you can’t believe you just said it out loud, you really are a complete loser.

“Wow princess, that’s some top secret stuff.” He howls, as you tense up at his teasing.

Eddie notices the look on your face, making his smile falter.

“Hey baby, I’m kidding!” He says moving in closer until the tips of his sneakers are touching your mary janes.

He grabs your chin, tilting your head up to look him in the eyes, they roam yours for a few seconds before he continues—

“I’m sorry, that’s a totally valid secret, okay? I didn’t mean to make fun or anything.” He says with sincerity.

“You're just a good girl, huh?” He says with a little smirk, “my good girl.” He whispers

You think for a second that he might make a move and kiss you, but instead he pulls away.

“Ya know what? Let’s get out of here, go grab some food and I don’t know, see where the night takes us.” He prescribes as he takes the pool cue out of your hands and hangs both back up on the wall.

He walks towards you and downs his beer, “you want this one too?” You ask as you motion towards the less than half full beer bottle in your hand.

He takes it from you and downs it too, before grabbing your hand and guiding you out of the establishment and into the crisp night air.

Eddie was definitely someone who was used to taking charge and that subtle dominance was making the blaze in your belly spread like wildfire.

You decide to leave your car in the parking lot of the bar, Eddie suggesting he drive you back to it when you’re ready to head home.

You agree, as he opens up the passenger door for you. Eddie takes your hand and helps you up before he places a sweet and tender kiss to the top of it, before letting it go to fall in your lap.

The van smells like cigarettes and woodsy cologne. You take a peek in the back seat before Eddie’s swinging the driver door open and hopping in.

The band's equipment takes up the majority of it, but you could see a little mattress pushed up beside one of the side windows, you wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in the back of his van after one of his shows. You turn to look at him as he puts the key in the ignition and turns it, the engine roars to life and before you could get another thought in, the tape Eddie is playing booms through the speakers, making you jump up a foot in your seat.

Eddie quickly turns the knob down before shooting you an apologetic smile.

“So what do you feel like eating, angel?” He inquires sweetly

Angel

Well, you definitely felt like you were in heaven, being with Eddie, so it was fitting.

You and Eddie had decided on burgers, fries and milkshakes— he drove through the drive thru of his favorite burger joint, handing you the food to secure on your lap.

You weren’t sure what plans Eddie had in mind, but you were all for following his lead.

You and Eddie both sang along to rock hard ride free by Judas Priest, as he drove around Hawkins.

He’d occasionally look over at you with a sweet smile, as you mouthed the words.

Finally, after the third or fourth time and out of pure curiosity you turn to meet his eyes, he’s looking at you with a glint in those big pools of brown.

He sends you a wink before his head turns back to the road in front of him.

God, he was gonna be the death of you.

Eddie parks in front of an unfamiliar lake, the glow of the moon illuminates off the water, making what would be a pitch black area in the woods, gleam.

You begin opening the bag and taking the food out, ready to hand him his burger and fries before he turns down the music and clears his throat.

“Do you wanna sit on the hood?” He suggests, before opening his door and leaping out.

“Yeah, sure.” You nod as you grab the food and make your way out of the door that was just opened for you.

Eddie helps you up first, platforms stomping all over his front bumper as you try to catch balance on the big hunk of metal below you.

“You got it?” Eddie asks as your knee hits the hood, you pull yourself into a seating position, you now worry if Eddie caught a glimpse of anything under your skirt as you struggled. He hands you the food, before he’s easily pulling himself up onto his hood, he scoots closer to you, arms and legs touching as he leans back against the front window.

You begin to eat your fries while you stare off, eyes darting from the lake to the bright stars hovering above.

You pass Eddie his greasy food “So, you come out here a lot?” Your voice felt so soft coming out of your mouth, almost like you didn’t wanna break his daze.

“To lovers lake?” He says in surprise “yeah, I actually do.” He smiles while taking the food out of your hands.

He unwraps his burger and takes a bite as you begin to repeat, ‘lovers lake’ to yourself in your head.

“Why do they call it lovers lake?” You ask without much thought.

Eddie swallows his bite a bit abruptly before he begins to speak, “honestly, it got its name because it’s a pretty big hook up spot.” He nonchalantly says.

“Mmm” is all you give him with a tight press of your lips, you can’t help but to wonder how many of his hookups he brought to this exact spot, to fuck on that exact mattress pushed against the window and band equipment.

You knew this was part of it, you didn’t meet him in any conventional way. You both had phone sex already for Christ sake.

But you still couldn’t help the ache in your chest and the way your belly burned ablaze at the thought of him bringing you somewhere he brought someone else.

I’ve never had a girlfriend before.

But surely he’s had hookups? You assume lots of hookups, Eddie exudes sex appeal. He’s like a sex god while up on that stage, so there is no doubt in your mind he has hooked up with a number of women after his shows.

It shouldn’t matter, that was his past and it doesn't concern you. But the knowledge that he’s as experienced as he is and you haven’t even been eaten out yet makes you nervous and insecure.

“You must really like that milkshake.” Eddie laughs at the way you’re lost in thought why simultaneously downing the strawberry flavored malt.

You nod in agreement but Eddie notices the way you’re slouched with a seemingly sad look in your eyes as you continue to stare out at the lake in front of you.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He asks while moving in even closer to you and putting his hand he first wiped off onto his jeans, on your knee.

He begins to play with the fabric of your thigh high, while he awaits your answer.

“I’m fine, I’m just too in my head.” You say as Eddie takes the almost empty shake out of your hand and places the cup on the top of the van, behind you.

“Talk to me, baby.” Eddie continues rubbing at your knee, slightly working his way up to your unclothed thigh. Before snapping the fabric of your socks into your skin, making you slightly shriek with laughter.

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just nervous.” You say without looking at him.

“Nervous? Why would you be nervous?” He says it as if you shouldn’t have a care in the world, as if you were someone who should exude nothing but confidence.

If only that were true.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I haven’t done before.” You say as your eyes finally find his. “I’m not as experienced as you are, and I mean you taking me to a lake you’ve hooked up at probably multiple times, isn’t really helping.” You practically word vomit.

“Hey whoa, relax sweet girl.” He whispers while grabbing the meat of your inner thigh gently, his metal rings contrast the temperature of your skin perfectly.

His touch towards your more sensitive skin, draws goosebumps along your legs and arms. His affect on you is clear as day, even in the low light of the moon.

“I’ve never brought anyone out here. To be completely honest with you, I come out here alone to think and smoke. I’ve never hooked up with anyone here, baby. I can promise you that.” He continues—

“Now I would be lying if I said I didn’t have random hook ups in the back of the van, or in the parking lots or bathrooms of the bars I perform in.” You drop your head from his heated gaze to look down at his hand that is continuing to paw at the squishy skin of your thigh.

“Shit- look baby, just because I have some extra experience doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. I mean how else am I gonna treat you nice and make you feel good? I couldn’t do that if I didn’t have some experience, right?” He says so close to your ear you can feel his breath.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You nod, “I just don’t wanna be like the worst person you’ve ever been with.” You say with a somber laugh.

“Hey, you know this isn’t just about sex for me right? I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m very much looking forward to it.” he says before licking his red plump lips. “But this means so much more to me than that. I really like you sweetheart and I promise you, I will show you all the things you’ve been missing out on, okay?” He says with a deep set tone to his voice, one that could make you just fall to your knees for him.

He was oh so tempting.

“So, you’ve had plenty of hook ups but why is it you’ve never had a girlfriend?” You ask out of nothing but pure curiosity.

Eddie takes a deep breath before answering your loaded question.

“Believe it or not, I’m not too popular among the residents in this shit hole town.” His voice comes out equal parts dejected and vexed.

“What do you mean by that?” You ask as you put your hand on top of his, the one that still lays on your thigh, you lightly squeeze as an encouragement that you’re here, no matter what.

“Well, because of the way I dress and the music I listen to, oh and the fact that I play dnd.” He rolls his eyes before continuing “those are the reasons this town has labeled me a freak.” His jaw clenches slightly before he brings his chocolatey pools of brown to meet yours, the look he’s giving is so vulnerable, almost as if he’s giving you an out, a chance to run away from all the baggage his life brings.

“A freak?” You hiss as you scrunch your nose up in distaste, “and what’s so bad about that?” You ask innocently, too innocent.

“As far as I’m concerned, being different or a ‘freak’ isn't a bad thing, I mean to close minded people, maybe. But there’s a whole world out there of like minded people who like the same shit you do, just because this small town can’t value your differences doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” You say honestly, the words pour out of you like a waterfall and just as peaceful to Eddie’s ears.

He rubs the light stubble on his chin, as if in deep thought but really he was just letting your words sink in. Nobody has ever said something like that to him; he wanted to savor them, write them down to read over later when he was alone, something to come back to when the adults of Hawkins stick their noses up at him, a reminder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” He settles for those words instead of what he really wants to say and do in this moment.

He might be in love with you, he might be in so much deeper than he thought.

“Me? No” you say with a nonchalant shake of your head, cheeks heating up under the glow of the night sky. “I’m just being honest.” You remove your hand from his, to push some of your hair behind your ear in a shy manner.

Eddie scoots even closer, his hand that was gently rubbing at your thigh, now around the small of your back, his fingers settling into the exposed flesh of your side.

He moves in closer to the ear you had just exposed to him, “don’t get shy on me now, baby.” He whispers, his voice so easily makes your thighs clench and your body stiffen all in a matter of seconds.

Eddie’s cocky, knowing laugh rings out but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel embarrassed at how easily your body gives up control to him. As if you’re a puppet on a string, and him the perfect puppet master. He could make you do just about anything in this moment, more so with his husky voice pressed up against your ear. You want him to whisper the dirtiest things to you, call you his little slut. All things your ex wanted to do that you never wanted to entertain.

Eddie brings out a side of you, you never even knew existed. A side you are more than ready and willing to explore. If only with him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute and sexy.” Eddie says while pulling out a half smoked joint he had tucked behind his other ear, he puts it between his lips before digging in his pocket for his lighter, a silver zippo with a skull in the middle.

“Mm, I don’t know about that.” You say with a laugh that shakes your shoulders.

“You need to stop selling yourself short, angel.” He says while lighting the spliff, smoke immediately bellows from his nose and mouth. God how could someone be so effortlessly sexy?

“You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for, you’re so much more y/n.” The way he says your name makes your insides twist in the best way. You’d never heard your ex talk about you like this, it was always what you could be better at, never that you were just good enough. Eddie made you feel good enough.

And in that moment you made it your goal to make him feel good enough, too.

After plenty of banter and deep conversation, Eddie hops off the hood, making his way to his side of the van. He flips down the visor retrieving something before making his way back towards you.

“So, I know you said you never smoked, but would you do me the honors of being the first person to get you high?” His eyes were hopeful but his voice was calm, as if to say no pressure without needing the words.

“I said I smoked, I just didn’t do it right.” You chuckle as you playfully roll your eyes “what the hell, why not?” You say after a quick deliberation.

“That’s the spirit, baby.” He says with a loud clap of his hands before climbing back onto his spot on the hood.

He does the same routine of pulling out his zippo and lightening and puffing with ease.

He blows the smoke up and into the crisp night sky, his neck on full display as he tilts his head back, the purplish blue veins making their appearance as they bulge ever so slightly out of alabaster skin.

You reach out and tuck his curly strand of hair behind his ear, a gentle gesture that pulls a smile from Eddie’s lips, his glossy red eyes meet yours for a second before he holds out the joint for you to take.

“You ready, beautiful?” His smile grows even wider as he notices the nervous look in your eyes.

God, you were the sweetest fucking thing.

“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.” You retort with slight sarcasm.

“You know you can say no, right? I would never pressure you into doing something you don’t want to, okay?” His tone was so gentle and understanding, it made the nervousness that had plagued your body a second ago vanish in an instant.

“I know, but I want to, with you.” You whisper the last part, so low it would be a miracle if he heard you over the sounds of the crickets chirping off in the distance, but he did and those two words made his heart soar more than anything he’s ever experienced.

After a couple attempts of hitting the joint, you finally inhale correctly, the quick burn of the grass instantly making you cough manically. Your face grew hot at the thought of Eddie hearing you almost hock up a lung.

But there was no judgment behind his eyes, just a look that could ease even the most anxious of souls. His hand rubbed in between your shoulder blades, gently back and forth.

“You okay, baby?” You gave him a nod before bursting out into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

“What’s so funny? Huh?” Eddie inquires as he bumps his shoulder lightly into yours, he’s now laughing at your cute hyena cackle.

He thought you looked the most beautiful like this, head thrown back, laugh echoing off of the lake probably scaring off any wildlife in a 20 mile radius, eyes glossed over and watery as you wiped them away. He wanted to make you laugh like that all the time. Keep you happy and laughing, forever.

“I think I’m high!” You squeak out between laughs, Eddie can’t help but to let out a hyena cackle of his own at your revelation.

“Yeah, sweetheart I gathered that.” He says, while not breaking his gaze from you; eyes filled with complete adoration.

“Hey Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your high has brought on a whole other side to you, a bold side.

“You said people here consider you a freak, right?” You say while trying to keep your train of thought with this new feeling of brain fog settling in.

“Why don’t you move somewhere else? You’d love Indy, there’s a ton of metalheads and punks and nobody gives them shit, it’s different in the city, people are much more open minded.” It comes out much more rambley than you meant for it to.

“I guess.. I’m just too chickenshit to move somewhere where I don’t know anyone, I’m not really sure, I mean I’ve thought about leaving, it just never seemed possible.” He huffs out, slightly dejected.

“Well now you know someone.” You say before grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together, his palms were sweaty and his rings were warm despite the light spring breeze that had you holding the hand that wasn’t in Eddie’s grasp between your thighs for warmth.

Eddie brings your interlocked hand up to his face and lightly kisses the skin on the back of yours, before he’s letting go and hopping off the hood, once again.

“So what do you want to do? The night’s still young.” He says while fixing the crotch of his jeans, like they were too tight.

“Let’s go swimming in the lake?” You suggest with way too much enthusiasm, it makes Eddie chuckle with amusement.

“That lake has to be fucking freezing, it was iced over all winter and it barely melted last month, so no thank you.” He says with a definitive wave of his hand.

He looks over to find you looking down at your feet in disappointment. You were such a brat, Eddie thought to himself, he knew exactly what you were doing with that shy little pout of your lips, he could just bite into the plump skin.

“But I do know of a heated pool we can sneak into.” He says, making your pout turn right side up into the most perfect smile.

“Yes, a heated pool sounds amazing!” You squeal

You and Eddie pull up to a big gray two story house with a bright red door, the maroon BMW in the driveway catches your eye and you wonder how Eddie knew whoever it was that lives here.

In your eagerness you didn’t wait for Eddie to open your door, instead you quickly jump out, closing it as lightly as possible behind you.

“Cmon.” Eddie whispers as he comes around the van, grabbing you by your hand and practically dragging you to the side of the house.

Eddie makes a big show of jumping up onto the gate, he turns back to grab your hand to hoist you up but instead you flip the latch up and the side gate swings open. The look on Eddie’s face is priceless as he jumps down from his awkward position.

“Are you training to be a gargoyle?” You huff out a laugh trying not to be loud enough for the occupants of the big house to hear.

“Ha-ha” he mocks, but you could tell he wanted to laugh along. A smile broke out across his reddened cheeks. You wanted to pinch them and give them all the kisses but the sight in front of you broke you from that trance. Eddie was removing his leather jacket and pulling his band tee over his head, the tattoos that graced his torso up to his chest, neck and arms now on full display now.

They were beautiful, he was beautiful. There wasn’t an inch of skin left visible and fuck did that make you throb.

He begins toeing off his shoes and removing his jeans before he’s left standing in a pair of red plaid boxer shorts.

You swallow hard when you notice the tattoo above his lower stomach, the words “choking hazard” written in what looks to be the same font as those warning labels.

“You gonna go swimming in your outfit, baby?” Eddie taunts.

You shake your head before you start removing your platforms and thigh highs. The buzz must still be present in your body because the insecurities you would normally feel in this moment are null and void.

You remove your skirt, leaving you in a pair of white lace panties that match the corset top too perfectly. You had no choice but to go swimming in the top since you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, but at this moment you didn't care.

Either this weed made you far less uptight or Eddie brought out your adventurous side, either way you were gonna enjoy it and live in this moment with him.

You stalk up to where Eddie is sitting, his feet already dipped into the pool as he swings them back and forth. He wanted to give you privacy, didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable with him watching you as you undress, which you thought was sweet.

You put your foot onto the first step to get a feel for the temperature and once you realize it’s perfect and warm, you bring your other foot in to join.

You continue on to the second, gaining Eddie’s attention now. He looks over and his eyes fall to your ass and the practically nonexistent panties you’re wearing, you turn around to face him and he can see the outline of your pussy making him swallow harshly. You look like an angel, he wanted nothing more than to corrupt. He stands up onto the step, he’s facing you while letting his eyes shamelessly roam your body.

A devious smile twists upon his lips, but before you can take a step back, Eddie is grabbing you by the waist and pushing you both into the deep water of the pool. You gasp as you come back up for air still in shock from the look in his eyes and his sudden actions. The smell of chlorine, now heavily stuck in your nose from the intake of chemical water.

Eddie swims up to you laughing, the devious smile now replaced with a smug one. You splash him while paddling away with hysterical laughter, you totally forgot that you were in someone else’s pool therefore not holding back the laughs and screams of Eddie's name as he swam towards you like the shark from jaws.

“Eddie please stop!” You cry out as you grab the side of the pool, your laughter making you too weak to keep yourself afloat.

Eddie finally grabs you, maneuvering your legs around his hips while he holds you by the backs of your thighs. He’s able to stand in the almost 6 foot deep end of the pool, water still hitting underneath his chin while you now willingly wrap your arms around his neck, palms placed flat onto the exposed skin of his back.

“Shhh, you gotta be quiet, baby.” He whispers seductively into your ear, it makes a shiver run down your spine. You can feel his hardness as it lines up perfectly with your core. Eddie’s hands move higher up, now grabbing two handfuls of your ass, making you buck your hips into his.

You moan into his neck as his hard cock catches against your barely covered clit. “Fuck.” Eddie growls into your ear while you continue to buck your hips.

Eddie begins to push your ass forcefully against him. He picks his head up from where it’s placed on your shoulder, to look at your face.

Your brows are furrow as an “o” shape settles on your beautiful lips. Eddie moves in closer but as you notice and before you could even begin moving in to meet him, a light from the back porch is turned on, making you and Eddie freeze in place.

A head pops out of the sliding door, a guy who looks to be around you and Eddie’s age, begins to shout—

“What the fuck?! What are you doing in my pool?” The guy with what you had to admit was a beautiful head of hair, shouts. Eddie hops up onto the ledge and pulls you out before rushing over to grab all of the clothes that sit scattered around the concrete.

“Run!” Eddie hisses at you, while picking up the last garment.

The guy's voice gets louder as you and Eddie begin to run; he shoves open the gate as you both make your way into the dimly lit street. You hear some shuffling behind you and can only assume the owner has begun chasing after you both, only making you run faster and your adrenaline skyrocket.

You both jump into the van with preparations to take off, but when you look out the window and observe your surroundings you notice you weren’t being followed, there was no one out on the street, but you and Eddie.

Once you both caught your breath and let your rapid pulses mellow out, you couldn’t hold it in; your hyena cackles were back and in full force as you began laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach from the dull pain.

Eddie couldn’t hold it in either, he throws his head back as he hysterically laughs at the events of the night. The fact that you both had to run in the street in your underwear was what had you wiping the tears from your eyes. It was one of those laughs that was good for the soul.

Once the laughing died down, your eyes were full of tears and your cheeks sore, an almost tense silence fell upon Eddie’s van. To someone else it would look as if you and Eddie were playing a round of who could stare the longest without blinking, but in reality the come down from the adrenaline and the tension from the pool had caught up and you and Eddie weren’t going to let another opportunity slip through your fingers.

Eddie’s eyes caught your lips first before doing a couple more glancing shifts from eyes to lips; you matched him by gawking at his full plump set, his tongue swiping over his bottom one, the tongue ring you forgot about now at the forefront of your mind, again.

You would do anything to feel it up against yours; up against any part of you to be perfectly honest.

You make the first move, throwing your patience out the barely cracked window; you move in closer, to Eddie’s surprise.

He slowly moves in to meet you, his patience must’ve left with yours because he grabs the back of your head, ringed fingers taking agency in the nape of hair on your neck. He pulls you in; lips clashing and tongues dancing together in a harmonized manner.

The silver ball against his tongue continues to roll against yours. Although he’s rough with his lips his tongue is gentle and precise, you’ve never kissed anyone and it feel this sensual and downright erotic.

Before you can overthink your next move, you climb into his lap, straddling his hips; your knees resting on each side of his tan leather bucket seats. The kiss grows more heated, his strong hands move across your body. One hand holds tightly onto your hip while the other explores your skin, once he gets to the fabric of your white panties, Eddie pulls the tiny elastic fabric, letting it pop back into your flesh making you groan out in pleasure.

“Mmm, did you like that sweet girl?” Eddie purrs into your ear, making you swiftly nod your head to confirm his suspicions.

“Fuck, you like a little bit of pain, baby?” He asks as if he’s ready to haul you over his middle console and spank your ass black and blue.

Is that what he’s into?

The thought made your body heat up like a furnace fire, you’ve never done anything like that before all of your sexual experiences had been vanilla at best, so the idea of Eddie inflicting pain on you for his own sexual gratification lit a match under your ass, you wanted to experience it all with Eddie. You wanted to use him as your own personal guinea pig, find out exactly what it is that was missing in your last relationship, what made you tick, what made you cum.

Eddie breaks the kiss leaving you to whimper at the loss “do you wanna head back to my place?” He inquires while reading your face for any signs of uneasiness at his admission.

“Yes, please.” You whisper into his lips, voice dripping with desperation. Eddie couldn’t help but twitch in his pants because of it.

The drive to Eddie’s apartment was unnerving, not only because of the very unpredictable sex you were about to have, but because Eddie was swerving in and out of lanes like a madman. His one hand effortlessly held the wheel while the other possessively grabbed at your thigh, your skirt right back in its rightful place.

Although Eddie’s grip on you could’ve made you melt into your seat, you couldn’t help but wish he would keep both hands on the wheel if he was going to drive like hell-for-leather.

Finally he pulls into a sparse car park, bringing the van to a full stop. You could’ve swung the door open and fell to your knees kissing the floor, beyond grateful to get to your destination in one piece. Your tight grip on the door handle falters and you move to make a bee line out of the death trap.

“Oh c'mon, I don’t drive that bad.” Eddie chuckles at your less than thrilled face. He puts his arm around your shoulders, leading you up some stairs and to a dingy white door.

Once you step through the threshold and into the very decently sized apartment, the smell of pumpkin hits your nose. You look around at all of the metal memorabilia displayed around his home; from the band posters to the vinyls and tapes, to the array of band tees laying around. You slip off your shoes before you make your way deeper into the living room, and just as you suspected a half burned through pumpkin candle sits on a large speaker/stereo combo that holds a large stack of tapes—

A vast collection of metal: exodus, metal church, massacre, sodom, venom and overkill just to name a few.

Eddie haphazardly throws his keys into a rusty dish near his entryway and stalks up behind you as you continue to take in the decor. His hands fall on your hips, as he rubs over the fabric of your skirt, inching down closer and closer to your exposed thighs.

Resting his chin on your bare shoulder, Eddie whispers tauntingly, “something catch your eye, angel?”

You take in a shaky breath before you’re able to answer, “just looking at your tapes, you’ve got quite the collection.” You smile as you turn around, now facing the object of your desire.

“Mm, see anything you like? I can put one in, just for you.” He whispers suggestively.

His hands make way under your skirt, slowly sliding up until their back on your ass, almost mirroring the same position you were in when you got caught in that guy with the nice hairs, pool.

“I see a lot of things I like.” You whisper back as you bat your lashes up at Eddie, “oh you meant put a tape in, I thought we were talking about something else.” You giggle at the way Eddie’s eyes widen a bit and snorts out a loud howl of laughter, his head tipping back at the suggestive joke.

“Oh, so little miss good girl can crack some naughty jokes? I didn’t think you’d catch that.” He presumes while rubbing at his hairless chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard.

“I said I wasn’t as experienced, I never said I was a virgin.” You challenge with a raise of your eyebrows, this was a side of you that you felt comfortable with around Eddie, the playful flirting. Although Eddie was much better at it, it was still fun to play along.

“Mm, I distinctly remember you telling me you’re a virgin at having your pussy eaten though, am I right?” Eddie practically growls into your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck and causing a herd of goosebumps to raise on your skin.

His crude words nearly make a whimper slip out of your mouth, you gracefully swallow it back down not wanting Eddie in on the effect he was having over your body, but judging by the changes on your skin and the slight chill you weren’t able to compose, Eddie was very much aware of said effect. His sly grin were the unspoken words you needed to egg on all those pretty noises he’d heard for the first time on the hotline, the ones Eddie couldn’t go to sleep without dreaming of, the ones he couldn’t even jerk off without thinking about.

“Isn’t that what you told me? No one’s ever showed your little pussy what it’s been missing.” He tsks before continuing “that’s a real shame baby, but I’d be damn happy to show your sweet peach how it’s supposed to be eaten, cause I do it really well.” His cocky boyish grin is making you flood your panties and the dirty words aren’t doing anything to help.

You’re stunned into silence, you had given Eddie all of your sexy flirty material. You were at your proverbial limit. You had run out of characters.

He was a phone sex operator, of course you couldn’t keep up with his dirty talk, this was just like another normal working night for him.

Eddie grabbed at your chin, gently tilting your head up towards his, he could tell you had checked out and were now in your head, something Eddie noticed that you do a lot.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” The concern in his voice made you snap out of whatever foggy daze you were in.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just you’re really good at that, too good, if I’m being honest.” You light heartedly confess with a titter.

“Do you not like it? Should I tone it down?” You could tell by the rasp in his voice that he was nervous, the last thing he’d want is to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable.

You realized in that moment that reassurance was key with Eddie, he needed you to be more vocal, let him know what you like and dislike, and he’d do the rest.

That sentiment finally made your shoulders drop, the tension and nervousness dissipating from your body in an instant, you could trust him, give yourself to him in a way you never felt comfortable doing with anyone else.

“No, I meant it in a good way. I really like it, Eddie.” You purred up at him with a shy smile.

He beamed down at you with a look you could only describe as complete adoration.

His hands continued roaming your hips, thighs and ass, before he spoke up again.

“Lay your pretty ass on the couch, let me take care of you baby.” He asserts with a harsh slap to your barely covered behind.

The moan you’ve tried so hard to conceal finally found its way out, making Eddie release a breathy laugh into your neck.

“I knew you’d like that,” Eddie shook his head in utter disbelief “now get on the couch princess, I don’t wanna have to punish you, okay?” His assertive voice grew soft, as if trying to scale your reaction to his little game.

You practically pounced on the couch, not having to be told twice. You were a ready and willing participant in whatever game Eddie wanted to play with you, as long as he continued touching and talking to you, you’d do just about anything he wanted.

You laid back on the black leather couch, your head touching the cracked armrest. Eddie stalked up like a predator to prey. “Nope,” he said with a pop of the p, “I want you like this..” he manhandles you into position. Your head on the lower backrest of the couch, your ass slightly hanging off the cushion as he lifts your legs up while simultaneously pulling them apart.

Your skirt now hiked up to your belly and your white panties on full display, along with the quarter sized wet spot in the middle of your center.

“Stay right there.” Eddie commands with a wag of his finger.

He saunters over to the stereo, grabbing for a cassette to slip on, most likely to hide your wails and moans that he’s going to gladly pull from you.

He doesn’t ask you what tape you want, again. Choosing one he knows will conceal your cries of pleasure.

You continue to do your best by holding yourself in place, not wanting to move and disobey what Eddie had asked of you.

It takes you a while to place what song he’s chosen to play, and in that moment you couldn’t be anymore grateful that you have an older metalhead sibling.

Dragon time by Saint Vitus booms through the speakers. The slow melodic voice, heavy shreds of the guitar and overall trippy work of the instruments was the perfect soundtrack for fucking.

Eddie wastes no time, before you can even comprehend what’s going on; he’s kneeling in front of you, face so close to your dripping wet pussy.

He makes quick work of pulling your panties off of your body, like he’s unwrapping the gift he’s been waiting ages for on Christmas morning.

His eagerness makes you giggle.

Eddie flashes you a warning look, as if to say “be quiet or I’ll make you be quiet.” You got the message loud and clear. He grabs at your thighs, once again pulling them back; your knees now resting on the leather of the backrest above your head, your pussy open and on full display like a beautiful painting just for him.

“Wow,” Eddie whispers to himself in complete and utter fascination, “you’re a fucking dream.” He utters again, while moving in closer to your glistening cunt.

He nudges your clit with the tip of his nose, making you whimper at the swift shock to your bundle of nerves.

Eddie smiles up at you through his lashes, offering you a cocky grin before he sticks his tongue out and kitten licks at your clit, the silver ball on his tongue adding the most perfect friction. His eyes never leave yours as he gently gives it a few more flicks.

The whole thing was so intimate, yet downright filthy. You loved it, loved everything Eddie was willing to give you.

“Fuck!” You groan, as his lips gently wrap around your sensitive nub and begins suckling. It felt like heaven, you couldn’t help but throw your head back in complete ecstasy.

Eddie continued lapping at your pussy while occasionally sucking or fucking you with his tongue.

He was right, he’s really fucking good at this.

Once Eddie slipped two fingers in and curled them up, you were a goner. Your body shaking and writhing as he sucked your clit while fucking you on his heavily ringed and tattooed digits. His left hand slowly rubbed up and down on your right thigh, while continually repeating how tight you were for him.

As you were cumming the hardest you’ve ever come, Eddie slipped his drenched pruney fingers from your sopping hole and grabbed both thighs hiking them up higher. He continued to suck on your clit, but this time it was with more pressure as he shook his head back and forth, for what you could only assume was for maximum pleasure.

“Holy shit! I’m cumming so hard!” You shouted over the music still playing in the background, “please don’t stop!” You began repeating to yourself like a prayer.

Once your body stopped shaking and your moans died down, Eddie popped his head up from between your thighs. He assed your face before asking “how was that?” As if your screams and cries weren’t enough of an answer.

“That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say with a serious yet fucked out face, Eddie snorts at your words while letting go of your legs, they softly fall to the floor and you’re convinced if you tried to use them in any capacity, they would completely fail you.

“Do you need help, baby?” Eddie sweetly asks while holding out his hand for you to take.

You tentatively place your smaller hand in his, pulling yourself up on shaky legs. You flush with embarrassment when you feel a combination of Eddie’s spit and your juices spill down your inner thighs.

Eddie swiftly throws you over his shoulder, as if you weigh nothing, practically skipping off to what you presume was his bedroom, “Eddie, I could’ve walked!” You yelp.

“Well, your legs were shaky and what better way to thank you for letting me eat your sweet pussy, than to escort you straight to my bed, hmm?” He grunts as he slaps your exposed ass before lightly throwing you down onto his black silky sheets.

Eddie begins removing his leather jacket, harshly placing it over his brown wooden desk chair that was off to the side, then he makes quick work at removing his band shirt, haphazardly tossing it somewhere in the mess of his room, to be dealt with later. His tattoos once again capture your full attention, but this time you didn’t shy away from letting your eyes roam, you let them venture from his chest and arms to the “choking hazard” that made your heart race in your chest; you needed him, you needed him like the hot needs the sun.

As Eddie moves in closer, you notice the only thing left on his body are his damp red boxer shorts, your eyes selfishly roam his body, again. Finally meeting his chocolate brown orbs, as he hovers over you. A shaky breath is released from your mouth, a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks, sensing your nervousness. You nod as your doe eyes stare up at him, Eddie could’ve exploded; both heart and another organ, at the look you were giving him, so sweet and innocent, he fucking loved it.

“Yeah, it’s more than okay.” You reassure with a whisper, while studying Eddie’s face; his dark glazed over yet caring eyes, the light freckles on his nose and his beautiful swollen, kiss bitten lips.

He moves in closer rubbing his nose against yours, you close the gap for a second time tonight by bringing your lips to his in a hungry, lust filled kiss.

Eddie sucks on your bottom lip before his tongue makes entrance into your mouth. It’s sloppy and messy and spit filled and the pleasure of it goes straight between your legs. So much so, you cannot contain the desperate moans and whimpers that slip out, especially as Eddie begins to rub his rapidly growing cock against your very exposed pussy.

“You sound so pretty for me, baby.” Eddie whispers into your neck, “don’t stop making those noises okay? If I’m making you feel good I need to know, I don’t give a fuck how loud you get, understand?” He says as you both now realize the tape has stopped playing in the living room.

“Okay.” You shyly whisper back before biting at your tender, bottom lip.

Before Eddie has the chance to kiss you again, you speak up; still rather shyly. “Can I um, can I ask you a question?” Your voice is almost as low as the humming of the refrigerator in his kitchen, but thankfully Eddie hears you.

“You can ask me anything, sweet girl.” He says in a tone almost as low as yours.

“This is stupid but um have you ever gotten t-tested before?” You stutter out as your chest warms with embarrassment.

“Like for std’s?” Eddie says louder this time, almost in mild disbelief that you’d bring that up in the middle of what was happening, as that’s a question you usually ask beforehand.

You nod your head, feeling slight mortification while looking at everything in the room but Eddie.

“Yeah actually, I just got tested a few weeks ago.” He says while reaching in his night stand, a crinkle from paper could be heard as he whips the results from a test he had taken exactly three weeks ago out and in front of your face. “I don’t keep it in there for times like this, cause I know that’s where your mind will go.” He says with a huff of laughter.

You laugh back, playfully swatting at his chest.

“You know me too well, already.” You quip as you shake your head in disbelief that he has read you so well in just mere hours.

“What about you?” He asks, making your smile slightly falter into something more serious.

“Yeah, I actually had to get tested after Troy cheated on me, just to be sure. Ya know?” You said with a hint of glumness to your words. “I'm clean, and I haven’t been with anyone sense, so…” you trail off, while uncomfortably shifting underneath him.

Eddie studies your face for a few second before his head moves in closer to your ear, “are you asking because you want me to fuck you raw, sweetheart?” His words alone make you whimper, a little from embarrassment but mostly just because he’d picked up on exactly what you were trying to put down.

You nod with a “mmhm” that sounded more sexual than intended.

“Want to feel every inch of my cock in that tight little pussy, don’t you?” His cocky words and smirk to match made you want to cower away while simultaneously wanting to flip him over and ride him until your legs were sore. But you did no such thing. Instead you nod your head, again. This time with a seductive bat of your lashes as you bite at your bottom lip.

“Dirty girl.” He playfully snides before taking a chunk of skin on your neck between his teeth and gently biting, before sucking and soothing with the ball of his tongue ring.

You moan out into the dim light of his bedroom, your head falls deeper into his silk sheets as your back arches, pushing your clothed breasts into Eddie’s chest. The position allows him more access to leave all the marks he so pleased.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull out once I’m inside you, angel.” Eddie growls into your neck, before biting and sucking at more of your sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to.” You exhale with the sweetest most feminine moan Eddie has heard by far.

“Oh?” He chuckles before placing a few more wet kisses along your jawline to make you squirm.

“You want me to cum inside you too, sweet girl?” He shakes his head with a tsk, “Angel's not much of an angel at all, is she?” Eddie smirks at his teasing before going back to his work of leaving wet kisses across the skin of your neck.

You continue to moan and writhe at his provoking words, the burning in your belly feels like it’s rapidly spreading, and the only thing that can put it out is him, inside you.

Eddie begins to grow slightly impatient at your lack of words; his fingers make quick work at grabbing your cheeks with a little more force than you’ve been used to, tonight. “I asked you a question, baby. Do you want me to cum inside your pussy?”

Your eyes widen while his bore down into yours as if he’s so enamored by you, like he was genuinely looking at you for the first time. Not just a girl he wanted to sleep with, no. A girl he wanted to be with, a girl he wanted to grow with.

“Say it.” He growls. His fingers tighten on your cheeks, but not hard enough to cause pain. Even if they did you wouldn’t tell Eddie to stop, this side of him was one you were curious and enthralled to see more of.

“Yes. I want you to cum inside me, Eddie.” You whimper into his lips as they hover over yours, before continuing your desperate plea. “I’m on the pill.” You finish, before grabbing the back of Eddie’s head and crashing his lips back into yours, but before you could settle into the kiss, he pulls away.

Your eyes are still half lidded from the kiss before you realize his tattooed fingers are making work at removing the clips on your white corset top.

Your best guess would be around close to 40 small clasps, but Eddie’s dexterous fingers remove them all in under minutes.

He flings the white top open after the last obstacle has been removed. Gently pulling it from around your back and throwing it to meet his shirt and jeans somewhere scrawled on the mess of his bedroom floor.

He removes his knee from its kneeling position between your legs, standing up on both socked feet to take in your form. His eyes look dark and hungry while they explore every part of you that you have so gracefully exposed to him.

“You’re so beautiful and gorgeous…just fucking perfect, sweetheart.” He coos before moving back into his previous position of hovering over you, both hands taking place on each side of your head.

His arm tattoos, protruding veins and muscles are now eye level. You take in every tattoo from a flock of bats, to an “HF” in some old English font, to the name ‘Wayne’ in a heart tattoo on his chest. There were so many; you’d have to explore them later.

“Can I see all of you?” You ask, too timidly for your own liking.

Eddie’s warmth leaves yours, again. He works quickly, thumbing his boxers down and clumsily kicking them off of his left leg.

You chuckle at his uncoordinated actions, before your breath hitches in your throat; his cock now your sole focus and you couldn’t look at anything else in this moment if you tried.

It’s fat, long and the silver jewelry on his tip makes you clench your thighs together, but also kind of terrifies you at the same time.

His head is an angry red, some beads of precum have worked its way onto the jewelry. Everything about him has you salivating.

“It’ll fit, baby.” He sighed, you were surprised at the lack of cockiness in his voice. You wondered how many women’s eyes bulged at the sight of him, for him to be so used to having to quell away worries.

Not important, you’re here now.

“With the piercing too? Will that hurt?” You scrunch your nose up at the thought of it hurting your insides. No one you’ve ever been with had piercings, hell they didn’t even have tattoos, so this was all so new.

Eddie snorts “no, I promise it won’t hurt, the whole point is to bring you extreme pleasure. That’s all I intend to do.” He admits while moving to lift your skirt up, giving him a better view of your still glistening sex. The manicured hair on top of your mound now wet and shiny, too.

“How do you want me?” He asks as his fingertips ghost over your still sensitive clit.

“Can I be on top?” You hesitantly ask, you figured the position would give your body more control, or maybe that’s just what you’re telling yourself so you feel like you have some semblance of jurisdiction.

“Yeah baby, you can be on top.” Eddie nods while licking at his lips, he pulls you up so he can lay, now mirroring your previous position.

He sits up, pulling off your last article and letting the skirt meet the same fate as the other garments.

Eddie grabs your hips with both hands, moving you closer to straddle his lap. His cock lays flat upwards towards his belly button, so big you couldn’t help but to sit on the shaft. Warm skin on skin making you and Eddie moan out, as you maneuver yourself to get comfortable.

You’re still a soaked mess from Eddie’s earlier ministrations between your thighs, making the glide against Eddie’s shaft that much more delicious. “Fuck, angel!” He groans as his jaw tightens and his head falls back in complete and utter bliss.

“I need you inside me, Eddie.” You whisper into his jaw before you begin your trek down his neck to his chest. Leaving sloppy kisses of your own.

Eddie harshly grabs your ass with one hand, fingers prodding roughly into the fleshy globe while reaching down to wrap his other hand around his cock, giving it a few slow but forceful strokes before he begins lining his tip up with your dripping hole.

Once he’s finally breached your entrance, Eddie steadily holds your hips as if to keep you from taking too much at a time. His girth is stretching you open, so much that your eyes begin to slightly water and your breathing gets ragged. You can feel the silver jewelry sliding against your walls, you can feel it as you take him inch by mouth watering inch.

“Oh my god!” You and Eddie both groan in unison, as more curses slip out of Eddie’s mouth, yours drops open in a silent moan. Everything almost too much; while simultaneously not being even close to enough.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight, baby.” Eddie whimpers.

You remove your hands that were digging harshly into Eddie’s shoulders, replacing them onto his sticker littered wooden headboard. The way he continued to split you open slowly, methodically had you gripping the wood so hard your knuckles began to whiten. The action brought your chest closer to Eddie’s face, he wasted no time before he began kissing, sucking and licking at your hardened nipples, his tongue ring gliding ever so sensually over the stiffened buds.

Finally, after your slow work of sinking down onto Eddie’s cock, it’s now sheathed entirely inside of you, along with the help of Eddie’s thumb rubbing small circles into your clit.

Your whole body was buzzing, you felt high and drunk off of Eddie, not only with having him inside of you but by the sounds that were slipping out of his pretty mouth, too many “fuck, babys” and “holy shits” to keep count.

Your hands grip the headboard even tighter as you use it as leverage to help you begin bouncing up and down on Eddie’s painfully hard cock, while he begins to lose it below you.

His hands move from your hips now that you’re fully seated on him, down to your ass. Taking two handfuls, fingers grabbing so tight his nails are breaching your skin, almost like he’s afraid you’d disappear.

“Fuck yes, baby. Keep bouncing on my cock!” He growls before slapping one of the cheeks he’d been clutching for dear life. Your skin easily heats up at the force, the spank brought you more pleasure than you ever thought it would. You had decided right then that you wanted Eddie to be rougher with you.

“Please—” you begin, already too fucked out to string together a simple sentence.

“Hmm?” Eddie hums with a teasing lilt behind his words “what was that, angel? Please what? Huh?”

Your eyes begin to water again, not from the teasing but from the rapidly growing fire in the pit of your stomach, one you’ve never had the pleasure of feeling, until now.

You swallow away the spit that is now coating your tongue, before you try speaking again.

“Please, don’t be gentle. I n-need you to fuck me.” You do nothing to hide the shaky rasp in your sweet voice, Eddie can already feel you squeezing him, he knows you’re close.

So he takes matters into his own hands, regaining the control he so often enjoys.

He quickly flips you both over, deja vu of the position you’d first been in when Eddie threw you on his bed.

He makes haste work of grabbing his cock and slamming it back into you, this time giving you no warnings or slow thrusts. No, he’s giving you exactly what you so desperately begged for.

Eddie hikes your legs up by the backs of your knees. The position pushes him in deeper, so deep you can feel him in your abdomen.

“Fuck!” You whine “you’re so deep!” You can practically feel Eddie’s piercing drag against your spot, a spot you’ve only ever been able to reach once with your fingers at a time when you were particularly too horny, but it didn’t feel like this.

“I know I am, baby. I can see my dick in your belly.” He titters before he removes one hand from your leg, placing it on top of your lower stomach where his cock is protruding from, he rubs it as if he’s trying to jack himself off through your skin.

“You feel that?” He says while slowly thrusting in and out of your aching pussy. You glance down to get a better look, nodding your head with the smallest “mmhm” to follow.

He smirks at you with a wink before he’s back to the hard rough thrusts you so shamelessly begged for.

“Mmm, pussys so good princess. Can’t wait to fill her up, have her leaking my cum for hours.” He huskily groans into the skin of your neck.

His thrusts are relentless, and the fire in the pit of your stomach, returns with a vengeance.

“Oh fuck!” You wail as you feel the beginnings of a very intense orgasm, “I’m gonna—” you continue your shouts of pleasure. “Oh my god, Eddie!”

“That’s it, Angel. Cum for me.” He growls into your lips before moving in for a searing, passionate kiss.

“I’ve never—” the words die on your tongue, as the overwhelming sense of contemptment grips your body.

“No one’s ever made you cum on their cock, baby?” Eddie questions

His eyebrows are pinched as he stares into your eyes. His thrusts slow, making the semblance of a sweet release dissipate.

“No, no one’s ever made me cum but myself.” You bashfully confess.

Eddie’s thrusts come to a full stop, his eyes feel like they’re burning holes into your sockets. He clenches his jaw before shooting you a look of empathy, like he’s so sorry no one’s ever taken care of you before, but he’s here now and that's all he wants, to continue taking care of you, forever.

“Hold on to me, sweet girl.” He softly mutters “I’m gonna make you feel so good, okay?” It’s not said in a cocky, ‘I know I can make you cum’ kind of way, but more so in an ‘I’ll do anything you need to make you cum’ kind, and if he was thrusting any faster, those words would’ve been the thing to pull you under, deep into that ocean of orgasmic bliss.

You wrap your legs around Eddie’s lower back while throwing your hands around his neck, clinging on to him like some kind of koala to a tree.

Eddie smirks at your actions; fuck, if you weren’t the cutest fucking thing in the world.

His thrusts begin to pick up, gradually until they’re fast and unforgiving. He begins kissing and sucking on a spot he’s found that makes you squirm and moan.

He brings his thumb up to rub along your bottom lip, the calluses on his finger glide so smoothly on your spit soaked skin.

“Suck.” He demands into your ear, his words willing you to open up, taking the digit onto your tongue before closing. You make a little show of ‘how deep will it go?’ before finally popping off and leaving it drenched with your spittle.

He brings his saturated thumb in between your bodies and begins rubbing small gentle circles on your clit, making your body jolt at the shock of pleasure.

Your legs begin to shake and your limbs begin to tighten around Eddie, your head falls back and the words you wanna scream that are on the tip of your tongue, just won’t come out.

“That’s it, that’s it, Angel.” Eddie whispers to you with his head in the crook of your neck, “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby.” He tenderly growls, “you’re doing so good for me. Just let go, let go and cum on my cock.” He mumbles those last words before giving the spot on your neck a particularly hard suck.

His praise mixed with his pierced cock stretching you out and the attention to your neck; throws you so hard over that precipice, you’ve just been aching to fall from.

This orgasm was life changing, earth shattering, all consuming.

Once you’d fully come to, Eddie begins planting little kisses to your face and neck, repeating how good you did, and what a good girl you are for him.

“It’s my turn, baby.” Eddie whispers before he's pounding you into his mattress, deep hard strokes and filthy words.

“I’m gonna ruin your sweet little cunt for anyone else, you hear me?” He practically snarls “Tight fucking pussy, just for me.” He continues, “you ready baby? You ready for daddy’s cum?” His body stiffens before he begins groaning and babbling incoherently.

As he cums you treat his neck as he treated yours, leaving sloppy kisses and sucking little purple marks into his ivory skin.

Once his body has relaxed, you can feel his release dripping out of you and onto his silk sheets, but he makes no effort to move, his knees stay planted on the bed so as not to completely squish you while his head burrows into your breasts.

He sighs like he’s the most comfortable he’s ever been while you begin rubbing your nails gently across his scalp and playing with his brown curly strands.

The silence is comfortable for a few minutes as you both come back into your bodies from such intense climaxes.

Eddie’s body stiffens a bit as he looks up at you from between your chest.

“Can you be mine?” He timidly asks, as if a kid asking for candy.

“Yes, I’m yours Eddie.”

🏷️ list

@comfortcharactercraze @loritate7311 @elvendria @bexreadstoomuch @potayto-princess @cutiecusp @munsonsguitarpick @xlilithb @alienthings @hollster88 @aysheashea @dylpickleblog @ms1oftheboys @eddie-hero-munson @manda-panda-monium @skyfullofsong123 @jamiethebanished @bohemianrhapsody86 @marriedtoeddie @via-darling @josephquinncurl @tenderhornynihilist @ashlynnkennedy @bookshelf-dust @dumbslxtclub @yujyujj @emsgoodthinkin @variety-fangirl @briasnow-blog @rehfan @my-munson-styles @crazymasha @divadinag @mrsjellymunson @micheledawn1975

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Chapter Nine.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Ten. The Playlist. Series Masterlist.

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky are holding it together. Until you aren’t.

Pairing - DadsBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Warnings - cursing. hospital setting. talk of illness/health issues. panic attack.

Word Count - 3k

Authors Note - I probably sound like a broken record, but… thank you all so much for your patience and support. couldn’t do it without you. can you even believe that next chapter will be chapter ten? thanks for sticking with me. sorry for this rollercoaster of a chapter. there is still more to come - don’t worry!! <3

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my writing, which generates more of it. feel free to send me a comment or an inbox, too!! thanks, my loves!! <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

You don’t remember the journey.

One minute, Bucky’s grabbing your hand and bundling you into the passenger seat of his truck, buckling you in as your hands shake. The next, he’s undoing your seatbelt, telling you that you’ve arrived as he puts the car in park. You don’t recall speeding across town and into the city. You can’t even think back to the roads flying past in a blur as your thoughts run at a hundred miles an hour.

The only thing that’s on your mind is your Dad.

You and Buck take the stairs two at a time, hands clasped together tightly. When you reach the reception desk, you try to speak, but nothing comes out. Your words have dried up, dissolved and evaporated into thin air. Your soulmate saves you, once again.

“We’re here to see a family member in cardiology. Can you tell us where to go, please?”

The receptionist looks up at you both, before nodding her head in the right direction.

“Follow that hallway, then through the double doors and up the stairs. Go left, and you’ll see the sign.”

You’re on autopilot, heading straight towards the doors. Bucky follows you quickly, throwing a chaste but genuine thanks to the lady behind the desk as he goes.

“Baby,” he calls after you when you reach the top. “Baby, hold on.”

You spin around, looking up at him with glassy eyes. Your bottom lip quivers as he tucks some hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek gently.

“Take a breath, please. You’re gonna faint before you get there.”

You inhale as deeply as possible, your lungs only filling to half capacity. You grab onto his hand for a second, squeezing as hard as you can.

“Okay. Breath done. Let’s go.”

You take off down the hallway, leaving Bucky to jog after you. Finding the big blue sign that reads Cardiology, you storm through the doors, looking around frantically. You spot Room 4 and head straight into it.

The room is all white, clinical and clean. There’s sunshine beaming through the window, but it doesn’t seem to warm the space. It’s cold, almost ominous. It makes it hard to breathe.

The bed is empty, crisp sheets tucked tightly into the plastic sides. Your Mom is sat in the chair beside it. She looks small, swallowed by the blue material.

“Mama.”

You don’t recognise your own voice. It’s choked and strangled, foreign to your ears.

She practically jumps up, striding across the room to wrap you in her arms. Inhaling the familiar scent of home, you hug her back as tightly as you can.

“Where is he?”

“He’s in surgery.”

You breathe a half sigh of relief. You’d feared the worst, when you’d walked in and seen the empty bed.

“What happened?”

Bucky’s been leaning against the door frame, watching you both carefully but giving you space. The tone of his voice is calm, collected. He’s holding it together for you.

“I honestly couldn’t understand it all. They were telling me so much information so fast.”

She sits down in the chair while you and Bucky perch on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“It was supposed to just be an appointment, wasn’t it?”

She nods.

“They did the EKG and weren’t happy with the results, so the nurse put us in this room while she waited for the Doctor. Then the Doctor burst in, talking about blockages and bypasses and emergency surgery.”

Her hands are trembling, neatly manicured nails being picked at repeatedly. Bucky reaches over and links his fingers with hers, all grounded and reassuring.

“They put him in a gown,” she continues, “and all of a sudden they were wheeling him away. I can’t even remember what I said, or if I said goodbye or I love you.”

“Mama, you will have said I love you. I promise you that.”

“She’s right, Lori. You will have said exactly the right thing. You always do.”

She squeezes his hand gratefully, taking a deep breath.

“The Doctor said he had a blockage, and they were worried about blood clotting. That’s why they rushed him in. The nurse said she’d update me when she knew anything, but I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You know what Jack’s like,” Bucky laughs. “He’s the toughest guy I know.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, freshen up a little. Call me if a nurse comes in, won’t you?”

You nod, clasping her hand tightly for a moment.

“Promise, Mama.”

She stands up carefully, inhaling before leaving the room. Your posture instantly crumbles, faked bravado leaving you as soon as she’s out of view.

“I’m so scared,” you whisper.

Bucky hears it clear as day.

He slides closer to you, wrapping both arms around your frame. Pressing a kiss into your hair, he runs his fingertips up and down your spine gently.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re allowed to be scared. But everything is going to be okay. I know it will be.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you mumble into the cotton of his shirt. “It should, but it doesn’t. That scares me, too.”

Bucky traces the features of your face gently with his thumb, his ocean blue eyes never leaving yours. He dances his finger over the slope of your nose, your cheekbones, the curve of your lips. His skin is warm and calloused against yours, polar opposite to how cold you feel.

“I’m your soulmate,” he murmurs, “but I’m not a miracle worker. Fuck, I wish I was. There are gonna be some things that I can’t fix for you, no matter how badly I want to. We just have to ride them out together, sweet girl.”

You nod, leaning in to rest your head against his pounding heart.

It still beats to the rhythm of your name. Even after all this time.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You don’t jump apart when your Mom walks back in.

Upon first glance, the picture is simple - a girl being comforted by her Dads best friend. A hug. Reassuring words.

If you look closer, the image becomes a little more complicated - her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. His hand cradling the back of her head. Familiar lips softly pressed to her temple.

Any other time, someone might question the sheer intimacy of the moment. But not now.

Now, all focus is drawn to the nurse in sky blue scrubs that appears in the doorway.

“You’re all Jack’s family?”

You all spin to face her, nodding frantically.

“Thought so. He’s out of surgery, and he’ll be brought up here shortly.”

“Is he alright?” your Mom asks, standing up. You can physically see the tension rising in her body.

“He’s doing okay. The Doctor is going to come up and talk to you a little about some… complications. But he’s okay.”

The reassurance at the end of the sentence doesn’t make any of you feel any better. You’re stuck on the word complications.

As if on cue, your Dad is wheeled in, all laid up cosy in crisp white sheets. He has oxygen tucked up under his nose, tubes and wires attached to his hands. He looks fragile, which is a state you’ve never seen him in before. Usually, he’s larger than life, braver than a bear, with a booming laugh that can make anyone smile. In this current moment, he looks like a little boy again, put to bed softly by his mother on a school night.

They get him situated as the Doctor approaches the three of you, huddled by the chair to stay out of the way.

“The surgery went well. The blockage has been fixed, and hopefully shouldn’t reoccur. We’ll put him on medication for the future, blood thinners most likely, to prevent anything further.”

Your Mom nods, lips pressed together.

“The nurse said there was complications?”

Bucky’s voice is low and careful, the timbre of it reverberating next to you.

“We ran into some trouble with the anaesthetic. We struggled to wake him for quite some time, and then his blood pressure completely bottomed out. We managed to get him steady again, but it was a little touch and go for a minute.”

Your Mom sits down slowly, holding onto the arms of the chair with taut knuckles.

“Your husband is going to be just fine, ma’am. We’ll manage any future worries with meds. Some people just don’t respond well to anaesthesia, especially if they’ve never had it before. We’ll monitor him over the next few days, keep him under observation just in case. But it looks positive. I assure you.”

She inhales, leaning back and exhaling the breath.

“He’ll probably just sleep it off for the rest of today, so don’t worry if he’s barely conscious. His body has been through a trauma, and he needs some time to recover.”

You all nod, Bucky’s hand reaching out to squeeze yours momentarily. He subtly presses a kiss into the nape of your neck, as if to melt the tension away.

You all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“If you need anything, there are always nurses walking around on this floor. They’ll call me if necessary.”

She smiles before leaving, picking up her clipboard as she goes.

“Thanks, Doctor!” Bucky calls after her, making both you and your Mom laugh softly.

The three of you remain still for a while, scared to make any sudden moves. Eventually, Bucky stretches his legs.

“I’m gonna grab some coffees. The usuals?”

You both nod at him.

“Be right back. Call me if you need anything.”

You can’t take your eyes off him as he leaves. You miss his warmth instantly.

“He’s a good guy,” your Mom whispers to you from the chair, where you’re perched on the armrest. She’s watching him go too.

You hum in agreement.

“He looks out for you.”

You hum in agreement once again, albeit this time a little quieter.

“You guys are close, these days.”

You inhale calmly.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He’s got my back.”

“He likes you a lot.”

Before she can continue, your Dads eyes flutter open slowly. You both jump up, standing on either side of his bed.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh lighting.

“How you feeling, tough guy?”

He smiles softly, and the relief that fills your body is so overwhelming, you feel as if your legs might give out. You hold onto the metal bars of the bed for support, praying you stay upright.

He groans a little, throat hoarse.

“Water?”

Your Mom puts the straw in his mouth, nodding in approval as he sips.

“I’m good,” he croaks. “Got my girls with me.”

You both laugh.

“Jack, as much as I’d love to be your girl…”

Bucky is stood against the doorframe, keeping a careful distance from the family moment. Your Dad chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re the prettiest one, Buck,” he says with as much conviction as he can muster. You all can’t help but laugh even more.

“How you feeling, honey?”

“Fine. Tired, though.”

“The Doctor said you’d most likely just sleep it off all day. Go back to sleep, if you want to. We’re right here.”

He nods, closing his eyes instantly. Your Mom settles back in the chair as Bucky hands her a coffee. He goes to give you yours, but you place it down on the side table.

“I’m gonna get some air. Be back in a minute.”

He gives you a look that says are you sure?, but you’re already out the door, not glancing back.

“She doesn’t like hospitals.”

Bucky nods in recognition, but can’t focus on anything except the severe levels of rising anxiety in his chest.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You can’t find your way out, and it’s making you panic more.

You’re throwing doors open, running down sets of stairs. Eventually, you see an exit, and barge through it with no regard for your surroundings. You’re at the front of the hospital, somehow making it to the main entrance.

Your lungs feel like they’re burning, white hot heat filling them with each weak inhale that you manage. The world is turning, suddenly, the entire axis of the Earth shifting on its head. Gasping, you grab onto a railing, desperate to just take a full breath and calm down.

The more you try to breathe, the worse things seem to get. It feels like the non existent walls are closing in, claustrophobia settling into your weary bones. Your legs buckle as your surroundings spin.

You don’t even register the impact of your knees hitting the ground, nor feel the pain that follows. You’re only minutely aware that you’re even on the floor because you can feel the warm tarmac underneath your palms.

Suddenly, there are two strong arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you into a solid chest. You relax against it, tired of fighting.

“It’s me, baby. Shit, it’s me.”

The voice is panicked, almost frantic in the way it hits your ears. There’s a hand stroking over your hair, strumming over your cheekbone, squeezing your shoulder. You wonder for a second if anyone has ever died from something like this. You feel as if you’re pretty close.

“You’ve got to start slowing your breathing, honey. Can you hear me?”

You think you nod. You assume you do, because the voice continues.

“Put your hand on my heart,” he says as he does it for you. “Just like that. Can you feel the beat of it, underneath your palm? It sounds like a drum, right? One two, one two, one two. Can you focus on it?”

You try to hone into the sound. You think you might be able to distantly feel it, where your hand meets his shirt.

“How about if we create a pattern together? And we’ll both follow it? Like this.”

The voice tilts your chin upwards, so you’re looking into his eyes.

“Bucky,” you choke out.

“Breathe when I breathe, okay? In, and out,” he inhales and exhales. “In, and out. There we go, atta girl. In, and out. You got it.”

You stay collapsed on the sidewalk for what feels like hours, breathing when he tells you to. You focus your vision on his ocean blue irises, finding your home in them. Eventually, you feel like you’re somewhat filling your lungs, and the world stops spinning.

“There she is.”

You drop your head onto his chest, warm tears soaking into the material of his shirt.

“I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You finally let yourself relax, sagging against his body as he holds you close.

“Fuck, you scared me. Are you hurt?”

You don’t even know the answer to that question yourself.

Bucky starts checking you over, looking for any visible injuries. When he reaches your knees, he inhales sharply.

“Shit, baby. We’ll have to get some antiseptic on these grazes of yours. You’ll have some badass bruises tomorrow, tough girl.”

You realise, slowly, where you are. You’re on the sidewalk outside the hospital, sat on the floor, wrapped in Bucky’s arms. You try to stand up too quickly, and wobble backwards.

“Woah, easy. There we go. Come sit over here with me.”

There’s a wooden bench not far from the entrance, tucked in between a hedge and a flowerbed. You take a seat, surveying the bloody mess of your knees as you do.

“They look worse than they are, baby. Promise. We’ll fix them when we go back upstairs.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he throws an arm around you and tugs you into his side.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, hmm?”

“Don’t like hospitals,” you whisper. “Never have.”

“Is there… any particular reason? Or is it just one of those things?”

“Spent a lot of time here when I was younger,” you admit quietly. “I was kind of a sick kid. Had my own set of issues. Lots of appointments and stuff.”

Bucky nods against the top of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“You never mentioned anything.”

“Didn’t think it was relevant.”

He hums.

“I’m sorry,” you confess. “For causing a scene. Being dramatic.”

“Honey,” he scolds. “You’re not dramatic. We’ve all got our fears, the things that make us tick. I promise you, no one thinks you’re dramatic. You feel how you feel, and that’s okay.”

You sigh in defeat, pulling your knees up under your chin.

“I think I was holding it together until I saw he was okay. When I knew he was fine, I just… crumbled.”

“That’s a perfect reflection of your character, you know. Keeping it together for everyone else.”

You chuckle dryly.

“Maybe. I suppose.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The two of you sit outside for a while longer, breathing in the fresh air and revelling in each others embrace.

“We should probably go back up. They’re going to wonder where we are.”

You go to stand up, but Bucky pulls you back down onto the bench.

“Honey, wait. There’s something we need to… talk about, before we go.”

You turn to face him, and instantly tense up. He looks worried.

“Buck, what is it?”

“I… I don’t know what we’re supposed to do. Or how we’re meant to handle this. I really, really don’t know what the best angle is here.”

“You’re scaring me,” you say as you cradle his face. His scruff tickles your palm, and any other time, you both would have laughed.

“Before I came down to find you, your Mom raised a question with me.”

“… which was?”

He takes a deep breath. Exhales it shakily.

“She asked me how long you and I have been soulmates.”

tag list part one

@lillytracy6996 @securegorgon @roostersforevergirl @povlvr @val-writesstuff  @dreadfulxives18 @1deadpool26 @abbygraceasd @nyutasgirl @mavrellover91 @winterslove1917 @f-this42 @skewedcherries @noisesinthedark @kandis-mom @black-cat-2 @harrystylesandthegoobs @vladsgirlxx @h0nestly-though @arienotari @nash-dara @wandaneedstherapy @galaxy-dusk @justherefortheficandsmut @cremebruleequeen @cjand10 @buggy14 @avengers-fixation @blueberrybambi @beautiful-loserr @sarah1barnes @miss-rebel-without-applause @ragingrainbowshipl @shamrockqueen @savemeroman @jenn-f @8crazy-freak8 @daddyjackfrost @openup-yourmind @adangerousbalance @mandijo17 @daddylorianisastateofmind @rcarbo1 @casa-boiardi @spideegwen @navs-bhat @mssbridgerton @asuni921 @middle-of-the-earth @mfrnchsk

[barleyo]

Daddy's Girl.

Step Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Don't like? Don't read! Either way, READ THE TAGS. I'm starting to get pretty weird on this blog, so expect more stuff like this! A girl has to feed her fetishes, so feel free to tag along with me and enjoy what my sick little mind thinks up. Thanks for reading!

Tags: stepcest, step-dad/step-daughter relationship, cream pie, daddy issues, use of "baby girl" and "daddy's girl," daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, infidelity, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, LARGE AGE GAP (legal), 2nd person POV

Word count: 2.1k

As far as your mother was concerned, your father was worth less than the sum of his parts. He was fleeting idea, a mere concept in both of your lives ever since you could remember. Sure, you remembered a few odd Christmases with a surplus of gifts, all tagged "from Daddy," and a few daddy-daughter dates here and there, but that wasn't enough to make up for his true absence. 

It wasn't a surprise when your mom eventually left him, scooping you up with her. Just you and her, and the rare postcard that your sperm-donor decided to ship off once a year or so. It was good enough then when it was just you two finding your way in the world, but it went downhill when your mom found a new boy toy. 

Leon.

He wasn't a bad guy, by any means. Wasn't pushy, didn't make you call him "dad" or try to impose his will onto you, but his presence made the absence of your real father that much more obvious. You tried to ignore him for the most part, letting your mom have her little relationship with him to tide her over. 

But then they got married. Leon became a more permanent fixture. That was no bueno. 

You toughened it out, being cordial with him until you finally hit that mark of independence: sweet, sweet 18! The big one-eight, your ticket to freedom! 

Everything was planned out for your big day. Mom and Leon made a cake, presents were given, and all birthday wishes granted, except for one. What you really wanted, was for your dad to show up for just this one day, just this once, to have him and not just his money. 

You could never get that lucky, though, and that thought was cemented in your head when you found yourself waiting for him outside of your house. The driveway was empty, not even your mom's car was out there, she still had to head off to work. The world couldn't pause for a birthday girl, it seemed.

Stepping back inside to the house, you slammed the door behind you, practically throwing yourself onto the leather couch in the living room. The tears started faster than you could contain them, and quite honestly, you didn't want to contain them. It was your party, damn it, and you would cry if you wanted to!

"You okay, kid? I heard the door-"

Fuck. Him.

Leon's heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs, leading to his place in front of you. "(Y/N), are you crying?"

You sucked back a breath of air, steadying yourself as much as you could before speaking. 

"No, 'm not, just-- go, just leave me alone." You let your face drop into your hands, staining your sleeves with tears.

Leon, being just the right amount of pushy, took a steps next to you a placed his hand on your shoulder. "Can we talk about it? I mean, I probably know what it is, but we could- you could say whatever you need to say." His face cringed a bit at his own words, feeling like he was already fucking this up. "No judgement."

You kept your face covered but obliged, knowing that talking about it, even with Leon, would make you feel a little better.

"My dad isn't here. He's been promising for weeks that he'd show, but he isn't here."

"Oh."

Your step-dad bit his lip trying to figure out how to make you feel better. He knew you weren't exactly fond of him, but he felt a twinge of responsibility.

"Fuck 'em," Leon finally decided on. "He's a liar and you don't need him. So, fuck 'em. Why would you want a deadbeat to bring you down on your special day?" 

"Because, he's my dad," you said, like it was the most obvious thing. He was right, of course, but the absence still hurt you.

"No dad would stand up a sweet girl like you on her birthday. You only turn 18 once. A real dad wouldn't miss a birthday this monumental for anything. What's he worth, if he can't keep to his word?"

"I guess nothing." You sat up straighter, trying to make yourself calm down. "D'ya think it's, like, my fault? Why doesn't he want to see me?"

He suddenly got really serious, making his grip on your shoulder firm.

"Not at all. You are a wonderful girl. Your mom thinks so, and so do I. You are brilliantly smart, kind, responsible, sweet, gorgeous-- you're perfect and if that scumbag can't see that, then he's beyond saving." 

He loosened his grip, letting his hand fall down to your lap, a bit close to the crotch of your jeans. You didn't look down, trying to convince yourself it was an accident, but he didn't move his hand either.

His other hand came up to your face, holding your cheek and to your own surprise, you leaned into his hand. His big, calloused, confronting hand.

Fuck him.

Something snapped in you when he leaned in for a kiss. God, it was wrong, so wrong, but you were so conflicted. Is this what a father's love really felt like? Hell if you knew, this was close enough in your book.

"Hmph-! Leon..." You pulled away from the kiss, wiping at your mouth roughly to get rid of the salvia strings connecting the both of you. "This is wrong, this isn't okay, my mom-"

"Is not here." 

He placed another kiss on your lips, this one chaste and sweet, so unlike the passionate one you shared before. 

"Just you and me. I know your dad isn't here, but I am. Let me make up for him, baby." His whispers pricked goosebumps over your body, lighting a fire deep in you. "Let daddy love you. Can I show you?"

His big hand looked nearly comical resting against the small button of your jeans, pawing desperately at them. So, so, so wrong. So fucked up, so not okay, so....

"Yes," you said breathily. "Okay, I-I want you to show me. Just be careful please, 'cause.." you trailed off a bit, feeling the pop of your pants opening. 

Leon yanked them down, tossing them away quickly. "Fuck, that's good," he said, pressing his tongue flatly on your mound through your panties. 

The fabric slowly grew a wet patch that clung to you, getting sticky. He placed a soft kiss on your clothed clit, then rested his head on your soft thigh.

"Anybody ever touch you here?" he asked, running a finger over your pussy. 

You softly shook your head, mumbling out a 'no.'

"Mm, more for daddy, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good," he said, slipping your panties to the slide. His mouth made quick work, tongue already gliding up and down on your clit. 

Your face was already twisting up in pleasure, eyebrows knitting together tightly.

"That's cute," he blew cool air over your cunt, keeping his eyes on your face. "You like it? My mouth all over you like this?"

"Mhm, please- don't stop. I wanna feel it again." 

You reached your hand out to hold his head, wanting to push it down before bringing your hand back nervously.

"That's right, push my head down if you want. 'M here to make you feel good, so you use me. Just a wet mouth for you today, sweet girl."

You nodded eagerly, running your hands through his blond hair and taking taking firm purchase of a section of it. Your hands greedily pushed his face into your cunt. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit while his tongue dug into your tight hole made you feel fuzzy inside.

Leon was so vulgar with his noises; he almost enjoyed it more than you were. Slurp after slurp came from his mouth, accompanied by a moan or two while he tried to get himself off by palming himself through his pants. 

The sight of him was just as good as the feeling of him. You had never been taken care of so thoroughly. Leon was opening a whole new world to you, a world where you could be selfish and take, because your daddy would provide, no questions asked.

"Lemme try somethin', yeah, baby?"

He shook your hand off and spat directly on your clit, spreading the fat glob with his fingers. Tight, fast circles were traced over your bud, back and forth. It felt like hypnosis, the way he reeled your body in closer to an orgasm. 

"Daddy, please, 'm gonna cum," you said, face flushing of all color. "Your mouth, want your mouth," you shot out quickly, already obsessed with the feeling of his hot mouth tonguing you down.

He obliged, of course. How could he turn his princess down? Leon's lips again wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud like it gave him life. 

You came soon after. You seized and convulsed and the feeling of his eyes taking you in made the waves of pleasure crash down that much harder over your body. 

"If he knew what a sweet fucking pussy you had," Leon said, licking a final stripe over it, "he'd never wanna leave."

"Wha--?"

"I said," Leon pulled away from your pussy, lifting his head to your ear, "that even your dad would wanna be tongue deep in your sweet, tight cunt. But it's all mine, isn't it?"

The sound of his belt unbuckling made you wetter, if that was possible, but it also sent a sense of realization through you.

You had your pussy in your step dad's mouth. And you liked it. And now, you would let him fuck you. And you would love it. 

"I know you're a virgin, but fuck, baby, you're so tight." His voice was grumbly and strained while he tried to push into you. "Maybe I need to eat you up a little more," he teased.

"No, I need you inside, wanna feel it now." You let yourself go completely. Here you were, whining like a brat while Leon's fat cock stretched you. The pain with sharp, but immediately worth it. He fit inside perfectly, easily hitting your sensitive spots with a few thrusts.

He hissed, feeling you clamp down on his length. "Shh, come on, gotta get used to it baby. Don't want me to cum too quick, do you?"

"Yes, I do," you whined, desperate to know for certain that you were making him feel good too. 

Leon's laugh softly rang in your ears. "No, I wanna make it worth your time. Wish I could take you all night long," he muttered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. 

He swallowed all of your moans, slipping his tongue into your mouth while he rocked into you. He tried to find a rhythm, but he was too lost in pleasure to be neat about it. 

He'd fuck you nice and orderly another day, but for now? He just wanted to feel you gush around him, and feel your cunt get sloppy while he took you.

Your breathless moans caught his attention. He found the angle that made you get oldest and stuck with it, lifting your hips up with his hands so he could piston into your g-spot.

"Oh my god, right there! That feels-- oh my god."

"I know, baby," he said, thumbs digging into your hipbones. "Feels good f'me too. You're so good for daddy."

Your heart, and cunt, pounded the more he spoke. You were close and you knew it, you just needed him to keep talking you through it. "I am?"

"Yes, baby, you're perfect. Daddy's perfect little princess, taking my cock so good." His cock twitched, so he clenched his jaw, refusing to cum before you did. "You know what good girls get to do?"

"Hmph?" Your face was red and hot, mouth hanging open while he continued to fuck into your spongey walls.

"They cum hard on daddy's cock. Can you do that for me? Cum all on me?" He traced his hand over your cheek, letting his thumb land on your bottom lip while he egged you on.

Your body had never reacted faster, immediately creaming on his length. Your hole milked him, each contraction gripping his length and sucking the cum right out of him. 

Leon let a shaky breath out before pulling out of you, scooping the mixture of your cum in his fingers. He rubbed it between two fingers for a moment and popped it into his mouth, groaning at the taste.

You came down from your own high and looked over at him, feeling guilt pull at your chest.

"Leon."

"Hm?"

"What about mom? She's gonna freak if she ever finds out. Did we fuck up? What's gonna--"

"Hey," he said, shushing you with his finger over your lips. "She's not gonna find out and she doesn't need to know. I might be married to her, and I get why you're stressed, but what we have is different."

He pulled his finger off of your mouth and pressed a kiss to your forehead cheekily. "You're daddy's girl. That makes you special."

[bia-wayne-west]

Damian is going to have a little sister [Damian Wayne x Pregnant! Batmom]

Summary: You take a pregnancy test and find out you are pregnant. You will have a little girl. Bruce, Alfred and their other three children are happy, except Demian. Your fourth baby is jealous of the new member of the family.

Personagens: Bruce Wayne [Batman], Damian Wayne [Robin], Dick Grayson [Nightwing], Jason Todd [Red hood], Tim Drake [Red Robin] and Reader [You]

Word count: 1,366

Warnings: jealousy, fear of abandonment and pregnancy.

A / N: Hi. I planned this fanfiction months ago, but I only had time to write today. I always imagined what it would be like if Batmom got pregnant. Demian would probably be jealous and wouldn't admit it. So, I decided to write about it.

I hope you like the imagine

Remember that I am a Brazilian girl. I am not fluent in English and I am still learning. I apologize if I have any errors. Feel free to correct me.

Go and read my other stories on my MASTERLIST.

REQUEST ARE OPEN. Do not be shy. Ask as many imagines as you want.

The test in your hands had two blue lines and your face had a huge smile. You had some suspicions, but you never imagined that after eight years of marriage, you would have a baby in your womb.

You thought you must be sterile because you had never been pregnant before, and even though the doctors said you were healthy, you didn't believe them. The test in your hand was proof that you were going to have five babies now.

You left the bathroom, putting the test in your pants pocket. The first person you saw when you left the master suite was Alfred. He will just come out of one of the guest rooms.

You ran to the butler you considered your second father. Alfred looked at you, thinking you were going to ask for something.

“Alfred, I'm pregnant!” You said it quickly, not having the courage to repeat it. The old man in front of you looked at you with wide eyes. After five seconds, he smiled at you.

It was difficult to make Alfred smile. He always maintained his serious appearance.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Wayne. It’s great news.” Alfred said.

You showed the butler the pregnancy test. He congratulated her again and left, with the excuse that he had to clean Timothy's room. You could see a big smile on Alfred's face as he walked down the stairs to the second floor.

You remembered that Bruce was on the Wayne Enterprise, running some errands and that he wouldn't be back until after 8pm. Dick and Jason went to Wally West's house to play basketball. Timothy was at school.

Demian was the only one at home. He was probably in his room or in the garden with Titus.

You walked to the room that had the 'Do Not Enter' sign. You knocked on the door a few times, hearing your son's voice telling you that you could come in.

“Hi, my love.” You said to Damian, who was playing videogame. He was sitting on the bed. The boy smiled at you.

"Hi mommy. Did something happen?" He questioned, his eyes anxious.

You sat on the bed too, watching your son continue to play his game, but he was paying attention to you. .

“I have something new to tell you. I found out today, so only you and Alfred know about it.” You said, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the pregnancy test to show Damian.

The boy looked at the object curiously, until he realized what it really was. He looked at you in amazement, as if he thought it was just a joke.

"You are pregnant?" He questioned.

"Yes." After you nodded, you saw him give you a sad smile.

“I think this is amazing news, Mom,” Damian said. He no longer looked you in the eye, focusing his attention on the television while he played.

"Are you okay, darling?" You questioned, moving closer to Damian.

The boy just nodded, and didn't look at you anymore. Then, you realized that he didn't like the news, and preferred to leave him alone. You knew Damian didn't like expressing his feelings.

"If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen" You said, leaving your son's room and walking down the hallway.

As soon as Bruce arrived and you told him you were pregnant, he had the best reaction possible. Your husband was extremely happy and excited. And Dick, Jason and Tim also loved having a new little brother.

The weeks passed very quickly, and soon became months, and suddenly, you were seven months pregnant. You had already done all the ultrasounds and discovered that you were having your first daughter. You were excited to have a little princess, and Jason and Dick started teasing Bruce about how he really was a girl's daddy.

Everyone in your family seemed to be happy, except Damian. He never said out loud that he hated the baby, but you could see that he stopped wanting to spend time with you. The boy spent more time in his room or in the Batcave, avoiding being close to you. Bruce said the boy would accept that he would have a sister after the baby was born, but you knew you had to have a talk with Damian.

You walked slowly down to the clock that hid the entrance to the Batcave. It was difficult to walk with swollen feet. You knew that Bruce was on patrol, but that he left Damian on the Batcomputer. As soon as you got out of the elevator, you saw your son look at you, but quickly turn away. You walked over to Damian, giving him a gentle smile. The boy didn't look at you again.

"Hello, my dear." You said.

He didn't answer you, and started pretending to type on the keyboard.

"I wanted to talk to you a little."

Damian just grumbled.

"I know you're sad about my pregnancy." You said. "But you know that in two months there will be a baby here."

He continued ignoring you.

"If it's because of your father, you know Bruce loves all his children equally." You commented. "And that no baby in this world will make your father love you less."

Damian finally turned around, looking at you. He had red eyes, looking like he was going to cry.

"It's not about my father." He said. "Is you!" He exclaimed.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know!" He roared. "You were the first person who liked me, even though you knew I was Bruce's biological son and that I was conceived when he was drugged by Talia." Damian continued speaking. "And now, you will have your own daughter. Who has your blood and Bruce's"

You looked at him, surprised.

"Are you afraid I'm going to leave you aside?" You wanted to know.

"My brothers don't seem to see what's going to happen. That you and Bruce are going to love the baby more than we do." He started to cry. "I love you and my dad, and I know that now you will have your own family."

You said, walking over to your son. You held him by the shoulders, making him face you.

"Damian, that will never happen!" You exclaimed. "You, Dick, Jason and Tim never stopped being my kids, my little birds."

He looked away, looking embarrassed.

"I thought you wouldn't treat me like your son anymore" He said.

"It's normal for you to be jealous and afraid of losing all the attention you receive, but I want you to know that our relationship will never change." You commented. "Now that the problem has been resolved, do you want to go upstairs so we can make some cupcakes together?"

Damian quickly got up from the chair he was in, and threw himself into your arms, hugging you tightly. He placed his head on your chest, and surprisingly, you felt him caressing your belly for the first time. You lowered your head to look at your son, smiling at him.

"Yes, I want to go make cupcakes, Mommy." He said, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe his tear-stained face.

You and Damian went up to the house, leaving the Batcave. He started talking to you again, saying that he had had a brief fight with Jon Kent, but that they had already made up. He also told you that he was doing a literature project for school in a group, and that it was very easy.

As soon as you arrived in the kitchen, you grabbed all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and started mixing the cupcake batter, while Damian mixed the frosting. He told you that he wanted to color the cupcakes green and red, so you grabbed the food coloring from the pantry, letting him make the frosting any color he wanted.

Once the more than twenty cupcakes were ready, you and Damian sat on the counter while eating, talking excitedly about how the last few months had been when Damian had avoided you.

"Mother?" He caught your attention. "It'll be good to be a big brother."

You gave him a huge smile, and then kissed your son's cheek.

[pixiescoffeeshop]

♡ ⑅˚₊ going soft on me, hargreeves ? PART ONE.

a five hargreeves multi-fic . . 🌻🕰️ — intro.

warnings : minor cursing .ᐟ mentions of blood.

author’s note : MOSTLY BASED THIS OFF RAPUNZEL READER because tangled is my favorite movie and she’s literally me 🙈 (atp this is a self-insert) AHH but also almost like harley quinn-ish? BUT WHATEVERR happy reading cuties <3

five wiped the blood off his face with his navy blue jacket’s sleeve. his siblings all feeling and looking defeated against the sparrows.

“i’ve never had my ass handed to me like that before.” luther spoke faintly, five squinted under the sun in attempts to relax his body off from that spur of the moment fight. “it’s like,” luther spoke again. “here you go.” he motioned his hands at a confused allison. “it’s your ass.”

despite the pain, five couldn’t get his mind off one of the sparrows. the younger one, with the upbeat personality. he was too busy fighting jayme, but he was incredibly intrigued by her. he could watch her fight diego and allison for a bit, with her own powers. — which was light manipulation.

during the fight, five watched her play with her hands and the light that poured in the hargreeves’ mansion as a distraction for her siblings.

viktor sat by five, “someone’s crushing.”

“yeah, me.” diego replied, stretching his back.

allison rolled her eyes, “i don’t think that’s what viktor meant.” she moved her eyes towards five, who stared at all of them like they were crazy. “a real delight that number eight was, wasn’t she?” klaus commented with a light-hearted laugh. “let’s just find a place to stay, yeah?” five rolled his eyes.

— 𐙚₊˚⊹ ⭐️

five needed a break from his siblings. the hotel klaus had found for them wasn’t half bad, but the coffee they served was complete, and in his words : ‘dogshit.’ which was the only downside of it all really. a very big downside.

five walked into griddy’s donuts in attempts to get a decent cup of coffee. he sat down and waited for her order to be taken when, “umbrella asshole?” one of the waiter’s asked him. it was number eight, just in a diner uniform, and holding a pitcher of coffee.

she looked at him confused. “what are you doing here?” five furrowed his brows, “i should be asking you that.” he retorted. she gave out a big smile at that. “okay ‘ya grump, i work here, actually!” she gave a charming wink as she poured him a cup of coffee.

“i take it you’re a black coffee kinda guy?” her voice overlaping the sound of the coffee pouring in. he took the cup and sipped, “am i suppose to be flattered by that observation?” he asked upon putting the cup down. “i’m just very curious is all.” he fought the urge to mirror her infectious smile.

“also, it’s not just number eight, it’s (name). or — (nickname) if you want.” if it was possible, she smiled brighter. how can anyone be so cheery? five thought to himself. also, why isn’t she kicking my ass right now? “anything to eat for you?” she pulled her pretty and sticker-covered notepad out.

he shook his head, “not hungry. far too much things on my mind.” he tapped his foot on the ground. (name) watched him, his anxious stance and his constant worried eyes. “wait here, yeah?” she spoke before running off to the back of the diner. five watched her rush away, only to come out a few moments later with a plate of waffles, eggs, and a few slices of strawberries.

she placed the plate before him, the maple syrup on top with a smiley face. “what’s this?” he asked with a dead-panned expression planted. (name) shrugged as she sat across him, “my treat, silly.” she beamed another smile at him.

five was hesitant, but took the fork from beside the plate and started digging in. his eyes grew wide at the taste, it was delicious. it felt like being home again. “it’s mom’s recipe. nobody really calls her mom besides me, they make fun of me for it.” she giggled lightly.

five looked at her, “it’s really good.” after five finished he put the fork on the plate and put it away. “thank you! also, i’m very sorry for this five.” she cackled a little more, a confused five realized his mistake and stood up, the girl began fighting him.

she attempted to punch him on the side of his face, but he dodged it with his forearm. he returned the attacked with a kick to her face, blood oozing out of her might-be broken nose. she laughed, impressed, wiping the blood off with her fingers. they began fighting more, to which people inside had run off and evacuated.

(name)’s boss continued to yell at her to stop, but (name) knew damn well she wasn’t going to stop. she hit five in the stomach with her knee, five hunching over, and (name) continued with a back-kick on the side of his face. five coughed before pushing her into the table.

“you fight real good, for a seventeen year old.” she spat the blood out of her mouth on the floor. “and you fight really weak for a girl who can manipulate light.” five time-jumped on the table she’d collided her back with, and tried to kick her once again on the face, but to his surprise only met a blinding light.

and once five was distracted trying to find his vision again, (name) pulled his feet out to get him on his back. five landed with a thud! the pain rising from the bottom of his ass to his back. “lunch is served!” her laugh echoed across the diner. five time-jumped again, under the counter.

(name) looked for him, her platforms clanking on the ground. “where are you five? we’re not done here yet, grump.” she sang, another laugh escaping her lips. she spat another puddle of blood out of her mouth. five panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.

this girl was crazy. how could she be laughing at a time like this? and how was it that she was killer fighter? “come on five, you going soft on me hargreeves?” she walked the place around a little bit more. is that why diego and allison looked that bad after the fight back at the mansion? because of her?

“there you are handsome.”

[my313]

in beomgyu's room 🧸

now playing 𝄞₊⊹ bad - wave to earth & best friend - laufey

⋆ pairing: bestfriend!beomgyu x f!reader

⋆ summary: a reel of your most precious memories in beomgyu’s room(s), and the one time it’s also yours.

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: fluff, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, non-idol au, mention of mommy kink (sorry they have weird inside jokes)

⋆ word count: 3.6k

a/n: this isnt proofread n i dont think its my best writing, i wanted to focus on dialogue a lot more :0 but i just wanted to put out a lil something for gyu's bday <3 our talented pretty boy 🥹 anyways, i hope u enjoy reading this!

2009 

beomgyu’s room at eight years old is directly opposite from your window. you recently watched taylor swift’s you belong with me music video, and your unassuming neighbor who just recently moved in has become the center of the romantic production running in your little mind. 

when his family invites you over for dinner, you’re giddy to put a name to the pretty boy that’s been in your sights; only ever seeing him with a guitar strapped to his back when he walks by your house as you sit on the porch with a book. 

“hi,” he’s the one opening the door, greeting you enthusiastically. you assumed he would have been a shy boy, especially with the way he walked with his head down and never without an mp3 player and wired earphones. that was just one of the many surprises beomgyu had in store for you and your serendipitous friendship.

beomgyu smiles politely at your parents before pulling the door back and letting you all inside. your mother’s ushering you to the boy, hurriedly greeting his parents and leaving you in beomgyu’s care. 

you turn to him, shy and unsure of what to do, but beomgyu’s there to pull you out of your daydreams. he slightly tugs the sleeve of your shirt, chin tilted to the direction of the stairs. “wanna play mario kart in my room?”

you’re scanning the room to look for your parents, silently asking permission with your eyes when you catch your dad looking back at you. when he nods, you’re quick to relay it to beomgyu, who returns the biggest smile you’ve seen. boys are usually rough around the edges, either boisterous or freakishly hyper-aware of cooties, but beomgyu is different. he’s just loud enough to have you laughing until your tummy hurts, but he’s also a good listener. 

your feet dangle from the height of his bed while he sets up his wii. it only takes a few minutes of tinkering and confused grumbles before beomgyu joins you, sitting close and handing over the controller. 

“i’ve never played this game before!” your voice chimes with the game’s background music, fiddling with the buttons on your controller and accidentally pressing something that makes beomgyu laugh. 

“that’s okay,” he navigates through the buttons on the screen to take you back to the starting screen. “i’ll go easy on you.”

you may have gotten beomgyu all wrong, because as you inch closer to stealing his first place spot on your eighth round of playing, he throws a green shell at you, putting you off-course. 

“that’s so not fair, beomgyu!” you grumble frustratedly, shoulders slumped. beomgyu has a mischievous smile on his face; a different charm to the friendly one you encountered at his doorway, or the re-assuring one when he asked to play mario kart.

“i didn’t even know you could do that.” you whine, twisting your body left and right as if it would take away from your loss.

beomgyu’s mouth opens, but instead of hearing his squeaky voice, you both hear your mom’s. 

“yn, time to go home!”

you both tear your eyes away from the doorframe to look at one another. 

“teach me next time?” you plead, eyes shiny and hopeful that you’ve got a new friend to play with. someone who would always be next to you.

beomgyu feels similarly. he lets it show by nodding enthusiastically, his rectangular glasses pressed onto his rising cheeks, swelling from all the smiling he’s done tonight.

2017

“choi beomgyu!” you yell from the bottom of the staircase, leaning on the creaky railing despite beomgyu’s constant warnings of “you’re gonna fall off one day, y’know.”

you’re both sixteen years old, and tonight is prom. unlike the books you read, you were not serenaded by the most beautiful (subjective) boy in school; but like the disney movies, you’re at your best friend’s house and going as each other’s dates. 

the idea was initially disgusting to both you and beomgyu, suggested by menacingly blunt choi soobin during one of your escapades to the internet cafe. when prom started to come closer and closer, you and beomgyu would briefly text about it in jokes. the final straw was probably the fact that soobin actually got a date before either of you. so, with only three days to prom and a whole lot of spite, you and beomgyu hunted down matching corsages and sealed the deal.

you glance at the clock on the wall, ticking seven. sick of waiting on your bare feet, you lift the trailing end of your dress and make your way up to beomgyu’s room.

you don’t bother to knock, having seen the worst of beomgyu and his room already. the sight that greets you is anything but what you expect.

you expected heaps of clothes on the floor from his panicked frenzy of not knowing what to put on under his blazer; maybe some mismatched socks, and shoes tossed to every corner out of indecision. 

instead, you see beomgyu clad in a neat, black suit, with a navy blue dress shirt. his black hair, usually falling over his eyelashes, is tucked away to show off the face that many come to your classroom to see. just like how he was at eight, you know beomgyu is different; he’s delicate, never gruff, even when he picks you up from your doorstep with bedhead. 

beomgyu has always been pretty, but tonight, he’s charming. he’s handsome. just thinking it makes you want to regurgitate your words and flush them down the toilet. it brings upon this weird pit in your stomach that was never there when you were wiping your cheeto-dust fingers on beomgyu’s shirt as some petty form of teasing. that weird feeling you only got when someone cute walked your way, or someone flustered you to the point of developing a crush. you hope it’s nothing too serious.

“woah!” 

“what.” beomgyu deadpans, unamused by your exaggerated gasp. in reality, the pink on his cheeks already has you guessing that he’s shy. your beomgyu has always been one for compliments and sweet gestures, recalling how his eyes brightened every time your smaller hands patted his head when you were younger. 

“no need to get sassy, jeez,” you roll your eyes playfully, the smile on your face never leaving. “you look good. handsome.” 

“thanks,” he smiles sheepishly. it’s silent for a bit, until beomgyu says, “keep ‘em coming…”

“dipshit!” you smack his forearm. “you’ll hear more from everyone tonight, i bet.”

“i guess so,” he shrugs, looking at himself on the full-length mirror, trying to fold his necktie like the way his dad taught him. you move closer, your dress trailing behind you when you drop the sides in favor of helping beomgyu out with his tie. you’re so close; the kind of close you and beomgyu haven’t been ever before, except when you were ten and you fell off your bike, crashing onto him. 

you’re in front of him now, looping the fabric and not really looking at him. you can’t tell that he’s staring down at your concentrated face, smiling softly at how your tongue peeks out of your mouth in concentration. 

he hasn’t gotten the chance to compliment you back, but he’s noticed how beautiful you looked the minute you stepped into his room. his thoughts only get confirmed further now that you’re just a few breaths apart; your lip gloss has a sheen that’s tempting to swipe off with his own lips, and your eyelashes flutter in the way that beomgyu pictures in a few years time, where you’re waking up next to him every morning. 

“not from anyone that matters though.” 

your fingers stop working, peering up at your best friend. you don’t really know what to make of how his eyes glisten; how they look fondly at you, so you revert to the only thing you and beomgyu know will fix anything — fooling around, saying something stupid.

“are you saying if soobin complimented you, you wouldn’t give a fuck?”

“you make it sound like i’m in love with him.” you shrug, lips pursed as you continue the final touches of his tie. he bumps his forehead onto yours, making you curse. “what? bros can seek validation from one another!”

“so can i seek it from you, bro?”

you shake your head, amused by his unfamiliar use of the nickname. “whatever. are you done now?”

“no.” you groan. beomgyu pulls away from you first, going to his bedside drawer and fishing out a box. 

he come back to your side, this time, with the corsage you both overpaid for. beomgyu wraps it around your wrist and prompts you to turn your hand over, tying it up for you. you watch him intently.

unconsciously, your hands extend to caress his head, gently patting his styled hair. the moment your fingers graze his scalp, he freezes up for a few seconds before resuming, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest.

“i forgot to say earlier,” beomgyu returns to his full height, but his hand is still holding yours. he squeezes three times with his dimples peeking out as he smiles, a semblance of a confession that you fail to pick up on. “you look beautiful tonight, too.”

2021

it’s nearly midnight when you and beomgyu decide that the best activity to do when both of you are jobless on a friday night (saturday morning now) is to dye each other’s hair. 

you left an hour ago for a random supermarket run, and you return with a bottle of bleach, developer and a bunch of dyes that were on sale. possibly also a whole new stock of instant ramen. tonight was one of the nights you’re relieved your best friend has a car.

you’re both twenty now, in college and far away from home for a while. still, home doesn’t feel too far away when beomgyu’s still waiting for you outside the girls’ dorm building with disheveled hair. from your freshman year to now, beomgyu’s still been the same beomgyu that you love. you can admit that to yourself now, finally catching the culprit of that odd feeling in your stomach from prom night. though you’re unsure when you can gather the courage to tell him all that.

you’re pushing the door open to beomgyu’s dorm room, seeing his roommate taehyun slipping his shoes on with a backpack.

“are you running away?” you question, half-joking. “beomgyu can’t be that bad of a roommate. he’s like a pet goldfish sometimes.” 

beomgyu’s shutting the door behind you when he walks into your odd conversation with taehyun. “that’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said about me.” 

“goldfish are so cute though!” you reason with him, your tone higher in pitch as your silly charade continues. taehyun’s joining along too, laughing at the banter between you and beomgyu. “did you know the guy who created goldfish crackers made them because his wife was a pisces?”

“i’m a pisces,” beomgyu proudly states, chest puffed out with the bags of your pointless mission weighing down his shoulders. “would you make me a fish-inspired snack, yn? answer carefully, our relationship depends on it.” 

you try to ignore the fact that he says relationship, not friendship. details, details. but beomgyu’s all about details. he didn’t say anything for just no reason, so you can’t help but let the thought fester. for now, you keep up with the jokes.

“you don’t even like seafood, gyu.” 

“okay kids,” taehyun interrupts, heading towards the door. “i’m going to the gym. don’t burn the place up, please…” 

“i think i’m gonna burn something else.” you snark, looking up at beomgyu’s perfectly smooth hair. he catches your stare and consciously guards his head. 

taehyun leaves in the next few minutes, and it’s just you and beomgyu again. 

beomgyu’s eyebrows wiggle comically, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you to the bathroom. “w-wait, wait!”

“what? backing out?” he challenges you, shaking you by the shoulders. “yn, you can’t!” his whining is convincing, but mostly because beomgyu has this pout that he doesn’t know you succumb to every single time he pulls it out — which is nearly everyday. 

“n-no..! just..”

beomgyu’s face softens. he takes your face between his right hand, squishing your cheeks repeatedly. he huffs mockingly, “fine, you can do mine first.”

in the next hour, beomgyu’s desk chair is situated between the bathroom door and the carpeted floor of the bedroom, holding it open to let the stench of the bleach disperse. you’re sitting on said chair with a towel on your lap, while beomgyu sits on the bathroom floor, legs folded to his chest. his back is leaning against the middle of the chair, but he’s essentially sitting between your legs as you clumsily paint bleach over random sections of his hair. 

“sorry if this turns to shit, beoms.” you snicker, layering more product on the strand between your fingers. you’re startled by beomgyu’s movements, his head tilting upwards slightly to look at you before looking back down. “you owe me free food for the rest of our lives if i end up looking like a dalmatian.”

“that’s fine,” you giggle, tapping his shoulder to motion for him to turn around and face you, trying to get the sections with his bangs. “at least i know we’ll be best friends forever.”

beomgyu fights the urge to say something stupid; something that might end the nights of you sleeping over and snuggling close to his chest — the things that pop up in his head range from “you’re so cute, i wanna kiss you.” to “i think i’ve been in love with you for years, so yeah, anyway.”

he still says something rather silly, but he thinks it’s just slightly less off-putting than telling your best friend who you grew up with that you’re in love with her. 

“technically, you’d be my sugar mommy.”

you raise a brow, “outing your mommy kink?”

“yes, and?”

fits of laughter fill the air, you have to place the brush back on the sink in case you smack beomgyu’s face from how you throw your whole body around when you laugh. he’s just the same, nearly snorting when he sees how red your face has become. 

at some point, you’re still trying to recover from giggling so hard, taking the brush back into your hands and picking out sections of beomgyu’s bangs. he chooses to perch his chin on one of your thighs with his head tilted up, as if admiring you deeply from the ground. beomgyu can ignore the prickly sensation settling on his scalp and the cold tiles of his bathroom floor freezing his butt off if he can see you from this view more often. it reminds him of when you used to let him rest his head on your lap that one time your families went on a road trip, and you both were stuck in the back. or the other times in his childhood bedroom where he’d fall asleep and wake up with your fingers tangled in his hair, head over a pillow on your lap. 

beomgyu thinks he fell for you then, that he’d decided that he’d kneel on the ground forever if you asked him to. he thinks he’d probably do much worse if the requests were coming from your pretty lips. 

you stop painting over his hair, signaling that beomgyu’s done. you think beomgyu’s going to get up from the floor, his legs crossed and obviously sleeping from how long you’ve had him sitting down there, but he’s still in-between your legs that it stops you from moving too. you’re about to joke around and tell him to get up, but you finally catch onto the fact that he’s looking up at you like he’s stargazing, or watching the prettiest sunset in the summer.

“gyu, what’s up?” 

it takes a while for him to respond. beomgyu feels his mind drifting to places he doesn’t know he’s allowed to be in; thinking about how he’s thought of waking up next to you since he was sixteen, and it might have sounded like trying to snatch the sun from the sky back then, but he feels an inkling that it’s not too impossible right now, at twenty, in his room and at your disposal. 

“do you remember when we went to prom together?”

you snort, reminded of your trembling hands when your parents asked you and beomgyu to take pictures and pose together, feeling his hand on your waist. “yeah, we looked pretty good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu draws circles and random patterns on your clothed thighs. “we did look pretty good together.”

“what?”

“what?”

“what did you say, gyu?” your voice comes out in a whisper, even when you try to be firm and persistent.

“you heard me,” he mumbles, finally looking away from you with the pink dusting his cheeks.

“no, i think i have to hear it again.” you tease, flicking his forehead to turn his attention back on you. “come on, say it.”

beomgyu bounces back, eyes trained on you as his lips move faster than any other time you’ve listened to him babble. he’s never even spoken this fast when he’s raging on his matches with soobin.

“jeez, yn, you wanna hear me say i’m in love with my best friend who i have also imagined living together with for the rest of my life?” 

he blinks, realizing what he just said. “well… i mean, you got it.”

you press your lips together, trying to hold in the laugh that was threatening to burst out on beomgyu’s deer-in-the-headlights face. you’d feel terrible if you ruined this moment for both of you, so you try and keep it to giggles and a pleased grin.

“you sure you wanna live with me for the rest of your life, beomie?” you tease, bending down and bringing your face close to his. you enjoy the feeling of making beomgyu shy, and you know his guilty pleasure is when you’re rendered flustered and defensive. 

“that’s all you got from what i said?” he pouts.

“aw, baby,” cooing at him. if his hair wasn’t slicked with bleach, you would have fluffed it and patted it the way he always liked. “d’you wanna start apartment hunting and writing down our kids’ names?”

he blinks up at you, briefly taking his phone out of his pocket and turning it over to show his notes app. “yeah, go ahead.” 

“beomgyu.” you stare at him, slightly bewildered and freaked out, but also endeared. 

“i’m just joking!” he puts his hands up defensively. 

he taps your thigh again once his arms let up. “...you still haven’t said anything.”

“if it wasn’t obvious enough, choi beomgyu,” you start, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “i’m also in love with you. and i would love to be by your side forever.” 

2024 

it’s almost been three years since the night beomgyu and you confessed to each other. 

everything seems to come full-circle, because you’re twenty three and sitting on beomgyu’s lap while playing mario kart. you have vivid memories of being eight years old and telling beomgyu off for not going easy on a first-timer, but you’ve had years and years of payback for that moment by now.

beomgyu doesn’t need to go easy on you anymore, occasionally yelling in your ear when you sabotage him, only to trail kisses from your earlobe to your neck as an apology. 

as you finish up your last game as promised, you turn your head and press a chaste kiss on beomgyu’s cheek. sometimes, you still can’t believe your best friend has graduated from being just that, to being your boyfriend. beomgyu chases after your face as soon as you detach from him, his lips quickly pecking yours.

it took a while until you and beomgyu could live together, only finding a place you could both attest to earlier this year. but since then, you’ve made plenty of memories in every nook and cranny. 

you keep old habits like mario kart, and beomgyu purposely makes mistakes with his necktie just so you can tug on it, kiss him and fix it instead. but your life with beomgyu has new bits and pieces that flourished since sharing your love for one another. your shared baths that consist of gossip that beomgyu is overly enthusiastic of; taking selfies every night when you put on sheet masks for each other; and instead of picking you up with bedhead, you have the privilege of seeing beomgyu in a dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up, picking you up from work and waiting for you to fill the passenger seat of his car.

it makes you think not only about all the lovely moments you’ve had with beomgyu, but the ugly parts that only you both know of each other. 

“i really hope this is a forever thing, gyu.” you blurt out. 

“playing mario kart with me?” beomgyu knows what you mean; he can tell you’re floating in your head when you ask him. still, he lightens the mood.

“yeah,” you chuckle. you suppose he isn’t wrong, you wouldn’t mind this at all. 

“baby,” he tucks a hair behind your ear. “look at me, hm?”

“i love you today,” beomgyu kisses your lips, moves to either side of your cheeks. “i love you tomorrow,” now he’s pressing one on your nose. “the day after,” the last one on your forehead. “until we’re old and wrinkly, i love you.”

your smile in the midst of all his kisses is as wide as it was when you first met beomgyu. you cradle his face, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbones then bumping your noses together briefly. it makes beomgyu laugh, the sound still as pretty as when he stumbled over his words trying to confess to you. “there’s no one else i would have fallen in love with other than you, gyu,”

“my best friend in the world.”

[scuderiasundays]

better together

summary: airline lounges, box box widgets, and a cheesy greeting card 💌

words: 1,045

a/n: the romcom girlie in me has always wanted to write a meet-cute and i've been listening to too much lizzy mcalpine! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @ssainzz, @diorleclerc, and @userlando just because. let me know if you'd want a part two! hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

Love comes when you least expect it. Those same old words had fallen from the lips of every person you knew, so much so that they now felt weightless. On this particular evening, you found yourself at your best friend’s wedding reception, zoning out at the open bar. You nodded along as some man who’d had one too many G&T’s rambled on about his meet-cute on the Paris metro. Seeing two people you adored make a lifelong commitment only reaffirmed the fact that you craved the same.

It was no secret you weren’t exactly the MVP of the single scene. On any given night out, you’d leave the club before midnight to get a full eight-hour snooze. Dating apps were a no-no, as reruns of Catfish had made you skeptical about “finding the one” online. At work, you kept a low profile, socializing just enough to have a tight circle of work friends. It was as if you were coasting on autopilot, wanting love but hesitant to steer towards it.

Not to say that being single was all bad. Every hard-earned dollar was invested right back into the things you loved: trips, clothes, and your dog Cannoli. You silently weighed the pros and cons of your lifestyle as you stepped into the airline lounge.

Setting down your latest read to save your seat, you made your way to the breakfast buffet and grabbed a plate of avocado toast, poached eggs, and a glass of orange juice. On your way back, you spotted someone in a hoodie and cap making themselves at home in the armchair opposite yours.

The whole lounge was virtually empty, and this just had to be his seat of choice? You slowly approached from behind and let out a quiet gasp as you noticed them flipping through your book. “Love languages, huh?” The man pointed at the cover and smiled.

Your pupils dilated twice their size as you registered just who it was. The fan-made bracelets, the Leica, and, most of all, the signature McLaren cap—it all fell into place. “My manager and I just got into a huge argument, and honestly, I’d rather be anywhere but with him right now. Do you mind if I-" He gestured towards the seat beside you, his eyes radiating a silent plea.

“No problem. Let me give you your space,” you responded, hastily gathering your things. Just as you were about to step away, his hand gently clasped your wrist. “I could use the company. I’m Bob, by the way,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his cover was blown.

As in, you knew he was currently seventh place in the driver’s championship and slowly but surely climbing up the standings. The last thing he needed was for you to bring any of that up, so you did as he said, trying to give him a sense of normalcy he so deserved.

He headed to the breakfast buffet and returned with the very items you had selected. "Copying me?" you teased. “First step in getting to know you,” he grinned. Curious about your life, he asked about your job in the emergency room. You told him the hours were grueling but watching extremely sick patients leave healthy made it all worthwhile. "Hope I never end up being your patient," he joked.

His interest didn't stop there; he inquired about siblings (only child), your dream vacation destination (Antibes), and whether you were a dog or cat person (not even a question). You, being a proud dog mom, wanted to show your furry guy off and handed Lando your phone.

As he squinted at your phone, you heard him say, "7 days to go. United States Grand Prix." A wave of panic washed over you as you remembered the Box Box widget that also occupied your screen. The silence was deafening as you wished the ground would swallow you up. 

“Let me see the app,” He said. You normally wouldn’t have acquiesced so quickly, but you crumbled and unlocked your phone. He appeared to scroll and click a few things before he handed it back. “Widget Preferences. Constructor: McLaren? Driver: Lando Norris?” You asked as you noticed he’d made some selections.

“You hadn’t bothered with the preferences, so I took the liberty of choosing.” He blushed as the awkwardness of it all hung in the air. “That doesn’t feel fair. I’ve had all this time to get to know you, and I can’t say the same for the other drivers.” You teasingly retorted.

“I'll let the guys know they're in a tight race for your heart." He snickered. The man was on the verge of tears when his manager came by to remind him of his impending flight. “Flight’s in an hour, Lando,” snapped him right back to reality.

He entrusted you with his bags as he ran out to run a quick pre-flight errand. You couldn’t help but squeal the second Lando had vanished from view. What kind of magic was in the air at this airport and could it be bottled?

You tapped through your best friend’s Instagram stories as you awaited his return. The nearly empty lounge echoed as Lando asked a nearby gentleman for a pen and jotted something down. Breathless, he handed you a card, urging you to read it later.

"Your shoelace is untied," he mentioned, and as he bent down to tie it, his blue-green eyes met yours. 

The British racing driver left your life in the abrupt way he had entered it. You took in the card, decked out with drawings of mac and cheese, milk and cereal, and avocado and toast, captioned "Better Together" at the bottom.

It was the only card in the store, but it felt just right. You highlighted “words of affirmation” as your love language, so I thought I’d give this a go. Thanks for keeping me company. Talk soon? - LN 

His number was scribbled at the end. You quickly changed your lock screen widget to showcase his stats and took a screenshot to send his way.

New look. I might be biased, but I think you just became my favorite driver. Let's see if you can keep it up.

He replied right away.

I like the sound of that. When can I see you again?

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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[jjungkookislife]

New Year With You (M)

pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

genre: established relationship, fluff, light smut [18+]

summary: Ringing in the new year means saying goodbye to Grandmother Jeon, lots of alcohol, and a devastatingly handsome Jungkook.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: alcohol use/mention (body shots), implied smut (unprotected sex, hickeys, sexual thoughts/conversations), food mention, Tae is a flirt and Seokjin is shy about it, oc scratched the hell out of JK's back (with consent), teasing

a/n: thank you @btsgotjams27 for helping me again 💜💜

read home for the holidays

date: January 19, 2024

Grandmother Jeon had left early this morning with the Jeons and Parks in tow. She had pulled you into a tight hug as Dae loaded her suitcases into the trunk.

“You two have a good new year, and if I don’t see you before Spring Break, make sure to call,” Grandmother Jeon instructs as she releases you to hug Jungkook just as tight.

“And you,” she smiles. “Make sure you check the house out before you return to school. I’ll make arrangements for renovations if you want to change anything up. Do what you want with it, okay?”

“Yes, Grandmother Jeon. Thank you,” he says as he hugs her tighter, and she kisses his cheek before releasing him.

“Don’t get into too much trouble tonight while your parents are away,” Grandmother Jeon raises a brow. “I’m gonna be overseas, and your parents are going to be out of town so we can’t bail you out of jail.”

“I’ll keep him in check, Grandmother Jeon,” you promise as you wrap your arm around Jungkook’s waist. His sweater is thicker than yours, and the wind rattles you to the core, but your goodbyes are more important than a few chilly minutes.

“That’s what I like to hear, honey!” Minji laughs. “We’ve got to be tough with these Jeon men!”

“Mom!” Dae calls from the car as he shuts the trunk. “We’re all set.”

Minji smiles again. “You watch out for that Park boy, too. Jimin and that mouth of his. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about tonight from his grandmother. We’re gonna play shuffleboard and find us some dance partners before midnight! Don’t worry about me.”

“Get ‘em, Minji,” you giggle as you hug her one last time, promising to call soon. She waves as she links her arm with Jungkook’s as he walks her out of the house and toward the driveway where his parents wait for them. Luna is buckled in her seat, barking her head off when she finally spots her mother.

Across the street, Jimin is helping his grandmother get into his parents’ car. He waves when he spots you in the doorway, and you grin.

The eight of you had plans to spend the New Year together. The weather was still rough. Snow still covered the streets and you weren’t in the mood to be stuffed in a club like a sardine.

Jungkook had invited everyone over. Jimin, Joon, and Tae would probably walk home, and Seokjin, Hoseok, and Yoongi would either sleep over or go across the street.

The plans for tonight involved games, alcohol, and plenty of food. The home was still decorated for Christmas, and Aera promised to put everything away once she returned. Before you could offer to help, Jungkook shook his head.

“Mom likes to keep them up a little longer. She decorates for Valentine’s Day and so on. We should come back for Halloween. You’d love it.” Jungkook smiled.

“I’m gonna miss her,” you tell Jungkook as he joins you on the front porch. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, kissing your cheek.

“Grandmother Jeon will be fine,” Jungkook assures you. “My parents will be back in a couple of days and then we can go look at the house.”

“It’ll be nice to party with Minji on Spring Break,” you giggle as you head back inside and shut the door after Jungkook. 

“If we can keep up,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. 

“I’m glad this all worked out, Koo,” you admit as you wrap your arms around his waist. He rubs your back as you rest your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It soothes you. 

“Me too, baby. Otherwise, I would have waited until we got back to school to say something,” He giggles, his nose scrunching the tiniest bit. 

You smile, kissing the mole beneath his lip. “Come on, babe. We have the house to ourselves and a few more hours before our friends come over.”

“Oh, and how do you suggest we pass the time, baby?” Jungkook smirks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say coyly as you walk two fingers up his broad chest. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

Your laughter fills the home as you take off running toward the stairs with Jungkook right behind you. His laughter and yours grow louder when he catches you and leads you to his bedroom, where you spend the next few hours wrapped up in each other. 

You shouldn’t stare.

You shouldn’t.

You’re not.

Honestly, you’re not.

But you so are!

“Are you part of some male dancer association?” you blurt, covering your mouth with your hands. You did not just say that!

Jimin cackles, shaking his head. “No.”

Seokjin smirks. “Hoseok picked our outfits.”

Your eyes look over at Hoseok, the menace. He smirks when you eye him up and down. He lowers his sunglasses to drown you in his dark look. Fuck, fuck, wow! 

“Don’t you look ravishing,” he comments as he sets his sunglasses on his head. “Gotta say, you look just as hot as I imagined.”

“Hoseok!” you giggle, shaking your head.

Hoseok shrugs. “It’s a nice dress. Still had the tags on when I found it in your closet.”

“Has Kook seen it yet?” Seokjin asks as he rakes his eyes over you. 

“Not yet,” you explain. “We decided to get ready separately.”

“Oh, he’s gonna die,” Jimin chuckles as he walks past you to the kitchen, where Yoongi finished cooking the food.

Alcohol fills the refrigerator and the counters. Jimin has a bottomless stomach when it comes to alcohol, and Tae always tries to keep up.

You’re excited to see Jungkook, but after the stunt Hoseok pulled, you’re not so sure you could handle it.

“Darling,” Jungkook calls from the stairs.

Hoseok chuckles as he watches you turn around slowly, gasping when you spot Jungkook. 

Jungkook’s dark hair is coiffed in a slicked-back manner. The blazer is too big for his frame, but the black mesh shirt hugs him in all the right places, showing off his taut chest and ripped abs. Silver jewelry adorns his ears, neck, and hand, but what you really love is the one pierced into his bottom lip. 

You swear your brain malfunctions as it does for SpongeBob when all he needs to remember is fine dining. You don’t think you could even remember your name right now if somebody asked because all you can think is how fucking hot your boyfriend looks. You don’t even think you’re breathing, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes take in every delicious inch of his body. 

Were you two alone, you’d have him beneath you already. His chest would get covered in your lipstick, and his cock would be inside you, making you cream around him as you bounced on him. 

Jungkook isn’t faring much better. The dress you’re wearing leaves little to the imagination. He’s breathless as he admires your radiance. The smile on your face is bashful but directed right at him. 

Jungkook should send Hoseok a personalized thank you note after this trip. Perhaps even a bouquet of peonies, freshly picked from a field they visited as children not too far from their home. He knows Hoseok wishes he had more time to make something for you. He’s very talented, and no doubt would create amazing clothing for each of you if given the chance. Jimin wore a suit made just for him, a gift for his birthday just a few months ago. 

Smirking, Jungkook takes the last step as he eyes the necklace sitting perfectly on your chest. It’s on a thin gold chain with his initial. There’s an accompanying one on your thigh that glimmers in the light when you move toward him, the slit on your dress dangerously high up, and your heels click on the floor as you meet him. 

“You look gorgeous,” Jungkook whispers when you grab his suit jacket. He notes how you bat your lashes, eyes sparkling when you look at him.

“And you look good enough to eat,” you respond, not noticing how your friends give you a moment alone. 

To be honest, Hoseok was a little worried you’d jump each other in front of everyone. You wouldn’t lie.  The thought had crossed your mind.

“Do I?” Jungkook smiles as he cups your face. His lips look very tempting as he toys with his lip ring. 

What you wouldn’t give to strip him naked where he stands. The thought alone sends a tingle down your spine as his fingers move downward to the necklace you’re wearing. 

“Perhaps there’s something I can do about that later on,” he whispers as he releases the initial and locks eyes with you. You blink, left breathless as his gaze locks you in place. 

Should you take him to his room? Forget all about the evening planned with your friends and welcome the new year tangled in sheets, his name on your lips, and his hands on your hips.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, can you do it somewhere else?” Namjoon asks with a brownie in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. 

Jungkook chuckles as he steps away from you. He takes your hand in his and leads you to your friends in the kitchen. 

It’s no surprise that Jimin’s already got the alcohol open. Yoongi turns the stove off and moves a pot off of the eye before calling everyone for dinner. 

The dining room is filled with laughter. Joy spreads from one person to the next as the alcohol and fond memories flow. 

Taehyung and Yoongi suggest moving the party to the living room. The table gets cleared by Seokjin and a tipsy Namjoon, who’s had too many brownies and flutes of champagne. 

Hoseok has cleared the living room coffee table and set the liquor and glasses on it. Each of you has a different glass straw to not get confused, but you know you’ll end up sharing with Jungkook and possibly Jimin by the end of the night. 

The TV is on in the background, a show on mute as they prepare for the new year. The countdown flashes on the screen, still two hours away. 

Fireworks blast off outside from the neighbors and their kids. Despite the cold weather, gatherings still take place. 

Jimin smirks when you take a seat on the couch beside Jungkook. Your hand rests on his thigh, and Jungkook toys with the small chain on your leg. 

“How about we start with body shots?” Jimin suggests, feigning innocence when his eyes connect with yours. 

Jungkook scoffs. “As if, Park.”

Jimin chuckles. He knows Jungkook well enough to know when he’s pissed him off. 

“Don’t worry,” Seokjin giggles. “We won’t do it off your girl.”

“Already making him mad?” Yoongi asks as he sets down a bowl of perfectly cut limes for the tequila. Yoongi normally sticks to whiskey and Tae and Jimin love tequila. Hoseok and you loved cocktails, and Jungkook and Seokjin will have what’s available. Namjoon keeps a flute of champagne in his hand most of the night, sipping in between sweets. 

“Can we just drink already?” Taehyung pouts as he eyes the bottle of tequila sitting untouched on the coffee table. “Please?”

Everyone laughs as they open bottles. Yoongi sits in a recliner with a glass of whiskey in his hand as the music plays from a speaker on the mantel. 

Hoseok sits on the loveseat, a sketchbook in his lap as he watches you. He’d have to get your measurements later, perhaps in a few days or once you return to campus before the semester gets too busy for everyone. He’d like to make something for you and Jungkook. Perhaps matching outfits if time allows, but if not, matching accessories are just as good. After all, nothing is better than a gift given from the heart. 

An hour l and a half later, everyone is giddy and tipsy. Seokjin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Namjoon play cards on the floor. They grow louder, and curses and groans of dissatisfaction escape them when Seokjin lays down his winning hand.

Yoongi hums along to the song playing, and Hoseok puts the finishing touches on his sketch. 

Jungkook has shed his suit jacket, as have most of your friends. The fireplace roars brightly after getting started by Jungkook and Yoongi. 

Hoseok insisted everyone pose for pictures for his Polaroid camera, which caused Taehyung to ask everyone to pose for him. 

“Memories,” he had said with a stern look. “Precious memories that you will thank me for twenty years down the line when your kids ask how you spent your first New Year's Eve.”

It was hard to say no after that.

The countdown seems to fly by once you’re done taking photos. Jimin and Taehyung demand one more shot before heading outside to watch the fireworks and ring in the new year. 

“Oh, come on,” Jimin chuckles. “One body shot.”

You laugh. “I’ll do it off Koo if he’ll let me.”

Jungkook nods, eager to get your hands on his body. He’s been pretty tame due to company but he’s been eyeing you all night, wanting to get you alone to kiss you as much as he wants. 

He hopes he can see you in that dress again when both of you are completely sober. He clears his throat as he lies on the couch after removing his mesh shirt. He’s done a good job of covering the hickeys left on his torso from your past few romps.

 You kneel in front of him while Jimin shoves a lime wedge in Jungkook’s mouth. 

“Lick around his belly button,” Yoongi instructs with a cheeky grin. 

“You guys are the worst,” you grumble. 

“You can back out whenever,” Seokjin assures you. “No judgment.”

Taehyung’s nods. “I’ll do a shot off Seokjin next if it’ll help.”

“No,” Seokjin huffs. “The last time you let it go down into my underwear.”

Taehyung shrugs. “I would have gotten it.”

Seokjin blushes. “Shut up.”

“Can we do this before we miss the clock striking twelve?” Hoseok frowns. 

“Okay, okay,” Jimin says as you lick around Jungkook’s navel. Yoongi puts some salt around the circle and moves out of the way. 

“Come on, Seokjin,” Jimin says as he moves to the older man to get his shirt off. 

“Wait, you were serious,” he laughs as he takes his shirt off, and the friends get distracted for a moment while they tease him. 

You do your shot seamlessly, kissing Jungkook’s hip before moving toward the lime wedge. You grimace when it touches your tongue, and you spit it out into a napkin.

“Ugh, that never goes down easy for me,” you complain as you get on your feet. 

Namjoon and Yoongi have left to fill flutes with champagne in the kitchen while Seokjin put his shirt back on. 

“Get your coats on,” Taehyung claps as he starts handing coats to your friends. Jungkook gets off the couch, turning around to grab his shirt when your friends freeze, and you cover your face with your hands. 

“Geez,” Jimin said your name in between bouts of laughter. “Did you have to maul him?”

“Oh, lord,” you murmur into your hands as your face grows hot. 

“What?” Jungkook asks as he puts his shirt back on and then his jacket. 

“Keep your shirt on around your parents,” Taehyung giggles.

“Unless you want them to see the claw marks on your back,” Seokjin cackles as he leads his friends toward the door. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, mortified. “Does it hurt? Oh, fuck. I’m sorry.”

“Darling, it’s fine,” Jungkook assures you. “I asked for it, remember? I kept asking you to do it harder and harder?” 

You bite your lip, nodding. Jungkook grins, kissing your lips. 

“Maybe tomorrow we can do it again?” Jungkook kisses your cheek as he leads you to the door to get your coat. He helps you into it before you join your friends on the porch. 

Jimin hands you a flute, and Yoongi hands one to Jungkook. 

Hoseok nearly jumps in his spot as he counts down from thirty. 

Giddiness fills your body as you look at your friends. When all of this first started you never imagined feeling joy like this. True friendship that would last a lifetime surrounded you; and included you. 

Jungkook’s hand goes to your hip as he pulls you closer. The wind is brutal but the fireworks burst with color in the air, and their beauty makes being cold worth it. 

“3! 2! 1!”

“Happy New Year!”

You smile brightly as you raise your flute with your friends, taking a sip before Jungkook’s lips are on yours. 

A new year, a new chance to make wonderful memories with the man beside you. 

Nothing could be better than this. 

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[lovelookspretty]

not so bad

college!rafe cameron x reader au

— in which rafe and y/n absolutely despise each other in public but crush in secret. rafe is failing his humanities class & is assigned y/n as his tutor . . . maybe all it took for this relationship to form was just a bit of forced proximity and some time.

warning(s): just swearing, jealousy, rafe being a bitch again

authors note: making this into a whole series so we get that progression !! let me know if u wanna be tagged for every chapter i make <3

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

you knock on the door and wait for an answer. you don’t really know where rafe hangs out on campus, if he even hangs out on campus. you already checked the library, which was a rafe no-show, and then you took every possible long route to get to his dorm just in case he would be walking around.

after his dorm, you don’t know what else you’re going to check if he’s not here.

the door opens, revealing an olive-skinned boy that must’ve been his roommate. you recognize him as a student you’ve seen around campus before. lorenzo, his name, was it?

he smiles as soon as he sees you, and he looks around to see if it’s only you there.

“yeah?”

“is rafe here?” you ask, fiddling with your fingers as you peek through the crack between lorenzo and the doorframe to see if rafe’s on his bed or anything.

“no he’s not, but he usually comes back around this time. you can come in and wait if you wanna,” he offers, and you nod, whispering a ‘thank you’ as you step past him. “is he in trouble?” he asks, going to shut the door. “are you a hookup? cause i think you should know . . . rafe doesn’t get particularly attached to one-nighters. sorry. if he said something mid-nut it’s just a guy thing. well just a him thing.”

you shake your head. “ew, god no i’m not a one night stand of his,” you tell him. “do girls actually come here to talk about it?”

lorenzo shrugs and nods. “usually. it always apparently ends in round two though!” he says like it’s a joke since he’s laughing. like actually laughing. but when he sees that you’re not doing the same, he falters awkwardly and claps his hands. “sorry i don’t mean to . . . i’m just gonna . . .”

you watch as he goes to his desk in silence, and it almost makes you laugh aloud. you only smile as you look down at your feet.

“i’m y/n by the way,” you inform him. “i live down the hall.”

“oh that’s cool. i’m lorenzo.”

you nod, pursing your lips as you look around.

“you’re a lacrosse player?” you ask after a bit of silence and just a lot of keyboard clicking. lorenzo continues typing from his computer and just hums in response. you admire the singular trophy on his shelf, as well as the crosse stick in the corner of the room. you must’ve either missed that before or lorenzo must’ve been at practice when you were tutoring rafe, cause that wasn’t there at all last time. “i like the trophy.”

“that was just for my senior year but my mom insisted i bring it, make a collection for all the ones i’ll win here too, if any,” he says, and you can hear the smile as he talks. it makes you smile too. “she’s my biggest fan.”

“your mom is sweet, and she’s a good thinker,” you say. “i hear the school’s lacrosse team has been doing really good this year. maybe that shelf is gonna be accompanied by another trophy sometime.”

“you’re into sports?”

“not necessarily,” you hesitate, finding yourself laughing with him. “i’m just . . . i do journalism here so i just keep up with everything. my friends cover the sports column. they talk a lot of good about you guys.”

lorenzo spins around in his chair to look at you. “i’ll give it a read sometime,” he tells you, and you smile and nod at him. “so what are you here to see rafe for?“ he asks, setting his hands on his thighs.

it’s like you wake up from reality and remember that you’re there for a reason. “oh right. i’m just here to talk about his grades,” you say, and lorenzo’s face slightly lights up as he lets out an ‘ohh’. “yeah he did really good on his exam the other day so i just wanted to tell him good job.”

“good friend you are,” he mumbles, standing up to check something on rafe’s desk. he grabs an edge of the calendar above the desk, reading it to himself and then flipping the page up and down just to see. “yeah he should only have his doctors appointment planned today but thats in like a few hours. he’s usually done with class by now.”

“i can just text him maybe,” you say, even though you know you don’t have his number. “i live down the hall but if it’s okay—”

“you can wait here, y/n,” lorenzo insists.

you smile and nod again, mumbling out a small ‘thank you’ to him for letting you in his space while he’s clearly been in the middle of schoolwork.

lorenzo is reading through rafe’s calendar when he snorts. “‘tortilla chip day’ on the 24th apparently,” lorenzo reads off. “‘grilled cheese day’ in august. was he fucking hungry when writing these? he has these pre-written.”

you can’t help but laugh and take a peek at what else rafe’s put on his calendar.

the door opens, alerting both you and lorenzo. at first the person is surprised to find both a girl and his roommate, laughing together about something probably stupid. only it’s not just some girl. it’s you. and it’s not just a person. you see it’s rafe.

he recognizes you immediately from behind lorenzo. he can pick you from a crowd. he stands at the door with his hand on his backpack strap, staring at the two of you. “y/n,” he says, under his breath. “what’s so funny?”

“there you are,” you say, your arms crossed as you look at him. “i’ve been trying to find you for the past fucking hour.”

“i’ve been with my professor to talk about my grades, thanks,” he hisses as he walks inside to toss his bag on his bed, looking at you, “are you done hitting on my roommate now? you found me.”

you grimace at him, “what?”

“gee,” lorenzo mutter awkwardly as he hesitates to take his laptop with him and just go outside in the floors lounging area to give to you two some space. “it was nice meeting you, y/n,” he says, and you nod before he steps outside and closes the door behind him.

you look at rafe.

he shakes his head and waves his hand once, telling you not to worry about it. “whatever, just . . . get out?” he says, motioning over to the door. “i have to study for this friday’s exam too.”

you forget how much of a complete ass he is. god, it’s like he hasn’t changed since you were last in here. “‘kay,” you say dryly, and go to leave. “came here for nothing then. look, just remember who got you that ‘A’ and saved you from failing humanities in the first place.”

he pauses when he realizes you knew his score already. “what?” he says.

“that’s why i was trying to find you, asshole,” you tell him, opening his door and looking back. “i asked your professor what you got and he told me you almost would’ve gotten full points if you didn’t fuck up at the end. i was gonna congratulate you anyway.”

rafe stares at you in silence.

“and get a new tutor next time.”

he’s silent as he watches you go, and he blinks when the door is slammed behind you. he looks down at his backpack, then at his desk where he remembered he had to sit at for-fucking-ever to study and prepare for the exam with you.

“fuck,” he whispers, contemplating whether or not he should chase after you to apologize or just yell it down the hallway. but he knows you two aren’t close enough for him to show that kind of behavior, especially not after already embarrassing himself last week with the socks and water bottle donations.

but then again, you put everything aside, rivalry and all just to tell him good job because you know he’s been failing. this whole frenemies thing is the worst.

when you walk down the hall and reach your dorm, you can spot lorenzo seated at one of the chairs in the lounge. you consider going over to apologize that he had to see that, but a voice stops you in your tracks.

“y/n.” it’s rafe.

you quickly try to unlock your door and go inside, but he catches you before you can.

“stop,” he says.

“you stop. go study or something,” you tell him, struggling to unlock your door.

“you’re acting like a kid.”

you look up at him like he’s insane. “you can’t tell me i’m acting like a kid when you were just doing your big one a second ago,” you tell him, and you feel the lock become undone. “unfortunately that’s not how it works. excuse me.”

you let yourself into your dorm and close the door on him, leaving him standing there in silence. rafe looks over to the end of the hallway where the lounge is, spotting lorenzo who’s peeking around the side of the chair he’s on. rafe shakes his head.

it’s been another week since you last spoke with rafe, a few days since you’ve spoken to him. or since he tried speaking to you really. you were on your way back to your dorm again when he caught you, then tried to apologize. you ignored him until you went inside your room.

it all just feels pretty pointless to you. you and him have been going at each other for years. it doesn’t help that you guys get to see each other every day because you committed to the same university, or that your dorms are just doors away from the others. if anything it makes it all worse.

and just recently you helped each other for a day, making it feel like there’s been progression in this whole thing, but you were wrong. and instead of arguing, you just feel like it would be better if you guys don’t talk at all.

a straw is between your teeth as you carry your book under your armpit while trying to grab one of those cardboard things that hold your drink in case the cup itself is too hot and cold. you’re a journalism major but fuck, you have no idea what they’re called.

as you look up, you grab some napkins and head for the door. you’re in immediately alert mode when you can see rafe and his friends getting out of their car in the parking lot. here we go again.

you make your way over to your car that’s parked right outside the coffee shop to make it easier for you, and you unlock the door before getting in.

hearing the laughs from rafe and his friends don’t make you panic. you just set your coffee down in a cup holder after putting the straw in and taking a few sips of your drink, appreciating the flavor.

you lowkey stay in your car to watch what rafe and his friends are up to. they pass your car and reach the shop, letting themselves in before approaching the front counter. one friend is in the front to order, assuming for everyone, while the rest just surround him and check out the treats of the day.

you watch closely when rafe starts stretching. he’s mid conversation with one of them, just grinning as his friend talks his ear off about something apparently really funny. after the one ordering for them is done, he turns to the rest of the group and points to the tables behind them.

rafe looks around the shop for where to sit down, but his gaze land on all the cars out front while the boys decide on where to wait for their drinks. he finally looks at you. here it comes.

but for some reason . . . it doesn’t.

there’s not even a hint of emotion in his face when he sees you’re there. not even to question if you’d been watching him that whole time, or how long you’ve been sitting in your car. he just falls silent and follows his friends over to a table, sitting down and engaging in conversation like normal.

you feel a little upset when it’s the opposite treatment, but you know that’s unfair. you started this whole silent treatment a week ago and you’ve stuck by it. it’s only fair if rafe decides he’s going to do the same.

you put the car in reverse to leave the lot, but you can’t stop thinking about how rafe reacted when he saw you. or rather, how he didn’t react.

but whatever. you decide to push it aside. if you find out that rafe has a new tutor too then you won’t be surprised. if anything you’ll feel relieved because that means you won’t have to spend any more time with him. that the only reason why you’ll ever step foot back in that dorm will be because of lorenzo, not rafe. because that’s what you want. that’s what you want.

. . . right?

@svnsetcrve @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

(okay wtf its not letting me tag someone else)