#the far edge of the suburbs

[dappermouth]

It passed outside your window on a night you couldn't sleep — a phantom burning black against the house across the street.

[yournowheregirl]

for this months @steddiemicrofic

prompt: suck | wc: 480 | rating T | cw: lake creature eddie, suggestive language, tentacles

“Is that a hickey?”

Robin’s voice is loud, way louder than it should be and Steve thanks the heavens that Family Video is deserted today. He tries to ignore her screeching, but then Robin sides up to him and pokes at his neck.

“Didn’t you hear me? I asked you—.” Robin says as her eyes zero in on Steve’s neck. “Correction, are those hickeys? As in multiple?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, right.” Robin scoffs. She grabs Steve’s face and angles it away from her, exposing more of his skin. Steve yelps in protest, and from the corner of his eye, Steve can see Robin’s face falling. “Shit… Steve. These aren’t just normal hickeys. What the fuck have you been up to?”

“It’s nothing, Robin.” Steve grumbles, yanking his face from her grip. “Probably some allergic reaction from that new moisturizer I bought last week.”

“You need to see a doctor.” Robin huffs. “This kind of reaction isn’t normal, Steve!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Robin decides to drop it after that, but Steve can still feel her eyes on him throughout the rest of their shift.

After closing off, Steve gets into his car and starts driving, far past Hawkins’ suburbs until he reaches the edge of the forest. He parks his car there and resumes his way on foot, familiar with the forest even in the dark. After only a few minutes, the forest clears and Steve is greeted by a lake, the night dead silent.

But Steve knows this lake is anything but quiet.

After taking off his clothes and shoes, Steve walks up to the pier. He sits down on the edge, inhales deeply to whistle a familiar tune, and waits.

Something splashes in the water then and Steve bites back a grin as the something swims closer and closer.

“Love?”

“Hi Eddie.” Steve says as Eddie’s head pops above the surface, his webbed ears peaking through his wet hair.

“Steve! Surprise!” Eddie smiles brightly then, flashing his sharp teeth.

“Yes, I know I said I wasn’t coming tonight. But I needed to talk to you about something.” Steve sighs. “We gotta be more careful.”

“Careful. Danger? Where?” Eddie all but growls, his eyes growing impossibly darker as he scans the surroundings.

“No, no, it’s alright. No danger. We’re safe.” Steve says. He reaches out and cups Eddie’s cheek gently. Eddie feels cold, he always does, but never uncomfortable. “You just gotta be more careful with your tentacles, love.”

Eddie cocks his head to the side.

“Last night? When you uh— around my neck?” Steve’s face flushes with the memories of last night, of having Eddie all around him, in him…

Eddie nods with a knowing grin on his face.

“Yeah, your suckers left marks.” Steve chuckles.

“Suck less?” Eddie offers.

“That would be a start.”

Eddie swims closer and Steve feels two tentacles circling his calves.

“Try again?”

[artiststarme]

It's No Secret... Anymore

Thank you to @mx-jinxous for the prompt! This took a really long time to write but it was so much fun playing with everyone's dynamics. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve felt like he was dreaming. It felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes, dissociating far from his own body. He couldn’t feel the weight of Eddie’s slowly-fading body in his arms or the burning of the wounds in his sides. He wasn’t aware of where he was or if anyone was following him. He was purely relying on muscle memory and muscle memory alone. 

He didn’t see the speeding car in front of him that swerved into a nearby bush and fence post. He hardly noticed the hands pulling him backward and out of the road. He came back to himself though once he heard his brother’s voice. 

“Steve? Steve-O? Come on buddy, you’re worrying me here. Where have you been? I haven't seen your ass all week. Come on man, are you… are you fucking bleeding? Brother, answer me. We can’t be out here, there’s an earthquake going on. Come with me.”

Steve blinked just to come face to face with Phil. He was shining his flashlight on Eddie’s face against Steve’s shoulder but his eyes were focused directly on Steve’s.

“You with me, bro?” His mustache twitched unhappily and Steve rushed to answer. 

“Um, no. Not really. I think he’s dying and I kinda might be too. And I think my friends are missing? Where am I?” Steve couldn’t get his thoughts together cohesively. His mind was fractured, overcome with too much trauma in too little time. 

Phil just looked more concerned at his words with his face becoming vaguely panicked once he looked at Eddie. He looked quickly up at Steve, down at Eddie, then back at Steve. “Is this Eddie Munson? The murderer Eddie Munson? The Eddie Munson that has been on the run all week? Good golly Steve, I’m trying not to curse but what the fuck?”

Steve just looked at the pinched expression of pain that Eddie held and murmured, “he’s my friend.”

“Oh my god, Steve. Fine, we’ll deal with this later. Think you can walk to my squad car? I kinda damaged the front end but I’m sure it's semi-driveable. Powell’s tied up with the gates to hell opening up, I have plenty of time to take care of you.”

“Yeah, I can- I can walk,” and he could with the support of Phil. He felt his brother supporting both his and Eddie’s weight until they were deposited into the backseat of the patrol unit. 

“And uh, is the girl hiding in the bushes with you? She’s kinda been watching us for awhile. You might have a stalker, little bro.” He shined his flashlight over to the bush and saw a sandy bob duck behind the foliage. 

“Robin?” Steve muttered, still out of it and only on the verge of consciousness. 

“Buckley, is that you? Come on, you’re coming with us back to Steve’s place. Let’s go,” Phil waved the light between the two. He had both hands on his hips and stood like a disappointed middle-aged dad. “I don’t have time to be doing things willy-nilly. Let’s go!”

Robin poked her head out of the bushes and scooted gracelessly over to the car until she was able to bump elbows with Steve. They both relaxed a smidgen within the same space, the two brain cells reuniting after a stressful ten minutes apart.

Phil hopped in the driver’s seat and bumped his head against the steering wheel. What had this idiot gotten himself into now?

~*~*~*~

By the time Phil arrived at his house at the edge of the suburbs, all three kids were out cold in his backseat. He stood at the open back door for a moment before sighing and lugging first Robin, then Eddie, then Steve into his living room, huffing with exertion all the while. He would definitely have to cut back on the station donuts and start exercising again. Right after he dealt with the dying fugitive on his brother’s couch, the blood seeping through Steve’s shirt, and his brother’s unconscious best friend that was snoring atrociously. 

Jesus Christ. 

Well, he had plenty of practice with medical care from his EMT training so he got to work. He got the first aid kit out of the squad car and started with the murderous Munson. Phil didn’t know what had happened to these kids but it couldn’t be any good. Munson’s entire torso was torn apart like he’d been gnawed on by a wild animal. It wasn’t bleeding too bad but he was missing chunks of skin, so much so that Phil couldn’t sew him up with just sutures. Hell, this kid was going to need skin grafts. A lot of them. 

He put gauze on the worst of the wounds then cautiously stepped over to Steve. What he’d seen on Munson made him hesitant to look at the damage but surely it couldn’t be worse than that. Right? As soon as he lifted Steve’s shirt, he came immediately to two conclusions. 

1. Steve had a lot more chest hair than he did and that was totally unfair.

2. The wounds on Steve’s abdomen were deep, infected, and horrific. 

Just like with Munson, there was nothing to close. All he saw were missing chunks of skin and muscle that should have been in his sides. The marred remains were covered in grime and yellowish puss that made the entire room smell of infection. 

Fuck, he couldn’t help them here. He had to get them, all three of them because he wasn’t touching an unconscious girl for anything, to a hospital. But that begged the question; which hospital? Munson… Eddie was wanted all through the state of Indiana for at least three murders and an assault. If he took him to any nearby hospital, he would be arrested and surely there was more to the story if Steve was protecting him so much. He couldn’t let one of Steve’s only friends get arrested without hearing the story from the both of them. 

He had to take these three up to a hospital in Illinois. Chicago was roughly four hours away, he knew from his and Steve’s annual visits to their great aunt in Evanston. It was a risk, both for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive as well as hoping he survived that long of a drive, but his gut told him to trust his brother on this one. So that’s what he did. He loaded the three teens back into his patrol car and mumbled swears under his breath when he passed the “Leaving Hawkins” sign. He hoped to all that was mighty that he was making a good call. 

~*~*~*~

Steve woke up to familiar voices; one hushed and one screeching. 

“You kidnapped them?! You’re a cop, I thought you would help them but instead you drove them all the way to goddamn Chicago like some middle-aged pervert loser?” Steve came around to a loud argument between what sounded like Dustin and Phil. It was weird though because he’d never introduced the two. 

“Hey, listen here shithead, words hurt. I am not middle-aged, I’m 28. And why would I kidnap my own brother? I can legally take him anywhere, it's practically my birthright. I don’t have to go through all the work of kidnapping him.” Phil shook his head at Dustin.

“Stop trying to trick me, I know Eddie is an only child!”

“Munson?! I’m Steve’s big brother, you little gremlin. Can’t you see the resemblance?” He gestured between where Steve was groggily looking up at him and then back at himself. 

“No, but I can’t see anything past your outrageous mustache.” Steve saw Phil’s jaw drop and knew that Dustin had crossed a line. 

“You short fucker, that is too far! I take a lot of pride in this ‘outrageous mustache’,” Phil put air quotes around the offending remake before pointing an aggressive finger in Dustin’s direction. “I will absolutely take you off the visitation list, toothless. Do not test me.” 

“Don’t threaten me, I’ll report you to the authorities!” Dustin countered. 

“I am the authorities!” Phil dropped all decorum and screamed at practically the top of his lungs. 

Sensing enough was enough, Steve tried to push himself up to a sitting position before a burning in his sides caused him to fall back down. Both men (or one man and Dustin) stopped their squabbling and rushed to his sides.

“Steve, you’re hurt so don’t try to get up. Shit kid, let me get a nurse or something. You weren’t doing too hot.” With that Phil sprinted out of the room, presumably to the nurse’s station and Steve was left with Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin. 

He looked blearily at all of them before asking the most important question, “where’s Eddie?”

They all parted to reveal Eddie lying in the bed next to him. His neck and chest were covered with bandages but his face looked peaceful. There were no cuffs on his wrists as Steve assumed there would be. He laid back again and let out a sigh. Everything was as it should be, he could finally relax.

“Um so Steve, don’t be mad but your brother can be really persuasive when he wants to be and you never introduced him as your brother so I just kind of assumed that we were getting captured by the police and that it was going to be so much worse than the Russians because I always thought Officer Callahan was kind of psycho. But then I woke up here and he bought me Cheetos so everything is fine. Except it's kind of not because you and Eddie have been out for a couple of days and I told Big Not-Harrington about the Upside Down and now he’s really worried. Why did you have to stay asleep so long, dingus? I missed you!”

Steve honestly zoned out when he heard “Cheetos” and only tuned back in when Robin, the usual physical affection-hater, threw herself on top of him in a hug. He withheld the grunt of pain and held her back just as hard. 

“What the hell just happened, bro? Like that was a lot of words, little bird lady. Woah.”

Steve didn’t know if he was hallucinating the long-haired surfer in a Hawaiian outfit or if Vecna had somehow managed to melt his mind after all but he had never been more confused in his life to see the new visitor make themselves known. 

“Who the fuck is that?” He muttered in absolute bafflement. 

Dustin sighed as he too wrestled a hug from Steve, “that’s Argyle. Come on, Steve. Keep up.”

“Like the sock pattern? How many drugs am I on right now?!”

~*~*~*~

“... and that’s kind of why I didn’t tell you about the Upside Down,” Steve finished from his seat beside Eddie, their hands tangled together as they both sat across from Phil. 

He looked at both of them with a completely deadpan stare. “Again, but the truth this time.”

Eddie huffed in annoyance. “We are telling you the truth, man! An evil wizard guy named Vecna-”

“Slash Henry, slash One,” Steve and Robin interjected in unison.

“-possessed four teenagers to end the world or something and broke their bodies apart with his mind. Then the angry mob thought it was me but I would never kill anyone, especially not Chrissy. She was always really nice to me and remembered my band from the talent show in middle school. And then we got stuck in Hell where evil demon bats ate our flesh and tentacles ripped through the earth. Then we saved Nancy from the evil mind melt powers by playing her favorite song. After that, we made a plan and she shot Vecna and killed him while Dustin and I were decoys where I was attacked.”

“Then I went back for Eddie and carried him out where you almost ran us over. The end,” Steve emphasized the finale with a deliberate nod of his still-aching head. 

Phil looked at them with the most exasperation Steve had ever seen in his life. He let out a pitying chuckle, his poor brother didn’t sign up for this. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Phil's eyes rolled so hard that Steve could tell he saw stars. He could almost see the scream being prepared in his throat and couldn't gather enough strength to escape it.

"STEVEN MICHAEL HARRINGTON, WHAT THE MOTHERLOVING FUCK?!"

"Look Philly, I'll say it one more time then I'm done, okay? It first started way back when Will Byers went missing in 1983..."

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[gingiesworld]

Culinary Lessons

MILF Wanda Maximoff GN! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Amab! Reader. Unprotected sex.

18+ MINORS DNI

Taglist: @ginnsbaker

Wanda and Vision seemed to have a happy relationship with two hyperactive twin boys. That was all until a certain person moved in across the street. Y/N Y/L/N was a mystery to Wanda. In the suburbs, almost every residence was occupied by a family. Married couples with children. Y/N moving in was quite out of the ordinary.

So Wanda took it upon herself to welcome them to the neighbourhood, taking over a pot of paprikash, her mother's famous recipe. Knocking on the door with a nervous smile on her face.

"Hi, I'm Wanda. I just live across the way." Wanda introduced herself as Y/N opened the door. A soft smile adorned on their face as they ushered her inside. "I would have come over sooner to introduce myself but I wanted to make sure you were settled before."

"That's ok, thank you." They smiled as they led her towards the kitchen. "I'm Y/N Y/L/N."

"I brought over some paprikash." Wanda told them as she jiggled the pot slightly. "I thought you might like a homecooked meal."

"Thank you so much." They beamed as they took it from her, placing the pot on the stove. "I have been wanting to learn how to cook but I never have the time with work and Lila."

"Lila?" Wanda questioned.

"My daughter, her mom and I divorced a few months ago, that is why I relocated here." Y/N told her.

"I have two 10 year old boys." Wanda told them with a smile. "It would be nice for her to have two new friends whenever she is here."

"So far it is just the holidays." They shrugged tearily. "But anyway, I won't keep you too long Wanda."

"That's no problem Y/N." Wanda smiled at them before bidding their goodbyes and leaving their house.

As the weeks went on, Wanda found herself watching them every moment she could through the window. She noticed how every night they had ordered some form of takeout or came home late with a pizza box in their hands.

So she made her way back over to their house one night, leaving Vision and the boys doing their homework. Knocking on the door briefly, only waiting a moment for them to open the door.

"Wanda hey." Y/N greeted her as they opened the door for her to come in. "What can I help you with?"

"I remember that you said you wanted culinary lessons when we first met." Wanda reminded them.

"I still do but my schedule is pretty hectic." They told her as they made some tea.

"What if I could teach you. Completely around your schedule?" Wanda suggested, thanking them for the tea.

"I don't want to put you out of your way Wanda." They told her softly as she shook her head.

"You won't be." She told them. "I don't really have a job and the boys are with Vis in the evening. Besides, it would be nice to have a bit of company outside of the house."

"Ok." They finally agreed. "I do have Lila in a few weeks so it would benefit the two of us if she would have home cooked meals."

"So just tell me when you're free and we will get cooking." Wanda told them with a bright smile before she left, heading home to her husband and sons.

As weeks went on, Y/N and Wanda enjoyed the time they had alone. It was nice for Y/N to spend time with someone who isn't a colleague as Wanda loved being away from the house. But the more time she spent with them, the more she would fall for them.

Her marriage with Vision is extremely vanilla, hell he doesn't even make her cum anymore. He just finishes before her and then turns away, leaving Wanda hanging over the edge but not completely falling.

"How is Vision and the boys?" Y/N asked her as they waited for the food to cook on the stove.

"The twins are at my brothers for the weekend while Vis is on a business trip." Wanda told them. "It's just really lonely at the house right now."

"Whenever you feel like that Wanda, and I am here. You are more than welcome." They told her with a smile, which she just smiled at them as she checked the food on the stove.

"This is done." She smiled as she stirred it, Y/N coming to stand right behind her as they looked over her shoulder.

"It certainly smells amazing." Y/N smiled, remembering the first dish that Wanda had brought over for them. "It's your mother's recipe isn't it?"

"It is." Wanda breathed out as she felt their hands on her hips. She was afraid to move in case her knees failed her.

"Are you?" They whispered as Wanda sighed as she felt Y/N press against her. Completely molding into them as their arm wrapped around her.

"I am." She whispered as she felt their nose in the crook of her neck. She hadn't realised that overtime, Y/N had gained feelings for her, although she is married to another. Neither can deny the obvious attraction towards the other.

"Do you want this Wanda?" They asked her as their hand wandered under her blouse, making her shudder at the contact.

"Yes." She answered confidently. Turning off the stove before turning to face them, pushing them against the door and kissing their lips hard. Y/N squeezed her hips making her gasp, allowing their tongue access as they explored her mouth. Tasting the paprikash on her tongue. Sucking on the muscle, making her moan as they helped her remove her top. Their eyes raking over her toned form before reclaiming her lips as she hurried to unbutton their shirt, pushing it off of their shoulders. Y/N flipped them around so Wanda was now stood with her back against the cold surface of the counter.

Y/N had started to unbutton her jeans, pulling them down as they got on their knees. Helping her slip off her pumps and jeans. Leaving her in just her underwear. Wanda watched them curiously, not knowing what was happening as Y/N pressed their nose against her clothed centre. Inhaling her scent as it pooled within her underwear.

"What are you doing?" She asked them breathlessly as they started to pull her underwear down her milky thick thighs.

"I want to taste you." They husked as they looked in her eyes before Wanda stopped them, becoming nervous all of a sudden.

"Isn't it filthy?" She questioned as they quirked a brow.

"The sounds that come from you will be filthy as you enjoy it." They told her before diving in, sucking on her clit as she held on to the counter to keep herself up.

"Fuck." She moaned as the teased her hole with their tongue, diving right in as their nose applied pressure to her clit. "Oh god." She whimpered as they went faster than before, her climax getting incredibly close quickly. "I'm going." She tried to push them away, which theu fought against her. She came as they lapped up every last drop.

"Are you ok?" Y/N asked her once they were stood before her, cupping her face as she calmed down.

"Yeah." She whispered before she took their lips again, moaning as she tasted herself on her tongue. Moving to undo their trousers, pushing them down as Y/N turned her around to face the counter.

They massaged her ass cheeks before they pushed her legs further apart. Soon running their hardened member through her folds, teasing her before ramming it right inside. Not giving her chance to adjust as they thrust their hips at a steady pace.

Wanda failed to keep herself up as her arms failed her, her chest touching the cold surface beneath as Y/N's hand found her hair. Holding her cheek against the surface as they went harder and faster.

It didn't take longer for Wanda to cum once more as Y/N continued to pound into her. Not giving her chance to calm down so she soon squirted all over the floor as they came inside her. Y/N helped clean her up before letting her lay in their bed before they cleaned the kitchen and the floor.

Neither realising that someone was approaching the house, looking for his wife.

[heartateasee]

“Magnets”

Word Count: 22.9k

Warnings: Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, mutual masturbation, edging, brief dom/sub play, spitting and hair pulling

❁ ❁ ❁

Fallon swiped the back of her hand across her forehead as she stored the last box of things inside the hall closet. Her parents had cleared it out for her since she was moving home - letting her stay in her old room and store her things here until she found a place of her own. She had been living in Chicago for the past two years after she finished college, but she was over the noise of the city. There was nothing more that she wanted than to come back to the suburbs where her parents lived to start her own life there instead.

She had managed to give herself a nice savings to get herself through the summer without having to push herself into finding a new job, but she was going to be smart about leaving enough in there to give her at least three months rent for when she found an apartment.

Sighing, she closed the door to the closet and walked back into her room - looking at her sweaty appearance in the mirror. Her eyes flicked over to the clock to realize that she only had half an hour to get ready before her brother, Asher, showed up for the cookout her parents were having to celebrate her being home.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath, quickly digging through her drawers for a pair of underwear.

Fallon opened both doors to her closet and grabbed the first sundress she saw before darting into the hallway bathroom. She quickly washed her body and shaved her legs - opting to skip the hair wash, deciding she'd just use some dry shampoo.

She stepped out and pulled her hair out of the bun it was in, her brown flowy locks falling down her back. Making sure to hold the spray can far enough away, she began to spray the dry shampoo into her hair before running her fingers through it to spread it all out.

Satisfied with her hair, she slipped the tied towel off her body and pulled on her underwear - her bright orange sundress following closely behind. It wasn't until she started on her makeup that she could hear her brother's bellowing voice downstairs. She rolled her eyes playfully and shook her head, finishing up the wing of her eyeliner. After applying her mascara, she quickly put some chapstick on her lips and walked out.

Asher's voice grew louder as she descended the stairs, and she turned the corner into the kitchen to not only find Asher and her parents, but also Harry.

Harry had been her brother's best friend since Asher was fourteen and Fallon was twelve - her and Asher being eighteen months apart. He moved into their neighborhood during the middle of the school year, and Fallon's parents, being the good neighbors they are, brought over some desserts to the Styles residence about a week after they were settled. It wasn't until they got a little older when Fallon started to notice just how attractive Harry was.

It was a Friendsgiving party at Fallon and Asher's, which also ended up being the first time she had seen Harry in a little over a year. Fallon had just turned eighteen at the beginning of August and was going through her last year of high school. Harry and Asher went to separate colleges, but they were only a city apart which meant they saw each other all the time. Asher had come home for summer the first year, but Harry stayed in Seattle - having earned a nice internship at a publication company. His parents had gone to see him for the holidays instead of him coming home, and it felt strange not seeing him at all in fifteen months.

His hair was longer, hitting below his shoulders, and she had never seen it that long on him before. It had grown out pretty well before he left for college, but she never knew he would let it grow that long. At first she thought her mind had been deceiving her when he lifted his arms up to grab some more ice from the freezer - her eyes catching sight of the tips of leaves bordering the waistband of his tight skinny jeans. Fallon knew he had a tattoo on his hip before, but it was obvious that it had now been covered up by something else.

And how desperately she wanted to see exactly what it was, as well as its counterpart on the other hip.

In the middle of playing beer pong that night, Harry had pulled his hair back and tied it in a bun against his head. Fallon found herself in a complete daze just looking at him, and she didn't even know how hard she was staring until her friend, Skylar, called her out on it.

Ever since that night, Fallon had found herself extremely attracted to Harry. He ended up coming home every summer after that, and most of the nights between the three individuals consisted of them all hanging out at the pool in the Styles' backyard. She had wondered often if Harry felt the same about her. It was hard for her to wrap her head around the thought that he could. She was Asher's little sister for crying out loud! There was no way he could look at her as anything other than that.

It wasn't until her twenty-first birthday where it became obvious that Harry had to be feeling the same type of way. Harry was done with college and was living in the area again. He had gotten a really good job as an editor at Treehouse Publishing that was just inside the city - about a twenty minute drive from his childhood home. Asher decided to take his art degree abroad for the first year after graduating, and was working at a prestigious art gallery in Rome.

It meant a lot to her that Harry had still decided to come out for her twenty-first birthday even though Asher wasn't around. The only people that joined her other than Harry were her friend Skylar along with her boyfriend, Kennedy, and their other friend, Colson. As the night went on, Fallon was fed more and more shots, not just by her friends, but other patrons at the bar who realized it was someone's twenty-first birthday. She was drunk, but not completely obliterated, by the time Skylar announced they had to get going because Kennedy had to work early the next morning - Colson decided to go with them since Fallon would have Harry to get her home safely.

Harry had been trying his best to be present, but also keep his distance from Fallon. The skin tight dark green dress she had on left little to the imagination, and he could only think she had felt comfortable wearing that since Asher wasn't going to be around. The article of clothing barely covered her backside, hitting right at the tops of her thighs, and he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra underneath the square neckline - her nipples shining through.

He tried to think he was imagining things when he could see the looks she was flashing his way every now and then. Her eyes were darkened from the alcohol, and her body was swaying to the music in a way that he could only see as an invitation. Harry kept trying to tell himself to take it, but all he could think of in the back of his mind was how Asher would literally kill him if he ever touched Fallon in that kind of way.

So he fought against the urges and just observed - smiling to himself at the way he was seeing Fallon really let herself be free for the first time. All throughout highschool she was a disciplined student, never partaking in parties, and using her weekends to study as much as possible to stay at the top of her class. There had been many times that Harry had tried to convince her to ditch her studies to come watch movies or play video games with him and Asher, but she declined every time.

Harry had watched as her friends walked away, and when he approached Fallon he could see that she was definitely feeling her alcohol. They both agreed it was time to go home, and he quickly ordered the Uber for the two of them to get back to her parents house. Once there, Harry helped her get upstairs and they sat on her bed and just talked for a while.

That night they almost kissed, but Harry stopped it, knowing that Fallon's mind was fuzzy. Not to mention what kind of awkwardness that could cause between them. Harry nor Fallon ever spoke of that night again, and Harry wasn't even sure that Fallon remembered it almost happening.

But she did.

"Button!" Asher exclaimed as he set eyes on Fallon, opening his arms for her.

Fallon immediately displayed a toothy grin as she walked forward and wrapped her arms around her brother. "Hi, bubs."

She felt Asher press a kiss to the crown of her head, keeping her close.

Fallon's family had called her 'button' ever since she could remember - everyone saying she had a button nose. Everyone had already called Asher 'bubs' since the minute he was born.

While in her brother's embrace, Fallon's eyes flickered over to Harry to see him leaned against the counter, both palms pressed down against the surface with his fingers curling over the edge. Things had been okay with them the past couple of years - regardless of the awkwardness that could loom over them sometimes whenever they found themselves alone, even if it was for a few seconds.

Asher and Fallon eventually let go over their hold, her brother turning around to help their father prep the hot dogs and burgers for the grill outside, while their mother focused on finishing up the peach cobbler.

Fallon walked over to Harry - who was giving her a soft smile. "Hi stranger," she said, a smirk creeping onto her lips.

They hadn't seen each other since Christmas of last year, and Fallon was still with her boyfriend at the time. The relationship ended a little after New Years - only having been six months. That was another reason Fallon wanted to move home.

"Fallon, hi," Harry said, poking his tongue into the corner of his lip as his eyes trailed over her sundress.

It was embarrassing to Harry how much he thought of Fallon after the night of her birthday. He had always found her pretty, sure, but that night ignited something in him that he had never felt when it came to her. He'll never forget her sultry eyes, or how her plump lips slightly puckered out when they were so close to kissing.

"I didn't know you'd be coming too," Fallon told Harry honestly as she walked over to the fridge, bending over to grab a beer. She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, holding the beer bottle up and giving it a small shake. "Want one?"

Harry cleared his throat, fighting the urge to check out her body from this angle as well. He brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest. "Yeah, please," he responded.

Fallon could tell he was trying his hardest not to let his eyes wander and that gave her a sense of confidence. She knew he could feel the same attraction - he had been showing it here and there ever since the almost kiss.

One thing that Harry didn't know was that Fallon discovered a new found sex appeal in herself after breaking up with her boyfriend. She didn't know how it happened or why, but one day she looked at herself in the mirror and decided that she was done lacking in self-esteem. Finally taking the advice of her friends, she went and got hair done, went shopping for new clothes, and even bought herself some new lingerie.

Ever since then she held herself with a purpose - not allowing anyone to tear her down. Part of Fallon knew that's why Harry was currently struggling to be around her. He had never seen her so sure of herself.

Fallon turned around with Harry's beer tucked in her arm, her own beer in one hand while she shut the fridge with the other. She grabbed the magnetic bottle opener from the fridge and popped both bottles open, extending Harry's out to him once she walked over.

"So, how've you been?" She asked, taking a large sip of her beer. Regardless of how confident she was, his piercing green eyes could still make her nervous. "Haven't seen you since Christmas."

Harry shrugged and lifted his beer to take a sip. Fallon's eyes trained on the way his heart shaped lips separated and rested against the mouth of the bottle, her bottom lip tucking itself between her teeth as she watched. His throat expanded with each gulp, and it wasn't until he pulled the beer away from his mouth that she straightened herself back up - hoping it wasn't obvious how much she was staring.

"The same, I guess," Harry said, lifting his hand to rub the pad of his thumb and his index finger over his top lip, around to the corners of his mouth, and down to clean up any excess liquid. "Just working, hitting the gym, and hanging out with Asher whenever he's not sucking up to Molly."

"Hey, I heard that!" Asher called over his shoulder, causing laughter to erupt between Fallon and Harry both.

Molly was Asher's fiancée, and she should be showing up any minute along with the rest of their family and friends for the cookout.

When Harry mentioned the gym, Fallon already noticed that he had muscled up. A long sleeve yellow shirt clung to his biceps with the sleeves rolled up to the creases of his elbows. There was a graphic of a man's face with glasses and a mustache on it with the words 'Super Hunky' underneath. His Aviator sunglasses were latched to the middle of his collar - keeping them there for whenever they were to head outside. A light blue denim ball cap was on his head, and dark green athletic shorts draped over his tanned and toned thighs - a bit shorter than she had seen him wear before. His white Vans authentics were scuffed and dirty, and she was sure those had to be the same ones Asher had bought him for his birthday a couple of years ago.

Harry admired the light pink that now tinted Fallon's cheeks from her giggles and he sent her a smile. "How about you?"

Fallon blew air out of her mouth - causing her lips to raspberry as she shook her head. "Well, I went through a break up earlier this year. I decided I wanted to move home.  Quit my job a month ago to move here, and now I'm living with my parents," she said, clearing her throat afterwards. "Sorry, that was probably a lot."

Harry's eyebrows narrowed and he shook his head. "Don't apologize. I asked, didn't I?" He questioned. A few seconds of silence passed by before Harry nudged his shoulder against Fallon's. "So, no more boyfriend, huh?"

If she hadn't been playing such close attention, Fallon would've missed the glint in his eye when Harry asked his question. "No," she laughed, resting her beer bottle on her lips again, but not taking a sip. "No more boyfriend."

Tilting her head back, Fallon took three large sips of her beer, and she could feel Harry's eyes burning into the side of her face as she did so.

He went to open his mouth to speak again, but he was interrupted with the doorbell ringing.

"I'll get it!" Fallon watched as her mother walked out of the kitchen to open the front door, Molly stepping in with a few of Fallon and Asher's relatives trickling behind.

Fallon looked up at Harry, lifting her hand to place it on his shoulder. "I'll catch you in a bit. Something tells me I'm about to get caught up talking to either my aunt or my grandmother for the next forty-five minutes," she said playfully, giving his muscle a squeeze before heading to the mass of people gathering in their foyer.

Harry allowed his eyes to wander down to Fallon's round ass through her sundress - the opportunity of her turning her back on him being one that he wouldn't waste to fully take her in. He began to sip his beer again, but he let his sight remain on her over the bottle.

Once Fallon and Asher's family came in and got settled, everyone ended up moving into the large backyard while their dad put the burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Fallon walked over to her dad and placed her hand in the middle of his back, looking down at the meats that were cooking.

"You got a plant based burger patty for Harry, right?" She asked him - not knowing Harry could hear her just a foot or so away. He was in the middle of a conversation with Asher and Molly, but as soon as Fallon's voice sounded close to him he started listening to her.

Fallon's dad cursed under his breath and shook his head. "Dammit, no. I forgot," he said, feeling like a right ass considering Harry had been following the no meat lifestyle for a few years now.

"Dad, it's fine. I'm sure we have some in the freezer, I'll go look."

It didn't take long for Fallon to trail back out, plant based patty on a paper plate as she walked over. "All good," she told her dad, pecking his cheek as she set the plate down.

The fact that Fallon had been looking out for Harry caused a fit of butterflies to erupt in his stomach. He was clearly on her mind just as much as she was on his.

Fallon made her way around the backyard, stopping to talk to all their relatives that had come over just to congratulate her being home. One thing that she didn't enjoy, however, were all the questions that came from those conversations.

"What happened to you and that boy?"

"Well, don't you want to be married in the next couple of years?"

"You've gotta give us a child at some point."

"You don't have a job lined up yet? You're just living off your parents money?"

She didn't feel the need to explain herself to any of them - she really didn't, but the judgment seeping from all of them made her feel so small. Not to mention that she knew this would just lead to gossip among everyone in the coming days after this get together.

Fallon's parents knew their siblings could be a lot, and Fallon and Asher both were thankful that their parents didn't follow that same trend. They weren't nosey, they didn't judge, and they especially didn't try to force any way of living on their children. Their parents wanted them to be true individuals, and to make decisions for themselves.

"So you haven't been trying to find yourself another man after your breakup?" Her aunt asked as she took a large sip from her wine glass. "You're not getting any younger, Fallon. You've got to secure someone for yourself while you still have the looks."

It was everything Fallon could do to swallow down her anger, not wanting to cause a scene in front of everyone. She was going to respond before she felt a hand slide over her lower back.

"I'm sorry to interrupt - Fallon, can I borrow you for a second?"

His raspy accent flooded her ears and she sucked in a deep breath, looking up to see Harry with his Aviators now perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

"Your mom asked me to grab more ice for the cooler from the basement freezer and I can't find Asher," Harry continued with a chuckle - looking down at Fallon as her brown, wavy hair flowed in the breeze.

"Oh yeah, of course," Fallon agrees with a nod before looking back over to her aunt. "I'll find you later."

Harry ended up moving his hand over to Fallon's hip to pull her completely into his side, his forearm pressed against her lower back as the both of them headed towards the house. Once they walked inside, Fallon put her beer down on the kitchen counter and started towards the door in the hallway that led to the basement.

"They usually keep a bag or two down here at all times," she rambled, opening the door and flicking on the light.

They made their way down the stairs, Harry closing the door behind them. Fallon walked over to the large storage freezer, but she soon felt Harry capture her hand and turn her around.

"I was lying about the ice," Harry admitted, his sunglasses still covering his eyes. "I couldn't help but overhear the conversation that was happening, and I knew you were feeling uncomfortable. Just wanted to get you away from all of that for a few minutes."

Fallon felt a sense of relief rush over her, causing her to close her eyes and let out a soft sigh. "Fuck," she whispered, shaking her head before fluttering her eyelids back open. "Thanks for that."

As if they both remembered at the same time, Harry and Fallon looked down to see their hands were still connected.

Clearing this throat, Harry retracted his hand and let it fall back down by his side. "They really like to ask about your ex, huh?"

Fallon scoffed, leaning back against the freezer with her arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, well, I guess when your relatives find out you broke up with a guy who was successful because of his daddy's money - people tend to talk."

"Why did you break up with him?" Harry asked bluntly, clearly not cutting any corners.

"Where do I start?" She laughed, tapping her fingertips against her arm. "First off, I don't think we were ever compatible like that. We probably would've been okay just being friends, but definitely not a couple."

Harry pulled his Aviators off his face and latched them to the middle of the collar of his shirt as before - his eyes finding Fallon's with ease so she knew he was listening to every word.

"Then there's the privilege that he had - one that he used to his advantage more than I liked to see," she continued. "Using his dad's status as an excuse as to why he should get whatever he was demanding at the time."

"What about you?" Harry inquired and Fallon looked at him with a bit of shock. "How did he treat you?"

Fallon took a minute to really process his question. No one had ever asked her that since the break up. "He was fine, I guess," she shrugged, licking over her bottom lip before continuing. "He would cover everything when we would go out, he'd compliment me and pamper me. But romantically, that spark was gone before the relationship started - if I'm being honest."

Harry gave her a small nod, urging her to continue. "The most we ever did really was just hold hands while we were out. We hardly ever kissed. And...and activities in the bedroom were very boring."

As much as she tried to will away the flush that was spreading over her skin, Fallon couldn't stop it if she tried. "Tried finding what I wanted in some hookups over the past few months, but still - nothing I'm looking for."

Fallon watched as Harry's pupils dilated slightly as he stared at her. He pushed himself off the wall he had been situated against, moving his lean frame to stand beside hers. The small of his back met the freezer as he looked down at her.

"I know what that's like, trust me," he said - reassuring her that she wasn't alone in her need for something more and not discovering it. "Haven't hooked up with someone in a couple of months now, but my last few were just...awful."

This caused both of them to let out a few laughs as Fallon looked down to her feet.

Harry had always been someone that Fallon felt comfortable talking to, but they had never really talked about these things before. It made sense to her why they hadn't - who would want to talk to their best friend's little sister about relationships and their sex lives?

On the other end, Harry didn't find it odd at all that he was having this conversation with Fallon right now. They were both older and grown adults who were having a mature conversation about what they wanted out of others. It was actually refreshing to him. Ever since Asher had proposed to Molly, he hardly saw his best friend anymore.

There was a part of him that brewed with excitement at the idea that Fallon was now back home. He hoped that maybe they could get even closer than they already were - seeing as she was someone he found so easy to talk to and get along with.

"I just want more, you know?" Fallon asked after a while, moving her hands down to cup the edge of the freezer. "I want people to be adventurous when it comes to each other's bodies. I just...I don't know - I'm sorry. This is probably such a weird conversation for you to be a part of right now."

Harry shook his head and lifted his hand to the edge of the freezer as well. He slid it over to slightly cover Fallon's - his pinky brushing along the back of it. "I don't think it's weird. You know what you want and you're not afraid to be open about it. Also, we're comfortable and we're adults. We're friends. You need someone to talk to about these things."

"Yeah, but not your best friend's little sister," Fallon stated, looking down at Harry's finger caressing her skin before glancing up into his seafoam eyes.

"Fal, you haven't been just Asher's little sister to me in a long time," Harry explained. "You're my friend too - all on your own."

Fallon felt her mouth dry up at Harry's words. She knew that he felt differently about her now, of course, but to hear him say that he saw her as more than just a package deal when it came to Asher made her heart flutter

"You don't have to say that if you don't mean it, Harry," Fallon told him with a small laugh of disbelief leaving her.

Harry shook his head and took Fallon's hand completely in his - giving it a squeeze. "I mean it. I see you as your own person. Yes, you'll always be Asher's sister, there's no changing that, obviously, but I like to think that we have our own connection too. And, to be honest, I get what you mean by wanting people to be adventurous."

Fallon felt herself get a bit weak in the knees at his sentiment, her thigh accidentally knocking against his as she tried to ground herself.

Even the smallest contact between the two of them, their hands clasped and their thighs just brushing together, caused Harry to tingle all over. He couldn't stop himself as he began to lean in - the sides of their arms now flush against one another.

Fallon began to lean in as well, eyes darting between Harry's eyes and his lips - her heart beat increasing at what others would probably consider an alarming rate.

Feeling each other's breath on their lips, both of their eyes slipped shut as they were so close to what they craved.

The basement door opening above caused the both of them to jump away from one another - Fallon quickly opening the freezer to act as if she were looking for something. No one would've been able to see them since the freezer was tucked into the back corner of the room, but the risk of someone seeing them that way still caused their hearts to feel like they were going to fall out of their asses.

"What are you two doing down there? Dad just finished the food!" Asher called down the stairs.

Harry and Fallon looked over at each other as she opened her mouth to speak. "We're just grabbing more ice for the coolers! We'll be right up!"

"Harry, come help me set up the cornhole boards," Asher said before they could hear his footsteps trailing away.

Harry reached down and grabbed a bag of ice, now needing to keep up the story they had painted. "You sure you've got the other one? I can take both."

Fallon nodded at him. "Yeah, I'm sure. Go ahead and go up there - you know how impatient Asher can be."

Honestly, Fallon just needed some time alone to cool down after finding herself in such a situation with Harry. It didn't help that this was not the first time, but the second. She watched as Harry's bunny teeth sunk into his bottom lip before he nodded and made his way up the stairs.

Letting out a deep breath with her eyes slipping shut, Fallon practically shoved her face into the freezer to rid herself of the redness that she knew was coating her skin.

❁ ❁ ❁

"Do you just want the snacks and stuff out on the table, Molly?" Fallon called from the kitchen as she was setting out chips and dip on a large platter.

Asher and Molly were throwing a housewarming party at their new home that they just got completely settled in. It had been a few weeks since the cookout, and most of Fallon's time consisted of helping Molly decorate the house - considering Fallon had a degree in interior design.

Her and Harry had been texting here and there, and Fallon was secretly hoping he would ask her to hang out sometime - just the two of them. Part of her wanted to grow a pair and just ask him herself, but she was scared of how embarrassed she would feel around him going forward if he were to reject her.

"Yeah, whatever you think looks aesthetically pleasing!" Molly yelled back from upstairs as she was finishing up getting ready.

Fallon walked over to their dining room table and set the platter she was working on in the middle. Making her way over to the fridge, she got out the finger sandwiches they had made along with a cheese tray. Laying it all out, Fallon began to arrange everything, bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she made it look the way she felt Molly would like.

Once she was finished, Fallon went outside to make sure everything was set up in the backyard. She had hung up fairy lights earlier in the day, and Asher had put together a good amount of lounge furniture and scattered it around the yard - giving people plenty of places to hang out tonight.

While she was outside, she heard Asher open the front door, and Harry's voice drew her in immediately. Not being able to help the smile on her face, Fallon made her way back into the house - her smile faltered, however, when she heard a female voice, and saw Harry's arm around said female's waist once they came into her view.

"Backyard all set up, button?" Asher asked, but Fallon hardly heard him.

It was foolish of her to feel any type of jealousy towards the scene in front of her. Her and Harry hadn't gone on any dates, they hadn't discussed going out together, and they hadn't even talked about how they felt about the other. For all Fallon knew, Harry maybe didn't feel anything for her - that he just felt like kissing her in certain moments.

"Fallon?" She heard her brother speak again, and she looked over to him. She forced a smile onto her lips and shook her head.

"Sorry, zoned out for a second - it's been a busy day," she responded with a soft laugh. "Backyard looks great and the table is all set."

Asher gave her a nod before looking back at Harry and Fallon. "This is Harry's friend, Reina."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," Reina said, extending her hand out.

Although it made her skin crawl, Fallon placed her hand in Reina's and gave it a shake. "You as well."

"You're Asher's little sister?" Reina asked before looking up to Harry. "Why haven't you mentioned her to me before? I thought Asher was an only child."

"We've only been talking for a week, Reina," Harry explained with a chuckle. "I'm sure she was bound to come up at some point."

Fallon felt an odd anger brewing in her stomach, and she took that as her cue to remove herself from this situation before she said something she would regret. "Anything that's out you guys are welcome to. I'm going to check on Molly upstairs and see if she needs any help getting ready."

Harry hadn't missed the way Fallon's smile vanished when she saw he had brought a date with him. It had been a while since Harry had logged onto his dating apps, and the most recent swipe he had was Reina - only having swiped a couple days prior to him convincing himself to give dating another shot.

They quickly hit it off, talking about movies and music, and they went on a date just a couple days later. Today actually marked a week since their first interaction, and so far Harry was feeling good about it. He invited her tonight to see just how she acted around the people closest to him.

Failing to mention Fallon to her was something he did subconsciously, but after hearing Reina call him out on it, he realized that he hadn't mentioned her because he did find himself attracted to Fallon. He guessed his mind made him think that by not bringing her up to a potential girlfriend made it to where the attraction didn't even exist.

Harry's eyes bore into Fallon's, but she didn't allow herself to hold his gaze for too long. She quickly made her way up the stairs and knocked on Molly and Asher's bedroom door.

"Molls, it's me. Do you need any help?" She asked.

Molly wasn't the greatest when it came to her own hair and makeup. She tried to put in the effort for things like this, but more often than not, she went barefaced with her hair up in a loose ponytail.

Fallon jumped slightly when the bedroom door swung open to reveal a frazzled Molly, half of her hair curled, and only foundation on her face.

"Oh my god, please, Fallon," Molly pleaded with big blue eyes. "Can you finish curling my hair while I work on my makeup? I'm trying so hard not to have a complete freak out right now."

"Of course, come on," Fallon took Molly's hand and they walked over to the vanity. Once she sat down, Fallon grabbed the curling iron and brush, beginning to work on the unfinished side of Molly's hair. "You did a great job so far - proud of you."

Fallon had slowly taught Molly tricks throughout the few years her and Asher had been together, trying to show her hacks that could make it easier for her to do these things on her own. She could tell that Molly had been following them, and that warmed her heart.

"I don't know how people get so fast at doing these things," Molly huffed as she started to apply concealer to certain parts of her skin - grabbing her beauty sponge to pat it into place. "I've been up here for almost an hour, and I'm not even close to being done."

"Don't say that!" Fallon scolded her as she began to curl a piece of Molly's hair around the barrel of the iron. "You were doing a great job on your own. I just figured you could use an extra set of hands, that's all."

Fallon quickly made work of Molly's hair and touched up some of the pieces that she had done prior to. She sprayed it down with a lighter hairspray, not wanting to weigh down the curls, and Molly was almost done herself - applying mascara to her lashes.

"Do you know what you're wearing?" Fallon asked as she opened up the closet, looking over the options Molly had.

Adorning her own body, Fallon had on a pair of flowy white linen pants with a pair of brown open toed wedges - a strapless nude colored bustier top sitting on her torso. Although the outfit was casual, Molly was envious of how Fallon could make something look so chic just by wearing it.

"Could you pick something out for me?" Molly inquired, spraying her face down with setting spray. "You're better at all of this than I am."

"Molly," Fallon said with a soft sigh, dropping her hand from the door to walk over to her future sister in law. "Everyone has their own way of doing things - their own way of dressing, their own way of doing their hair and makeup. Stop selling yourself so short."

Molly laughed and shook her head. "You sound just like Asher."

"Look, if you tell him this, I'll never help you with anything again. But listen to him because he's right about this," Fallon joked, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

This caused Molly to let out one of her large laughs, and Fallon knew she was able to lift Molly's spirits that easily. "Your secret's safe with me."

Fallon and Molly ended up collaborating on Molly's outfit, going with a pair of flared jeans with some platform sneakers and a black tank top. It was simple, but Molly felt more beautiful than she had in a while.

They made their way downstairs, and they were both surprised by just how many people had showed up in the time it took them to get Molly all finished.

"Oh god, maybe this wasn't a good idea," Molly whined, nervous about what could get messed up by having this many people inside their brand new house.

"It's going to be okay! We're all adults here - no one will get out of hand, I promise. Don't stress," Fallon encouraged, steering Molly into the kitchen where she poured them some tequila shots. "Take this, go find Asher and have a good time."

Molly sucked in a deep breath through her nose before nodding, tapping her shot glass against Fallon's and then the counter, tilting her head back once the rim of the glass was against her lips.

"Hey, where's mine?"

Even though her back was to him, Fallon knew it was Harry immediately. Molly shook her head at him playfully before taking Fallon's advice, going to search for Asher in the backyard.

"I don't know. You should ask your date," Fallon said with a shrug - pouring herself another shot, and quickly downing it.

"Oof," Harry winced, moving to lean against the counter so he was facing Fallon. "Someone has a touchy attitude."

Fallon looked over Harry's appearance, not really getting a chance to before with how shocked she was. He had on a pair of light washed jeans with rips in the knees, and checkerboard Vans on his feet. A loose Pink Floyd "The Wall" shirt hung on his abdomen. It bothered her how good he looked even though she currently found him at the top of her shit list.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Fallon retorted, moving around him to reach the cooler that was on the floor at the edge of the counter.

She bent down, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the way her ass rounded perfectly in her pants. Her legs looked especially long due to the wedges she had on, and her small breasts were almost spilling from her top.

Fallon grabbed a beer and stood back up, cracking it open, and immediately gulping down a few large sips.

"Oh really?" Harry asked with a laugh, running a hand through the front of his curls. "Your whole vibe right now says otherwise."

"Don't you have someone else to interrogate?" Fallon bit slightly which caused Harry's eyes to widen.

"Look, Fal," he started, straightening himself up as he approached her - so she knew he was serious. "I don't know what I did to make you upset with me. If it's about what happened in the basement at your parents, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Oh trust me, you've made that very clear," Fallon said with a roll of her eyes, shoulder brushing against Harry's as she exited the kitchen, and moved into the backyard.

Harry stood in the kitchen a minute longer - blankly staring at the back door that Fallon had just exited out of. His mind wasn't processing how they had been so good over text, but now seeing him in person is when she decides to have a problem about what almost happened.

He didn't realize in the slightest that it was due to him bringing a date when he had tried to kiss her, and that Fallon wished the kiss had actually happened - secretly hoping they would've had a chance to fulfill it tonight.

As the party went on, Fallon found herself extremely tipsy. The party had grown just a bit bigger, and everyone seemed to be having a really good time.

She did her best to steer clear of Reina, only finding herself in conversations with her a couple of times when she would be with Asher and Molly, and Harry would join in. Fallon felt a bit guilty having such a vendetta against Reina without properly knowing her, but she couldn't help it. She watched the way Harry's hand caressed over her back, slipping into the back pocket of Reina's shorts every now and then, and Fallon wished that it was her in that position.

It made Fallon's blood boil which made her mad at herself. She really had no right to be feeling this way. There had been no discussion between her and Harry about what everything meant since they had almost kissed twice now. He was free to do whatever he wanted, and so was she.

Stumbling slightly into the house, Fallon threw her beer can in the recycling and made her way down the hallway towards the bathroom. In her slightly drunken state, she opened the door without even knocking and gasped when she found Reina on the counter, Harry's tongue down her throat.

"Shit!" Fallon exclaimed, quickly smacking her hand over her eyes and turning around. "I didn't see anything, I swear."

She quickly shut the door and dropped her hand, her fingers shaking from how embarrassed she was.

Shaking her head, she started towards the steps to just use the bathroom upstairs, but she got distracted when she could hear Reina and Harry in the hallway.

"Does she not know how to fucking knock?" Reina sneered, and Fallon's eyebrows narrowed.

She hid herself behind the wall, halfway up the stairs, wanting to hear the rest of this conversation.

"Reina, everyone's been drinking. I can tell she's drunk," Harry tried to reason and Fallon could hear the desperation in his voice. "Plus, I didn't lock the door - so if you should blame anyone, it should be me."

"Great!" Reina yelled, her nasally voice raising an octave. "I will blame you then. Clearly you lack common sense if you're not going to lock the door to make out with someone at a house party."

Fallon's hands clenched into fists as she continued to listen. She couldn't stand someone talking to Harry this way, and she was two seconds away from stepping in.

"Oh, please," Harry scoffed. "Again, I've been drinking. It wasn't like there was anything to see anyway - your hands were still trying to get my pants down."

"It doesn't matter," Reina clapped back. "Maybe this is why you haven't had a girlfriend in years. Isn't it embarrassing to you that your best friend's little sister just caught you like that?"

Fallon decided she had heard enough and walked down the steps, rounding the corner to catch sight of Reina lifting her hand. Before she was able to make contact with Harry's face, Fallon's hand captured her wrist. Reina gasped as Fallon stared down at her - her wedges giving her a nice advantage in this situation.

"Who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that, and now you're trying to hit him?" Fallon asked - her tone even but threatening. "I suggest you get the hell out of here before I make you. You better hope I never see you outside of this house because I respect my brother enough not to create a scene here, but if I see you elsewhere, you're going to wish I hadn't."

Reina looked over at Harry, jaw slack. "You're just going to let her talk to me like this?"

Harry was already wearing a smirk on his lips, his arms crossed over his toned chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you think I was going to defend you after you were just trying to slap me? You heard her. Get the fuck out."

Fallon used the leverage on Reina's wrist to shove her out of the hallway and towards the front door. Thankfully, everyone else as the party was so wrapped up in other things they had no idea what was going on. Fallon and Harry watched as Reina quickly scurried out of the house - looking back at Fallon over her shoulder with fear as she did so.

Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't half hard in his pants after seeing Fallon go off on someone like that - not to mention that it was in his defense.

"You're fucking scary when angry," Harry commented with a laugh.

Fallon looked over to him, her mouth in a tight line. "Better hope you don't get me to the point where it's you on the receiving end then."

Without another word, Fallon made her way back down the hallway and to the bathroom that had just been occupied by Harry and the she-devil.

❁ ❁ ❁

It was the following weekend when Asher suggested that Fallon join him and Molly for a beach day with their friends. At first she was going to say no, not really wanting to see Harry after everything that happened at the party, but Skylar said she'd tag along - making Fallon finally accept the invitation. Once Skylar and Fallon got onto the beach, they began to make their way over to where Asher and Molly had already set up their spot.

"Oh, I can see you guys!" Asher said through the phone as Fallon kept it pressed against her ear. "I'm waving my hand around - can you see me?"

Fallon squinted behind her daisy shaped sunglasses before catching sight of Asher wagging his arm around everywhere like an idiot.

"No, I only see this guy flailing around. Looks like he may need medical attention," Fallon jousted.

"Hey, that's not very-"

Fallon hung up before he could get another word in, chuckling to herself as her and Skylar huffed their way through the hot sand.

"You hung up on me!" Asher said jokingly, holding a hand to his chest once they finally made it over.

"Oh, please, you'll live," Fallon stated before throwing an arm around Asher's neck, bringing him in for a hug.

Skylar and Fallon began to lay out their towels and Fallon immediately heard a yell from Asher once she pulled her t-shirt dress over her head to reveal her purple bikini. The bottoms were the cheekiest pair she owned, and the triangles were just enough to cover her small chest.

She may or may not have chosen this particular one on purpose to get back at a certain someone.

"Fallon, what the fuck?" Asher exclaimed, grabbing his shirt and throwing it at her. "Cover up! I don't want all these guys gawking at my little sister while I'm trying to relax on the beach. And when did you get your fucking nipples pierced? Oh my god."

Fallon found humor in Asher's meltdown, watching as he paced back and forth with his hands in his hair. He just kept muttering to himself about how his parents couldn't have given him a little brother instead of a sister, and how he was going to gouge out the eyes of every person he saw looking in her direction.

"Calm down, Ash," Skylar piped up, taking his shirt from Fallon so she could throw it back at him. "She's twenty-three, not thirteen - she's allowed to wear whatever she wants."

Asher gasped out in protest, going to speak again before Molly squeezed his shoulder. "Leave her alone, babe. She's fine," she said, rolling her eyes before looking at Fallon. "You look beautiful, Fallon. That color looks great on you."

Fallon smirked at the fact that Asher wasn't going to be winning this one. "Thanks, Molls, your bathing suit is super cute."

Molly had on a gingham two piece swimsuit that was high waisted, and had frills along the shoulder straps and the waistband. It fit her perfectly, and Fallon could tell she was so happy to be complimented by her over it.

Asher continued to curse softly under his breath, watching as Fallon began to apply sunscreen to her body. "I'm sure Harry doesn't want to see you like this either," he said, shaking his head. "You're like a sister to him too."

It was everything Fallon could do not to laugh at that comment or to tell him that was absolutely false considering Harry has tried to kiss her twice now. But all she did was just send him a look, lifting up her sunglasses - making sure he could see her eyes cutting at him.

"What about me?" Harry asked as he walked over to them, out from underneath the large canopy they had set up.

"Fucking Fallon here is over halfway to making this place look like a nudist beach," Asher complained and, Harry quickly flicked his eyes over to her, not noticing that she had arrived.

Harry was practically salivating as his eyes raked over her frame in that tiny bikini. He was grateful he had his sunglasses on so no one was able to see that his eyes lingered on the piercings he could see so clearly through the thin material of her top. She looked fucking amazing, and he was finding himself having to will away a boner.

He chose not to comment on her appearance either way. If he sided with Asher, then Fallon would be even angrier with him than she already was - he still was trying to figure out exactly what was going on there, but she hadn't returned any of his texts. If he sided with Fallon, then it would definitely come off as suspicious, and he didn't need his best friend questioning whether or not he was attracted to his sister.

But fuck, he was so down bad for her at this point.

Harry just shook his head in response to Asher and went to stand next to his friend, Owen, that he had invited. Owen had worked with him at Treehouse Publishing for the last year or so, and they had grown pretty close. It wasn't until recently that he had left to take a position much like Harry's at another publishing company.

"Your friend okay over there?" Owen asked Harry with a laugh.

"Yeah, just freaking out over seeing his little sister in a bikini. I'm convinced he still sees her as a teenager in his mind," Harry commented as he took a sip from the fresh beer he had just grabbed.

"Oh shit, that's his sister?" Owen asked in disbelief, lifting his sunglasses onto the top of his head to get a better look at Fallon.

Something unfamiliar began to brew inside Harry's stomach as he watched Owen's eyes dance over Fallon's frame. He watched as his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip - a smirk forming on his mouth.

"She's hot as fuck," he commented before lowering his sunglasses back down. "She single?"

Harry just about choked on his beer at the question - never having been put in a situation to hear someone talk about Fallon is such a way. He hit his fist against his chest and cleared his throat. "Uh...yeah, I think so," Harry answered. "But she's picky."

There was no reason for Harry to warn Owen of that, but it was like his mind was trying to get him to scare his friend off before he had the chance to actually hit on Fallon.

"What are you trying to say, Styles? That I'm not a catch," Owen teased, knocking his arm against Harry's. "I'm gonna go ask her out before someone else around here has the chance to.”

Harry wanted to stop him, but he also knew Fallon would get mad if she found out he was interfering in her personal life. Plus, if Asher caught wind of someone hitting on his sister, he'd take care of the problem himself.

Harry watched as Owen approached Fallon, and she looked up at him, throwing all of her hair over to one shoulder as she looked up at him. She had one hand on her hip that was slightly pushed out, her other hand shielding her eyes from the sun even though she still had her sunglasses on.

They talked for a little bit, and after a moment Harry could see Fallon shrugging before shaking her head. Owen began to walk backwards, Fallon sending him a small wave, before he turned around and stood next to Harry again.

"So?" Harry questioned, taking another sip of his beer.

"She said no," Owen huffed, shaking his head. "Which is fine, don't get me wrong - just bruised my ego a bit."

Harry had to hide the arrogant smirk that wanted to perch on his lips. He had been right, he knew that Owen wasn't Fallon's type, truly, but he had an odd sense of relief at the fact she had turned him down.

"Oh, really? What'd she say?"

"Wanted to focus on herself for right now since she just moved home, still getting herself settled and all," Owen explained. "It's no big deal. Just gonna be weird having to be on this beach with her all day then."

Harry wanted to tell him that he should've waited to do it then, but he kept his mouth shut tight - not wanting to add salt to his friend's wound.

The day carried on and Fallon found herself laid out on her towel, stomach down with her arms folded underneath her chin. She had almost drifted off to sleep a few times, lulled in and out of consciousness by the sound of the waves rolling up and onto the shore.

"I don't think he's stopped staring at you since you got here," Skylar said as she sat down crisscrossed on her towel - having just gotten out of the water.

"Who?" Fallon asked, lifting her head up a bit to look around.

"Who do you think?" Skylar laughed. "Harry, you dumbass."

Fallon searched for a moment before her eyes landed on Harry who was throwing a football around with some of the other guys. She could see that his head was turned in her direction, but his eyes were still covered by his sunglasses.

"I know you always deny having a crush on him, but I'm not stupid, Fallon," Skylar said as she extended her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands. "Ever since I caught you drooling over him at Friendsgiving that one year, I knew you started finding him hot."

Sighing, Fallon flipped over onto her back and sat up as well. "Okay, he's hot," she said with a shrug as she stood up, dusting her hands over her legs to get some of the sand off that had blown on top of them. "But it's not like anything could ever happen anyway."

"You don't know that. You're adults now," Skylar scolded her friend. "Why think negatively about it before even trying?"

"Be for real, Sky," Fallon laughed, tossing her sunglasses onto her towel. "It's not even a possibility.”

Before Skylar could say anything else, Fallon made off towards the water - needing to be cooled off after laying in the sun for the past couple of hours. She started with just her feet, letting the water rush up and over, brushing against her ankles, before walking in further. She could feel Harry's eyes on her, burning her more than the actual sun. Once the water was at her hips, Fallon ducked underneath it with her eyes shut tight.

As she surfaced, Fallon flipped her hair - having it slap against her back as she ran her hands over the top of her hair. Her tiny bikini top clung to her breasts, making her piercings stand out even more now that her nipples had hardened.

Harry couldn't keep his eyes off of Fallon even if he tried. He watched as drops of water rolled down her tanned skin before his eyes were glued to her prominent nipples. He wondered what they would look like without the thin material covering them - what it would feel like to put his mouth on them, and let his tongue play with those little metal bars.

Shaking his head, he made his way back under the large canopy to grab a fresh beer. Knowing if he stood there and stared at the wet dream that was Fallon any longer, he would surely have to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. He bent over and grabbed a beer from the cooler, cracking the can open before taking a sip. As he went to step back out, he jumped when his body almost collided with Fallon's wet one.

"Excuse me," Fallon mumbled, walking around him, but her eyes caught sight of the bulge that was growing in his dark blue swim trunks.

Fallon smirked softly to herself - knowing just how she could play this. She approached the cooler and could feel that Harry had turned to look at her. Sighing dramatically, she bent over and made it a point to press herself completely against Harry. There was no chance of her not hearing the gasp that left his lips as he looked down, his eyes glued to her plump ass firmly against his groin.

"F-Fallon," he stammered, hands up in the air slightly - not knowing what to do.

After grabbing her beer, Fallon stayed bent over and looked at Harry over her shoulder. "Oh, sorry," she commented, standing up straight - making sure she rolled her hips to have her ass grind ever so slightly against Harry's suppressed cock. "I didn't realize you were so close."

She cracked her beer open and turned around to look up at Harry - staring into his eyes as she took large sips, some of the overflow running down her chin. Licking over her bottom lip, she dragged the pad over her thumb over her skin to collect the rest of the spilled beer, bringing it into her mouth to suck on it.

Harry could've busted in his swim trunks right then if he wasn't so aware that he was in public.

Feeling satisfied with the interaction, Fallon separated herself from him and ducked under the canopy. She sat back down on her towel and slid her sunglasses back onto her nose - her body tingling with self confidence.

❁ ❁ ❁

Two of Harry and Asher's friends, Jacob and Carly, a couple, suggested going out to the club after the beach. Molly, unfortunately, drank way too much so Asher had already said before they parted from everyone that they wouldn't be joining.

Once again, Skylar was the convincing factor for Fallon going. Kennedy, Skylar's boyfriend, would be joining them, as well as Colson. Fallon hadn't been out at all since being home, so she was excited to see what the night was going to hold. She really hoped that Harry's friend, Owen, wouldn't be coming along.

The whole interaction with him on the beach was awkward. He wasn't her type exactly, but it was the way he hadn't even actually tried to get to know her before asking her out that gave her the ick. Something about it just didn't sit right with her, so she told him she was focusing on herself - it wasn't entirely a lie.

But she knew that if a certain person asked to take her out, she would absolutely say yes.

"Oh my god, Fallon," she heard Skylar gasp as she came back into her room after using the bathroom in the hall. "That dress looks fucking amazing on you."

Fallon had slipped into her black dress while Skylar was gone, and had also put on her black heeled booties. Her hair was up in a ponytail with a few loose strands hanging down to frame her face. Biting down on her bottom lip, she looked over to Skylar.

"I haven't worn it yet - it's just been sitting in my closet. I felt like tonight was the perfect time," she said with a shrug. "Thank you for the compliment, you know how I can doubt myself sometimes.”

Regardless of how confident Fallon had grown in herself over these past six months, the cracks old Fallon had could still shine through sometimes.

"Well, definitely don't doubt this. You look sexy as fuck," Skylar continued to hype her friend up, standing behind her and looking at the two of them in the mirror as she cupped the sides of Fallon's arms. "You know who's gonna be drooling over you even more now, right?"

Fallon rolled her eyes and giggled, moving to her dresser to pull on a pair of hoop earrings and a necklace. "That's if he's even coming.”

"Oh, you were clear in saying that we were going before we left the beach," Skylar said as she plopped herself down onto the end of Fallon's bed. "He will definitely be there."

Although Fallon still didn't believe Skylar, she decided not to argue.

They eventually made their way into an Uber - Kennedy and Colson letting them know that they'd just meet them there. Once they reached the club, Skylar and Fallon slipped out of the car and Fallon could hear Slylar laughing behind her when she turned around to shut the car door.

"What?" Fallon inquired before turning back around and stopping.

Harry was standing outside of the club, showing the bouncer his ID as he waited to be let in. He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Fallon, both of them running their eyes over each other.

Once again, Fallon was stealing Harry's breath as he saw her in that short and tight black dress. The sun had kissed her just right during their day at the beach - giving her a glow that contrasted her dark clothing.

"Told you he'd be here," Skylar teased into Fallon's ear, taking her hand and dragging the two of them towards the bouncer.

Harry remained at the door, holding it open while Fallon and Skylar flashed their IDs. Once they were given the okay, they began to head inside, Skylar thanking Harry as she walked past. Fallon trailed behind just a bit, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed her chest against Harry's. She brushed her body past him as his green eyes held her brown ones.

The tips of Harry's fingers twitched - wanting nothing more than to reach out and grasp her hips, keeping her body pressed against his.

"Thank you," Fallon said softly, as she slipped past. Her own heart started pounding when she saw the way his lips parted, and he ran his tongue over his top lip.

"No problem," he responded, shutting the door behind them once they were completely inside.

Skylar glanced over her shoulder when she no longer felt Fallon's presence, but let out a giggle when she saw Harry practically guarding her with his life. She could see his eyes darting around - already trying to ward off any men looking at her in an inappropriate way.

Fallon's face lit up as she saw Kennedy and Colson were already at the bar, having not seen either of them since she returned home.

"Col baby!" Fallon squealed as she raced over to Colson, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Colson's arms wrapped around her waist, and he lifted her off the ground - swinging her from side to side.

Harry felt that feeling from earlier starting to grow again, and he couldn't stop it no matter how hard he tried. He didn't know Colson at all really, only having met him at Fallon's birthday a couple years ago.

Colson placed Fallon back on the ground to allow her to give Kennedy a hug as well while Harry walked up behind their small group.

"Hey man, good to see you again," Colson said, holding his hand out to Harry. "I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm Colson."

"No, I remember you," Harry said with a nod, slipping his hand into Colson's for a shake. "Harry."

"Oh trust me, I remember your name," Colson said with a chuckle. "Fallon talks about you all the time. Not so much these past few years since she hasn't lived here, but yeah."

Harry felt a sense of pride rise in him at the fact Colson remembered who he was just based off of Fallon speaking about him. He looked over at the girl that had been taking up residence in his mind these past few weeks - his heart swelling as he saw her tilt her head back with a laugh as Skylar tried to shove a shot down her throat.

As the night went on, Harry hung out with his and Asher's friend that ended up showing up a little after he did. He was on his third beer, and had already had a couple shots of tequila. He was in conversations with others, sure, but his eyes were glued to Fallon as she moved across the dance floor - can of beer in hand.

Her and Colson had been dancing a lot, not in any way that seemed anything other than friendly, but it still bothered Harry nonetheless.

He wished that he could grow the balls to just walk out on that dance floor and grab her. The way her ass felt pressed against him earlier hadn't left his mind, and his thoughts began to run wild. The image of her on all fours on the bed with her ass in the air had flashed by, and he felt so dirty for even thinking it in the first place without knowing exactly what was going on between them.

The song changed to one of a slower tempo and Harry immediately recognized it as one by Selena Gomez. Colson whispered something in Fallon's ear, causing her to nod at him, before he walked back over to the bar. She was now alone on the dance floor, Skylar and Kennedy having slipped away to use the restroom and to have a smoke break outside.

Harry watched as Fallon's body began to sway sensually to the music, her eyes slipping shut while she rolled her head back on her shoulders. Her free hand ran over her chest, venturing down to her stomach and resting on her thigh. When she opened her eyes, they immediately found Harry's as the lyrics began to start.

"I'm on my 14 carats. I'm 14 carat. Doing it up like Midas. Now you say I got a touch - so good, so good. Make you never wanna leave - so don't, so don't."

Fallon's full lips mouthed the words - not daring to let her eyes leave the tall man just across the bar from her. She could tell he was just as set on looking at her, causing her to be even more spurred on to continue this little game.

"Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight. Do my hair up real, real nice. And syncopate my skin to your heart beating."

Harry could tell she was moving in a way that was an invitation, just like her birthday a couple of years ago. She wanted him to come out there - to join her. Every part of his body itched to just push his hesitancy to the side and give in, but he couldn't.

"'Cause I just wanna look good for you, good for you, oh-oh. I just wanna look good for you, good for you, oh-oh. Let me show you how proud I am to be yours - leave this dress a mess on the floor. Still look good for you, good for you, oh-oh."

Fallon rolled her body while her confidence grew, knowing that Harry hadn't taken his eyes off of her once. She was open, and ready for him to approach her - her eyes were begging for it. To be completely honest, she was starting to grow frustrated with his lack of reciprocation. What more did she need to do to show him that she was interested?

"I'm on my marquise diamonds. I'm a marquise diamond. Could even make that Tiffany jealous. You say I give it to you hard - so bad, so bad. Make you never wanna leave - I won't, I won't."

As the second verse began to fade back into the chorus, Harry watched as a guy approached Fallon. Her eyes stayed on Harry over his shoulder as he spoke to her, and eventually he slotted himself behind her. His hands grabbed at her hips as she swayed them, leaning back into his chest.

"Gonna wear that dress you like, skin-tight. Do my hair up real, real nice. And syncopate my skin to your heart beating."

Fallon lifted her arm to wrap her hand around the back of the stranger's neck, his hands sliding down to rest on the tops of her thighs while he buried his face into her neck. She could see the way Harry's eyes flipped from lust to rage, and she couldn't help the crooked smile that found its way to her lips.

"'Cause I just wanna look good for you, good for you, oh-oh. I just wanna look good for you, good for you, oh-oh. Let me show you how proud I am to be yours - leave this dress a mess on the floor. Still look good for you, good for you, oh-oh."

Harry felt like his mind was starting to fry with the anger that was growing inside of him. Seeing her dancing like that, against someone that wasn't him, had him trembling. The way she kept her eyes strictly on him wasn't helping, and even though it did give him a bit of arrogance, he wished he was the one with his hands gripping to her thighs.

It felt like a kick to the gut when Fallon finally shut her eyes and curled her body more into the mystery man behind her. Harry shook his head and turned around to face the bartender, lifting his hand to signal that he needed another shot. The shot of tequila was delivered swiftly, and he quickly downed it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Skylar press herself up against the bar beside him. She was studying him with her head tilted to the side, and when Harry looked over she sent him a small smile.

"You're jealous, huh?" Skylar asked as she grabbed her fresh drink off the bar, pinching the straw between her thumb and index finger as she took a sip.

Harry raised an eyebrow at her and laughed. "Jealous? Of what or whom? How did you come to this conclusion?"

"Oh, Harry," Skylar sighed with a shake of her head. "It's obvious, my dear. But, I could also slap you across the back of the head for just standing here while she was clearly trying to draw you in."

A bit shocked at Skylar's words, Harry turned to lean his hip against the bar, one arm still resting on top of the surface while the other brought his beer to his lips. "Who? Fallon?"

"Yeah, you fucking dipshit, Fallon," Skylar huffed. "Jesus - you're both just as bad as the other. Do you not understand that she wanted you to be the one behind her like that right now, not some stranger?"

Harry swallowed harshly at Skylar's words, knowing she was right. He opened his mouth to speak, but Skylar continued.

"God, Harry," Skylar continued, looking up at the ceiling as she contemplated what to say next. "She would absolutely fucking kill me if I was telling you this, but the two of you are making this painful."

Not daring to interrupt, Harry just kept staring at Skylar who's eyes were now closed. She let out a loud sigh before opening her eyes once again to look at him.

"Fallon likes you, dude," she put it plainly, not cutting any corners. "And I know you like her too. So, man up or you're going to lose your chance."

Skylar grabbed her beer off the bar and walked over to join Kennedy and Colson - leaving Harry standing there in a state that could only be explained as shock.

Actually hearing that Fallon liked him had his head reeling, and he couldn't process a proper thought if he tried. He knew there was something there from the teasing touches, the lustful glances and the playful banter - he never suspected for her to actually like him though.

He turned his attention back to the dance floor to see Fallon speaking into the stranger's ear. The man gave her a soft nod, his hand on her lower back before she pulled away from him and headed towards the back hallway where the bathrooms were.

Harry quickly finished up the rest of the beer he had, setting his empty bottle on the bar, before following behind her. She was a good way ahead of him, but he knew he'd catch up to her in no time. Once he rounded the corner, he saw her leaned up against the wall, her left leg curled up with the bottom of her shoe pressed against the surface as she scrolled through her phone.

Swallowing down every bit of anxiety that swirled in his chest, Harry walked with a purpose as he approached Fallon. She let out a yelp of surprise - almost dropping her phone as she looked up to see Harry standing in front of her.

Her lips parted as she slipped her phone back into the pocket of her dress, pressing her palms against the wall behind her.

Harry soon mimicked her hands as he closed all space between the two of them, his own palms splayed against the wall on either side of her head as he slipped his knee between her legs. Fallon fought back a gasp at the sensation - their eyes never straying from each other.

"Are you having fun, Fallon?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm, and a bit of taunting, as he lowered his face even closer to hers. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

Fallon tried to find it in herself to speak, she really did, but the newfound closeness between her and Harry had her completely lost.

"Cat got your tongue, love?" He asked, brushing the tip of his nose across her cheekbone - causing Fallon to close her eyes. "Strange to find you speechless these days."

Fallon's fingers curled against the wall, slipping themselves underneath her palms as she sucked in a deep breath at the feeling of Harry's knee moving up higher. It brushed against her inner thigh, goosebumps erupting all over her skin.

"How did he feel, hm?" Harry continued, pressing his cheek firmly against hers as he spoke directly in her ear. "Do you think he's going to be the one to be able to satisfy you? To give you what you've been searching for so desperately these past few months - maybe even years?"

The throbbing between Fallon's legs was almost immediate, and her head felt dizzy at his words. This was the closest they had been, truly, and the skin of his cheek against hers was causing her whole body to ignite with a heat she had never felt.

"Tell me, Fal," Harry crooned, and she had to keep herself from moaning out already. "Who would you rather quench that thirst? Him or me?"

It was as if Fallon's mind turned to complete mush - pressing her chest up and harder against Harry's. She could feel the coolness of his cross pendant hanging from his necklace against her chest, and for some reason that made her realize their closeness even more.

"Do you think I'd be better?" Harry questioned as he moved one hand from the wall to drop against one of Fallon's tanned thighs. "Do you think I could scratch that itch that's been bothering you for so long?"

His fingertips trailed up her skin, and this time she did gasp out as she felt them smooth over the seam of her thong - between her pelvis and her leg. Biting down on his lower lip, Harry lifted his head and held Fallon's eyes as he pressed the tips of his fingers against her swollen clit through the thin material of her underwear. Fallon's jaw went slack as he moved his digits in a slow circle, dragging this out as painfully as possible.

The door to the bathroom that Fallon had been waiting for opened up, and Harry dropped his hand from her. Quickly, he pressed a kiss underneath her ear before using his other hand against the wall to push himself up completely, staring down at her.

"Seems it's your turn," Harry teased while running his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

He allowed his eyes to wander over Fallon's body one more time, shaking his head, before turning around and heading down the hallway, back towards the bar.

Fallon whimpered at his retreating form before rushing into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her and locked it, settling on the toilet. Once she did her business, she stood up and walked over to the sink, quickly washing her hands.

Once finished, she slipped her clean hand into her underwear, and swirled her dripping entrance with her fingertips. She moved them up to her clit that was aching, aching for him, and massaged them there - her other hand gripping to the edge of the porcelain sink in front of her as her chin met her chest.

It didn't take long for Fallon to reach her orgasm when she had Harry's lustful gaze stuck at the forefront of her mind.

She cleaned herself up and then washed her hands one more time before heading out of the bathroom - walking back towards the bar. She could only hope that the flush in her cheeks had died down so no one suspected anything.

Fallon's arm was against Skylar's as she grabbed the bartender's attention for another beer and two tequila shots.

"You okay?" Skylar asked, eyebrows knitted together as she stared at her friend. "You took a while."

"Yeah, there was a bit of a line," Fallon lied while the bartender placed her beer and the two shot glasses down. She picked hers up and passed the extra to Skylar. "Now come on, I wanna get more than a buzz going."

Harry walked past the two women and approached the bar himself on the other side of Skylar to grab another beer. Fallon tried not to look at him, she really did, but her eyes had other ideas.

Once again, his moss colored eyes met hers as she downed her shot, licking at the corner of her lips as she put the glass back down.

"There you are," the mystery man from earlier crept behind Fallon and circled his arms around her waist. "Was thinking you had dipped out on me."

Fallon cringed slightly when he nuzzled his face into her neck, the flirtatious attitude she once had towards this man now gone after what she had just experienced with Harry.

"Sorry, I'm not really interested like that," Fallon commented, pushing his arms away from around her waist.

The man stood up straight and scoffed with a shake of his head. "Your loss, baby."

Fallon rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her beer before looking back over to Skylar.

"C'mon, Sky, let's go dance again."

❁ ❁ ❁

Fallon and Harry hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks, but here they were, seated on the couch at Harry's home with Asher between them as they watched a movie. She was dressed casually, in a pair of leggings and a large jumper that swallowed most of her frame - the sleeves hanging to cover the palms of her hands so she could curl her fingers around the cuffs. Fuzzy socks were on her feet, and her hair was on the top of her head in a messy bun. Her knees were pulled to her chest as her eyes glued to the screen.

Harry sat in a pair of light blue washed jeans and a Kendrick Lamar 'DAMN.' hoodie - one of his ankles resting on the top of the opposite knee with his arms spread over the back of the couch.

It was a shock to Harry when he opened the door to his house to see Fallon slightly hiding behind Asher. She sent him a soft smile as they made their way inside, and both of them tried their best to act as normal as possible so Asher didn't call them out for being weird.

Harry and Fallon had texted here and there after the night at the club, but Harry still couldn't bring himself to ask her on a date. What the hell would Asher think? What if things didn't end up working out and the whole friendship was ruined after that? What if Skylar was lying and Fallon was just trying to have a little fun? These were all the questions that ran through his mind when he deleted the lengthy text he had typed out - explaining some of his feelings to her before asking her to get dinner with him so they could talk more about all of it.

Little did Harry know that Fallon had found herself in the same situation. She had written something up in her 'Notes' app, and kept checking and reworking it. There were several times where she had gotten so close to sending it, but she chickened out.

It didn't help that all she could think about was how Harry's fingers felt pressed against her while he had her pinned up against that wall. It was pathetic, really. He had hardly even touched her, and there she was - writhing in her bed with a mess between her thighs as she fought to think of anything but him.

When Asher had invited Fallon to tag along with him tonight, she almost said 'no'. Yes, she and Harry had been texting, but their conversations were far from having any true depth. It started with him asking if she had gotten home from the club okay - seeing as Harry was the one who waited with her for her Uber to arrive. From there they had just been casually texting. It seemed the jealousy that both of them had displayed had dissipated, and they were back to their friendly selves.

That didn't help the nervousness that Fallon had felt coming here tonight, though. There was a tension in the air, and it was only made to be more awkward since her brother, Harry's best friend, was sitting between the two of them.

A few times tonight Harry and Fallon's hands had brushed against each other when they would go to reach into the popcorn bowl that sat on Asher's lap. Each time neither of them had been looking - focused on the movie playing on the TV. It was the most simple thing, really, but it still caused a soft pink tint to cover Harry's cheeks when Fallon's eyes would catch his after it happened.

The credits of the movie began to play and Asher let out a heavy sigh, reaching forward to place the practically empty bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. "Alright, I'm gonna go ahead and head out," he said, standing up - stretching his arms above his head. "Molly wants to get up early and go on a run. Do you want me to go ahead and take you home, button?"

Fallon looked up at her brother before quickly flashing her eyes over to Harry. She cleared her throat and looked back to Asher, opening her mouth to speak, but Harry started speaking instead.

"I can always take you home if you wanna keep hanging out," Harry said with a shrug - trying to play it casual, but he was freaking out a bit on the inside. "No pressure or anything."

A knot formed in Fallon's stomach as she realized this would be the first time that she and Harry were actually alone. Ever.

"Yeah, sure," Fallon agreed with a nod before looking up at Asher. "I'll see you in a couple days, bubs? Dad said you were going to come over to help clean out the shed?"

"I should be over there on Wednesday," Asher responded as Fallon stood to give him a hug.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, and gave her a tight squeeze before Harry stood from the couch as well. They shared a hug of their own as Fallon watched - tugging the sleeves of her jumper further over her hands.

It surprised Harry and Fallon both that Asher wasn't more skeptical about leaving the two do them by themselves, but they had never really given him a reason to question if there was an ulterior motive for Harry asking her to stay.

Fallon's back was to the door as Asher exited, and once she heard the click to signal he was fully gone, Harry moved forward. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she thought he was approaching her - only to have blush cover her skin when she realized he was moving around her to lock the door up.

Harry smirked to himself just a bit when he saw Fallon's reaction to him getting closer to her. He knew that she probably hoped he'd missed it, but he hadn't.

"So, uh," Harry spoke, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Do you want to watch another movie or something?"

Fallon managed to muster up all the self confidence she had been building over the past few months so that she could get rid of the nerves she had. She didn't want to come off as uncomfortable or nervous.

Her mind kept telling her 'it's just Harry' which caused her to have an inner dilemma. That was the problem...it's Harry.

"We can, or we can just hang out and talk," Fallon shrugged.

Harry's eyes did very little to hide the fact that he was kind of freaking out, and it made Fallon feel like she had the upper hand in the situation - unlike that night at the club when he made her body feel like complete jello.

Walking forward, she smoothed her palms over his shoulders before resting her hands there and giving them a small squeeze.

"Harry, you look like I've asked you to whip your dick out," she joked, hoping to relieve some of the tension in the room. "There's no reason for either of us to be nervous. We've known each other for a little over eleven years now? It's just me and you. Fallon and Harry.”

Fallon's hands burned through the material of Harry's hoodie, as well as the shirt underneath it, while she spoke. He tried to focus on what she was saying, but her eyes were glued to her plush lips moving as she spoke. Thankfully, he was able to get it together towards the last part of her little speech - taking in what she said.

"Y-yeah, you're right," he stammered, letting out a small chuckle. "Just Fallon and Harry."

Dropping her hands from his frame, Fallon hummed to herself as she walked into the kitchen, pressing herself onto her tiptoes to snag the bottle of tequila that Harry had on top of the fridge.

"How about we take some shots, sit on the couch, and just loosen up?" Fallon asked as she grabbed two shot glasses from the cabinet before heading back over to the couch.

She set everything she had selected down on the coffee table, letting her body go practically limp as she fell back onto the couch.

Harry watched as her brown eyes looked up at him under her long eyelashes and she patted the spot next to her. "Aren't you going to join me?"

His eyes wandered over her body as she sat there, one leg lazily crossed over the other - slightly sunken down on the couch to where her torso was a little scrunched up. Her head was tilted to the side, and he could see her tongue run along the inside of her bottom lip while she waited for him.

Running his now clammy hands over his thighs, Harry sat down on the couch beside her and reached forward, quickly pouring each of them a shot of tequila. He held hers out for her and she sat up straighter as she took it from him.

"What are we cheersing to?" Fallon questioned, knocking her knee against Harry's.

"To us, I think," Harry said, pursing his lips slightly. "We've never hung out just the two of us like this before. I'd say that's something to cheers to."

Fallon smiled and tapped her shot glass against Harry's. "To us."

They made quick work of taking their shots, Fallon only wincing slightly as she reached for her half empty beer that was in arms reach. She washed the liquor taste down with a shake of her head - her face contorted. The first shot was always the hardest.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at the cute expression that had washed over Fallon's face, even though she appeared to be in complete disgust. He grabbed the remote for the TV and put on his Spotify playlist to provide them with some background noise.

"So, what should we talk about?" Harry spoke up, grabbing his own beer to take a long sip of it.

"How about we play a game? That could be fun," Fallon suggested as she tucked her legs up against her chest again, like she had them while they were watching the movie. "Oh! Would You Rather is always fun."

Grabbing her phone from the small end table on the end of the couch, she immediately googled 'Would You Rather' questions, smirking to herself when she made sure to put the world 'dirty' in front the phrase.

"Should I look some up too then?"

Fallon nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but make sure you search dirty questions."

Harry cocked a brow at Fallon as he began a search of his own after retrieving his phone from his hoodie pocket. "So we're making it dirty, eh?"

"Unless you're too chickenshit, Styles," Fallon teased as she found a website that looked like it had a lot of good questions.

"You've been around me enough when we've played games like this before," Harry started. "How many times did I refuse to do a dare when we'd play Truth or Dare, huh? Oh yeah, none. I always did them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Fallon waved him off with her hand. "Whatever helps compensate for your small dick size. You start."

Harry couldn't stop himself when he reached out and cradled Fallon's jaw in his palm - bringing his face close to hers. The tips of their noses were just shy of touching. She gasped in surprise, and her eyes widened as she stared at him.

"I'd watch what you say, Fal," Harry said, his tone gentle, but still stern. "Or else I may have to just prove to you that you're wrong."

Fallon swallowed harshly at his words before feeling him release her face. She quickly reached out to pour herself another shot of tequila, swigging it down - not even needing to chase it with beer this time.

"Hey! You're drinking my tequila and you're not going to pour me a shot?" Harry asked, wanting to get back at her a little bit.

He knew Fallon had a better way of teasing him than he could ever tease her, but every now and then he felt that spark within himself to try.

Rolling her eyes, Fallon poured him a shot and handed it to him.

"Just for all that, I'm going first," Fallon mumbled as she scrolled through the webpage. "Would you rather have sex while blindfolded or handcuffed?"

"Easy, handcuffed," Harry said before tipping his shot back into his mouth.

Fallon made note of the way his jaw twitched as he closed his mouth, and the image of his jaw unhinging while between her legs snapped into her mind. She cleared her throat and pressed her thighs together.

"Why handcuffed and not blindfolded?" She asked, taking another sip of her beer.

"I like seeing people when they're pleasuring me or when I'm pleasuring them. It's something that really turns me on," he answered, looking down at his phone to get his own question. "Would you rather hear dirty talk, but their voice is ridiculously annoying and makes you wanna die or have completely silent sex?”

"Definitely silent sex," Fallon laughed, resting her cheek along the tops of her knees - wrapping one arm around her shins.

"Not one for dirty talk?"

Harry got up from the couch, taking Fallon's empty beer can from her with his in his other hand. He tossed them in the recycling before getting two new ones.

"Oh no, I'm all for some dirty talk," Fallon said without any hesitation. "But I have this thing about the tone of people's voices, so I would immediately be so turned off if their voice was annoying."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at her answer as he sat back down on the couch and handed her a fresh beer. "Touché."

Fallon poked the tip of her tongue into the inside of her cheek as she searched for her next question. She snorted as she stumbled across one, dropping her phone to clamp her hand over her mouth while tilting her head back.

"What?" Harry asked, giggling along with her when he could see just how tickled she had gotten. "What did you read?"

Her laughter died down just enough for her to speak again as she lifted her phone once more. "This one says, would you rather have one nipple or three nipples? But that one's already decided for you because you have four."

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, feigning offense as he reached out to pinch her side, causing Fallon to yelp - throwing her into another fit of laughter.

Harry took the time to admire the way her nostrils slightly flared as she laughed, her throat pulsating as it continued to bellow out of her. Her laughter was like a warm blanket, and he found himself just wanting to snuggle further into it.

"Oh fuck, that was good," Fallon sighed as she was finally through with her giggles. She grabbed her phone and shook her head. "Okay, this question is the real one. Would you rather only be able to have sex in the shower or on a table?"

Harry lifted his hand to tap his fingertip to his lips playfully as he thought. "On a table," he answered with a nod. "Shower sex is fun, but it's not the most easy or practical."

"Agreed."

"Would you rather be on top or receive from behind?"

Fallon raised her eyebrows, a bit shocked that Harry had moved to an even deeper question so quickly - as far as sexual preferences were concerned. She sighed as she thought about it, tilting her head from side to side while opening her new beer. "That can truly depend, and by that, I mean it depends on what you're working with," she explained, taking a break to sip from her can. "If you have a guy who's a little smaller in length - being on top for a woman can make them feel bigger than they actually are. Not to mention, it's a lot easier for women to move their hips around if they're on top so that their g spot is being stimulated."

Harry was the one who raised his eyebrows now as Fallon continued to speak. He was intrigued that she was explaining this in such depth to him, and he was shocked that she felt comfortable enough to do so. "However, if you're with a guy who is larger, then from behind is absolutely amazing. I've only ever been with one guy who was actually good in that position - sucked that he was such an asshole though. Ordered an Uber for me on his phone before he had even pulled out of me, and then made me leave his apartment and stand outside by myself while I waited for it to get there.”

"Shit, are you fucking serious?" Harry asked with a shake of his head.

"Mhmm," Fallon hummed while taking a sip of her beer. "Ended up blocking my number too once he saw I had gotten in the Uber. For the longest time I thought there was something wrong with me, but the more I thought about it, the more I think he was actually married. Looking back, a lot of shit in his apartment pointed to him not living alone, but I was just so caught up in the moment that they didn't fully hit me then."

"Still, that's one of the worst after sex stories I've ever heard," Harry commented. "No one deserves that - especially you."

They held each other's eyes for a moment before Fallon grabbed her phone and found her next question. "Would you rather have late night sex or morning sex?"

"Ah see," Harry said, lifting his hand to snap his fingers. "This is where it can depend for me. Late night sex is a lot of fun, and it's usually built around tension that's been growing throughout the night. Most of the time, those are the really crazy, hard sex sessions, you know? But morning sex..."

Harry trailed off for a minute, taking a large sip of beer, before letting out a deep sigh. "Morning sex is a lot more intimate. Most of the time the girl is so soft, and still so sleepy - they're still just as eager to have it as you though. And sometimes it's just lazy, and kind of sloppy, but it's still so fucking good."

Fallon's eyes fluttered as she listened to Harry speak. She had never heard a male talk about sex in such a genuine way before. She knew that he meant every word he was saying by the slight glint in his eye - causing her heart to swell a bit.

"Wow, that...you're really good at describing that," Fallon complimented him and Harry looked over, sending her a shy smile.

"Thanks."

Licking over his lips, Harry looked down at his phone. "Would you rather pleasure yourself with a toy and have someone watch you or would you rather have someone pleasure you with the toy instead?"

Fallon's throat went dry at his question - one of her biggest fantasies being someone watching her while she pleasured herself. She didn't know why it turned her on so much when she thought about it, but she had brought it up to her ex boyfriend who made fun of her for it. Ever since then, she had shoved the fantasy down.

Harry noticed the way that Fallon's body language changed, her legs tensing together, and he could hear that her breathing had gotten heavier. A crooked grin found Harry's face as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Brought up something you've thought about before, have I?"

It took a while for Fallon to decide whether or not she wanted to tell Harry about said fantasy, but he hadn't judged her yet, and she knew he wasn't the judging type to begin with.

"Yes, you have," she told him, not daring to break their eye contact.

"And which part of the question was it, Fallon?"

Instead of answering him, Fallon quickly set her beer down on the coffee table, reaching out to do the same with his before she straddled his waist. Harry didn't hold back as his hands grasped at her hips through the soft material of her leggings.

"Why tell you..." Fallon began, crossing her arms over her stomach to grab the hem of her jumper - pulling it over head to reveal her thin white tank top underneath. She wasn't wearing a bra, and she knew Harry could see her hard nipples with her piercings immediately through the material. "When I can just show you?"

Harry wasn't able to wait any longer. He moved his hands from her hips to cup her cheeks, bringing her face down to crash her lips against his.

Fallon rested her hands against the sides of Harry's neck, the pads of her thumbs pressing against his jawline. She slowly rolled her hips down onto him - coaxing a soft moan to leave Harry, vibrating against her lips.

"You too," she mumbled into the kiss, hands tugging at this hoodie. "Off. If you have a shirt on, take that off too."

There was no need for Fallon to repeat herself, Harry's hands were already gripping to the bottom of his hoodie, making sure to take hold of his shirt as well. He separated his lips from hers to quickly pull it over his head, and threw the articles of clothing down on the couch next to them.

Fallon had seen Harry shirtless a countless number of times, but the fact that he was underneath her like this now was clouding up her mind. She reached her hands out to glide them over his biceps and then over his shoulders. Her fingertips delicately danced their way down over the ink that adorned his skin - bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

"So how do you wanna do this, Fal? The ball is in your court," Harry panted, already so worked up just from having Fallon in his lap. "Use me."

It surprised Fallon when Harry said those words. She figured he liked to be the dominant one in the bedroom, and while that was normally true, Harry could see that fire inside Fallon that needed to be tended to. She had never had the opportunity to explore that side of herself, and Harry knew she would be able to pull it off effortlessly.

"I'm only going to ask this once," Fallon stated with a firm voice. "You're sure about that? Because this need has been pent up inside me for a long time."

"I'm absolutely sure - we can have a safe word, just in case," Harry assured her with a nod. "How about we use tequila?"

Fallon smiled softly. "Okay - tequila."

Leaning down, she connected her lips with Harry's again, feeling his large hands against her back. They moved their lips together fluidly, and Harry felt like he couldn't get enough. He was tingling all over, and he wondered if Fallon felt the same.

Fallon felt like she was on cloud fucking nine, and they were just getting started. Kissing Harry was better than she could've ever imagined, and now she knew it was going to be hard for her to ever stop.

"Now," Fallon breathed as she pulled away from his lips. She pushed her hands against his shoulders so she could stand, taking a few steps back to give him room. "I want you to crawl to the bedroom on all fours."

Harry's eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of his head at her request. He had been slightly dominated before in the past, but it didn't end up going that well. The girl he was with was unsure of herself - which caused him to be pulled out of the moment constantly. Fallon was already showing that she was confident, and would be able to keep the act up. That alone had Harry wanting to obey her every command.

Swallowing hard, Harry slowly lowered himself from the couch and onto the ground - palms pressed firmly against the hardwood floor.

Fallon felt a wave of arousal creep into her underwear, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep herself from making any noise. Seeing him like this was doing things to her. She knew the minute they were in that bedroom that she would need to take care of the pulse that had found its way between her legs.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Fallon asked, moving to stand right behind Harry. "Crawl."

Harry sucked in a deep breath and Fallon watched as his rib cage expanded while doing so. Deciding not to waste anymore time, he began crawling towards his bedroom - his cock already aching inside of his jeans. He could hear Fallon's footsteps behind him, and he stopped for a moment, peering over his shoulder at her.

"Did I say you could stop, kitten?" Fallon scolded, clicking her tongue against the back of her teeth. "Keep going."

Harry felt his dick twitch at her words - nails digging into the hard surface underneath his hands. This was turning him on way more than he expected, and he was afraid that he was going to bust the minute her hands were on him.

Obeying once again, Harry continued to crawl towards his bedroom. Fallon's eyes trailed over his back muscles as he alternated his hands - watching as they became more prominent if he was using that arm primarily to hold himself up.

Stopping once they were in the middle of his room, Fallon reached down to remove her socks - bundling them together before tossing them on Harry's dresser.

"Be a good boy and go sit in that chair for me, will you?"

Harry didn't speak as he pushed himself off the ground and sat down in the chair just as Fallon had asked. He rested his hands on his thighs while she shut the bedroom door. The less sound that was able to travel from this room, the better.

"Very good," Fallon praised him as she stripped off her leggings, kicking them to the side.

Harry's eyes wandered over her toned and olive colored legs - a small black lace thong hiding what he craved to see most. Fallon felt like she was on top of the world with the way Harry was looking at her when she wasn't even naked yet. She reached down and pulled her tank top off her torso, letting it fall to the ground.

To his surprise, Harry felt himself grow even harder at the sight of Fallon's bare chest. He could feel a wet patch growing on the material of his briefs, and he didn't know if Fallon would find that shameful or appealing.

His eyes never left her as she walked to sit herself down on the end of his bed. Lifting her hand, she pulled the tie out of her hair that had been holding it in a bun - allowing it to cascade down her back.

"Do you have toys here, Harry?"

Harry nodded, licking over his bottom lip. "Yes, ma'am - in the nightstand to your right in the top drawer. Everything in there has been thoroughly cleaned.

"Being so good for me," Fallon cooed. She leaned back to open up the drawer, and her eyes quickly scanned over the different things he had to offer.

It wasn't too much, and Fallon honestly didn't expect a lot. There were a couple of butt plugs, a cockring, different kinds of lube, and then a few different vibrators. She also made note of the silk ties, rope and handcuffs. Deciding on the middle sized vibrator, she pulled it out the drawer and sat up straight again at the edge of the bed. Lube wasn't necessary. Fallon knew she was already dripping inside of her underwear.

"I'm going to pleasure myself, and you're going to watch," she explained as she slowly pulled her underwear down her thighs, keeping her eyes on Harry. "And if you continue to be good, maybe I'll let you please yourself as well. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded and then his stomach clenched as Fallon pulled her thong off completely - tossing it to him as he sat right across from her. He looked down at them as they had fallen in his lap before looking back over to her.

"You can touch them."

Grabbing the thin material off his lap, he grasped them in the palm of his hand, and he could feel just how wet they were. A groan rattled in his chest which made him realize he didn't know just how long he could watch Fallon do this without being able to touch her - or himself.

Harry just about broke his jaw as Fallon lifted her legs to her chest, her heels resting on the edge of the bed. Teasing him just the way she wanted, she slowly spread her legs apart to reveal her glistening core. Her pussy fluttered as the cold air of the room hit against it, but Fallon was quick to run her hand along the inside of her thigh to capture his attention away from it.

"Tell me, Harry, how do you feel about what you see?" Fallon asked, running the tips of her fingers down her folds to gather her arousal - throwing her head back with a soft moan. She let them play there for a while before dragging the tips of them to her clit, starting to rub herself in circles.

"You're beautiful," Harry said honestly, feeling as if all the breath had been pushed out of his body at the sight of her. The air in the room changed to one of sentiment more than lust - causing Fallon to stop her motions, and look directly into Harry's eyes as she closed her legs a bit. "So fucking gorgeous, Fallon. Thank you. Thank you for letting me see you like this."

A feeling that Fallon wasn't familiar with swirled in her stomach. She was tempted to say fuck the domination plan and just let him take her right then and there, but she knew he was enjoying this dynamic just as much she was.

"Thank you, Harry," Fallon spoke softly. "And you're welcome. I'm glad we're doing this together."

"You feel safe, right?" Harry asked, breaking down the charade for just a moment. "You're not uncomfortable."

Fallon couldn't fight the smile that twitched onto her lips. "Not at all. I feel so safe."

"Okay, good," Harry cooed. "You let me know if that changes."

"I will. And you let me know if you start to feel uncomfortable, okay?"

Harry nodded and Fallon let out a soft sigh as she spread her legs open once again. Deciding to just get on with it at this point, she ran the tip of the vibrator down the inside of her knee and to her groin. As the soft silicone material hit her folds, she flipped the vibrator onto the lowest setting. She hummed as she pressed it against her clit - her hips slightly bucking up at the sensation.

"Fuck," she whined, moving the tip down to tease her entrance.

As soon as Fallon plunged the vibrator inside herself, Harry's hand clutched harder to her underwear - his other hand grasping to the denim of his jeans. He shifted his hips as Fallon let out a large moan, starting to thrust the toy in and out of her slick entrance.

This was unreal to Harry. She was unreal.

Fallon felt the tension in her lower stomach growing rapidly as she stilled the toy inside herself. She moved her other hand down to start rubbing circles against her swollen pearl once more.

"It feels so good," Fallon moaned as she flicked the vibrator up to the next setting.

The stronger vibrations had her legs beginning to tremble, and she started to move the toy once again - moving her hips back and forth to completely stimulate herself.

Feeling herself slipping into utter bliss, Fallon pulled her legs even further apart and set up a proper rhythm. Her hips were practically thrusting down against the toy now, neck arching back as mewls of pleasure left her mouth.

She hadn't even realized her eyes were closed for so long before she blinked them open to look over at Harry. His skin was flushed and she could see a sheen of sweat clinging to his hairline. Trailing her eyes down, she could see just how hard he had grown and she nodded at him.

"You can touch yourself now, Harry," she told him. "Been so good for me."

Harry quickly popped open the button on his jeans and sunk his hand holding Fallon's underwear into his briefs. He hissed out in sensitivity once his cock was in his palm, rubbing the lace material of her thong up and down his shaft.

"W-what are you doing?" Fallon asked, her eyebrows knitted together. "I want to see you."

"I think you've had all the control for long enough now, love," Harry told her, his hand working his length at an accelerated pace. "Fifty-fifty only seems fair at this point. You don't get to see my cock until I'm about to stuff you with it."

Harry's filthy mouth had Fallon clenching down around the toy and she cried out, her orgasm quickly approaching just from how turned on she had been for the past hour or so.

"Okay, o-okay, fifty-fifty," she agreed with sharp nods of her head.

They held each other's eyes as they pleasured themselves, Harry having a plan of his own once he knew Fallon was about to be completely taken over with pleasure. His eyes moved from hers to watch the toy enter and exit her - drops of precum dripping all over his briefs and his thigh.

"Are you close, Fallon?" Harry asked, giving himself a squeeze as he saw her arousal gushing around the toy.

"Y-yes, so close," she whined, her hips squirming around.

Harry quickly popped up from the chair, throwing Fallon's underwear against the ground as he made his way over to the bed. Fallon looked up at him with wide eyes - not making any indication that she was going to stop what she was doing.

"I think you've teased me long enough," Harry growled before taking hold of Fallon's wrists - pulling them so that her hands traveled away from her body.

The toy left her and Fallon whimpered, having been so close to her orgasm. "Harry, I was almost there," she said, shaking her head.

"I know you were. But you'll come when I tell you that you can. Do you understand me?"

Fallon stared at him, being completely thrown that their dynamic had changed so quickly. He brought his hand down to tap his fingers against her clit, her body jolting.

"I said - do you understand me?" Harry demanded, moving his other hand to wrap around her neck while shifting his body so he had her laid flat against his bed - hovering over her.

"Yes, I understand."

"As much as I want to tie you up, I'm not going to, but I am going to use this toy against you for as long as I want," Harry explained as he reached out - taking the toy out of Fallon's hand.

He immediately pressed it back against her entrance - swirling it around to tease her. Fallon's back arched, causing her naked chest to press against his, and he felt the cool metal of her nipples piercings on his skin.

"Looking so fucked already," Harry uttered out. "Making my head spin, Fal."

Looking down at the toy between, Harry maneuvered his body to spit down against her and just the sight of him doing that caused Fallon to moan. He pushed the toy back inside of her and she cried, gripping to his biceps. Her hips lifted with a mind of their own to meet the toy - toes curling as she chased the orgasm she was so close to just seconds before.

"How does that feel? Better than when you were doing it to yourself?"

Fallon nodded, hardly being able to answer from how dizzy she was feeling. Harry lowered his head to capture one of her nipples between his perfect lips - the unfamiliar feeling of that cold bar through her flesh stirring something up inside of him. He opened his mouth just slightly, his breath against her skin, as his tongue rolled the bar back and forth.

"Oh, Harry," she groaned, moving one hand to rest in the back of his hair. "Just like that. God, this feels amazing."

Harry lifted his head to look down at her. "Does it feel good when people play with them like that?" He asked, making sure he was still moving the vibrator around inside of her with purpose.

"I just got them about five months ago, and with my last hook up they were still healing. So you're technically the first one to try them out," she laughed, lifting herself to nip at his bottom lip. "But to answer your question, it feels so fucking good. My nipples have always been sensitive, but this just makes it even better."

"Fuck, Fallon," Harry gasped, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. "You shouldn't have told me I was the first one to play with them - giving me a big head over here."

Fallon giggled and moved so Harry's lips slotted against hers. He quickly licked over her lower lip and Fallon opened her mouth for him easily. Harry rolled his tongue against hers as he felt Fallon pressed her knees to his hips.

"Mmm, Harry," Fallon whined as she pulled her mouth away from his. "I'm about to come."

Harry pulled the toy out of her and she gasped, clutching to him as she felt her orgasm fading away once again. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes, and she let out a small sob.

Concerned at first, Harry looked down at Fallon, eyes darting all over her face. She was writhing underneath him with her thighs pushed together - trying to find anything to satisfy her to completion.

"You know I'm gonna take care of you, right?" Harry asked, tossing the toy onto the ground to deal with later after turning it off.

He slipped his body down hers until he had her legs draped over his shoulders. His hands cupped over the tops of her thighs - using his thumbs to spread her open even more so he could properly look at her.

"So pink and pretty," he slurred, dipping his thumb into her entrance - that small movement causing more arousal to drip out of her. "I'm going to devour you now."

Harry didn't give her a second to think before he latched his mouth onto her. He decided he'd let her come on his tongue, but after that he needed to be inside of her. He lapped at her entrance, drinking up her arousal. Kissing his way up her folds, he suctioned his lips to her swollen clit that was just begging for attention.

Fallon knew that she wasn't going to be long now that Harry had already caused her to be edged twice. Her heels dug into his back as she reached down to cup the back of his head. Pressing her palm against him - she forced him to bury himself further into her pussy. Harry hummed against her, causing her moan to get caught in the back of her throat.

"You taste so good, baby," Harry told her, tilting his face up a bit as she looked down at him. Her eyes locked with his green ones as he smirked at her. "Fuck, I'm not going to be able to get enough of you."

Making sure she didn't miss him for too long, Harry kissed his way back down to Fallon's entrance and let his tongue enter her. He moved his thumb up to press against her clit - not even making movements, just applying pressure.

"O-oh, oh my god," Fallon all but wailed, her thighs beginning to shake against Harry's head. "Please, Harry, I need to come. I need to come so bad, please."

Harry pulled back one last time to look at Fallon and he gave her a nod. "You can come, Fallon."

Making sure he had his mouth on her in time, Harry licked at her over and over again until he felt her orgasm coating his tongue. Fallon stared at the ceiling, no noise leaving her as euphoria completely blanketed her from head to toe. She could still feel Harry against her core, but her orgasm made it feel like he was all over.

Harry kissed over her once more before crawling to hover over her. Tears were leaking out of Fallon's eyes as Harry cupped her chin with one of his hands, pressing his fingers against his cheeks to part her mouth a bit. "Open," he told her and Fallon obliged, opening her mouth even more.

Gathering a mixture of his spit and her orgasm behind his teeth, Harry puckered his lips and spit it directly onto Fallon's tongue. Her eyes fluttered shut as he moved the tips of his fingers to press underneath her chin - signaling that he wanted her to close her mouth. She did so and didn't even need to be told to swallow, she did it all on her own.

"Good fucking girl," Harry crooned in her ear, beginning to kiss over her neck. "I think it's time I give you my cock now, yeah?"

Fallon nodded lazily, the floaty feeling her orgasm gave her beginning to drift away. "Yes, please," she said, her voice slow and gentle.

"So polite," Harry complimented with a kiss before getting off the bed.

Not wanting to miss a moment, Fallon moved herself further back onto the bed and propped herself up with pillows, her eyes glued to Harry.

Feeling a bit arrogant from the way she was eying him, Harry smirked as he pulled the zipper of his jeans the rest of the way down - the button still undone from earlier. He decided to take his briefs down along with them, needing to be free of anything holding his erection down.

His painfully hard cock slapped against his stomach, and Fallon had to keep her jaw from dropping at the sight of it. She knew he was big from the couple of bulges she had seen him concealing recently, but he was definitely bigger than she thought.

Harry's smirk grew larger, satisfied with the reaction he received from Fallon considering he could see her pupils dilate. He walked over to his nightstand and pulled out a condom, but was quickly stopped once Fallon reached out to grab his forearm.

"Wait a second," she instructed, moving off the bed to kneel in front of him. "Let me do this first."

Harry moaned as Fallon took him into her mouth with ease, her eyes slipping shut as she licked at his slit, and then moved down. She had one hand resting on his hip, the other working the part of his shaft that she wasn't able to fit into her mouth yet.

"Your mouth is magic," he said deliriously, reaching a hand out to bunch her hair into a makeshift ponytail. "Can't do this for too long or else I'll come. I wanna finish inside of you."

Fallon nodded and Harry groaned as it caused his tip to bob up and down at the back of her throat. She allowed him to guide her just a bit, pulling her mouth up and down his shaft, before pulling her off completely.

"Get back on the bed."

Licking over her lips, Fallon obeyed and pushed herself back onto the soft surface - laying flat as she was before as Harry ripped open the condom and rolled it down his length.

"Sure you're ready for me?" He asked as he crawled back onto the bed to hover over Fallon. "You looked a little scared there for a minute."

"Are you sure you're ready for me?" Fallon teased right back, lifting her arms to wrap them around Harry's shoulders. "I may not have a dick, but I promise I can have you crying from pleasure in a matter of minutes."

Harry chuckled and knocked his nose against hers. "I'm going to fuck you now, Fallon."

Fallon grinned up at Harry, moving so her lips were ghosting over his. "You think you're going to fuck me, Styles?" She asked and Harry pulled back a bit to blink down at her.

Clasping both of her legs against one of Harry's thighs, Fallon quickly tightened her arms around his shoulders and flipped them over. She moved with purpose to straddle his waist - one hand moving to position him at her entrance, and the other latching to his neck to slightly choke him. "Not if I fuck you first."

Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as Fallon sank herself down onto him completely in one go. She tilted her head back with a moan - her hand tightening just a bit against his throat. Fallon had never felt so full in her life. He was stretching her to absolute bliss and although it was a little painful, she welcomed it.

"Oh my god, baby," Harry whimpered as he reached out to grab at her hips - fingertips indenting into the small of her back. "Holy shit, you're so fucking tight."

Fallon clenched around him at his words, and it had Harry throwing his head even further back into the pillows.

"You feel amazing," Fallon breathed, opening her eyes to look down at Harry. His eyes were still closed and his face was so flushed now. With parted lips, she could hear him practically panting underneath her. "You're filling me up so nicely, Harry. I can't wait to show you just how much I appreciate it."

Harry's eyes opened at her words and once they found her own she began to move her hips back and forth. His pelvic bone massaged perfectly against her already sensitive clit - a shudder running up her spine from just how good she felt already.

"You look perfect on top of me," Harry said, lifting his hands to cup her tits. He tweaked at one of her piercings while his other hand massaged her other breast. "You're so sexy, Fal. I'm obsessed."

"I think I might be obsessed with you too," Fallon admitted as she moved to rest her hands against Harry's chest.

Lifting herself up, she began to bounce herself up and down on his dick. She cried out and arched back, pushing her jiggling breasts even further into Harry's palms. Her breath left her every time he would reach his deepest point - her nails sinking into his skin.

Harry ended up sliding his hands back down to Fallon's hips to assist her in moving up and down his cock. The sound of her wetness surrounded them, and Harry knew he wasn't going to last all that long now that he was inside of her. He hoped he didn't embarrass himself by coming too soon. That's the last thing he would fucking need now that he had her the way he had been craving her.

Fallon clenched around him when she felt a crazy pressure against her clit and Harry groaned, clutching her hips harder. "I've gotta be honest," he spoke up. "I won't be lasting long. The way you look and the way you feel has me ready to lose it right now."

All Fallon could do was hum in response to him. She had been giving it to him hard at first, but with the edging and the orgasm combined, she was starting to slow down.

Harry picked up on this quickly and stilled Fallon with his hands. "You're getting a little tired, love," he said, smoothing his hands up and down her thighs. "Let's switch, okay?"

Fallon gave a tired nod and slowly lifted herself off of him. Harry was silently grateful for the break, knowing that if he stayed out of her for a little while, he may be able to last just a bit longer.

"Can you get on your stomach and get on all fours?" Harry asked as he wrapped his arms around Fallon's waist to pull her down in the bed next to him.

"Mhmm, yeah," Fallon said with a lazy nod. "I'm already feeling better being down here like this."

Harry smiled and leaned to press a kiss to her top lip, and then her bottom lip before connecting their lips fully. Fallon curled into his side, rubbing the arch of her foot up and down one of his calves as he let her recuperate a little bit more.

"You ready, baby?" Harry mumbled against her lips and Fallon nodded.

Unraveling herself from him, Fallon pushed herself onto her elbows and arched her back a bit. Harry shuffled onto his knees, letting his eyes wander over her as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "God, you're...you may have me a little ruined after this."

Fallon giggled and buried her face into the crease of her arm. She lifted her head again after a moment and Harry was still staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry, Harry, you've already got me ruined," she told him honestly. "Ruined for everybody else."

Harry quickly positioned himself behind her, stroking himself a couple of times to get himself fully hard again. "Gonna start now, okay?" He asked and Fallon nodded - clutching the comforter of his bed in her hands once she felt his tip at her entrance.

This time Harry made sure he entered her slowly, wanting to feel every flutter and pulse of her walls as he pushed himself inside. He was biting down so hard on his bottom lip that he was surprised he wasn't drawing blood. She felt absolutely amazing - the wet dream he had seen back on the beach come to life.

"Oh, fuck," Fallon cried as she buried her face in one of his pillows once he was fully seated inside.

Just as she had said before during their game of Would You Rather, this position felt magnificent considering how equipped Harry was. He was nudged so perfectly against her sweet spot - not even having to change anything while in this angle to find it.

"So good, so fucking good," Harry muttered as he leaned down to press a kiss to the middle of her back.

Fallon managed to arch even further as Harry drew his hips back, giving his first signs of movement since being inside. She was fully sinking into her elbows which increased just how pleasured she was already feeling.

"I-I can't," Fallon choked out, shaking her head.

She couldn't believe just how overwhelmed with pleasure her body was already when he hadn't done hardly anything yet.

Harry was giving himself a pat on the back for this one. When Fallon made the comment about the one single guy that was able to give her good sex from behind being an asshole, he wanted to be the one to take that place, and then treat her right afterwards.

Pushing back into her again for the second time, Fallon quivered underneath him. She couldn't even think of words to form at this point, but she knew she was still making noises to show just how much she was enjoying this.

"Can't wait to have you coming all over my cock," Harry grunted out as he began to snap his hips in and out of her over and over again, watching as her ass jiggled every time he'd collide right up against her.

Reaching out one of his hands, the other still gripping to one of her hips, Harry wound Fallon's hair around his wrist. Grasping the hair in his palm, he pulled backwards which had Fallon lifting off her elbows, her hands now holding her steady against the bed.

"This okay?" He asked breathlessly as the heat in his abdomen grew larger and larger.

Instead of speaking her answer, Harry felt Fallon completely clench down against his prick, her second orgasm covering him. "Jesus fuck," Harry hissed, throwing his head back with his eyes closed.

He tugged on her hair a bit more to have her completely hovering over the bed, her small hands reaching out to grasp the headboard so she had some kind of leverage.

Fallon hadn't even been able to warn him of her approaching orgasm. He was making her feel so good, so fast, and she was already sensitive.

Harry's chest began to heave up and down as he opened his eyes to look down at Fallon once more. "I'm about to come, baby," he announced.

Fallon gave him a nod before clenching down around him once again. That had Harry slipping completely over the edge and he dropped Fallon's hair, wrapping his arms around her torso to pull her back flush against his chest as he emptied himself into the condom. Fallon could feel him pulsing inside of her and she lowered her hands to grasp his thighs. It felt so erotic to feel him like this as he buried his face into the side of her neck.

Both completely exhausted, they turned and laid down on the bed with Harry still tucked inside of her. Fallon's fingertips drifted up and down Harry's arms to soothe him as he puckered his lips to her bare shoulder.

"You okay?" He asked, nudging her jawline with his nose.

Fallon nodded. "I'm so okay, Harry," she responded with a laugh. "That was fucking amazing."

"You're amazing," he told her, pressing another kiss to her shoulder as he began to pull out.

Fallon's body shuddered slightly, already hating the feeling of being empty of him.

Harry moved around his room to dispose of the condom, and he didn't even ask before scooping Fallon up into his arms to carry her into his en suite.

They cleaned themselves up, Harry changing the sheets while Fallon finished up. She walked out of the bathroom still naked as Harry just finished putting his backup sheets on the bed - jogger sweatpants hanging on his hips.

"I-I can just get an Uber if you don't feel like taking me home. I don't mind," she told him as she began gathering her clothes from the floor.

Harry's eyebrows narrowed. "You're leaving?"

"I mean...yeah," she said, blush tinting her cheeks. "You don't have to act like you want me to stay."

"Fallon," Harry said, quickly rounding the bed as she pulled her tank top over her head. "I'm not acting like I want you to stay. I do want you to stay."

Her lips parted in surprise before Harry took her face into his hands. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against hers, thumbs running over her cheeks. He pulled away and pressed another quick kiss to her forehead. "But only if you want to stay. If you want to go home, I'll understand."

Fallon shook her head quickly. "No, I'd like to stay."

A large smile covered Harry's face, and he nodded. "Okay."

He shuffled over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of his boxers for her to sleep in since her underwear was thrown in the wash with his sheets. Fallon thanked him as she pulled them over her legs and she immediately walked over to the bed, slipping underneath the covers.

Harry flipped off the light and crawled in beside her. He wasn't sure if she wanted to cuddle so he gave her space, but Fallon quickly nudged herself into his chest - tangling her legs with his.

"So...what do we tell Asher?" She asked, running her hand up and down his side.

"Do you want to tell him immediately?" Harry asked, planting a kiss to the top of her head.

Fallon was silent for a moment as she thought. "What if we just see where this goes first, and by the end of the summer if this is something we're sure we really want, then we'll tell him."

"I'm pretty sure I know what I want," Harry confessed, nuzzling his nose into her hair. "But I think we should wait to tell him."

"I'm pretty sure I know what I want too."

Harry wrapped his arms tight around Fallon, keeping her pressed against his chest as the two of them drifted off to sleep.

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader, Maggie Greene × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 5.07

“Why can’t Maggie be in here?”

An older woman with auburn hair named Deanna smiles at you. She was in charge of Alexandria, and she would be deciding if your group would get to stay or not. You didn’t mind talking to her initially, but what made you uneasy was her videoing your conversation and not allowing your sister to sit in the room with you.

“I won't bite,” she smiles. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable; I just want to ask you a few questions.”

When your group first arrived in Alexandria, everyone was made to hand their weapons over, and now being asked personal questions... it felt intrusive. Deanna straightens out old-fashioned flora curtains before wiping her finger along her bookcase, which was fully stacked. She smudges the dust between her fingers, then turns to you and asks, “How long have you been out there?”

“Uh, I’m unsure. Two years maybe.”

She sits down in the chair across from you and asks, “How did you all find each other?”

“When someone got shot, they were brought to my family's farmhouse so my dad could help save them.”

She looks intrigued. “Is your father a doctor?”

“No, he was a veterinarian.”

“Smart man. I’m assuming because you’re referring to him in the past tense, he’s no longer with us.”

“I lost my dad not long ago.”

“Have you lost anybody else?”

“I lost my big brother Shawn, mom, and cousin Arnold all on the same day. Walkers attacked them. My dad and sister were killed by people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, sounding sincere. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Deanna shakes her head and says, “You are far too young to have lost so much. I truly am sorry. So, as far as I’m aware, Rick is the leader of your group.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“How do you think he does?”

You thought you could handle a few more questions, but tears began to swell. You didn’t like being asked anything because it brought everything you'd been through back. “Rick is a good person; everyone in our group is. We’re a family.”

—

Your group was given two large houses to stay in for now, but so far everyone has just gathered into one and is taking turns cleaning up. Being in the walled-off community felt like being in a TV show where the rich housewives live in the suburbs. The only thing you felt was normal was Daryl cutting open a possum while sitting on the porch. Your eyes widen when Rick walks outside; he has showered and shaved off his beard, making him look like a completely different person.

But then again, you looked different. After showing Rosita how to braid your hair, a nice blonde woman named Jesse dropped off some clean clothes for you to wear, along with toys for Judith.

“Has anyone been there yet?” You point to the house next door.

“I don’t think so,” Carl says, looking up at his dad. “Can we go check it out?”

Hesitantly, Rick agrees. “You can go look; just be quick and stick together.”

—

The house next door was nearly identical, aside from a few decorations. Growing up on a farm, you’d never dreamed of living in a modern home built like this. Carol had come with you to check it out; she was now leaning out of the kitchen window, talking to the people who live in the house next door.

When you hear a thumping noise coming from upstairs, you jump and grab Carl’s wrists. “Shit, sorry.” Feeling heat rush to your cheeks, you let go. “I’m just on edge.”

“It’s fine.” Carl offers you his hand. “I get it; I’m scared all the time too.”

He loosely holds onto your hand as you walk up the stairs, and when you reach the room, the noise is coming from Carl. He pulls out his knife and waits for you to do the same before pushing the door open. The room looks like a typical teenage hangout spot; the floor was covered in magazines, comics, CDs, and weirdly designed pillows with posters of bands you’ve never heard of before pinned to the walls.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Carl says, “These are probably things we would have been interested in if things were different.”

“Not me,” you sigh. “I would never have been allowed magazines with half-naked women on the cover. Shawn was grounded for two months when Maggie found a magazine with a woman wearing nothing but a bikini under his bed.”

Carl laughs while kicking a dusty blanket aside to see what’s underneath it. After a few moments of silence, he says, “You never talk about your brother much.”

A fleeting smile tugs at your lips. Being the youngest, Shawn completely doted on you, and as a child, you would follow him around like a shadow. He always had time for you. His death hit you so hard because you thought he would always be there to protect you, but he died trying to save your mom from walkers.

“Hope? You okay, you kind of zoned out there.”

Hearing Carl’s voice, you snap out of your thoughts and back to reality. “Yeah,” you say, smiling at him. “I was just thinking that my brother would have really liked you.”

—

You bite the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. Judith looks so confused as an elderly couple. Natalie and Bob Miller fuss over her. It was clear there weren’t many kids around, and this was the first time anyone had seen a baby in years, so they were all excited to see Judith.

“Is that Jesse?” Carl asks quietly.

You look up and see his dad talking to her, “Yeah, she’s nice.”

“My dad seems to like her. He says we’re to go to her house later and meet her son, Ron.”

It was weird; the idea of being a normal teenager was starting to freak you out.

—

After showing you around his home, Ron led you and Carl up to his bedroom to introduce you to his friend Mikey and girlfriend Enid. You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea of returning to school in the afternoons, which was held in a garage, when Carl nudges you with his elbow to gain your attention.

“Sorry, what?”

Ron chuckles. “I said cool bracelet; where do you get it?”

“Em, Carl found them,” you mutter.

“Neat, kind of like a souvenir of the apocalypse.” He pushes his bedroom open. “Enid, Mikey, this is Carl and Hope.”

After an awkward introduction, Ron lists the different things that they do while hanging out, such as reading comics, playing video games, and playing pool. The fact they had electricity from solar panels was mind-blowing enough, but seeing all the stuff they had was leaving you speechless.

You smile at Enid as you sit on the edge of Ron's double bed, while Carol joins the other boys in playing video games. You thought it was a little bit in bad taste; they were playing a zombie video game, but don’t mind watching until a particular scene happens: one of the players finds a sword and begins decapitating the undead.

You and Carl exchange a look before you excuse yourself. “I gotta go; I need to help Maggie with something.”

—

Rick isn’t the slightest surprised when he enters Carl’s new bedroom and finds you in it as well. You were staring out the window in his room that overlooks the woods outside, watching as walkers gathered on the opposite side of the wall. While Carl lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Rick sits at the edge of the bed, asking, “How was Ron’s house?”

“What do you think of this place?” Carl asks him.

“Well, I think it seems nice.”

“Yeah, I like it here. I like the people, but they’re weak. And I don’t want us to get weak.”

The people here don’t have a clue what it’s like on the outside, and if the walkers broke through the wall, most of them would be dead in five minutes.

When Rick leaves, you go and sit on the floor with your back against the bed. You pick up one of the comics Carl found earlier, place it in your lap, and start to flip through. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you look up and ask, “What?”

Carl looks as if he’s struggling to say something; after a moment, he swings his arm lower and links his fingers with yours.

[matrixonvhsanddvd]

its so weird going back to my hometown, when i was growing up it was a lot of field, ranches, forests, and occasional suburbs. i remember we didnt even have a grocery store for a while and had to go to the town over. i kinda grew up with it, watching it develop into nothing still. Going back there now it seems to be constantly grey, with construction everywhere for new apartment complexes no one can afford, which just end up driving out people who've lived there for years, with random shopping complexes getting built on the far edges of town that no one can reach. I don't tend to go there often, last year the most times i went was because I had a friend who lived there who i fucked often. theres just really nothing there, such a sad town. Our cemetery is famous tho

[shybunnie20]

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

★My Masterlist

Summary: After some time in the spotlight, Eddie returns to Hawkins and finds that his unfinished confession to his best friend awaits him.

Author's Note: Here's a little something I wrote while I've been chipping away at my other WIPs. It’s way longer than I expected but I'm happy with how it turned out. The angst is very mild and it has a happy ending!

AU with no Upside Down, no use of y/n, established past friendship, Eddie and reader graduated the same year but ages aren't specified, focuses on Eddie's POV, proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of sex, includes swearing

After posing for the cover of the latest Metal Edge magazine, Eddie was eager to head back home ASAP. While he enjoys his time on the East Coast, he was really looking forward to some much-needed downtime. As he boarded his private jet and set off, everything was going according to plan. However, the weather decided that he was going to make a pit stop. Rather, an emergency landing.

Plans get derailed and unpredictability is a part of the lifestyle. When your private jet is just about plucked from the sky during a lightning storm, finding a place to land is imperative, no matter the location. In this instance, his jet touched down in Indianapolis. Hopes of catching a taxi to Hawkins were dashed. No taxi driver in their right mind would willingly brave the distance from the city to the suburb in that weather. Eddie was left with one person to call upon—the man whom Eddie had been considering visiting for quite some time.

Wayne was surprised to receive the phone call but he agreed to pick Eddie up from the airport without hesitation. They haven’t been staying in touch as of late; Eddie’s life is nothing short of a whirlwind consisting of sold-out arenas and constant travel. Getting a hold of his nephew became a challenging feat. Wayne rarely got past speaking to Eddie’s assistants.

It was his uncle’s rare day off and calls at that time of night were few and far between. So, when Wayne’s canary yellow phone practically leaped off of the hook, he was astonished. After making the drive through the pattering rain, Wayne retrieved a sulking Eddie from Concourse B. As Eddie settled into the passenger seat of the fixer-upper, exhaustion from his turbulent journey was evident.

The next morning, Eddie wakes up with a protesting ache in his lower back, the result of a night spent on the pull-out couch. As he sits up straight, he lets out a low groan, vocalizing how his body yearns for the luxurious embrace of the Egyptian cotton sheets that are fitted around his California king mattress. They lay chilled without him, thousands of miles away in his opulent hillside mansion in Beverly Hills.

As he stretches in an attempt to unknot the tension between his shoulder blades, Eddie takes in his surroundings. He stumbled through the front door so late last night that he had no energy left to get reacquainted with his childhood home. He even wound up sleeping in his designer jeans, the coarse denim a far cry from the plush pajamas he would normally change into before bed.

A gentle grin forms on Eddie’s lips upon feeling comforted by the familiarity of the room. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the simple life that Wayne brought him up in. Eddie gazes around, noticing the subtle changes such as the addition of new mugs and hats to their respective displays. One particular change catches his attention and draws a fond exhale from his stale lungs. The worn-out doormat, which was torn to hell when he was a teenager, was finally replaced.

Despite his internal clock being out of whack, Eddie’s brain knows when it’s time for a cup of jitter juice. He rises from the rickety mattress, his back cracking loudly at the extension. A moan of discomfort slips out as he winces at the pinch at the base of his neck. “Jesus, fuck,” he mutters aloud. Eddie makes a mental note to buy Wayne a new sofa.

His socked feet slide across the linoleum as he steps into the kitchen. He notices that the bedroom door is closed, though it’s doing very little to dampen the loud snoring emitting behind it. Eddie yawns as he grinds his fists into his eyes, causing a splash of tingling colors across the darkness of his lids. He approaches the corner cupboard, knowing that what he’s looking for will be in the same place it always has been. The cabinet door greets him with a squeak and he’s met with a single dented can of Folgers. That shit is practically varnish remover, it simply won’t do.

Eddie sighs as the craving for his favorite Italian coffee intensifies. It’s so rich, flavorful, smooth, and yet, it packs a punch. Just the thought of the hazelnut dark roast takes him back to the first time he ever tried it in Trieste. From that moment on, he needed it imported back home.

Well, the java situation is a bust. For the time being, Eddie has a choice. Either charred slices of Wonderbread or plain cornflakes. AKA, buttered plywood or a bowl of sawdust. Ew and ew. Settling for the arguably more exciting option, Eddie decides on toast. Each bite into the brittle slice causes dark crumbs to scatter into his open palm that he holds beneath his chin. He can’t be bothered to get a plate, even as an adult. The burnt bits accumulate in his hand as he continues to nibble. While Eddie brushes his palms over the sink to rid himself of crumbs, he catches sight of the magazine clipping held to the fridge door by a Tweety Bird magnet. Frozen in time on glossy paper is a photo of him at the American Music Awards last year. “Damn, I looked good.” He smirks as he recalls the tailored suit, the lapels encrusted with dazzling gems, and his pale bare chest blinding the paparazzi from beneath it. The memories of that night come rushing, the flashing cameras and the cheers of his fans.

With his tummy partially pleased but the craving for quality coffee intensifying, Eddie recalls that there’s only one good place around here to get a quality cup of Joe. Eddie takes a brisk shower to wash away the residual stickiness that clings to his skin from a night spent fully clothed in the stuffy trailer. He dresses in the most pedestrian outfit that’s in his suitcase, hoping to blend in as much as possible, and heads out. 

Eddie’s stride carries him through the glass door of Morningside Café, the cheerful bell above it announces his arrival. The café is bustling, as one would expect on a Saturday morning. The patrons have come for their morning pick-me-up, much like Eddie.

Initially, he considers keeping his onyx-lensed sunglasses on, a barrier that would shield him from potential recognition and the commotion that would ensue. But he decides to take them off, knowing that he might stick out if he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. Eddie tucks one of the folded arms of the frame into the collar of his t-shirt. To his surprise, nobody reacts. No one gasps or falls to their knees at his feet. The world around him continues to turn. Part of him yearns for the ego boost that comes with being recognized but, all in all, he’s relieved to experience a semblance of normalcy for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

Taking a moment to soak in his surroundings, Eddie’s gaze sweeps across the interior of the shop. His eyes linger on the display case where flaky pastries drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces are housed. The cabin-esque aesthetic warms the soul with rich wood tones and a brick fireplace. It stands dormant, flameless, because it’s too warm out for a fire this time of year.

Beside the fireplace sit two figures that catch his attention. Even from a short distance, Eddie recognizes the mane of luscious locks, a signature feature that only belongs to one person. He strolls over with excitement tugging at his chest.

“Excuse me,” Eddie’s voice is hushed as he addresses the two figures engrossed in conversation. “Do you happen to know if the creamer here is fat-free?”

Steve and Robin’s dialogue comes to an abrupt halt, their voices silenced by the unexpected interruption. They exchange a glance, their eyebrows raising in unison. Simultaneously, their heads turn to peer over their shoulders. And there he stands, Eddie, someone they never thought they’d see again.

Steve gets to his feet a beat faster than Robin and he’s all smiles. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

“Must be an expensive cat,” Robin quips while she eyes Eddie, a quick assessment that catches details he overlooked in his haste to blend in. Her comment refers to the flashy jewelry he neglected to take off. “Persian, right? Those are the goblin-looking ones that rich people like? Ugly little fluff balls, if you ask me.”

Eddie’s sigh carries relief, expressing his genuine pleasure in knowing that Robin remains candid and unfiltered, just as he remembers her. As he extends his hand, Steve meets him with a firm handshake.

A friendly slap on the shoulder from Steve follows. “What brings you to this god-forsaken town?” His question is punctuated by true curiosity and a hint of humor, alluding to Eddie’s past that has kept him from ever returning up until now.

 “I was in the area,” Eddie replies with a sense of restraint, deliberately avoiding the true source of his change in plans. “Figured I'd swing by to see what’s what.”

Robin gestures for Eddie to take the seat opposite of them. They all settle into their mahogany-colored chairs. Eddie shifts awkwardly, the denim of his jeans dragging on the leather noisily.

With her elbows digging into her knees, Robin leans forward and supports her chin with her balled fists, positioned to hear the greatest story in her life. “So?” 

Eddie blinks dumbly, bemusement evident on his face. “What?” 

Reclined deeply into his chair, Steve rests his hands on his belly with interlocked fingers. “Enlighten us. Where the hell did ya go?”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, “Well, uh, I migrated west and lived in my van for a while. Then I found an ad in the paper for a spare bedroom in a janky apartment. I did the roommate thing for a bit and then- I dunno,” He twists the grim reaper-shaped ring around the base of his middle finger. “Things just worked out, I guess.”

Robin blows a raspberry and sits back into a less anticipatory position. “Long story short, huh? The last I saw, you were on the red carpet escorting Heather Locklear.”

Her reference to Eddie’s past event appearance draws a smirk from him, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that his old friends have been keeping up with the big things he’s been doing. While she encourages Eddie to delve into the details of his daily life, Steve looks across the room at you. Your nose is to the grindstone, your hands working deftly to maintain the rhythm that ensures that the orders are being fulfilled in a timely manner.

Opening shifts are the worst, for the customers and the employees alike. Nobody is at their friendliest due to the dark clouds of exhaustion hanging over everyone’s heads. Not to mention, regulars have their quirks. Some are particularly anal—specifying exact temperatures for their flavored fuel. They scrutinize your every move, even going as far as monitoring the thermometer to ensure that their demands are met.

The grind of the morning rush is draining, yet, you soldier on. You wipe away spilled coffee grounds from the countertop and amidst the clatter and constant flow of orders, you catch Steve staring right at you. His expression is peculiar, his arched brows paired with a subtle curve to his lips. You tilt your head inquisitively at him. What?

Steve subtly points across from him and mouths, Eddie Munson.

Your hand freezes mid-motion, the damp rag caught between your palm and the solution-streaked surface. Instinct takes over as you lean onto your tiptoes, straining to catch a glimpse over the top of the coffee machine. And no shit, there’s that head of chocolate curls. Your pulse spikes as apprehension floods your belly. Returning your gaze to Steve, you mouth back to him, oh my god.

Steve’s frantic wave beckons you over, his urgency not leaving room for subtlety. Eddie takes notice of Steve and he looks to see who he’s motioning to. Your eyes meet and for a split second, utter disbelief is mirrored on both of your faces.

You panic and duck out of sight, retreating to the relative cover near the floor. Your thoughts race, your heartbeat pounding twice that. “What the actual fuck is he doing here?” you ask yourself, unable to grapple with the overwhelming emotions.

Eddie’s heavy-footed steps carry him up to the counter, the air around him feeling electrically charged, making his arm hair stand up straight. His chest constricts as he approaches the ledge and looks behind it. There you are, sitting on the floor with your legs pulled close to your chest and your forehead against your knees.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles airily, though his brows are pulled together as to why you’re down there.

Reluctantly, you lift your head and meet his eyes. A sheepish grin tugs at your lips and you can’t help but scrunch your nose. “Eddie, hi!”

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” he asks playfully, then catching his bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to suppress the smile that threatens to form. “Almost looks like you’re tryin’ to hide from me.”

You shake your head, only slightly annoyed at his amusement. “I’m just busted, aren’t I?” As you get to your feet, you wipe your palms on your apron before rounding the corner of the counter.

Eddie’s arms are already outstretched before you’re even in full view. You find yourself stepping forward to meet his embrace. The hug is brief, not quite as long as Eddie would’ve liked it to be. His beaming smile accompanies his glittering stare as it follows your features, studying the subtle changes since he saw you last. “Long time no see,” he teases with the lick of his lip.

You’ve already taken a step back, creating a bit of space between the two of you. With a deep breath, you nod. “Tell me about it, it’s been like what, six years?” It’s your turn to trace the contours of his face.

You’ve seen the tabloids on the racks in the supermarket, the pages that showcase his exhilarating career. You’ve seen his music videos on MTV. Regardless of the set design and general concept, there’s a constant—Eddie, partially naked with jeans slung low on his hips, surrounded by bleach-blonde stunners hanging off of him one way or another. He always stood tall, an embodiment of untouchability despite being touched just about everywhere by sets of cherry-painted fingernails. His image has become synonymous with charismatic magnetism and sex appeal.

And now, he’s standing right in front of you. Eddie’s silver nose ring catches the overhead lighting, a rebellious contrast to the well-groomed beard that frames his jaw. He has far more tattoos than he had when you were friends.

The dangling layers of necklaces twinkle like constellations. While you hugged him, you recognized his natural scent which was mostly the same, but with a faint woody undertone. The cologne he wears seems to have become one with his clothes, the scent being inseparable from him no matter how many times the article is washed.

Eddie also looks stronger and his physical presence is more defined. His slim frame matured into something more substantial, and his muscles are built and bound with raw talent.

It’s a curious juxtaposition to see him in such plain clothes. He almost resembles the Eddie that you knew, feeling both familiar and transformed, an evolution you’re struggling to take in all at once.

“Yeah, coming up on six. Feels like it’s been longer than that,” Eddie replies, the joy in his voice unconcealed. He shamelessly looks over your uniform, the baby blue polo shirt beneath the navy apron, with his interest plain for anyone to see. He took in your scent too. Your natural smell blended with coffee, and it struck a chord within him. The combination of the two is better than his beloved Italian coffee beans alone.

“How long are you in town for?” You inquire while playing with the hem of your apron. Meanwhile, you shift your weight on the balls of your feet, attempting to soothe yourself with the rocking motion.

Eddie sucks air through his teeth with resignation. “Just today, actually.”

“Oh,” you mumble, your expression subtly crestfallen at the news of his limited stay. “That’s too bad. You really can’t stay any longer?”

“I wish I could but stopping by wasn’t exactly on my to-do list. I was flying home from New York and then my jet-”

You’re startled as your supervisor’s voice booms from behind you, yanking you back to reality. Her words are stern, reprimanding you for being distracted. She scolds, saying that the line is twice as long as it should be. A quick glance at your coworker makes you feel guilty, seeing as he’s struggling to keep up with taking and filling orders by himself.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, “Coming!” With a final moment of eye contact with Eddie, you offer him a rueful smile. “Sorry, duty calls,” As you turn and make your way back to your station, you call out to Eddie over your shoulder. “It was great to see you.”

The sentiment hangs in the air, one that Eddie wishes you had a chance to elaborate on. But, time is of the essence and you’re already back to filling cups without waiting for his response. For a few seconds, Eddie watches you seamlessly shift back into work mode as if he isn’t there anymore. Returning to Steve and Robin, he’s met with pointed looks that are laden with interest. The weight of the encounter, the unexpected vulnerability he felt looking into your eyes, settles on his shoulders. As Eddie returns to the seat across from them, he slumps down with a pout.

Robin’s brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor. “Why the long face? Didn’t you ask her out?”

Eddie’s response is a sullen half-note while he stares fixedly at a speck of mud on Steve’s shoe. “No,” he says, “I didn’t, and quite frankly, I don’t think she’d even want to.” In the way that Eddie is carrying himself, it’s obvious that his insecurities have been stirred up. “You should’ve seen the way she looked at me. It was like she hardly recognized me.”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I dunno, man. Kinda hard to believe a hot shot like you can’t get whatever girl he sets his sights on.”

That remark sparks something within Eddie, a realization that switches his perspective. Steve’s words hit home—he’s Eddie fucking Munson. A Grammy award-winning recording artist for Christ’s sake. Casanova, heavy hitter, ladies’ man. His confidence resurfaces, becoming acutely aware of the charm he can whip out whenever he needs it; he’s well equipped for this moment.

Summoning the deepest breath he’s ever taken, Eddie rises to his feet once again, feeling sure of himself this time. His hands smooth down his shirt and he clears his throat. When Eddie chances a look behind him, Steve and Robin are giving him two, technically four, thumbs up as a means of encouragement.

With newfound resolve, Eddie approaches the counter once again. You’re a flurry of motion, caught up in the demands of your job. A bead of sweat threatens to drip from your brow as you ensure that the whipped cream on top of the ice-cold beverage is the perfect amount.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice cuts through the ambient noise, a little louder than necessary to ensure that you’ve heard him.

You peek up at him with a grin in acknowledgment. “Hi,” Though his presence is noted, your focus is unwavering, determined not to let any more interruptions affect your efficiency.

Eddie’s knuckles wrap against the counter, a drumming that underscores his everlasting nerves when it comes to you. “What are you doing tonight?”

Powdered cinnamon dusts the air as you gently tap the kitchen dredger over the tower of whipped cream. The finely ground burnt umber falls where it’s meant to, rather than onto your apron. “I don’t have any plans, why?” You hand the completed drink to the awaiting customer beside Eddie, giving them a polite smile that’s a testament to your professionalism.

The act of biting the inside of his cheek does little to help Eddie relax. “Would you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat?” he hesitates for a beat, the thudding of his heart is on the verge of drowning out his voice. “I’ll bet you’ll have worked up quite the appetite by the time you’re shift is done.”

You sigh softly, mulling over Eddie’s offer. “I don’t know…” You say contemplatively while flipping the switches on the machine, causing it to roar to life.

Eddie holds his breath, every passing second heightening his senses.

“Okay, I suppose I will be pretty hungry,” you concede, your eyes nearly forming tears of stress as you accept the ever-present line of customers. “Early dinner at Benny’s?” You suggest with an inviting tone.

“Just like old times,” Eddie smiles so wide that it feels like the corners of his lips might split and bleed. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.” He offers to pick you up, which he’d truly rather not. That would mean that he’d be taking you out in his uncle’s jalopy. In Eddie’s mind's eye, he would pick you up in a sports car and rev the engine to the point where you’re pressing your thighs together to stave off the vibrations coursing through you. A man can dream.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” you assert, your voice firm with certainty. The authenticity of your smile bridges the previously placed distance between you. “Thank you, though.”

His knuckles leave one last sequence of knocks on the marble surface, a rhythm of pride and assurance. “See you later, then,” Eddie confirms, his tone dancing on the edge of excitement.

You nod. “Later,”

Eddie turns away and finds his friends with expectant gazes plastered on their faces, awaiting the verdict of the exchange. His smile hasn’t fallen in the slightest, his dazzling white teeth and flushed cheeks don’t go unnoticed. Eddie’s enthusiasm is palpable, his words coming out in a hushed rush. “She said yes!” he exclaims, trying to shake the blood back into his fingers as the tingling sensation bites at him. “It’s a date,” He adds in triumph.

Sitting at the mini kitchen table in Wayne’s trailer, the rusty metal chair squeaks under his weight anytime he shifts. He can’t even sit still, despite there being plentiful hours between now and when he’ll see you again. Eddie finds himself flipping through the scrapbook you put so much time into making the summer before your senior year. That particular summer holds such significance to him, a time when the days were endless, and the bond between you felt unshakeable.

Each photograph feels as warm and breezy as the one before it. Sunbathing on the shore of Lover’s Lake, your toes dipping into the water as you prepared to leap off of the dock. The memory is vivid—your skin glistening and energy positively radiant with innocence and naivety. One of the snapshots of Eddie is far less flattering. He’s captured with sharp tan lines, the contrast in tones creating the illusion of him wearing a white shirt, despite being topless.

Eddie bites down on his lip as he studies the photograph of you riding your bike in cutoff shorts, your t-shirt having met an equal fate. The wind tangled through your hair in a way that he wished he could with his fingers.

The picture beside it features the two of you together. Obviously, Wayne had taken on the role of photographer. You’re both posed proudly beside a tower of playing cards that you spent 45 minutes building card by card, on the very table that Eddie is sitting at. Both of you held your breath and didn’t speak a word to avoid knocking it down. Taped across the same page are watermelon and grape-flavored blow pop wrappers, unredeemed arcade tickets, movie stubs, and receipts saved from snack runs made on days that you were craving specific treats.

With the turn of a page, Eddie melts a little as he comes across the photobooth strips. It was necessary for you to sit on his lap in order for both of you to fit within the frame. He was able to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you close as if there was anywhere for you to go inside the cramped box. Your arms encircled his neck and rested on his shoulders while you made silly faces at the camera, and even better, at each other.

Eddie recoils at the picture of him with red-stained popsicle sticks protruding from his mouth, immaturely imitating a walrus, of all things. You laughed so hard that you insisted on taking a photo, and as much as dislikes the image itself, he’s still eating up how delighted you were by his antics.

The moments that weren’t captured on film come flooding back just as vividly as if they’re pasted to the paper before him. Inhaling helium from balloons and laughing hysterically at one another is a night that comes to mind. He knew he’d never get sick of making you laugh. And that time when playfully tossing popcorn into each other's mouths evolved from being a fun game to a skill. Last but not least, Eddie reminisces about sitting in his van together with the windows down, sharing cigarettes and music as the cool evening air enveloped you both. The quieter memories are just as deafening as the amusing ones.

His life had its fair share of upheaval and dysfunction that seemed to pull him in all directions. Amidst the chaos, one constant remained. You. Eddie didn’t need more than that, you already made life worth living.

But, as life often goes, the sweet moments can become bitter in the blink of an eye. 

It was the night of your graduation party, a celebration meant to be an intimate gathering among close friends—you, Eddie, Robin, and Steve. But when Eddie pulled up to your parent’s house, a scene was unfolding before him that he hadn’t anticipated. The yard was dotted with clusters of students while the front door was revolving with people drunkenly coming and going. Inside the belly of the beast was even more lively.

Eddie hesitantly navigated the throngs of teens in the hallway, people he was sure that you weren’t even on a first-name basis with. He knew your house like the back of his hand but it felt foreign due to the sheer number of bodies dancing, running, and tumbling over. 

He was going to finally tell you how he felt, a declaration that had been building within him for some time. Eddie understood that you were out of his league, the unspoken boundaries dictating that best friends aren’t supposed to fall in love, yet he found himself helplessly ensnared by his adoration for you. For so long, Eddie was afraid of pressing his luck, and even more so, was in a state of constant disbelief that he was lucky enough to call you the most important person in his life.

Graduation marks a turning point in a young person’s life, a juncture where change is inevitable. Eddie was ready for change and he wanted his dreams to bleed into reality. He yearned to hold you without any limitations, to kiss you like he needed to in order to survive. It was time for a new chapter and Eddie hoped that when he turned the page, he’d get the girl he wanted more than anything in the world.

You were in the kitchen. Typically, he gets a kick out of the way you act when you’re that buzzed. Your joyful disposition under the influence of celebration and booze led to you being the most laid-back version of yourself. However, he was facing an unanticipated predicament. Eddie was trying to have a serious conversation with you at a rowdy party. His hands were trembling, and luckily, his leather jacket concealed the fact that he’d soaked the pits of his t-shirt.

“There you are,” Eddie hummed and stepped closer to make sure that you could hear him over the music and chatter.

“Here I am!” you giggled, your cheeks flushed and energy unreserved. “Isn’t this wild?” You motioned to the piles of assorted cups and bags of snacks scattered haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Eddie responded, glancing over his shoulder as he was jolted by a stranger bumping into him. “What happened to watching movies and ordering pizza?”

The trace of disappointment in Eddie’s tone might have been discernable to a sober individual, but in your inebriated state, it slipped under your radar. Your smile remained and you swayed. The movement was more so a result of your jelly legs than unenthusiastic dancing. “I know, but my parents went all out and invited our entire class! I guess they figured that throwing a rager was a good way to congratulate me,” You chuckled and took another burning sip from your cup.

Eddie leaned in, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Can we go somewhere and talk?” he pleaded. “There’s something I need to tell you.” The weight of his unspoken feelings was on the verge of suffocating him and the heat of the room paled in comparison to the fire in his belly.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes ever so bright. “What is it?”

Given that you hadn’t budged an inch, that meant that the conversation was gonna happen right where you stood. Eddie tried to breathe steadily, knowing that he’d rehearsed this and he knew what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the words had startled to scramble in his head. “You, uh- you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

“Of course, you’re mine too,” you agreed as you pawed at his shoulder before leaning back against the counter to make up for your lessening ability to stand up straight.

“I couldn’t ask for a better best friend-” Unfortunately for him, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The song that had been playing ended abruptly. “But I wanna be more than that.”

Eddie’s heart sank as his words hung in the air. The confession that was meant for your ears only was now released into the open, leaving Eddie exposed. A mocking laughter filled the air that the music once inhabited; Jack Carver, the asshole who’s had it out for Eddie since the fifth grade, was locked and loaded.

Eddie’s blood ran cold at the sound as it collided with his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he struggled to prepare himself for what was about to happen. 

Jack Carver’s taunting cut like a sharp blade, drawing a wave of laughter from the surrounding students with it. “Did everybody hear that?” he shouted with derision, “The freak wants himself a little girlfriend.”

Defenseless, Eddie clenched his knuckles as the walls began to close in on him. He knew it wasn’t over yet.

“There’s a reason you’re still a virgin, and you’ll die one, too.” Jack sneered.

Prior to that evening, Eddie had steeled himself for the possibility of rejection from you. He‘d surrender to the emotional blow to keep you as his best friend. But he wasn’t armed for the level of humiliation that Jack’s provocation brought down on him. It was the wounds of his childhood, the physical and emotional scars from years of being picked on, that were torn open. Jack always knew how to hit him where it hurt.

The tears that blurred Eddie’s vision shielded him from your pitying and startled expression. It all felt like a cruel twist of fate, a reminder that he was meant to be the outsider, forever on the fringes without someone to hold him close at night. As the laughter continued to echo around him, Eddie fled before the atmosphere could swallow him whole. Without a second thought, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted out of your front door.

The night air hit him like a wall, cooling the hot tears that streamed down his scorched cheeks. Eddie stumbled to his van and slammed the door shut behind him. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shuddering breath, feeling like everything inside of him was coming apart at the seams. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut to clear his vision by forcing the pooled tears to flow and he raised his head back up. He saw you stepping off of your front porch, a concerned look branded on your features while you called out to him, searching.

At that moment, he decided that he was gonna show every single person who thought so little of him that he could be somebody. Eddie was going to outdo all of them and kick the expectation that he was going to end up in prison like his father, that he was going to be dealing drugs for the rest of his life, and that he’d always be trailer trash.

If Eddie could go back in time, things would have gone differently. But after chasing the California sunrise, he’d mastered the world of glamorous parties, adoring fans, and beautiful women. They threw themselves at him. He didn’t have to worry about rejection because he could have his pick, he had whatever flavor he wanted for the night. But no one satiated the craving he continued to have for you. No one laughed the way you did, no one understood him the way you always had.

You’d never have another moment together, he accepted that. And it didn’t matter anymore because he became the man. He didn’t have time to sit around and sulk about a small-town girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But despite putting his feelings in the rearview mirror, he daydreamed nonetheless. Eddie wondered what it would be like to show you the new and improved version of himself. He hoped that you’d be impressed. More importantly, did you listen to his music? Or read about his scandalous escapades in the gossip magazines that wove lies into the truth?

Even so, that night set him straight. It wasn’t going to happen for you and him. His only star had fallen, so he put all of his time and energy into making a name for himself. The songs on his albums are about living life in the fast lane and the thrill of the night. They’re about trashing hotel rooms and experiencing things he never dreamed he would because that’s what sells records.

But at home in his lyric notepad lays the songs of unpursued love, melodies about chances taken and lost. There’s one ballad in particular, its verses tell the story of him introducing you to his newfound confidence, something that you never knew him to have. It speaks of how he’s seen the world twice over, and yet, his favorite place to be is tucked away in the memories where things hadn’t changed yet.

Those heartfelt lyrics remain buried, never to be shared with the world. They’re a tribute to you, the unsung song in his life.

Eddie’s experience when it comes to the attention of women should, theoretically, render him immune to being nervous. Yet, he finds himself impossibly so. The source of his unease? You. This isn’t just anyone, you’re not just some chick. The late afternoon swings around and Eddie’s nerves are in full swing. He’s feeling just as anxious as he did the night of that party because second chances are rare for him. Eddie is acutely aware that this is very likely to be his last shot with you. This isn’t just any date—it’s your first date. The significance isn’t lost on him, and he’s determined to make it count.

Standing in front of Wayne’s bathroom mirror, Eddie attempts to wield the cheap razor to trim the edges of his beard. His curls, normally styled to perfection, look deflated and lackluster without his fancy shampoo and hair products to nourish them. The trailer park’s hard water isn’t doing his hair any favors when it comes to frizz either. As Eddie rinses away his beard trimmings from the basin, he exhales dramatically, watching his self-esteem swirling down the drain. He tries to remind himself of his good looks by reciting a silent pep talk. The thought of disappointing you, or not meeting your expectations, is something he can’t bear.

Eddie parks Wayne’s car outside of Benny’s Burgers and takes a moment to double-check his appearance in the visor mirror. He wants to make certain that he looks as decent as he can. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, this is for all the marbles. Unlike his usual casual encounters, where names and personalities go unlearned, this is different. Eddie has to earn your affection back.

He peers down at his fingernails, thankful that they’re still in good shape from his last manicure. Eddie mutters to himself, trying to get a feel for an appropriate greeting. “Hi, you look… pretty,” Lame. Frustrated, he twists the skull ring on his finger, adjusting it from its sideways position to face the right way up. “It’s so nice out tonight, but you look even nicer.” Eddie groans, banging his head back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ, Munson. Get your fucking shit together.”

With a thick swallow, Eddie steps out of the car and makes his way across the parking lot that crunches beneath his sneakers. As he enters the restaurant, he’s happy to see that this place hasn’t changed one bit. Eddie debates waiting by the door for you or to sit down for the time being. Anxiety wins, and he chooses the latter. As he strides across the room, he tries to keep his easily recognizable face relatively hidden. Eddie slides into the booth that the two of you always sat in. You spent innumerable Saturday nights sitting here, laughing and teasing, talking shit and venting about how high school felt so life or death at the time.

A soft chuckle slips out as he traces the initials that he carved into the table all those years ago. He grins, recalling how much you scolded him while he chipped EM into the wood with his pocket knife. Eddie absentmindedly fiddles with the lid on the ketchup bottle from the condiment caddy, lost in his own thoughts, until the restaurant’s door opens. His heart thumps madly as he watches you stroll in and scan the room until your gaze lands on him. Beyond his control, Eddie’s eyes are gleaming, overwhelmed with the privilege of being in the same room as you once more.

He stands from the booth as you approach, his legs acting with a mind of their own. Once you reach him, he’s not exactly sure what to do with his hands. He decides against offering a hug since you don’t initiate one. Eddie returns to his seat as you settle into the one opposite of him.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, placing your purse beside you on the seat.

“Hi, there,” he replies, the red of his cheeks deepening as his hands go right back to fidgeting. Eddie clears his throat. “How was the rest of your day?”

“It was okay, nothing special,” you reply vaguely, your voice dripping with fatigue.

Eddie takes note of and appreciates the slightest bit of makeup you’ve applied since he saw you this morning, simply because it accentuates your natural beauty. It’s a small detail, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and it warms his heart to think that you might have put some effort into your appearance to meet up with him. Or maybe he’s getting ahead of himself and you just don’t like wearing makeup at work. Regardless, just as a complement is about to roll off of his tongue, the table is approached by an old woman.

“My goodness, I remember you too!” She beams, clutching her miniature notepad tightly. “You’re all grown up now.”

You nod respectfully, clearly remembering her. Eddie, on the other hand, does not recognize her as quickly. It’s like he’s buffering as he thinks, and then his eyes widen, suddenly remembering that the woman is the waitress who always served the two of you every weekend. Holy shit, he thought she looked old back then but now she looks ancient. “It’s nice to see you,” He performs, trying his best to be a gentleman and show you that he’s good-natured.

“I’ll be right back, I know just what to get you,” She says sing-songy manner and bounces away into the back kitchen. Even after all this time, she still knows your orders by heart.

Despite the breath that you release, the hurt isn’t evident on your face. “Why’d you disappear on me that night?”

Your straightforwardness catches Eddie off guard, and he struggles to find the right words to respond. “Doesn’t matter why,” he begins, trying to deflect from the topic. He’d much rather you ask him if he has any pets or if he’s read any good books lately. “That was ages ago, what matters is that I’m not a pathetic loser anymore.”

“You were never a loser, Eddie.” You say looking into his eyes, reminding every fiber of his being that you always liked him for who he was. But just as quickly, your gaze drops. You always hated when he talked about himself that way because you thought he was a total catch.

Eddie’s gaze lingers on you, studying the shift. Slowly, the realization dawns on him that your hurt runs deep, possibly deeper than his own. Coming to terms with his self-centered perspective makes his chest ache. He was so consumed by his own insecurities that he never spared a thought for how his sudden departure wounded you.

You change gears with an almost perfected ease, smoothly transitioning from the heaviness of the subject. “So, Mr. Super Star, what’s it like being you?”

A chill is sent up his spine, uneasiness caused by how swiftly you just rebuilt your walls before his eyes. He bites anyway, hoping that your interest in his stories is genuine. “From the outside, it looks like fun but it’s nothing short of chaos. When you’ve got a show every other night, and a band wants you on their new album, and then someone’s throwing a massive party...” Eddie trails off, afraid that his rambling is coming off as braggery. “Anyway, enough about all that. How ‘bout you? How’d you end up working at Morningside?”

There’s a flicker of joy on your face that shows your appreciation for his desire to hear you talk about yourself. “I needed something part-time, I’m actually studying to be a-”

EEK! You both startle at the ear-shattering squeals of three middle school-aged school girls. They’re gathered around Eddie, borderline frothing at the mouth to be looking at and breathing the same air as him. They’re all talking a mile a minute over one another, asking for autographs, wanting hugs, and gushing about his music.

Eddie looks at you and he can’t quite gauge your reaction, your expression is practically unreadable. “One second, I’m sorry,” he sincerely apologizes, scooting out of the booth to greet the rabid girls. He figures that if he handles this interaction skillfully, they’ll likely leave both of you alone afterward.

As you watch him engage, you’re beyond disappointed. It seems like he’s more interested in the attention and adoration of his fans than he is in spending time with you. He should’ve just told them to go away. Now you’re certain of where his priorities lie and you should’ve known from the moment you saw his face this morning. He isn’t here to mend things, Eddie has less than pure intentions and you’re not going to wait to find out what they are.

While Eddie is busy giving the girls his full attention with his back turned to you, you seize the moment to slip out of the booth and quietly exit the restaurant. One of the girls is clinging onto him after a hug and he has to pry her off of himself. In doing so, he sees your hurried movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-heartedly thanks his fans and rushes after you, his mouth going dry as reality hits him like a freight train; he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.

“Wait up,” Eddie calls out to you, his chest heaving.

You stop in your tracks and turn to him with a hardened look on your face. “Why did you come here? Was it so you could show off how untouchable you are now?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “No,” he steps forward but you inch away. “Of course not.”

“Then what? Because I don’t even know why I agreed to come here. You’ve obviously outgrown Hawkins and everyone in it. I wasn’t good enough for you to stick around for, much less stay in touch with.”

Eddie’s heart breaks in two at the sunset reflecting in the glossy pools that have formed along your lower lash line. “You were always enough for me,” he says weakly.

You roll your eyes and your car keys jingle in your hand as you cross your arms over your chest. “Do you really expect me to believe that when it’s been nothing but radio silence for six years?”

“Yeah, kinda,” he snaps, suddenly feeling defensive. Memories of the night he left come flooding back and he’s transported to that place of feeling unworthy and inadequate. His chest puffs up and his shoulders tense. “At least I made something of myself. Can’t you at least be a little bit happy for me?

He immediately realizes that was a low blow, evident in the way the tears start pouring from your eyes. The hurt on your face cuts a deep pang in Eddie’s chest for his thoughtless comment. You’ve always been there for him, you were always in his corner for as long as you’d known each other.

You shrink into yourself, avoiding his intense stare as you crumble. “I am happy for you. It just sucks that I had to be forgotten about for you to get there. But I understand, I really do. You had to ditch this town to chase after what you wanted for your life, and that included leaving me behind too.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and sniffle.

Eddie’s tense posture relaxes and his expression turns sorrowful as he watches you fall apart from his wrongdoings. It hurts to watch you run a hand through your hair and wipe the mascara from below your eyes in an attempt to compose yourself. The sound of your fumbling car keys is like a thundering countdown in his ears, urging him that his time is running out before he’s lost you entirely. Eddie’s mind races as he fights the impulse to do something, anything, to make amends. “Don’t go,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

You respond with your eyes fixed on inserting your key into the lock of the car door, your trembling hands making it difficult to do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do,” he insists, getting as physically close as possible without crossing any boundaries.

The piercing glare that was previously on his face has found its way onto yours. “I disagree. You got everything you could’ve ever wanted.”

When your eyes meet, he can feel it in his toes. “I didn’t, though.” Eddie notices the inflamed veins in your eyes, hating himself for being the reason you’re crying. It’s an odd feeling, but a small, sad smile tugs at his lips.

The scoff from you hits like a slap to his cheek. “Let’s see,” you hold out your hand and begin counting on your fingers. “Expensive clothes, a massive house, I’m sure you have multiple cars. You probably have a personal chef-” All true. “For fuck’s sake, you have a private jet. What more could you possibly want?”

Eddie is terrified of making a move that might push you further away, yet he musters the courage to try to ground you with his touch. His fingers gently wrap around your wrist and both of you watch as he brushes his thumb over your veins. “I never got to have you,” Eddie’s voice cracks ever so slightly as he lays all of his cards on the table. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

A tear dribbles off of your cheek and splashes onto the pavement as your hands begin to interact with his.

You contemplate pulling your hand away, the heartache inching back into the forefront of your mind. “If you wanted me you would’ve been here all along.”

Eddie holds his breath as your fingers intertwine and your palms press together. “I’m here now, and I want you just as badly as I did back then.” His lips press a soft kiss to the tops of your knuckles and his teary eyes meet yours. “I was just a stupid kid who turned heel and ran when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to.”

“Yeah, you were,” you agree with a bite of your lip. “You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you that I felt the same way.”

Eddie grins, giving your hand a squeeze and another kiss. “Is there any chance that you still feel that way? Because I’m still stupidly in love with you.”

“I do,” you breathe with relief, swallowing the pressure in your throat. “I’m in love with you too.”

“Wanna be stupid together?” Eddie tilts his head at you, continuing to hold your hand to his plush lips.

“Yeah,” you giggle wetly, “I’d really like that.”

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[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 1

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You are a translator for the Ministry. You receive a letter summoning you to the Abbey for a project involving an ancient diary with a mysterious author, but you find yourself wishing you were back home. That is, until you meet the charming Papa Emeritus the Fourth.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Hi all!! This is the first long-form fic I've ever written and decided to publish, so I hope you all enjoy!! The first chapter is mostly setup and scene building, so not a lot of interaction with our beloved Copia. But there will be more, I promise!!

Warnings: none for now but there will be some in later chapters.

AO3 Link

Prologue

“Will you help me move this box?” the Brother of Sin says. 

Wordlessly, the Sister of Sin stops what she’s doing and maneuvers through the crowded, dusty basement room to help the Brother. The two crouch down, bracing their hands against the box of books. It leaves behind a path carved into the layers of dust as it slides across the wooden floor. 

Once the box is pushed a few feet out of the way, the Sister lets go and, losing her balance, falls to her hands and knees from the crouching position. She cries out in surprise when her hand sinks through the floorboards as one of the slats gives way. The hole is only a few inches deep and filled with dirt and cobwebs, but the Sister’s hand falls onto something softer than wood. 

She lifts her hand to find that there’s a small leather-bound volume hidden face-down in the small crevice. The Sister can hardly imagine how long it has been there, with how thick the grime lies on the back cover. 

This room of the Abbey’s basement had been long forgotten, until Sister Imperator tasked these Siblings of Sin to clear out the room to make way for new storage. They had half expected to find a ruby-encrusted sarcophagus in the room, with how ancient and opulent the Abbey is. So far the only things of interest they have found are books—it seems that the only items stored in the room are books. 

The Sister gently removes the book from the hole in the floor and replaces the wooden slat. Even through her gloves she can tell that it is close to disintegrating. The distinct orange of rotten leather lines the edges of its binding and a few corners of pages fall to the ground. 

“What’s that?” The Brother asks. 

The Sister carefully turns the volume over so that she can read the front cover. It, too, is covered in dust, so she gently brushes it with her hand in order to read the embossed leather cover. Having been face-down in the crevice, the gold leaf illuminating the embossment is preserved and it shines in the low light of the basement. 

“It says…” the Sister squints to read the small letters, “...Elizabeth.” 

“Elizabeth? Who’s Elizabeth?” 

The Sister turns over the book once more. “I don’t know, just… Elizabeth.”

Chapter 1

The ride from the airport to the Abbey is a long one. The car you had been picked up in took you through the city and the suburbs, to the rural outskirts of civilization where the coniferous trees block much of the sunlight. The winding roads, dotted in late-afternoon sunbeams, feel endless as the car climbs into the hills. It’s been a silent ride, and rather awkward (at least, you feel that it’s been awkward) because the helmeted ghoul who drives the sleek black sedan has not said a word. 

You knew that the Abbey has ghouls. A few abbeys do, as they are big enough to warrant summoning help, but your home chapter is not. This is the first time you’ve met one. 

You wonder if they’re all so stoic, or if the driver simply doesn’t have anything to say. He isn’t impolite, but you wish he would say something, anything to make the drive a little more bearable. You want to ask him about the Abbey–what the Siblings are like, what Papa is like. How many Siblings live there full time? How big is the library? You’ve heard that the ghost of a former Papa haunts the corridors, is that true? Hundreds of questions brew in your mind, but the ghoul remains silent and you’re left feeling like an unwelcome guest in a strange country.

You already miss home. 

The Marseille abbey, your home for the better part of your adult life, is a medieval stone structure built on a hilltop south of the Marseille city proper. The ornate, stained-glass windows of its chapel face west over the Mediterranean so that the sunset streams into the room during Black Mass. The walls are old and drafty, and keep faded tapestries in a constant state of fluttering. The linens line the walls of the refectory in between tall, narrow windows which also overlook the sea. If it were not for the inverted crosses and scenes of the unjust fall of Lucifer, one might think the atmosphere in the chapel—and the rest of the small abbey—is almost holy.

The windows in the Sibling dormitories are small and south-facing, with deep stone sills and wood frames that have somehow managed to survive the ages (although they hardly open without a fight.) Your own dormitory windowsill is lined with personal prayer books. Each has about a hundred loose papers sticking out. They are your translation practice, your way of staying versed in every language you know, because you know the prayers by heart at this point. The papers are experiments: which language makes the prayer sound better, sound prettier? Which language makes the most sense? Which language makes the prayers the shortest, the longest? 

No matter which language you use, to you the prayers sound the most beautiful in your mother tongue. That is how you’d memorized them, after all. Yet… you wish there had been room in your single suitcase to take your prayer books with you. 

“We’re almost there,” the ghoul says, snapping you out of your homesick reverie. His voice is deep and softer than you’d expected. There’s no spurt of hellfire from his mouth as you’d half-thought there would be, and no low rumble in his words that might signify he’s more beast than man. The ghoul, despite his bug-eyed mask, seems shockingly human. 

He steers the car through tall wrought-iron gates which seem to open automatically. You can see the tall peak of the Abbey’s bell tower peeking through the trees, and suddenly the reality that you’re very, very far from home hits you. 

You unfold the crinkled envelope in your hands and reread the letter for the hundredth time that day. 

Dear Sister, 

I hope this letter finds you well. 

We at the Abbey have recently uncovered a very important document which we require your expertise to translate. However, this document is extremely fragile and cannot be transported in the post. Papa Emeritus IV and the rest of the Clergy request your presence at the Abbey as soon as possible. 

We expect this project to take several months. Enclosed is a one-way ticket for you to travel to the airport closest to us, from which a car will transport you to the Abbey. We will discuss plans for your return to Marseille when you are nearing the end of your work here.

We anxiously await your arrival. 

Sincerely, 

Sister Imperator

The letter itself is quite presumptuous. Sister Imperator had assumed you were not busy, and assumed that you would be able to drop everything and travel halfway across the world for a months-long project. And then to use Papa’s name to exaggerate the importance of this mysterious document which she hadn’t even disclosed the nature of? 

Well… you can’t exactly say no to the woman who practically runs the Ministry’s affairs. 

The car takes a bend in the Abbey’s endless driveway and emerges into a clearing. Sitting far back on a sprawling lawn is a massive, imposing stone structure. The rows of trimmed hedges and flower bushes do little to soften the gothic hardness of it. Two pointed bell towers loom over the steep roof of what must be the chapel, with stained glass windows stretching up at least two storeys. The central image is of Baphomet, in his iconographic pose. The setting sun glints off of his golden halo. Sweet Satan, you think, your eyes tracking the window as the car rounds the drive. Baphomet alone must be taller than the entire height of Marseille. 

The ghoul pulls the car to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to wooden double doors. A woman stands there, her hands clasped in front of her and her back straight, like the matron of this grand palace. You suppose she is–the severity of her expression alone leads you to believe that it’s Sister Imperator who waits for you.

You step out into the chilly air and shut the car door behind yourself. The ghoul already has your suitcase in hand and gestures for you to walk up the stairs before him. You wish he’d let you carry your own suitcase, if only to give your hands something to do, but you are far too stunned to ask. Climbing the shallow stone steps feels like stepping into another world. A world in which you feel far too plain to exist. 

“Sister,” The woman greets with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which squint at you beneath slightly furrowed, well-groomed brows. She strikes you as someone who is all business, all the time. “How was your journey?” 

You return her smile as best you can. She speaks to you like you don’t understand English. “It went well, your dark eminence.” 

She seems a little surprised that you respond so fluently, but she quickly fixes her face into another warm grin. “I am glad to hear it,” she says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you must understand that this document is very important, and quite fragile. We would not risk losing it in the post.” “Of course,” you nod. “If I may ask, Sister Imperator, what is this document? You did not disclose it in your letter.” You gesture to the envelope safely stored in your jacket pocket. 

Sister Imperator turns to step inside the slightly ajar wooden door and you assume she wants you to follow. The ghoul accompanies you over the threshold, but at the wave of a hand from Sister Imperator, he turns down a narrow corridor with your suitcase and disappears around a corner. 

You are still a bit too overwhelmed to thank him. Instead, you look at the woman beside you. “The ghoul will bring your luggage to a room we have prepared for your stay,” she explains at your silent question.

She continues down the main hall, deeper into the Abbey. Your footsteps echo through the atrium, bouncing up to the high, painted ceilings and off the stone walls. There are a few wooden benches pushed back against the wall, with pots of surprisingly lush houseplants on either side. Framed oil paintings line the walls: some depicting biblical scenes, some of landscapes, and a few large, dignified portraits. You can tell by the distinct Papal paints in each portrait that the subject is a Papa, and you wonder which one depicts Papa Emeritus IV. You’ve never seen an image of His Unholiness before. 

After a few moments of silence, Sister Imperator speaks again. “We found the document last month, in one of the storage rooms in the Abbey’s basement.” She likes to use the royal ‘we’ a lot, you think. 

She continues. “One of our archivists believes that it is at least five hundred years old. It is very fragile, you see, and so we ask that you handle it with the utmost care as you work with it. We would prefer it if you used gloves. And frankly, Sister, I believe that you would want to. The leather is fairly rotten.” You stay silent as you follow slightly behind her. You’ve worked with old, rotten books before. The pages nearly crumble apart in your hands and the leather splits easily, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. 

“We believe it is a journal—a diary, rather, of someone very important in the Ministry’s history.” You find it strange that she doesn’t immediately disclose whose diary it might be. “Who, if I may ask?” “Elizabeth.” Sister Imperator’s voice is clipped as she answers you. She gives no further explanation. Just Elizabeth. 

There are millions of women named Elizabeth in the world. It is very likely that there is more than one important Elizabeth in the Ministry’s history as well. It’s a fairly common name, especially five hundred years ago (if the archivist is correct). For all you know, this document could be some random Sister’s sexual logbook, and documenting her sinful indulgences was her way of praying to the Lord Below. 

You break out of your ponderance over possibilities when Sister Imperator turns a corner to walk down another, slightly narrower (but still wide) corridor. She speaks again. “The book is to be kept in a lockbox at all times when you are not working with it. Under no circumstances is it to be removed from the Abbey library without my express permission, or the permission of Papa. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Sister,” you answer hastily. Her tone of voice as she lays down the law makes you feel as though you’ve already made a mistake. 

“Now. The reason we need you, Sister, is because none of our own archivists or translators can figure out what language the journal is written in.” 

This piques your interest, and also slightly flatters you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

She releases a long-suffering sigh. “The writing is jumbled. It is a mess of letters and sometimes numbers, with no spaces whatsoever.” 

The possibilities immediately start to stack in your mind. Latin from the Roman era tended not to use spaces, a practice called ‘scriptio continua’. Ancient Greek also did this… but wouldn’t the in-house translators be able to read it? 

“I cannot explain it well enough,” Sister Imperator says. “You will have to see, Sister.” 

The two of you come to another set of large double doors. Sister Imperator pushes one open and steps inside, holding it open for you. You slip past her into a huge, bright room, filled with hundreds and hundreds of bookshelves. Immediately you are hit with the scent of old books and parchment paper, and the gentle sounds of turning pages. To your left sits an ornate wooden desk with one Sibling standing behind it. They are sorting books onto a three-tiered cart, presumably to put them away in the correct order. You accidentally make eye contact, but they smile politely and you respond in kind with a little wave. 

You avert your gaze upward towards the open second floor, which wraps around the large atrium and is protected by a dark oak bannister. A few Siblings linger on the catwalk, carrying books or making their way towards the wide staircase that opens to your right. The bottom floor of the atrium houses several wooden tables where another smattering of Siblings sit. Most other tables are empty save for an abandoned book or two. 

The late evening glow shines down into the room from a large, circular skylight in the middle of the ceiling. There are desk lamps and overhead lights scattered about but none have been turned on yet. 

It reminds you of the University library.

“Come,” Sister Imperator says after allowing you to gaze around the massive library for a moment. “The lockbox is in the restricted section. You will receive your own key while you are here but you are required to return it, directly to myself or the Head Librarian, before you leave.”

She leads you up the carpeted staircase and deep into the bowels of the second floor. Towards the back corner, where the shelves are labeled ‘Fiction - Romance’, there is a wooden door tucked against the wall. A sign beneath its small glass window reads ‘RESTRICTED’. Sister Imperator fishes a rather noisy set of keys from her pocket and finds the correct one to unlock the door. She pushes it open with a squeak that feels loud in the quiet of the library. When both of you are in the room and the door is shut behind you, she removes an identical key from her keyring and hands it to you. “Your copy,” she says. “Do not lose it.” 

The room isn’t cramped, but it is small compared to the atrium. A few single-person desks sit along the back wall, while the walls on either side of you are lined with glass boxes. Each box is shaped similarly to a narrow cubby, and houses a single book. Printed labels on the front face of each box display a box number and the name of the volume stored inside. 

“Your key allows you to access any of these boxes,” Sister Imperator explains to you, “but I do not expect you to require any of them, except for the diary you’ll be working with. It is kept in box number seven, which is here,” she points to a box about halfway up the rightmost column of cubbies. Using her key (still attached to the incredibly jingly keyring), she gently unlocks the box and it glides out like a drawer. 

You step beside her to look down into the glass drawer. The diary is wrapped in white linen, but you can see the faint brown color of the leather through the cloth. “The archivist requests that you keep the white cloth under the book at all times,” Sister Imperator says. She reaches down into the box and gently retrieves the diary, careful not to jostle the cloth too much. “It will protect the leather from further decay.” You don’t need her to explain how preservation works, but you appreciate it anyway. It saves you from having to ask, or endure another awkward silence. 

She places the book down on a nearby table and slowly unwraps the cloth. Already you can see small flecks of brown and orange sticking to it where the leather has rotted, but it seems to be fairly well preserved in light of its age. On the front cover in small, embossed gold letters is the name Elizabeth. 

“Elizabeth,” you say, understanding. 

“Elizabeth,” Sister Imperator replies. “That is the only word we have managed to decipher. Hopefully you will be able to help us with the rest.”

You nod. “I believe I can.” 

She wraps the cloth loosely around the book once more, and returns it to its box. “I do not expect you to start tonight, Sister. We will give you time to settle, and have something to eat. But from tomorrow morning until you are done, this is your sole responsibility. Do you understand?” 

Her sudden, almost intimidating tone surprises you. You bite the inside of your cheek–a nasty habit you’ve had since you were a child. “I understand, your Dark Eminence,” you say with another nod. 

Her face softens, as does her stare. “Please, just Sister is fine,” she says. You follow her again as she begins to lead you out of the Restricted room. “I believe the dinner hour is to start soon. I will show you to your dormitory, and then leave you to get settled.” 

She brings you back through the library and the main hall towards where you’d seen the ghoul disappear with your luggage. The dormitory hall is a long, narrow corridor with windows on one side and doors on the other. Each door is marked with a number and a nameplate, and in between each door are wall sconces lit by incandescent bulbs. Halfway down the hall there is an opening to a stairwell which, you assume, leads up to the second floor of the dormitories. You walk past many, many doors, some of which have two nameplates, until you reach the very end of the hall where there are unmarked doors. Sister finds her keyring again and unlocks one, then removes the key and hands it to you. 

“These rooms here are the guest quarters. They are typically not suited for long-term stays but we have prepared yours to have everything you will need. If you need anything, ask Sibling Superior and they will make sure that you receive it.”

Sister Imperator turns to leave, but then turns around. “You know, Sister,” she says, with a curious look. “For someone of your expertise, I thought you would have been… older.” You can’t tell if it’s praise or suspicion in her voice. “Yes, well,” you stall. How are you supposed to explain that language just comes naturally to you and that it’s not your fault you’re not old and wrinkly? “I suppose once you learn one language, all the rest come easy. Especially romance languages.” 

“Hm,” Sister Imperator hums, sizing you up for a moment. “Find me at the end of the week and we will talk about your progress. I’m sure you will know your way around by then.” 

It seems her well of kindness has run dry.  

~~~

If the loud ringing of the bell didn’t tell you that the dinner hour had started, then the steadily rising sounds of a crowd did. You can hear the murmurs of conversation even through your closed door. A few Siblings emerge from the dormitory next to yours, their chatting and laughing growing quieter as they walk down the corridor towards the refectory. The old wood floorboards creak above you from the movement of Siblings who occupy the second floor. All around you there is an excited bustle, and yet you don’t feel like joining it. 

You have never liked crowds. Especially crowds of strangers. And these strangers all seem to know each other, if the echoes of loud conversations tell you anything. 

But your stomach does rumble, and you feel rather weak from a day of travel, so you decide that it’s best to eat something before you go to bed. Once the corridor seems clear again, you quietly slip out your door (patting your pocket to make sure you remembered your key) and make your way to the refectory. Sister Imperator hadn’t shown it to you but you can make an educated guess as to where it is. 

When you emerge into the main hall, you see a few Siblings occupying the wood benches that had been previously empty. They all hold trays or to-go boxes on their laps. Some speak animatedly, enthralling their friends with stories from their eventful day, while others sit quietly beside each other and eat. You think that it might be nice to sit somewhere to eat so that you feel a bit more connected to the Abbey, but all of the benches are occupied. The ever-growing roar from the refectory does not seem too appealing, either. 

The large room is across the main hall from the library. When you turn the corner you see that it’s not as grand as the atrium, and that it only occupies one level. There are sheer curtains hung over the windows, which allow the sunlight to illuminate the room but keeps it from growing too warm. Siblings, Clergy members, and ghouls alike sit at long wooden tables not unlike those of your home Abbey. But these tables alone are longer than the entire length of the Marseille refectory, and once again you’re reminded that you’re quite far from home. 

No, you can’t eat here. Not tonight. 

There is a long counter stretching nearly wall-to-wall to the left of the door, where a dwindling line of Siblings make their dinner selections. Whatever meal the kitchens had prepared smells delicious but you find that you don’t have the appetite for it. However, close to where you stand in the doorway and nestled in the space between the wall and the counter, are a few baskets of fruit arranged on a small table. The baskets are nearly empty, with the only indication of their contents being the small pops of color peeking through gaps in the woven pattern. 

Despite not wanting a hot meal, you are hungry, and so you enter the refectory and move towards the baskets. You opt for two good-sized oranges–although the bananas do look perfectly ripe–and turn to leave as quickly as you came. Your eyes briefly sweep over the crowd and land on a long table, perpendicular to all the others, situated on a platform at the opposite end of the refectory. The platform isn’t tall, but it is just enough to raise the table’s occupants slightly above the Siblings. The table is entirely composed of men, save for Sister Imperator, who seems to be talking to an older man with Papal paints and long blonde hair–is that Papa?

You look at the others occupying the table, and find that no less than three are also wearing Papal paints. 

Marseille is a tiny Abbey. At any given time, only about ten Siblings reside there at once. And so there is no need for an upper Clergyman to be stationed there. Instead, the Chapter is run by Bishop Beaumont, who (until now) is the highest ranking member of the Satanic Ministry you have ever met, let alone seen. 

So, to be faced with not one, but four Papas, all in the same room, makes your heart thump with nerves. You recognize them all from the portraits in the main hall, but in person they are all so much more… just more. And yet you still don’t know who is who. 

Of course, you know that all four of the most recent reigning Papas are brothers, the order of which was determined by age. The man who Sister Imperator is talking to must be Papa Emeritus I, or Papa Primo, as you’ve heard him called by Bishop Beaumont. The other three look relatively close in age, and so you truly have no idea which man currently holds the helm and steers the ship. 

You realize you’re staring when you make eye contact with one of the Papas. You nearly gasp in surprise, as if you shouldn’t even be on the same plane of existence as him… and yet your eyes met. Of course one of them would have caught you eventually, you think. You were practically ogling them from across the room. 

Hastily, you turn and make your way back out of the refectory and into the main hall. Your eyes fall on the nearest portrait. The Papal paints of the subject match the ones of the man you’d just been caught staring at. You blush as if his portrait could think, and had just caught you a second time. Your eyes flick down to the gold plate affixed to the frame, and read the words. 

PAPA EMERITUS IV.

[daisies-and-domming]

Hey!! Would you do a sub!billy hargrove/dom!reader smut? Thank u <3

Boy Next Door (NSFW)

S3 spoilers in my author’s note, and vague reference to how S2 ends!! 

Summary: You’ve lived in the trailer park nearly your entire life, long enough to know that nothing in Hawkins was ever normal. So when the new king of the school starts dropping by your trailer at ungodly hours, you don’t even blink - why would you? Weirder shit’s happened here, and you’re certainly not complaining either, not when the king decides to get on his knees for you.

Warnings: swearing, smut, dom!reader, reader has an undefined hole, p in said undefined hole, sub!billy, oral (reader receiving), frottage(?), edging, praise, little bits of degradation (reader calls billy “slut” and talks condescendingly at some points), unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it kids!!), a lil bit of a breeding kink, billy likes when reader pulls on his hair <3

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

Oh my god anon I didn’t know I needed sub!billy until you sent this in and now I’m scouring the website for more… I’m a whore for subby men, what can I say 🤷 He’s a little ooc but I firmly believe that billy is secretly a soft with people he trusts - sure, he’s mean to max, but I think that’s because he doesn’t want her involved in his life of alcohol and flirting - and I’ll die on that hill. This is set between S2 and S3, but in my universe billy doesn’t die during S3 anyways because I’m the author and I said so >:O Anyways, I had so much fun writing this, thank you for the request!! It takes like 1000 words to get to the smut, I’m so sorry ;-; But the smut is like 2000 some words, so hopefully that makes up for it ahaha I went batshit

– – –

You’ve lived in this dinghy trailer park in the middle of nowhere, Indiana, your entire conscious life. When your parents were really drunk (which, in all honesty, was far more often than you were willing to admit) they would talk about their “golden days”: when your parents were something other than full-time alcoholics, living in the suburbs of Cleveland in a nice neighbourhood. You were told you were born there, in that nice suburb house near the coast of one of the great lakes, but you’ve never had the nerve to ask what happened that landed them here, in Hawkins. 

But Ohio was none of your concern now. There were supernatural beings practically on your doorstep and the only people that seemed to care were the children that your friend Steve seemingly adopted, which would make for a good movie. But the fact that a ragtag bunch of kids were the ones saving your very real world left a nauseating pit in your stomach. Sure, the angry buzz cut kid who they called “Eleven” put an end to the last thing that came after Hawkins, but something tells you this was just the beginning. No matter. At the moment, you had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that there’s a soft knocking on your door, despite the little analog clock reading a blinking “2:34am”.

Peering through the peephole, a clearly drunk Billy Hargrove stood, wobbling slightly. You’d seen him around school - it’s hard not to when he drives a flashy car and insists on poking at Steve - but certainly hadn’t spoken to him before. Opening the door slightly, you make eye contact with the man in question.

“Hi,” you say, tentatively. “Can I help you?”

“l/n!!” he slurs, eyes lighting up. “What’re y’doin in my trailer?”

You frown at him. “This is where I live, dipshit. Your trailer is more than a few down.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” he said, nudging at you. “Lemme in, will ya?”

You stood firm, skeptical. “Why should I?”

“Because,” he drawls. “You’re pretty, I’m pretty, we should do pretty people stuff together.”

You snort, but move to the side. You didn’t know what his home life was like, but, nevertheless, sending him away in the middle of the night, piss drunk, was dumb. If he had gotten hurt on the way back to his trailer because you had sent him away you would never forgive yourself. Sure, he seemed like a pretentious douchebag, but even pretentious douchebags deserve a chance. Besides, the ‘rents were out, which meant there wouldn’t be any “did you use protection?” or “you aren’t pregnant, are you?” questions the following morning.

“l/n,” Billy whined out, making you turn in time to see him flop onto your couch. “Why aren’t we doin’ pretty people stuff yet?”

You shut and lock the door, plopping yourself down on the floor in front of the couch in an attempt to set an unspoken boundary. “Because you’re drunk. You’re welcome to come over here sober some time and try this whole song and dance then, but I believe in full consent when doin’ that tango. You’re inebriated, so no ‘pretty people stuff’ for you tonight.”

He whined dramatically. “But that’s half the fun of getting drunk!!”

“God, you’re really drunk,” you say, wrinkling your nose at the smell. “We can talk if you want, but you’re not getting any tonight, lover boy.”

“Ooooh, you wanna hear about the crazy shit that Tina did at the party today??” – – – 

This became a recurring event. Billy would go out and party, then come over, drunk out of his mind and strangely soft. You had learned a lot about him - about Max (who he seemed to truly care about, despite how he acted when sober), about his dickhead father, about his mother, about why he drowned himself in people and alcohol all the time. You weren’t sure why he chose to keep dropping by, but you weren’t too perturbed. In any other situation, you might even consider him your friend. But, you remind yourself, he’s always drunk or high or some combination of the two. You don’t make friends when you’re drunk. And you certainly don’t fall for them, either.

A knock resonated at your door and you froze, staring at the clock. It was 3:24pm on a Saturday afternoon, unless Steve had decided to give you a surprise visit there should be no one at the door.

“l/n! Open the goddamn door,” a voice rang out, one that you recognized immediately. “I don’t have all goddamn day!”

You stumble to the door, opening it embarrassingly quickly. “Hi???”

“Hey,” he said, shoving his way past you.

“Wait wait wait,” you said, spinning around to him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I normally do, dickbag,” Billy said, refusing to make eye contact. “We gonna talk or what?”

You close the door gently, clicking the lock almost tentatively. “You’re sober.”

A flash of hurt crossed his face, but he quickly covered it up. “Am I not allowed to be?”

“That - that’s not what I’m saying!” you exclaimed, exasperated. “I just - I kinda figured you didn’t want to talk to me, normally. I’m not exactly your usual crowd.”

He groaned, running a hand over his face. “Look - how do I say this? I… don’t think you’re that shitty, or whatever. Sure, Tina’s a hot piece of ass, but if I tried to actually, I don’t fucking know, talk to her, she’d just laugh and tell me to ‘shut up’ or somethin’.”

“I don’t think you’re that shitty, either,” you say, slowly. “Is that all you wanted to talk about…? We could’ve done this on the porch.”

“It’s a trailer, there’s no goddamn porch,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes but still not making eye contact with you.

“You’re dodging,” you say, walking over to him and crowding him a bit. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“I don’t want to go back home,” he said bluntly, still dodging your prying eyes. “Deadbeat dad is on a rampage again. Dropped Max off at the arcade and found myself here.”

You blink up at him and back up a bit, feeling awful for prying. “Shit man - sorry I pushed you. You’re welcome here whenever you want to escape your place, sober or not. Or if you just want to come over. You can bring Max, too, she seems nice!! My ‘rents are never around, like ever, and even when they are they’re drunk and hiding in their room, and there’s a key under the doormat in the back if you need an escape and I’m not here - though I’d be careful about my parents, they get pretty drunk sometimes too, it’s not pretty. That’s not the point though! Point is, you’re always welcome, I’m sorry for prying-”

He pushed you to the couch, a small smile on his face, and were his eyes a little teary?? “Shut up, loser. I got it, I’m welcome to be here. Not shocked, though, people love me, of course you’d want me around.”

You roll your eyes at his smirk, trying to tug him down to the couch. However, you hadn’t anticipated him resisting, and your knee jerk reaction was to just yank. He stumbled and landed on top of you, knees straddling your legs. He blinks at you, owlishly, face flushed and pupils beginning to dilate.

You grin up at him, jokingly winking. “Just where I wanted you, baby.”

“Can I- can I take you up on your previous offer?” he said, voice lacking its usual bravado and confidence. 

“Previous offer as in…?”

“Sex,” he said, straightforward. “You said if I was sober we could fuck.”

“What eloquence, Mr. Hargrove,” you said. “And I believe we referred to it as ‘pretty people stuff.’”

“That’s a yes, yeah?” he said, hands resting on the couch on either side of your head.

“Aw, look at you, asking for consent,” you said, grinning up at him deviously. “Mmm…maybe if you beg me.”

He looked at you, incredulous. “If you think I’ll ever beg for something, you’ve got something coming-”

You cut him off, pulling him down into a harsh kiss. He groaned into the kiss, grinding down into your clothed sex. When he pulls away, he smirks down at you, cocky.

“You’re going to be the one begging for me, babe,” he said, head tilting. “So how ‘bout we hear it, hm?”

Well that wouldn’t do. Using all your strength, you flip your positions, grinding down on him once you’ve settled above him.

“If we’re doing this, baby boy,” you said, sultry. “We’re doing this my way, got it?”

You could see the struggle in his eyes, and began to grind down on him lightly. 

“Come on, sweet thing,” you murmured against his lips, rolling your hips in a way that had his eyes rolling back. “You can be good for me, can’t you?”

“Mm- yeah, yes, I can be good for you,” he groaned. “Now get on with it, will you?”

You frown at him, faux pouting. “Thought you were gonna be good. But that’s fine, we can play that game, I don’t mind.”

He opened his mouth to object but was cut off when your grinding turned harsh and fast, his words turning into a breathy moan. He slapped a hand over his mouth but you weren’t having it.

“Listen here, Hargrove,” you growled. “You’re going to let me hear those pretty little sounds or you’re not going to come. Understand?”

“No way in hell-”

You reach a hand down to his straining cock and squeeze, hard, revelling in the way his head rolls back and his hips jerk up into your hand. His mouth opens and closes uselessly, and you lean your weight onto your knees so you can shove your fingers that aren’t cradling his cock right down his throat. He gags, eyes glazed and unfocused.

“God, look at you,” you groan, voice strained. “Made for this, made for me to use, huh?”

He tries to respond but all that comes out are choked moans, drool dribbling down his chin as he gags on your fingers. You other hand kickstarts, rubbing him not-so-nicely through his pants. He looked gorgeous like this: choking on your fingers, eyes unfocused, hips bucking uncontrollably into your harsh touches. God, you just want to drown yourself in the feeling of the power you had over this man, this man who insisted on so much control in his everyday life. But here he was, on your couch, gagging on your fingers like he never wanted anything else. 

His bucking gets more erratic and his breaths get shorter, signalling an incoming orgasm. You paw at his cock a little harder, removing your fingers from down his throat so you could hear him when you tear his orgasm away from him.

“You wanna cum, baby?” you coo, letting your hips take over for your hand and grinding down on his clothed erection. “Wanna cum for me?”

“Yeah - gonna cum, gonna cum, let me cum-”

“No.”

His hips jolt upwards as you lift yourself from his lap, chasing after your heat. You smirk sadistically at him, chuckling at the glare he gives you in exchange for your denial.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, hands clenching at his sides (but not moving to change his predicament, you noted). “I was so fucking close, why would you-”

You put a finger on his lips, shushing him. “You were a brat earlier, so I’m treating you like one. Maybe if you get me off I will consider letting you come.”

“Yeah?” he said, still panting from his lost orgasm. “Yeah, I can fuckin’ do that.”

“Good,” you say, getting up. “Get on your knees in front of the couch.”

He snorted at first, but his face contorted when he realised you were serious. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? You’re not going to get me on my knees, sweetheart.”

“Then you’re not going to cum,” you said matter-of-factly. “Eat me out on your knees like the little slut you are or you don’t get to cum.”

His nose scrunched up angrily but he moved to get down in front of the couch. “There. That make your sick little heart happy?”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy brat we wouldn’t be here in the first place,” you said, discarding your pants and undergarments god knows where. “Don’t touch without permission, m’kay?”

He growled but kept his hands obediently at his side. In spite of all his back talk, Billy didn’t ever make a move to take control. He wants this, you realise, but he doesn’t want to admit it.

“How cute,” you coo, pinching his cheek as you settle yourself in front of him. “Now eat me out - no hands though, baby. Just put your pretty little mouth to better use for me, mhm?”

He begrudgingly folds his hands behind his back and buries himself in your hole. Your head rolls back, a low groan escaping your mouth. If he wasn’t drowning himself in you he might see your composure slipping, but he seemed just as out of it as you. Hips jerking up into nothing, hands clasped behind his back, face red and teary, Billy looked like so fucking good that you felt yourself clenching around his tongue, rolling your hips into his lapping. 

“God… so good with that tongue, baby, shit - keep doing that, y-yeah, just like that,” you blabber out, a hand flying to grip at his hair. You give an experimental tug and grin when he moans, breathy and high. 

“Y-yeah? You want me to tug on your - ngh - hair? Shove you deeper into me?” you say, chuckling lowly when he nods into you. “Your wish is my command, sweet thing.”

You could feel your orgasm drawing nearer as Billy’s talented tongue ruined your insides. His movements were precise, even without the use of his hands, and when he nicked your sweet spot you came, clamping your thighs around his head as you tugged harshly on his hair. 

Panting, you try to regain enough composure to address Billy. “God, sweetheart, your so fucking good with your tongue.”

“Yeah?” he said, tone cocky despite the straining bulge in his jeans. “You gonna let me use you now? I know you want it darlin’, you can’t keep pretending to have contr - mph!”

You yanked him up in a kiss, effectively shutting him up. Your legs were a little shaky from your previous orgasm but you were stubborn: there’s no way in hell after all this you would give Billy the satisfaction of fucking into you.

“Get on the goddamn couch,” you said, panting as you pulled away. “I’m going to ride you until all you can think of is me.”

“Fuck, pretty thing,” he groans, dropping onto the couch. “You better hold true to that or I might have to take over.”

“If you think you have a say in how this goes you’re dead wrong,” you said, straddling his hips. “You don’t cum until I say, got it baby?”

“Easy peasy,” he said, ever the fucking brat. “Think you can hold it sweets? Because I can guarantee that you’ll be creaming around my cock in no time.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, unimpressed as you help him wiggle out of his jeans and underwear. “Whatever you need to help you sleep at night.”

“You scared you can’t take it - shit!” he moans, cock twitching as you sink down on him in one slide. “Fuck, you gotta give a man a warning-”

You don’t. Bouncing up and down on his cock at a harsh pace, your trailer is filled with the lewd sound of skin slapping skin. You’re sure the neighbours can tell what you two are doing - hell, the whole trailer park probably knew - but you didn’t have the heart to care. His cock stretched you wide, so goddamn girthy that every bounce had white bouncing at the edge of your vision. 

Billy wasn’t much better. He had a death grip on your hips, finger-shaped bruises already forming. Tongue sticking out, eye half-lidded and staring up at you reverently, Billy was a fucked out mess already and you’d just started.

“Mmngh, feelin’ good, pretty boy? God… just look at you, takin’ - ungh - t-takin’ it so goddamn well, shit,” you said, still slamming yourself down on his cock like your life depended on it. 

“Mmm, fuck, please, please please please-” 

You couldn’t even tell what he was begging for anymore. “What do you - ngh - what do you need, babe - fuck, just like that pretty thing - huh? Got to be specific, darlin’ - god…”

“Cum,” he moans out, eyes shut tightly as he bucks into you. “Need t’ fuckin’ cum!”

You clench around him as he bucks, eyes rolling back a bit. “Ngh, yeah? You wanna cum? Wanna fill my pretty little hole - ahn, do that again, jesus - fill my pretty little hole with your cum?”

“Yeah, shit. Gonna let me?”

“Mhmm, I don’t know…” you said, pretending to ponder like you weren’t desperate to feel him fill you up. “Have you been - jesus fucking christ - have you been good?”

“‘ve been good!!” he wails, eyes teary as he stares up at you. “Been so good, such a good boy, please let me cum, please, jus’ wanna be you good boy, please please please!”

Your eyes roll back. Fuck, you hadn’t expected him to beg in return. Slowing down a bit, your bounces send him slow and deep, causing you to clench. His eyes cross and his grip on the couch turns his knuckles white, trying so goddamn hard to hold himself back.

“You can cum,” you groan, his cock rutting against your sweet spot just right. “You can cum, baby, cum with me, want you to cum with me-”

Your vision goes white and you clench, gripping his cock harshly. He near screams, fucking himself up into you as he came. You both melt into each other, a panting, post-orgasm mess tangled on the couch. When your brain was finally back online, you winch, gently sliding his softened cock out of you.

“Fuck, really did a number on me,” Billy murmured, ragdolled on the couch looking like he never wanted to move. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Fuck off, Hargrove,” you say, trying your best to walk (or waddle, rather) your way to the kitchen to start cleaning off.

“You love me and you know it!”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it. God, he was such a doofus. You couldn’t believe that the rest of the school considered him the king, but maybe your friendship was something special. You sure hoped so - you were certain he wasn’t just submitting himself to anyone, after all. 

“Where the fuck did you go, dickhead? The great Billy Hargrove demands cuddles!”

God, he was such a dork sometimes. You snort, but make your way back to the living room, water bottle and damp washcloth in hand. 

“Have patience, great Billy,” you said, handing him the water bottle before gently cleaning him up. “Great things come for those who wait.”

“Oh shut up,” he said, melting into your touch. “I didn’t come here for you to philosophise.”

“Course, course,” you say, jokingly. “Okay, all done. Let’s pick up all our shit and go to my room, yeah? Really don’t want my parents to come home and find us naked in the living room.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re boring,” he jokes, wobbly as he stands to help you grab your discarded clothes. “Half the fun is getting caught.”

“Perv,” you shot back.

“Says the one who rode me on their parents' couch.”

“Ew!! Don’t fucking say that, I don’t want to think about my parents in the afterglow!”

“You’re the one who brought them up!” “Yeah, because I don’t want them involved in my post-orgasmic haze!!” you say, exasperated. “Cmon, this way.”

Dumping your clothes unceremoniously on the floor, you lock the door and drag Billy towards your bed. Wordlessly, the two of you melt into each other. You’d worry about sneaking him out under your parents’ radar later - right now, you had much more pressing concerns.

Word Count: 3374

[cheesus-doodles]

A Friend In Me: Chapter 3

Yandere Platonic Toman

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<< Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Masterlist

‎‎‎

Been a hot minute since this got a new chapter, I sold my soul to get this out. but nil it feels great

An insistent tug on your arm. “Come on!”

“Mikey, slow down! I can only walk so fast,” you laughed out as you allowed the eager boy to all but drag you down the street, your feet at times seemingly lifting off the ground when even your quickened strides couldn’t keep up. The rest of your Toman friends were content with following behind at a more leisurely pace, savoring the rare breeze that broke up the fierce afternoon heat while chatting and laughing among themselves, though this light temperament was far from the norm that you experienced in the past week. Not that you were complaining - you were going to enjoy this peace for as long as it lasted. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

Yet the Toman President made no effort to hide his impatience or slow his speed, instead letting out what sounded to you like a cross between a grunt and a whine as he attempted to get you to speed up by any means besides outright dragging you. “Walk faster,” Mikey insisted again, completely ignoring your second statement as his other hand reached up, this time to tug at the hem of your school uniform’s shirt, as if his words were a magic potion that could hurry you along. But alas, it was not to be, with you remaining the sole obstacle that stood between the trailing boys and Mikey’s full sprint ahead; it was clear that the delinquent was not against simply sweeping you up into his arms and making a break for it. You knew you barely weighed anything to the blond-haired delinquent, and you wouldn’t be against it either, but you knew who would be: the five very unhappy founders chasing after him cursing up a storm.

A light chuckle slipped your lips at Mikey’s pout, your hand lifting to gently ruffle the neatly tied hair that you had helped painstakingly wrangle into submission earlier this morning. Goodness only knows how Draken manages to do it so effortlessly; you must have taken at least twenty minutes, compared to his usual five. “We’ll get there eventually, wherever this is,” you assured the grumpy gang president. “Just takes a little longer, alright?”

‎

As if on cue, Draken’s irate voice rang out. “Oi Mikey! Slow down you idiot!”

The otherwise quiet street that you were strolling down was one of many amidst this small suburb that bordered the edge of the greater city of Tokyo, still sleepy at this time of the day; the few souls that you spotted occasionally wandering across traffic-less roads in the distance skewed heavily towards the elderly. The afternoon sun that loafed about in the sky above was seemingly a siren’s call for students to anywhere but this exact avenue, though one glance at the boys around you and you could confidently make a few accurate guesses. Despite the relaxed postures and lazy smiles that pulled at their faces, you knew deep down that all it would take would be a single provocation and a blink for everything to change.

After all, it had just been a week prior when Mikey and the others had found out about your new friend, and the tantrums you had to deal with were explosive to put it mildly. No doubt that Baji had seen that cheeky - and impromptu, you were sure - kiss that had been given to you that night, yet even after knowing them for as long as you had, you couldn’t recall a time when you had seen pure anger raging behind those empty eyes of Mikey’s, or when Kazutora had last clutched you tight enough to bruise his handprint into your skin. You had pondered this for a long while, taking the time to think in the dark of the night when whichever lucky soul who’s turn it was to snuggle right up against you had long fallen asleep. Was this also the reason why the Toman founders had all been on edge the past seven days, reluctant to let you out of their sight for but a second? Had they always been this way?

Or was it because the ‘enemy’ was a boy like them?

You couldn’t say for sure as always, given that last you checked you hadn’t developed any mind-reading abilities, but it did seem to you that the six of them had only stepped up their protectiveness of you further, something you hadn’t thought possible. Perhaps you were imagining things, despite the slightest bit of unease that had settled at the bottom of your gut. But as naive as you might be, you weren’t completely oblivious to the ongoings around you. Your sweet boys had always been a tad overbearing with their care for you, scaring off anyone who didn’t have the strongest of hearts. But it didn’t feel like you had any time left to spend alone, with one or the other always close by, if not for directly hanging off from you. Maybe you could grab a minute or so in the bathroom, if you didn’t count the light taps or the sniffling you could hear through the door. They even seemed more…clingy, if you had to put a word to it - almost like they were trying to scent their territory; insisting on making you wear their jackets while stubbornly squeezing into yours, rolling all over your sheets. Almost like cats.

A chuckle, and you pushed that thought to the back of your head. Okay no, you were definitely just imagining things now.

‎‎

“Hey Mikey,” A loud clap as Baji slammed one hand into a vice clamp around Mikey’s shoulder, and you let out a yelp as you were dragged backwards together with the blond-haired delinquent still insistently attached to your arm. It seemed that the moment you had taken for some well-intentioned self-reflection was just taken as another opportunity for more squabbling.

The Toman President seemed barely bothered despite the veins popping on Baji’s hand with the effort and strength he was putting into his grip, simply annoyed at being disturbed. “Huh? What do you want?”

“Draken said to slow down.” The black-haired Captain emphasized, his single sharp tooth bared as he gestured vaguely at you. “You blind or something? Can’t you see you’re walking too fast?”

Those were definitely fighting words, you knew as much. And then when Baji helped himself to your other arm, with only the cheeriest and cutest smile for you as he snuggled into your side and no angry words or looks in sight, Mikey puffed up in indignation, one hand shooting out in an attempt to pry his new rival off. “Hey! I didn’t say you can hold on too!”

“Huh? I don’t see your name anywhere here!” Baji dodged the attempted grab at his hair with a quick swish of his head, and you oofed as the mob smacked straight into your face. “Oh- uh, sorry,” he mumbled, before launching straight back into retaliation.

Regardless of what the boys thought or felt, for once, you had made up your mind. And come hell or high water, you would be damned if you didn’t see this new friendship through. As much as you loved your friends, this was your life after all, and you simply had to prove to yourself that you could. “You know, Baji, Mikey, you still haven’t told me where we are going,” you gently reminded, throwing one arm over Baji’s and Mikey’s necks in a playful gesture. “Can’t pull me out of class and not tell me.”

It was enough of a distraction for the duo to stop and look at you, and it was clear that the revelation finally hit home. “We’re going to Shinichiro’s shop!” Mikey announced proudly, those abyss eyes turned at you as if expecting something. Praise? Revere?

All he got unfortunately was confusion, and you cocked your head at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Shinichiro?” You repeated.

“Mikey’s older brother,’ Baji filled in helpfully, his smack to the back of said boy’s head finally landing.

“Ye, he owns a bike shop around here,” Mikey continued at your persistent bewildered look. “Sells bikes and does repairs and stuff.”

Your mind instantly jumped back to the week before Mikey’s birthday, and your lips quirked as the dots began to connect. You had thought the little grandma running the small stand at the previous corner had looked awfully familiar. And something was telling you that you had been down this road previously: was it that day that you had skipped class to pick up the custom fuel tank cover? Though you said nothing, biting your tongue to stop yourself from saying more. You supposed you were going to find out soon if you already knew this Shinichiro. Yet before your little smile could drop, a single telltale sniffle was all you had as a warning, and you were tackled unceremoniously from the back by one very distraught Kazutora.

‎

‎‎‎

But despite the squeals and laughter that filled the otherwise quiet, humming heat, not all was well, Draken and Mitsuya mutely throwing looks at each other in an unspoken conversation behind your back. You certainly weren’t privy to the many undercurrents swirling just below the surface, brewing like a storm biding its time in its cracking glass bottle; and unknown to you, your little adventures out with that wretched buddy of yours weren’t missed by any of the six Toman founders. No, they were more than keenly aware of all the times you had tried to steal away to join him, that bastard of a black-haired boy: why were you so keen to share your affection with a total stranger? To pamper and hand feed him the lunch you had made him to begin with, with this piece of trash not lifting a finger to help you?

You knew that they didn’t approve, by the way you were so very careful with when you leave to join him, always looking around to try and see if you had any tails and picking more secluded spots you didn’t hang out at when you were with them. You knew that your Toman friends would be angered at you risking your life so frivolously, so why? Was this how little you valued yourself? All to date a member of a rival gang behind their backs and against their explicit orders?

Yet you persisted. And for what? Someone who would never care for you like they did? Someone who would toss you to the side at the first hint of trouble?

It was clear that nothing they did or said seemed to get through your thick skull. So it was time to step it up. If you refused to listen to them, then as the Tokyo Manji Gang, the six founders would simply have to make you listen. It was tough even to think about it; the last thing they wanted was to scare you more than they already did, to lose your smile and laughter, the love you clearly had for your dear friends. But your safety came first, and if you couldn’t be trusted to behave yourself in the few moments that you had to yourself, then more drastic measures were needed, whether you liked it or not. Confining you to your house was an option they had considered: it was a familiar environment where you could be comfortable, and it didn’t seem like there was anyone else home at any point in time.

Though it was clearly a question for another time, with Pah shouting a warning right before you nearly tripped over a misplaced foot from Baji. The vein that had already been throbbing on Draken’s forehead almost popped, the Vice-President marching forward with an angered shout.

‎‎

‎‎

A stone’s throw away and hidden within the four walls of one of many shops that line the street, a simple clock hung on the far wall merrily ticking away. A school day it was supposed to be, yet neither of the two school-aged boys present had any intention of returning to their dull classes, instead choosing to spend their time in this unassuming motorcycle shop at the edge of this quiet Tokyo suburb.

Inupi couldn’t help but note how odd a pair the two in front of him made, standing side by side in the small shop; Koko clad in a pristine uniform, still as clean and tidy as when he had left for school earlier, and Shinichiro in a questionably clean t-shirt and a half-stripped overall, sleeves lazily tied around his deceptively thin waist. The otherwise quiet showfloor was almost as if a picture that one could pick out from a driving magazine: the afternoon sun pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling glass storefront and onto rows of less glamorous motorcycles up for sale, the well-scrubbed yet worn tiles of the shop floor, and in the middle of all the clutter and action, the surrounded lit centerpiece that drew one’s eyes naturally. And it was easy to understand the fascination Shinichiro had: the top of the line cruiser 2003 Honda Valkyrie that was now front and center in the shop was an eye-catching beast of the road. The polished black metal gleamed under the strong spotlights that flooded down from the ceiling, the long, low-strung frames that took inspiration from retro styles of a time long past, a shiny, silver flat-six engine that purred effortlessly down the road just half an hour earlier, and decked out in double studded leather seats and chrome finishing that added the air of sophistication that screamed Koko. Nothing short of a masterpiece.

Shinichiro took a long drag from his smoldering cigarette, abyss eyes never once leaving the bike that stood propped in front of him. “A 2003 Valkyrie?” The man asked, looking over the cruiser motorcycle with an appreciative eye - it was rare for something of this make, let alone one with such a high price tag, to pass through his shop, and the enthusiast was certainly taking the opportunity to appreciate it up close. “Brand new?”

A rhetorical question, given how little soot or dirt there was to be found on the tips of his finger even after a low swipe across the exhaust pipes; yet the younger of the two almost puffed up in pride as he answered. “Yep. Brand new,” Koko confirmed, both hands tucked into the pockets of his school uniform’s pants. But that was the only response Shinichiro received, with the black-haired boy reluctant to say anything more that could get him into unnecessary trouble; with the kind of business the rising delinquent star runs, one could never be sure who was listening. Or asking.

“Not going to ask how a kid gets a brand new bike,” Shinichiro chuckled back, no doubt having picked up on the hesitation that lingered in the air - a former ruffian himself, there were always things that were better left unsaid and unknown. Bending over to squint closer at the horizontally configured six-cylinder engine, a low appreciative whistle slipped the older man’s lips. “I’ve never seen one of these in Japan before, it’s huge.”

“First of its kind here, straight from the factory in America.” A fond chuckle, Koko seemingly inclined to open up a bit more about his purchase after the promise of secrecy. “1800cc engine. It’s not the most orthodox ride, I’ll give you that.”

“Twin seats huh?” This ignited a curiosity in Shinichiro, who leaned ever so slightly towards the other, as if discussing a conspiracy or a national secret. “Taking a little birdie for a ride?” Those wiggling eyebrows and cheeky grin were gold coming from Shinichiro of all people.

“...Perhaps,” muttered Koko, his gaze now dropping away towards the tired green shop floor. The flush that brushed across his cheeks evaporated back into the cool air-conditioned breeze as quickly as it appeared, though the vanishing thought was caught by the two others in attendance; nothing more needed to be said for them to understand where his mind had wandered to in the brief moment.

Shinichiro only threw his head back in laughter, as if his own misfortune with the ladies had just crossed his mind, reassuringly patting his counterpart on the back before straightening up to his full height. “So what can I do for you on this fine day?”

From one quiet corner of the shop, a pair of blue eyes raised to glance at the two for a moment before slipping back down to the dimly lit screen. Despite having looked down at his phone for the majority of the conversation, fingers scrolling mindlessly through endless messages to an unknown rhythm, the back and forth banter taking place nor the blush was not lost on Inupi, too unusual for the stoic boy to ignore. For one, it was strange for Koko to even step foot here in a motorcycle shop of all places, let alone being able to hold his own in a conversation about machines he once dubbed as nothing more than money sinks. The already notorious financier with a Midas touch that preceded his reputation had never previously shown the slightest interest in bikes, but Inupi had little question on the reason for the change of heart.

And for two, well, there was Koko’s newfound interest in you. The reason behind the rare touch of rossiness to grace his friend’s fair skin. No doubt you were to thank for the sudden change in the black-haired boy’s heart, and Inupi found himself appreciating your existence in their lives just slightly more, whoever you might be - not that Inupi would know. Koko hasn’t introduced you to him yet.

‎

The night that the Black Dragon member learned about you wasn’t one that he could shake from the front of his mind, despite it having already been two weeks since. An already out-of-the-norm night two weeks ago, given the surprise thunderstorm that swept across the city with but a single roar that almost drenched his beloved bookshelf of manga had he not scrambled to shut his room’s windows. Yet despite his expectations of the rain being the most noteworthy event of the day, given how class just seemed to drag on forever and gang activities being at a lull, it was the pounding of the front door that brought both a welcomed break from the boredom and an excuse for his continued disregard of homework. The rain outside poured unrelentingly from the sky, pounding down onto the earth as if a sea had been turned upside down, an impassable wall of water. But against all odds, there on his doorstep stood a very drenched Koko, almond eyes blown wide in panic and panting, gasping for air.

Before Inupi could even say a word or ask his best friend what had gotten his knickers in a twist, the black-haired boy had grabbed him by both shoulders, shaking him bodily. “I-I-Inupi!” Was all Koko managed to stammer out, pale face obviously sweating despite being completely drenched in the freezing rainwater. And although his mouth continued to move as if saying words, no sound followed. The blond delinquent didn't think he had seen his friend in such a right state since his sister’s passing: the usually materialistic, calculative Koko was good at hiding his emotions behind a facade.

There was only one thing he could do in the moment to break the other from the spiral. Lifting one hand, it was the loud smack of skin meeting flesh that echoed through the sleepy household, Koko’s face being blown to one side, effectively silencing the feverish muttering. Almond-shaped eyes instantly whirled around, catching sight of Inupi’s still raised hand in the opposite direction of where he had been left facing; evidence of what had just happened. “W-wha- Inupi?”

“Is your head screwed back on proper now, Hajime Kokonoi?” Came Inupi’s stoic voice.

Said boy instantly staggered back a step as Inupi raised his hand threateningly once more, both hands flying up in defense. “I’m good! I’m alright now,” Koko hastily assured, the slight swell and reddening of his struck cheek clear even in the dim yellow foyer light.

“Good. What happened?”

But it was undeniable to icy blue eyes that Koko was in no state to answer his question at the moment, the other middle schooler shivering in his soaked t-shirt and loose long pants. “C-can I come in first at least? It’s freezing!” The black-haired boy complained, though he had no intention of waiting for a response, pausing for just a mere moment for Inupi to move aside before hurrying out from the dark night and into the light and warmth of the familiar house.

A lightning strike illuminated Koko against the backdrop of a quiet housing estate and torrential droplets of rain that poured from gloomy clouds hanging low in the night sky, with a booming clap of thunder that shook the very air quickly following. It was already uncharacteristically late for Koko to still be up, given how much he valued his beauty sleep, but there was still something that was off with this picture. Something that Inupi couldn’t quite lay his finger on, as those blue eyes scanned the unyielding dark of the pouring night again and again.

And then it hit him with the second bolt of lightning; what was missing was the noticeable lack of reflection behind his shivering friend, the hazy light of the streetlamp that had stood faithfully outside of his family home for years shining onto nothing but pavement. “Where’s your bike?”

Koko didn’t seem to hear the question, simply turning sideways to attempt to squeeze past Inupi who had yet to shift from where he had been standing in the middle of the doorway. But the blond boy persisted, his arm shooting out to stop Koko, the concern in his voice growing. “What happened to your bike? Did you walk here?” His friend had just bought that CB250T, and Inupi wasn’t going to let him go without an answer.

No fight was needed. “I sold it.” Came the black-haired boy’s absentminded response, blurted out without a second thought in much the similar manner as how a Magic 8-ball would spit out an answer.

There was a pause as Inupi stared back unblinking at Koko, digesting the answer he received. One second turned into two. His jaw hit the ground as the gears in his mind came to a grinding halt. “You sold it?” Inupi repeated in disbelief, unable to comprehend what those three words meant in the moment. He knew that the other had just bought the bike not a week ago, and even though Koko hadn’t explained the rationale behind why he had finally made the leap, the young financier wasn’t one to make such a rash decision. Such a beat-up bike couldn’t have been flipped for any profit at all. “You sold it? To who?”

And then the weight of what had just slipped from his lips hit Koko like a skillet to his face. In a blink, a panicked look had washed over his face, the black-haired boy freezing mid-step, gaping like a fish out of water. “I-I- I sold it to…to this…this person.”

“A person? A boy? A girl?”

“I sold it to… to a person, okay?!”

The blond-haired boy raised both hands in surrender as the tone in Koko’s voice hitched up into desperation with a fine touch of aggression at the constant questioning, eyes blown wide by turbulent, unspoken thoughts. “Alright, alright, you sold it to a person,” Inupi pacified, making a mental note to circle back to this touchy topic later, instead taking pity on how miserable his friend looked in the moment, drenched and shivering. “Why not you head to the kitchen first? I’ll get you a towel and a hot drink.”

It was a welcomed break for both of them; Koko taking the time to warm up after his mad journey through the midnight thunderstorm, and Inupi to gather his many thoughts. The pattering of rain against the glass of shut kitchen windows sounded a lot more peaceful when listening from inside a warm room. “So why are you here now? You need another bike?”

“I need help,” Koko admitted. Inupi startled, almost dropping the two cups of steaming chocolate he had just made. The straightforwardness was not something he had expected from his long-time best friend. “I… promised that I could help with the replacement and repairing of parts.” His voice dropped off, sounding almost…sheepish.

Ah. Everything suddenly made sense.

“But- but I don’t know how a motorcycle works! I don’t even know what engine that wreck had!” Now all but yanking at the roots of his hair, it was clear that the usually calm and collected financier had finally dug himself into a hole money couldn’t buy him out of. Inupi would have laughed at the scene if the other hadn’t been as distraught. “I’m doomed.”

Yet before the biker gang delinquent could open his mouth, Koko rushed on. “You want to revive the Black Dragons? I’ll help you. I’ll introduce you to a guy I know. Please Inupi, you gotta help me.” That shut his jaw back with a click. He was already going to say yes - after all, what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help out with something so simple? But now with the added reward…

Inupi nodded firmly, pushing the mug of hot chocolate closer towards Koko. “I’ll help. Drink up.”

‎

“Louder rev. I like the purr but I want more roar.” A blink, and Koko’s answer brought Inupi back to reality from his musing on the past - had he missed anything? Not that he could say for sure, but his friend’s next question came loaded with more hesitancy. “Is that going to impact safety?”

Inupi shook his head, clearing his rambling thoughts from his head with the simple movement: it didn’t matter if he didn’t know who you were or what you looked like. It was clear that your presence was already making a difference to Koko, and that was enough for him. Even if his best friend had only shifted his attachment and obsession onto a new target, albeit one who was alive and capable of returning the care and attention that Koko yearned for, maybe, slowly but surely, Koko could one day move on from Akane. Forgive himself for what he couldn’t do in the past. Maybe you could help mend the hole in Koko’s heart.

And that alone was worth all those sleepless nights Inupi spent by Koko’s side, secretly helping to answer the questions you fielded through the phone to an anxious, sweating boy who didn’t know the smallest thing about motorcycles.

The cool air that sank down from the air-conditioning above was a relief from the unrelenting heat outside, though it failed to stop the seemingly never-ending waft of smoke that drifted up from the middle of the store and disappeared into the ducts. A grunt of acknowledgement as Shinichiro clenched down on his smoldering cigarette, kneeling back down and leaning to take a closer look at the Valkyrie’s exhaust pipes. “On this new a bike? Won’t be a problem. But...” The older man trailed off, lost in thought as he stared down the muffler. “Probably will have to take some measurements before recommending anything.”

Koko shrugged. “I can leave it here with you for a night or two, no problem. Just need it back by the weekend.”

“I’ll get it done by then,” Shinichiro promised, sticking out a thumbs-up, cheeky grin pulling at his lips once more. “Done in time for your little friend.”

It took everything for the younger of the two black-haired boys to stop his eyes from rolling into the back of his head, though he couldn’t deny the blush that washed over his cheeks. “Whatever,” he muttered, kicking one foot at nothing before sulking off to one dark corner of the motorcycle shop, eager to get away from potentially being teased further about his heated face as well. Ah, young love.

Biting his tongue to swallow the laugh that the older Sano could feel bubbling up, warm black eyes now turned to land on the young delinquent who had been sitting quietly in the corner. Small mobile phone in hand and dressed in full gang uniform, it was a far cry from the prim and proper school uniform that his friend had opted for; the white uniform with bold black words proclaiming him as a proud Black Dragon eye-catching against the matte blue steel racks lining the back of the shop. “So what can I do for you today, Inupi?”

The recent memory of the almost spectacular defeat of the Ninth Generation Black Dragon instantly came rocketing straight to the front of his memory once more, and despite Inupi’s best efforts, the usually stoic boy flinched. The humiliation was still fresh and jarring, and Shinichiro caught it loud and clear. The former delinquent immediately held out one empathetic hand, stopping Inupi before he could speak. “It’s okay, you know?”

Said blond boy blinked. “What?”

“To lose. I heard what happened.”

“But-”

���But nothing,” Shinichiro emphasized, even as he stood from where he had been crouched in front of the Valkyrie, picking up his tool box and stretching. “Shit happens. You win, you lose. It’s not your fault, stop taking it so personally.”

It wasn’t okay. And it was his fault. If only- maybe if he had been stronger. Maybe if he had been the President instead of Shion. “But I promised-”

“You promised Izana to look after the gang, didn’t you?” The former Black Dragon captain waved the younger delinquent over, inviting him to come closer as he turned his attention to tinkling on spare engine parts. “And you did. You tried your best.”

Inupi fell silent, processing the words that hung heavy in the air. Did he really do all that he could? Did he do enough?

A slap to his back broke him out of his thoughts to the sight of a laughing Shinichiro. “Come on, don’t look so serious! You’ll be fine. Tell me what’s going on with your life, found yourself a pretty girl yet?”

‎

‎

The once sprawled out squad, with you and Mikey ahead and your other five friends trailing behind, had already been abandoned just five minutes into this after-school stroll you had been cajoled into. Compressed back into a single large group, you found yourself bogged down by not just one, but three clingy boys latched on to various parts of your body and limbs, Mikey and Baji each tugging at one arm and busy bickering with each other about whether you liked taiyaki or peyoung yakisoba better, while Kazutora seemed just happy to be able to hold you by the hem of your recently untucked school shirt from the back.

“Are yall done whining?” Mitsuya drawled, his hand coming down in a chopping motion to the top of an unbothered Kazutora, said boy only taking the opportunity shuffling closer to you and resting his chin on your shoulder, all the while grumbling slightly. “You’re being a bother.”

Mikey and Baji whirled around as one, disbelief plastered across their faces. “We are not,” the duo insisted in unison, even though it had been Kazutora that took the brunt of the very light hit, their clutches on your arms tightening slightly as your two velcros attempted to snuggle even closer into you, two pairs of abyss and yellow eyes turning up to you. “Tell him!”

You didn’t want to complain and break their hearts - not with those pouty puppy eyes they had turned up to full blast at you - but the cool breeze that previously brought relief had already died down several minutes earlier, and now burdened with the full brunt of the afternoon heat, your attached walking radiators weren’t helping much. “Baji and Mikey are fine,” you simply shook your head, an indulgent smile on your face, despite you were already starting to feel a bit faint from the heat and the effort of walking with the extra weight of two. Curse your soft heart.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, the two boys were yanked up by the back of their shirts by a now completely-annoyed Draken, forcing them to release their vice grip on you lest they drag you up into the air as well. “That’s enough from the two of you,” Draken grumbled, the two shorter delinquents comically kicking and flailing while suspended, though ultimately helpless against the much taller Vice Captain. You couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, and earned yourself very despondent looks in return.“You alright?” Black eyes scanned your face carefully, ignoring the fuss as he effortlessly kept the problem duo in the air, patiently waiting for you to collect yourself; it was nice that your dilemma had been noticed.

“I’m fine now, thanks Ken-chin!” Beaming up at the taller boy, you gave him a reassuring nod. Saying no to people so dear certainly wasn’t a strong suit of yours, though fortunately for you, you had someone looking out for your wellbeing.

Dropping his whining charges back onto their feet, you had little doubt that both were already to jump you once more had it not been for Mitsuya’s hand shooting out to catch Kazutora by his ear, who very obviously and very painfully twisted the sensitive part as he forced your last clinger to release you. “Ow-ow-ow, Mitsuya, that hurts!”

“I asked,” the lilac-haired boy reiterated, that unquestionable tone of an older sibling demanding obedience leaking out from the usually level-headed Second Division Captain. “If you three are done.” Your giggles only turned into full blown laughter at Kazutora’s miserable look as he started to whine and complain about the unfair treatment.

Another twenty minutes was what it ultimately took for you to finally make it to your destination which turned out to be only the street after; if not for all the fuss and the dragging of feet, you were sure it would have only taken a mere five minutes. Yet every step forward only seemed to feed into the growing feeling of anticipation; you were only more and more certain that the same person Mikey was so eager to belong to was the ‘oji-san’ you had met before. No wonder he had a perfect part for your fixer-upper part lying around. No wonder those abyss eyes of his felt so familiar. Musing if your new friend had known when he recommended the shop after selling you that CB250T, you quickly left that train of thought behind; perhaps he wouldn’t have been so eager to help if he had known about your boys’ distaste of his existence.

As you turned the final corner, the white awning, stretching out lazily and throwing its shadow across the pavement, was the first thing you saw, long before you could see that tired yet warm storefront: a kingdom’s banner declaring the bike shop’s existence amidst the wider world. The road was otherwise quiet though not without activity, the occasional car speeding by and leaving nothing by the rumble of its engine behind as it raced down the street and disappeared round the next bend. Bathing in the unforgiving heat was a little easier without the additional weight, though the slight breeze that had picked up once more was a small relief to your panting skin.

The lit interior of the shop had barely come into view when your group of friends started to slow down into a leisurely stroll, and you could almost see the start of what would be rows of shiny new motorcycles formed into neat makeshift aisles lining the shop floor. Despite having only been here twice - once to detail your custom order for Mikey’s birthday bike and the other to pick it up - you were already looking forward to meeting the nice, friendly ‘ojisan’ again. There was no more doubt to be had, and you couldn’t quite hold back your laughter any longer as you turned to look at your blond-haired friend shuffling along sulkingly. “I think,” you giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. “I think I know who your older brother is, Mikey.”

That instantly got the group’s attention, most of all said Toman President, whose jaw seemed to unhinge and drop as he whirled to look at you. You didn’t think you had ever seen Mikey spin so quickly. “You do?” He demanded, and would have made a lunge for you if not for the instant double pair of evil eyes daring him to do so, courtesy of Draken and Mitsuya. Pah even took a step forward, bless his heart. Mikey backed off, just ever so slightly. “From where? How? Why?”

You did offer your hand for your needy boy to hold though, the other instantly going to alternate between patting a whimpering mob of duo-colored hair and a pouting head of long black hair. “Where did you think that custom fuel tank cover came from?”

The gears clearly turning in his head, everything clicked together in an instance, a shine coming to those usually abyss eyes. “You got it from… from here?”

Right as you were about to reply, it seemed whatever higher being that had been watching over you had had enough of your enjoyable afternoon, and all it took was a second for the world to shift. A glint of light, one that sparkled out from a previously hidden sidewalk right before Shinichiro’s shop, caught the corner of Pah’s eye, the boy turning slightly to take a closer look just as up ahead, the faded green front door of S.S Motor swung open. And out shot from the storefront a gutsinking familiar figure, wavy hair fashioned into a death hawk, golden earring catching the bright sunlight and glittering like a lighthouse beacon.

“BD?” The Third Division captain muttered confused as he took in the wild-looking yet spotless Yamaha RZ350, neatly tucked away behind an air-conditioning unit in the alley. “Black Dragon…?”

Your heart sank faster than a cement block dropped from a thirty foot crane into the open ocean. Fuck.

‎‎

‎‎

The sound of your gentle chuckle, just loud enough to echo ahead and through the glass of the shopfront was all that was needed to both set Koko’s chest alight, and sink it like the Titanic at the same time. He knew your voice - your laughter - by heart at this point; no doubt he would be able to pinpoint it even in his sleep through two inch thick steel. Because how could he not? Ever since he met you completely by chance while you had been rummaging about the dark underbelly of Tokyo City, looking for specifically a Honda CB250T with that meager amount you had scraped together, Koko had been hooked like an addict. And much like said addict craving for another hit, Koko had given you his scrappy fixer-upper for next to nothing before he realized what he had done. All just to see you again. Thoughts of you and about you haunted him day and night, no matter what he was doing or where he was looking - the rising financier star saw you in everything he did.

The usually calculative boy still couldn’t quite tally every point that had him drawn to you off the top of his head, but that was a problem for a future him. Right now, at this moment, he had bigger problems.

You were outside the shop right now (he could just see the top of your hair over the row of display motorcycles), and as much as Koko was delighted to see you again so soon, given it was rare to have any sort of extra time with you outside of pre-scheduled and pre-planned dates, he was not ready for you in the slightest. Caught off guard, as if he had his pants down, the anxiety bubbling uncontrollably up his throat. As far as he knew, your Honda CB250T was done. Finished. So what were you doing here in this part of town? Were you all by yourself? Did you know he was here?

Every…outing he ever had the pleasure to go on with you, his image had always been meticulously crafted and perfected - you probably would have never seen him in something as disgustingly simple and tasteless as a school uniform, nor did he have any of his usual gifts for you on hand. Sure you had never cared about receiving anything in return for your precious time, but Koko had heard that gifts were very useful for wooing someone. And for someone as important as you, it was a matter of basic respect. Maybe he could show you his new bike first. Maybe you’ll accept him treating you to dinner instead, if you didn’t already cook that is. Koko didn’t have enough self-restraint to resist your cooking.

And then there was the matter of Inupi's presence. Throwing a nervous glance backwards at the two still speaking in the shop - past and current delinquent discussing matters Koko couldn’t discern - the presence of an obvious rival gang delinquent might scare you off: you clearly spent a lot of time in the presence of one Tokyo Manji Gang from what he had seen. Even if he didn't have any affiliations, Inupi very certainly did. But time was ticking, and the options he had on hand were few.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, the black-haired boy abruptly stood, marched over to the front door, and forced himself out into the hot afternoon.

The world fell silent as Kokonoi Hajime stumbled straight into full view of not just you, but you in the company of six figures he instantly recognized as the Tokyo Manji Gang whose glares lasered in on him like hyenas to an freshly abandoned carcass. He had made a gamble, and he had been wrong; you were not alone like he had expected.

‎

‎

All you could do was stare back at those pair of black almond eyes with your own paid of quivering ones, adrenaline pumping through your veins in a vain attempt to squash the panic rising through your chest as Koko froze meters away, his darting eyes assessing the situation before finally landing on you. There was no doubt in your mind that all your friends knew who he was, judging from their intense predatory stare that they were leveling at him, for reasons that were beyond you despite being absolutely certain that only Baji had managed a glimpse of him previously during that fateful night. But no matter what played out from this moment onwards, it was only going to get clearer and clearer that you had been disobeying their explicit demands for you to keep away from a rival delinquent. It felt almost that time itself had crawled to a halt, with only your heavy breathing reassuring you that the world under your feet was still turning. But what now?

You really didn’t want to know the answer to that question, but alas, there was no such mercy granted to you.

‎‎

‎‎

Koko collected himself as he straightened to his full height, spotless school uniform shirt pulled down tight. No delinquent or rival was going to scare him away from you, not after all that he had already been through. He had lost Akane, he would not lose you as well - no, you were worth everything he was worth. Every dollar and cent, he didn’t need it if he could have you. Your name was cheerfully called out as he raised one hand in greeting, pretending as if he didn’t see your face pale to an ashen gray usually reserved only for the dead, his gaze focused solely on you amidst the crowd of other less important people. You were here with him, and that was all that mattered.

One step was all the notorious financier had the time to take. The next words out from Baji’s mouth broke the camel’s back as the boy put two and two together, his head rapidly whirling between both Koko and the Black Dragons bike: the weight of the tension crushed the temporary peace in oblivion. “Wait. You’re that bastard-”

None of the six founders needed the reminder; how could they, when he was that bastard that had dared steal you away from them. That had the balls to kiss you? They’ve already spent the better part of last week following the two of you everywhere. Stalking was such a harsh word to use, given how your friends just had your best interest at heart - your Toman boys wanted for you to be safe. Which meant staying away from scumbag like the black-haired boy that now stood opposite of them, and not running your hand through his hair like you did for them, and absolutely not letting him lick cream off your cheek. Hell, Kazutora would have killed to have an opportunity to do it for you, so why?

Why him?

As if a well-rehearsed show, the wind began to pick up, and what was once a breeze now tore ferociously down the lifeless street. Throwing unsecure windows and clothes alike, the echoing sound of wood clashing and metal rattling was but background noise for the ongoing standoff on street level, the gale whipping their clothes and hair with unrelenting force. But for all the posturing that the founder of Toman did, a last ditch attempt to keep their monstrous sides lurking under the surface and away from your gentle, innocent eyes, it all seemed to be for naught as their warnings fell on deaf ears, Koko simply opting to ignore the boys.

His heart was racing, though the fear and anxiety that weighed his chest down was far from being caused by the delinquents that surrounded you, no. Peasants, louts, the lot of them: Koko couldn’t imagine wasting his time on such hooligans. No, he had his eyes on the prize, and every second he went without a word to you was another second he feared you deeming him as inadequate. Did you already think he was poorly dressed? That he was rude? Free hand going to anxiously fidget with the ends of his strands of hair, the boy ever so cautiously took another step closer. “How are you? Having a good day?”

You glanced around, nervously evaluating the unmoving boys around you - what should you do now? Was it safe for you to reply? Getting anyone else into trouble really wasn’t what you wanted to do, but you couldn’t forsee Koko simply leaving without digging himself into a larger hole either; the other boy wasn’t the kind to let things go so easily. Crossing your fingers and hoping against hope that a fight wouldn’t break out, you gathered your courage, raising one hand just enough for a small wave back, uncertain smile pulling at your lips. You wanted to tell him to run, to flee from here, but that would be too obvious. You were naive, not stupid. “Hey Koko-”

And the chaos of the storm broke free of its bottle in that instant, a flash of black that rushed past you faster than you could blink, and you heard the crash of flesh and bone against something you fervently prayed wasn’t another body before you could even turn to look.

Up till now, all your dear friends could do was watch this less than scum being all touchy feely with you, left to take their bubbling anger out on unwitting classmates and rival gangs. But no more. Now this piece of trash was in front of them, your secret relationship with him clear for the world to see. They needed no excuses to beat him into the ground.

‎

Horrified doe eyes landed on a scene of what could only be out of your worst nightmare, an enraged Baji match for match with what looked like a mob of sunflower blond hair, his leg striking again and again against a steel pipe. Koko thankfully looked none the worse for wear, having shifted back to make space for the arrival of the newest in what was a growing feud, though you couldn’t quite say the same for the suddenly seething group of Toman boys surrounding you. The air had changed, the quiet, serene suburban neighborhood having given way to an atmosphere of fire, of unbridled rage and a clear target in range that only added more fuel.

These were no longer your overly protective, clingy friends you pampered and adored, their straightened backs and stony looks looking so very foreign to your gentle gaze - no, they were the founders of the Tokyo Manji Gang, the up and coming gang destined to rule Tokyo one day.

And they had just hit their limit.

The First Division Captain went in for another swift low kick, an attempt to break through the defense of the other clad in the despicable all-white of a Black Dragon uniform, though his move was easily countered with the same annoying metal pipe talentedly wielded. An ired tsked, and Baji pulled away, sliding back to land a safe distance away and out of reach of the business end of the pipe. “Fucking Black Dragons,” were the words that barely made it out through gnashed teeth, the fierce glare in yellow eyes enough to shiver your bones despite not being directed at you. “You again.”

…Again?

It seemed your confusion had been written all over your face. “He was one of those that beat me up outside my house,” Kazutora muttered, his clutch on your arm tightening as if to stop you from pulling away, sandy brown eyes alternating between the two opponents. “Seishu Inui, I think.”

Inupi, you repeated in your head, right as you were shoved backwards when Kazutora went ripping forward as if on cue, right in unison with Baji jumping in for a second round. Inupi raised his pipe.

“Wait- don’t!”

“Shut up,” Mikey hissed, those empty eyes swinging round to meet yours in a sharp glare, and your heart stopped the same time that the rest of your body did. For the first time, the Tokyo Manji Gang President was truly mad at you, and you saw him in the same light as the poor souls that ended up as his unfortunate victims. “You stay out of this.”

You flinched.

Draken was quick to follow up, yanking you away from the front lines with little effort, the grip he had on your shoulders tight and unrelenting and black eyes narrowed at you. “You are in so much fucking trouble, you hear?” Was barked at you, the tall boy physically moving you a few more paces back as he glanced between the crestfallen expression on your face and the standoff. Shaking with the effort to keep his voice as low as he could manage and his tone even, it was still too much for you to handle.

All this time, you had assured yourself that your friends weren’t scary people, just misunderstood. You loved them back as much as they loved you, and you had never been scared of them, no matter how much your well-meaning classmates tried to warn you to stay away. You couldn’t stop the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, helplessly watching the bloodthirsty brawl, your gaze drifting to meet Koko’s distant one, separated by the length of Shinichiro’s shop.

All you had wanted was a new friend.

‎‎

The sudden ringtone that blared out felt like a miracle at just the right time, bringing a relief to the heavy tension that blanketed the area as the beefing boys immediately whirled around to look for the source of the disruption in unison. You blinked, breaking out from the momentary spiral of thoughts, one hand slipping down to lightly touch at your pocket before your doe eyes turned to look down, almost as if you couldn’t believe what you felt. That was… yours? Who could it possibly be at this time?

But with the way your afternoon was going, nothing good could possibly come out of this unexpected phone call, you knew, the sense of foreboding that weighed on your stomach only adding to the bad omen you could feel rising through your chest, instantly wiping out any sense of hope you had seconds ago. You swallowed hard. Only one way to find out if this was your salvation or your doom. Without a second glance at the small screen - you didn’t dare to test your luck any further, only praying that this call was truly the break you needed - you pressed the receiver to your ear as quickly as you answered the call. “H-hello?” You ventured, sniffling slightly as your gaze nervously glanced around the boys still in a stand off against each other, their eyes now having instead turned to rest on you.

“HEY! I’m outside the house, where the fuck are you?” A loud bark blasted from the speaker of your phone, and you eeped, the small flip phone almost slipping from your grip as you jerked the device away from your pained ear at the sudden loud sound. The gruff voice came again, now seemingly sounding even more annoyed. “OI CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

You could feel your heart sink out of your gut and hit the floor. Today truly was not a good day. Your older brother only continued to rant into the thin, uncaring air about the shitty quality of phones these days between demanding if you could hear him and cursing and swearing.

“Ah nii-san, I can hear you fine,” you hurriedly reassured, pressing the phone carefully back to your ear, your free hand lifting to quickly swipe at your eyes and nose.

“Are you fucking crying again?”

You ignored the question, though the other on the phone definitely heard what was a very obvious sniffle. “I’m out at the moment, nii-san.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. This was a very bad time, you wanted to continue, but your throat had already clamped up as a shadow fell over you. Mikey.

A pause, almost as if whoever it was on the other side could hardly believe what you had said. “OUT?!” He bellowed, and you yanked the phone away from your ear once more. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOU‘RE OUT? YOU NEVER GO OUT!”’

It was clear that everyone in a fifty-mile radius from where you stood had overheard your conversation at this point, and the growing realization you could see starting on Mikey’s face and spreading to every Toman founder present was not a good sign. Did they know your brother too?

“Shion Madarame?” “Black Dragons?” A look of surprise had washed over Inupi’s stoic look, his metal pipe hitting the ground with a clink as the sunflower blond boy cocked his head, icy-blue gaze scanning you up and down.

Uh oh.

The silence seemed to stretch forever, with every second that the delinquents around you stared at you mutely feeling like an entire eternity had already passed by. Even your usually loud, foul-mouth brother had fallen quiet, with only the sound of his harsh breathing crackling through the small phone microphone. You had no idea what the standoff was now about, given the sudden inclusion of your older brother, but this did not look good.

“Why the fuck are you with those fucking Tokyo Manji Gang fuckheads?” Your brother’s voice was calm. Level headed even, his tone not any louder than a regular person’s. But Shion was never quiet: your older brother had only one setting, which was loud and crude. Which only meant one thing - he was pissed to hell and back, and you were screwed.

You jinxed it. You knew you jinxed yourself. Heck, you must have jinxed your whole afternoon.

How did your brother of all people know Mikey and the rest?

“You’re related to the disgrac- the Ninth-Generation Black Dragon President?” Koko blurted out, and you turned your bewildered look on him.

And then in a single heartbeat, all hell broke loose.

[sadhours]

ABSENTEE - 1

next chapter • masterlist • my requests are open!!

my new series!!! i promise the finale to wicked sensations is coming soon but in the mean time, enjoy this :) it’ll be mostly Billy centric, not terribly romantic and it takes place before he moves to hawkins

content warnings: minors dni 18+, violence, child abuse (physical and verbal), homophobic slur, cannabis use, smut, unprotected sex, p in v, blow job

word count: 6k+

///.

The rooftop is his favorite place to be. It’s calm, though you can hear the sounds of the city below you. Billy likes the whooshing of the cars on the highway and the drunken chatter of college kids bar hopping. Soothing. Happy sounds. Not like the ones he hears at home. The second he’s through the door, Neil’s berating him for whatever he’s stewed on while Billy was gone. So suffice to say, Billy stays out of the house most days and nights. The grace period from having Max and Susan is over and Neil isn’t hiding who he truly is anymore. As Billy rolls his spliff, he remembers Susan’s reaction the first time his dad had smacked him upside the head in front of her. It was unmoving, her face stoic and a look in her eye like Billy deserved it. He can’t even remember what prompted it, but that was the glorious thing about Neil’s fists, they didn’t need a reason. Billy could have moved the dish soap in the kitchen a centimeter and that would be enough to set his dad off. So why the hell would he be home when he could be anywhere else?

Absent. That’s what Max called him this morning. Just like his mother, he thought. It was true. Billy was numb to it all. He could be there but not really. Auto pilot, doing what’s expected but without reason behind it. He’s floating through life without real meaning to it. Billy hopes he’ll find something worth living for. Shit, most sixteen year olds have no true passion for life but no other kids have Neil as a father. He’s pulled out of his thoughts when his buddy, Reggie changes the cassette in the boombox. He’s supposed to be having a good time, he reminds himself, not thinking about how bad he doesn’t want to be at home. Billy licks up the side of the paper to seal the spliff, reaching for his zippo and lighting it up. He inhales deeply, letting his eyelids close with the motion as the sharp smoke fills his lungs and immediately relaxes him. Fuck, weeds awesome. Reggie’s been on this New Wave kick and Billy can’t stand it, unless he’s stoned. When he’s stoned, all music is pretty rad. So the Joy Division cassette isn’t the worst he’s heard. It fits Billy’s mood pretty well. He won’t admit it, the goddamn hopelessness of the lyrics hit him square in the chest and make him feel a little less alone.

“The girls are taking forever,” Reggie complains and Billy agrees. He could really use a beer, cotton mouth kicking in far too quick for his liking.

With a shrug, Billy peers over the edge to see if he can get a glimpse of you guys. You’ve been dating a couple months at this point, but you’ve been friends for years. Right after Billy’s mom left and Neil uprooted him from the house they shared to an apartment in the heart of the city. Billy misses that house and that apartment. You lived in the complex and he’d met you while he was graffitiing the apartments playground slide with a sharpie. He thinks he was drawing a crude pair of tits but he can’t remember, knows for sure he’d scribbled his favorite swear words at the time all over it. You guys were eleven years old. You came up to him and asked if you could draw something. You drew a cartoonish dick and right then, Billy decided you were gonna be friends.

Then Neil met Susan a few years later when he was fourteen. They moved quick and got married a month after meeting. He hates moving, so he wasn’t thrilled when Neil and Susan insisted on finding a three bedroom house closer to Max’s school. Luckily, Billy didn’t have to change schools but the house was in a cookie cutter suburb instead of the city. Plus, you weren’t a two minute walk away anymore and Neil got to keep him on a shorter leash.

“Beeeer!!!” you and Cindy, Reggie’s girlfriend cheer in unison as you climb up onto the roof through the fire escape.

“Finally,” Reggie grunts, snatching the spliff from Billy’s fingers and extends his opposite hand for a beer.

“Why are you listening to this depressing shit?” Cindy complains as she hands him an Old Milwaukee, “We’re supposed to be partying.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Billy shrugs as you nestle yourself next to him on the edge of the roof, he wraps his arm around you and accepts the beer you offer.

Cindy gapes, “You’re the last person I’d expect that from.”

Billy doesn’t respond. Instead, he cracks his beer open and looks over the edge of the roof again. He sees a handful of girls stumbling beneath and he wonders if he hawked a loogie down could he hit them and what would they do. Saliva fills his mouth in anticipation but he decides against it. They’re pretty and their reactions probably won’t be all that exciting. He’s confident about his aim, though, figures he could land it on one particular girls’ cleavage. He smirks to himself as he brings the can to his lips and averts his eyes to his friends, looking for the spliff. It’s in Reggie’s hands again so Billy leans over and snatches it.

“Stop bogarting, asshat,” he snaps.

“Relax,” Reggie mumbles, “we tried passing it but you’re too busy checking out the chicks on the street.”

“I wasn’t checking them out,” Billy defends himself.

“Sure,” you sigh next to him before standing up and making your way to sit on the torn up couch Reggie and Cindy are lounging on.

Billy rolls his eyes, taking a hit off the spliff before looking down at his watch. The football game is probably almost over and Neil’s most likely dozing to sleep, drunk off a twelve pack. But Billy doesn’t intend to go home for a while, well after midnight. It’s summer after all. He could probably crash at Reggie’s tonight. It’s a good excuse to spend time with him because usually, Billy has to steer clear of him during the school year. Neil would kill him if he’d seen Billy hanging around a black kid. He’d probably kill Reggie too. In the summer it’s safe, but during the school year, his curfew is strict and Neil would rather Billy hang out at home. He brings friends around sometimes, but never Reggie.

You keep giving Billy an angry look. Max’s words this morning ring in his ears. Absent. Billy knows that’s why you’re mad at him too. You’d had the conversation a hundred times this summer alone. He doesn’t put enough effort into the relationship, you told him. Asked him if he wanted to go back to being just friends. But Billy assured you that he didn’t, promised to do better. He’s always being told he isn’t good enough. By everyone in his life. So much so that he’s gone numb to that too. Figures the least he can do is accept that he’s never going to be what people want him to be. It’s easier that way, anyways. Hard to let it get to him if he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

The thing is, Billy just turned 16 and Neil’s expecting him to work this summer so you’ll just have to deal. He’s excited to get a job, excited to save up his money so he can get a car. He got his license the day after his birthday, figures by the end of August he should have enough to buy a beater car. Something he can fix up real nice. Something that’s his, proof he can accomplish a goal, proof he’s not such a goddamn waste.

He was supposed to be job hunting today but he didn’t. He got up early enough to surf, got home and showered, put on his fanciest button up that was a hand-me-down from his dad and told him he was off to fill out applications. He got stoned at Reggie’s house and the two of them watched TV for hours until Cindy called. Billy can do it tomorrow. It shouldn’t be too hard to find a job. Maybe he can work at the surf shop. The owner likes him a lot. He’s even talked about Billy becoming a team rider. Billy tries not to get his hopes up about that. Neil doesn’t care for surfing, tells Billy it’s a waste of time. Not a skill for the real world. That’s what Billy likes about surfing though. It drags him far away from reality, his mind can finally relax when he’s catching waves.

He smokes the spliff until it’s a burnt roach, tossing it over the roof and stands up. Pacing around, he ignores the conversation the three of you are having as he focuses in on the buzz from the weed. He can feel the air better, feels like he can breathe better than ever before. He stares up at the moon, admiring how the clouds skate passed it. He lays on the floor, hands behind his head and focuses on the craters he can see in the moon. It’s full and he can kind of see a face in the craters, if he tilts his head it also looks like a little girl with a triangle dress.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his stomach and he turns to see you, sitting beside him with a curious smile. He returns it with lopsided one of his own.

“Get bored of ‘em?” he asks, softly.

You turn to look at Reggie and Cindy, his eyes follow to see the couple making out.

“Ah,” he purses his lips, “It’s that portion of the party, is it?”

You nod and Billy pats his hips, signaling you to climb into his lap. Once you do, he’s wrapping a hand around your neck and luring you down, lips hovering. You feel his teeth as he smiles before placing a tentative kiss to your lips. It starts slow, lazy from his dazed, stoned state. Billy prefers kissing when he’s high, doesn’t much care for it when he’s sober. But for some reason, in this altered state, it doesn’t feel as gross to him. Billy never tells you he doesn’t like kissing or that he thinks it’s kind of disgusting. When he’s horny enough, it’s not gross and he’ll lick into your mouth all sloppy as long as his dicks inside you. It’s not his foreplay though.

He can hear Reggie grunting and groaning. He doesn’t have to look over to know Cindy’s going down on him. She’s loud about it and Billy doesn’t admit that it turns him on. Billy thinks it must turn you on too because you start grinding your hips against his. Plus, he figures Reggie and Cindy won’t care much if they started it in the first place. Billy always feels a bit strange about the lack of boundaries, the fact that the four of you mess around in front of each other. Figures that you all get it when you can and it’s not often you guys are secluded enough to pull it off.

Billy grabs your hair to pull you away, moving his hands to undo his belt and you get the hint, lifting yourself up just enough to get your underwear off and Billy’s jeans and briefs down to his knees. You hold your skirt up, looking down at his pulsing erection settled against his stomach. He wraps his fingers around the base and spits onto his other hand, smearing it all over the head before lining it up with your entrance. You gasp when you feel him prodding, eyebrows knit together in desperation and Billy loves that. Feels like he’s done something good to make you want him so badly. You slowly lower yourself until he bottoms out and Billy grunts softly, pressing his palms to yours and lacing your fingers. It’s sweet, makes your whole body fill with adoration for him. His eyes are barely open, eyelids looking heavy while his mouth hangs open just enough for you to see his tongue pressing to his bottom lip. A roll of your hips and his tongue rolls against his bottom lip, a lewd moan tumbling out of him that has your toes curling in your shoes. Through all the bullshit he seems to drag you through, you wouldn’t ever give this up. He gets you fired up like no one else could. Billy’s a literal wet dream come to life and you have the fucking privilege of being with him. The slight curve of his cock is practically designed to fit you perfectly, hooking just right to nail that wonderful, spongy part inside of you. But you think you could cum just from looking at him, sometimes. Or hearing his voice.

You bend down to whisper in his ear, “You feel so good.”

He lets go of your hands to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling your bodies flush as he groans breathy against your ear. You press gentle kisses along his jaw, bouncing in his lap over and over. He snakes his hands up your shirt and scratches down your back, arching his own which only buries him deeper inside of you. Deep enough he hits your cervix and you yelp. Billy chuckles softly before easing up, his hands steadying at your hips.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear.

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, pulling back to look down at his face. He looks fucked out, totally blissful and all the stress and worry usually living there is gone. It makes your insides turn. You’d give absolutely anything to do that for him all the time. He starts thrusting his hips up at you, his hands holding your hips still so he can take control. He does it whenever he’s close and you’re almost there too so you keep staring down at his face, trying to commit it to memory like you haven’t seen it a hundred times, like you don’t see his face whenever you close your eyes.

Billy’s eyes open slowly and he maintains eye contact with you, his mouth open while pants and soft moans flood out of it. Just the look and sound of him is enough and your orgasm comes crashing through you.

“Billy,” you gasp, thighs shaking against his hips while you involuntarily hump against him.

He smiles then, all lips and no teeth but looking satisfied. You don’t get the opportunity to completely ride through it, he pulls out of you and you’re quick to move down and take his cock in your mouth, eyes wide as you look up at him. He gives a pathetic thrust and clenches his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and pull back, licking up the last of it that dribbles out of his slit. He whimpers and it sends another wave of arousal to your center.

With a sigh, he pulls his pants back on and hands you your discarded panties. You awkwardly pull them back on and reach your hand out to help your boyfriend back up. Billy kisses you softly before wandering over to the sixer and pulling another beer from it. He stands taller now, relaxed and you’re relieved you can help him in some way. Even if it seems like only sex.

Billy and Reggie share a look before the two of them burst out into giggles, Cindy rolls her eyes but immediately shoots you a pleased look. She enjoys it and so do you. Billy makes his way back to the edge of the rooftop, sitting down and lighting up a cigarette. He keeps peering over and it’s making you nervous. You don’t know what he’s thinking but sometimes you worry Billy imagines jumping off. What you don’t expect is to hear the sound of him hawking up a loogie.

“Billy,” you warn, standing up.

Reggie’s standing up with you but with excitement as he stumbles over and peers down with Billy.

Billy spits down and you hear a man from below shouting.

“Billy! Fucking hell,” you scold but your boyfriend is in a laughing fit, holding his gut as the careless sound rips through him.

Absent.

“I’m gonna beat your fucking face in!” the guy from the street shouts up at him.

“I’d like to see you try!” Billy replies.

“Then get your ass down here!”

Billy’s up to his feet, the excitement of violence bubbling through him as he makes his way to the fire escape. He ignores the protests from you and his friends, though the three of you follow him down. Billy chugs the rest of his beer once he’s on the ground, tossing the empty can and puffing his chest up as he stalks over to the guy.

Billy’s in shape, he spends a lot of time lifting weights but that’s not what makes him dangerous. It’s the fact that he doesn’t really give a shit and all the pent up anger from the abuse he faces. The guy he nailed with his phlegm is bigger but Billy doesn’t seem scared. He yells out, fists clenched tight at his sides as they meet face to face. Billy’s grinning wide, he always looks so happy when he’s about to get in a fight. It fucking worries you.

The guy swings first but Billy dodges it and then his fist is connecting with the dudes jaw with a horrific pop. The guy reels, like he wasn’t expecting so much power behind a teenagers fist. He stumbles but is back quick, socking Billy in the face and you wince, knowing that he’ll have one helluva shiner.

Billy laughs, “Is that all you got, fucker?”

Another punch and the guys on the ground but Billy’s on him in an instant, delivering blow after blow to the guys face before Reggie’s pulling him off.

“Fuck!” he screams out, eyes lit up with something that terrifies you. He enjoys this too much. You reach for his wrist and pull, dragging him along as the four of you run down the block. The dudes knocked out but his friends chase after you guys. They’re not fast enough and you lose them after cutting through an alley and ending up in a deserted plot of land. It’s mostly dirt but the occasional construction debris. There used to be a motel here but it’s got plans to become yet another parking lot. Billy screams out again, cheeks split with a devious smile.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” you yell at him, pushing against his chest. He turns to you with that eerie smile and you notice his nose is bleeding.

“That was fucking rad, darling,” he gushes, “I totally knocked his fucking lights out!”

“It wasn’t rad!” you argue, “God damn you’re such a fucking child sometimes!”

Billy laughs, but it’s laced with venom, “And you’re fucking boring.”

The word hits you hard, breaking your heart in an instant. You sniffle, pissed off with yourself that you’re crying so easily. Billy could be mean, to everyone around him. You knew that when you started dating. But it still hurts. You wanted to be an exception to that, but you realize how foolish that was.

“You’re fucking crying?” he scoffs, “Jesus Christ.”

You turn on your heel and start walking, Cindy me Reggie are quick to follow you but when you’re a block away and you turn back, Billy’s not following you. He’s wandered in the other direction.

///.

Billy finds the spare key under the mat and tries his absolute best to keep quiet as he unlocks the door. Susan should’ve got his dad to bed by this hour but he doesn’t want to risk it. He slowly opens the door, stepping inside and unzipping his boots before taking them off and leaving them by the door. He peers into the living room. Shit. Neil isn’t in bed. It’s nearly two a.m., he and Susan must’ve had an argument. Billy closes the door as quietly as he can before turning the deadbolt. He tiptoes to his room, turning the knob cautiously. Once he’s inside, he flicks the light on and starts to undress. He opens his closet and grabs out a pair of grey sweats to change into. As he’s changing, he looks into the mirror, seeing the dried blood under his nose and the beginnings of a gnarly bruise under both eyes. He presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose and hisses. It’s not broken but fuck, it hurts. He sighs. He needs to clean it up. Billy desperately needs a shower but it’s too late. He’d definitely wake his dad.

Carefully, he sneaks out of his room and into the hallway bathroom. He flicks the light on and gets a better look at his face. Billy barely recognizes himself. It’s a problem he’s been having for years. He knows that’s his face staring back at him but he can’t help but feeling like he doesn’t know his reflection. Like the icy blue eyes staring back at him belong to a stranger. He quietly cleans the blood from under his nose but when he opens the medicine cabinet to grab his toothbrush, a slew of pill bottles and soaps fall out of it and land into the sink with a loud clatter. Max had probably haphazardly shoved her things inside. Billy closes his eyes and shuts off the light, steadying his breathing and tries to hear for a sign that he’s woken his father up.

Footsteps, loud ones clamber up the hallway and Billy braces himself. He hates this house, there’s no lock on the bathroom. There’s no locks on any doors besides the master bedroom. The door swings open and the light is switched on. Billy’s met with the angry face of his father.

“What in gods name are you doing at this hour?” Neil asks, tone cloaked in outrage. “Did you just get home?”

“No sir,” Billy replies, voice cracking.

Neil surveys his face, “You reek of pot, boy.”

Billy doesn’t respond to that, just stares blankly at his domineering father. There’s no point. He definitely smells like weed and no matter what he’d say, the next row of actions is a guarantee. Neil shoves him into the towel rack, the edge of it nicks Billy’s bare back and he can feel the blood drip down. He keeps still, looking stoically up at his dad. Neil backhands him, Billy’s face turns with the force of it and Neil grabs his throat, shoving him harder into the rack which just scraps Billy’s back up more.

“You have no regard for anyone but yourself. We’ve talked about this, huh? Respect and responsibility. Simple shit, but you’re too fucking stupid or selfish to learn,” Neil hisses.

His fathers grip tightens just enough where Billy struggles to breath but he knows his dad’s too pussy to actually kill him. He chokes out a sob, can’t help himself even if he knows it’ll only piss Neil off more. Another smack to the face, another shove into the rack and Neil knees him in the stomach.

“You’re crying? You goddamn pussy. Man up!”

From the ground, Billy seethes. He knows this will seal his fate and he’ll be forced into makeshift solitary confinement but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s overflowing with hatred for the man towering over him.

“Fuck you,” he says behind clenched teeth.

Neil kicks him once more before grabbing a fistful of Billy’s curls and pulling him back to his feet. His dad looks him square in the face before head butting him. The sharp jolt of pain rings through him, his eyebrow feels hot and then Billy feels blood before he sees it when it drips into his eye. Neil drags him by his hair, through the hall and kicks Billy’s door open, the wood slamming into the plaster of the wall and no doubt leaving a hole from the doorknob. He shoves his son into the room.

“You’re goddamn worthless. I give and give but you refuse to fucking be respectful. You’re grounded, I’ll let you out when I can look at you again. Goddamn faggot,” he spits and slams the door back closed, Billy can hear as he fastens the chain lock he’s drilled into the outside of Billy’s door.

Billy holds his sobs, reaching for whatever material is closest to him on the floor and holds the dirty t-shirt to the split in his eyebrow. He falls asleep on the floor like that.

When he wakes up, the t-shirt has fused to his face with the dried blood and he’s reminded of the beating as he peels it off. Except it opens the wound back up and he groans, pressing a clean part of the shirt back to it. His heads pounding, his whole body aches. As he stands up to look in the mirror, he sees the bruising taking place on his stomach and ribs. His face is bruised but not from his dad. He’s too scared to look at his eyebrow, the pulsing pain and blood tells him he definitely needs stitches and he’ll be ending up with a gnarly scar instead. He peers out of his window to see Neil’s truck and Susan’s station wagon aren’t in the driveway but he can hear someone’s out in the living room. His throat burns and his mouth feels like it’s got cotton in it. Glancing around the room, he sees he’s got no water stashed away. Max.

Billy sighs, trudging over to the door and opening it as much as the chain lock will allow.

“Max,” he calls out, voice hoarse and fucking pathetic but his step sister is quick to run down the hall. Billy can see her red hair flying before he can see her blue eyes looking up at him. “Water, can you get me some water?”

She nods and disappears. Billy lays on his bed, closing his eyes while he waits. He hears the stool slam against the floor and he sits up, waiting for Max to climb up it so she can reach the lock. Once she does, she scoots the stool again and opens the door. She hands him the tall glass of water and he gulps it down in record time. He extends it out to her, “More?”

Max nods but she takes longer to return this time. Billy sees why when she’s holding the first aid kid they store under the bathroom sink. Billy gives her a half-hearted smile, she can be a little shit but she does care. It makes Billy feel weird, his initial instinct is to push her away and say he’s fine but he doesn’t. He lets her set the first aid kit on his bed and open it, she pulls out the peroxide and grabs the shirt from his face. She bunches it up against his eye and pours the peroxide on the wound on his eyebrow. It tingles but the sting is dull. She pats it dry before digging through the box for butterfly bandages. They stay silent as she dresses the wound. She’s a smart little fucker, Billy hadn’t even thought about asking for the first aid kit. She stands back and puts her finger against her chin, checking over her work before nodding to herself.

“Quick,” she says, “Use the bathroom before they get home.”

Billy nods, he hadn’t thought of that either. He stands and puts his hand on the top of her head, rustling her hair up. “Thanks, kiddo,” he mumbles before trudging into the bathroom.

As he steps inside, the events from last night flash around in his head but he pushes them away. He lifts the lid on the toilet and relieves himself. When he’s washing his hands he gets a good look at his reflection in the fluorescent lighting. He looks like shit. He aches for a shower but that’s too risky plus he’s not looking forward to the cuts on his back stinging from the water. He dries his hands and makes his way back to his room, where Max is waiting outside the door. Once he’s inside, he can hear her fastening the lock back up and jumping off the stool. Billy decides to tidy his room while he’s stuck in here, pressing play on his stereo so he can drown his thoughts in heavy guitar riffs and Vince Niel’s voice. After his rooms all clean, he shuts off the stereo and looks for a book to read to pass the time. He has no idea how long he’ll be trapped in here. Sometimes it’s a day, sometimes it’s a week.

///.

You haven’t heard from Billy in two days. It’s been two days since your little fight in the field and you’re getting worried. Billy was pretty adamant about you not coming over unannounced but the landline has been giving you nothing but a busy tone every time you try to call. You’re out of options and that’s why you take the bus out into the suburb and walk to his place. Neil’s truck is outside, along with his stepmoms car but you’re determined to check on him.

The wood of the door is warm on your knuckles as you scrap against it. Thankfully, Susan answers the door but her face falls and he looks back into the house before meeting your eyes.

“Billy’s not here,” she says.

“Where is he? I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days,” you reply, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“He’s out looking for a job,” it’s a lie. You can see it on her face. Susan’s a horrible liar, just like Max is.

You chew on your bottom lip before trying your luck, “Bummer. He must be mad at me still. Could I use your bathroom? Long bus ride out here.”

Susan heaves a sigh before stepping back and letting you inside, “Be quick.”

“Course,” you say and start making the descent down the hall.

“He’s not here!” Neil yells after you which causes you to stop, the sound of his voice always makes your skin crawl.

“I know, just using the bathroom,” you reply, eyes turning to Billy’s bedroom door in the hallway. The chain lock is fastened and your heart sinks into your stomach. You know Billy’s been trapped in there for days. He’s never told you this happens to him but when you’d noticed the lock, you connected the dots.

You lock yourself in the bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror as you try to somehow telepathically communicate with your boyfriend. You so desperately want to call CPS on Neil but the first time Billy admitted his dad hit him, he made you promise and swear that you wouldn’t. Billy assured you he could handle it, that he didn’t want to be stuck in the foster system. I only have 5 more years, you remember him telling you. With a sigh, you finally sit down on the toilet and relieve yourself. It was a long bus ride. After washing your hands, you make your escape.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Hargrove,” you call out to Neil, hoping Billy can hear you and know you’re here.

“Whatever,” Neil mumbles with a wave of his hand.

///.

Once it’s midnight, you figure it’s safe and you stalk over to the window with the black grocery bag tucked tight against your side. The windows have bars on them, you’ve overheard Susan calling them decorative but they’re definitely a safety precaution, to ward off potential burglars. You can’t help but think about the way they make Billy’s room just that much more of a prison. God, if you could save him from this shit you would. This is the least you could do.

The bars are far enough apart that you can reach your arm through it. You quietly knock against it and step back to wait for your boyfriend to appear behind the sheet he uses as a curtain.

Billy snakes himself between the sheet and the window, his eyebrow is slit open and there’s some gnarly bruising under his eyes. You give him a sympathetic smile, lifting the plastic bag. Billy opens the window slowly, careful not to make too much noise.

“Hey, little lady,” he purrs, laying the charm on thick even though he’s a goddamn prisoner in his own fucking house. “What’re you doing here?”

You smile at him, you’ve found it’s best if you act like everything’s normal, “Wanted to give you some goodies and see your face. I miss you.”

“I miss you,” he reaches out and pokes your nose. “Whatcha get me?”

Peeking into the bag, you pull out the Mickey’s 40 you’d purchased and hand it over. Billy moans at the can, grinning from ear to ear. Next you hand him a pack of Marlboro Reds and he gives you another moan.

“Fuck, I could marry you,” he takes the pack and rips it open, lighting a smoke immediately.

You bite your lip, “Do it.”

He chuckles, leaning his forehead against the metal bars, “Maybe one day I will. Then you’ll really be sorry.”

You giggle softly and pull out a pack of sour candies for him. He places them down on his floor and smiles at you, “Think we could manage a kiss through these?” his fingers tapping against the bars.

“We could try,” you suggest, stepping closer and smiling up at him.

You manage to touch your lips to his but it’s wildly uncomfortable and you both strain your lips to do it. Billy sits on the sill and reaches his hand out to hold yours.

“Sorry about the other night… I was being a dickhead but hey,” he motions to his face, “got my punishment for it.”

“Billy,” you squeeze his hand, “You didn’t deserve that. You never do… I don’t even care about the dumb fight we had.”

He shrugs but moves his hand to your chin, stroking his thumb against it, “It’s nothing new. I shouldn’t have come home that night but ya know, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ran off like that…”

“It’s cool, I’ll probably get a sick ass scar from this one,” he points to his eyebrow.

You shake your head but smile at him.

“You really gave it to my old man today,” he grins.

You cackle, “Did I?”

“Oh, yeah! I think the kindness kills him more than if you were to ignore him. How’d you get into the house, though?” he takes a long drag from his smoke before handing it over.

You take it and smile, “I told Susan I had to pee.”

“Oh!” his eyes widen and he disappears behind the sheet again, only to reappear with a Gatorade bottle full of what you can only assume is piss. “I know it’s gross but could you uh, dump this for me?”

You take it from him carefully and hand him back the cigarette, “Why don’t you just piss out the window, Billy?”

“In broad daylight? I can’t,” he says, sounding ashamed as you unscrew the cap and dump the bottle out into the bushes next to you. You screw the lid back on and hand it back through the bars.

“I fucking hate your dad,” you mumble.

“You and me both, babe,” he goes back behind the curtain to put the bottle back. When he returns, he’s got a folded up piece of paper and he passes it to you. “I drew ya something, don’t look at it until you’re far away from me.”

You giggle and slide it into your back pocket, “Can we try another one of those kisses?”

Billy chuckles, nods and you guys attempt it again. When he pulls back, he wiggles his eyebrows, “You could probably suck my dick through here.”

“You wanna attempt that but you won’t pee out the window,” you raise an eyebrow but smile back at him. “I’m not gonna blow you through your window. Nice try though.”

Billy laughs and pokes your nose, “I better get to bed. I’m sure I’ll be released soon enough and I can maybe take you out or something.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile warmly at him.

“A thank you for the necessities,” he holds up the beer and pack of smokes.

I’d do anything for you, you want to say but it dies in your throat. Billy doesn’t really get mushy with you so you’ve been scared to tell him just how infatuated with him you are. Sometimes he’s like a skittish dog and you feel you haven’t completely earned his trust yet.

“Stay safe, Billy.”

“Eh, that’s no fun. See ya later, little lady,” he smirks with the pet name before closing his window.

As you begin your journey down the street, you remember the paper folded up in your pocket and you quickly pull it out. Unfolding it, you see lines but you’re confused. Once it’s completely unfolded you see a crude drawing of a penis. Actually, it looks like Billy’s laid his dick on the paper and traced around it. It’s the most ridiculous and hilarious thing you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the roar of giggles erupting from your chest. The image of him so utterly bored while he’s locked away and getting the idea to trace his hard dick against the paper is the funniest thing in the world to you. God, you adore him.

[thephilosopheroftheboudoir]

PAUL REUBENS WAS AN HONORARY PUNK

My earliest memory of Paul Reubens was his role in Cheech and Chong’s Nice Dreams where he played a coke dealer. Cheech and Chong give him all their money to buy some toot but Pee Wee disappears. They track him down, only to find he is a patient at a psychiatric hospital and they have to wander through a crowd of lunatics only to find that he is mentally too far gone to tell them what he did with their money. If you watch any DVD’s of this movie that were made after 1988, you will notice this scene has been permanently deleted.

So a few later, I was getting involved with the small but growing hardcore punk scene in my city. Pee Wee’s Big Adventure was released in the theaters around then. It was an instant success and I went to see it three times. By the second and third viewing I started to recognize that more and more audience members were people I knew from the punk scene.

Many of us in the counter-culture loved Pee Wee. For one thing, many of us rode bicycles. It was our second favorite form of transportation behind skateboards since most people we knew couldn’t afford cars back then. City buses were still the primary method of movement in a dark city where wind, rain, and snow were the norm. But when the sun came out, we rode around in packs on our bikes. Any time there was a show, you could see them chained up by the dozens somewhere near the venue. They were our vehicles out of our world. We rode them in the moonlit cemeteries. They were safer than public transport when we went off to buy drugs. Sometimes we rode out to the suburbs to go pool hopping; that meant skinny-dipping, uninvited of course, in people’s back yards while they slept comfortably in their beds. That stunt ended one night when some guy fired a shotgun at us from his bedroom window.

Being the city kids that we were, we got used to our bicycles disappearing. It was always the same. No matter what kind of lock we used, somebody from the deep inner city used their ingenuity to find some way to pick the lock or cut the chain and they always left a beat up old bike in its place, the kind of rickety thing that looked like it had been stripped of all its parts, beat down and battered to the point where some kid knew if he didn’t ride it one last time out to the edge of the city to steal a better one, he would be bikeless for a long time to come.

When Pee Wee Herman’s bike got stolen, it resonated with us punks like nothing else ever could.

Pee Wee was one of us. It wasn’t just that his bicycle got pinched in Pee Wee’s big Adventure, he was also an inherently subversive character. He lived in some nether-world where he was not quite a child but not quite a man. His friends were all unapologetically freaks and weirdos, some of which were of other races and some of which even had mohawks. When his bike got stolen, he lost his soul. It was a hero’s journey through the underworld of America, the story of a man who knew when he found that one missing piece all the magic would return to his life. Punks were often people who felt that same absence, When we spiked our hair, ripped out clothes, donned combat boots or Chuck Taylors, drove pins through our noses, and sliced up our arms with razors, we were embarking on our own journey through the underbelly of the world, one that involved drugs, alcohol, slam dancing, record collecting, and sex between cars in restaurant parking lots. If you ever wonder why your car door handle is sticky, I can tell you there is a sickly humorous reason for that. Sometimes we spent nights in jail and had fist fights on street corners with conservatives who didn’t approve of our way of living free in a supposedly free society. If you think the MAGA crowd is anything new, you are wrong; these Republican maggots started crawling out of the rotten woodwork all the way back in the 1980s. But our bikes were like magic carpets that, at times, could transport us to some place better.

It gets deeper than a stolen bike though. As punks we called ourselves anarchists. However wrongheaded and naive that might have been, it’s what we thought we were and we hated the establishment. Pee Wee’s bike was stolen by Francis, a perfect symbol of capitalist greed. Francis was an immature, trust-fund baby and a bully who could use his dorky father’s money to get anything he wanted. What he wanted was Pee Wee’s bike so he payed some 1950s rocker with a greasy DA and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the short sleeve of his undershirt to steal it. In the end, Francis didn’t really want the bike. What he really wanted was for Pee Wee NOT to have the bike. See, the bicycle is the one thing that made Pee Wee Herman happy and happiness was what Francis coul not have because, true to the nature of a capitalist pig, he always wants more than what he has. He dealt with his misery by making others miserable and so the bike got stolen and sent away. Pee Wee’s jounrey to find it began there. If there ever was a prototype of Rush Limbaugh, Francis was it. This movie came out four years into the Reagan administration so it doesn’t surprise me that it sticks a finger in the eye of Republican party economics. Seeing Francis get his come-uppance made us cream in our jeans.

Along the way to Hollywood via the Alamo, Pee Wee Herman made friends with a whole cast of characters and all of them were outsiders. He hitched a ride with an escaped convict, for instance, and together they outsmarted the police. ACAB. He shared an intimate moment with a waitress who dreamed of escaping from her marriage to a redneck and flying off to Paris the way Dorothy dreams about some where over the rainbow in the colorful land of Oz. (Try watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and The Wizard of Oz back to back and notice all the parallels). Pee Wee also got inducted into an outlaw motorcycle club.

Pee Wee even makes friends with a homeless man while train hopping, something us punks could relate to as well. We liked hanging out with the bums in our city. One of them used to shoplift porn magazines and sell them to us at discount prices so he could buy bottles of Thunderbird or Mad Dog. That’s the kind of $3 rotgut that will fuck you up even worse than a 40 oz. malt liquor. While no two bottles of Mad Dog ever taste the same, the flavor approximates some unholy combination of cough syrup, vomit, and rubbing alcohol. Some say that at higher quantities of consumption it can even be hallucinogenic. And then there was also an African-American guy with blue eyes named Ulysses; we used to drink Bully Hill with him in the alleyways and he was one of the most kind-hearted and humorous men we’ve ever met. We’d buy him food just to hear the stories he’d tell. Then one day I saw him well-dressed and selling newspapers on a street corner. The headlines said something about UFO’s coming to save Black people from white America. Ulysses had joined the Nation of Islam. Oh well, at least he is now sober and off the streets. I wish you the best, Ulysses.

And punks always loved animals. We loved our dogs. We loved our cats. Some of us kept rats, iguanas, and snakes as pets. So speaking of snakes, what did Pee Wee do when he saw the pet shop burning? He rescued all the animals and in the end he even rescued the snakes even though he obviously didn’t like them. Punks were the snakes of American society and Pee Wee was on our side.

Finally, what could be more punk than sticking your middle finger in the face of the Hollywood establishment? Pee Wee’s bike ends up as a prop in a Hollywood movie. He snatched it and rode away, wrecking movie sets as he went. Instead of arresting him, they decide to make a movie based on his life. But look at the movie they made. It is a pretentious, no-brain blockbuster with perfect looking actors that bear no resemblance to the real life events that inspired it. The movie uses postmodern framing by using the medium to critique the fake and shallow medium of the Hollywood film industry.

Then there is one final question. Who was Pee Wee’s family? Did he have any parents? How old was he anyways? Punks were part of the latchkey kid generation. We either grew up in a one-parent home or else both our parents were absent from our lives because it took two working adults to support a family with children. As teenagers we ran free and encountered the adult world at a very early age. Pee Wee Herman appeared to have no role models in his life and had to find his own way around. That was what hardcore punk was all about. We couldn’t fix the world’s problems so we created our own scene and did things our own way. FTW (fuck the world). If you didn’t like us you had best stay away.

Pee Wee’s Big Adventure become one of those movies you can watch over and over again without getting bored, making frequent appearances at cult classic film festivals, revival theaters, and occasional TV reruns. There were many times we watched it through the bleary haze of bong smoke and blurred whisky vision, maybe while coming down from an acid trip or two or three. It is like an old familiar friend that is always happy to see you for the sake of sharing old memories and telling half-forgotten jokes.

Pee Wee Herman’s next move as an honorary punk came in the late 1980s when his television show Pee Wee’s Playhouse went on the air. The Residents played the theme song. How cool was that for underground music fans? Although it was meant for kids, some of the jokes were a little bit naughty. Pee Wee and the genie’s head in a box sang a song about hiney-holes and a female dancer lifted one leg in the air while standing on the toes of her other foot and Pee Wee took a peak up her skirt, only to be given a reprimanding look from the dancer when she saw what he was up to.

A couple years later the big bombshell hit the news. Paul Reubens had been caught masturbating in an adult movie theater in Florida. My immediate reaction was not, “Oh my god, what a pervert.” Actually I was just shocked that they still had adult movie theaters in Florida while they had gone the way of the dodo bird everywhere else. Hadn’t people there ever heard of VCR’s? Florida must be a pretty fucked up place, I thought. I still think so to this day. The fact that Pee Wee played with himself in the porno playhouse never really phased me though I still wonder why it is a crime to whip it out while in a darkened theater, watching movies of people fucking. America sure does have some stupid laws. Don’t even get me going on the legality of drinking alcohol like how dumb it is to make the drinking age 21 thanks to that asshole Ronald Reagan or why we are obsessed with hating drunk driving while so few bars are within walking distance of people’s homes. Europeans sorted these kinds of things out centuries ago. It is like the government wants us to get caught screwing up. Rich capitalist pigs like Francis are getting their miserable way at our expense.

Soon after the arrest of Paul Reubens, I went to a punk show at a bar. The singer of the band called out, “I don’t know how many of you heard, but Pee Wee Herman got arrested for jerking off in a porn theater. How many of you hate him more know that you know this?” About half the audience cheered. Then he asked “How many of you love him more now?” Again, about half the audience cheered. Oh yeah, we loved him even more because his mugshot made him look like a Hells Angel. The biggest audible difference between the first and second cheers was that the former was mostly women and the latter was mostly men. By 1991, the mean-girl Andrea Dworkin style of anti-porn feminism had infected the punk scene like an STD. If you think polarization in America is a Trump-era phenomenon, guess again. It just seems that way because internet pundits and the media keep drawing our attention to it even though the hate has always been there.

Just a few years ago, I heard an interview with Paul Reubens on NPR. They asked the question of what message he wanted to send to the world. His answer, and I paraphrase, was “It’s OK to be different. You don’t have to be like everybody else.” It’s so simple, so true, and so sad that so few people understand what this means. And it's so "punk-is-an-attitude" up your fucking ass.

Good bye Paul Reubens and thank you for the memories. Thank you for the wisdom you shared. Thank you for being an inspiration, an idol and an icon for those of us who follow Jimi Hendrix’s advice and wave our freak flags high. You are forever an honorary member of the hardcore punk community.

[lugosimmer]

WHY ARE SIMMERS HAPPY with the game ANYWAY?

Game breaking patches that mess up all custom content, a game so bad and expensive that it cannot ever be played in it's full official form, by which I mean with all the DLCs (without the selfless help of comrade modders who have enabled so many of us to get all the official DLCs for free and add basic features through script files that EA would never give us even after a decade of begging), or the EA executives' outrageous, unabashed, decision making "Project Rene" a "free-to-play" cross-platform (ew) nightmare — something no committed simmer ever asked for.

A base game that has not ever been properly updated for ten years, with the same old restrictions of not even being able to change a sim's height, or draw a fence on the edge of a lot, the infuriating 4 floor limit, the inability to precisely resize or modify objects without mods, no colour-wheel, empty worlds full of shell buildings, the endless examples of sims who cannot even get done with the most basic things like cooking and having a meal, no memory system for sims, or even a set of in-game photography tools. And yet rather than a promising, customizable new game (or even reviving old features like Create a Style), we get one hundredth DLC or so which adds nothing to gameplay. And the damned "Project Rene."

In these ten years, I am sure that these life-simulation genre monopolists have had plenty of opportunities of retiring the Sims 4 honourably. Now that apartments are done, I think it is a good time to let the game be, fix all the bugs, and leave the game alone. But that is never happening. By 2035, we are getting the 457th DLC, "my first lemonade stand stuff pack" and five hundred streamers would get together to sing in its honour, of how it "adds" to the gameplay! Every DLC is like a rushed assignment which does not even bother to check for grammar and spellings. I am sure by then we would have twelve new worlds too, with not more than 5 lots each, each lot placed so far away from each other that it is not even possible to create any kind of builds or neighbourhoods that are not American suburbs. In the "For Rent" EP, why were we not given many large 64×64 lots? They just want to sell DLC after DLC without giving any deep thought to changing the basics of the game in a DLC (even within the limitations placed by the structure of the terrible base game, like the lack of an open world) and experiment with something new like large lots with vibrant sim neighbourhoods placed close together. Because the executives do not care. They are not artists. And those who actually are artists, coders and animators in the sims team, I believe, do not get any substantial democratic say in how the decisions regarding the future of the game are made inside EA board rooms.

On a burnt pizza base, EA gave us a ton of cheese and seasoning as DLC, hoping that it covers up for the terrible taste of the base. And the sheer number of Sims streamers – "influencers" – that cannot just shut up about the virtues of the game or sell it to us, without having any serious discussions about how gaming has been ruined with DLC and subscription model of capitalism in the last decade (except a few like LGR; do check them out).

Whatever is good about the Sims, for example its art and vibes, it is good in spite of EA's corporate model, where the work and contribution of its artists, coders and animators peeks out against the limited, ignorant imagination of its executives and shareholders (who I doubt even play the game). And perhaps for this alone that the game is still loved. The executives should just STOP planning all further updates, so the workers who design and code the game can focus entirely on fixing all the remaining bugs, so that finally, the game can rest in peace, and custom content makers too can make good mods that last long without them needed to be updated as fast as the back-breaking corporate game factory schedule of EA, which churns out one unmemorable DLC after another.

But why would they change?

And why are we happy with the game, anyway?

[thecasualcynic]

Housing headcanons for MW characters

-The SAS guys live in Hereford, it being their base and all.

-Gaz and Soap share a cheap flat near the town center. It’s cramped and messy, typical bachelor’s apartment.

-Ghost divides his time between the barracks and a small cottage in the countryside bought with an inheritance. He likes how close it is to nature, and how far it is from people.

-Price used to live in a condo on the edge of town, but downsized after his divorce. Now he lives in a well-kept flat somewhere in the suburbs. He is an excellent neighbor.

-Farah has not had a permanent address in some time. In quiet hours, she dreams of a small farm in Urzikstan, far from the guerrilla camps she calls home.

-The Graves family lives in an upscale suburb in Heber City, Utah. But Phillip spends most of his time in corporate housing and Shadow Company safehouses around the world. He tells his wife he’ll spend more time at home. She wants to believe him.

-Laswell lives in suburban Langley with her wife and adopted son. He wants to join the military, much to her consternation.

-Given the vast resources of the Las Almas Cartel, Valeria owns dozens of luxurious homes all over the globe. But she spends most of her time on an elegant, well-guarded ranch in rural Mexico. She fantasizes about bequeathing it to the struggling native community nearby, but knows that it will likely end up occupied by whichever treacherous underling inevitably gets the best of her.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Living with Michael Gray

Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, heavy angst, references to Gina Gray, dr-g ab-se, depression, spoilers for season 5, infidelity, and period-typical sexism.

Domestic Michael Headcanons

Michael likes to move forward and that reflects strongly in the luxurious apartment he buys for you. He’s one who probably drew up the blueprints for the interior’s design. If he were to buy a home in a suburb (never the country), he would likely draw up the blueprints for that home too. Everything in his home is violently modern, on the cutting-edge of what new money can afford. However, in the midst of architectural perfection and hard angles of the Art Deco movement, there’s something missing. Michael. He has a beautiful home that looks exactly as he wanted it to, but it doesn’t represent him. This home has no soul. It is as hollow as the mask he wears.

Be prepared to go through phases of rarely seeing Michael at all. Michael has a very poor sense of work-life balance. When times are rough, Michael will take his puff of snow and bury himself into his work for most of the day. He’s likely to wake you up at some odd hour of the morning when he drops into bed, still half-dressed and on top of the covers. You can rub his back and try to tell him he’s working himself to death, he will not listen. Michael works like he’s running out of time. Like every second he rests is costing him a vital opportunity. He can be very jumpy, and moody, but it’s mostly the coke. It makes you happy to see him go to work. Then, you just get sad. 

When business is going well, Michael is at your side as a constant. Unless, of course, he’s still married to Gina. In that case, he might be lying to Gina about work being rough so that he can be with you as much as possible. Now that you think of it, was work ‘rough,’ last week, or was he just with Gina that whole time? If Michael is still with Gina in your world, you may never really know. 

When Michael is with you it can be hard to keep a straight head. The days where Michael is home, all his focus is on you. It’s addicting. His eyes follow you as he takes a drag of his cigarette, tracing the zipper of your gown as if to will it down. He likes to come up behind you as you undress for bed and nuzzle your throat, hands gripping your hips to pull you into him. His touch, his soft words, his promises of more wealth to come, it makes you forget all the ugly that comes with this beautiful life. 

Relationship Headcanons

Whether he stays in England or goes elsewhere, you always get the feeling Michael is lonely. Even with your arms around his neck, he gets this far-off look in his eye. You suspect it has to do with his family. He won’t tell you until you’ve caught him with a tear on his cheek and his mother’s photo on his desk. Michael hates to express regret or sadness, so it takes him some time to really let that out around you. If he does, he’s yours forever. You’ll be years into your marriage before he starts to talk to you about his adoptive family or his life in that little village he ran away from. He likes to say that he doesn’t think about it much, “Because it feels like it happened to someone else,” but you don’t believe him. 

In order to marry and have children, this will need to be a world where you meet Michael before Gina Nelson ever sees him. Because once he’s married, it would take a significant event for him to ever leave her. Love on its own cannot sway him. And Gina won’t let him go without a fight, even if she doesn’t like him anymore. 

So, you marry Michael. Not much will change in your life together until you fall pregnant, and it’s a positive change. Michael may be a work-obsessed man with a loose grasp on his own identity, but fatherhood is very stabilizing for him. He has a legacy to protect now. Someone who will depend on him and look up to him. It’s added pressure, but Michael can’t be happy without something to solve. Michael is very hands-on as a father, but only when it’s just you and him. He defers to you or the nanny to care after your children if there’s company around. That pesky masculine pride of his won’t let him look soft in front of other men. 

Until you have fully broken through his defenses, Michael will have frequent cycles of being “hot and cold.” There are days where he can’t take his hands off of you, lips attacking your neck and chest, buttons from your shirt clattering to the floor. He holds you like he’ll fall through the floor if he lets go. Michael will decorate you in fancy gifts like you’re a goddess and he’s your most devout worshipper. Then, weeks later, you may as well be invisible. If he’s home, he’s only there long enough to change his clothes and place a phone call. Might forget to even say goodbye as he rushes out to build a greater fortune. Michael will rush about the house without glancing your way or answering your questions with more than two words. Push him hard enough and he might say something he regrets. 

When Michael is calm, and sober, he’s a soothing person to be around. You can vent to him about your problems for hours and he’ll just listen. Michael is smart, and he’s educated, so you can talk about most subjects and have an invested conversation partner. Michael has no problem with debating politics with you or expressing his opinions. It’s when the topic becomes him, his family, or his feelings that things get difficult. He won’t press you about how you’re feeling. Isn’t the sort of person to dig into your private affairs. As long as you aren’t endangering yourself or the children, he will let you have your own world. Depending on who you are, this might be very refreshing… or you might feel very alone.