#Acoustic drapes

[noiseproblems]

What exactly is an acoustic barrier?

An acoustic barrier is a fence type designed to lessen environmental noise from a specific source, like a construction site or a motorway. Acoustic barriers are made from a blend of insulative materials and high mass which are important for efficient soundproofing. The high mass will reflect the sound away and the insulation will absorb the sound that tries to pass through the acoustic barriers.

Can I use acoustic barriers on construction sites?

Yes, acoustic barriers must be used at noisy construction sites to palliate the noise pollution to the surrounding area and to adhere with regulations set out. Just like acoustic drapes, acoustic barriers are not just for the protection of the surrounding ambience, but also for the workers on site.

Using acoustic barriers to lessen traffic or road noise

It is not strange to build effective noise barriers directly beside motorways and busy roads. The blend of a car moving through the air, tires coming in contact with the road, and engines roaring, all build up to loud noise levels. To prevent these noises from entering your house, you can install window inserts for noise at your house.

Anybody can install acoustic barriers if necessary. Acoustic barriers have more mass, making them heavy to shift or lift. You have to consider the site access, jeopardize yourself, or others installing them at optimum conditions. When this is done, you should have an idea about the number of people necessary to safely install the acoustic barriers or sound absorbing wall art on your site.

Acoustic barrier panels are installed in the same way like a garden fence, with panels and posts to slot in. To make sure the acoustic barriers are completely effective, an acoustic seal is taped between the panels to prevent sound leakage.

[maurviicurtains]

Custom Drapes And Curtains - Buy Online At Low Cost.

[happy74827]

Bittersweet Moments

[Peter Maximoff x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your best friend (if you’d even call him that), is an annoying piece of work 99% of the time. But that 1%? That 1% is pretty special.

WC: 1513

Category: Fluff, Irritated!Reader, Mentions of Migraines

My first Evan Peters fic? Lets go.

『••✎••』

Being friends with that white-haired speedster meant you never had a moment of quiet. The guy was just so fast that you never had a second to blink without him pulling a prank on you, which is why you were constantly on edge around him. You could never trust him.

But that didn't mean that he didn't have his moments.

You were on the floor, eyes shut, attempting to fade the raging migraine out. You made your room into a dark cave and had been there all day, and yet, the pain in your head only grew.

By the time you heard your door creak open, you already felt the presence and the air in the room shift. It was almost like a ghost was floating through the doorway.

"No." The voice was quiet, and the sound was barely audible.

The soft footsteps stopped, and you opened one eye, seeing the blurred white figure. Your vision was blurry, and everything was doubled, but you could make out the face.

"You locked me out." The tone wasn't accusatory or playful. It was a soft, concerned tone that made your chest squeeze.

You rolled your head back, trying to look up at him.

"Sorry," you croaked. "But I’m also not sorry. I needed the silence."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. He crouched down his hand landing on your arm. His skin was cold against yours. "I know you secretly look forward to our little hangouts."

"No, I don't," you grumbled. "And I especially don't right now."

"Can’t even handle my presence without getting whiplash? Man, I must be really awesome."

You could faintly make out his smug smirk, and it made you snort, only worsening your headache.

"Just..." You waved your hand at him. "Get out. Leave."

He, in fact, did not leave. Instead, he stood up and went over to your bed.

You watched him in confusion as he took off his shoes, and then, with a quick flash of light, he was beside you once again, a blanket suddenly wrapped around him.

"Wh-" You were cut off as the blanket was draped around you, and you found yourself pulled up from the ground.

Peter's arm slipped around your shoulders, and he led you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and you climbed in, still unsure of what was going on.

Once you were in bed, he pulled the covers back up, and before you could say anything, his headset was ripped from your dresser. He placed them over his ears and lay down beside you.

He looked at you and nodded his head, giving you a thumbs-up.

You just stared at him, completely confused, but his gaze was unwavering. You let out a sigh, deciding to just roll with it. You were too tired to deal with Peter's bullshit anyway.

You rested your head on the pillow and shut your eyes.

A few moments later, a tune started playing, the music filling your ears. Not the loud, classic rock he usually blasted, but a soothing acoustic.

"You’re a fan of the Beatles?" You asked, surprised. You fluttered your eyes only to see Peter's face correctly. He looked like he was in deep thought. And with the soothing music from his Walkman (that he obviously lent to you) and the quiet, you couldn't help but feel a small tug on your heart.

He shrugged. "It just felt like the right song for the mood."

"Meaning… me dying?"

"Oh, stop being dramatic," he rolled his eyes. "Your little brain is just confused from having a devilishly handsome man lay in bed with you."

"You do realize I’ve had this for days now, right?"

"Alright, so, a devilishly handsome man around you. Is that better?"

"I can’t believe I let you in here," you grumbled, closing your eyes once more.

"Don't lie," he said, a little louder than usual since the music was loud in your ears. "You know you like my company—that and my box of sweets."

What box of—

Your eyes opened, and you looked up, seeing him holding a box of chocolate-covered almonds. Your heart did a flip.

"Is this... " You reached for the box, and he handed it to you.

"They're the good stuff. None of that cheap candy crap."

"Wow, you eat something other than Twinkies? I'm impressed," you teased, taking a piece and popping it into your mouth.

"Hey, don't hate the Twinkies. You ever try them with ice cream? It's great. It's like cake, but it's not, ya know? They're just so squishy, but the flavor is there."

"Uh, ew?"

"What, are you some fancy girl? Too high class for my delicious desserts?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," you laughed, shaking your head. You rested your head on the pillow again.

"Whatever," he chuckled. "Eat your expensive ass almonds. I had to pay actual money for those, and I'm pretty sure Hank's going to notice they're gone."

That made you sit up despite the pounding in your head. "You stole them?! Oh my god, what's wrong with you?!"

"What?" he looked at you innocently. So I stole a box of chocolates. Big deal. The guy's rich. He never notices when I swipe his food. He'll just assume he forgot to put them away or something."

"Ugh, you are such an ass."

"You say ass; I say awesome."

"No," you said, putting another almond into your mouth. "Ass."

"Alright, fine. But, hey, look, who’s still eating the stolen chocolates?"

"Yeah, well," you smirked, taking another one. " Technically, I didn’t steal it. You did. So I can have a clear conscience."

"Ah, I see," he grinned. "Well, in that case, have another. Grab as many as you want. My treat."

You stared at him. "Okay, who are you, and what did you do with Peter?"

"What?"

"This," you gestured towards him. "All of this. You're never nice."

"Well, when you've had a migraine that's lasted for three days, you kinda learn to have a little empathy for that person."

"Three days?" you said, shocked. "Wait, how did you know the exact amount of time?"

"Don’t let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face… I’m an all-seeing god, remember? Nothing can get by me."

"Except when Apocalypse broke—"

"Okay! Okay, I don’t need to relive that, alright? Sheesh, you're worse than Raven."

You grinned, taking another almond.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

"For what? Comparing you to the blue lady? Anytime."

"No," you rolled your eyes. "I mean, for not pulling a… well, you. I really do appreciate it."

"Does this mean you’re leaving the Batcave? If we're getting sappy, then I should probably head out. I don’t want to risk my rep."

"You and I both know you have no reputation."

"True," he smiled. But hey, a guy can dream, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. You were about to lay back down when he spoke up again.

"Actually," he said, looking at the ceiling, "there is one thing I'm good at."

"What's that?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared at the ceiling.

"Pete?"

His head whipped around to you, and with the same speed, he was leaning over you, his face inches away from yours.

"Peter, what—"

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your ear, and the comment you were about to say died in your throat.

"I can shut up."

The sound of his voice, so soft and low, sent shivers down your spine. He pulled away and gave you a quick smile.

"Just something to think about," he said, and you could see the red tint on his cheeks. He sat up and stood in front of you before you could say anything else.

"You can give the Walkman back whenever, so, uh, don't worry about it. Anyway, I gotta get going. You know, stuff to do and snacks to eat." He turned towards the door. "Anyway, feel better. Later."

And before you could comprehend what had just happened, he was gone just like the wind.

You sat in your bed, still feeling the phantom feeling of his breath on your ear.

And ironically, the pain in your head was starting to fade.

So, yes. Despite him being an annoying little shit, he did have his moments. Genuine, quiet, caring moments. And it always made you question whether or not he was secretly a clone.

You were still staring at the door, your mind running a mile a minute.

But then, as if he could read your thoughts, he peeked his head back into your room.

"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'll tell everyone you're a huge Star Wars nerd."

He vanished, and a second later, he was back once more.

"Also, I definitely didn’t steal that Walkman from a certain someone, so, uh, have fun with the mixtape!"

With that, he was gone.

You rolled your eyes and laid back down, putting the headphones back on.

"Ass."

You will definitely be visiting the white-haired speedster tomorrow. He may have his moments, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve some good old-fashioned payback.

[eiightysixbaby]

obsessed with the idea of late-summer evenings spent with eddie, when you’re sort of almost dating but not quite yet.

he borrows wayne’s truck, drives the two of you out somewhere kind of secluded. he’s packed blankets to line the bed of the truck with, he makes it real cozy for both of you once he’s parked somewhere. you sit cross-legged, knees touching shyly as he strums softly on his guitar, the trusty acoustic producing such pretty sounds.

sometimes he just plays, other times he’ll sing softly along. usually when he sings he tries to make it special, choosing something you like. he wants to impress you, wants to make sure you understand how much he likes you. he’ll learn your favorite songs on guitar specifically for nights like these, even if the music isn’t always his taste. he likes the way you smile bashfully when you recognize the opening notes to the latest song you’ve latched onto.

he’s completely captivated by the way the indiana sunsets cast you in a pretty golden-orange glow, and in these moments he doesn’t want summer to end. there’s just something about how radiant you are in the sunlight, in your shorts and your ringer tees.

it’s at the point in the year where the nights start to get chilly, and when the sun goes down he always gives you his jacket, like clockwork. it doesn’t help his pounding heart, seeing you in his clothes. even if it’s just his leather jacket draped over your shoulders, he swears it’s gonna send him into cardiac arrest one of these days.

sometimes, after sundown when you’ve folded away the blankets and packed up the guitar, he’ll insist that you stop at the diner on the way home. it’s just his excuse for more time with you, the food isn’t even that good. he pays every time, despite your protests, though he lets you plead with him for a couple minutes because you look so damn cute when you pout at him,

and when he drops you off, he walks you to your front porch, stalling the goodnight as long as he can. he knows he’ll see you tomorrow anyway — or the day after that at the very latest — but it doesn’t matter. he wants every second he can get.

he wants to time it just right, without rushing, but he can’t wait for the night where he asks you to be his, for real.

[rcmclachlan]

Return of the Mack

For @alchemistc. Hope you feel better soon!

At the fire academy, three things are beaten out of every trainee: fear, a normal sleep schedule, and the social influences that prevent one from intervening in the event of an emergency. Some have jokingly called the third one the Anti-Bystander Effect, because if someone needs assistance—whether it's to stop an assault, run into a burning building, or help a little old lady find a quarter she dropped—a firefighter will immediately rush in to save the day. It's a special brand of classical conditioning that instills an elevated sense of responsibility in every trainee, and it's paid in full by the state of California.

Which is why it's so odd for there to be three capable firefighters standing around doing nothing while there's an old man clearly in need of dire assistance. If the LAFD higher-ups knew they were actively choosing to watch the carnage unfold instead of lifting a finger to help, they'd all be shitcanned. 

Luckily, there's a fourth firefighter on the scene doing the absolute most. 

"I thought we made a pact to keep him from using his powers for evil," Eddie says, taking a dispassionate sip of his coffee. 

"Is it evil if he's actually using them in service of a greater good?" Hen's attention is half on what's going down and half on the Notes app on her phone, where she's typing out the week's grocery list. "You know, the enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Draped over the railing like his bones have melted, Chimney gives a sage nod. "He's like a one-man Suicide Squad." 

In the apparatus bay, they watch as Vincent Gerrard uses the distraction of B Shift heading home to duck behind one of the engines, most likely to regroup after being thoroughly ambushed the second he stepped into the station five minutes ago. He slumps back and breathes. The moment of weakness costs him: a grinning demon rounds the corner and makes a bee-line for him as though he can taste blood in the air.

"So, which one of you said 'spreadsheet' three times in a mirror?" Ravi sidles up next to Chimney and unwraps a breakfast burrito from Delia's. 

Chimney gives him the stink-eye. "I hope you brought enough for the whole class."

"Nope," Ravi says, taking a cheerful bite.

"None of us summoned him," Eddie says. He leans down to try and catch the conversation being had, but he's too high up. For a second, he thinks he hears the words 'crack whore' but it's probably a trick of the bay's acoustics. "He's everywhere, always, just watching and waiting for you to slip up. Like God."

"Or the Devil," Hen says in agreement.

"Or Santa," Chimney adds.

Ravi chews thoughtfully. "I thought we threw out all the clipboards. Who gave him that one?"

"Tommy," Eddie, Hen, and Chimney say through a simultaneous, long-suffering sigh. 

It's not just any clipboard. It's the king of clipboards. It's the only clipboard that has ever fucked. The thing is a navy blue polycarbonate beast with "Buckley 118" embossed in fire engine red on the back, and the clip looks like it was forged in the fires of Staples HQ. 

At the bi-weekly Beer and Bitch Night last Friday at Golden Road Pub, Tommy had pulled it out of a bag and presented it on one knee like he was proposing, or bestowing a sword to a king. The entire brewery was then given front-row seats to an intense game of tonsil hockey that nearly went into overtime until Eddie threatened to call Athena because Bobby looked like he was seriously reconsidering sobriety.

"Does he know what he's unleashed?" Ravi sounds genuinely curious. 

As if on cue, Chimney's, Eddie's, and Hen's phones chime with three incoming messages. 

T.K. 07:26am: Has it started? T.K. 07:26am: Remember: you promised one of you would film it T.K. 07:27am: I'm offering 3 nights of free babysitting to the first person who delivers

That last one is followed by a gif of J. Jonah Jameson shouting "Bring me Spiderman!"

Hen frowns down at her phone. "Who the hell is that?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Chimney mutters.

H.W. 07:28am: Why are you so desperate for video?  E.D. 07:28am: What 40-something year old still pinky swears? H.H. 07:28am: Clipboard Buck better not be a weird sex thing for you, Kinard

Tommy's typing indicator appears, then disappears. Then appears and disappears again. Then appears—

"Yeah, no." Chimney hastily pockets his phone. "Those two were made in a lab for each other, I swear to god."

Down in the bay, Gerrard has moved to stand almost directly underneath them. While they can't hear what Gerrard says to Melanie Wu, an electrician so talented she could probably take down the entire grid with her eyes closed, that puts such a dour expression on her face, they can hear it when Buck, popping up behind Gerrard like an insane Jack-in-the-box, says, "Don't worry, Melanie! This is something to bring up during Thursday's workplace conflict seminar."

"What seminar?!"

Buck isn't cowed. He taps his clipboard and says, "The one I scheduled with Chief Alonso. You know, the mandatory one we all need to do in order to keep our certification—well, we'll keep it as long as nothing comes up during the seminar that might call into question our ability to do the job."

There's a charged moment where it almost looks like Gerrard might take a swing at Buck, but then he notices the audience hanging above him like a Greek chorus and shouts, "Someone'd better top off the fuel and DEF or—"

"Already done, Cap." Buck makes a show of turning to the second page on his clipboard and lists off, "All fuel, DEF, oil, and coolant are set. Tires have been aired up. Hoses have been drained and cleaned, and re-rolled. Engines were all waxed yesterday, all medical supplies have been inventoried and stocked, and I've made a list of the harnesses and cutting torches that need replacing. Just need you to sign off on everything. Sir."

The ingratiating smile on Buck's face would fool even the wiliest of senior officers, and Gerrard himself looks like even he's not sure if what just happened was disrespectful, but they know better. 

"Diabolical," Ravi whispers, awed. 

Hissing through his teeth, Gerrard spins on his heel and storms away in the direction of the little office in the administrative section of the firehouse where he's taken to holing up like a miserable groundhog until they get a call that forces him back out. If he sees his shadow on the firehouse wall, it's six more hours of bullshit.

As soon as he's gone, all the firefighters that had stopped to watch the show burst into laughter and applause, and Buck cracks up, taking sweeping bows and blowing kisses to his adoring fans. 

Chimney rolls his eyes and looks to see what Hen's expression is doing, because no one gives good face like she does, but she's holding her phone in a way that clearly means—

"You're filming this?" Chimney demands, betrayed.

She gives an unrepentant shrug. "Three nights of free babysitting? I'm not proud."

"You do know this means Buck's going to get laid and be absolutely insufferable about it, right?"

"Three nights," Hen bites out through very audible regret.

Buck looks up, flashes a grin, and the second he clocks the phone he salutes it with the clipboard. Then he struts after Gerrard, calling almost lazily, "Cap, wait up! I wanted to talk about setting up a mock exam for everyone who's planning on taking the TCFP D/O!"

They all watch him go. Silently, Hen sends off the video with the air of someone about to make a drug drop. 

"So, when does Taylor Kelly's exposé come out again?" Eddie makes a dubious face in the direction of the administrative offices. "Because I don't know that Gerrard won't off himself before it does."

"We win either way," Chimney points out. 

"It comes out next Monday," Hen says, slipping her phone into her pocket and elbowing Chimney in the arm on her way to the stairs. "Karen and I are hosting a watch party that night and you're all invited."

Ravi beams. "Thanks, Hen. I'll definitely be there."

"And you'll be bringing dinner from Taco Azteca—for everybody. Make sure you get enough carne," Chimney calls over his shoulder as he follows Hen. 

"I'm not a probie anymore," Ravi whines. "You can't haze me like this."

Snickering, Eddie pats him on the shoulder and says, "You do this and I'll make sure you're not sitting anywhere near Buck and Tommy when Taylor drops the bomb about Gerrard and Ortiz."

"Extra al pastor and buche it is!"

[featherandferns]

angel (fic)

jj maybank x fem!shy!kook!reader | technically the sequel for fascinating new thing, but can be read as a stand-alone too

content warning: pure filth, to be honest; sex (f and m self-pleasure; protected, p in v)

word count: 3k

blurb: jj knows there's something hidden beneath all the layers of quiet and meek; he just has to coax it out of you.

Nobody expected JJ Maybank to end-up having a thing for you, including JJ himself. He couldn’t explain how it happened, or when exactly, but it went from him being somewhat wary of you to completely desperate to have your gaze on him. It seemed that one day you just had him: hook, line and sinker. JJ had sort of accepted that he didn’t have a chance, especially with a certain ginger haired boy lingering in the background. He’d admire from afar and settle for friendship if that’s all you could offer him. But then you kissed him, and everything seemed to fall into place. JJ was allowed privy to your thoughts and the different facets of yourself: watching you song write and waking you from a nightmare and indulging in the late-night baking. He liked every part of it. Everything that was you.

Well, almost everything.

“You can’t seriously enjoy this crap?”

“Be quiet, please,” you mumble.

JJ rolls his eyes. He has one arm under his head, propping it up so he can see the screen of your laptop, and the other on your stomach, resting atop your tee shirt. He’s spooning you, cosy under the sheets of your bed.

It’s the second time he’s been in your bedroom. It’s a nice room; perfectly encapsulates you. Vinyl records and CDs and a million and one potted plants and succulents. Fairly lights draped above your bed and around a pinboard of pictures and keepsakes, shining a delicate golden hue on your belongings. An acoustic guitar rests against the wall by your bedroom door. It’s wide open right now. No need to have it shut; your parents aren’t home.

Looking back to the screen, JJ tries and fails to hold in a sigh.

“Can you be quiet, please?” you repeat.

“Who is that? The guy?”

“George the third.”

“The third? Is that the one that murdered all his wives?”

“JJ, I can’t hear it,” you complain quietly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He barely pays attention to the drama on the screen, too busy foraging through his brains for the history of English royals. “Is he though?”

You sigh, annoyed. “No. That’s Henry the Eighth. And he didn’t murder all of them. Just two.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then,” JJ sarcastically replies.

For some reason, he feels as though you’ve rolled your eyes. He attempts to watch the show that you’ve become obsessed with lately. The characters don’t talk like normal people. Everything is so flowery and over-the-top that he hardly understands what they’re talking about. It’s boring and dull and overdramatic. He lets his mind wander.

“Baby?”

“JJ?”

“Just a quick question.”

“Yes?” you sigh, patience clearly dwindling.

“Is George the Third the one that got really fat?”

“No, that’s George the fourth,” you say.

“Which one’s George the third then?”

“George the third is the one that was ruler when America won its independence. I mean, do you listen to anything in history?” you chuckle. JJ feels the muscles in your belly tighten and loosen as you do.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “When it’s interesting. Like, I don’t get how all of this—”

“Shush! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” you snap.

JJ can’t help but snigger. He likes when you lose your temper with him; let the good-girl side of you slip for a moment to put him in his place.

He nuzzles his face into your hair. It smells like cedarwood and salt water. Maybe he’ll just have a nap. You’re not coming away from the show anytime soon – not until the episode’s done, anyway. JJ closes his eyes and vaguely tunes into the droning of dialogue. Lady this and sire that. He’s just about to properly drift off (maybe it’s been five minutes or so) when he’s woken by the feel of you pushing back against his groin. His hold tightens on your stomach and he reluctantly inches his body away slightly.

“Baby don’t do that,” he mumbles sleepily into your hair.

“Do what?” you reply, absentmindedly.

You’re still watching the Goddamn show. He’s not sure if you’re playing dumb or not.

Then, you do it again.

JJ inhales sharply. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Rubbing up on me like that,” he tells you, half-laughing. “S’not fair.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He opens his eyes and looks down at the laptop screen. The moment he makes out what’s happening in the show, it clicks. Oh.

Smirking, JJ can’t keep from taking the piss.

“You didn’t tell me that you’re into regency era porn.”

“Shut up,” you reply all too quickly.

“Is it like all royal era stuff or just Henry the third things?”

“George the third!”

“Tomata-tomato,” JJ mutters. Quiet. Then: “Does it have to be in a bathtub or…”

“JJ!” you whine, embarrassed. He laughs into your hair. “Stop it!”

“Alright, alright! I’m just messing around,” he sniggers.

You don’t reply, don’t even seem to be listening to him, with your eyes shamelessly fixated on the screen. JJ starts to watch too, half-curious as to what has you so entranced.

The lighting is dark. Who JJ has finally come to grasp as king George the third is fucking his wife in the bath. She’s riding him, grinding down on him, still in her dress. The music swells with sharp, dramatic violins. This time, when you push back reflexively against JJ, he doesn’t complain. Instead, he uses his hand that’s placed on your stomach to keep you there. He’s only half ashamed to admit that he’s turned on by the regency-era-sex-scene from your corny, cheesy TV show.

Half hard, he rubs against you, sighing into your hair as he does. You don’t shake him off. Instead, you push back against him.

And then, the scene stops. It’s daylight. Cutting to a scene in a conservatory.

JJ shifts his hand so it’s under your tee shirt, moving to stroke at the skin. He feels your stomach constrict underneath his touch, as if you’re holding your breath, and then relax. He places a kiss to your neck, then another, and begins to work on a hickey. You let out a shaking breath, eyes only half-focused on the show, now. One of your hands comes down to lay atop of his, though not in discouragement. JJ can’t help but rut against you again. In the haze of kissing at your throat, he finds himself wishing a silent prayer that you won’t pull away this time.

He doesn’t mind waiting. Really, he doesn’t. He’d probably wait forever for you (if he really had to). He knows how nervous you get; knows all of this is new to you. Understands. Doesn’t want you to feel pressured. But, God, JJ would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to fuck you. That he didn’t jack off almost every night to the thought of it. That seeing you, drenched head to toe, stood in nothing but a bikini after surfing didn’t have him shifting in his seat. That having you pressing up against him like you had been tonight didn’t make his mind shoot off to the darkest, dirtiest places. So, yes, he’ll stop if you ask, but he’s praying, borderline close to begging, that you don’t.

Your fingers loop into his hair, pulling him off your neck. He shifts enough back so you can turn your head, meeting his eyes. Your breathing heavier than usual, lips wet as if you’ve been licking at them. Your eyes are dancing over his face, back to his eyes, glancing at his lips. JJ’s hand on your stomach continues scratching softly at your skin. He gently rubs himself against you. Please.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper. There’s a tinge of nerves to your voice.

JJ nods. Swallows. “I know.”

“But…I want to,” you quietly say. A smile teasing at the corner of your lips as you nod. “If you do, that is.”

JJ leans down so his forehead bumps against yours. He exhales a chuckle against your lips. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the hammock.”

You giggle, perhaps a little stunned at the confession, and then your lips are on his.

JJ’s rolling onto his back, sighing into the kiss, pulling you atop of him. His hand that was under his head now reaches out to close the laptop, shoving it to the foot of the bed (hopefully where it won’t fall off). Then he’s kissing you with newfound hunger. Tongue slipping into your mouth lewdly, brushing against yours, swallowing your sighs and breaths. Whenever you break apart, it’s for less than a moment. Your hands have come up to cradle his face, fingers splayed across his cheek and jaw. One of his resides on your waist, squeezing at the skin, and his other has fallen onto your bare thigh; the pyjama shorts you’re wearing having ridden up.

When you lean back against him, rolling down on his crotch, JJ groans against your lips. The gasp you let out is small, startled, as you feel him, hard against you.

“We don’t have to,” JJ reminds you, though the id in him is crying out yes, we do. Please.

You shake your head, hands still on his face. “I want to.”

Thank fucking God.

As the two of begin to kiss again, JJ lets his hand creep up your stomach. His fingers gently trace up the soft skin. He feels the ripples of your breaths as he goes; they’re uneven. Bringing his hand up to your chest, cupping at the bare skin, you sigh against him. He begins to tenderly palm at your breast, running a finger back and forth over your nipple, grinning to himself as he feels it harden at his touch.

You’re grinding back on him now, making him uncomfortably hard under his boxers, sensitive as he rubs against the fabric. JJ opens his eyes to look up at you, your kiss naturally breaking as you begin to breath more and more heavy. Frowns as he sees you dig your teeth into your lower lip. He lifts his hand from off your thigh to bring his thumb to your lips, tugging it free.

“I wanna hear you,” JJ mumbles, tone only slightly demanding.

You open your eyes. They’re angel-like; innocent and shining under the fairy-light glow. Then, you do something that has him twitching, horny past the point of no return. You take his thumb into your mouth and suckle at his finger. JJ groans at the sight. Jesus Christ. Something in you seems to shine through and take control. You don’t say anything as you hold his hand in both of yours, guiding his thumb out your mouth only to begin sucking on his pointer finger. Your eyes slip shut as you do, as if you’re getting off on doing so, and you sigh out a quiet moan. JJ feels himself begin to smirk, taken aback somewhat. Okay…

Pulling his finger from out of your mouth tentatively, he lets his thumb pinch at your chin. The dampness of your spit streaks onto your skin, if only slightly. JJ suddenly knows what his new favourite thought of you is. Your chest is rising and falling, lips parted, cheeks warm as if there’s a part of you longing to be embarrassed. But you’re not. Not shying away from him, at least. JJ’s hands find the hem of your shirt and coax it over your head. As he goes, he guides you to lie down on your back – head at the foot of the bed – and crawls on top of you. One of your feet hesitantly rubs at the back of his calve. Then your fingers are tugging at the bottom of his top and he leans back to take it off. Easing back down to kiss at your chest, he can’t help but sigh against the sensitive skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your nails dig into the skin of his back. You don’t reply, but he feels as though you’re shaking your head. Glancing up, he frowns.

“You are,” he repeats.

“Can you not say things like that to me right now…” you mumble, retreating back into yourself.

JJ sighs, somewhat disappointed.

“Sorry,” you add. It makes JJ chuckle, his breath fanning against your chest.

“You don’t gotta be sorry, baby,” he replies, moving to kiss at one of your nipples. One of your hands creeps up to his face, fingers slipping into his hair. A small gasping exhale at the sensation. “Just wish you saw yourself the way I see you, sometimes.”

You’re sighing at the attention he’s giving your body. His hand comes up to grope at your neglected breast. More gasps, more breaths. You’re still so quiet. JJ knows it’s in there, could see it trying to break out when you were sucking on his fingers, he just has to coax it out of you.

Leaning back (a string of spit following), JJ sits back on his haunches and takes you in. Wonders what to do with you, as if you’re fully at his mercy. You’re looking at him, watching him. Laid out on your back, near bare and gorgeous, breathing heavy. You're half covering your chest, not used to being so exposed before someone.

Maybe he’ll just fuck you now. JJ's barely holding it together as it is. No, you’ll be too tight if he does. He has to remind himself that this is new to you. He wants it to be worth it. Wants it to be perfect. Not only that, but he also wants you to appreciate yourself and your body the way he does. Words clearly aren’t gonna cut it; you go squeamish at the faintest of compliments. But maybe…

JJ feels the shadow of a smirk grow on his face with an idea. Makes your lips twitch with a frown, as if confused where his mind might be. The he’s reaching for your spare hand that’s found purchase in the bed sheets. Taking it by the wrist, he guides it over your body, down to your shorts. Your eyes dart up from following it, meeting his eyes. Your lips move as if to say something, but you don’t. So quiet.

“I got an idea,” JJ tells you. He’s so hard it hurts, but he can’t pass up on this opportunity.

Your gaze doesn’t break apart from JJ’s as you let him guide your hand with his under the hem of your shorts. He manoeuvres your fingers easily (you pliant like a doll) and slides it through your folds. You’re soaking. The feel of it makes you gasp. Leaning down, using his other arm to prop himself above you, he guides your conjoined touch back and forth, skimming over your clit. The brief, fleeting touch makes you moan.

JJ smirks. There it is.

“Feel good, huh?” he breaths against your ear, teasingly. You don’t reply but he feels your hand gain more control, working to finger yourself. JJ chuckles. “Knew you were dirty underneath all the good-girl shit you put on.”

It seems that whatever strap was holding you together has snapped. Your honeyed voice is crying out, in moans and whines. Eyes shut, head tilted back, and JJ basks in the sight of you. He gradually lets his hand leave yours, slipping out of your shorts, and watches as you continue getting yourself off underneath your shorts. Chews on the inside of his cheek as he does, bucking against your leg desperately. He can’t help but pull himself out of his boxers, jacking off at the sight. At your sweet, hopeless sounds. Your spare hand is coming to his throat, pulling at his jaw, guiding his lips to yours in a lustful, messy kiss. You’re moaning into his mouth, gasping, voice high and desperate.

“Good girl,” JJ croons. It spurs you on. He’s smirking again, gasping through his own pleasure. Fuck. You’re perfect. How are you so Goddamn perfect?

“You close, baby? You gonna come?”

Your reply comes in a stammered, broken gasp. Yes.

JJ forces his hand from himself, quickly moving to grab at your wrist, pulling your fingers away. They’re drenched. You whine at the loss of contact, so close to the edge it seems, and he chuckles darkly against your jawline.

“Not yet,” he simply says.

As JJ moves to take off your shorts, shucking off his boxers in this process, he catches a glimpse of your hand moving back up your body. His eyes flick up just in time to see you slip your used fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. Fuck. How JJ doesn’t come on the spot is beyond him. You open your eyes, catching his gaze, and meekly pull them from your mouth. Before you can form the inevitable apology you’re bound to give, JJ’s darting down to capture your mouth in a kiss. Then, he’s climbing atop of you, rubbing at your entrance. Has the both of you gasping against one another.

“Wait,” you mumble, pulling back. “We need a condom.”

“Shit, yeah,” JJ pants. He’d forgotten about that. You point vaguely to your bedside table.

“There should be one in there. Somewhere.”

JJ chuckles slightly and nods, leaning back to riffle through. He can’t help but notice the vibrator, making a mental note of that for another day. Finding one, he’s coming back to you, sliding it on, desperate to be inside of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he keeps his eyes on you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will,” you quietly reply, a hand coming up to cup at his jaw.

JJ nods and begins to slide in. His eyes reflexively shut; he can’t help it. It feels fucking amazing. Sex with feelings is better than any kegger hook-up he’s ever had.

But you’re tight, too tight, and it’s like your body is trying to push him out. Opening his eyes, he looks down to see your face twisted in pain, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, thumbing at your cheek. You force your eyes open, gazing up at him. “You gotta relax, alright? Just breath out for me.”

You take a moment then do as he asks. He feels your body soften. Nudging a bit further in, you actively try not to go tight again.

“It’s just me,” he reminds you. “You’re doing so good, alright?”

To keep you lax, he rubs gently at your clit. Eventually, your body opens up to him. Once JJ’s eased all the way in, you’re squeezing him like a vice.

“You can move, JayJ,” you say, almost anxious that he isn’t.

JJ laughs a little. He won’t last a second if he moves right now. Closing his eyes, composing himself, he replies, “I really can’t. Gimme a second.”

Soon enough, the two of you sink into a rhythm. JJ places a hand one side of your head, another on your hip, angling you up slightly. Your back begins to arch and you’re moaning again, and JJ decides that it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. Prettier than when you sing. The sounds echoing off the bedroom walls are filthy enough to make Satan himself blush.

"Fuck baby. Feel so fucking good."

Groaning against your shoulder, moaning into your ear, JJ feels his resolve begin to break. He’s close. The way your body is reacting to him has him thinking you are too. His hand leaves your hip to rub at your clit. Quick, firm circles. You start to gasp, high pitched and euphoric, and JJ know he can’t last much longer. It’s too good.

The moment you finish, JJ lets go. The two of you come almost together, riding it out, clinging to each other as if you’ll float away if not. JJ eventually let’s himself collapse on top of you, breathing shallow and frantic. You’re still clenching around him, body dealing with the aftershocks.

JJ’s not sure how he’s supposed to go about the rest of his life knowing what it’s like to have you in bed. How he’s meant to get anything done with the memory of how you sound, gasping out his name. The picture stained in his mind of you sucking your fingers clean.

He presses a kiss to your damp neck, then another and another until he somehow finds your mouth. You sigh as you kiss him back, a hand coming to cradle at his face yet again. He pulls back, opens his eyes into yours, and you give him the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. Bashful and blissed out and beautiful.

“I love you,” you tell him, still a little breathless.

JJ smiles back. Heart stammers.

You wanted him. You picked him.

Kissing you once more, tender and fleeting, JJ sighs. “I love you too.”

[nickeverdeen]

Sweet Harmony | Ellie Williams x Fem!reader x Dina

Pairings: Dina x fem!reader (romantic), Ellie x fem!reader (romantic), Ellie x Dina (romantic)

Warnings: Eating out, dom!top!Ellie, bottom!reader, soft!top!Dina

Summary: The innocent moment when Ellie is playing guitar and you and Dina are resting changes when your hand wanders somewhere…

————————

It was a peaceful afternoon in Jackson, the kind of day that made the harshness of the outside world feel like a distant memory. Sunlight streamed through the windows of Ellie’s cozy little house, casting a warm, golden light over the room. The three of you had decided to spend the day together, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Ellie sat on the couch, her acoustic guitar resting in her lap. Dina was beside her, her arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers lightly brushing Ellie’s shoulder. You were curled up on Ellie’s other side, your legs tucked beneath you as you leaned into her. Everything felt right—calm, peaceful, and perfect.

You glanced at Ellie, then at her guitar. “Ellie,” you asked softly, “could you play something for us?”

Ellie looked down at the guitar, then back at you with a small smile. “Sure,” she said simply, adjusting her grip on the instrument.

She started to strum the strings gently, letting a soft, familiar melody fill the room. You leaned into her, closing your eyes and letting the music wash over you. Dina’s hand rested on the back of Ellie’s neck, thumb brushing lightly over her skin in a soothing rhythm. It was a moment of pure peace, the three of you completely in sync, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

As Ellie played, you found yourself absentmindedly sliding your hand under her shirt, your fingers brushing against the firm muscle of her abdomen. You sighed softly, lost in the moment, and Ellie’s strumming faltered for just a second before she caught herself. Dina’s eyes flicked to your hand, then back to Ellie’s face, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Ellie kept playing, but you could feel a change in the atmosphere—something charged, a tension building in the air. Dina noticed too, her hand sliding from Ellie’s neck to your thigh, her touch gentle but deliberate. Ellie’s playing grew softer, the melody more subdued, as if she was struggling to keep her focus.

Eventually, Ellie’s fingers stilled on the strings, the last note hanging in the air as she looked between you and Dina. “You okay, babe?” Dina asked, her voice teasing but affectionate.

Ellie chuckled, setting the guitar aside as she turned to face you more fully. “Yeah, just… distracted,” she admitted, her eyes dark with something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Distracted by what?” Dina pressed, though she already knew the answer.

Ellie’s hand found your thigh, squeezing gently as she leaned in close. “By her,” she said, her voice low and rough, the simple words sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, Dina’s lips were on yours, soft and warm. Her kiss was tender, full of love and reassurance, but there was an undercurrent of hunger there too, something that made you melt into her touch. Ellie’s hand slid up under your shirt, her rough fingertips grazing your skin, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Is this okay?” Dina murmured against your lips, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. “Yes, please,” you whispered, giving them both the permission they were waiting for.

Dina was the first to move, her kisses trailing down your neck, her hands gently pushing you back against the couch. She took her time, undressing you with care, her touches slow and deliberate as she worshiped every inch of your skin. Ellie watched, her eyes dark and hungry as she leaned in to kiss you again, rougher this time, her teeth catching your lower lip in a way that made your toes curl.

Dina settled between your legs, her lips brushing against your inner thighs, soft and teasing. “You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin before she finally pressed a kiss to your center, making you gasp.

Her tongue was soft, gentle, as she took her time exploring you, savoring every reaction, every sound you made. Ellie’s hand tangled in your hair as she kissed you again, her free hand trailing down to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Dina was relentless, her pace slow but steady, building you up until you were trembling beneath her, your hips moving on their own as you chased the high she was giving you.

Ellie’s lips moved to your neck, sucking lightly, leaving marks that made you moan louder, your hands gripping the couch cushions as Dina pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “Dina… Ellie…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need, and that was all it took for Dina to push you over, her tongue working you through your orgasm as you cried out, your body shaking with the intensity of it.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Ellie was moving down, her hands gripping your hips as she positioned herself between your legs. Dina moved up, her lips finding yours again as she kissed you deeply, her tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

Ellie didn’t waste any time. She was rougher, more insistent, her tongue diving deep, her hands holding your hips down as you writhed beneath her. Dina’s lips moved to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin as she sucked, leaving marks that would be there for days, marks that would remind you of this moment every time you saw them.

“Fuck, Ellie,” you gasped, your hands gripping her hair as she worked you over, her tongue relentless as she pushed you towards another orgasm. Dina’s hand slid down your side, her fingers brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver, made the pleasure that Ellie was giving you all the more intense.

It didn’t take long for Ellie to bring you to the edge again, her name falling from your lips like a prayer as you came, your body trembling with the force of it. Ellie didn’t stop, her tongue still moving, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were a quivering mess beneath her, barely able to catch your breath.

When Ellie finally pulled back, her lips shiny with your arousal, you were exhausted, your body spent but completely satisfied. Dina was right there, kissing you softly, her touch gentle and loving as she held you close.

You blinked up at her, a sleepy smile on your lips. “I want… I want my turn too,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

Dina chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re too tired, baby. We’ll save it for another time,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

Ellie nodded in agreement, pulling you into her arms as she settled back on the couch. “Just rest, we’ve got you,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The exhaustion was pulling at you, your eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled between them, feeling safe and loved. Ellie and Dina’s voices faded into the background as they talked quietly, their words a comforting murmur as you drifted off to sleep.

“Think she’s gonna sleep through dinner?” Ellie asked, her voice low as she glanced at Dina.

“Probably,” Dina replied with a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “She had a big day.”

Ellie chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “She’s perfect,” she murmured, her voice full of affection.

Dina smiled, leaning in to kiss Ellie softly. “Yeah, she is,” she agreed, her hand resting on your hip as she settled back against the couch, the three of you wrapped up in each other, safe and warm.

And as the sun set outside, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, the three of you fell into a comfortable silence, content just to be together, knowing that whatever the world threw at you, you would face it together.

[macfrog]

heart, body, soul cowboy like me chapter thirteen

surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it. life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst

word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.” His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says – “I don’t want nobody else.” And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.

A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.

Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.

And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.

Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.

The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.

Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.

So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.

“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.

“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?

Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”

“Fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.

The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.

And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.

He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”

“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”

“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”

“The Office.”

He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”

Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.

“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”

Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.

“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.

He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”

“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”

It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.

“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.

You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”

He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.

You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.

His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.

And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.

All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –

I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?

Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.

Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?

Did you?

Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.

Sarah: wtf is going on ???

You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.

You: Wym?

Sarah: are u good??

You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good

Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn

That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.

You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.

You: Yeah? What are they talking about?

Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy

Sarah: sounds like a loser

Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw

You: Nice. See ya then

Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island

You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap

Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!

You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.

So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.

Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up

Sarah: even my dad is worried about you

Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.

----------

They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.

He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.

Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.

“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.

He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.

You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.

If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.

That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.

She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.

You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.

Two for two.

He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.

“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”

The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.

“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.

You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.

Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.

The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.

Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.

Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.

Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”

Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.

“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”

“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.

Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”

Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.

“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”

She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”

Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.

“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”

She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.

Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.

But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.

He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”

Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.

You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”

“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?

You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.

“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”

Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.

“LA.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift.

“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”

He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.

But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.

“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”

Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.

“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”

His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.

“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”

He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.

“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.

“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”

“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”

In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.

And then there were two.

You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.

You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.

Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.

You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.

Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.

All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.

You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.

It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.

From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.

A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.

You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.

He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.

“LA, huh?”

You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.

You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.

Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.

“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”

“Yet,” he repeats.

“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”

He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.

“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”

This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.

You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.

There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.

And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.

“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.

Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”

“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”

His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”

Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.

“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”

He holds back a smile. “I had work.”

“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”

“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”

“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”

This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.

And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.

With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.

This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –

Fuck it.

You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”

Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.

“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”

Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.

“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”

Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.

Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.

“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.

“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”

He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”

You shrug. “Then – show me.”

He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”

Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –

“…Lord, mighty me.”

Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”

“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.

“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”

Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.

“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”

Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”

“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.

Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–

But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.

He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.

Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.

----------

Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.

He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.

“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.

“LA,” you echo, staring at him.

He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.

“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”

Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”

“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”

“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”

Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”

He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”

Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”

“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.

“But it would get me outta your hair.”

“I don’t want you outta my hair.”

A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”

“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”

“Then talk.”

He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.

“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”

“Was it ever okay?”

He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”

“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”

He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.

You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”

You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.

There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.

“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.

His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.

He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”

“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”

“About you?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”

“Easy.”

You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”

It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.

“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”

You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.

“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”

His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.

You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”

His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –

“I don’t want nobody else.”

And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.

“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”

“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”

Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.

“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”

“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”

“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”

Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.

You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.

His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.

His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.

“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.

“We’re good.”

He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”

So that’s why he brought you out here.

“A date?”

“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”

“Never could.”

He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”

“You got moves?” you snicker.

“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”

“Alright, never say that to me again.”

Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”

He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.

It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.

Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.

“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.

Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.

It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.

You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.

A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.

Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.

“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”

Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”

“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.

“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”

When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.

“What?”

“Coffee?”

He shrugs.

“I took you for a vanilla man.”

Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.

“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.

You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.

Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.

“Nuh-uh.”

“What?” you ask, spinning around.

Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”

“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”

“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.

You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”

“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”

You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”

“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”

He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.

“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.

“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”

He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.

You smirk when he rests back.

“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.

Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.

This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.

You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.

And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.

“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”

Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”

You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”

“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”

“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.

“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”

“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.

He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”

It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”

Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”

“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”

His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”

You nod. Uhuh.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”

You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”

He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.

“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”

“Wanna try mine?”

“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”

“’s good. Here.”

He holds out a spoonful.

“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”

Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.

It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.

“You don’t like it?”

“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”

He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”

He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”

You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.

He places a kiss to your head when you do.

“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”

You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.

“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”

“It scare you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.

“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”

“Probably.”

“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”

“Well, I reckon he might try.”

“I think he’d call the cops.”

Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.

“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”

Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.

“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.

“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.

“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.

You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.

“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”

He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,

“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”

Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.

“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”

You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.

Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.

Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.

Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”

A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.

Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.

“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,

“Fuck, I love you, too.”

You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.

Guess it is, right?

This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.

It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.

I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.

You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.

Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.

“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”

He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.

No. Just you.

“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.

“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”

----------

His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.

“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.

He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.

You choke on a laugh. “That is…”

“That is what?”

“…so cheesy. You really do that?”

“Uhuh. C’mon.”

Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.

You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.

“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.

“Wow. I feel…honored.”

“You should.”

“Not even a proper kiss?”

“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”

“You don’t ask to come inside?”

He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”

You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.

“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”

Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”

You nod.

He starts to climb the steps.

“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.

You hook your hands around his shoulders.

“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.

“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”

Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.

“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”

Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.

“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”

“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.

“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”

Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.

“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.

As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.

“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”

He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.

You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.

“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.

Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.

You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.

You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.

“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.

You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.

“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.

You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”

“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.

And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.

His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.

“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.

He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”

You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”

Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”

You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”

“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”

Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.

You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.

He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.

He looks up at you expectantly.

“What–?”

He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.

“Darlin’. Up.”

“Joel.”

“Up.”

You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.

“I don’t know –”

“’m not gonna tell you again.”

And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –

But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.

You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.

It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.

And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.

You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.

“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”

He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.

Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.

“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”

You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.

Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.

“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”

He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.

Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –

Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.

You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.

His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.

“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.

But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.

As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.

He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.

“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”

You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.

He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.

He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.

“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”

“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.

“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”

You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.

Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.

Joel pauses. “Stop?”

“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Fuck me.”

And he sinks in.

You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.

In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.

He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.

Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.

You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.

“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”

“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”

Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –

“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”

“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”

He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.

“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”

“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.

He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”

“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”

“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.

“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”

He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?

You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.

Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.

His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.

It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.

But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.

He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.

And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

You look up to his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.

And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.

You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.

It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.

“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”

He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.

“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”

“The other eight?”

“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”

“Kicked ‘em out.”

You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.

“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”

Your brows knit. “Like what?”

He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What?” he asks, smirking.

“Who even were they? I wanna know.”

“Why?”

“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”

Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”

“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”

“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”

You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.

Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.

Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.

“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.

Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.

“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”

“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”

Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”

“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”

“Who – was – it?”

He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.

“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”

“It was a long night, alright?”

“How did you forget her damn name?”

He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”

“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”

“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.

You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.

You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.

You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.

“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”

“What?”

You don’t answer. He heard you.

“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”

“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”

“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”

“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”

“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.

Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.

Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”

“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”

Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”

He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.

You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”

Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”

He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.

His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.

“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”

“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”

He smiles. “Get dressed.”

You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.

The fun of it. The hope of it.

The foolish, foolish hope.

“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.

You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You got your phone?”

Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”

Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.

His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.

You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.

“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.

After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.

“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.

You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.

“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”

“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”

You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”

He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”

You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.

The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.

When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.

“Hey.”

You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”

“Joel gone?”

“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”

“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”

Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.

“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”

Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”

Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”

“Sure,” he says, nodding.

With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.

“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”

He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.

That’s not where I fucking left it.

You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”

“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”

You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.

As you turn, you unlock your screen.

Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?

Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?

You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.

You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text

Joel: How so?

You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird

You: Joel I think he knows something

Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.

He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.

Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.

Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.

And your dad fucking knows it.

[superblysubpar]

The Boy Is Mine (Taylor's Version Edition):

eddie munson x fem reader

summary: a romantic night in at your trailer full of fluff, a dash of spice, and an..."Alien invasion"? | main menu | this is fairly SFW, but my blog is 18+

the song: The Boy Is Mine by Brandy & Monica

1675 words

This is my submission for @carolmunson The Boy Is Mine Challenge! The scene, props to include, and dialogue to use as well as all the details on how to participate can be found here - come join in and write your version of Eddie and celebrate everyone else's. 💛

“Son of a-” Your shoulders tense beneath palms that soothe. The chuckle beneath your ear rumbles deep in the chest your cheek is pressed to when you whine, “Gets me every fucking time.”

Despite the eerie music and the jump scare on the glowing screen, you dare someone to tell you this isn’t the most perfect night, the most perfect life. 

A pizza box with a few slices left sits on your new - well new to you - coffee table next to shitty horror and gore VHS tap - wait, doll, how’d Pretty in Pink get in the stack? There’s a candle burning, its warm orange glow competes for a chance to light up the space with the small flickering TV. 

Activities from earlier in the day litter the room that’s meant for living, but barely able to be made out in the growing darkness. His acoustic guitar next to loose pages of doodles and lyrics, dragons and elves and stories and songs about fighting and finding love erratic and unorganized next to your small notebook, a stack of books and several applications. 

There isn’t much else, not yet anyways. A collection of records and a stereo, cassettes un-alphabetized strewn about the wobbly bookshelf and milk crates. A few boxes with labels for unimportant things that haven’t found their new home yet. The rain that falls outside the open window above the couch and onto the roof of the metal trailer pings and echoes in the sparse room, making you snuggle deeper into the black cotton beneath you, squishing your cheek to a firm, but comfortable chest. 

The most perfect night, the most perfect life.

The most perfect guy. 

“Do you think,” he starts softly, his fingers running down your spine and back up before he asks, “I’m as much of a badass as Ellen Ripley?”

“No.” 

The noise of protest he makes beneath you at your immediate and confident response has your lips twisting, fighting a smile as his legs close around you tighter. Bunched tube socks brush your calves, thighs and hips covered in soft gray sweats shift beneath you as he grumbles something about showing you just how wrong you are. 

One arm stays relaxed behind his head against throw pillows propping him up, the other restless but content to fiddle with and roam over your body that’s draped across him. 

The rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you and the scent of old spice around you, everything Eddie, has you humming at his “threat”, eyelashes fluttering from the peace. His fingers massage over the back of your neck, lighting up the skin beneath it and you huff out of your nose, upset about the bubble that’s about to break. Your whine lost in his worn band t-shirt. 

“I have to pee.”

“So go pee.”

Your head shakes, chin resting on his chest so you can look up at him with narrowed eyes. 

“If I get up and go pee, you’re gonna do something stupid when I come back out.”

Eddie looks down at you, innocent doe eyes blinking as his hands rub over your shoulders. 

“I’m always gonna do something stupid, so enlighten me, what is it you think I’m gonna do this time?”

Your hand reaches up and pulls at a dark brown curl that frames the cheeks his dimples are trying not to show in. 

“Oh, I don’t know, turn off all of the lights, jump out from around the corner, attack me from behind…”

“Baby, I always wanna attack you from behind.”

That earns him a fake stern look and a smack to his chest with the back of your hand. 

Pink lips pout and twist in the fight of a mischievous smirk, his eyebrows bunch together and wrinkle his forehead as he tries to scoff around a laugh.

“Aw, don’t be like that. I would never scare you.”

“That’s not even remotely true,” you counter. 

“Sweetheart,” he catches your chin with thick fingers, cradling your jaw as he vows, dramatically, “I promise I would never, ever let the aliens get-”

You catch his other wrist before fingers could find their target just below your ribs. Raised eyebrows to his big, brown eyes that glint with trouble, not even pretending to be ashamed he was caught. 

The eye contact you’re sharing pulses, accompanied by the musical score of the thriller on screen. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip as his tongue licks over his own. The seconds of time slowly ticking by aren’t a luxury, but big, pounding, booms of your imminent fate right on your tail. 

“Eddie,” you warn, lips fighting a smile. “Don-”

He screeches like the aliens, fingers digging into your sides and legs, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you closer so his mouth can pretend to bite at you as you give a shriek worthy of a Ridley Scott flick. 

You can’t help but laugh though, as explosions happen on screen and Eddie gets louder, yelling your name dramatically like he’s fighting off the aliens, trying to save you despite it being his own fingers that have you wheezing and gasping for air. 

“Eddie! If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a real problem!”

“Oh honey, I know! This thing means business! But don’t worry! I’ll save you, Ellen Ripley’s got nothing on me!”

He doubles down his tickling efforts, screeching and grunting out a “Not my girlfriend you monster!” dramatically into your neck before he nips at it. Quick bites and kisses mingled with alien noises until you’re swatting at his chest and wiggling off of him, shouting about how he’s the monster on your way to the bathroom. 

It’s suspiciously quiet while you're gone. And when you open the bathroom door, you take a timid step out into the dark hallway and call out, “Eddie?”

“Baby,” he laughs from the living room, “I swear on Jonesy that I’m sitting on the couch, and I’ll keep my hands to myself for the rest of the movie.”

And well, swearing on Jonesy’s life is like swearing on Henderson’s mom, so you’re satisfied and confident enough to travel through the dark to return to the menace you call your boyfriend. 

He sits, cross legged on the couch now, smiling. You kind of can’t believe this boy exists, that he’s yours. 

Eddie gestures to the bottle of wine that’s replaced the pizza box, the large Garfield and Snoopy mugs joined by a bag of pretzels and a tub of vanilla frosting. “We don’t really have like, nice cups, this okay?”

Is it okay? Is this guy real? He’s straight out of a TV show, a favorite movie, the thing all the songs are trying to tell you about but just don’t seem possible. 

He blinks at you, cheeks growing pink as you continue to stand at the edge of the living room and stare at him. His smile relaxes down to a shy, tight lipped thing as the silver metal on fingers that tap on his knees glints in the TV’s glow. 

“Doll?” Eddie coughs, eyebrows raised at you when you still don’t say anything. 

“Sorry,” you make your way to the couch finally, “Yeah. Really okay.”

“Cool,” he says quietly as you sit, ears peeking out through thick waves turning as pink as his cheeks. 

He grabs the pretzels and you grab the frosting, popping open the lid with a grunt, and managing to get a decent amount of it in the curve of your thumb and forefinger. 

Before you can scoop it up with a pretzel, Eddie’s fingers are tugging on yours, bringing your hand up to his mouth. His lips mold around the space, sucking before his tongue traces it and the room turns unberably hot despite the cool breeze and rain drifting in. 

Eddie clocks the way your hips shift and thighs press together, the way your mouth parts and head tilts. The way your eyes turn a little glassy when he looks up at you. 

He removes his mouth from your hand slowly, grinning and absolutely pleased with himself as he murmurs, “Oh, we like that, huh?”

Words escape your clutches just as Ripley does the Alien’s, and Eddie drops the bag of pretzels back onto the coffee table. He keeps eye contact as he grabs the tub of frosting from you, and dips his finger into it, slowly. 

“Eddie, I-”

He’s smearing it on your collarbone and up your neck, your jaw and cheek as your fingers grip the couch cushion. Your chest heaves with quick breaths, a gasp slipping past your lips as he leans forward, tongue sweeping over your throat. 

Eddie licks over your skin, slow, patiently, weight falling over you as you fall backwards on the couch and arch underneath him. The way his mouth travels over you is nothing like the quick nips and fast kisses from earlier. It’s slow licks, soft presses of his mouth, open and wet and breathy and dirty as he travels higher and higher. 

His path leads him over your jaw and cheek now, both of you gasping for air as his fingers dig into your hips that roll against him and yours curl in the soft material on his shoulders. 

He pulls away when he reaches the corner of your lips, smiling at the whine that leaves them when you don’t get the kiss you’re aching for. 

“Guess you were right afterall,” he whispers, the tip of his nose tracing up yours as he does. 

“Wh-what?”

Eddie grins, his mouth hovers over yours, sweet and sticky vanilla flavored lips just close enough to almost taste. 

“That I was gonna do something stupid.”

“The only thing that’s stupid is that you haven’t kissed me yet, Munson.” Your eyes roll as his grin grows even wider. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he laughs, reaching for the frosting again. “I’m just getting started.”

Rain falls, and Aliens are killed and the candle flickers on a perfect night. Your new favorite flavor of anything is vanilla because of the perfect guy. 

Eddie Munson gets you every fucking time. 

[hairmetal666]

Steddie She's All That au????

Steve pulls up to the Munson's trailer, a secondhand acoustic across the backseat. Can't believe he's here; that he's actually doing this. He shouldn't. Absolutely should not; knows he let his still-simmering animosity with Billy Hargrove push him to this, to trying to date Eddie Munson, to proving that he's still popular enough to win prom king with the Freak on his arm.

Munson doesn't deserve it, is the thing. For all his weirdness, his off-putting behavior, Steve thinks he might be nice. Or kind, maybe? Steve's noticed how he gathers the freshman who have no one else, gives them understanding, a place to belong. And those kids, they remind him of Dustin, Will, Mike, Lucas, and he can't help but feel something warm towards the Freak, some kind of kinship.

He puts the car in reverse, can't go through with pretending to like this guy who did nothing wrong but be too much himself.

Before he gets his foot on the gas a head pokes out the front door.

"You came," Eddie shouts.

"Said I was." Steve surrenders to his fate and puts the car in park. Eddie watches him as he grabs the guitar case, hauls it up the stairs, only moving to step out of the way.

Steve's eyes scan the living room and kitchen, something in his chest loosening as he does. There are mugs and hats covering the walls, a worn sofa, clutter on every surface. It's home in a way Steve has never experienced. He loves it.

"Alright, let it out, Harrington. I'm poor, etc."

"No!" Steve startles; hadn't realized he'd been staring so obviously. "I like it."

Eddie makes a face, but offers him a beer and guides him to sit on the couch.

"How much do you know?" Eddie asks without preamble.

He strums a couple of notes, things he picked up at summer camp ages ago. Munson nods. "Better than I expected."

Eddie runs through notes and chords, helps Steve get his fingering right. He's patient, almost kind, and he laughs softly as he gently corrects Steve's mistakes.

And Steve's fingers, they won't behave, keep slipping off the strings. Eddie arranges himself to drape around his shoulders, fits their hands together. He's warm, fingers long and callused, his rings slightly colder than Steve's skin.

"Like this, Harrington." And he and Steve strum in tandem, and Steve is caught by the light glinting in his curls, the softness of his dark brown eyes, the fullness of his pink lips. He wonders how soft they are, what they taste like, if Eddie would cling to him or take control.

"You with me, Steve?" Eddie asks, shocking him back to the present.

"Yeah, yes, right here. Sorry." He throws himself into learning, but can't stop stealing little looks at the man teaching him.

And Steve, he knows it's not a bet anymore. He'll tell Hagan and Hargrove he's out, take whatever shit they give him, and Eddie never has to know.

---

A month in, Steve walks into the trailer and sees those little figurines, like the kids have for their game, scattered on the coffee table; sheets of paper with scrawled writing and doodles lining the floor; one of those weird manual things that Dustin always lugs around sitting open on the couch.

"Fuck, Stevie, I'm sorry. Lost track of time." Eddie's face turns pink as he gathers the looseleaf and slams the book closed.

"You play that dragon game?" He asks. He picks up one of the figures, studies the meticulous paint. It does something weird to his heart.

"What did you think Hellfire--Wait." Eddie pauses. "Why do you--Steve Harrington--know about dnd?"

"The kids I babysit play."

Eddie stares at him openmouthed. "Shit, sweetheart. You've been holding out on me. You ever join them?"

"Nah. To tell you the truth, they're pretty intimidating about it."

Eddie laughs, drawing Steve's eyes to his slender neck. "You scared of children, Stevie?"

"You haven't met them, man. They're terrifying."

"You know," Eddie's eyelashes flicker. "I run a campaign with Hellfire after school every Friday. You could--if you wanted--you could come. You're probably busy, I know, but if you find some free time and you wan--

"Eddie!" Steve laughs. "I wouldn't miss it."

"Really?"

"Promise."

---

He shows up that first Friday to some mixed reactions from most of the Hellfire members, and Eddie's shy, pleased smile. They make eye contact and Steve's stomach swoops.

"You came," Eddie says when they get a second alone.

"I told you I would." Steve laughs.

"C'mon, you're going to tell me this isn't a hopelessly lame way for King Steve to spend a Friday night?"

"Maybe." Steve nudges Eddie's chest. "And maybe I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Steve watches them play and is transfixed. He's never seen Eddie totally in his element. His voice goes deep and rumbly, doing accents, shouting, jumping around, banging on the table. Steve can't pull his eyes away, doesn't want to, can't stop smiling.

"What'd you think?" Eddie asks when the session is over and they're alone. His hands shuffle through his notebook, eyes fixed firmly on the table.

Steve grabs his wrists, soft, careful. "Amazing, Eddie," he says. "You were amazing."

"Really?" Eddie's throat bobs. He finally looks up, meets Steve's eyes.

"Never seen anything like you." His eyes drift to Eddie's mouth. The space between them shrinks.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah?" his voice waivers.

"Can I kiss you?"

He thinks Eddie might pull away, freeze up, but instead his eyelashes flutter, his lips shaping into a gentle smile. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

Steve laughs, slips his fingers through Eddie's hair, closes the distance between them. It starts sweet and soft, until Eddie's tongue brushes his bottom lip and Steve opens for him, lets him take control, as easy as anything. For the first time, he lets someone else lead, sinks into it, into Eddie. It's perfect.

---

Prom court nominations come out with Steve number one on the ballot for king. The other nominees are Billy, Tommy, and some weirdo religious zealot junior Steve barely knows, Jason Carver.

He doesn't think much of it, having slipped so easily into a version of himself that sits at the Hellfire table at lunch, spends evenings at the Munson trailer and nights in Eddie's bed. Sure, he catches Hargrove glaring at him throughout the day, but pays it no mind. Billy Hargrove's always pissed about something, anyway.

So, he's unprepared when Hargrove and Hagan corner him that afternoon as he's waiting for Eddie to finish up a deal. There's a kick in his stomach, a swirl of nausea, at their presence. He didn't ever tell Eddie about the bet, figured it didn't matter since they were together, since they both started falling.

"Think you're hot shit, Harrington?" Hargrove asks. Hagan laughs like he's never heard a real joke before.

"I'm out," he says in way of answer. "Bet's over."

"Stevie-Boy, I don't think you understand," Hagan says.

"Nah, I'm not doing it." Worry prickles at his scalp. Eddie will be done soon, and he needs Billy and Tommy gone.

Hargrove pinches Steve's chin in his grip. "We made a bet, and you're seeing it through."

"Hey, hey, hey," the last voice Steve wants to hear right now shouts. "What the fuck is going on here? Get the fuck off him, Hargrove."

Billy's wrenched away, but he's laughing, and Steve is frozen at the train wreck unfolding in front of him.

"Harrington tell you about the bet?" Billy asks.

"Bet?" Eddie's nose wrinkles in the cute way Steve loves and he's terrified of what comes next.

"Uh-huh. Hagan and I bet Harrington here that he couldn't date the biggest dud in school and still wind up prom king. Little did we know, I guess."

Steve watches as the words hit Eddie, as he processes them, as his face falls. His gut twists as he watches his boyfriend go tense.

"What?" Eddie's eyes widen with panic.

Tommy's face contorts into a cruel smile."You didn't think Harrington was actually into you, did you?"

Eddie doesn't respond, won't look at any of them, draws into himself.

Hargrove snickers. "That's what I thought. Have a good night." He gives them a pageant queen wave as he walks away.

Steve's crosses to Eddie as soon as the other two are gone, but Eddie flinches, stopping him in his tracks.

"Was I bet, Steve?" He asks. His voice cracks.

"It wasn't like that, Ed, I swear. I swear." He grabs Eddie's shoulders, and again, he's pushed away.

"You didn't answer the question."

"It was real for me," Steve babbles. "It was all real for me. I promise."

"Answer me!" Tears limn his eyes. "Was I a bet?"

"It wasn't like--"

"Was I a fucking bet?" He yells and Steve can't take it. Can't take the hurt all over Eddie's face, the betrayal. Wants to erase it, to make everything okay, to get back to where they were last night, wrapped in Eddie's bedsheets, giggling.

"It started as a bet, okay? It did. I messed up by not telling you. I know I did. But I like you so much. I--I--" Steve loves him. He knows without any doubt, but he can't say it not now, not for this.

"Fuck you, Harrington," Eddie says. His voice is even but his face is a wreck.

"Please, Eddie." Steve begs. "Please. Give me a chance to explain. You're everything."

Eddie doesn't respond. He climbs into his van, drives away without a second glance.

---

He tries to apologize.

He tries to apologize, but Eddie isn't at school, not at first, and the death glare he gets from the Hellfire guys lets him know he's no longer welcome. When Eddie does come back he won't so much as look at Steve.

He goes to the trailer park where Wayne--Wayne who he watched sports with, Wayne who liked him--stands on the steps and says, "I don't think you have any business here anymore, kid. Not if you know what's good for you." And Steve nods and goes home and cries.

---

Steve stands on the stairs of the Munson trailer in his tux with a bouquet of flowers that are so purple they're almost black and a self-recorded tape in his hands. Prom is tonight but he has no interest in going to the dance that started all this bullshit.

Music pounds from inside; Judas Priest, he thinks. Eddie's van is in the driveway and Wayne's car is not.

The music quiets at his knock, and his heart pounds in the silence. Eddie frowns when he opens the door, but it morphs into something infinitely sadder when he sees Steve.

"Aren't you supposed to be at a dance?" Eddie asks.

"No, I--I didn't want to go. I wanted to say--Eddie, I'm sorry. I should've told you the truth from the beginning. I was afraid of losing you, and you learned the truth in the worst possible way."

Eddie doesn't speak or move, so Steve barrels on.

"I--uh--I ordered these for you. Before we broke up. And I just thought--you should still have them. That you would like them."

Eddie takes the flowers like he's in a daze.

"And uh, this too," Steve places the cassette in Eddie's hand. "It's um, stupid, probably? But I miss you and I'm sorry and just--take it."

---

Steve's been at the quarry for two hours, staring up at the stars from the hood of his car. He should go, probably. Eddie clearly isn't going to show. But he can't make himself. If he stays here, looking at the sky, losing Eddie won't be real.

He's dozing off, almost asleep, when the shine of headlights has him blinking alert. A familiar van trundles to a stop next to him, and Eddie climbs out. He's wearing a snug black button-down with a deep purple rose pinned to his chest, tight black jeans, and shining black boots.

"You came." Steve scrambles off his car, graceless in his relief, his gratitude.

Eddie nods. "Wasn't sure if I should but--" he shrugs.

"I'm glad you did. Thank you. I--" he swallows. "Eddie, I'm so sorry. I'll do anything, anything if it means you'll forgive me."

"Anything?" Eddie's mouth turns up at the corner.

Steve nods, firm. "I promise."

"You learned 'Rainbow in the Dark' for me."

"I did."

"That's a really hard song." Eddie smiles but tears track down his cheeks.

Steve laughs. "It's so hard."

Somehow, without Steve noticing, their fingers are entwined. Eddie lifts their joined hands, studying them. "Oh, baby, your calluses."

"Yeah." Steve blushes. "It was important I got it right."

Eddie's mouth drops as he stares, studying Steve's eyes.

"I know it took you a lot to trust me," Steve says. "And I know I broke that, but please, please try to believe me when I say that it was real for me. From the beginning. It was all real."

Eddie clears his throat. "When did you know?"

Steve's smile is soft. "That first guitar lesson. You arranged my fingers and you just--you were so beautiful."

"Oh," Eddie breathes.

"I was an idiot, Ed. I fell in love with you, and thought I could back out of the bet, that you never had to know. I never meant to hurt you."

"Wait...love me?"

Steve freezes. He hadn't meant to say that, not yet, not when things are so tenuous. "Yeah. I--yeah, I love you, Eddie."

"That's funny, sweetheart. Cause I love you too, and four hours ago I thought falling for you was the worst mistake I've ever made."

Steve's smile matches Eddie's now. "Dance with me?" he asks.

There's no music; just the whirr of early spring insects, the rustle of leaves, but Eddie still smirks, and pulls Steve close. They sway against each other, beaming, glowing, brighter than the stars.

"You're missing your prom, Stevie," Eddie says.

"Nah. I'm not missing anything. I have you."

[musetheapothecary]

and I don't smoke (except for when I'm missing you)

matsukawa issei x fem!reader (nsfw)

Fog curls damp fingers up around her jaw, tracing paths of condensation across her pink cheeks. A bead of sweat tickles behind her ear, dripping down to pool in the cup of her clavicle. The air burns her nose, hot and sticky and laced with artificial sweetness. The water swirls around her bent knees, a muted shade of pink, cut through with (what the clerk had assured her was eco-friendly and biodegradable) glitter. Clumps of it stick to her shin, smears of silver refracting the weak overhead light.

The blunt sags from the tips of her fingers, and smoke dances out from her mouth and around the fog. She watches it billow towards the ceiling through heavy lidded eyes.

Someone outside is playing something loud and fast with too much bass. Makki, probably. Hajime has the decency to use headphones. The holds the blunt aloft and dips her head under for a moment, sighing out a stream of bubbles. The world pauses, muted, blissfully quiet. She rises and spits out a mouthful of pink. It certainly doesn't taste like bubblegum.

The bath had sounded like a good idea when she'd arrived home, bedraggled and aching from a too-long day, but the angle she's had to fold herself at to fit in their sad excuse for a tub is doing little for the stiffness of her spine. Her ass is bloodless from how long she's spent sitting against the ceramic and there's a numb divot at the back of her neck from where she's draped it over the lip.

She had other, better, stress-relievers. Ones that left her with much sweeter aches and pains.

But they were still at work.

In the fogged up mirror there's a slew of faded finger-drawn hearts, along with a smattering of toothpaste. She tries to read patterns in the flecks of white, drawing constellations with her eyes.

Finding meaning in the mundane, that's what it's all about. That's what her mother always liked to say.

“It means I need to clean,” she says through a mouthful of smoke, dragging sharp nails over her sweat-slick scalp.

Having four roommates was mostly only fun on paper.

Nails tangle in her hair, which has been melting its way out of a bun for the past hour.

The doorhandles jiggles twice, then swings open. Most of the men of the house would've heard the crooning voice of Mitski through her battered phone speaker (abandoned in the sink, for better acoustics) and left her well enough alone. Which means its either Shittykawa trying to nab her chapstick or—

“Issei,” she breathes out, the last syllable—along with her breath and a heavy lungful of weed—are lost to his lips.

Without speaking he tugs his shirt up and over his head with one hand, the other working at the tie in her hair. It spills down over her shoulders and he gives it a gentle tug.

“Care to share?”

She's not sure whether he means the tub or the blunt, so she scooches forwards, knees knocking against the sides, and hands the dwindling dart over to him.

Issei makes quick work of his belt and pants and both of his hole-strewn socks before sinking down beside her. She can feel the smoke he exhales against the back of her neck before he presses a dozen light kisses there.

If the bath seemed cramped before it is now practically non-existent, smothered beneath his abnormally tall build. She doesn't mind it, not when she can feel the drag of his skin against her own and the plush of his muscles cradling her head. He smells good, too. Better than the too-sweet bubblegum of her bath.

His voice is rough when he speaks, hoarse in a way that she'd expect from shouting or screaming, but this is Issei she's talking about and he's never once raised his voice for anything. “Shit day?”

“Better now,” she says lightly, and is surprised to find that she means it.

He rewards her with a slow, wet kiss to the nape of her neck and a hand tucked into the cradle of her thighs. She sort of wishes she could see him, this big dark-eyed man crowded into her pink and glittery bath, but the thought vanishes as her eyes slide shut in a drawn out moan.

The hand that is not currently sunk into her heat hovers in front of her face, offering her the last puff of her joint.

“All—shit—y-yours,” she manages, slipping further into the bath as she just about liquifies in his grasp.

He takes his time with it, like he does with everything. Working her up in a way that borders on lazy. But it's so good. Exactly what she needed. Especially when he curls his fingers right there and—

He huffs out a smoke-laced laugh. “Thanks, baby.”

—Oh. She'd been babbling, hadn't she? It really had been a long day.

[cranberrymoons]

checking it twice

prompt: open mic night (@steddieholidaydrabbles) rating: t word count: 666 words 😱 tags: coffee shop au, modern setting, established relationship

hi friends! i've been hard at work on what i've been affectionately thinking of as a fic advent calendar – bite-sized fics posting every day during the month of december. enjoy!

---

Steve feels his cheeks go pink and start to thaw out as he steps from the chill of outside into the warmth of the shop, ice crystals melting in his hair and making it go damp, wilting a little where it falls into his eyes. He pulls his gloves off and shoves them in his pockets, shaking his hands out to warm them.

Max looks up from her phone at her usual place behind the register, curled up on a stool with a knee pulled to her chest. When she catches sight of him, she rolls her eyes, tilting her head back to shout in the general direction of the kitchen,

“Hey asshole. Your little friend’s here.”

Steve resists the urge to laugh as he takes a step toward the counter. 

“You know, I don’t think you really know who you’re messing with,” he tells her. “I’m actually very scary and intimidating.”

She raises her eyebrows. “That so?”

Steve nods. He shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over his arm. She squints at him, and he matches her stare.

“Ask anyone,” he says. “You want a mean girl, I’m your guy.”

She watches him for a moment, then snorts as she lets her feet drop to the floor. She pockets her phone and starts in the direction of the back room.

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” she says over her shoulder without looking back.

From her, that’s practically a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Steve smiles to himself, tucking his nose down into the high collar of his sweater as he takes a look around the room, bustling and busy as they get set up for the week’s open mic.

Eddie emerges a moment later, hair a little frizzed out from the heat of the kitchen, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, cheeks flushed and happy. Steve feels the smile on his face growing warmer as their eyes catch, and he tries to ignore the flurry of butterflies that kick up in his stomach. 

“Hi,” he says, and – fuck. It’s only been a couple months, hasn’t it? How is he already – 

“Hey,” Eddie says. His smile matches Steve’s as he comes around the counter, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder as he goes. He catches Steve around the waist. “You look nice tonight.”

Steve laughs. “Thanks,” he says, feeling the flush creep up his cheeks. “I worked from home today, so –”

“No monkey suit,” Eddie says. his eyes widen teasingly. “No buttoned up suit and tie.”

Steve smiles. “Something like that.”

“Good,” he says. “I like you a little casual.”

“I know.” He tilts his head to the side, letting Eddie tug him forward into a kiss. “You like me every way though.”

Eddie hums. “We’ll see.”

“Oh yeah?”

And Eddie nods, swaying him back and forth to the rhythm of the music playing in the background. 

“What if you showed up in a clown suit?” he asks very seriously. “I’m not sure I’d be so into that.”

Steve lets out a little laugh. “Now I feel like I have to go get a clown suit just to test the theory.”

“Listen,” Eddie says. He holds up his hands. “I’m up to try anything once. If anyone could make it work, it would be you.”

And that definitely makes Steve flush, which is just – he can’t believe he’s blushing over Eddie telling him he’d look good in a clown suit…? What is that even –

“You ready for open mic?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows. He gives a little shimmy. “Going to surprise us all with your acoustic skills?”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, Drops of Jupiter,” he says. “Really wowed my college girlfriend.”

Eddie’s eyes flash. “Can’t tell if you’re joking or not. Kind of hot either way.”

“Hotter than a clown costume?” Steve asks, raising his eyebrows.

Eddie laughs, face breaking into a ridiculous grin. 

“Guess we’ll just have to try out both and see.”

[also on ao3]

[what-have-i-unleashed]

dining etiquette

something short this time. finally closing the "murder time trio bullying cross" series with this one :3

(warning: killer sans' usual shenanigans)

"you eat like a caveman" is what killer says to cross on a random mission where they have to stand guard outside a door to a warehouse horror and dust are raiding. there was no preamble to the topic, just killer's usual unexpected unfiltered comments that cross has slowly grown used to.

"what," cross can't help but say, to which killer answers with the same nonchalant tone as before.

"the way you eat, soldier boy - it's horrible. you don't even know how to use fork and knife."

"why would i need to?"

"well," killer drapes one arm over cross' shoulders. "you're one of nightmare's henchmen now, and we have standards. as your mentor, i have to teach you proper dining etiquette."

and so, here are cross and killer in the dining hall, cross sitting at the table with an organized set of tableware in front of him and killer standing right behind him, front to his back. cross can't help feeling antsy when he's so aware how close killer is standing to him, leaning in with his voice just over cross' head.

"-you would want to go from the outside in with the utensils. the soup is first in every course so use the soup spoon on you right."

cross picks up the spoon and pretends to use it. "like this?"

"mmm yep. small portions, okay? be demure. be mindful."

"so, when i finish the soup..."

"put your spoon on the saucer, not the bowl, so the servers know that you're done with it."

cross does it, and killer gives him a small pat on the back. "that's good, crossy."

cross flushes and hopes killer doesn't notice it. he fiddles with his napkin nervously as killer puts the first set of dishes away.

"now we move on to the difficult part: fork and knife. well, at least difficult for you, that is."

"oh shut up," cross grumbles, but he still sits up to listen. killer says with a smile to his voice.

"no need to be so defensive, oreo. everyone has their weakness," the way killer says that doesn't instill much confidence in cross. "come on, pick up the furthest fork and knife. those are for salad."

cross grabs them, the fork in his left hand and the knife in his right hand. he hears chuckles coming from killer, suddenly embarrassed for reasons he doesn't know.

"what," he intones. "what am i doing wrong?"

"don't hold them like you hold your oversize swords, soldier boy. relax."

face still flushed, cross changes his grip, imagining he's holding a pen. yeah, that should work. but apparently not in killer's eyes, because the presence behind cross surges forward and envelops his hands in his.

"silly cross," killer grins, his mouth close to cross' acoustic meatus. "you should hold them like this."

still mortified, cross isn't prepared when killer twists his left hand back and jam the head of the fork right towards his left eyesocket. he yelps, unable to move as killer presses onto him and pins his right hand on to the table. if it was any other occassion, cross would be surprised at killer's deceptive strength. but right now with a fork skirting right before his eyesocket, cross can't do much but resist the bruising grip on his hand and scream.

"what the fuck, killer?!! are you trying to kill me?!"

"wow, you have better instincts than i thought there, crossy," killer whistles, his tone cheerful despite (or more likely because of) the attempted murder he was doing just a moment ago. cross is shaking in his grip as he endeavors not to be stabbed in the eye.

"if this is a prank, then it's worse than what the other two did!!" cross almost-yells, his face a different shade of purple than before. killer clicks his tongue.

"figures i'm the last one to haze you," he sighs, ignoring cross yelling "this is a haze??" under him. he's always last to the fun - how disappointing.

[myseungsunglove]

Fireplace Melodies | Ksm

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: none, just fluffy soft thoughts

Word count: 350

A/n: just needed a gentle day with Seungmin to soothe my aching heart. This is what came out.

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© November 27, 2023 by myseungsungheart」

It’s a slow winter Sunday evening. Your feet are tucked up under you on the couch, your favorite cozy high knee pochacco socks donning your feet, dressed in one of Suengmin’s hoodies and your favorite soft blanket draped across your lap.

Seungmin finishes starting the fire just as the sun goes down, the only light in the room that which the fire provides. He grabs his acoustic guitar, his oversized hoodie sleeves falling back down his arms as he settles next to you on the couch, legs crisscrossed underneath him.

You lean into his side, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he picks out a soft, nostalgic tune on the guitar. One that evokes an emotion of love from your heart. One that makes you fall in love with Kim Seungmin all over again. He then quietly starts to sing a song. Your song. The one he wrote for you that paints a picture with words about how deeply he loves you and how you will always be his forever. You are the reason he hopes that eternity exists because now he has someone he longs to spend it with.

His round hazelnut eyes meet yours, his mouth turning up into a gentle smile as he sings softly to you, occasionally glancing at the guitar to keep his rhythm. You wrap your arms around his waist as the song finishes and place a sweet kiss against his neck.

He sets down the guitar, his hands now free to cup your face as his lips meet yours to further express the love for you that the words in his song began to convey. Your mouths move in tandem, now more than familiar with each other’s wants, needs, and desires.

“I love you, y/n,” he whispers against your lips.

“From now until forever,” you reply like you always do as he wraps you in his arms and makes sure you know his words are honest and true.

[cakerybakery]

Adam couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was too much sugar and caffeine during the day, maybe it was the million thoughts in his head asking why he was down here instead in heaven or dead, maybe it was just a run of the mill case of insomnia. He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t sleep.

It was too late to be making noise in his room. He was too close to occupied rooms and would probably wake them up with his playing.

Adam had added a couple different instruments to his collection since coming to hell. A few classics, a lute and a harp, he hung on the wall as more of a decorative piece than an everyday instrument.

His hand hovered over them, he was in the mood for something gentle, but neither felt quite right and he went for his guitar collection.

Hell didn’t stop people from living their lives how they wanted. Turned out some people just wanted to make instruments. So, he had some pretty badass looking ones that played like shit, those were just decoration. But he had a couple good ones, the best was a gift.

An acoustic guitar, from Charlie. The first in his collection after he fell. He didn’t play it much. Adam liked rock, not the soft shit either. You couldn’t shred the same on acoustic.

But nights like tonight? He wanted something softer.

Adam went down to the empty lobby and took up a corner of a couch. He made some small adjustments to fine tune the guitar before he started to play.

It was an old tune. Something he used to play to help the kids sleep. He couldn’t quite recall all the lyrics.

“Don’t you weep? No.” He started the tune again, “dun dun duuuun, yeah. Don’t you cryyyy. Listen to daddy’s lullaby. I think that was it.”

He started over, “don’t you cryyyy, listen to daddy’s lullaby. Then it was, mama’s holding you tight.” He tried the next few cords but the rhyme didn’t come to him. “Everything will be alright? I don’t think that was it but it sounds nice.

Don’t you cryyyy, listen to daddy’s lullaby,

Mama’s holding you tight, so everything’ll be alright.”

It might not be one hundred perfectly the same but it sounded close enough. He play the same short cord a few times, testing different wordings and just enjoying the process when he heard the elevator ding.

Adam paused long enough to watch a ruffled Lucifer step off the elevator. His hair was messy and even his housecoat was sliding off one shoulder. He held a mug in one hand and started to turn towards the kitchens when he seemed to notice Adam on the couch.

“What are you doing up?” His voice too tired to hold the usual malice they often spoke to each other with.

“Couldn’t sleep so I’m just playing.” Adam strummed out a few cords.

Lucifer nodded, “tea?”

Adam wasn’t sure if he was offering or asking where it was so he responded to both, “keep going that way. I’ll take a mug if you’re making it.”

Nodding Lucifer stumbled out of the room.

Adam went back to his fun.

After a few minutes Lucifer was back, with two mugs. He passed one to Adam, who sipped it before putting it down on the table.

Lucifer slipped a coaster under the hot mug and sat down on the couch next to Adam. “I liked your playing in Eden.”

Adam rolled his eyes, “fuck off. You sound like a guy that likes Barry Manilow.”

“Ha, no. Seriously, you were always very talented.” Lucifer yawned, his eyes already half closed.

He ignored the compliment and started playing again.

Lucifer leaned back against the couch, his hands started to go limp. Adam caught the mug before it could spill and burn Lucifer. He put it on a coaster on the table and started to play once more.

He looked down as a weight fell against him. Adam put the guitar down and pulled a blanket down off the back of the couch to cover them both up. He hummed and sang a few more bars that he could recall of the lullaby until he yawned. His eyes were finally too heavy to keep holding up so he let himself slouch down.

Adam nudged the cups out of the way and propped his feet up onto the coffee table. He knew his one arm was draped across Lucifer, but it was fine. The old bastard’s head was in his lap now.

Adam continued to hum to himself until hums turned into soft snores. He would be sore in the morning with a kink in his neck, but he wouldn’t have slept as deeply or as well since Eden.

[kpophubb]

♥︎ нєєѕєυηց'ѕ вσуƒяιєηԃ нαвιтѕ ♡

❥ Hot and cute things lee heeseung does as your bf !

♥︎🄶🄴🄽🅁🄴: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝖼 ᰔ !w:mentions of making out! // 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘦. 𝘐 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺." ♡

✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♡✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♥︎✼••┈┈┈┈••✼

☆ 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗦- heeseung loves to feel you pressed closely to him. His large frame engulfing your tiny one, his arms draped around your torso and his chin resting on your shoulder in a protective and safe hug. Once he buries you in his embrace, he’s quite reluctant to let you go..; quietly surrendering himself to the beating of your heart against his chest and the blissful harmony of your mutual breaths colliding. He wishes everytime so time would stop, and he could be holding his beloved you like this forever. :’)

☆ 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗧𝗔𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨- if you’re his girl, you’re definitely up for his personal midnight concerts and acoustic live covers of beautiful love songs. His raw vocals and angel voice penetrating deep inside your heart, unraveling your deepest chambers bit by bit and his artsy fingers playing the chords of his guitar, the sweet melody accompanying his sweet voice to produce a magical masterpiece.

☆ 𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣- heeseung loves to sing you to sleep. As your head is rested on his chest, he would brush soft pats along your back and sing you romantic songs, kissing the top of your head every now and then in between. If you’re sitting infront of him, he would make sure to gaze lovingly into your eyes directly, holding and playing with your hands, brushing his thumb with the back of it as he hits the most beautiful notes with his honey voice. He would always end the song sessions with “I love yous” and silly (but shy) confessions, and you’d be both laughing like dumb little dorks inside eachother’s arms everytime he has occasional voice cracks from being distracted by your captivating beauty.

☆ 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗𝗕𝗬𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦- goodbye kisses are a must or else don’t be surprised to see a grown up 21 year old man pouting displeasing against your door frame, making at you the biggest bambi eyes asking for a kissy. 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 it’s only when you give him a kiss on the cheek that he smiles and agrees to leave for work, but he’s the cheek kiss will never really ends there, for your romantic boyfriend would tug you by your waist and pull you in for a cheesy kiss on the lips as well. 😳

☆ 𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗦- heeseung is a total romantic. A hopeless romantic, who believes in buying flowers, leaving love notes and making grand gestures like kissing under the stars as significant. Thus, your doorbell ringing in random hours of the day, to opening them to a big giggling hee with a bouquet of flowers covering his rose is the very normal thing in your daily life. T-T <3 and every damn time, there’s a small handwritten note attached somewhere in the bouquet, and hints of chocolates accompanying the flowers on your rough days to cheer you up and make you smile.

☆ 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗗 𝗕𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨- hee is a total baby inside closed doors. He needs a lot of love and care, and smiles like a child when you bask him in your affection. Feeding him, cooking ramen for him, kissing his forehead, ruffling his fluffy hair and complimenting him a lot gets him mewling and curling into your lap like a happy little kitten. 🥺

☆ 𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗧 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧- isn’t this giving signature heeseung vibes? Cause this is how most of your nights are spent. Lots of laughter and midnight snacks, cuddling and messy kisses and at the end him bowing down whilst holding back his laughter like a gentleman and placing his hand out towards you to take it for a dance. He’s gonna rest his one hand softly at your waist and intertwine your fingers with the other, pulling you closer to him until his scent is infused inside your lungs like burning coal. Then, you both sway your bodies to the soft rhythm and lose yourself in eachother’s eyes while heartwarming and promising smiles creep up to your faces. Ofcourse, there might be some moments where your goofy boyfriend steps on your feet (accidentally) and ruins the moment by laughing out loud. <3

☆ 𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗬𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦- his love language is sending you playlists. He’s got assorted playlists for every kind of mood- for rainy days, for happy days, for sad days where you need to be loved harder, for car rides, for dinner dates and what not? Will send you Spotify links all day and be so ecstatic if you comment on his song choice and send him songs and lyrics in turn! 😍 sing along with him, and you’re his girl for LIFE!!

☆ 𝗚𝗟𝗨𝗘-𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗦𝗧-he has his hands glued to your waist all the time. Especially because it is so comforting to rest his chin on your shoulder and wrap himself to you tightly. Expect him to always steal kisses from you, and kiss your cheeks and neck so fondly whenever he’s doing so. Too often, the innocent kissing, turns to something far more steamy, his wet soft lips sending shivers down your spine as they linger on your skin much longer than needed.

☆ 𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗞 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦- your cheeks are his favourite cushions to kiss. He loves to press his lips into your soft skin, and even just mushes them and fondles them out of care and laughs at you when it makes you unintentionally pout and you frown at his giggle. Cheek kisses are his go to form of kisses, signature kisses that he’s always giving you before going out or right after coming home. However, when you’re the one giving him a kiss on his cheek, he’s as bright as a tomato, blushing and being dorky like a teenager experiencing love for the first time.

☆ 𝗠𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗬 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦- heeseung’s a messy kisser. Kissing you so deeply and passionately while pressing you to whatever surface is behind, one second having his fingers in your hair and the other, his hands running up and down your hips. He makes you tiptoe to reach him and the next second, he’s lifted you up with your legs draped around his waist, carrying you to the bed. When his kisses are steamy, you can feel his hands hover over your chest, cupping them and his tongue darting inside your mouth, venturing for his sweet dominance that leaves you breathless and gasping for air.

☆ 𝗣𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗬 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗥𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗦- being heeseung’s girl means getting the vip princess treatment. Hence, expect him to give you piggy back rides on his back, and being extra goofy at times, running around and pretending to drop you. But the cutest part is ofc how he carries you on his back especially after your night dates, as you ruffle his hair from fondness and he mumbles your favourite songs all the way back home. :’)

☆ 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗧 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗙𝗬- to make you laugh, he’d do anything always. From wearing weird head bands and sunglasses to doing silly little dances and expressions that make no sense, he’s always doing it all just for the sweet melody of your laughter that reverberates throughout his entire body and makes him feel so Damn complete.

☆ 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗦𝗜𝗧 𝗢𝗡 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗟𝗔𝗣- it’s almost an involuntary action, the way he pulls your wrists and situates you on his lap, draping his arms around your stomach, and making you face him so he can land a soft kiss on your chin. Whether it’s intimate or soft, you know he is always pulling you on his lap, stroking your hips with his hands and exploring your mouth- so wet and deep with his artsy mouth.💋🫦

☆ 𝗚𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥- man’s always so proud of you and so soft for you, ngl. He loves stroking your hand in easing, loving motions and patting your head to show his affection for you and silently deliver the message how proud he is of you. Gently caressing the top of your head with his palms and delicate fingers, occasionally even leaving a doting kiss on your forehead from time to time.

☆ 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔 𝗟𝗢𝗧- he’s your #1 simp. The kind of simp who cheers you on so loudly, but immediately gets shy afterwards lol. But still a simp right? He loves to call you his angel, his beautiful girl and looks at you with potential big bambi heart eyes. When you dress up for him, he sides your hair and plants a kiss on your shoulder, fondly gazing at your reflection in the mirror and calling you the most beautiful woman alive before giving you the most heart warming smile ever.

☆ 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗢𝗬𝗦- hee loves enhypen and thinks of them as his own family 🥺 so if you blend with them and think of them as your family too, you are easily the trump card holder to his heart! >.< there’s nothing purer to him than watching y’all bunched up in the living room, telling jokes and playing games, eating together and behaving like the best of friends! They love you and care for you so much, and so do you in return. {You get Bonus points: if you’re already an engene ;) <3}

☆ 𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗚- do I even need to elaborate?? Hee’s obsessed with g a m i n g. And if you’re someone who’s good at it or knows about it, he’s gonna literally see you with a different light and might even poke your back trying to find out your hidden wings cause to him, you’re the “angel of his dreams” lmao. Even if you can’t play games, he’s gonna make you sit in between his legs so cozily on his gaming chair, and blabber all about the different levels and how to play. He’s so cute when he’s invested in it that you can’t help but give in anyway.

☆ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗦 𝗧𝗢𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥- heeseung loves cupping your face and pressing your foreheads together, closing your eyes, bonking your noses with eachother’s, mumbling soft I love yous against your lips, stroking them in feather light motions with his. He often does this with you while cuddling the most, that leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

☆ 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗖 𝗘𝗬𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗦- eye contacts are his prime love language!! 100% gives you the most affectionate and loving doey eyes ever. Even when he’s sitting across the room for you or glancing at you from a distance, he’s holding eye contact with you and pouting his lips to blow a kiss. (And he soon laughs afterwards bc he’s just so weird in love😭) lee heeseung has a doting habit of losing himself in your beautiful, starry eyes with no idea of getting his way back. He’s just so so in love with you.

☆ 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗞𝗜𝗡- the feel of your soft, supple skin feels like heaven close to his lips. 💋😳 hence, he’s always looking for a chance to sneak his hands inside your clothes, touching your bare waist and playing with the hem of your under garments. He loves massaging your skin too, your exposed shoulders with ofcourse not his hands, but his feathery soft plush lips.

☆ 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗧𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗬 - tummy pats = happy babie hee!!>.< I swear he just goes into baby mode everytime he’s stroking your cute little tummy!! Your tummy is his c u s h i o n, he’s always mushing his face and nose with your stomach, making you tickle tickle and even falling asleep like that. He loves to roll his head on your stomach too, the way you laugh and twitch when his hair tickles your sensitive skin haha. All in all, he’s just the cutest baby ever for you!!!!! <33

☆ 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗨𝗚𝗦 & 𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗞 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦- his back hugs are intimate. Intimate in both a pure and hot way. The way he comes and drapes himself around your body from the back, pressing his heart beat towards your back and places his chin on your shoulder like fitting two pieces of a same puzzle together and finally having a beautiful, complete picture. He begins trailing butterfly kisses on your shoulder, bit by bit the feathery motions becoming deep with wet and hasty kisses plunging into your shoulders to your collarbones upto your neck. He loves sucking hickeys on your sensitive flesh and withdraws momentarily to trace the area with his nose, making you whimper and whine for more of his needy kisses.

☆ 𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥- making out in the shower, with the feel of the hot water on your skin and the feel of your hot, wet tongues intertwined with eachother as your hasty breaths collide and make the shower panel bleary. There’s nothing sexier than that to the both of you, the sound of your muffled moans cancelling out by the sound of the shower tap, his fingers and hands running over your silky, naked body. His mouth never only leaves your mouth fed, but makes sure to explore in every other sweet areas of your skin, making you tremble and lose your footing from how good he makes you feel. Like he gives you a fulfilling taste like you’re floating in heaven at the same time the taste of temptation that burns you as intensely as hellfire.

☆ 𝗣𝗢𝗢𝗥 𝗣𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗨𝗣 𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦- pls don’t even get me started on this one.. If you get texts like “are you wifi? Cause I’m totally feeling a connection” or “you know what’s on the menu? Me-N-U” randomly throughout the day, no you don’t have to take your boyfriend to a therapist, it’s just the way he is. T-T he’s low-key so proud and thinks of himself as funny, making proud smug faces and expecting you to reply. Even tho the lines are so bad, his expectant face is so cute that you type out a reply, cringing out and wheezing at the same time.

☆ 𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗢𝗞𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦- hee is a passionate vocalist and we all know how energetic he gets when he’s doing karaoke!! He’s gonna insist to take you for karaoke after your lunch dates, and tho it initially starts off as sweet serenading, soon enough, he will begin singing off pitch and loudly, embarrassing himself and being his questionable self, all to make you laugh and wheeze like he so adores seeing.

☆ 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗦- this is a must!!! Matching nike shoes oh pls! He’s gonna love to put your small feet in between his ones, gently tapping your shoes and teasing yours for being so tiny! But he finds it so cozy and will love to plan outfits together with the same shoes, and even take the Pinterest type couple shoe pictures!!🥺

☆ 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗟𝗦- midnight is his favourite date time. The world is so quiet, the night is so cozy and the city lights are so aesthetic and appealing. He loves making you wear his oversized jackets, and holds your hands, tucking your intertwined hands in his pocket and just walking in the empty streets while exchanging glances of blissful silence and heartfelt love. <3 y’all would take many blurry couple pictures (bc that’s his style) and kiss on the riverside, confessing I love yous and giggling together when you hear their echoes back.

☆ 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗣𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗦- he loves taking aesthetic pictures with you! The couple pictures we all envy and swoon over, making hearts together, hugging pictures without faces, forehead kiss pictures, piggy back pictures and what not! You are going to have a whole personalised album of your loving moments stored on his phone, and he’s gonna set some as his lockscreen and home screen as well! Proudly shows them off to his members too, but gets all chuckly and blushy when they tease their hyung for being so evidently lovesick. 🤭😳

☆ 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗜𝗡 𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗭𝗘𝗗 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗦- to heeseung, you look the most beautiful when you’re in his oversized shirts, hair up in a messy bun, bare face and just rolling on the bed or working in the kitchen. He’s gonna purposely request you all the time to keep wearing his clothes and you do so gladly, loving the feel of the soft material on your skin and scent on him lingering all over your body when you wear them, making you feel like home.

☆ 𝗖𝗨𝗗𝗗𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛- couch> bed for hee! Cause basically everytime you’re lying on the living room couch to watch tv or work on your assignments, clingy hee always shows up from nowhere and dashes to squeeze you! He lies on top of you, squishing you with his weight and just behaving like a big 21 year old koala. He thinks cuddling is the best therapy in the world and really, hee cuddles makes you forget all your stress and gives you comfort and joy, like a fresh dose of pure serotonin!

☆ 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗗 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦- once he starts kissing, he just can’t stop kissing you. You taste so sugary to him, the feeling of your soft lips and the warmth from your rushed breaths- the combination that makes his head dizzy and needy like a mad man starving for ages. He kisses you like he’s a dying man and you’re his last source of oxygen, pulling you towards him till your bodies are pressed together and the heat from your body slips inside his and makes him feel hot inside. He can kiss you for hours and hours with no end, usually continuing throughout the whole night that only cease at the creak of dawn, when he falls asleep with his lips still brushed against yours. Move an inch, and there he is whining in his sleep at the loss of contact while being still fast asleep.

☆ 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘 𝗦𝗢𝗙𝗧𝗟𝗬- another very lee heeseung type love language! He just loves how soft and pretty your face is, and he HAS to scan every nook and cranny of your face tenderly with his artsy fingers. Tapping his fingers over your eyelids, over your cheeks and nose, Cupid bow, lips and jaw. Gets so fascinated by you as if he’s seeing a human being for the first time, and looks at you with starry eyes that glisten with endless awe. (Yeah yeah, proceeds to attack you with kisses soon after) ❤️❤️

✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♡✼••┈┈┈┈••✼♥︎✼••┈┈┈┈••✼

🄰/🄽: this fic is very special, dedicated for our lovely @hee-pster ♡ jan, I hope this little fic brings you comfort, joy and makes you feel warm and loved. I love you so much.

Tagging: @csmicbot (sorry I made you wait so long for this) @cloudcutter @yjjungwon @ingkai

𝕻𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 & 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖓𝖏𝖔𝖞! :) <3