#Almost Zero Waste Kitchen

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.  

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.   

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something? 

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.” 

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you. 

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome. 

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.  

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.  

thank you for reading!! x

[holymusicalmothman]

I Can See You - Live Action!Sanji x Reader

Saw a post about wanting a fic with Sanji and this song that @its-a-show-stoppin-number posted and I knew I wasn't gonna get anything done until I wrote this. I've never written anything like this before to be honest. I kinda word vomited in a sense. The story just exited my fingers and here it is.

Warnings: Suggestive, kissing, secret relationship, nothing explicit, only implied, objectification of Taz Skylar's jawline, like. Why’s it so fine. Like. Dear lord.

No use of y/n, or those weird descriptor things, reader is gender neutral. Reader is however you imagine them

Word Count: 1.5K

Main Masterlist

It wasn’t something you had seen coming. It wasn’t like you, to be honest.

But he was just so damn charming. How were you supposed to resist?

Sanji hadn’t been part of the crew for long. A few weeks at most. But you had been watching him from the moment the crew walked into the Baratie. 

Tall. Strong. Nicely dressed. Polite. Respectful. Suave. Not to mention good looking. That jawline–in your defense, you HAD tried to ignore the blatant attraction.

Fleeting glances for almost a week, brushing past each other in the ship’s hallways. Fantasies filling your head. One specific dream of exchanging heated kisses in a dark corner had your mind racing whenever you were in the same room as the chef. 

It was impossible to function properly. 

Your job aboard the Going Merry was to document the events that occurred. Luffy thought it would be perfect to write down all of the adventures that would eventually lead to him becoming King of the Pirates.

And writing anything was impossible.

Blond hair and grey blue eyes kept your mind far too distracted.

So you decided to do something about it. 

Especially since you had caught his eyes on you repeatedly throughout dinner. 

So you took your time eating. A phrase which here means wasting your time until Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, and Nami had vacated the kitchen for the evening. Leaving you alone with Sanji.

As he stood to clear the dishes, your hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve and stopping him in his tracks.

You looked up into his eyes, your own wide with adrenaline. 

"Please tell me it's not all in my head." You said softly. "If it is, I promise, it'll be like this never happened."

"And if I say it's not all in your head?" He murmured the words, the tension so thick someone could have cut it with a knife. 

"Then I'd ask if you'd worry what the others thought. I'm not sure if relationships between crewmembers are allowed here. They weren't on my last crew. And I'm not too keen on asking Luffy if I'm entirely honest." You took a deep breath. "But I can't get you out of my head. It's like I'm addicted."

Sanji moved to rest his hands on either side of your chair, effectively caging you in. "So more like a secret mission. Just the two of us." He bit his lip and watched your eyes zero in on the action, a smirk spreading on his face instead.

You nodded, knowing you were in too deep to back out now.

Sanji continued, despite the fact that his eyes flicked down to your lips every few moments. "Everything professional, except when it's just the two of us."

You nodded again, your heart racing and palms sweating as the object of your desire leaned forward a little more, waiting for you to reach across that last gap separating the two of you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as that gap closed. 

As your lips careened into the chef's, he exhaled heavily through his nose, pulling you up to stand and then closer so you were pressed to his chest, your hands flying to tangle in his hair. 

The world around the two of you was a blur as you lost yourselves in each other. Clothes were shoved unceremoniously to the floor as you each tried to pull the other closer. You barely registered Sanji lifting you to sit on the kitchen counter, much less registering when the two of you had even moved from the table to the counter.

"You sure you want me sitting here?" You asked breathlessly, your newfound lover placing kisses down the length of your throat.

His laugh was husky against your throat. "It's a kitchen, darling. All the best meals happen in a kitchen."

That moment was the first of many. You had never regretted sharing a room with Nami more. While there were many kitchen escapades after that first one, the two of you still found a little thrill in having your secret. 

You spent time talking as well. You learned about each other. Likes and dislikes, pasts, dreams of the future. Sanji told you about his childhood with Zeff and his quest for the All Blue. You told him of your dream to be a famous poet one day and of your life on the sea. 

Something changed along those talking sessions. Something you liked. You wouldn’t call it a friends with benefits situation. You both knew it was something else, something deeper. 

Those words were just waiting to be said.

You two would lock eyes at random moments throughout the days and his eyebrow would quirk and you'd look away.

Nights would be spent with each other, sometimes words weren’t even exchanged. 

It was bliss.

One afternoon caught the two of you on the lower decks, encased by shadows. You had originally been working on writing down events in the logbook, but your lover had sought you out. 

Sanji had you caged up against the wall, kissing you with a fervor. As if you were the last meal he'd ever receive. 

He always kissed you like a starving man. 

However, you heard Usopp's voice getting closer to your hiding spot, calling for Sanji, and the two of you quickly separated and righted yourselves. 

He winked at you as you adjusted your skewed shirt. "You'll tell me more about how that dream of yours went later, right, darling?"

You smirked. "You wouldn't believe half the things I see inside my head." 

Sanji grinned, unable to resist capturing your lips in another kiss before slowly pulling away and heading down the hallway.

Nami cornered you later that day. 

"You've been hard to find lately." She stated. 

You shrugged. "I've been hiding away trying to find a quiet place to work on the log." This was the go to excuse. 

And Nami wasn't buying it. "It's been hard to find Sanji too."

Your eyes met her brown ones in questioning silence.

"I knew it." She muttered. "Sanji left his jacket on the floor in the hallway the other night. You do know we're not like other pirates, right? Nobody's gonna care if you two get together. 'Sides, pretty sure the only ones who haven't figured it out are Luffy and Usopp. But that's just a matter of time."

You were flabbergasted. "How in the--"

"You guys aren't very sneaky. Zorro found you two the other day. Plus the jacket."

Of course Zorro would find out first. But knowing that a relationship would be fine was also a relief to hear. 

You had just finished telling Nami about your's and the chef's so-called "secret mission" when Sanji brought lunch around a few minutes later. When he got to you, he handed you your food and your logbook. "You left this in the kitchen." And with a wink he walked away. 

"He's not even subtle about it." Nami stated.

You laughed. Sanji hadn't been subtle from the moment you met him at the Baratie. He had only stopped calling you 'madame' because you told him it made you feel old. 

He had immediately switched to darling, being far too suave and charming for his own good. 

You opened up your logbook. It had gotten easier to get back to your job lately. Apparently the dark hallway meetings and late night rendezvous worked perfectly in helping your focus.

You immediately noticed his note. 

"Meet me tonight"

You snapped the notebook shut, grinning like a schoolgirl,and Nami only rolled her eyes and shook her head. "You two are the weirdest." 

It was late when you began to make your way to the kitchen that night.

He must have been impatient, because you found him waiting down the hallway, still dressed in his suit and necktie. 

You never knew blue could feel like fire, but his eyes were smoldering as they met yours. He had you up against the wall in moments, his lips on your own.

He never did anything halfway, it was all or nothing. That thought crossed your mind as you began to lose yourself in the way he kissed you. In the way it was tender and yet passionate. In the way he caught your lip with his own. In the way he would sort of nudge his jaw forward in little movements. In the way his tongue always seemed to ask permission by gently touching your own lips and leading you into deeper and deeper kisses. 

You could drown in this man. 

The words slipped out in between kisses before you could stop them. 

"I love you."

But he just grinned. A smile so bright, were the sun out it would have felt threatened. Remarkably sweet for the heated exchange that had been occuring only seconds prior.

"I love you, too, darling."

And the heat was back. His hands, which had been holding you gently at your hips, slipped to lift you and press you harder into the wall as the passion returned. 

Only to come to a screeching halt as someone cleared their throat. 

Luffy stood a few feet away, struggling to mask his shock.

"While I'm happy for the two of you, maybe the hallways are not the best for such...activities?" he said.

You both nodded, mildly embarrassed to have been caught. 

As your captain disappeared further down the hallway, a laugh bubbled out of you.

Sanji turned to look at you, bewildered. 

Grabbing his hand, you led him away. "You heard our captain, gotta go somewhere other than a hallway."

Understanding spread across his face in the way of a knowing smirk. "I completely understand, darling."

I can see you, waiting down the hall for me, I can see you, up against the wall with me.

I can see you, throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you, make me want you even more

[gamerwoman3d]

Please Be Bi-Han 🙏

🔞 An MK1 x Reader 🔞

Part 2a(i): Sub-Zero discovers F! Reader

PART ONE HERE

🔞 Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞

The men split up to look for you. Liu Kang with his glowing eyes was the first to pinpoint the real path you'd taken. He slid up next to the almost imperceptible crack in the marble floor, knelt and listened. From just under the floor in your coziest panic room, he could barely hear you whisper.

"Please be Bi-Han, please," he heard you say.

He smiled to himself. To him, it was cute that you wanted Bi-Han. He found you first, sure, but the others didn't need to know that.

He looked into the shadows where he thought Sub-Zero might lurk. He gave a nod that direction, and then concealed himself nearby, intending to let Sub-Zero "find" you and lay claim. It was important to Liu Kang that you be amenable to changing your ways- getting the thing you truly wanted would make you friendlier, he believed. But he also felt a great deal of compersion as the creator of this timeline; he enjoyed seeing people get what they desire so deeply, especially when they are his friends. In short, Liu Kang would feel less excited about claiming you for himself knowing that you wanted Sub-Zero for yourself as badly as Sub-Zero wanted you. But what would excite him greatly, is the energy he would feel from the both of you uniting.

Liu Kang truly thought he was the first to find you. Until he heard your muffled shriek, barely audible over Bi-Han’s gravely laughter, which if anything sounded like a tiger tearing open a cello.

"How did he get in there," Liu wondered aloud.

Rewind a bit.

You'd snuck to the kitchen where a marble door opens in the floor. It leads down to a pretty, hidden designer wine cellar which does double as a panic room as it is well hidden. You thought the only way in or out was through the hydraulic marble trapdoor; but Sub-Zero had proven that theory wrong.

Truth was you were holding a glass of a very fine beverage you'd decided to indulge in while waiting to be "caught."

The cellar lacked seating. Seating would have been a waste of space in this vault; several of the wines in your collection were worth more per ounce than gold. But the value stored within the vault was the reason the room was constructed to be so incredibly secure.  You perched yourself atop the curve of a secured, horizontal wine barrel, feet dangling over the edge of the hoop to kick against the lid.

The thought of how his muscles moved when he ripped the steel door handle apart replayed in your mind. As the memory washed over you, you kicked your legs out straight and hummed from the sensation of anticipation these thoughts brought you. 

This was exciting. You found yourself absentmindedly humping the curve of the barrel just to put some comforting pressure on your excited cunt. Realizing it felt good, you let yourself straddle the barrel, toes dangling above the floor on either side of the lid. You pushed yourself down to press into the seam of your pants as you thought about it. You rocked yourself back and forth, trying to self-soothe the growing excitement before it boiled over.

“Please, please please be Bi-Han,” you muttered to yourself.

You swear you heard him chuckle from somewhere among the wine. You knew these men could be sneaky - they were ninjas, after all. You wondered if you'd hear them coming at all. The chuckle must have been your imagination.

You couldn't tell the red wines from the white any longer without putting the bottle up to the glow of your phone. This dark, the colors at a short distance all faded to blues and grays and blacks.

Then you saw something man-shaped in the dark. You illuminated it with your shaky phone flashlight, only to discover it was just a hoodie laid across a wine barrel at an odd angle.

“UGH. I wanted you to be Bi-Han,” you grumped.

This time the laugh was undeniably real. You didn't bother to question how he got in, you were simply shocked that the trapdoor never opened after you first shut it behind you. You turned and saw a man shape - different this time, undeniably male, large, and moving. The color of his ninja uniform faded to the same bluish gray as the other wines in the dark cellar.  You hoped this time it was really Bi-Han, but you had to brace yourself. You knew that without seeing the color of the uniform, it could be Smoke, or even Scorpion.

“Cute,” the gravelly voice said, “Cute, rich, calling my name all alone in the dark, aching for me, and all mine? Not to mention able to manipulate the global economy at a whim. I must be dreaming.” 

His voice alone had gotten you wet. You knew it was him. You wanted to run to him.

“Bi-Han!” you gasped.

He strode up to you, stopping when his hips hovered above the hoop of the barrel. He wrapped an arm around the small of your back and pulled you. His other hand went to his face to pull away his mask. You slid forward, into his arms, where he kissed you gently. Your legs wrapped around him and you squeezed, keening into the kiss.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he said.

You started to undress. You wanted to flash him. He held your shirt closed.

“Leave that on unless you want my brothers to find you naked. I can take you someplace they'll never find you. Not even Liu Kang could find you,” he purred against your neck.

He slipped the pads of three of his fingertips between the barrel and your clothed cunt.  He rubbed long firm strokes along the mound before gripping it lightly. He alternated between the stroking and the squeezing while he licked and suckled the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“I bet you're going nuts right now,” he said, “so let me ask, where did you learn my name, to call it out so sweetly?”

You felt prepared to pop. You tried to hump him dry, but his fingers on your seam held you back by the pussy.

“I know about you from… ungh oh god please… from another timeline. Mmm… yes… fuck… yes… It isn't important, Bi-Han, please fuck me,” you said.

“No. You would like that too much. I'm not going to fuck you until everything in this house is legally mine.”

“What?”

“You're gonna marry me. You're going to sign over all your assets, and I'm going to keep you, forever. You're mine. And there is not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Next Part:

Part 3a(i): Sub-Zero toys with F! Reader

[allnightstay]

Give me Apples 🍎

This is a Death Note Tickle Fic ~

Lee: Light

Ler: Ryuk

* I've just started watching the series, I'm on like episode 4 lol so if anything is off character, I apologize.

P.s. I went to sleep thinking about this little moment so here it is:

Ryuk has discovered his love for these juicy red fruits in Light's universe. What were they called again? Right. Apples. He really wanted more apples and knew of only one way to get them.

Light.

"I'm home... hello?" Light called out. Guess no one was home. That's perfect. He'd have all the time and space to himself without interruptions to carry out writing names in the Death Note.

"Hey Light." Ryuk started, but was cut off by Light who was eager to go to his room.

"Not now Ryuk. I've got lots of names to take care of and little time to do this." Even though he was a Shinigami, Light still acted as though he needn't bother caring about what Ryuk needed.

A few moments pass, Light has already turned on his TV and started writing names down in order to bring justice to this world. And Ryuk has grown impatient.

"Light, I need you to get me more of those apples. They're so delicious. I can't wait any longer."

"Ryuk just be patient. I'm almost done here." Light said calmly. His back was turned to Ryuk and had zero intentions of stopping his work.

After a few minutes pass, Ryuk gets too restless and starts thinking of ways he can get Light to just bring him some damn apples. It's not that hard.

"Light will you just take a second to bring me some!" Ryuk said, grabbing Light's shoulder and shaking him.

Light refuses, and that broke it for Ryuk's patience.

"Fine. I'll just have to make you stop then." Ryuk lifted Light up from his chair and dragged him to the bed, pinning him down so that Light was trapped in his grip.

"Ryuk what the hehehehlllll!?" Light feels his stomach vibrated as Ryuk goes to measures he never thought he would have to.

"Ahahaha stopppp!! Ryuk this is rihihidiculous!" Light couldn't manage to get out his hold for some reason. "Let me gohoho, why do you neeheheed apples so bahahahad!?"

"Because!! I want them!!! And you'll get them for me one way or another!!" Ryuk demanded, holding his arms now with one hand and poking his ribs with the other.

"I've seen you humans doing this and know it can be a great strategy for one to give up without any real damage. Is it working Light? ~"

Light starts blushing, cackling as he realizes he's far more ticklish than he imagined. He hadn't been tickled since he was a kid, but man he really hasn't outgrown it.

"Ahahahahaha Rihihiyuk plehehehehease, Ihihi cahahahan't!!" Light tries all he can to get out of Ryuk's hold. He finally realizes all he has to do is get some stupid apples for this cursed Shinigami he's stuck with.

"Okayhehehehay fine!! I'll get your stuhuhupid apples!!"

With that, Ryuk let's him go, and Light falls to the ground, breathing heavily to catch his breath.

"Jeez you have some kind of crazy addiction or something. Ugh." Light collects himself and goes to the kitchen.

Where did mom leave the apples? They're not where they usually are. Could we be out? Ugh. I really don't want to waste time going to the store. Oh well. His loss. What a waste of energy that was.

"We don't have any Ryuk. You'll just have to wait until we get more." Light said, sitting back down and grabbing his pencil.

"WHAT!? What do you MEAN you're out?? Go get some more!!" Ryuk wasn't having it. He grabs Light again and pins him on his stomach, grabbing his waist, sides, ribs, whatever it took to finally get the words out of Light that he'll go get more.

"Nahahahaha dammit Ryuk!! I cahahahan't, I hahahahave to write these nahahahames now!!"

Light withstands Ryuk's torment until a it was too much. He finally agrees to get more apples for Ryuk. That damn Shinigami. What a distraction he could be.

And that's that! :D

Hopefully this brought a little smile to your face. I hope it wasn't too off-brand for the show.

I know Ryuk loves his apples and imagined it would be funny for him to tickle Light to pieces until he finally gets him apples 🤭

Let me know what you think!

[goodstuffhappenedtoday]

Millions of U.S. apples were almost left to rot. Now, they'll go to hungry families

NOVEMBER 27, 2023 By Alan Jinich

It's getting late in the harvest season in Berkeley County, West Virginia and Carla Kitchen's team is in the process of hand-picking nearly half a million pounds of apples. In a normal year, Kitchen would sell to processors like Andros that make applesauce, concentrate, and other products. But this year they turned her away. ... Across the country, growers were left without a market. Due to an oversupply carried over from last year's harvest, growers were faced with a game-time economic decision: Should they pay the labor to harvest, crossing their fingers for a buyer to come along, or simply leave the apples to rot?

Bumper crops, export declines and the weather have contributed to the apple crisis

... While many growers in neighboring states like Maryland and Virginia left their apples to drop. Sen. Joe Manchin of West Virginia was able to convince the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) to pay for the apples produced by growers in his state, which only makes up 1% of the national market.

A relief program in West Virginia donated its surplus apples to hunger-fighting charities

This apple relief program, covered under Section 32 of the Agricultural Adjustment Act of 1935, purchased $10 million worth of apples from a dozen West Virginia growers. Those apples were then donated to hunger-fighting charities across the country from South Carolina and Michigan all the way out to The Navajo Nation.

Mike Meyer, head of advocacy at The Farmlink Project, says it's the largest food rescue they've ever done and they hope it can serve as a model for their future missions. "There's over 100 billion pounds of produce waste in this country every year; we only need seven billion to drive food insecurity to zero," Meyer says. "We're very happy to have this opportunity. We get to support farmers, we get to fight hunger with an apple. It's one of the most nutritional items we can get into the hands of the food insecure."

At Timber Ridge Fruit Farm in Virginia, owners Cordell and Kim Watt watch a truck from The Farmlink Project load up on their apples before driving out to a food pantry in Bethesda, Md. Despite being headquartered in Virginia, Timber Ridge was able to participate in the apple rescue since they own orchards in West Virginia as well. Cordell is a third-generation grower here and he says they've never had to deal with a surplus this large.

At the So What Else food pantry in Bethesda, Md., apple pallets from Timber Ridge fill the warehouse up to the ceiling. Emanuel Ibanez and other volunteers are picking through the crates, bagging fresh apples into family-sized loads. "I'm just bewildered," Ibanez says. "We have a warehouse full of apples and I can barely walk through it." "People in need got nutritious food out of this program. And that's the most important thing" Executive director Megan Joe says this is the largest shipment of produce they've ever distributed – 10 truckloads over the span of three weeks. The food pantry typically serves 6,000 families, but this shipment has reached a much wider circle. "My coworkers are like, 'Megan, do we really need this many?' And I'm like, yes!" Joe says. "The growing prices in the grocery stores are really tough for a lot of families. And it's honestly gotten worse since COVID."

"It's the first time we've done this type of program, but we believe it can set the stage for the region," Kent Leonhardt, West Virginia's commissioner of agriculture says. "People in need got nutritious food out of this program. And that's the most important thing." Following West Virginia's rescue program, the USDA announced an additional $100 million purchase to relieve the apple surplus in other states around the country. This is the largest government buy of apples and apple products to date. But with the harvest window coming to an end, many growers have already left their apples to drop and rot.

[anonymous-rendezvous]

He Comforts You - Shu 💜

Shu Yamino x GN!Reader

✦ — Written by Mod I ✨. Beta Read and Edited by Mod S 👿. ⏌

✧ — Comfort & Care Masterlist | 💜 You comfort him

✦ — Contains: Established Relationship, fluff, & comfort

✧ — Word count: 515 | Ao3

Snippets of time showing how you and your partner care for each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

From the second you’d woken up, it had become pretty obvious that it was going to be a low-energy day. Thankfully, no plans had been made for today and you could try to rest as much as possible. How this had all led you to stand in your kitchen looking down at the counter, you had no clue. However, trying to remember why the hell you’d come in here… your mind had totally blanked, thoughts clouded with static. Giving up on trying to remember, you decided to make your way back to the bedroom.

However, as you get closer to the bedroom, you can hear your boyfriend talking. Now standing outside of it, you try to recall if he had a stream to do today, but come up blank. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open and peek inside.

Almost immediately, Shu catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh hey, babe.” Turning his head towards you, he smiles and gestures for you to enter the room. “Not streaming, if you’re worried about that. We’re just playing for fun.” Amethyst eyes flicker back to the screen and a bashful giggle falls from his lips. “They all say hi.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips and you give a small wave before realizing they can’t see you. This causes Shu to laugh harder as you immediately hide your face in your hands. As the sorcerer explains what happened, you shuffle closer to him. Once you reach his side, you give his hoodie a light tug. His eyes meet yours and it’s then that he seems to realize what’s happening. With quick movements, he excuses himself for a second before muting his mic and giving you his full attention. “Blue day?” He asks, tone gentle. When you nod, he continues, “What can I do to help?”

“Can I–” you hesitate, worried that this might be too inconvenient for him, your gaze falling to the floor. A hand wrapping around yours breaks your line of thought as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Um, can I sit in your lap while you play? I think your body heat would really help me right now.”

With zero hesitation, Shu moves his mic out of the way before completely turning his chair around so you have enough space to climb into his lap. And you waste no time doing so. Once you are settled, face buried against his shoulder, he shifts back around to face his computer. He pulls his mic just close enough to pick up his voice and unmutes.

As he continued to play more rounds with his friends, whenever he died or they waited for a new round to start, one of his hands always found its way back to drawing soothing circles along your back or stroking over the back of your head.

Eventually, you feel yourself drift off, and in your last conscious moment, you feel his lips press against the crown of your head. Their softness blessing you with sweet dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Likes are nice and we do appreciate them. However, comments/feedback is what really motivates us to continue writing. Even just a keyboard smash or emojis are a joy to see!

We do not allow our stories to be translated or reposted/shared anywhere. The only places our stories should be found are on Ao3 or Tumblr. Nowhere else.

[rinneverse]

hi, can u do kunigami C, F, M, Y for the alphabet event? thanks!!

a part of my ongoing 300 milestone event!

[ ❥ ] RENSUKE KUNIGAMI + C, F, M, & Y!

[N]SFW CONTENT, MINORS DNI! cw pro player!kunigami, creampie, fem!reader

— c ; cum!

hands down, kunigami's favorite place to cum is inside of you. he loves watching his cum seep out of your used cunt, and sometimes will even finger it right back into you, no matter how sensitive you are. "don't wanna waste a single drop, do ya?" he'll mumble, dark eyes zeroed in on your weeping pussy.

if you'll let him, he'll want to go multiple rounds. he won't stop until he's satisfied.

— f ; favorite position!

i think kunigami's the sappy sort of guy to favor missionary, but when he's in a particular mood, backshots is his go-to. he loves watching your ass bounce with every thrust, pressing down on the arch of your back so he can hit all those delicious sweet spots within you. i think he'd also be into cowgirl tbh, he strikes me as that sort of guy.

— m ; motivation!

i'm not even gonna lie, i think that kunigami gets hellllaaaaaa love boners from even the most domestic things y'all do together. i might be a little bit insane but he just seems like the type, you know? he'll see you cooking dinner in the kitchen and he'll just get hit with the animalistic urge to take you right then and there on the countertops.

i also think that he's a big ass-man. so if he sees you in tight short-shorts, or only wearing one of his shirts w/ a pair of panties... good luck soldier o7

— y ; yearning!

kunigami didn't think he had a high sex drive until he met you. his stamina is almost endless from all that damn training he does so whenever you two go at it... you go at it like rabbits. at first, he would let you rest after one and wander off into the bathroom to take care of himself, but once you caught wind of this you told him, "baby, if you're still hard, let me take care of you. please."

after this interaction, you guys go at least 3 rounds minimum. but not to worry—kunigami is a pro at aftercare. ♡

thanks for requesting, nonnie ! kisses for u muah muah

[wellship]

I love youuu hope youre having a great day <33 also thoughts on sanlu as a ship?

I really like SanLu! They were not on my radar much until some friends started shipping them and that made me understand their appeal... I don't really ship them until after the timeskip (pretty much same as SanUso) but I think they're very sweet. There's something appealing about their dynamic - Sanji with his self-worth issues, and Luffy who loves everyone and all his crew members, but still loving Sanji most specially of all... Whole Cake Island makes SanLu EXTREMELY shippable haha. Sanji has only ever wanted to cook for the people he loves and he found a captain who doesn't want to eat anyone else's cooking for the rest of his life!!

Also for a chef who would rather die than waste food, there's something cute about him ending up with a guy who has an almost bottomless stomach and who will eat any disaster... Sanji can probably experiment so much more in the kitchen knowing that even if it turns out weird, Luffy will still eat it all and nothing will get wasted LOL. Zero waste chef X garbage disposal boyfriend OTP ♥

I think due to his trauma, Sanji can be a very emotionally needy person in a relationship, which might cause issues in with other people, especially if they have their own emotional hangups (like Zoro or Usopp). And obviously it's best for Sanji to address his emotional needs properly and unpack his trauma... but in the short term, it's also just very comforting and refreshing to see him with someone who has literally endless love and time and attention to give. Where Zoro might get annoyed or Usopp might get anxious because Sanji is in a "why would you even love me" spiral, Luffy would just be like UHH I LOVE YOU CUZ YOU'RE SO AMAZING!! LEMME LIST OFF MY TOP FIFTY REASONS. REASON NUMBER ONE: YOU SMELL TASTY ALL THE TIME. REASON NUMBER TWO: YOU HAVE A PRETTY SMILE. REASON NUMBER THREE: IT'S FUNNY WHEN YOU GET EMBARRASSED WHEN I SAY YOU HAVE A PRETTY SMILE. REASON NUMBER FOUR: FRENCH PASTRIES. REASON NU-

Anyway, it's a very cute ship! I kinda have to be in the mood for it, but I've made a bit of SanLu (implied) art before. My "Food As A Love Language" comic isn't explicitly intended to be read as romantic but you can certainly interpret it that way if you want and it explores an aspect of Sanji & Luffy's dynamic that I really like. Thank you for the message! I hope you're having a great day too!!

[thesolarangel]

A touch of cinnamon and spice

Chapter 1

Summary: Eddie and Steve meet for the first time at college under awkward circumstances. Well, at least for Eddie.

1.438 words · Rated: G · College AU, no upside down · fluff, pining, getting together, cozy cute fall fanfic with minimum drama and zero angst or warnings!

Thanks again to @elronds-pointy-ears for reading my first unhinged draft and giving me some thoughts on how to deepen the interactions between them! @niennawept for beta reading my edited draft, you helped me so much, THANK YOU again! …. and for @lady-of-imladris for helping me choose a title! I love you guys!

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1 · throwback · summer ‘86

“You’re kidding… College?” Eddie chuckled, staring at his uncle wide eyed.

They had been standing in the kitchen of their trailer home, a few weeks after Eddie had graduated, discussing where he could go from there. If it were up to Eddie, he’d just get famous with his metal band “Corroded Coffin” right away and tour the country, but these things didn’t happen over night. And it wasn’t like Wayne decided over Eddie’s life. He was of age, he could decide on his own. But Wayne’s opinion mattered to him greatly. This man had provided for Eddie for half of his life and he was deeply grateful for that.

Wayne crossed his arms and looked at him sternly. “Listen, kid, I know high school was tough –”

“That’s the understatement of the year, right there.” Eddie snorted.

He had managed to get his high school diploma on the third try. Keeping up with homework and studying for exams never came easy to him. He had had trouble concentrating and listening to what was being discussed in class and the teachers labeled him as lazy without even trying to get through to him.

When it came to math, history and other school subjects that Eddie found boring, it was almost like there was an invisible force pulling his attention away, keeping him from concentrating and it was very hard to fight that.

But eventually, with the help of a terrific new guidance counselor that had transferred to his school that year and the support of his uncle, he had made it somehow. Alumni of ‘86, baby!

“Eddie, you’re incredibly talented when it comes to the stuff you’re interested in. You’re creative, driven… I’ve seen the artwork you put up in your room… and you learned that puppet song within a week it came out.”

“Master of Puppets”, Eddie corrected him. And how could he not, it was a legendary piece by his favorite band.

“All I’m sayin’ is, would be pretty unfortunate if you wasted that kinda potential, son.”

He was right. Eddie did have a different mindset when it came to drawing, writing his own lyrics or shredding away on his guitar.

“Alright, I’ll think about it.” Eddie sighed.

A while later he had applied to a few public colleges in the area that had art programs. For his application portfolio Eddie had collected some design work he did for the promotion of their band, some pencil sketches and several elaborate fantasy drawings he did for his recent DnD campaign. And he had gotten in!

_______

October 5th 1987

Fall had always been Eddie’s favorite season ever since he was little. The deep red color of the fallen maple leaves was his favorite color and he secretly loved crunching the dry leaves under his boots. With every passing day of summer, he looked forward to cooler temperatures, horror movie nights and of course: Halloween. While planning his costume in his head, he put the hood of his parka over his unruly brown hair and made his way to class.

This was going to be his 3rd semester of studying fine art and so far he was doing really well, despite his own doubts. Learning about the subjects he was interested in and acquiring new creative skills had proven to be much more straightforward and uncomplicated for him than high school stuff.

College had given Eddie the chance for a fresh start. For the first time, he wasn’t the freak, the loser, the kid with the weird hair who listened to “devil” music. The university offered all kinds of programs and they had a big art department ranging from photography and fine art to design and film-making. So naturally, there were plenty of art nerds, film geeks and a variety of young people studying alongside Eddie. He fit right in and he had also made some new, real friends.

Jonathan, his roommate, was studying photography and English and wanted to become a journalist. He already wrote a weekly column in the school’s paper. Jonathan was the intelligent, kind, introverted type with short shaggy dark blonde hair and inconspicuous appearance. Eddie connected with him through his open-mindedness and his passion for music.

Argyle lived in another dorm down the hall. He studied film-making and worked part time at a local pizza shop from where he often swiped pizzas for them. He was a laid-back, approachable guy, who got along with everyone and also hugged everyone when he had the chance. With his long black hair, tall stature and colorful clothing, he stood out in most places.

Eddie thought he was very lucky to have met them since making friends had never been easy for him in the past. Both of them were very easy to get along with and they also had a lot of shared interests.

…

Eddie arrived at a seemingly empty classroom, illuminated by the bright morning sun. Several canvas stands and some chairs were set up for the students. He chose a seat and dropped his bag and coat on the back of the chair.

When he sat down and combed through his backpack for his pencil case, he heard something rustling from behind the nearby folding screen. Obviously not thinking this through, Eddie wandered over and found –

Oh.

His eyes landed on the muscular naked back of a stranger who was in the process of getting undressed. Eddie froze. Unable to take his eyes off of this guy’s athletic physique. His tanned skin was patterned with plenty of freckles that looked like stars in a beautiful constellation which Eddie desperately needed to explore. Those jeans hugged his butt perfectly and when he took them off, they revealed tight black boxer briefs and broad hairy thighs. Eddie wanted nothing more than to have his head crushed by those legs. Oh, what a way to go.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

A voice ripped him from his fantasy. Fuck.

The gorgeous stranger was now facing Eddie with both hands on his hips and a slightly cocky expression. Eddie noticed his beautiful hazel eyes, pouty lips and effortlessly styled hair. His strong chest was even hairier than his legs and a dark little happy trail disappeared at the rim of his underwear which displayed a significant bulge.

Fuuuuck.

“I’m so sorry!” Eddie almost yelled when he realized he had been staring. He could feel the burn of embarrassment on his face but like a deer in headlights, he stood there completely frozen.

The brunette smirked. “Don't worry about it, you're gonna see me nude in a minute anyhow", he replied in a smug voice. Eddie went even redder if that was at all possible.

Right, they were going to do nude sketches today, to learn some anatomy… Eddie felt he had already learned a lot.

“Alright, I’m gonna, uh… go, yes, I’m gonna go set up”, he stumbled backwards, averting the stranger’s view.

Little by little the classroom filled with students and their tutor arrived and gave them a quick instruction on sketching techniques when drawing from a live model. Two other students closed the door and blinds and placed a small platform in the middle of the room. They were ready to start drawing.

The handsome stranger emerged completely naked from behind the folding screen. He seemed very secure in his body, judging the way he stepped gracefully onto the platform, striking a pose the tutor had asked for.

Eddie tried so hard to look at him in a professional manner as he began sketching his beautiful body. He roughly outlined his proportions with some charcoal on his sketchbook. He tried to keep a straight face when his view landed on the model’s dick. And what a gorgeous one it was… Eddie felt his heart thump violently in his chest.

In a moment of carelessness when Eddie’s eyes wandered over his freckled skin upwards to his handsome face, their eyes locked. The brunette gave him a wink and held his view. If he was flattered or amused, Eddie couldn’t tell, his face was burning up once again and he tried to hide behind his sketchbook.

Focus, Munson. You just gotta keep it together for 20 more minutes!

His hand swept over the paper, messily sketching and filling in the model silhouette with charcoal. At this point, he didn’t care if the drawings turned out badly, he just wanted to get out of there, away from this awkward situation. Once he was done, he quickly packed up his stuff and rushed out of the classroom.

...

To be continued...

tag list: @starlady66 @bananaphanta @runawaymun @mistergandalf @fenharel-enaste @queenmeriadoc @elronds-pointy-ears @hbyrde36 @hammity-hammer @corrodedbisexual @spoookysix @rozzieroos @cranberrymoons

devider by @firefly-graphics

[something-tofightfor]

Red, White and True

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader (Life is Good pairing)

Word Count: 9915

Rating: M. There’s some smutty parts, but nothing explicit. Lots and lots of feelings though.

Summary: Almost a year after you first met Frankie and his friends, you’ve decided to spend the 4th in Florida with him. 

Everything goes to plan - until it doesn’t - and you and Frankie are forced to adapt in real time. 

Author’s note: This was supposed to be a stupid short piece about you and Frankie watching fireworks together ... and here we are 10k later. 

I’ve really missed these two, and it was fantastic to get back to them. This references things from Life Is Good, but I guess you could read it as a standalone and just have zero context.... if you really wanted to. 

If you want to read that first: Life Is Good Masterlist

Thank you for reading!

“I’ve got something to tell you, and you’re not gonna like it.” Glancing up from where you were slicing fruit on a large cutting board, you eyed Frankie as he stepped into the sunny kitchen. What? I’m not going to like what? “That phone call was rom Evie. We’re going to have to change plans today because I need to pick up Elijah.” 

“What?” Fingers tightening around the knife handle, you tilted your head to one side. “Why? Is everything alright?” He set the phone down on the countertop and moved to stand next to you, reaching for one of the cut pieces of watermelon and lifting it to his lips. He’s not hysterical, so… “Frankie?”

“They were at her moms for the day, and I guess Estella had one drink too many and tripped.” He sighed. “She fell in the back yard and hurt her leg, so Evie’s gotta take her to the ER, and doesn’t want to have Elijah sitting in the waiting room with her for hours…” He trailed off, frowning. “So I’m sorry, but my 4th of July is now going to include keeping an eye on my kid, and -”

 “I hope she’s ok.” You went back to what you were doing, the knife slicing quickly through the remaining fruit. “I only need a couple more minutes to finish this, and then I have to change my shirt.” He stayed quiet, though, and you wondered what he was waiting for. Does he think I’m going to be mad? “Frankie, kid or not I’m still going to get to spend the day with you. And I was supposed to meet him later this week anyway, so moving things up a couple days is …” You shrugged. “Unexpected, but as long as Evie’s alright with it even though she hasn’t met me, it changes nothing.” 

Finishing with the watermelon, you grabbed for the container of already prepped fruit and put it under the lip of the counter. You used the blade to pull the chunks from the cutting board and in to mix with the others, juice dripping over the edge, too. He stayed quiet, though you could feel him shifting back and forth beside you. Are you really that worried? When Frankie mumbled your name a few seconds later, you turned your head to look in his direction. “Are you sure? You know the guys, you could always go by yourself and he and I can -”

“Francisco.” Setting the plastic bowl and the knife down, you turned to face him. “I’m positive. It wasn’t like we planned on getting wasted, right? We’re going over there for a cookout and to hang out. I haven’t seen them since December. All of them know Elijah.” You shrugged again. “You’re worrying too much.” 

He stared at you wordlessly and then nodded, reaching out and sliding a hand around your waist to pull you closer. “Alright. I told her I’d pick him up from the hospital, and the one they’re going to is only about fifteen minutes from here, so…” He wet his lips. “We can leave in about ten, if that works for you.” 

It would be cutting it close - and it meant that you couldn’t cut the pineapple into star shapes like you planned - but you knew it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Yeah, that works for me.” 

— 

As the two of you headed for the hospital, you let your thoughts wander. 

It was your second trip to Florida, and the fourth time you’d seen Frankie in person since you’d left Virginia Beach. He’d visited Colorado in fall and spring, and you’d gone to see him for a few days in winter. But in terms of the actual amount of time you’d spent together, your relationship was still new. 

Things had continued between you from the moment you’d gone your separate ways in Virginia. To your surprise, it had been just as intense with thousands of miles between you as it was with only a fence separating your vacation houses. 

Over video chat and lengthy phone calls, you’d gotten to know each other better, Frankie telling you more about his past and his personal life and you filling him in on the more mundane details of your life and career. 

It wasn’t a relationship like any you’d ever had before - and the distance wasn’t ideal, especially with as much as you liked Frankie. And as much as he seems to like me. You sighed, blinking twice as you reached for the volume knob on the radio. He spoke without taking his eyes off the road, Frankie reaching up to scratch at his cheek. “You like this song?” Yeah, and it’s too quiet in this truck.

“I do.” You didn’t know what else to say - or why Frankie’s mood had changed so much since getting the call, but there was a definite chill in the cab of his truck … and you didn’t like it. “Frankie I’m going to need you to tell me what’s going on here. What changed? Everything was fine this morning and  then Evie called, and -”

“This is what happens when you have a kid.” He sighed, bringing the truck to a stop at a red light. “Plans have to change and sometimes things don’t work out, and you always have to be ready to handle any kind of … thing that comes up.” He turned toward you, the sunglasses he wore obscuring his eyes, though you could imagine what the look in them was. “You don’t have kids, so you’re not used to it, and it doesn’t happen a lot with Elijah, but it will happen. And I don’t want you to get the idea that this is a one time thing, or -”

“Frankie, your son comes first.” You scoffed, cautiously reaching for him. “Always. And anyone that doesn’t think that it should be that way is wrong.” Laying your hand on his knee, you squeezed. “I won’t lie. I’ve never dated anyone with a kid before, and it’s going to take some getting used to to have a little boy around, but…” You sighed. “You told me about him first thing. I decided I wanted to get to know you. I knew this was coming. You might not have him all the time, but you’re a package deal. I know that.” 

You knew that he didn’t believe you - knew that he’d need to see you interact with Elijah more than once before he trusted that you weren’t just saying what you thought he wanted to hear. And it’ll take more than this trip. But that’s fine.  “If it’s too much for you, I need to know.” You were moving again, following the flow of traffic as you turned onto a different street. “And I need to know the truth, because no matter how much I like  you, he’s…”

“I know.” You squeezed his leg, nodding. “But you need to give me a chance, Frankie. Today caught us both by surprise, but it’s not fair for you to just assume that I won’t … that this kind of adapting isn’t going to be something I want.” 

He didn’t say anything else until a few minutes later when you pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. 

Frankie guided the truck into an empty spot close to the entrance, swearing under his breath at how packed the lot was. He turned the radio back down, fingers lingering on the knob. “You can stay in here, and I’ll go grab him. No reason for both of us to go into that madhouse.” He sighed. “This isn’t how I wanted you to meet him, and I -”

“Hey.” Shifting so that you could look at him, you reached up, cupping his cheek in one hand. “It’ll be fine. You can save the introduction until we get to Pope’s if you want, that way we won’t be meeting over the headrest of a car.” That got a tiny smile from him, Frankie nodding before rolling his neck out. 

“Won’t be long.” He leaned in, lips landing on your cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

You laughed at that, assuring him that you wouldn’t. As soon as he was out of the truck, you reached for your phone, opening Instagram and beginning to scroll. Your friends were at celebrations of their own - Paige and Jordan hanging out together, Taylor spending time with her boyfriend’s family. You opened your group message and sent a quick text out to them - Happy 4th from Florida! Everyone be safe today and don’t do anything that’ll require Jordan’s medical assistance!  - before going back to your social media and thumbing at the screen. 

You understood Frankie’s hesitation. If you were being honest, it made you care more for him. There were plenty of men that would have been pissed that their plans had to change last minute. There were others that would have refused to pick their child up because it wasn’t their scheduled time. But Frankie hadn’t reacted either of those ways - and that said a lot. Because he loves his son. And he - 

A knock at the window startled you, your fingers closing around your phone as you turned your head toward the sound. Oh, shit. You weren’t able to stop your involuntary intake of breath, or the widening of your eyes at the sight of the woman standing just outside, but you hoped she’d understand. She’s gorgeous. 

You knew what Evie looked like. 

You’d seen pictures of her and Frankie and of her and Elijah in the year that you’d known the man. But seeing her standing in front of you was a different story. It didn’t shock you that even in the parking lot of a hospital’s emergency room, the woman looked put together and poised. With a pang of understanding, you got exactly what had drawn Frankie to her in the first place. 

Setting your phone down, you held up one finger and then reached over, unlocking the windows from Frankie’s side of the truck. Once that was done, you pushed the button to lower the glass on your side, reaching up to remove your sunglasses in the same motion. “Evie.” 

She paused before she said your name, one hand rising to grip the strap of the bag that was hanging over her shoulder. “Hi.” It was awkward - just about as awkward as any first meeting between you could have gone, and you didn’t know how to change that. 

“Do you want me to get out of the truck? I don’t… I wasn’t expecting to…” 

“No.” She actually smiled at your question, her head shaking back and forth. “This won’t take long, and I have to get back inside.” 

“I hope your mom’s alright.” You winced, nose wrinkling. “And that whatever she did when she fell doesn’t need surgery.” The woman rolled her eyes, taking a breath. 

“I’m sure she’s fine. She can still walk so I don’t think she broke her hip, but…” Evie looked back at you, nodding. “Thank you. Thank you for saying that.” The woman went silent then, eyeing you, but you didn’t see any of the things you’d expected to see from her in the expression. She just looks … nervous. “I loved him. I loved him very much, but I knew …” She sighed again, shaking her head. “I know it wasn’t going to be enough, and by the time Elijah was born, we both knew that we were better off as friends, even though we pretended that wasn’t the truth for a while.” 

“I… he told me …” You didn’t know what to say, and the woman’s honesty had taken you by surprise. “He said you were together for a few years, but that he wasn’t … he wasn’t his best self during those years, and … that it wasn’t fair to you.” Evie nodded, reaching out to settle one hand on the side of Frankie’s truck.

“It wasn’t fair to either of us, to be honest. But he had to change because he wanted to, not because I needed him to.” You took a breath at her admission, holding it when she continued. “Frankie deserves to find someone that will make him happy, and if that’s you, that’s great. The only thing I’m really worried about is my son. I would have preferred to talk with you for more than a few minutes before you met him, but …” She closed her eyes. “But Frankie’s known you for a year now, hasn’t had anything bad to say, and based on what I found when I looked at your profiles … I think it’s alright for you to hang out with my kid for a couple hours before you and I have an actual conversation.” Oh, that’s a relief. 

“Thank you for trusting me.” You curled your hand into a loose fist the bite of your nails into your palm keeping you focused., lips pressed together. “And I’ve told Frankie ever since he even brought up the idea of me meeting Elijah that I wanted to meet you first. I don’t have kids of my own, but I can imagine how nerve wracking it can be to let them spend time with someone you don’t know, especially when one of their parents is in a new relationship.” 

“A year isn’t new.” She laughed. “And from what he’s told me, you guys hit it off quick, so just because you haven’t been physically together that long doesn’t mean it’s any less a relationship.” She sighed, releasing a long breath. “He deserves to be happy. And if you make him happy, I’m not going to stop you from getting to know Elijah. But just … do me a favor, alright?” She put her other hand on the edge of the open window, locking eyes with you. “Don’t do what I did and try and force things to work out. Frankie’s really emotional, even though he doesn’t like to admit it, and he takes things hard. So if you’re not all the way in … don’t pretend to be. He deserves more than that.” 

“I…” You shivered, despite the warm air coming in through the window. She needs to know. “I’m in, Evie. I wouldn’t have agreed to meeting Elijah if I wasn’t. It’s a big deal to me, too.” She nodded twice and then smiled, pointing at the back seat. 

“I’m going to put his bag in there and then go inside. Frankie’s keeping my mom company right now, so I’m sure he’s ready to be done with that.” She opened the door and reached in, dropping the backpack onto the empty space next to the car seat. “Oh, fruit? Perfect. Elijah loves pineapple.” She straightened up, nodding at you one more time. “Give him some of that and you’ll be his best friend for the day.” 

Evie surprised you then by sticking her hand out, waiting for you to take it. As you shook, you tried to come up with something to say, but couldn’t. How do I follow that up? What do you say to the mother of your boyfriend’s child in the parking lot of a hospital? After a few seconds, you settled on something. “It was nice to meet you, but I wish it was under different circumstances. Maybe … maybe later this week, we can -”

“Oh, we can.” She grinned, her expression changing to one of amusement. “And we will.” 

She said goodbye and then turned back toward the building, leaving you alone once again. Holy shit that was … something. You rolled the window up and then stared straight ahead, trying to focus. That wasn’t what I expected. Not at all. 

You could tell that the woman still cared about Frankie, but unless she was an incredible actress, you hadn’t gotten any indication of jealousy or intent to sabotage when you’d talked. And that’s good. That’s good because - 

The back door of the truck opened, and when you turned to look, you watched as Frankie set a little boy down and into the car seat. “He’s sleeping.” The man’s voice was low. “Fell asleep while we were waiting, so hopefully he’ll stay that way til we get to Pope’s.” 

You watched in the rearview mirror as Frankie carefully buckled his son in, checking the straps twice before he was satisfied. He shut the door quietly and then circled around to the driver’s side, sliding back into the seat next to you. “All good?” You murmured the words, head turned toward him. Instead of answering, though, Frankie pulled the hat from his head and leaned in, his lips finding yours and lingering. 

“All good.” He kissed you again and then sat up, buckling his seatbelt. “You ready to see the guys?” A single nod was enough confirmation for him, and moments later, the two of you were heading back for the main road - Frankie’s fingers laced with yours, both hands resting on his thigh. 

— 

From the minute you got to the party  you were occupied. Frankie and Elijah got dragged off toward the inside of the house by Pope’s sister, while the man himself wrapped you in a hug and pulled you out and onto the back patio, one arm slung around your shoulders. 

You spent the first twenty minutes greeting the people that you hadn’t seen in months and getting introduced to some that you’d never met. Benny then pulled you away from Pope, leading you over to where the food and drinks were set up. There, you got roped into a conversation with Tom’s daughter and his ex, the shade of the overhead tent blocking out the sun so that none of you were squinting to shield your eyes. 

It felt good to be so accepted into an already established group of friends and family, but after a little while, you found that you missed Frankie. Tightening your grip on the can of seltzer that Ironhead had pushed into your hand, you excused yourself from the conversation and turned back toward the house. 

You were rewarded with the sight of Frankie stepping out through the patio door, the little boy once again supported by one of the man’s strong arms. Their prolonged absence made sense once you saw that both of them had changed - Frankie without his hat and wearing a pair of swim trunks that you recognized as Pope’s from the previous summer, and the little boy in a tiny pair of his own, along with a t-shirt that was covered in multicolored stars. 

Elijah was wearing Frankie’s aviators, the lenses dwarfing his rounded cheeks, and so you were able to catch the look in the man’s eyes when he caught your gaze. Oh, Frankie. You watched as his lips twitched and then he started to speak, tilting his head down to talk into the child’s ear. The arm he wasn’t using to support the boy’s weight rose, one finger pointed in your direction. 

When Elijah turned his head to look at you, the sunglasses slipped down his nose - and you couldn’t stop the laugh that poured out of your mouth at the sight. Oh, he looks just like him. You took a sip of your drink and then set the can down, taking a few cautious steps toward the pair as they moved closer to you. 

“Hey, you.” Frankie spoke first, the three of you meeting just off to the right of the patio and out of the way of most of the people that were walking around the yard. “Somebody woke up from their nap and wanted to come to the party.” 

“Yeah?” You smiled again, your gaze dropping from Frankie’s face to his son’s. “Well it’s a good party, so I’m not surprised. Hi, Elijah.” Frankie’s chuckle was full of warmth, and when the man cleared his throat, you knew what was coming next. Ok. Ok, this is … 

“Lij, this is daddy’s friend. Can you say hi?” There was no reason to be nervous - you were being introduced to an almost three year old that probably wouldn’t remember you the next time you visited Florida, but it was Frankie’s three year old - and you wanted him, at the very least, not to burst into tears at the sight of you. 

“Hi.” It was quiet and accompanied with a quick wave, but you watched as Frankie relaxed at the sound, his free hand rising to pull the sunglasses from the kid’s nose and place them back on his own face. You’d seen plenty of pictures, but seeing the two of them together made your chest tight. I need to see more baby pictures of Frankie. They look … wow. Elijah turned his chin up toward Frankie, the wide smile turning into a frown. “‘Wimming?” 

“Yeah, bud. We can go swimming.” Swimming? Where? There’s no pool. Frankie reached for you then, taking your hand and linking your fingers together as you crossed the yard and rounded the corner of the house. “Santi’s got a couple nieces and nephews so he has a kiddie pool set up over here.” 

There was a kiddie pool, but it was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Inflated and only a few inches deep, it was divided into smaller sections. One had a sprinkler in the shape of a dinosaur, another featured a small slide and the third was just water, though there were a few pool toys floating in it. There were two other kids already splashing around, and the closer you got, the squirmier Elijah became until Frankie set him down. 

You watched as the little boy pulled his shirt off, dropping it onto the ground and then ran toward the inflatable, his laugh loud when he came into contact with the water for the first time. “Watch him for a second?” Frankie spoke into your ear, his lips hovering. “Gonna go grab a couple chairs.” 

You nodded, eyes on the pool where the three kids were calf-deep in water, and then Frankie was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The other adults that were gathered around the pool were deep in conversation, though you saw them glance at the water every few seconds, making sure that their kids were safe and having fun. You tried to relax, too, smiling as Elijah plopped down and began swishing the water around with both hands. 

“He loves the damn water.” Frankie was behind you again, dragging a pair of chairs with one hand, the other carrying two unopened cans. “You should see him in my pool with his little floaties. He’s going to start lessons when he turns 3, but he won’t need ‘em for long.”

You took a seat, Frankie settling next to you and handing over one of the cans - the same thing you’d been drinking earlier - before cracking his open. “He looks just like you, Frankie. The pictures don’t … it’s uncanny.” He laughed, tipping his head back as he took a long drink. “But it’s good that he likes water. I’m sure there’s a lot to do down here that involves water.” 

“There is. Most of the kids I grew up with learned to swim real early. Lessons are a good way to make friends, too. I know he’s still young, but … never hurts, right?” You agreed, sipping from the can you held, the condensation running down and over your fingers. “I’m sorry about Evie. She basically told me that was happening whether I wanted it to or not, and -”

“Don’t apologize, she was nice. And I get it. She wanted to meet the woman that was going to be spending the afternoon with her son. I don’t blame her.” You shifted in your chair, turning your attention to him. “She didn’t scare me off, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“What about this? Does this scare you?” He gestured to the scene in front of you - Elijah holding a squishy ball in one hand and slapping it against the surface of the water while Pope’s relatives played nearby. “Because -” Tell him the truth.

“It does.” You swallowed hard, nodding. “It scares me, Frankie, but not away.” He frowned, the furrow of his brow deepening as he stared at you. “He’s not my son, but he’s yours. He’s a little guy, so right now, he needs a lot from you and his mom and the other adults in his life. And… as of today, I’m one of those adults, just like your other friends.” Well, not just like them, but … Bringing a hand up to grip the back of your neck, you nodded. “I won’t ever try and overstep, but if I’m around and you need help, I’m here.” You raised your can in a mock salute. “I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I’m here.” 

You took a long drink as he laughed, one of his large hands settling on your knee. “Nobody knows what they’re doing at first. I appreciate that, though.” Frankie gestured to the pool. “Pope’s niece Mia is only 4, and her brother Lucas is going to be 5. It’s nice to have a couple kids his age around when we come to things like this or do family shit.” 

He’d reiterated how close he and Pope were in the months you’d known him - explained that the Garcias considered Frankie family. I’m glad Elijah has that, too.  

“That’s how it was for me and Jordan.” You nodded, eyes drifting over the back yard and locking in on Pope, the man laughing with a small group of people and Tom near the grill. “Our parents were friends, so we’d always see each other at birthday and holiday parties and stuff. We sat next to each other in kindergarten and I had my first sleepover at her house when we were seven, and we never looked back.” He hummed in agreement, Frankie’s thumb moving slowly over the inside of your knee. “Mia’s gonna have mini versions of you and Pope looking out for her… I feel bad for any boys that try and get close.” 

“We’ve already talked about that, so you’re not the first to mention it.” Frankie leaned forward, gesturing at one of the women on the other side of the pool - Pope’s sister - with his can. “Lex and I were really close growing up, and when everything happened between me an’ Evie, she and her husband helped out a lot when I had no idea what I was doing.” He sighed. “Everyone helped, actually. And I don’t know what I would have done without -” 

“Daddy!” Your attention went to the pool, where Elijah was standing and staring at both of you, his arms held out. Frankie moved right away, leaning forward and setting the can on the ground between your chairs before he stood, walking to he pool and crouching down. 

You watched them for a few seconds, focused on the way his shoulders moved beneath the thin fabric of his tee shirt, muscles flexing as he reached forward and splashed the water with one hand. With the other, he pushed his sunglasses up to rest atop his head - and then Frankie went for the water with both hands, Elijah sitting back down and laughing as his father began to create small waves that rolled over his legs and against his belly. Why am I still sitting here? 

Pushing to your feet, you closed the distance between where you were sitting and the pool, kneeling next to Frankie and putting one hand on his back to let him know you were there. Here goes nothing. “This looks fun. Am I allowed to play with you?” Frankie’s head turned slightly toward you, and even over the sound of the party, you heard the sound of him whispering your name in surprise. “Do you want to play, Elijah?” 

There were a few tense seconds of waiting but then the little boy started laughing again, leaning closer and smacking the surface of the water to send a splash in your direction. Ok, this is a good start.

— 

An hour and a half later, the three of you were sitting at one of the tables with food in front of you. You’d delighted Elijah when you’d asked if he wanted pineapple with his lunch, Frankie looking on in surprise as his son enthusiastically agreed to the food you offered, the sticky juice dripping down his arm as he inhaled it before he even touched anything else. 

The little boy sat on Frankie’s lap as he ate, chowing down on chicken tenders and macaroni and cheese, and you were shocked at how easy it was to be around dad-Frankie after only really knowing him as the man you’d met him in Virginia. 

The guys came up and talked to you in turn, each of them sitting down and saying hello to Elijah first. He was enamored by Benny, the kid’s laughter turning into a shriek as the younger Miller plopped his hat down onto the tiny head, angling it back so that he could still see from beneath the brim. You laughed too, clearing your plate and Frankie’s to give them a chance to talk - and yourself a chance to take a breather as you headed inside of the house to use the bathroom. 

You gave yourself a few minutes to breathe, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator and then leaning up against the counter to look out the window at the back yard. This is going well. It could be so much worse, and awkward, and - “There you are.” Frankie stepped behind you, winding both arms around your body and settling his chin on your shoulder. “Needed a break?” 

“Yeah.” You closed your eyes, melting into his hold. “Not from you, just from the heat. And the noise, I -” He urged you to turn around, hands staying at your waist. “Frankie?” 

“Are you having a good time?” He frowned, lower lip jutting out in a pout. “Did you eat enough? Do you need a drink?” You couldn’t help it - the laugh that you let out loud as you moved forward and rested your head against his chest, both hands going to his shoulders. 

“Frankie, yes. I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” Leaning back so that you could meet his eyes, your smile widened. “Are you having a good time?” Instead of answering, Frankie nodded, tilting his head to the side and angling it to kiss you. “I’ll take this as a -” 

He cut you off mid-sentence, his lips soft against yours. You moved your arms to wind around his neck and Frankie pulled you closer in the same moment that he stepped forward, your lower back hitting the edge of the counter. “I’m glad you’re here.” He mumbled the words between kisses, running the tip of his nose alongside yours. “So goddamn glad you -”

“In my kitchen? Really, ‘Fish?” Peeking past Frankie, you saw Pope leaning in the doorway, both arms crossed over his chest. “And you’re right in front of the window, too.” The three of you burst out laughing, Frankie kissing you once more before he let go and turned to face his friend. “Your phone was ringing, by the way. You left it on the table.” Ah, shit. Frankie nodded, thanking Pope as he stepped away from you and then headed back outside, leaving you and the other man in the kitchen. 

“Food was great, Pope.” Clearing your throat, you crossed your arms, too. “Thank you for grilling.” 

“I do it every year.” He moved closer, hopping up to sit on the counter next to you. “‘Fish helps sometimes, but he didn’t want to leave you with Elijah ten minutes after you met him, so…” He sighed. “Tom was an acceptable substitute today.” You laughed at that, but didn’t know what else to say. I would have kept an eye on the kid, I just … he didn’t ask. “Are you guys coming to the fireworks?” Pope pushed off the counter and opened the fridge, reaching for a beer. “And do you want one of these?” 

You’d only had one full drink and the few sips of the first so you agreed, taking the cold bottle from him with a quiet thank you. “I’m not sure. He mentioned it the other day, but I don’t know what time bedtime is, so we’ll probably be back at Frankie’s pretty early.” You hadn’t even thought about it before then, but at the realization, it was difficult to keep from wincing. I haven’t had to think about a kid’s bedtime since … 

“We’re gonna head out on the boat around 7.” Pope looked down, checking his watch. “So a couple hours to figure it out.” Boat? What boat? “Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Pope’s grin widened, the man winking at you. “I hope you get to come.” Turning and heading out of the kitchen, he paused in the doorway again, looking over his shoulder and holding up one finger to accentuate his point. “Not in my kitchen, though.” 

That made you laugh, and when you stepped back out into the sunshine a few minutes later, you were still laughing, flipping a casual middle finger at Pope as you passed him. He blew you a kiss, unable to keep a straight face. When you finally reached Frankie again, the man sitting in one of the lawn chairs he’d pulled over by the pool earlier, you were smiling, though the laughter had subsisted. “Frankie? Wh -” 

He turned his head so that you could see that he was on the phone, and you immediately went quiet, lowering yourself into the chair next to him and searching for Elijah. The little boy was stacking blocks a few feet away, Lucas watching with interest. Mia was nowhere to be found, but both boys looked content enough and so you focused back on Frankie, chewing on the end of your thumb nail while you waited for him to hang up. “Alright. See you then.” 

Darkening the phone, he slipped it back into his shorts pocket, turning his attention to you. “Everything alright?” He stayed quiet for a few seconds and then nodded, his eyes moving to the boys and then back to you. 

“Estella tore her ACL. They just got the results of the MRI back, and they’re sending her home with some pain meds and a brace, but she’s going to need surgery in a couple weeks.” Ouch. “Evie’s gonna stay with her for the next few days, so she’s going to stop on the way back there and pack up bags for her and Elijah.” He ran a hand through his hair, dragging the curls away from his forehead. “I offered to keep him overnight, but she said no.” What? Why would she say no? 

“Why wouldn’t she want you to keep him?” He looked surprised at your question, Frankie’s mouth opening, though nothing came out. “I’m sure she doesn’t want to deal with someone that’s injured and a toddler at the same time, and we’re more than capable of -”

“She said she didn’t want to ruin your trip.”

“What the fuck?” It was your turn to let your mouth drop open, your head whipping back nd forth. “Frankie, it wouldn’t ruin a damn thing. We don’t have any plans for the rest of the week I’m here, and -” He shrugged, the smile back on his face. “If I wasn’t so happy with you, I’d be asking you why the hell you ever let her go.” 

“She’s a good person. Better than I am.” He sighed. “But it just wasn’t right between us. And all that matters now is that we keep getting along for him.” You understood that - and understood how lucky the little boy was to have two parents that were capable of co-parenting. “Honestly? I think she just wants him to be there, so your vacation is an excuse. She said she’d be settled in about an hour, so we’ll stay here for a little while longer and then we can take him back over there on our way to the marina.” 

Frankie glanced over at where the kids were, and your eyes followed. “OK.” There was nothing else to say - and so you kept it simple, nodding. “Will we have time to stop back at your house before we go? Because I had no idea there was a boat ride on the agenda, and I’ll need something to put on over this.” You gestured to your outfit, crossing your legs at the knee. “If not, I’m sure there’s a blanket or something in the back of your truck, but -”

“Yes.” Frankie reached for your hand, squeezing it. “We’ll have plenty of time.” 

— 

The drop off between Frankie and Evie had gone just as smoothly than picking Elijah up - Frankie carrying the once again sleeping child up the driveway and to the front door of a small but well-kept house. 

You’d watched from the passenger seat as he and the woman talked for a few minutes, both of Frankie’s arms wrapped around his son’s frame, the boy’s head resting against the front of the man’s shoulder. It was an endearing sight, but you still felt wrong watching them from afar - almost like you were intruding. 

So you averted your eyes, reaching for your phone again. There were a few messages from your friends - replies to your initial texts, pictures from the parties they’d been at, emoji replies to the picture of you and Frankie you’d sent earlier, the sun shining from behind you as you grinned at the camera and he stared straight at it, one eyebrow raised.

Heading out to watch fireworks now … apparently Pope bought a boat???? 

You didn’t know if anyone would respond, but it didn’t matter - the door opened again and Frankie climbed back in next to you, fastening his seatbelt. “Alright. You ready for my favorite part of the 4th?” 

“That party wasn’t your favorite part?” Turning your head to look at him, you watched as Frankie began to back the truck out of the driveway, his eyes focused on the mirror. “Also how the hell did you manage to forget to let me know Pope had a boat? Why didn’t he post about it? How did -”

“It’s kinda new.” He laughed, both shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. “And it’s not Pope’s boat, she’s all of ours.” Wait, what? “The five of us bought her a couple months ago. We’d been looking, and something came up. We jumped on it.” Frankie said your name, waiting for your hum of acknowledgement to continue. “Thought it’d be a good surprise.” 

You’d stopped questioning Frankie’s financial status after he’d explained parts of Colombia to you - telling you some of the details but leaving out the specifics of what had happened almost three years earlier. Yes, you wanted to ask questions, and you were almost certain that if you did, he’d answer them. But you believed Frankie when he told you that there were parts of his life he didn’t want to relive, or have you experience for the first time yet. Because he’s not proud of it, and that’s … alright. He’ll tell me when he was ready. There was plenty to learn - and plenty of time to do it. 

“We’ll see what kind of surprise it is when I see this boat, Francisco.” Letting his name roll off your tongue, you were unsurprised when he reached for your hand, curling his fingers around yours before lifting it to press his lips to your knuckles. 

“Oh, you’ll like it. I promise.” 

— 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You and Frankie were walking hand in hand from where you’d parked and toward the dock, your eyes moving over the boats that were still moored. “These are all …” They were huge, and even the smallest boats that were in their places were much larger than you’d anticipated. These are million dollar boats. This is … “Frankie, you -”

“There she is.” He lifted a hand, pointing. “Not a helo, but still fun to drive.” The boat he was pointing at was absolutely beautiful, and even as someone with no knowledge of watercraft, you knew that much. 

You saw Pope standing on the back deck along with Will, and then, as you got closer, you were able to make out the name on the stern, both brows shooting up as you read it. “Over the Andes, Frankie? That’s an interesting name. Where did -”

He leaned in, lips moving against your ear. “Had to fly over the fuckin’ Andes to get the money home, so we figured it was a good name for her.” He punctuated the statement with a kiss to your cheek. “Lemme show you around.” 

You stepped on board, and were immediately overwhelmed as Frankie led you through the interior, pointing out the two bedrooms, the laundry area, bathrooms and kitchen. The front deck was spacious, too, with plenty of room for people to sit if they chose to, and even more space to stretch out and lay in the sun. He followed you up the staircase to the flybridge, gesturing for you to take a seat on the long couch before sliding in next to you, an arm around your back. 

“Well? What do you think?” He was barely concealing a grin, the bay breeze tousling his hair where it stuck out from beneath the hat he’d put back on. “Is this a good surprise, or -”

“It’s beautiful. It’s huge, though. How many people can fit on here?” He thought for a few seconds, using his fingers to count. 

“Most we’ve ever had on here was … sixteen? The five of us, Tom’s family, Pope’s sister and husband and the kids, the girl Will was dating, and a couple of Benny’s friends. He sniffed. “We invited people for today, but they all had plans, so…” He shrugged. “Their loss.” 

You hummed in agreement but didn’t get a chance to say anything before Pope’s head popped up from the stairwell, his smile growing. “That’s where you two went.” He climbed into the seat, spinning it to face you. “You have no idea how bad he wanted to tell you when we bought this.” Pope scratched his head. “Fish barely spends money on anything fun that isn’t his house, but I think he’s pretty happy with himself for finding this beauty.” 

“I am.” Frankie nodded. “We almost ready?” 

“You two are the last to board, so yeah. Ironhead’s getting us ready to cast off.” Pope leaned back, looking down through the opening of the staircase. “Couple minutes.” Pope stood then, looking at the two of you. “I’m gonna go grab a beer, you guys need anything?” 

“Sure.” Frankie cleared his throat. “I’ll take one.” You said you would, too, and then Pope was gone, disappearing back onto the lower deck and leaving you and the other man alone. “I’d just like to point out that I do spend money on things. Just not … like this.” 

“I get it.” Leaning closer, you closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of him - sun and sunscreen and the faint scent of his cologne. “Flaunting the fact that you have money is … not attractive.” 

“Yeah, I’m trying to be subtle about it.” He tightened his arm, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “That’s why my truck’s not brand new and my house is just … normal and -”

“And you have no issue drinking cheap beer or ordering takeout or keeping a well-worn hat long past when most people would have gotten rid of it.” Tweaking the bill with two fingers you gave him a lopsided smile. “All the things I like about you.” 

“Goddamn, I’m glad I met you.” Frankie closed the distance between you again, his kiss hard. “You have no idea.” No, I think I do. Pulling the hat off of his head and tossing it to the side, you ran your fingers through his hair, eyes moving over his face. I’ll never get tired of this. “You don’t get seasick, do you?”

“Not that I know of.” Laughing, you relaxed against the back cushion. “How far out are we going?” 

“Couple miles. We’re staying in the Bay, but if you head out toward the center of it, you have a perfect view of both sides … and all the fireworks that go with it.” Oh. Oh, that makes sense. “We’ve rented a couple times before but … this is the first year we’ve got our boat.” 

“Well…” You pointed at the horizon. “Thank you for wanting me to be here for her maiden July 4th voyage.” Frankie kissed you again in reply, the tip of his tongue dragging over your lower lip. Finally. He hasn’t kissed me like this all day, and I’ve just … You turned toward him, both hands rising so that you could touch his face and the nape of his neck, one of Frankie’s hands flat against your back. 

But it was you that pulled back first, your hand dropping so that your could press your fingertips against his lips. “Wh-”

“I don’t want to get yelled at by Pope again.” Teeth digging into your lower lip, you paused. “I’m pretty sure if that man walks in on us kissing a second time, he’s gonna throw one of us overboard.” Frankie laughed at that, the man tilting his head back. But he didn’t disagree. 

“Plenty of time for that later tonight.” Frankie hummed, his eyes meeting yours. “And he won’t be  there to cockblock.” No, he won’t be. 

“Alright, you guys ready to go?” Santiago appeared again a few minutes later, a small cooler slung over one arm. “Gives us plenty of time to get a good spot.” Frankie stood, reaching for the cooler, which he handed to you - and then took a seat behind the wheel, flipping on screens and pushing switches. Pope sat next to him and you handed out the cans, both men cracking theirs open and taking long drags. 

Oh, Frankie’s going to … ok. Ok, I can… You sat straight up and watched the change come over him, Frankie’s shoulders straightening and his hands moving smoothly over the screens and controls until he was satisfied. You felt a slight thrum beneath your feet as he started the engine, but all you could focus on was the way the man’s hands looked as they gripped the wheel and shifter, Frankie’s eyes moving over everything as he did his pre-checks. 

“We good, Pope?” The second man agreed, calling down to Will. Moments later, you felt a shudder as you began to drift away from the dock, the current carrying you a safe distance. But that didn’t last long, Frankie easing the boat into reverse and watching the screens in front of him, the images  from the backup cameras projected there. 

Within a few minutes, you were sailing forward and toward open water - but instead of watching the view ahead of you, you were still focused on Frankie. 

Who wouldn’t be? He looked more at home behind the wheel of the boat than you’d ever seen him while driving anything else, and at the thought that the boat still wasn’t anything like a helicopter, you shivered. I’m going to lose my mind when I see him flying. 

After a couple more minutes of watching the way his fingers curved around the wheel and the tendons in his forearms flexed as he moved them, you tore your eyes away and looked at the water. Enough. You twisted on the seat so that you could rest your chin atop the arm that was laid across the back of the cushion. Some of the other passengers were sitting on the front deck - including Tom’s daughter, and your eyes wandered over them as you moved further away from land. 

“Hey, ‘Fish.” Pope’s voice rose above the sound of the water and the motor, and even though you didn’t turn, you still listened, waiting to hear what he was going to say. “Let me take over. Go sit with your girl.” You warmed at his words, pressing your lips together and closing your eyes, waiting. 

You didn’t wait long. 

Frankie took a seat behind you and then pulled you back and closer to his chest, tucking both of you into the corner of the L-shaped seat, his feet on the ground and your legs stretched out in front of you. You caught the smirk on Santi’s face before he turned his attention entirely back to the water, and for a few seconds you watched him steer, too, the curl of his fingers looser than Frankie’s had been - but no less attractive. 

“Relax.” Frankie spoke into your ear, his voice low. “We’ve gotta go slow because there are so many boats out today, so it’ll be about 45 minutes til we get to where we’re going. Get comfortable.” With a hum, you closed your eyes, turning your cheek toward his chest as Frankie’s arms wound tighter around you. I can do that. 

You didn’t quite fall asleep before you stopped moving, but it was close. The steady rise and fall of the man’s chest and the glide of the boat through the water lulled you into a more relaxed state than you could remember ever being in before. You heard him talking to Pope, the two of them laughing every now and then, but Frankie never let go of you, one arm around your waist, the other loosely slung over the upper portion of your chest. 

Colorado hadn’t ever felt further away than it did when you felt Pope cut the motor, the motion of the boat slowing so that the only thing moving you was the current. Opening your eyes, you took a deep breath in through your nose, immediately soothed by the sound of Frankie’s voice in your ear. “We’re here. Anchored an’ everything.” Already? 

Sitting straight up and stretching, you felt Frankie’s hands slide away from your body, the man groaning as he straightened up, too. “Where are we?” 

“St. Petersburg is that way.” Pope pointed, nodding his chin. “Tampa is that way, and Ruskin’s over there.” He grinned. “We’re in the middle of it all.” You decided to take his word for it, the faint outline of the shore visible in all directions if you squinted. “You two can stay up here if you want, but it’s a much better view from the lower deck.” Pope stood, reaching for his beer can. “Remember, there are other people on this boat right now, and one of ‘em’s a teenager, so -”

“I swear to God Santiago, if you say another word you’re going into the goddamn water.” Frankie’s growl made you laugh, one hand rising to cover your mouth as your eyes widened. “We’ll be down in a minute.” Pope caught your eye and winked, but didn’t say anything else before he disappeared, leaving you and Frankie alone again. “It’s crowded this year.” Frankie sighed, calling your attention back to him. “Lots of boats out here doing the same thing.” 

“It must be a good idea, then.” Spinning back to face him, you didn’t hesitate before swinging one leg over both of his to straddle his lap. Both of his brows shot up, but Frankie’s hands moved immediately to your hips, his lips curving upward into a sly smile. “You have a lot of good ideas.” 

“Do I?” He grinned, the tip of his tongue visible for a few brief moments as he wet his lips. “I think I’m about to have another one.” Your laugh was halted by the press of his mouth to yours, Frankie taking advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue between them. He tightened his hold on your hips, one of your hands gripping his cotton-covered shoulder while the other fisted the curls at the back of his head. 

You were overwhelmed - by him, by the scent of the saltwater on the breeze, by the sounds of the music and people conversing below you, by the gentle rock of the boat on the surface of the water - but you liked it. Because I like him. Because I love it here, because I … Breaking away from Frankie with a gasp, you felt the air leave your lungs in a rush. 

His brows knit together as the man opened his mouth to ask you what was wrong. Nothing. Nothing’s wrong and everything’s right and … You didn’t let him, instead leaning in and kissing him again. The grip on his hair loosened as you stroked over the curve of his skull, your other hand moving slowly from his shoulder to the side of his neck. Frankie hummed, both hands sliding up your sides beneath your shirt so that he could rest his palms against your bare skin. 

You knew that he could feel the pounding of your heart, and when he shifted his hips beneath you, the slowly-growing bulge beneath the material of his shorts dragging along your core, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pulled him closer, widening the spread of your legs so that you could feel him. I don’t just need him, I want him and I … 

The two of you were moments away from taking things too far in the open with an audience only a few feet away, so you weren’t surprised when he eased away from you, the man’s lips dragging over the corner of your mouth and then to your ear as you switched from kissing him to hugging him fiercely, face buried against the side of his neck.

There’s so much I want to say. Should I? Do I risk it? Do I tell him? 

It had been a year since you’d met - and in that year, there’d been hundreds of hours of conversation, thousands of messages sent back and forth - multiple visits between you that had not only solidified your feelings, but intensified them, too. And as you sat there, wrapped in his arms with the tips of his fingers dragging up and down the length of your spine, you had a feeling that things were the same for him. 

“Frankie?” You raised your head, steadying yourself and taking a breath. The sun was beginning to set behind him, the sky turning from blue to varied shades of gold and orange, the edges of the clouds on the horizon glowing. But you barely noticed, instead focused on the way Frankie looked at you - the man’s eyes locked with yours, the warmth in their depths almost tangible. 

His lips were parted, the full lower one begging to be kissed - but you held back, giving him a minute shake of your head. That turned into a slow nod, the spread of your fingers widening as they tangled in the soft locks of his hair. He said your name, tilting his head slightly to the side, but after that, Frankie just waited, giving you the time you needed to process your thoughts. 

Like he always does. Like he always has. “Frankie, I lo -” 

You were interrupted by the sound of an explosion from overhead, Frankie’s hold on you tightening as both of you craned your necks up and toward the sky where the smoky remnants of a firework lingered. Of course. Of course it … “It’s still light out.” He groaned, shaking his head as he closed his eyes. “Idiots.” 

That made you laugh, the tension in your chest releasing as the moment was broken. Maybe it’s for the best. “Guess that’s our cue to go down with everyone else, hmm?” He paused, meeting your eyes again in question, but then nodded after a few seconds, squeezing your hips before he let go. 

You stood on shaky legs, tugging the ends of your shorts back into place before you straightened your tee shirt. There’s always later. There’s … plenty of time. He called out your name and you turned to see the man holding out the thin hoodie you’d picked up on your way to the marina. “Thank you.” Taking it, you pulled it over your head and into place, going silent. Later. I’ll tell him later. 

“You were saying something?” He interrupted your thoughts, the man raking his fingers through his hair. “When we were sitting?” I was, but … 

“I’ll tell you later.” Wrinkling your nose, you gestured to the steps. “Let’s go back downstairs.” 

— 

Just under 40 minutes later, you were all on the lower level of the boat, split into smaller groups. You and Frankie had been talking with Will and Benny on the stern deck, but as the sky steadily darkened, Frankie took your hand and tugged you away from the other men, leading you the few feet to the step down and onto the swim platform. “What are we -”

“Figured we’d sit back here by ourselves.” Frankie slipped his shoes off and then lowered himself into a seated position, staring up at you. “Best view on the boat.” You had to agree, even though it was starting to get really dark, the only lights the few inside the cabin and the faint glow from the shoreline. You took your shoes off and sunk down next to him, Frankie’s arm automatically winding around your waist and urging you closer. “I’d tell you to dangle your feet if you wanted because the water’s warm, but there’s sharks, and I really don’t want to have to jump in and -”

“Are you serious?” Your entire body tensed as you prepared to move further from the edge of the platform - despite the fact that your feet were nowhere near the water. “Should we even be -”

“I’m just kidding.” He squeezed your side, laughing. “I mean there are sharks, but you could probably put your feet in if you wanted.” 

“Asshole.” You rubbed at your forehead. “You can’t make jokes like that, I come from a place where the largest body of water is part of a river, and -” He laughed, the sound snatched away by the breeze and carrying over the water, but it only took a few seconds for him to stop, Frankie taking a deep breath before saying your name quietly. 

When you looked over, you saw that he was already watching you, the expression on his face serious. But it softened almost immediately, a flash of his teeth visible as he smiled. “That … thing you were gonna tell me earlier?” Your heart rate sped up, but you nodded, the fingers you had resting on his thigh curling inward and crushing the fabric of his shorts between them. “I love you, too.” 

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, but you could see him visibly relaxing as he spoke, the man’s posture loosening though he made no move to pull his arm away. “You do?” He nodded, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Good.” 

You closed the distance between you and kissed him, Frankie’s free hand rising to settle against the hinge of your jaw. It stayed there even when you parted to take a breath, the first loud booms of the fireworks displays beginning to echo over the water and in the air around you. “Good?”

Nodding, you licked your lips slowly, unwilling to look away. “Yeah, Frankie. That’s really good.” 

---

** Link to the boat I used for reference on the Masterlist page

Tag list coming soon! 

[theagstd]

One Night Stand ; 22

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

→ Jungkook x y/n

→ contains smut, fluff and angst

→ Chapter twenty two ; wc | 5 k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Hoseok glanced at his phone for the 50th time of the evening, he'd texted you again. but he received no response from you. As a matter of fact, that had him worried and doubtful too. he'd never thought you would leave him on delivered for almost 3 days besides, it's much more bizarre as he'd seen you come online a couple of times.

had he ever told that he follows your Instagram? yeah, he does. you're inactive, and barely ever post a story. your account is public but there are zero posts, your side profile as your dp, and one highlight that's named 'randoms' which contains pictures of your graduation, coffee aesthetic snaps, and one selfie of you in 2019 in which you're cuddled up with two dogs hiding inside your neck and the most recent picture was of you with a few other girls at a bar.

which was almost 6 months ago. that was all. he could see the green active sign each time you come on Instagram and the 'active 24 mins ago'. all it did was leave Hoseok in disappointment. he thought you considered him to be your friend. at least a little more than just a work buddy, he'd been over to your place and you both spoke a lot during work, during breaks, and outside work. 'what's going on?'

was all that he could think of. he didn't understand what's taking you so long to come back to work and more specifically why it's taking you so damn long to reply to his texts. it's unusual and very much unlike you. you're supposedly at your parent's place for a personal reason but, are you even okay?

The man looked around his kitchen, he spent 3 hours this Sunday trying to perfect ice cream in gooey cookie flavor. and well.. he thinks he wasted his time doing all that he did for no reason. the more he denies himself and the more he pushes himself to stop thinking of you, it just makes him want to see you more.

he considers you to be his good friend, a friend that he never had and always wanted. but friends don't stay up all night searching for ice cream recipes to make the perfect replica of a gooey cookie ice cream that you like. is that typical of friends?

- 

"the name of the restaurant and the place of it do not match! they need a new name change." you whisper over to Jungkook as he walks beside you, giving you a side eye as you both approach the eatery that comes into view with its inviting light and the soft glow of the street lights as you both walk down the avenue.

the night air is slighter colder today than the rest of the week, it has to be the beautiful trees and plants surrounding the area, a few kilometers far from the city, this restaurant is located at a lovely place that offers outdoor seating with a marvelous sight to watch. as the two of you proceeds towards the entrance, the aroma of fresh herbs and cooked pasta reaches you much before you two walk inside.

heading to the entrance, you both enter the patio where couples are seen clicking their wine glasses to each other's, laughter echos at the area and a few children run around the little garden beside their tables. Jungkook looks over at you, and so do you and you both share a soft smile. "table for two?"

"yes, please." the host guides both of you to your table, offers the menu, and makes his way back to the entrance. you wasted no time and quickly began to scan the menu to find the one dish that sounded satisfying. Jungkook tried hard to resist his smile, he'd never seen a woman become this enthusiastic over food. he thinks he may have already lost his appetite watching you get so eager.

"what are you gonna have?" you question him and he looks at his menu, he's not the biggest fan of pasta but he'll manage for you. he avoided checking out the heavy cream and cheese plates of pasta and flipped his way to the Aglio section. it's relatively a much healthier option. "probably the Aglio." you sighed and rolled your eyes at him. "eating cream pasta one night won't ruin your body, relax." "I'm just not very hungry. but you can order as you wish." you put down the menu on the table and pout. "don't do that!"

whining, you almost made him chuckle. "do what?" "don't tempt me, I might buy everything on the menu!" "go ahead then." "shut up, Jungkook!! I'm having a hard time choosing, everything looks so good!" he let out a short-lived laugh before the waiter walked over to your table. "would you like to place your order, sir?" Jungkook nods his head and gestures over to you.

"ma'am first." you smile and list out your order. "one, carbonara in a single serving. one, fettuccine alfredo in a family style and- for appetizer one portion of buffalo wings!" you end your order with an ear-to-ear smile sitting on your face. Jungkook thinks you must be insane because there's no way you're gonna eat it all up by yourself, he looked over the other table and had a family-size pasta for a family of 3 and they

did not finish it up. the waiter surely glitched for a while before he turned to Jungkook. "one, aglio e olio." "is that it?" "what about drinks, y/n?" "uh-" you opened up the menu again and you let your eyes scroll down the variety of beverages that they offer.

"I think I'll get the chocolate milkshake." Jungkook pressed his lips together to suppress the smile, you have no idea how adorable and childish you sounded when you gave your order for a milkshake, it made him want to do a little happy hop.

"I'll have a Lambrusco, that's it." "your orders have been noted, they will be brought to you shortly." he wanted some wine in his system but he wanted to keep it low and avoid getting drunk. "that sounds new to me, what is it?" you ask him once the waiter leaves. "it's an Italian red wine but with very low alcohol."

"Oh." you pout, knowing you can't have wine makes you sad. it's been so damn long since you sipped on one. this reminds Jungkook of your past when you spoke about your addictions to your gyno. he's surprised that he remembers but wasn't sure if he should ask you about it if it's even appropriate here but he's also curious and thinks you both have a fairly close bond than before.

your eyes roam around the place, couples looking so lovingly at each other while they talk about things they love and want to do, they kiss, they smile, they laugh. the women in their most gorgeous outfits that would make anyone simp on them, you can't stop staring at them, what about the men then. and on the other hand, families. moms and dads with little kids, you guessed about 3-5 years. they looked very exhausted.

Jungkook decided to give his go and ask you about yourself because he realized, he actually does not know much about you. he honestly knows nothing about you. "so y/n.." he begins, and you turn to face him. "yeah?" he bites his lower lip, reconsidering what he was gonna ask but he thinks it may be too personal for now so he might ask well start off with baby steps, it still makes him nervous.

"tell me about you, I don't think we've ever spoken to each other like normal adults." you chuckled and nodded, you agreed. every time you two talk, it ends up in bickering. "wow, you really started off awkwardly." Jungkook knows he was a little uncomfortable by giving a hesitant start with the 'so.. y/n?' and now that you voiced it he feels slightly red-faced. he removes his beanie and ruffles his hair, in embarrassment. "I didn't mean to be awkward but-"

"Hey, I was kidding!" you mumble, and then taking a deep breath you place your elbows on the table and put your chin between the back of your palms, you give him a confident look, like you're interested to speak up. what do you wanna know? "I think you already know enough about me." he eyeballed you with a side eye and a chuckle. "all I know is that you're adamant as fuck and straightforward. "that is all you should know then." you mumbled and broke into laughter along with him. "no really, tell me more."

you let out a sigh along with a nod. "you could tell that I'm the only child." Jungkook perked up, he hadn't thought through it before but knowing you're the only child fascinates him. In fact, this makes him think how he's never heard you talk about your family ever. "I never thought about it but go on." "I'm the only child to my parents and I'm also half Korean, you can see that." he definitely knows that it's pretty clear in your face. the features show that you're not Korean enough but it's more beautiful he thinks.

he never understood why the Korean standard of beauty had strict rules, he thinks it's beautiful for women to have fullness whether it's the face or body. the so-called standard has only made women insecure and hard on themselves to match up to it often taking away the glow from most women's faces. "that I know.'' he whispers as he takes notice of how you look fresh, you always look fresh.

you had a healthy body, fit, had your stuff, the curves as well but now with pregnancy your face has that graceful glow that sits perfectly. "I must meet my parents soon." you look away and then at his face, you notice how quiet it gets between the two of you. You got Jungkook thinking about his parents too, a sensitive, hated topic, something that he wouldn't want to talk to anyone. and to your surprise, it doesn't feel weird. the silence is nice and most importantly comfortable. "so? are you the only child?"

he nods to your question and you smile while raising your eyebrow. "I could tell." Jungkook smiles and looks up at the open sky, he's not into nature but why does the moon look so beautiful to him today. "you like the moon?" you look up to see what he's watching too and you smile softly. "I love the moon." "you don't look like someone who loves the moon and stars." "you don't have to look like it, but I do in fact I even love the beach." "Really?" "yeah!" the more you talk, the more fascinated Jungkook is by your words.

he wants to know more about you but he keeps it short today, slow steps. "why are you obsessed with pasta?" you turned your head sharply at him with a frown. "are you really asking me that?" the man was stunned by how aggressive your tone sounds. "it's a pregnancy craving, i was never a pasta girlie until now and I'm also starting to crave for anything chocolate and I'm trying hard to avoid them like i don't wanna gain more weight. I keep gaining a couple of pounds every 2 weeks." this makes him laugh, his eyes close and he throws his head back.

You don't think this is that funny so you feel offended. "what?" "Darling, trust me! you don't look any different from the first time I met you. what pounds? I see nothing but a belly." "You're lying! look at me! it's not like I'm stepping on my own self but I can feel the pounds-" "The pounds are all that belly!"

"Hey, don't say it like that!! she's beautiful!!" you caress your stomach with a pout and scrunched eyebrows. Jungkook pauses when he hears you say 'she' in specific and widens his eyes.

"you know the gender?" "I don't, I just assume and besides, the bump is mine, like a part of me so it just makes it a she but that's not like the baby, it's just the bump." he doesn't get it so he just nods it away instead. honestly, that made you think a little more. you will be able to find the gender next month, but at the same time, you don't want to either. you wanna surprise yourself but you also can't wait.

When you look down to glance at your bump, you get flashbacks on random days like how you spend hours talking to the baby, singing to him/her in your hideous voice but you still enjoy it so much. making Bam lay his head on the bump was the most adorable thing you've ever done, you even have pictures of him doing that, sleeping on your bump.

you took selfies with your bump popping out of your crop top which you can not get yourself to fit it. but it looked so fucking cute, especially since your belly button is now an outie and it just pops out and looks so sweet!! your bump is not very big, like how your mom told you that when she was pregnant with you, her bump was big already in 4 months, she assumed you were a boy but you were just goddamn heavy.

a big baby. so you can't guess which gender your baby is, all you want is for him/her to be born healthy. that's all. even though this pregnancy is not the best journey that you've been through, you've had different plans to achieve which you failed in but even as pregnancy you expected a much easier journey with your man by your side, it sometimes makes you think how much of a failure you've become to your parents, yourself and this little baby you carry. but you try to be as optimistic as you could be.

"y/n? hey?" Jungkook calls out your name as you've lost yourself in your daydreams. the pasta lays on the table and your eyes get so big, round, and sparkly. he loves the look of it, he would buy you a zillion pasta portions if you're gonna look this cute. "go on." he mutters but before you begin, you pull out your phone to capture a picture of the food.

Jungkook's eyebrows raise, he didn't think you were someone who liked to take pictures, he'd never seen you take one before. "don't look at me like that. the plating looks fancy and pretty!" you post it on your Instagram story without any captions or gifs.

"bon appetit." you mumble as you take a sniff of the cream and grab the fork to dig into it. the family serving portion is indeed, huge as fuck! but you think you can manage, at least some would be left for breakfast tomorrow. "Is it good?" he asks you, and you give him no verbal answer.

just throwing your head back and moaning. Jungkook gets his answer immediately and smiles heavenly. "yeah, it's good. it's fucking amazing Jeon Jungkook! My cravings are satisfied for the 90th time." like that he watches you grab your buffalo wings as if they would run away. "The food won't disappear y/n, slow down you might choke." "I won't! don't interrupt a pregnant lady's appetite!"

the man decided to stop talking and just focus on your eating, he didn't think he would be full just by watching you eat, but here he is. playing with his food. "you stopped sending me work in like weeks now." you asked him with the cream sauce all around your lips and chin. he thought you wouldn't notice it, but now he has to attempt to keep this topic for later, at least until you're done eating. "I don't think it makes any difference, I handle the expenses anyway."

"yeah but like, I still need money and how long are you gonna keep doing this?" "As long as I can, don't worry about anything, I've got it sorted." he assures you and continues eating his meal too.

-

"I didn't think you'd eat it all up." "I was starving and my appetite is a lot more than it was before anyway. I need this bit packed though."  Jungkook gestures to the waiter to box up the remaining food so you can take it back home. "think you can walk with all that food inside you?" "Jungkook that's so rude, of course, I can!" "yeah, which woman would say no to shopping?"

he mumbles under his breath but just loud enough for you to hear and you did, you scowled at him and rolled your eyes. Jungkook pays with his card and tells you that it's time to go. you both walk to his car, he parked it away because you want to have a little stroll in the pretty lane, he holds the paper bag with the pasta for you even though you told him you could carry it yourself. "I didn't think we could ever leave some silence between us or at least a peaceful silence."

Jungkook begins and you let out a chuckle, your palm sits on your bump while you look around the dark sky and the trees that break some leaves that touch your face. "me neither, it was just so difficult to agree to anything you say." "no, it's just that you're way too adamant, even if it's for your benefit, you'll never agree. that's some arrogance." "hey, you're arrogant too!" "nowhere closer as you are."

you take the passenger seat and he takes the driver's. he has a few questions in his mind but he isn't sure if now is the best time because you're in a pleasant mood and he doesn't want to ruin it but these thoughts and unanswered words that he was reminded of suddenly just keep him in doubt. he's fully aware of what's gonna come for him next when he speaks about the whole work issue. "just wanted to inform you that I've put enough money in your account, so you don't have to wait for anyone, you can order whatever you wan-"

"wait, which money?" the puzzled look crossed your face with your eyebrows knitted together, he didn't understand why you were confused, he assumed that you get the details on your phone. "yeah? did you not check your phone?" you immediately opened your little crossbody bag and took out your phone.

you then check the messages that you receive from your online bank app and see that a different account has transferred money. "I didn't check my phone much- but this isn't the company acc-" "It's my personal account. I figured it would be easier and safer to transfer money with my personal and I also appointed Jimin to step in for you during your absence." "but I was working fine-" you argue but before you can say anything more, he interrupts you.

"a lot is coming up with work and it's not gonna be easy working from home. Don't worry, you can take over once you're ready for work. that is after a long maternity leave." you're grateful for Jungkook who had out in so much thought but you also don't feel right about this. you feel like you're being a burden to him and his work. "when did you do this?"

Jungkook glances at you and then at the road. "2 days back when I saw you drained out. I transferred the money then just in case which is probably why you hadn't seen the messages and about Jimin, gave him the responsibilities a week ago if I'm not mistaken." "How did he react to that? probably over the moon."

Jungkook doesn't usually look into reactions or any feedback but he vaguely remembers how Jimin was not very Jimin when he told him to cover up for you. Jungkook tilts his head to you and his lips pursue his thoughts. "actually, he was not. he didn't look happy about it, which now I think is very unlike him." You sighed and crossed your arms while watching the traffic lights hit red. "he probably thinks you gave him charity work."

the man beside you fully turned his head to watch you, he recalls seeing Jimin disturbed, detached from the work surroundings, he looked expressionless throughout the day and no responses were heard from him. Jimin, the man he is. never fails to question choices and pull out any flaws, very connected and attentive at work. something was up with him.

"no, I think he's going through a phase in his life. it's nothing related to you." the signal turns amber and he proceeds to drive. you were lost in the lights thinking about how you're gonna repay the man for everything he's done and is doing currently.

the silence was beginning to feel oppressive mainly for you because you were thinking of everything that you shouldn't be. your lips part to say something then you stop, Jungkook could see from the corner of your eyes that you're having a hard time after he told you about the transfer. 'should I have not told her?' he thinks to himself, as his fingers drum the steering wheel. "you have to let me repay you." the words come out as a whisper but it was loud enough in the quiet surrounding for him to hear.

the man closes his eyes for a second and heaves a heavy breath, which sounds like he is done. "I don't wanna repeat this y/n but I'm not doing this for a return of anything. I want to help, I want to take up my responsibilities and I do so." "but it doesn't feel right." you say a bit louder, he can hear the tinge of guilt in your voice but he doesn't want you to feel this way.

the topic of repaying, triggers him. he knows that you're not a woman who likes to get her needs in an easier way, he knows that you like to earn it and you don't want to be charity to anyone, but he needs you to know that everything he does is not out of pity or forcefully because now is the consequences. he's doing it because he wants to do so. "it is right and I will continue to take up my responsibilities, whether you like it or not." his car arrives at the mall and he parks before pausing to gaze at you thoughtfully.

you look at the parking lot, biting on the flesh of your inner cheek, not wanting to be vulnerable with the man beside you because you're so grateful for everything, you're happy and you know that your pregnancy is a little at ease because he makes it easier when it comes to fulfilling your cravings, living and basic necessities. he fulfils the financial aspect which is one of the main facts that you lack.

but one more factor that you lack is a partner and when you think about it, what plays in your mind is what happened back at your apartment this morning. you're fully aware that you would be in a very difficult position if Jungkook is not doing what he does. it's not that you wouldn't be able to finance yourself but he makes it easy and carefree. he looks at you carefully and knows you've probably got a hundred million thoughts inside your mind. he parks at the parking lot and then he proceeds to say calmly,

"wanna go shopping?" you gulp thinking 'now he's gonna pay for all the clothes that I get too. ' "Whatever you're contemplating, let it go and come with me to get you new clothes. Come on." he mumbles softly, removing his seatbelt as he gets down from his car and walks to your side. he opens the door and you still don't move. 'adamant. adamant. adamant.' he repeats to himself. he bends his head down to see you.

"you're doing too much, Jungkook." you mutter at which he only smiles. "let me do too much then, it's only for you." he whispers ever so softly and beautifully, adoring your angry face. "come on, angry bird." he removes your seatbelt carefully from you and holds his hand at you. you look up at him and sigh. "come on, there's also a new ice cream shop here." you try hard to stop yourself from smiling, it's not fair that he can use food to melt you away.

he giggles, he thinks he found your weakness. "fast, fast! let's get chocolate ice cream or cookie dough or whatever that you like." "I like gooey chewy flavor." you hold his hand and carefully get on your feet. "what the fuck is that?" "It's my favorite Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor." he scrunches his nose and glances at you. "sounds so childish." "ice cream makes everyone a child." "Incorrect! I like mint choco chip, that's not something kids usually prefer."

"ew, it tastes like toothpaste." Jungkook stops his tracks when you have to place your bag at the bag check and then when you both walk through the metal detectors. he gives you a frown, his eyebrows meeting each other as he passes through the detector and waits for you. "what?" you ask him, as he's been looking at you with an exaggerated frown which looks hilarious. "People Who haven't tried it, often say that it's like toothpaste. " "Of course, I haven't tried it. ew!"

"you're gonna try it today, just watch!" "you can't force a pregnant woman." "we'll see about that." he walks beside you to the ice cream shop, before taking the elevator to the clothes store. Time Square Mall is huge so you both will have a while to roam around so dessert first. the Baskin Robbins was right in front of you two so you both walk towards it. "mint choco is right there." "I can see it, darling. I'm gonna get one just so you could try it." "You're just gonna waste a couple of wons." "Who said so, I will have it."

"Sure. One scoop of cookie and one scoop of pralines and cream." "and one mint chocolate chip." you give him a disgusted look and he gives an eye roll. "enjoy, ma'am." "Thanks!" "I need to take a picture." "no, it needs to be pretty. take one for me." You ask him with a pout. "what do I get in return?" you sigh and think. "fine, I'll try the stupid toothpaste!" He smiles and takes your phone to snap a picture for you.

"Instagram?" "don't tell me you don't use insta-" "What the fuck y/n. I'm not 60!" "Well, then you should follow me!" "I might have got you from my suggestions but I removed it." You let your mouth open wide at him in exaggerated shock. "leave Jungkook! bye!" "hey hey, shit. I will follow you."

you both then proceed to take the pictures, you hold the ice cream with your left hand because that's where the rings hug your fingers. "make sure my bump isn't visible." "Of course, shit! can't have people wondering where that came from." he mumbles and you gasp, you both giggle and he snaps the most perfect picture of you, your face slightly blurred but surely it shows that you're laughing with the ice cream on focus.

the dessert looks delightful and velvety but you look beautiful and he wishes he would've snapped the scene with his own camera. but he did, he's glad he snapped it with his eyes, that's most precious and saved in his heart. "here." He passes the phone to you and you check the picture. "CEO, chef and photographer? that's some skill, Jeon! all-rounder! hold this for me, please."

"sure madame." you hand him your cup and type down a short caption in your story. 'if you need me, I'll be over in my ice cream zone!' the huge smile that sits on your face, makes Jungkook almost blush. 'damn, you're so pretty.' he thinks. "if you need me wha-" "if you need me, I'll be over in my ice cream zone~" you repeated your caption with attitude and accent, making him laugh. "don't you think that sounds cringe?" "Jungkook, you're entire existence is cringe.

please walk forward!" you both laugh while he hands over your ice cream to you. "you said you were gonna try mine." "Wow, you don't forget stuff huh?" "Never!" he passes his flavor at you and you already make a disgusted face. "try it!" he says and you take his spoon and scope the littlest bit. "you didn't even get a chocolate chip." you scope a bigger one and put it into your mouth. immediately you choke. "fuck-"

Jungkook grabs your spoon full of the cookie and cream and puts it into your mouth. "shit are you okay-" "what the actual fuck! that almost killed me!" he leaves with a deep sigh, the 1 second took his life. "you scared me, woman!" "It tasted like my ice cream had a cold! what the-" you both broke out in laughter, so much that you had to hold on to Jungkook's arm so you wouldn't fall. Jungkook's whole face turned red from all that laughing. "stop- i'll go into labour!" "fuck no please!"

"is that who I think it is? why do they look familiar to-" he checked his phone, and a notification popped. 'lee.ynxx posted a story' from Instagram. he swiped on the notification and checked the story, seeing you with an ice cream cup.

he put his phone down and saw a woman and a man, the woman recognizable and the man so much more familiar. the couple stops laughing and takes deep breaths, rubbing her hand over her bump. "let's go!" she mumbles and turns towards the elevator.

"y/n? and- she's pregnant?!!"

next chapter ⇢

[hidefdoritos]

So, for Christmas break, I've been staying with a very considerate older couple. When I got here, I found out that they're also...comfortably wealthy. I wish I could have been live-blogging my stay here, but this summary post will have to suffice.

MOSS'S MUSINGS: HOUSEGUEST EDITION.

-Ask which dishes you are allowed to use. I didn't know this would even be a question--I grew up with one set of dishes--but it matters. The dishes we've been using are red with snowmen on them. Tonight I put my soup in a red bowl with Christmas trees around the edge. That was wrong and bad. I have been told that they "prefer I not use that" because it is "for special occasions," and was told to "set it aside so I can hand-wash it." Side note, rich people also own things that can't go in the dishwasher. Thankfully they told me about this ahead of time.

-In general, they make requests when they mean to give you instructions. "I'm having some ladies over tonight, so if you'd like to clean the bathroom, that would be fine." = I, Moss, need to clean the bathroom before I leave for work this morning. They're secret instructions--instructions in a suggestion-shaped suit. I like to think of it as a secret code that I'm very smart for solving. It helps me to not tear my hair out.

-House thing that shook me to the core: They have heat vents on the floors under the sinks! So you can wash your hands or wash dishes and your feets don't get cold!

-Speaking of heat: heated mattress pads exist! It's like a heating pad for your whole body. High settings are nice for muscle aches; low settings are so cozy to sleep on.

-Speaking of mattresses: The guest room has a Sleep Number mattress. I think it's a scam. It's a balloon under your mattress to adjust the firmness/softness. I am 240 lbs. If it isn't over half inflated, my butt's on the bedframe.

-They are weird about trash. All food waste is handled separately and taken straight to the bin in the garage so it doesn't smell. The kitchen trash can lid has a motion sensor. It's automatic. Scared the daylights out of me when I first walked past it to get water at night.

-Speaking of water, ask what water you should use. Tap is not acceptable to some! My hosts have a fridge dispenser. Unfortunately it dispenses cold water. I have worked around this by getting water in advance of my needs and letting it change toward room temp. Also, you can't put drinks on the furniture! Wood is different from the plastic-coated OSB furniture that I grew up with. I must remember now to use coasters because any spills or drips can leave white marks.

-When they start discussing money, try not to let your mouth drop open at the amount of zeroes. One host bought a new car and was bragging to me about how he only paid $28,000, and that was actually $5,000 off for having a certain type of credit card. I just worked the mental math for the discount percentage to keep my brain from exploding. $5k is more than I paid for my entire car. My family motto is "Buy used and drive it 'til the wheels fall off." I did not say so.

-Most importantly, they've been extremely kind and generous to me. They dropped my rent for the month down to almost nothing. They bought any groceries I expressed interest in. I'm going back to campus with some of the best homemade soup of my life, and a coupon for an oil change, and a new appreciation for dark chocolate almonds. When I got here, my hostess had set up a desk for my sewing machine in her sewing room (!! a whole room for sewing!!) and taught me to use a rotary cutter and an iron that's entirely too complex.

tl;dr rich-ish people are super weird about some things you wouldn't expect, and your head will explode a few times, but they're still people and my overall experience has been great.



[stabbyfoxandrew]

Oops, I almost forgot it was wip wednesday, anyways could I have some mafia restaurant?

(I just wanted to say that i really love reading your works and I look forward to them every week! You are so talented<3 I hope you have a great day!)

WIP Wednesday (12/13) | Mafia Front Restaurant AU (Part 73)

“We believe in zero waste around here,” Neil says, waving a hand. “Sorry if you wanted it fresh.”

“Don’t worry about it. Real restaurants do this sort of thing all the time. According to Kitchen Nightmares, anyhow,” Andrew says. He’d come across the show while skimming channels in the hotel room a couple days ago and found it sort of enjoyable. Even if every episode is exactly the same. Plus Aaron can’t stand Gordon Ramsey’s voice. It was a win-win.

“But, Neil. By the way, are you still Neil?” 

Neil’s nostrils flare slightly. A laugh, Andrew thinks. “I am.”

“Good. In case you aren’t aware, telling a customer to duck and running off into the kitchen isn’t something a normal waiter would do.” Andrew says as he starts to cut up each of the meatballs on his plate into quarters.

Neil’s face scrunches a bit, be it at the advice or Andrew’s strange eating habits he’s not sure. Neil clears his throat. “Sorry about that. I thought something was about to go down.”

“Like what?”

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[his-red-right-hand]

his red right hand Chapter Five

You awoke with a groan as your alarm blared from your bedroom, your tv hissing with the familiar white noise of static. Must’ve fallen asleep watching the movie. It would almost be peaceful if your alarm would just shut the fuck up.

You forced yourself upright with a hiss of pain, your side twinging uncomfortably as you moved in a way that aggravated the stitches there. Pausing to let the pain recede, deep breaths, you mostly stumble into your bedroom. Collapsing onto your bed, you hit your alarm maybe harder then it deserved. Just had to remember to breathe. Lying there until the pain subsided down to an ache, you looked over at the red numbers of your alarm clock, yup, seven thirty, it was still set for your regular shifts. Well, at least you had a few hours to get yourself ready without tearing out the stitches holding you together.

Plus, whilst the cut He gave you on your neck hadn’t been serious enough to require any sort of intervention, you still needed to work out a way to hide it. You didn’t want every customer and co-worker to know you almost got your throat slit. The cut on your collar bone had needed some butterfly stitches, so spaghetti straps were out for a while as well.

And you needed to shower. And to eat something, no matter how unappealing it was. Dying of an infection seemed almost anticlimactic after meeting The Ghost Face, and you were not immune to judgy nurse face, so you would be taking your antibiotics. Maybe you could buy some granola bars or something on the way home from work; they seemed like the least offensive option that required zero effort.

It was slow work getting yourself up, cleaned, and fed. Well, for a given measure of fed, you found some leftover noodles in your fridge that still smelled mostly okay. It was a good thing that you were working a half day today, other wise you’d be late. Hopefully you’d get faster at this as you got used to working around the hole in your side.

On the bright side, you had worked out how to avoid awkward neck wound related enquiries. You dug around in the vague pile that was your jewellery box and found a choker make of thick black velvet ribbon. You thought it might have been a gift from someone; a little goth for your tastes normally, but it covered what you needed it to and wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. And also thank goodness for low rise jeans, you didn’t want to imagine how uncomfortable you would’ve been with a waistband pressing up against your stitches all day. Along with a mostly clean t-shirt you were only putting your Docs on from being ready to head out.

Now just to try and fill the hours until you needed to leave.

The urge to break your no getting stoned before work rule was high.

Heh, high, funny, not.

You couldn’t get your brain working for long enough to read anything, hadn’t been able to for so long now. One of the few joys you had in life taken away from you, just like everything else. A small, treacherous part of your brain decided to remind you precisely where on the kitchen counter you’d left the bottle of pain meds you’d been given and that you had a bottle of vodka in the top drawer of your freezer. You quickly pushed that thought aside, you’d meant what you told Jed, you weren’t going to kill yourself. You just wouldn’t be particularly upset if you found out you had a terminal illness. Or if a local serial killer decided to kill you.

After all, what was the point of this endless empty waste of day after day after day after day.

Fuck, now you really wanted to get stoned.

You moved over to your tv, switching it on and, more gingerly than you’d like, settled yourself onto the couch. A bit of channel surfing, looking around for something nice and mindless you could half pay attention to until it was time to leave. Just turn off your brain for a little bit as you checked out the tube. Just try and mellow your vibes right the fuck out without any chemical assistance.

How the fuck did you normally get into work without being a complete wreck? Oh right, you were normally too exhausted to really think; and then interacting with the general public killed what remained of your brain cells. And once you were done you got really fucking high. You hoped this would be the only half day you had to work; you weren’t sure you could do your job without throwing things at people if you were actually awake for it.

MTV ended up being your saving grace, a nice procession of music videos to soothe and file down the sharp corners of your mind. Maybe you should go to the record shop once you were done with work for the day, you hadn’t been for such a long time now. Maybe you could see if you actually enjoyed music again, the way you used to.

Nope, that was just being fucking depressing again.

You lifted your head to look at the clock on the wall, about 20 minutes until you should leave. Fuck it, you could be early. You had probably gotten all of the not depressing thoughts you could out of your brain, an hour and a bit wasn’t too bad. You headed to your front door, grabbing your watch out of the little bowl where it lived with your keys and wallet, putting it on before shoving the latter two into your messenger bag. your Docs went on with only a little pain thanks to some careful manoeuvring. Then, a few careful moments considering your collection of cassette tapes before taking Temple of the Dog down and opening the case, slotting the tape into your walkman.

Say Hello 2 Heaven filled your ears as you put on your headphones, the music easing a few more of your jagged edges. Taking a moment to check your appearance in the mirror hanging by the door, yup, no knife wounds visible. Time to do this.

Opening your door and stepping out to another hot Florida day, its intensity quickly muted by your sunglasses. Locking your door behind you, you started your walk to the bus stop that’d take you into down town. Maybe you could try picking up a copy of the gazette before you got to the book store, check out how your interview with Jed went. Might even be worth getting a subscription, it was apparently the best way to keep up with your local serial killer, if the general gossip you heard about town and the odd headline you’d seen were to be believed.

Not that you generally believed guys who promised you a lot of fun, the last time it had even been close to true it was your Dad telling you about having your birthday at Showbiz Pizza. But it might be nice to try and keep track of him, you know, seeing as you’d met him and all.

A vague plan for day in mind, you relaxed at the bus stop, letting the music wash over you as you got on the bus, tapping your bus pass; and rode it into Rosewood proper. Getting off a few minutes later, you walked down the high street, heading into the convenience store a couple of blocks away from your job to grab the paper, picking up some granola bars as well whilst you were there. Now at least when your shift was up you could head straight home. After you paid for your purchases you walked another block to the Sunrise Diner, home to shocking amounts of cholesterol and a passable cup of coffee. And somewhere you can read through the paper for a little bit before you actually needed to get to work.

You settled onto a seat, pulling your headphones down for a moment to smile at the waitress and order “Just coffee, thanks.” Taking a moment to flip the tape that’d come to an end, Times of Trouble starting back up, and weren’t that the truth. Adding cream and sugar to your coffee, you took a slow sip. Dang, that was somewhat better than mediocre. Eh, Dale Cooper you were not, but you were drinking it more for the semblance of energy than for the flavour. Pulling the paper from your bag, you let your eyes take in the headline ‘Roseville Ripper Strikes! Three Dead and His First Survivor’ before skimming through the article. You’d read it properly later, to give it the attention it deserved. But given that you were present for the events it was reporting, you felt okay skipping the recap.

‘...families are heartbroken. The Gazette was able to speak to the survivor of the attack, who is in hospital in stable condition and recovering well, who has requested to remain anonymous.’

You hadn’t, fuck you could do that, but damn did you own Jed for that one. You didn’t exactly want to become famous as “That Girl Who Didn’t Die When Stabbed”. Should look into buying him a bottle of something nice to drink, like Scotch or something? That was what journalists drank, right?

‘...to remain anonymous. They were not part of the initial attack, nor are they a resident of the building. They told the Gazette that they were invited to the party by a friend attending courses at Roseville University; and had stepped out to get some air when they noticed a flash of light. They went to investigate, assuming that there was perhaps something untoward going on. But nothing could prepare them for the horror they found. The brutality of the attack already over, and instead a monster viewing his victims.

They spoke about the terror of the realisation of what they were witnessing froze them to the spot; and they were then attacked by the Ghost Face Killer. Apparently content to leave this new victim to bleed out; he then retreated from the scene, perhaps fearing being discovered by others?

Luckily for them, their fellow party goers quickly discovered the scene. An ambulance was called to rush them to the hospital where they underwent emergency surgery for their injuries. They were very frank about their confusion upon initially waking up; having believed that they seen their last the previous night. They credited their survival less on any form of luck or blessing, but instead they believe themself to be “Too much of an afterthought” to warrant a more thorough attack.

When asked if they had any advice should anyone else be unfortunate enough to encounter the killer that is haunting our town, their response was simply “Run as fast as you can.” A chilling take away from an encounter that that person is unlikely to ever forget.’

Reading it in print like that, it was easy to pretend it hadn’t happened to you. That it was all just a very vivid, if in somewhat poor taste, dream. That you got your fun new scar in the making in some sort of regular misadventure that involved too much alcohol, and the unironic use of the word hijinks.

Ugh.

You were halfway through your first coffee refill, trying to get your thoughts in some semblance of order before you inflicted yourself upon the general public, as you looked up at the clock. Shit, time to face the music. You pulled a five from your wallet, leaving it next to your cup as you folded the paper back up into your bag and headed out.

Roseville Books was Roseville’s premiere bookshop, if you didn’t count the Borders in the mall, with respectable genre collections and a somewhat knowledgeable staff. Even if they did tend to err on the side of sarcasm when it came to answering dumb questions. Was the large True Crime display about unsolved murders in the front window potentially in poor taste? Yes. Did they have to partially disassemble it at one point because they sold out of all the titles in it? Also yes. There’s nothing quite like a serial killer on the loose to drive interest.

You hear the jangle of the bell on the door as you push it open, heading inside, the soft sounds of Top 40 radio filling the air. The shop stereo was restricted to that after some uptight asshole had complained about the staff picks for music. Shoegaze was apparently not for everyone. You gave a quick wave to Zoey behind the counter as you headed into the backroom to hang up your bag in your cubby and get your ever so chic green work vest, proudly displaying your name badge.

Devin looked up from their desk, smiling and looking relieved as he saw you. “Hey there! You doing okay?” Oh no, he was getting up, please don’t go in for a hug, okay, he was just getting up to talk. Thank fuck.

“A little slower than normal, but not too bad, thanks.” You managed a tight smile, not really wanting to admit that the only reason you were here was that you were terrified that if you lost momentum on the sort of life you were managing to scrape by with that you would never be able to get up again.

“Okay, well, you’re going to replace Zoey up on the tills, got a stool for you to sit on and everything; and she’ll handle floor questions and join you on the tills if it gets busy. All good?”

“Yup, sounds great. I’ll - ah - get right on that.” You took a step back, not really sure how to best retreat from the conversation. Like, it was nice they cared, it was definitely better than working for an asshole, but you didn’t quite know how to react to your boss being the one to show the most concern for your welfare out of everyone you knew, including yourself.

You were stopped by Devin clasping a hand to your shoulder, giving it a little squeeze as he said “I’m really glad you’re alright.” You manage a quick nod and bustle your way back out into the shop, letting out a long breath before schooling your features into customer approachableness. You walked next to Zoey by the tills, seeing your aforementioned stool, hopping up to perch on it.

“You good there?” she asked you, her concern mostly cursory.

“Yup, all set. And hopefully back to full speed in not too much time.” The doctors had said you should be most of the way recovered in about 3 weeks, the internal damage taking a little longer. Apparently you’d only been mildly stabbed in the kidney.

“Heard you got attacked or something?”

Fuck. Can’t just admit to meeting a serial killer seeing as you actually had anonymity. Spin something, spin something fast. “I got lightly mugged. Luckily you can’t lose shit if you don’t have shit to steal.”

“Aww jeez, that sucks. At least you didn’t run into that Ghostface guy or something.” Oh Zoey, if only you fucking knew. “I’ma go stretch my legs then. See you for the lunch rush.”

You give her a quick flick of the wrist wave, spinning on the stool to face the front of the store, propping your elbows on the desk next to the register as you rested you chin in your hands. The stool was good, the phone was in easy reach if anyone called, and you could probably reach the special orders shelf without getting up. You should’ve bought gum for something to do.

Two phone calls, yes you did carry bibles and no Mr Books was not available, later and the Lunch Rush started. There were a couple of office blocks nearby, one of which had a book club amongst the workers; and both of them had a significant population of Harlequin Romance enjoyers. Not exactly your thing, but given some of the stuff you’d indulged in, you were in no place to judge. But most importantly, they had two alternating lunch shifts, half at twelve, the other half at one; and they descended like a swarm, taking the moderately bustling shop to two hours of midweek retail hell.

At least you only almost brained yourself once reaching into the special orders shelf.

And honestly you deserved an award for not throwing anything at all the people who felt the urge to loudly question why you had the apparently gall to dare to sit in their field of view. And just maybe, you wished a personal visit from the friendly local serial killer to the one who all but demanded you pull your shirt up to show her your stitches to believe that you actually were injured and were on limited duties. All because she had to wait for Zoey to get her some books from a high shelf.

God, you hated the public.

Two o’clock came slower then you’d like but faster than you dreaded, Zoey heading off for her break; and Devin coming up front to pull your normal duty of fixing the chaos that was formerly well organised sections. At least that’d keep them busy enough to avoid having to make small talk.

Whilst your last hour crawled, it was mostly occupied by a phone call that had you pecking out queries on the shop computer, it there almost entirely for the database of books they could order in. It would have been a lot easier if the person on the other end could actually remember the author or title, but that would be asking for a miracle and they did not happen in retail. But you did eventually get the, hopefully, right title ordered; and if it wasn’t then you at least hoped you weren’t behind the counter that day.

“So, do I get to do a full day tomorrow?” you asked as Devin came back from reorganising the horror back corner, that you were very proud of the selection of.

A moment’s thought. “Full day. Mostly behind the counter, but we’ll see if you can manage a little floor time. Deal?”

“Deal.” That was the moment your stomach chose to let out a growl, holy fuck were you actually hungry? Must have been expending energy trying to heal yourself.

Zoey came back from her break looking about as enthused to be back as you were to be alive, but you at least waited for her to come back out to slip off your stool. And you only needed to take a short pause to get yourself upright and able to walk. And she had the decency to not give voice to the look on her face, the one that said you looked like shit. The nurses had said light exercise was good for your recovery, you couldn’t get much lighter than standing up and walking.

“Gonna head out the back way, see y’all around.” A quick wave good

You took a few moments in the back to rest your forehead against the wall, taking one deep breath, then another. It was fine. You were fine. Time to go home and get so stoned you couldn’t think, then just rinse and repeat. Back to as if nothing happened to you in the first place.

Taking off your vest, you hung it back up in your cubby hole and picked your bag up as you started to head home. Your tape player and headphones were where you left them, at the top of your bag, slipping your headphones around your neck but not starting any music yet. You had an appointment with a burger.

Three doors down from Roseville Books was The Original Canteen. Not that there had ever been any kind of canteen there beforehand, but their fries were decent and they did these sinfully thick milkshakes that made your straw stand straight up. Also one of their line cooks was your weed guy.

You were injured, it was therapeutic.

And luckily for you, there was a shared back alley behind the row of shops, meaning if you were willing to negotiate through the various line cooks, bus boys, and wait-staff who used it for their well deserved breaks, you could buy weed straight from work.

You saw who you thought was one of the dish pit guys, taking a smoke break in the lull between lunch and dinner rushes. Not that rushes ever stopped smoke breaks as far as you were aware.

“Hey there, is Chad in today?”

The guy regarded you for a long moment, letting out a puff of smoke before answering. “Yeah, he’s in the kitchen doing prep.”

“I’m a friend of his, would you mind asking him if he could make me that barbecue burger he does to go, and if he’s got the stuff in for that nice side salad?” The burger was real, and very good, but the salad thing was the dumbest code word, and you could tell by the guy’s face he thought so to, but Chad was the one who set it, so that’s what it was. It’s not like anyone was going to actually tell him, given that he was the weed guy for the entire kitchen staff as well.

“Yeah sure, lemme just go check,” the guy disappeared inside the kitchen, and you could hear vague yelling as you pulled up your headphones and leant against the alley wall to wait for your food.

Ten minutes passed and Chad came out of the kitchen, holding a styrofoam take out container and greeting you warmly. “Hey girl! Just can’t keep away from my cooking, huh?”

You let out a soft laugh, his swagger semi-deserved. “And all your other amazing qualities,” sarcasm dripped from your tongue and he looked mock offended, clutching a hand over his heart. “So, how much do I owe you?”

“Five for the burger, twenty five for the side salad,” he said with a wink, taking the thirty bucks you passed him, giving you the box in exchange.

Feeling the little plastic baggy underneath, you smiled at him. “Thanks Chad, have a good shift.”

“Always do!” he called out in reply, heading back into the kitchen as you headed out the alley, back onto the main streets. The bus ride home was as unremarkable as the ride into town, music helping the journey to pass quickly.

You closed and locked your front door behind you, leaning back against it as you let out a long breath. One more day survived. Of seemingly countless remaining. Maybe you should leave the door unlocked, maybe someone would come in and murder you. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You dropped your bag on the little coffee table in front of your couch, putting your freshly acquired baggy of weed next to your gear box, and the burger box on the couch as you perched on the arm of it to take off your boots. Time to pick some music, roll a joint; and fucking relax. Then find something shitty to watch on tv, pass out on the couch; and just go about existing.

Standing after kicking your boots off, you went over to your vinyl, running your fingers slowly over the titles as you considered them for a moment. You could’ve sworn you’d put them back in order yesterday, but obviously you hadn’t. Well obviously, you were trying to tell yourself something, so you took Facelift by Alice in Chains from its odd spot and set that playing. The guitars of We Die Young started to blare through your home, how you wished that was true.

Back to the couch, you rolled a joint quickly and headed out the backdoor to your yard, burger box and lighter in your other hand. You sank down in your chair, kicked your feet out in front of you and closed your eyes for a few moments. Okay, burger on the side table, time to get stoned as fuck.

You spent a few minutes just smoking, holding the smoke in your lungs until the burn got uncomfortable; exhaling slowly and watching it curl into the air. You already felt more mellow, which was good, you thought this might have been a two joint day, which you couldn’t afford to do very often. You propped the blunt on the edges of your ashtray, and finally started in on the precious burger. It was still warm, but had had long enough for the cheese to get properly gooey, sticking everything together. Perfection.

It was kinda nice, sitting there with the mellow buzz crackling inside as you sated your hunger. Was this what being alive was meant to actually feel like? And how fucked were you that it took getting stabbed to actually give you an appetite? Not that it was going to last, it never did for more than a couple of days before you went back to just living on coffee and instant ramen. You’d learnt the hard way it was easier not to keep in anything that could perish just on the off chance you actually felt like eating.

Halfway through the burger you put it down, taking another drag off the joint before heading back inside quickly for a glass of water. Stupid body needing liquids to not choke. You let out a cloud of smoke as you came outside, followed by a couple of coughs. Okay, maybe a small mistake to hold it for that long whilst trying to actually do things as well. Yeah, well the music was good, the food was good, and the weed was good; of course you had to fuck it up a little.

Side A of the album finished about the same time as the food, one last puff on the joint before stubbing out the roach. Time to switch to side B. You left the back door open, letting the woods call to you still as you flipped the disc. Not that disappearing into the woods would actually do anything for you other than get you cold and lost. But it was a kinda romantic thought to daydream about.

Heading to the couch you slowly lay yourself down on it, mindful of your stitches, staring up at the ceiling and letting the music just wash over you for a bit. Just letting the thoughts flow out of your head, a little bit of nothingness for a while.

Maybe this was what being dead was like.

---

Your phone rang, and you let out a groan. Fuck, when did it get dark? The stereo was just playing the soft hiss of the needle looping around the empty last track. Damn, you really zoned out there.

Right, fuck, the phone. You really just wanted to let it ring out, you normally did. But Jed had said he’d call you if he needed to check in with anything; and he’d been nice enough that you’d feel a little bad letting him go to the answer machine. And you needed to thank him for the whole anonymous thing. Ah fuck.

Hefting yourself upright, ow ow fucking ow, gotta move gently still had a stab wound, you let out a few curses as you stumbled over to the phone. Picking up, and proud that your voice only sounded a little strained, you managed a “Hello?”

Silence for a beat.

A breath.

Then that voice that had been haunting your thoughts and dreams.

“So, what’s your favourite scary movie?”

[moopsy-daisy]

Make Your Own Cosmetics, Get What You Actually Want

Once you've been in zero waste, eco friendly, solarpunk/lunarpunk circles for a while, it's easy to forget the steps you took when you started. There are lots of DIY projects I've been doing for 10+ years now, and I keep doing them because they work (for me). Yet, when I sit back and think "am I doing enough?" I always gloss over the myriad things that have become part of my everyday life.

Making these things won't save the environment, but you'll get products that meet your needs on your terms, will save you money, and you won't have to worry about a company discontinuing your favorites. Plus, it seems like a lot less packaging to just buy a brick of beeswax and toss in some kitchen stuff you already had to make makeup.

Henna

I got really lucky, I always wanted red hair and henna is a natural dye that only comes in red. Well, more of a coppery tone. But, here's the other cool thing: the henna process is anti-fungal and controls dandruff. Half the time, I remember to color my hair because my scalp starts getting itchy 6+ weeks later and I start to get flakes. Coloring my hair takes care of my scalp and I don't need dandruff shampoo to keep it healthy. It's cost-effective, buying high quality henna for a year's worth of color (for my length and thicc hair) is about $60 for 18-months' of materials. I mix it when I need it, and keep the powder in the freezer. Pro-tip, if you or your partner don't like the grassy, hay-like smell of henna, add cardamom or ginger powder to the mix. It doesn't change the color but it'll knock down the scent.

I learned everything I needed to know about Henna for Hair here: http://hennaforhair.com and buy through Catherine's store because I know I'm getting real, quality henna powder.

Oh and a cloth wrap for your hair will let you keep the henna covered without wasting plastic wrap every time you redo your roots. I've been using the same 'turbie twist' wraps for years now. I made them from old t-shirts and they're stained as fuck. Who cares? This is basically their only job.

Carmine Lip Color

No, it isn't vegan. Yes, it's made of bugs. It's also a spectacular color, the insects aren't abused in the process of gathering or raising. They're actually parasites on nopal cactus, they have a simple niche and serve it well. I learned this lip stain recipe from Humblee & Me, and have found that the anti-bacterial doesn't seem to be necessary, ymmv. A 2.5 gram sample pack of carmine from TKB has lasted me almost a year and I wear this almost daily. I find that the glycerin really helps keep my lips from drying out too badly, so I wear my lip stain even when I'm not planning on being seen by other people. I spend about $20 on lip color for a year and that's including the bottles I use to store it (tiny eyedroppers work best imo) and the glycerin. Not quite zero waste but darn close.

Note: I'm still trying to find a simple recipe for black goth lipstick that I like. So far, my attempts have had a nasty texture and aren't worth the trouble.

Eyebrow Fill

My favorite brand of eyebrow liner discontinued the best color I ever found, so I decided to make my own. Beeswax, cocoa powder, activated charcoal, and almond oil made a little pot of eyebrow fill that suits my needs beautifully. Go super light on the charcoal until you know you've got the color you want. My brows are pretty dark but not fully black, so I do a dark chocolate sort of shade. I think I made my last batch about 11 months ago and it's still half full. I use it daily, apply with an angled brush, and it's never given me breakouts or anything. I don't even wash it off, because I am lazy.

Body Powder/Dry shampoo

Growing up in California, I didn't need this stuff. Living in Oregon? Summer would be awful without body powder. It's also a nice way to have a fragrance on. Pour your favorite perfume (I love Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab oils) onto a cotton ball, put that ball in a jar with a bunch of corn starch. Shake. Leave it for a month. You now have scented body powder. It's a decent dry shampoo, too, I just brush it into my dark hair and it disappears.

Tooth Powder

There is NOTHING wrong with using conventional toothpaste if it meets your needs. I have particular reasons for using tooth powder. These include hating the taste of most toothpaste and needing to avoid fluoride because of my particular thyroid condition. (Fluoride isn't bad for everyone! It isn't ideal for everyone. Figure out what you need!) I make my own tooth powder, it works well enough for me and I don't hate brushing my teeth like I used to. 1 part baking soda, 1 part bentonite clay, some ground cloves. Mix it up, keep in a glass jar (metal will bond with the clay, bad things happen, this is why we use glass or plastic for storage). $20 of materials = LOADS of tooth powder.

Cutting Hair

It's way easier than you think. I cut my own hair and I do a graduated bob which is a little more complex than most at-home cuts. I taught myself. I use decent shears (don't use scissors) and a Wahl hair trimmer set. Learn this skill on yourself, and when people find out you can do hair, they'll come to you for their own needs. Great way to provide mutual aid (one of my parents is trans and getting haircuts in a salon would be extremely stressful for her, so I cut her hair and save her money and suffering). You could also do skill trades! I trade haircuts for massages from a massage therapist friend, for example.

Protip: Dust yourself with body powder before cutting hair, it makes the little shards of cut hair way less prone to sticking to you. You'll still want a shower but it'll just be less icky.

[ineffable-rohese]

Sometimes I really wished anyone in my house was neurotypical. But I'm definitely inattentive ADHD and the spouse is almost definitely autistic and very definitely has chronic mental illnesses.

What this means is that we're, after 20+ years of living together, still shit at housekeeping.

What that means tonight is we have a constant backlog of dishes (no dishwasher), especially the leftovers containers. They had promised to do the dishes while I was out of town for 2 weeks dealing with major family things, but they didn't because depression. Zero dishes were done during that time. They did do some in the last two weeks (as have I) but the backlog remained. And then they were going to do them before they left for a trip today, but they didn't because time management issues.

The landlord is coming by with the pest guy tomorrow because the building had a mouse issue a couple years ago and they are proactive (which is great). So I have to do the mountain of dishes. Which I just got to this evening due to time blindness and an inability to judge how long anything takes ever.

I opened a glass container. It looked like it had some old food in it. Ew, but fine, whatever. I put it in the sink. I turned on the tap. Clouds of spores. It looked like smoke.

Did I mention my mold allergy? I have a mold allergy.

I now feel like my whole body is pissed at me for breathing. I have abandoned the kitchen as a toxic waste zone. There is still a pile of dirty dishes that won't get done. A smaller pile, as I'd done 2.5 loads so far today. But still a pile.

I hate everything about this.