#I can’t quite put it into words. but it taps into a part of me

[proxolagist]

ID under the cut

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Clay Puppington from Moral Orel. He’s leaning forward with an angry expression, lit from the front by a harsh red light. There is smoke coming up around him to form a silhouette of a wolf behind him, framing the taxidermied head of the hunting dog from the episode Nature Pt. 1. End ID]

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[xxblairexxss]

A fresh start

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x singlemom!reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.2k

Part 2

Requested!

In which Charles had a crush on the new member of the team without knowing he was already a good friend of her toddler.

It gets a little heavy near the end so heads up! Not proofread!

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"There seems to be a problem with the downforce. It kind of eats the tyre quite a lot."

Charles felt a touch on his hip while he was too busy listening to the engineers. Looking down, he saw a small kid patting on his leg, while the other hand seemed to be offering him something. "Hey, are you giving this to me?" He asked, pulling the headset from his ear as he crouched down.

"Yeah! My mom always gives me candy whenever I am stressed with my homework. You can—oh." The little kid fumbled with the wrapping paper that was securely wrapped around the lollipop. "I can’t take the plastic off for you. Sorry…"

"Oh, it’s okay. Let me help you." Charles twiddled with the wrapper as it went loose before he pulled it off. "There! Oh, for me? Are you sure?"

"No stress! Bye bye!" The toddler waved and sprinted off, leaving Charles with the strawberry lollipop in his hand.

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"Any idea who she is?" Charles nudged Joris and tipped his chin towards the girl who was across the room.

"She’s part of the communication executive." Joris took a quick glance and went back to his phone.

"I have never seen her before." His eyes were latched on the girl, seeing the way she talked with her hands, nodding and smiling at whatever the other girl was talking about.

"She just joined the team."

"What’s her name?" Charles nudged Joris again, causing him to heave a sigh and stand up.

"Y/N!" Joris called out.

"Joris! What the fuck?" Charles slapped his friend’s leg and looked away. The phone in his hand seemed to be looking much more interesting, though it wasn’t even turned on. While his fingers were dancing and tapping on any random buttons on his phone, his ears were listening to the conversation—well, more like listening to her voice. It was weird how he had never seen her before, but Joris seemed to be getting along with her very well.

"That was Y/N." Joris gave a smile, stealing a peep from Charles’s phone, and laughed when he saw it was on camera, capturing Charles’s face from an angle below. "Nice picture, by the way. Is that why you couldn’t stop looking at it when she was here?"

"Very unnecessary, Joris. You could have just told me her name." He threw his cap on and stood up to leave the room.

"I thought you wanted to get to know her." Joris exclaimed, seeing his best friend walking away.

"I can figure that one myself!"

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"Charlie!"

"Hey, Adam! Give me a five!" He bent down as the little one hopped and touched their hands together. This has been his fourth time seeing him, and every single time, his visit would get longer and longer. The first time he met the kid, he just dropped by to give him candy and walked away. This time, he came by with candy and shared a few little jokes and games.

"Do you always wander around the paddock alone? Your dad never gets mad." He ripped the top off the candy and handed it to the kid.

"No, mommy won’t be mad if I just stay around the red garage. Oh! Sour!" His face scrunched up, making the driver cackle.

"Oh? You’re with your mom? Dang, this is sour." He made a face and shivered as the sourness hit.

"Yeah, I’m with mommy! Daddy is…" He looked down, his bottom lips jutting out. Charles knew right away it wasn’t something light if this was the reaction coming from a 4-year-old kid, so he cut the topic short.

"You don’t have anything sweet in there? I’m not a fan of sour candy."

Adam patted his pockets and shook his head. "No more candy! I stole that from mommy. Shh, she didn’t know." He put his pointy finger on his lips and giggled.

"Your secret is safe with me, buddy. I have to go. See you around, Adam!" Charles stood up and gave the little one a pat on the head before he went to get Andrea for his short meeting before the press conference.

"This will be your..." 

Charles was slapped with what felt like a brick when it was just a file of papers, but the sting was unexpected, causing him to lean back as he covered one side of his face with his hand.

"Oh! I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did I just slap you?"

Chuckling, he shook his head and pressed his palm on his eyes—the ones that just got slapped on. "No, no. Well, yes, I’m okay. Are you–"  Her beauty from up close astounded him, erasing all vocabularies in his head as he went blank. "You are beautiful," he muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Oh? Oh, nothing. Y/N, right?" He offered a handshake with the widest grin. "I’m Charles."

"Everyone knows who you are, Charles." You laughed, accepting the handshake. "How do you know my name? I never properly introduced myself."

"Oh, Joris told me." He answered, his eyes still on her, making him look like a fool without realising it.

"Do you have anything else to say? Because I need to." She pointed the other way. "I need to head there."

He pulled himself back to his senses and stepped aside. "Oh, sorry about that. I’m not going to hold you any longer."

"Sorry about that. Good luck in the qualifying round!"

"Oh, wait! Is this yours?" He crouched down and took the sour candies on his feet. The same one he got from the kid

"Oh, yeah! Must have slipped off my hand. Thank you!"

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"Mommy, look!"

You took the paper that he handed to you and cackled at the drawing. "What is this, sweetheart?"

"Guess, mommy! Look, I drew the moustache too." He pointed at the little lines, wearing the proudest smile.

"A moustache? Is that a cat?"

"Yes! Like the one we used to have!" He started collecting all of his marker pens and coloured pencils, placing them in his small pencil case as he saw you start packing your stuff. "Are we going back already?"

"Yeah, mommy’s all done with my work, so we can head back early. Should we go on a little date and get ice cream?" Shutting down your laptop, you placed them in the case when Adam seemed to be rushing to go somewhere with his little backpack. "Where are you going?"

"Mommy, wait! I haven’t met Charlie!"

"What even is Charlie?" You muttered, picking up the missing marker pens he had missed for rushing.

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"Hey, munchkin! I was waiting for you." Charles grinned and offered his hand for a high five. "Where have you been?"

"Oh! I’m going back already. Wait!" He sneaked his little hand into his pocket and frowned when he couldn’t find the thing he was looking for. Charles then saw him pull his arms off his small backpack and sneak his little hand inside the small compartment. "This is for you!"

"You are going home? Why?" Taking the small Mars bar from the little one, he kept it in his hand as he helped him put on his backpack again.

"Mommy’s done with her work early today, so I’m going out on a date!"

Charles grabbed his little arm before he could sprint away. "You? You are going out on a date? Wait, with who?"

"Adam!"

The driver’s facial expression went blank as he heard the voice. The little arm in his hand slipped off as he saw the little one run and hug the legs of the woman he has been dying to talk to over the past couple of months.

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"Mommy!"

You ruffled his hair as he crashed into you. "Have you met your Charlie?" Bending down, you squeezed his chubby cheeks as you took his hand in yours.

"Yes! That’s Charlie!" He exclaimed, pointing at someone.

You saw Charles still crouching down with a Mars bar in his hand. He was already looking at you as you laid your eyes on him. He looked surprised and stunned, as he didn’t seem to catch the smile you gave.

"He's—he’s yours? Adam, is your kid?" He queried, taking steps closer.

"Yeah, he’s my son. Wait–" Looking down, you cupped his little cheek. "Adam, Charlie, is Charles? Is this the friend you have been giving your candy away to?"

"Yes!" he squealed.

You thought he had been making friends with a cat or any other person, but not with an actual driver, because who would have thought he would have the most time in the world to be friends with a 4-year-old kid? "I’m so sorry if he had been bothering you. I truly had no idea about that.”

"It’s okay, Y/N. I got free candies." He showed the Mars bar he had in his hand, making you chuckle.

"I am going out on a date with mommy. Do you want to come?"

His words became a mumble as you quickly covered his mouth. "Charlie is busy, Adam." Tilting your head back and facing the driver, you asked the little one to wave before walking away. "I’ll get going now. Say bye, Adam."

"Bye, Charlie!"

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"What’s with that smile?" Joris peeked his head to look at the little kid, who kept looking back every now and then to wave his little hand at the driver.

"Nothing." Charles ripped off the Mars bar in his hand and took a bite of it, cocking his brow at Joris, who seemed to have more questions. "What?"

"Nothing." He mimicked Charles’s expression and moved away before he could get hit in the head.

"You didn’t tell me she had a kid." Charles blurted.

"I thought you wanted to figure it out yourself. Why? Does it change anything?"

"What do you mean?" He queried, taking another bite from the chocolate bar.

"Does it change your little crush on her now that you know she has a kid?"

"No, not at all. I like her even more now." He chuckled and did a double take on his friend. "Wait, how do you know I have a crush on her?"

"Because you aren’t being too discreet about it. I bet Adam knew it too. Give me that." Joris snatched the chocolate bar from the driver’s hand and took the last bite. "You shouldn’t eat too much sweet for your diet, you know."

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"Adam, I need your help." The sound of music in the room was cut off when the driver finally spoke what had been in his head for weeks. Charles was lying down on the couch in his driver room with his little friend, while the little one was too busy colouring the dinosaur from his book.

"More candy?" He asked, switching to a different colour pencil from his case.

"No, not candy. I wanted to ask your mom on a date." He put his phone away and sat up, looking at the little one full of anticipation.

"No."

"Wait, what? Why?" Charles stood up and took a seat by Adam’s side. He casually started participating in the colouring activity as he took a blue pencil and started filling in the tail section of the dinosaur. "I thought we were friends?"

"Mommy only goes on a date with me."

"She might want to go on a date with me." He assured him, helping him change to a different coloured pencil.

"I don’t want mommy to cry again, so, no. I need to go now!" He stood up and packed his colourful stuff inside his little backpack with the help of the driver.

"I won’t make her cry, Adam." Charles handed him his colouring book as the toddler stood up to leave.

"That’s what Daddy used to say too. Bye bye, Charlie!"

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"Charlie hurt?" 

"Yes, sweetheart. He crashed today, so you shouldn’t bug him, okay? Just stay here." You pinched his little cheek before handing him his iPad. "Not too long. Turn it off when mommy says so, alright?"

Adam did listen to you and stayed in the break room while you sorted out a few things before race day tomorrow. There wasn’t any meeting until the next hour, so you got to do your work while listening to your kid watch Coco ten times this weekend.

Until you heard a knock on the door,

"Hi. Uhm, I’m looking for Adam." Your eyes widened as the driver peeked his head inside the room.

"Charlie!" He put his iPad to the side and hopped off the couch to run straight into Charles’s arms.

"Why didn’t you come to see me?"

"Mommy said I shouldn’t bug you. Are you okay?" You chuckled when he cupped the driver’s cheeks with his small hands.

"Yeah, I’m okay. Wait, actually, not really."

To that, Adam gasped and covered his mouth with his hands. "Oh, no! You need candy?"

"Come here." Charles pulled your son to the end of the room, so you were no longer able to eavesdrop on the conversation.

You saw those two start whispering something, giggling, and laughing while you were left out. "Bye Charlie!" He waved as the driver trod, leaving the break room.

"Bye, munchkin. See you, Y/N. You look beautiful in a ponytail, by the way."

You were taken back by the sudden compliment, and your hand went to stroke your hair now that he mentioned it. "But I always have my hair tied?"

"Yeah, that’s what I meant." He gave a wink before walking away, leaving you and your toddler, who seemed to find the whole situation funny.

"What did he tell you?" You tried to pry into their business, acting casual by going back to your work.

"It’s a secret!" He winked, which looked more like a face scrunch as he went back on his iPad, making you frown in confusion.

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"Go! Open the door!"

"I can’t. Give me a second."

"Why?"

"I’m nervous, buddy."

"I’ll open it for you!"

"No, no!"

You were staying in the break room, playing with your phone while your little one stayed outside, watching an army of people in the paddock celebrate the drivers on the podium. He had promised to stay just outside the room so you wouldn’t have to worry about him being in the crowd, but minutes later, you kept hearing whispers right outside the door. You weren’t sure who the owner of the other one was, but you were so sure one of them belonged to your son.

"Mommy?" 

"The door is not locked, love. Just come in." You replied and went back to your phone, expecting him to walk in, but he didn’t.

"Go, Charlie!”

"Is there anything wrong?" Placing the phone away, you pushed the door open and saw that your toddler kept on pushing the driver towards your door. "Charles? Do you need anything?"

"Y/N. Actually–"

"Charlie wants to ask you out on a date!" Adam cut in.

The words made you flabbergasted. That was impossible. Why would he ask you out on a date when every woman he met on a daily basis dressed up way better and had better body shape than you?

And they were single. While you were a divorcee, you even had a kid.

"Stop joking around, Adam. Leave Charlie alone, okay?" Adam hid behind the driver as you tried to grab his arm, giggling while hugging Charles’s legs.

"Would you go out on a date with me?"

You gave a dry smile and shook your head right away. "Sorry, Charles. I have a kid, remember? Who’s going to take care of him if I—“

"Joris will play with me! Right, Charlie?" He pulled on the Ferrari’s shirt, chuckling as he felt Charles’s hand on his neck.

"Joris agreed to take care of Adam for one night. They are best friends." Charles assured.

"I can’t, Charles. I’m so sorry."

He followed you inside while Adam stayed outside to find Joris. "But why?" You ignored him. "Y/N, why?"

"I should be asking you that. Why me? I don’t get it. I have a kid, Charles." You took your phone and started taking your laptop bag.

"And what’s wrong with that?"

"Nothing’s wrong, but you have all those hot girls ready for you to ask them out. I am way out of your league, Charles." 

He held your arm to stop you from walking out of the room. "I got Adam’s permission, and I promised him that I was going to take you out. Please give me a chance."

"How did you get his permission?"

You saw him awkwardly smile as he scratched the back of his neck. "He promised me his permission if I ended up in the top 5 this weekend."

Laughing, you rolled your eyes at how ridiculous the deal was.

"Is that a yes?" He tilted his head, having a little faith in how the tension in the room seemed to die down.

"Fine. Just one date."

To that, he bit his lips and threw up a fist. "Yes! You’ll be in Maranello next weekend, yeah? I’ll pick up."

"Sure, I’ll send you the address."

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Be nice to Joris, alright?"

"Mommy looks very pretty!" He placed both of his palms on your cheeks and gave you a kiss before hugging you by the neck. "Have fun with Charlie! Let me know if he makes you cry, and I’ll." He showed you his little fist. "I’ll hit him!"

Giggling, you kiss him back on his cheek. "I thought you said he was nice."

"Yeah, Charlie is very nice. That’s why I let him take mommy out on a date." He ran towards the main door as Joris helped put his sneakers on. "Bye mommy!"

Back then, when he was born, you always worried if you were able to raise him all on your own. If you could take on both responsibilities as his mother and father figure at a young age, You were grateful enough, as he had grown up to be a very gentle and cheerful kid, despite what he had witnessed occasionally whenever your ex-husband paid a visit. He was never a good dad. He never wanted to be one. Adam barely called him dad. He never knew what it felt like to have a dad, but he would always reassure you that he was glad enough to have the perfect mom. Though you tried to keep your marriage problems between you and your ex-husband, Adam was smart enough to figure out what his dad was like. Whenever your ex-husband came by, you would always get bruises on your body. Maybe that was why your little one grew up to be very protective of you, despite his age.

Charles had told you he was a few minutes away, so you weren’t expecting to see your former spouse when you opened the door.

"Where are you going?" He pushed the door and walked inside as if he had any right to do so.

"It’s none of your business. Please leave."

"It’s my house. Where’s Adam? And why are you all dressed up?" He scanned you up and down, smirking as if you looked humorous.

"Leave, please."

"Come on, baby. I haven’t seen you for months. I have missed you."

You pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. Whenever you were home, he would always come by to ask for sex. He would beat you up if you ever resisted any of his attempts, but you would rather get beaten than be in the same bed with him again. You were just glad Adam wasn’t here to witness it all again. "Leave me alone!" You yelled, pushing him off from pinning your body against the wall.

"You fucking bitc—who’s that?" His hand, which was about to hit you in the face, came to an abrupt stop when the doorbell rang.

"It’s no one." The doorbell rang again.

"Go and open the door. It’s fucking annoying." He pushed you on your head, making you jerk forward towards the door.

You wiped on your tears that rolled down your cheeks before twisting the lock as you were greeted by Charles, with his dimples that went shallow as soon as he saw you.

"Y/N? Are you crying?"

You let out a sob and tilted your face away from the tears that rolled down your cheeks again. "I’m sorry, I can’t make it today."

"What’s wrong? Did something happen?" He gently tilted your face and felt his stomach drop when he saw your broken expression. "What happened, Y/N?"

"I–" You sobbed again.

"She wants you to leave, kid."

Charles pushed the door wider as he walked in and stood in front of you. "Who are you?"

"I’m her husband."

You felt his hand on your arm as he pulled you closer; his gaze was still locked on the older guy.

Charles let out a chuckle, seeing how absurd this whole situation was. "So, you are the ex-husband. Well, I don’t think it was me who wasn’t supposed to be in here."

"Kid, this is my house, and that bitch that you are touching is mine." He snarled.

"Don’t call me that. And she’s not yours." Charles furrowed at the man, feeling your hand gripping his arm.

"Ah, so she’s yours now? Did you claim her yet?"

"She’s not mine. She’s no one's possession because she’s not a fucking item. You should leave." His teeth were clenched as his gaze pierced the man. "Leave before I call the cops on you."

"I’ll get going first, baby. See you when this motherfucker is gone, yeah?" You flinched when you felt his cold skin on your cheek.

"Don’t fucking touch her." Charles yanked his hand away and locked the door after the older man was gone, leaving you and him alone.

"Did he hurt you?" Charles cupped on your face, heaving a sigh of relief when there wasn’t anything serious as you shook your head at his question.

Charles wanted to ask a lot of questions, but you were still shaken up by the whole thing, so he grabbed you by your hand as both of you settled down on the couch.

"You can leave, Charles. I’m sorry for ruining your night."

"It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. And who said the date was ruined? Adam told me you love pizza, so are you up for a pizza night?" He found himself grinning when he saw that little smile on your beautiful face.

It was supposed to be a romantic dinner date; instead, you were sitting on the couch with a box of pizza while watching a Disney movie. Charles had to pick out the pineapple on every slice of pizza and vocally judged you on your preference because there was no way he could eat a pizza with a pineapple together.

But it was a very fun night. It was enough to make you completely forget what had happened earlier, but enough to not make the day all about that.

"Y/N, can I ask something?" He picked out another pineapple, trying so hard not to make a disgusted face, which made you laugh.

"Is this about what happened?" You confirmed.

"Yeah, but if you don’t feel comfortable answering, then it’s fine." Charles took a bite of his now pineapple-free pizza.

"No, it’s okay. You can ask." You collected the pineapple he picked off and ate it on its own.

"How long?"

"How long has it been since he did that? It was on and off. If he got a new girlfriend, he would stop coming by for a couple of months." You saw the look he had on you, and it made you feel sad at how bad your life has turned out to be.

"You didn’t report to the police?"

"I did, but I never got any further updates. I even tried to move away, but he always managed to find me back. Which is why I’m always happy whenever I have to travel for work. That way, he won’t be able to ruin my life, and Adam could live his life as a child without having to worry about me." You looked away as you started to clean up the empty box as an excuse so you wouldn’t have to look at his face any longer or you would be crying again.

"I’ll see what I can do. It’s about time for the authority to take action about this. I promise I’ll help you."

"Thank you, Charles. I owe you a lot. I really don’t know how to pay you back." You beamed and dipped your hand in the small box.

"You still owe me a proper date?"

"Fine, make it the second date. Do you want candy?" You handed him one as you popped one in your mouth.

"Ah!" Charles blurted it out, making you jump. "How could I miss this?" He took the sour candy and burst out laughing. It was the same candy that he had been getting from Adam way before he found out he was related to you. "Adam had been stealing your sour candies all this time to share them with me."

"Really?" You laughed along, connecting the dots as to why your candy seemed to be way less than it should have been.

"Guess I love sour candies now." He threw one into his mouth and shivered at the sourness.

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[bluejeanstrash]

tags: boyfriend! seungcheol x reader, 18+, mdni, having piv sex for the first time but seungcheol’s dick is too big :(, size kink, pet names (baby, good girl) | wc: 890

‘fuck, baby’ seungcheol says in a breathy whisper, dragging his teeth up his bottom lip.

‘fuck, you can barely take it’ he shudders, seeing how your walls are being stretched open trying to take his thickness. there’s something about the way it doesn’t quite fit in there that makes him ache.

‘you-, you’re so big’ there it is. those words again. he never gets tired of you being in awe of his size. he gives you more, and you take it, gripping tight onto his throbbing cock, allowing only a little bit of it inside you. he’s barely past the head when you wince.

‘are you okay?’ you nod, desperate to fit him all the way but your body doesn’t allow it; your cunt tightens making his cock slip out of you.

‘baby, let’s stop. i don’t want to hurt you’ he cooes, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

‘no, you’re not hurting me. please, put it inside me…i can take it’ your words drive him crazy. how can resist you when you’re begging for his cock like this?

‘baby…’

‘please’ you pout ‘i want to feel all of you in me’

‘yeah? you want all of me?’ his voice is soft. he takes his cock in his palm, stroking himself slowly before resting it on your stomach ‘i’ll be that deep inside you baby’ you look down, feeling a little dizzy seeing where the tip reaches — just a little below your belly button.

‘all the way till there..’ he whispers, making your toes curl.

seungcheol bends, inches away from you ‘i don’t think your tight little pussy can take me’ he mutters against your lips before kissing you, and slowly starts to roll his hips, his cock rubbing on your stomach. his movements are measured, every stroke a reminder of just how deep he’ll be.

‘cheollie, please, i need it’

‘so impatient’ he smiles, kissing you again, sliding his tongue into your mouth. you make out, his languid strokes building your anticipation for the real thing. and just a few minutes later you feel his cock start to leak with his precum, leaving wet streaks of arousal on your stomach. you can’t wait anymore.

‘seungcheol…please’ he’d love to tease just a tiny bit more but seungcheol needs you just as bad.

he gives you one last kiss, and another on your cheek before leaning back. you watch as he grabs his heavy cock, tapping it against your stomach — the sound of which makes you moan. he loves it when you sound needy like that for him.

‘spread open for me baby’ he orders gently as you do, showing him just how soaked and swollen your pussy is for his cock.

‘shit’ and you love it when he sounds needy like that for you.

carefully, he pushes back in as you gasp, immediately squeezing tight. ‘relax...’ you breathe, feeling your body loosen up.

‘that’s it…that’s a good girl’ he gives you just a bit more, warming you up inch by inch ‘fuck, you’re so tight..’

seungcheol can feel you need a little help to fully relax so he brings two of his fingers to his mouth, licking them wet, before placing them on your clit to caress in slow circles. the pressure of him pushing something so heavy into you paired with his light touches is heavenly. ‘a-ah’ and you let him know through your soft moans, those pretty sounds spilling past your parted lips.

‘you’re doing so good’ he praises but when you look down you see he’s just halfway in, a faint look of worry now on your face.

‘okay?’ he notices straight away. you nod, placing your palm flat against his chest.

‘just keep going slowly…and don’t stop’ he grips your waist with both hands, pressing down on your stomach as he pushes further. he’s already drunk on the way you look right now — the soft flush of lust on your cheeks and that wanting look in your half-lidded eyes — but then you grab your breasts, squeezing them sensually and fondling your nipples. he could die of desire.

‘fuck baby, you’re so hot’ he watches you, giving you more of him ‘keep touching yourself like that...just a little…more’ he groans, and with a final push he penetrates you fully, your warmth enveloping him.

‘f-uck, you’re so big’ you whimper, eyebrows furrowed ‘baby you feel so good inside me…so good’ he groans at your praises. seungcheol’s so weak for the way his cock has almost disappeared inside you, and he swears he can see the faint outline of it bulging in your stomach.

‘you feel amazing’ he moans and starts to thrust, giving you only shallow strokes to get used to him.

‘mm, deeper..’ you ask for immediately, fingertips pawing at his skin, making him chuckle.

‘you-’ he pulls out completely, leaving you empty and aching all at once. you can feel his wet tip hovering near your wetter entrance, pressing against it teasingly ‘-are so impatient’

‘why are you in such a hurry, baby?’ he leans in to give you a kiss, pulling back to look at you ‘we’ve got all night-’ and suddenly, in one single stroke he pushes his entire length back in as you gasp ‘-and i’m just getting started with you’

[misctf]

Country Living

When he stopped to help you on the side of this lonely country road, you couldn’t have been more grateful. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on these desolate backroads. Nor did you expect a lack of cell service. Your years studying in college didn’t exactly give you the knowledge on how to diagnose and fix cars. But based on all the smoke, you figured something was wrong.

“Aw, don't you worry none, I'm right happy to help y'all out.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his short brown hair, “Name’s Bucky. What brings y'all to this neck of the woods?”

He was certainly taller and more muscular than you- not to mention ripe with the smell of a hard day’s work. And you could tell he was looking you over, the juxtaposition couldn’t have been clearer. Country vs city boy, manual laborer vs keyboard warrior, dropped out of high school vs college educated. The list could go on. But despite the bias you held towards these country folks, you were happy he was helping. And so you introduced yourself and expressed your sincere gratitude. Bucky smiled and gave you a bone crushing handshake.

“Ain't no trouble at all, I'm just glad to help out.” He smiled warmly, his dark eyes, while lacking intelligence, were filled with kindness and just a bit of mischief.

He winks at you and you felt your heart flutter for just a moment. Maybe it was the way his stubble framed his tanned face. Or the way the sweat dripped from his muscular arms as he worked on your car. Or perhaps it was the occasional glances he gave you and the sly smirk that told you he knew you were checking him out.

“I reckon I know what's wrong. Just need to grab a tool from my garage.” He said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “You care to join me? Looks like you could use a sip of somethin’.”

It was true. In the sweltering heat, you were certainly thirsty. And while part of you wanted to stay with your car, you felt beckoned to go with him. And so you did. You climbed into his pick-up truck and watched as he revved the engine. And before long, you were cruising down the old country road with your car disappearing from sight.

“Well, dang if this ain't my favorite tune!” Bucky said, turning up the volume, “You figure you into this kinda music?”

It was some country song. One about cars, beer, and living on a farm. Not something you’d listen to voluntarily. But as Bucky sang in his southern twang, you found your foot tapping along. Soon you were mouthing the words, almost as if you knew the song by heart. And a moment later you joined in with him, the two of you putting your hearts into every lyric. You barely noticed the southern twang that garnished your voice.

“Well, I'll be darned! Can’t believe you like these kinda tunes. No offense intended, but you don't quite fit the mold, do ya?” He says with a chuckle.

Bucky gives your arm a playful punch and you look down at the exposed, tanned skin of your bicep. Your muscles were contracting and seemingly getting larger, highlighted nicely by the wifebeater that clung tightly to your skin. You look up at Bucky and he gives you a wink. Again, you feel comforted by his kind smile and playful dark eyes. You turn away and absentmindedly run a hand over your growing biceps. So firm and tight, the skin somewhat weathered. But deep down you know something isn’t right. Its nagging at you, begging for you to say something. To at least find out what’s happening to you. You want to tell Bucky, but he’s just pulled up to his garage.  

“Mind givin’ me a hand findin’ my toolkit?” Bucky asks. You nod quickly- your anxiety being pushed deep into your subconsciousness. And as Bucky enters the garage, he pulls off his sweaty wifebeater, “Don't pay me no mind, it sure gets mighty hot 'round these parts. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And you follow his example. As you do, you catch a whiff of your pits. The musk that invades your nostrils is a far cry from the vegan deodorant you applied this morning. Moreso, your usually well-trimmed pit hair is now a curly damp bush of dark brown hairs that poke out when you lower your arms. The smell makes you dizzy and you feel like you might fall over, but Bucky lends you a hand.

“Don’t go faintin’ on me now.” He says with a grin, “We got a lotta work to do.”

“Don't you worry 'bout me none, I got this here handled.” You say- the words leaving your mouth without much input from your brain. Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins.

“I shoulda known that.” His laugh fills your ears and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve heard. He notices you admiring him, “Gotta find those tools now.”

You nod and start rummaging through his garage and workbench. You pick up a wrench and place it down. Then another and another. You never really needed to learn basic mechanic stuff, let alone the names of wrenches. You were more focused on your degree. Your degree in... In...? You stare at the composite wrench in your hand and your eyes narrow. You were studying something at that univer... uni... book-learnin’ place of yours, right? Your thoughts are distracted when some oil spills on your hands.

“Gosh darnit.” You mutter, wiping the oil on your work jeans. Work jeans that were stained and torn from years of laboring.

You turn towards Bucky to say something, but instead find yourself gawking. His perfect stubble across his face, the sweat gleaming on his firm and toned muscles, and the way his chest hairs frame his pecs. Your dick gets hard and you quickly start to massage your bulge. And when you see how well his work jeans fit tightly around his juicy ass, you can’t but help let out a whistle.

“You say somethin’?” He asks, turning to face you, “Yeehaw! Look at you!” He says, clearly gawking.  

You turn to catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror and your eyes widen. You bounce your juicy pecs, appreciating the light dusting of hairs that decorate them. You raise your thick, meaty arm and flex, causing your muscles to bulge. And then you look at your face. It had squared out a bit, giving it a masculine edge and your cheeks now sported stubble. You felt powerful, and you couldn’t help but continue to flex.

“Hey there big fella.” You let out a masculine moan as Bucky comes from behind you, his arm reaching around, and his hand grabbing a fistful of your muscle tit, “You’re bigger’n a bull in springtime!” You just nod, unable to produce words as pleasure courses through you from his teasing hand, “It sure does get lonesome out here in these parts. Reckon I wouldn’t mind some company, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

He spins you around, your bodies pressing up against one another. His hand moves down your abs and then down your work jeans. He’s staring deep into your eyes now, a primal lust replacing the prior warmth from earlier. And for the first time, you feel lost. Scared even. As though you’re going down a path you wouldn’t be able to back away from. The end of one chapter of your life and the start of another you weren’t sure you wanted.

“Wait a minute... somethin’ don’t feel right. I... this ain’t who I am.” You say, unable to talk like you used to.

“Now, don’t go overthinkin’ it. Just keep your eyes on me.” Bucky whispered, his hands working to undo the buckle on your jeans.

You watch as he pulls down your pants and slowly gets down on his knees. Your enlarged, throbbing dick continues to grow, adding inch after inch. Bucky is nearly salivating as he comes face to face with your monster, and without another word, his tongue traces along the shaft. You moan as his mouth expertly works your cock. He bobs up and down, taking its entirety into his mouth. You feel as his hands wrap around your waist and he grabs a fistful of your muscular ass, causing you to let out another deep, masculine moan. You can feel your dick throbbing, your balls growing heavy with your seed. And as he expertly works the head of your cock, you can feel it. You’re getting close... so close. And then it stops. You’re breathing heavy now, and you look down at him. A sheen of sweat covers your body, dampening your body hair and filling the air with your country musk.

“Wh... why’d ya stop?” You breath out.

Bucky smirks, “You sure 'bout this, darlin’? Leavin’ behind all that city livin’ and book-learnin’? Just you and me, livin’ simple out here?” He licks along your shaft again, “Once you say yes, that’s it. No turnin’ back, no second thoughts. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Was this what he wanted? To bring you so close? To send you into a horny frenzy? To make it so that in this moment, all you’d be able to say was yes? With a smirk and a wink, he went back to sucking your cock. And as he did, you could feel it. You could feel your brain shrinking. Your memories growing up in suburbia vanished. As were your memories of going to college in the city. Nerdy interests like videogames and comic books vanished from your brain, and you felt terror as you forgot about your friends and family. Everything that made you you was vanishing from your mind. Instead, you could feel new interests: farming, hunting, woodworking, lifting weights, and drinking beer with your husband after a long day. Your fashion sense simplified: wifebeaters and work jeans, and honestly going shirtless was preferred. And as your eyes dimmed to reflect your lack of intelligence, and Bucky bobbed up and down on your dick, you finally came, releasing all of who you used to be. And as you filled your husband’s eager throat, you blacked out.

If someone told you who you used to be in your past life, I’m not sure you would go back. When the police came by a few days after your transformation with a missing persons poster of some kid, you had no idea who they were talking about. You quickly forgot all about that encounter. You had more important things like fixing the truck. But before you did that, you should check on Bucky. It’s been a few days, and your balls were mighty full.

[charliemwrites]

Part 12 SpecGru reader!!

No content warnings for this chapter.

You mull over your captain’s words in the hours before dinner. Sitting behind Nova in her temporary room, Doctor Who’s opening theme warbling from your laptop’s speakers. You gently work oil into her scalp, following the precise alleys formed by her braids.

It’s a soothing ritual, not just for her, but for you. An act of care for a woman who’s been so kind and patient with you. Who always stood her ground on your worst days, and never allowed herself to be goaded into a useless argument. She’s warm beneath your fingers, soft against your chest, the scent of coconut and cinnamon sweet in your nose.

Slowly, you begin to card through memories you put great care into neglecting.

The day you left the hospital, feeling more pathetic than you ever had in your life. A packet of care instructions folded over in one hand. You remember the way Gaz hadn’t quite looked you in the eye, mouth tight and regretful at the corners. Almost guilty. Even when he handed over a bag of fresh clothes, saying he was glad to see you on your feet.

Did you know then? Was there some twinge of foreshadowing in your gut? Did you hear a foreboding whisper in your mind, of how the following twenty-four hours would devolve?

Maybe you did or maybe hindsight is a liar.

What really stands out, even after all this time, is how betrayed you felt (still feel) when you reflect on that interaction with Gaz. That the best he offered was a weak warning that Ghost and Price were pissed off at you. The hurt that he didn’t even ask how you felt before disappearing for the rest of that awful day. You never saw him after your initial discharge, he might as well have borrowed his lieutenant’s namesake.

And then there was Johnny.

Soap, who made himself perfectly visible, if only to express how pissed off he was. He never bothered to ask how you were doing either – didn’t even seem relieved to see you conscious and in one piece. He was tight-jawed and tense; the few times he deigned to speak to you was clipped and terse.

When you finally left, you remember how your chest ached, knowing (intending) you’d never see his thousand-watt smile again. A fair few of your tears on that flight had been in self-deprecation for expecting anything but his total, unwavering loyalty to Simon. It stung that for all his crowing about being a team, looking out for each other, no one left behind – he couldn’t spare you a crumb of forgiveness for a mistake in the field.

Price and Ghost had almost made sense, really. But Gaz and Soap had been a peculiar sort of pain. Your fellow sergeants, who had made you feel welcome and comfortable in the beginning – who had been the bridge and buffer between you and your intimidating superiors. And maybe it wasn’t their fault that you never quite felt like you had a seat at their table, but they’d tried.

Still… at least you can look at them. You can’t imagine opening your mouth to face Price or Ghost and anything but acid pouring out.

“What’s on your mind, babes?”

You blink, palms automatically cradling Nova’s head as she tilts it back to peer at you. On autopilot, you dip down to kiss her forehead, then the gentle curve of her lips.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, the massage is nice,” she teases, “but you’ve gone over my whole head at least twice now.”

“Oh,” you intone, swiping your thumb behind her ear. “Just thinkin’ is all.”

“I can tell,” she giggles, “there’s practically smoke comin’ outta your ears.”

You grimace a bit, arms lowering down to circle her shoulders in a hug. She curls her clever, slender fingers around your forearm, tracing soft patterns with her blunt nails.

“Sorry, love,” you mumble, flicking your eyes to the screen. Realize you’ve only got a vague idea of what’s going on. “I’m being a bad date.”

“You’re not,” she insists, squeezing your wrist. “This s’all been a lot, yeah? I just don’ want you being on your own in there.”

She taps two fingers against your temple. You used to spend all your time alone in your own head. Not because it was safe – it wasn’t – but it was familiar. It took her and the rest of the team concerted effort to pry anything of value from you.

Now, you muster up an appreciative smile as you nuzzle into her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to decide…”

She pauses the show and wriggles to get a better look at your face, hums for you to continue.

“If I should try talking to the 141,” you continue. “Cap said I should consider it. See if we can put all that old shit to rest.”

“Do you want to put it to rest?”

“I should.”

“But do you want to?”

The question brings you up a bit short. Being mad is easy. You’ve been mad at them for so long, one step short of loathing, that you’ve settled into the feeling. Dug your heels in. It’s an easy way to put a stopper on all the complicated hurt lying beneath.

“I want to talk to them the same way I want to go to the dentist,” you muse.

She picks up what you aren’t saying.

“You don’t want to, but you know it’s healthier if you do.”

You grunt, still too proud to admit it outright.

“The wound closed over, but it never healed properly,” she says. “Maybe you’ve got to reset it, yeah?”

You sigh. “Yeah. Just not sure where to start.”

She shrugs. “Wherever you want to. Do it on your own terms. Only way you’ll be able to stomach them.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” she chirps. “I’m used to navigating bad weather.”

You nip at her fingers, prompting a bright peel of laughter as she tries to squirm away. As you wrestle her back into your lap, your nerves soften and settle.

Even if you excise this wound, you know you won’t be left bleeding alone. Not ever again.

You haven’t come to any concrete decision after dinner. Not that anyone asks. Nova isn’t one to push and your captain has already said his piece. You haven’t told Nikto or Keegan about your dilemma yet, and you’re not sure if you will.

Nikto’s take on the situation isn’t obvious – though if you had to guess, it would be similar to Nova’s. But Keegan? You already know what his answer would be.

Of anyone in SpecGru, he had to work the hardest to earn even an iota of warmth from you. He reminded you too much of Ghost – and how could he not? The perpetual mask, the sharp one-liners. Gruff and closed off, frighteningly capable, and a crack shot with a sniper rifle to boot.

It used to take everything in you to pull your punches during spars. The rare instances that you would agree to eat with your new team were never if Keegan was present. And more than once, you walked into the rec room, saw his looming figure, and turned right back around.

The only time you could stand to look at him was during missions, but your captain was always sure to receive a killer glare if he paired the two of you together.

Keegan was your partner on the mission that changed things.

It had been a week straight of shit sleep and bad memories, sick on loneliness and anger. When boots hit the ground, you stormed right in, eager to prove to yourself (but really, to them) that you were valuable. Didn’t wait for Keegan, but that had never stopped him from keeping pace with you before.

You didn’t clear your corners, got sloppy and hasty.

Took two stab wounds before Keegan shot the hostile in the temple. When he tried to call the others, you demanded that he finish the mission first. Would have rather bled out than be the reason another mission failed.

The pain and blood loss dragged you under as soon as you choked out the demand.

Then, Keegan’s face was the first thing you saw in the hospital room. Not the mask, him.

Even with dirt and black paint smudging his face, you could see the dark, worried circles beneath his eyes. Could read regret in his angular jaw, relief in the slant of his scarred mouth. For the first time, you looked in his eyes and saw more than an echo of your former lieutenant.

You saw your teammate. The partner you’d left to fend for himself because you’d been handicapped by your own pride. You saw Keegan.

“Did you finish the mission?” you rasped.

He frowned, but your captain stepped forward. “He did – once we were there to stop the bleeding.”

You never saw Ghost in the weave of his mask again.

And soon after, Keegan was the first person you opened up to about the 141.

It was that very same week. You’d been sick on shame and embarrassment, using your injuries to nurse your wounded ego. Skipping meals in exchange for raiding your snack drawers and moping in your cot.

Keegan hadn’t made himself scarce after your discharge. None of your team had, really – but he’d made a point of checking on you. And lacking your usual sharpness, he hadn’t been deterred by your comparatively mild standoffishness either.

Which was how you found yourself stubbornly tucked into the corner of your cot one night, while Keegan sewed the holes in your shirt. He kept shooting you amused looks – probably because you hadn’t taken your eyes off him once. Half wondering why he was there, half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You gonna say something, or you just glare all night?” he drawled eventually.

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you plan to stay all night?”

He shrugged, but his eyes flicked to yours, the corner of his mouth ticking up. (No mask. He hadn’t worn one around you since the hospital. Not unless people outside your team were around.)

“If you’ll have me. Been meaning to get you caught up on the show we’ve been watching.”

You huffed, frustrated. “Why?”

He arched his brows at you, needle paused. “Because I like you, despite your best efforts.”

You stared, a little appalled, a little touched. Keegan just chuckled and went right back to mending your shirt. You drew your knees up tighter and hid your quivering mouth with your arms.

“Cap says your last team was shit to you,” he said into your sullen silence.

You scowled. He put a hand up as if in surrender.

“He hasn’t said more’n that, don’t worry,” he continued, “I’m just sayin’… I don’t take any of it personal. You’re a good teammate, I trust you with more than my six.”

Why, you wanted to demand, flabbergasted and all the guiltier because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Why did he trust you? Why was he so patient? Why was he there at all?

You sniffled, but he just kept talking.

“I want to return the favor, ya know? I’m not askin’ you to trust me after the mission, but you don’t gotta be on your own either.”

You were crying quietly by that point, face so hot that your tears felt cold, stomach aching from more than stab wounds. He finally looked up, saw how you were falling apart. But he didn’t shy away, didn’t close himself off. It wasn’t pity or sympathy that softened his eyes.

“The shit you and I carry, we’re not meant to do it alone, sweets.”

And what else could you do, but spill your sorry guts?

You remember the expression on his face when you got to the part about Ghost. Remember how tightly he held you on your cot, all the distance (emotional and physical) closed between you two. Remember waking up the next morning, Netflix still open on your laptop and flopped gracelessly over Keegan’s stomach like a childhood sleepover.

You couldn’t have iced him out again even if you wanted to, after that.

No, there’s no question what Keegan would tell you, if you asked about talking to the 141. He would say there’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of them.

So, you don’t ask.

You climb into his lap in your temporary room that evening, peeling his mask up and off with slow hands. His eyes are already half-lidded, the corner of his mouth curved fondly. His hands spread across your thighs, warm and rough. The scar twisting across his left palm is sweetly familiar when he draws it along your skin.

“I’m going to try talking to the 141,” you admit.

His jaw twitches, eyes flickering. “Now why the hell would you do that?”

You sigh, curl your fingers into the brassy crop of hair he’s been growing out. He’s got a quick temper, and a habit of misplacing it when it’s been triggered by something out of his control. You don’t take it personally, you never have – it’s gratifying to see how much he cares.

“There’s no good reason to waste oxygen on a single one of ‘em,” he growls.

“There might be.”

He sits back, skeptical but waiting.

You continue, “I’ve got a lot of shit to say to them, and they seem eager to hear it.”

“Why give ‘em the satisfaction?” he asks.

“Maybe it’ll help with the nightmares.” That gives him pause. You draw your thumb soothingly across his temple – a bullet graze from saving your life. “We’ve got too much shit to carry, you and me. Unloading some of it is as good a reason as any.”

His hand drifts up your side, grazes the tattoo coiling down your arm. (The second you ever got – a big piece that took hours, Keegan never leaving your side. Nikto, Nova, and your captain periodically dropping in to provide snacks and water.)

He cups your jaw, guides your face down until your foreheads touch. You stay there, breathing him in. He smells like yours.

“What if they make it worse, huh?” His thumb caresses over your cheekbone the way it has a dozen times before, wiping away tears. “I’ll have to kill ‘em.”

You huff softly, amused. “Then kill ‘em. But I’m stronger than I was, Kee. There’s nothing they can weigh me down with that I can’t carry.”

“I know,” he whispers, tilting his chin to drop a sweet, aching kiss on your lips.

“Besides, I wouldn’t be carrying it alone anymore.”

His expression lightens, pride shining from his eyes. “Damn right.”

It’s nearly midnight when you wake from a light doze. Keegan is snoring softly, an arm and leg each hanging over the side of the bed. Your mouth is dry, but you realize it’s your stomach that woke you – pangs of hunger from picking at your dinner earlier. You need to eat.

Quiet and careful, you crawl out from beneath the sheets. Keegan is a heavy sleeper compared to the nearly supernatural senses of Nikto; he hardly stirs as you pad for the door. The hall lights are dim, but you only open it a crack to slip out.

The hall is quiet, no lights on beneath any of the other doors. You hope that means the rest of your team is sleeping peacefully. If you remember right, Nikto and Nova crawled in with your captain this evening. They’re all in good company if nightmares creep in; you pray Keegan doesn’t have any while you’re up.

Thankfully, the rec room is only two halls away. Light is spilling out as you turn the corner – there’s a sensor that shuts them off if no movement is detected for a while. Someone is either in there now or was recently. You half hope it’s the latter, but that doesn’t deter you from entering.

Your surprised to find Soap leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug in hand. His expression is flat, grim. Tired. You pause just inside the doorway.

“Might as well come in,” he says, voice low and rough. “I’ll clear out in a mo’.”

Even from where you’re standing, you can see that his cup is mostly full.

You exhale and shake your head. “Don’t have to.”

“How gracious,” he rasps, brows twitching like he wants to scowl. Like he can’t quite commit to being as bitter as he should be.

You’re too tired for your usual acid, as well. Just sigh and reach for the fridge door.

“Is that how you want this conversation to go?” you ask.

“Is this a conversation?” he replies.

You pluck out a yogurt cup. “It can be.”

He’s glaring into his coffee now, index finger tapping at the ceramic. Thinking. Or maybe just leashing all the things he wants to say but knows will drive you right back out.

“Why now?” he says finally.

You shrug. “Because I’m ready now.”

A tendon in his jaw twitches. “That’s not fair.”

A hot flicker of anger ignites in your chest. You tamp it down with a spoonful of yogurt, measuring out your words and tone.

“How do you reckon?” you inquire.

“You left,” he says. It’s been a while, but you can detect the hurt underlying the accusation. You suspect it’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time. “You left us behind.”

You click your teeth off your spoon, take a deep breath. It’s factually true. You are the one that left but—

“I wasn’t going to wait for you all to kick me out officially.”

He finally raises his eyes, a dark storm of emotion swirling within them.

“We wouldnae have.”

You tilt your head, cynicism in the flat line of your mouth. “Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“I ken you and Simon were—”

“Don’t.”

His mouth snaps shut, brows furrowed. You point at him with your spoon warningly but bite back the sharp remark on your tongue. Arguing isn’t the point here.

Settle instead to say, “Don’t speak for the others.”

There’s a beat of silence as he digests that, then finally nods. “Alright. Just you ‘n me then.”

You turn back to your yogurt, swipe up another spoonful as you reorganize your thoughts.

“I didn’t leave because of Ghost,” you begin. “Not entirely. I left because I was never part of the team. And what happened after that mission just… made it all very clear.”

Soap frowns, opens his mouth like he wants to deny it, but you hold up a finger to stop him. He takes a long sip of coffee and waits.

“You didn’t check on me at all. You weren’t there when I woke up. You never asked if I was okay,” you continue. “You were too busy being angry on Ghost’s behalf.”

“You almost got the both of you killed,” he argues.

“But you cared more about Ghost almost being hurt than the fact that I was,” you say. And dammit, you feel your sinuses burning, but your eyes stay blessedly dry. The anger disappears from his face all at once as realization sinks in. “I mattered to you less than Ghost.”

His hand tightens around his mug, knuckles blanching. “No. No, lass, tha’s no’… you were always… you survived.”

“I felt the worst I ever had in my life, but you didn’t care because I crossed the almighty Ghost,” you insist.

“I cared about you,” he denies.

“But not more than you did about Ghost.” You drag your gaze up to his. Even his eyes look a little wet now. “And that… that wasn’t enough for me.”

You suck in a shuddering breath, trying to loosen the tightness in your chest. Clear your throat once you feel the threatening prick of tears subside.

“I didn’t… it wasnae that,” he rasps. “I ken you think I’m full of shite, but ‘s true.”

You do think he’s full of shit. Maybe not on purpose, maybe he really does think he cared about you as much as Ghost, but you know better.

“I was just… so angry wi’ you,” he explains. “You could have died. Nearly got Simon killed, all because you thought you knew better.”

You exhale hard. “You’ve never made a bad call?” you challenge.

“It wasnae your call to make. You should have listened to Ghost. Instead, you—”

“I what?”

Your fingers tingle, numb. Can’t even feel the spoon, or the chill of the yogurt cup anymore.

“You disobeyed orders, it was so—”

“I didn’t.”

He stops. Stares. “What?”

You stare right back, “I didn’t disobey orders.”

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[wqnwoos]

it’s well past two in the morning when all your guests have left, and it’s just you and jeonghan and some cardboard boxes.

the two of you are taping the last of his boxes shut, a movie you’ve seen a million times playing on the television, both of you talking and laughing over it. the party has just died down — yours and jeonghan’s farewell party.

he’d said it sounded too dramatic, when you first brought it up. because neither of you were going far. you to your new studio apartment and jeonghan moving in with seungkwan, now that the lease was up and the owner wasn’t planning to renew it. jeonghan had dubbed it the “house-cooling” party instead, the opposite of housewarming — the kind of stupid joke he only makes to you.

still, though, as you sit among the boxes and leftover pizza, you feel kind of — wistful. when you say as much, jeonghan laughs, reaching over to tap under your chin fondly.

“wistful?” he repeats, smiling.

you huff at him. “i’m going to miss you, that’s what i’m saying, you ass.”

“i’m not going far,” he reminds you. “we’re literally within twenty minutes of each other. fifteen on a good day.”

“still!”

“i’ll visit you all the time. i’ll get tired of seungkwan doing karaoke. and then we’ll basically be roommates again, because he doesn’t stop doing karaoke.”

jeonghan’s tone is light and easy, but you can’t help wondering why the two of you aren’t going to be roommates again. why you hadn’t looked for an apartment together. neither of you had brought it up, things just fell this way, and all of a sudden you’re thinking about how jeonghan always moves your washing to the dryer for you and how much you’re going to miss him.

because you really are — not just because of laundry. you guys were roommates before you became actually close, brought together by mutual friends; you’ve never known a jeonghan that wasn’t jeonghan, my roommate, and suddenly it feels a little like losing him. because suddenly you love him, and not in a jeonghan, my roommate way. not in a jeonghan, my friend way either — in a way that puts aches in your chest, has your ribs living up to their name, acting a cage for your heart. you’re not sure how long it’s been, but it’s been long enough.

you’d been clinging to the hope that it would pass; everyone knows you don’t date your roommate. but now — now he’s not your roommate, and it hasn’t passed, and you don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing anymore.

on one hand: you could tell him. bare it all out, in the open, raw and bloody and unfettered. on the other hand: there are so many things you would rather do than experience rejection. you’d be able to take just being his roommate if you needed to. could’ve held out until it passed.

“maybe we should’ve moved in together again,” you voice, forcing your voice light and airy and casual, playing it like a random off-hand suggestion.

jeonghan’s vehement shake of the head is surprising, and it stings. more than you expected. “no.”

you can quite literally feel your face fall, staring at him without pretence. “what?”

he looks up from the box he’s packing, an uncharacteristic seriousness in his brown eyes. “ask me why,” he instructs softly.

you swallow thickly. it’s hard not to, when he’s looking at you like that — warm and familiar and intense and scary, all at once. your eyes follow the strand of dark hair that falls over his forehead, suddenly realising just how close he is. “why?”

jeonghan sets down the tape, tilting his head to the side, choosing his words slowly, carefully. “because if i ever ask you to move in with me again, it’ll be very different to this. can you pass me the scissors?”

you barely even hear the last part. “different? different how?”

“just… different.” he shrugs, reaching over you for the scissors himself. “you’ll be dating me, for one thing.”

time seems to come to a halt when he says those words, and you barely manage a whisper — “what?”

jeonghan rolls his eyes and pokes your forehead. “i’m trying to say i’m in love with you, dipshit. can you please take a hint?”

you malfunction. it’s late and your brain is already fried enough from finals and he’s staring at you, and this isn’t a dream, this is real.

and so you launch your roll of tape in his direction.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

jeonghan doesn’t even need to dodge the tape, but still gapes at you. “what?”

“you can’t— just drop a love confession like a — like a hot potato, and then expect me to catch it!”

“a hot potato?” he repeats, and then he’s biting down on a laugh, shoulders shaking. “did you just call my love confession a fucking hot potato?”

“no! yes, well — ” you flounder, confused in your embarrassment. “oh my god. you’re so mean. i wasn’t ready.”

jeonghan’s still laughing. “if i’d warned you in advance, what would you have answered?”

and now it’s your turn to stare him down: “you didn’t ask anything yet. what am i supposed to answer?”

that only tilts jeonghan’s smile further upward, and he scoots closer, leaning on one arm. you can smell him, soft and fresh and so incredibly near, as he speaks — “you’re smart. i think you can work it out.”

you kiss him first. quick and sweet, over and over. you think it’s probably answer enough.

also in my head this is the same couple from this drabble but they can be read separately

an / hana comeback era ⁉️ this is just something i wrote super quick but HIII it’s been almost 2 months since i posted some writing 😭 i’m so sorry this awful piece is the first thing u guys get, hopefully will write something better soon!

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura @dokyeomkyeom

[bruisedboys]

can I request eddie and shy!reader with reader’s first kiss?! I imagine he’d be so gentle with her!

I want him to be my first kiss so bad!! waiting for him to be real so he can kiss me tbh

summary: eddie gives shy!you your first kiss

shy!fem!reader 0.9k words

Eddie thinks you look really pretty.

He’d tell you so but he’s already told you twice tonight, and he’s pretty sure if he says it again you’ll burst into flames on the spot. You’re quite shy — it’s endearing and very adorable but it also means Eddie has to be more careful of what he says and does. He wouldn’t want to scare you off.

He watches you pore over a book, sitting cross-legged on his bed. He badly wants to tell you how lovely you look. In a t-shirt that’s too big for you and a pair of sweatpants. Your hair all messy pretty and tucked behind your ears. He holds his tongue, turning back to the old band tee he’s hacking the sleeves off on his bedroom floor.

“Eddie?”

Your voice breaks the comfortable silence you and Eddie had been sitting in. Eddie puts down his scissors and looks up. He likes the way you’ve said his name, like he’s the only person ever. He’s sure he sounds similar when he says your name. He smiles at you.

“Yeah?”

You shuffle forwards on his bed, sliding to the edge until your legs dangle off. Eddie’s struck, yet again, by how beautiful you are. It takes all the breath out of his chest.

“Um.” You pause then, and get this nervous look on your face. Eddie knows it well. You’re often nervous around him.

He sits up straighter. By the looks of it you’re wanting to tell him something. Or ask him something. “Yeah, honey?”

Your eyes flick to Eddie and then back to your hands where they’re twisted in your lap. Eddie sees the tap tap tap of your foot, the wringing of your hands. He shuffles forward on the floor and gets a hand on your knee, fingers curling around the bottom of your thigh.

“What is it?” He asks softly.

When you answer your staring at your lap, determined to avoid Eddie’s eyes.

“Well … I just. I was reading that part in The Princess Bride, the bit about the five kisses? And I just wondering …” You reach up and scrub the back of your neck awkwardly. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?”

Eddie balks. He was not expecting that. It’s a big question — for you to ask and for Eddie to answer. He has his own reasons. The biggest one being he’s afraid to scare you off, to mess up maybe the best thing in his life right now. Not only that, but he knows how tentative you are about relationship stuff. It’s all new to you.

The silence stretches too long. Eddie rushes to break it before you think he’s gone and backed out on you.

“Oh.” He says, more flustered than he’s ever been with you. Normally you’re the flustered one. He’s realising now how hard it is being on the receiving end. “Well, um. I … I guess—“

“Do you not want to?” You ask quietly, interrupting Eddie’s rambling.

Eddie stops short. “What?” He stares up at you. He can hardly believe you think that. Of course he wants to kiss you — he’d kind of thought you wouldn’t want him to. “No. No, sweetheart, that’s not it. I just. Well, I just wanted to wait until you were ready … “ He pauses, catches the look on your face, like you’re waiting for something to happen. “Are you ready?”

You bite your lip. Not for the first time, Eddie wonders what it would be like to kiss your lips. You nod very slowly.

“I think so,” you say. You’re staring at his mouth now.

Eddie nods so quick he almost snaps his neck. He hardly cares.

“Okay,” he says earnestly. He scrambles to his feet and then moves to stand in front of you, your knees pressing into his legs.

You blink up at him. Eddie can’t resist taking your face in his hands. Your skin is hot to touch. He imagines his face would feel the same.

“You’re really pretty,” he says despite himself. Even though he’d promised not to tell you again until at least tomorrow.

“Eddie,” you chide softly.

Eddie just grins. “Are you sure you want to?” He asks you, struggling to hear himself over the thump of his heart in his ears. He very much wants to give you a Princess Bride worthy kiss right now.

You nod around his hands. “I’m sure,” you say.

Eddie leans in then. His hands on your face, pulling you gently towards him. His eyelids fluttering shut. It feels different but it feels right. He’s about half a second away from kissing you when you say,

“Wait.”

Eddie opens his eyes. You’re so close he could count your eyelashes.

“What?” He whispers back.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say. Your breath fans over Eddie’s mouth, your lips ghosting over his. It takes all his might not to kiss you right then and there. “I don’t know how,” you admit.

“That’s okay,” Eddie tells you. It is okay. And he’s maybe a lot more honoured than he should be that he’s gonna be your first kiss. “You’ll learn.”

“You’ll teach me?”

Eddie looks at you and thinks yeah, he’ll teach you. He’ll do literally anything you could ever ask of him. “Of course, angel.”

“Okay,” you say. You smile and Eddie thinks if he doesn’t kiss you now he might pass out.

He kisses you. He doesn’t pass out but he comes pretty close.

-

[ginax0916]

✿𖡼 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐟, 𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐞 𖡼✿

Sturniolos x little sister (LS)

Warnings: Blood mentioned

Synopsis: The triplets and their LS decide to try the blind deaf mute challenge, without knowing the chaos it would cause.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚✩

LS POV:

“Hey everyone! Welcome or welcome back to our YouTube, so today we’re doing another part to our Blind, Deaf and Mute series. But today we have our little sister here so she will be joining as well” Nick introduces the video.

“Since there’s 4 of us, one of us will have to be both blind and mute so we’re gonna do rock paper scissors to determine who is what” Matt adds on.

“Ok ok Rock paper scissors shoot!” Chris’s says as we all play the game. The winner of each round gets to pick what they want to be, the last one is the one who will be blind and mute. And due to my luck, it was me.

“Ok so I will be mute, Chris will be deaf, Nick will be blind and y/n will blind and mute!” Matt says.

“Thank god I won’t have to hear her annoying voice” Nick mumbles quietly.

“Hey! I heard that!” I angrily say.

“Alright alright enough let’s start” Chris yells not knowing how loud his voice is because of the noice canceling headphones which are blasting music in his ears.

I put on my blind fold and put one of Chris’s bandanas over my mouth and so does Matt meanwhile Nick puts on his own blind fold.

Truth be told not being able to see is quite scary. Especially around my brothers.

“Ok let’s fucking start already get the stuff out!” Nick screams.

“Shut up Nick I can hear your loud ass voice even with the headphones on!” Chris screams back.

It hasn’t even been 5 minutes and the screaming matches have already began. I know for a fact it’s only about to get worse.

As I’m emptying the bag of cake mix into the bowl, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I jump from the sudden touch but then I realize it has to be Matt since he hasn’t said a word. He carefully hands me 3 eggs which are needed.

I proceed to crack the eggs into the bowl using my hands to guide where the bowl is. As I’m about to crack the last one, Nick pushes me as he’s trying to get to who knows where. The egg falls onto the counter and completely shatters causing it to go everywhere.

“Ughhh” I groan into the bandana.

“Nick you made a fucking mess!” Chris screams at him as he sees the mess all over the counter.

“I can’t see mother fucker it’s not my fault!” Nick screams back.

“So then stop moving around dumb fuck!” Chris replies.

All their screaming isn’t going to help clean the god damn mess up. I start growing irritated at them from screaming instead of helping me get paper towels since I can’t see either.

I feel two hands on my shoulders, I’m guessing it’s Matt, who guides me to the counter on the other side where the paper towels are. But then the hands let go.

“Matt get off!” Chris screams. Well there goes Matt into the fight.

I feel around the kitchen with my hands trying to find the counter where the paper towels should be. Finally I find it, but to my luck, once again, it’s a closed packet of paper towels. I try to feel around in hopes of finding an opened roll but nothings around.

I grab the pack and try to rip it open with my hands. It doesn’t even budge. I feel around some more and I finally touch something other than paper towels. It’s scissors. I carefully try to place the scissors at a correct angle to cut through the plastic. Without a thought I snap them shut.

“Oh my god” I say, muffled through the bandana. A stinging sensation starts to form. Only getting worse and worse. I rip the blind fold and bandana off with my free hand only to be met with the sight of blood on the counter and on the scissors. It’s not a huge amount but it’s still there. I look at my finger and it has a pretty deep cut. Not deep enough for stitches but deep enough to bring tears to my eyes. I don’t do good with blood so I start to panic. With my shaking hand I grab some of the paper towels I just opened and put them on my finger.

“Guys I need some help” I say with a trembling voice.

“Stop being fucking idiots and mix the fucking batter!” Nick screams at Chris and Matt.

“You’re being an idiot you aren’t holding the bowl strong enough so every time I mix it moves around moron!” Chris screams back. Matt only groans loudly since he can’t speak.

“Guys seriously I need help” I say a bit louder.

“NICK STOP!” Chris screams louder if that’s even possible.

I can’t do this. The screams. The blood. The stinging. I start to breathe heavily and my eyes fill with tears. I run out of the kitchen and up to my room quickly. As I shut the door I burst out into tears holding my bleeding finger close. Small blood stains get all over my shirt. What am I meant to do?

Matt pov:

“Y/n can you pass me another spatula please?” Nick asks.

“Y/n?” Chris calls out.

We all turn around only to find her nowhere in the kitchen. We all take off the stuff we had and realize that she isn’t in the kitchen at all anymore.

“Ok guys seriously where did she go?” I ask.

“I don’t know but there’s fucking blood on the counter” Chris says with panic and he points to the counter opposite from us.

“What the fuck” Nick says as we all walk to the counter with blood and paper towels.

“Ok c’mon let’s go find her she’s obviously not ok” I suggest while walking to her room, my brothers following behind.

As we get to her door, I knock three times but no answer.

“There’s blood on the counter and she wasn’t in the kitchen I’m not fucking waiting for her to answer the door. God for all I know she could be dead!” Chris says as he barges into the room.

“Don’t say shit like that!” Nick replies before following us into her room.

“Y/n?” I call out.

“What do you guys want” She responds with an angry tone while walking out of the bathroom with a first aid kit in her hand.

“What happened? We saw blood on the counter” Nick asks.

“You would know what happened if you had answered me when I asked you guys for help but you were too busy screaming at each other to even hear me” Y/n says angrily as she digs through the first aid kit for bandaids.

“Look we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to get into an argument” Chris speaks up.

“The video was meant to be fun but I ended up with my finger cut open and you idiots going at each other” Y/n says with an angry tone.

“Y/n please. We’re really sorry ok? We didn’t mean to ruin the video and we didn’t mean for you to get hurt” Chris speaks while walking closer to her.

“Here let me help” I say as I grab the bandaid from her trembling hand.

“Does it hurt?” Nick asks.

“Mhm it really stings” She nods while flinching as I try to put cream on her cut.

“Hey it’s ok” Chris says hugging her as he noticed tears prick at her eyes.

“We’re so sorry we ruined the video y/n I know you were looking forward to it” I say as I finish putting a bandaid on her finger.

“It’s ok just try to get along better sometimes please. I don’t like watching you guys scream at each other all the time. Especially when we’re trying to do something fun” She speaks.

“I know and we promise we’re gonna try ok?” Chris says, still hugging her.

“Alright then” She smiles.

“Last one to the kitchen has to clean all the mess!” Y/n screams and takes off running in a fit of laughter.

“Hey that’s not fair we weren’t ready!” Chris screams as we run after her.

Low key hate this 🤗

[pinknipszz]

IT'S BUZZCUT SEASON, ANYWAY

⤷ gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, and fushiguro toji

SATORU thought it was going to be a harmless prank. hair grows back after all.

well. he didn’t anticipate his “harmless prank” to cause this much emotional distress. 

“it’s so ugly!” you scream, hiding your tear-stained face in your hands in a desperate attempt to forget the horrific image of your sweet, sweet boyfriend and his white buzzcut. entirely dismissive of the fact that you’re in a public setting—a park, actually—satoru quickly scoops you up in his arms with consolation on his lips.

“it’s not that bad baby,” he swears. “it’ll grow back in a few weeks anyway.” you spiral at his words as images of that vile haircut flash in your mind. after putting you back on your feet, satoru tries to pull your hands away from your pretty face, but his efforts turn futile once he hears something along the lines of: “it is that bad!” 

it comes out as a hoarse, incoherent muffle, but he understands it nonetheless.

“i’ll wear a wig!” he blurts out desperately. "there's a shop down the street. we'll buy one right now." your shoulders stop shaking as you fall silent, and for a moment, satoru thinks he made the right choice of words. When you barrel into another fit of loud sobs, however, an unretrievable part of him chips away.

with a heavy heart, satoru sighs and holds you against his chest, cradling your head. he really fucked up this time. people throw him strange looks, but others—especially women—only sigh and shake their heads sympathetically at your anguish. no one can really blame you for reacting like this anyway. 

“SUKUNA,” you gasp in awe at the sight of him. 

you’re hardly seated yet, but the thin glass shield does little to spare him from the bewildered look on your face as you gawk at the short, neat buzz in place of his usual slick back. he feels his eye twitch.

when the officer coughs behind him, sukuna throws a mean look over his shoulder before ripping the telephone off the wall and holding it close to his ear. he only gets to hear your sweet voice once a month, and he’ll be damned if you waste it on his hair. “don’t ask about it,” he gruffs out. “tell me what you’ve been up to.”

you blink once—twice, even—before mirroring his actions and grabbing the prison’s janky telephone (having done this so many times, you don’t even wince when you touch some mysterious residue left by the previous visitor). you try to speak, your lips curling around the syllables of a word, but not a single sound escapes your throat. 

sukuna rolls his eyes at your loss for words. “come on. talk to me, doll.” his light tap against the glass earns him a warning that you don’t quite catch from the officer, but by the quiet string of curses that leaves the receiver, you guess it must have something to do with cutting his minutes. which you absolutely did not want.

“i think it fits you,” you say hurriedly. “you have a nice face, so the buzz works really well.” your delivery wasn’t the most elegant, and you might have even stuttered in between, but sukuna nearly groans when he hears you again. god he misses you. more than you miss his pretty pink hair.

TOJI thinks his life can’t get any worse—or at least that’s what he thought before getting into a car accident last week.

by the grace of god, toji survived with only a few minor injuries, but his hair, now full of a million tiny glass shards, wasn’t so lucky. once he realized that they were impossible to wash out, toji knew there was only one thing left to do.

a loud shriek echoes through the apartment. 

“toji—why are you bald?” you point an accusatory finger at your boyfriend of three years, standing in the middle of your bathroom with a towel around his waist. maybe under different circumstances, you’d be drooling over the delicious sight, but how could you possibly do that when his hair is so close to his scalp!

toji simply won’t stand for this slander. now don’t get him wrong. he loves you more than anything in the world, but the last thing any guy wants to hear is his name and the word “bald” in the same sentence. “i’m not bald goddamnit!” he barks back with equal ferocity. “it’s called a buzzcut. get it right, woman!”

the hilarity of the situation has you doubling over in laughter. there are tears ruining your mascara, but you don’t half the mind to care, and neither does he as tension melts away from his shoulders. toji chuckles and shakes his head at your desperate wheezes.

this interaction could’ve gone much, much worse.

(masterlist) | (a/n: i don't think anyone else in the series would get a buzz tbh)

[kazekagevi]

Bonds Beyond Words: If Eywa Wills It

PART ONE -- PART TWO -- PART THREE

Pairing: Aged-Up!Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Tags: dark themes, but this chapter is actually very fluffy and silly, Lo'ak and Kiri and Spider becoming reader's besties, many attempts at comedy, eventual NSFW, aged-up! Neteyam (and Lo'ak, Spider, and Kiri), reader has PTSD, Neteyam dislikes humans (except for you), eventual jealous/possessive Neteyam, future Olo'eyktan! Neteyam, enemies-to-lovers, interspecies slow burn, angst, fluff, probably OOC, POV’s all over the place, forgive the inconsistencies. 

Summary: You're not allowed to join the community until Jake Sully decides you're ready. Spider, Lo'ak, and Kiri teach you Na'vi.

A/N and Disclaimer: I tried my best to use some Navi language translators and the LearnNavi website to write this chapter, but there are bound to be language errors. I also know time works differently there. Sorry for all the inconsistencies!

This story contains explicit content and is only appropriate for audiences 18+. MDNI. Please do not repost my work. 

The science shack isn’t so bad. 

Your initiation begins after your first sleep that night. The next morning, Max and Norm put their research projects on hold to give you an actual, legitimate tour of the facility. The place is full of bells and whistles. Tiny buttons, translucent screens, and telecommunications. Technology is abundant; but your knowledge of how to use it is not. 

“Here is the airlock control panel,” Max explains. He hovers his palm over a sensor—when it flashes sage green, the user interface appears. “Once you’re ready to interact with the community, we’ll scan your handprints and give you full clearance,” he futhers. 

You’re helplessly eager. “Do you know when that will be?” you inquire. 

Max presses the controller in the center of the panel. The glass door to the inner chamber slides open. You peek your head inside the airlock space—there are respirator masks for both humans and Na’vi, as well as a broom in the corner. 

“I put that there,” Max says, referring to the broom. He’s stealthily ignoring your previous question. “Told Spider he needs to sweep after himself. He refuses to use the doormat outside. I think the only person who’s touched that broom has been me.”

You look at the ground. The floor of the airlock space isn’t as bad as you’d expect it to be. Admittedly, it’s filthy. There are mud stains of both human and Na’vi footprints on the vinyl floor. The size difference is jarring. 

You have an idea. You smirk to yourself. “What if I cleaned this mess for him?” you offer. “I’ll sweep, then mop. I need to start pulling my weight, too.”

Max sighs. “What? So you can put on one of those masks and sneak out before the Olo'eyktan says you’re ready?”

Your expression sours. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you reply. “I wasn’t going to sneak out,” you admit aloud. “I was going to accidentally open the front door or something with a mask conveniently in place. It’s not as deceitful that way.” 

Max sighs again. “Well, I have no say in when you’re ready,” he confesses. “That decision is only Jake’s to make.”

You have no choice but to yield. Max taps the censor again. The airlock door falls shut into place. 

---

It takes an entire day to simply show you how everything works. It takes two more for you to demonstrate you were paying attention and know how to use everything. The only intuitive mechanisms are the knobs to the showers and the dials on the washer and dryer.

Like in any society, the science shack has its own set of rules, regulations, and norms—quite literally, since Norm transfers between his human body and Avatar frequently. The showers are closed once every twenty-five days for necessary maintenance. Humans aren’t to leave when the Na’vi are sleeping or on significant Omatikaya holidays. Don’t talk to Max before he’s had his first coffee. Spider is supposed to sweep after himself in the airlock room. You can’t use Mia’s handleless mug, but you’re allowed to wash it if you’re extra careful. 

By the end of the week, your head hurts. 

You know the only way to become proficient in something, like speaking a new language or utilizing advanced technology, is to thrust yourself into it. Take the plunge—don’t fear it. Embrace the nosedive. Freefall. 

So, after dinner on your seventh day, you get as close to doing that as possible. You sit on a small perch by a tiny window, nestled in a corner of the science shack. You’re hungry; for one, Norm’s cooking tastes much worse when you’re not famished, so you couldn’t force yourself to go back for seconds, let alone finish everything on your plate. 

But also, you’re hungry for something else. Now that you’re safe from the RDA, you can actually consider doing what you came to Pandora to do all along. You can practically taste it.

You know Jake Sully is right. Life in the science shack is complicated enough, and you need adequate time to acclimate. But you’re starting to feel like you’re trapped.  

The window allows you to see a slice of life at High Camp. You come here around the same time after a meal, just like clockwork. You haven’t seen Jake Sully since your conversation, but you’ve seen many others. 

Just right now, you see a group of young women shuffle past, laughing and gossiping about who knows what. You see two kids, presumably siblings, one chasing after the other, before they’re stopped by one of the village’s elders. You see injured warriors limp towards the tsahìk’s tent. You see a woman in her homestead, weaving a basket. You feel nothing but sonder; the profound sensibility that these people are all living complex lives of their own, and you’re simply witnessing these complexities unfold right before your eyes. 

You begin to recognize a few faces, like that of the shaman healer, otherwise known as the tsahìk. You also take note of which warriors visit her tent most frequently. 

You routinely see a Na’vi female with short, straight jet-black hair. She tends to pass by the science shack every evening of every day, stare at the door, frown, then leave. On two occasions, your eyes met before she wandered off. 

You’ve learned a few more common phrases, which Norm, Max, Spider and Mia teach you at meal times. Kaltxì is a standard greeting. Rutxe means please, and irayo means thank you. Ngafkeyk pefya? means ‘how are you?’ 

You also learned that the lines you recited to the Na’vi in the forest, Neteyam, were of a standard dialect. They weren’t incorrect, just slightly different from that of the Omatikaya’s. And, allegedly, your pronunciation was off. 

In your extensive travels on Earth, you learned quickest when you immersed yourself in a new, unfamiliar environment. It was the rush—the thrill, the trepidation—that drove you to adapt. It was as just as you told Jake Sully: so I will. 

Immersion is the only way. Norm knows this too; as an exceptional xenolinguist, he learned more from interacting with the Na’vi for a few weeks than he did from reading any book. He really understands. He wishes he had more time to help with your studies, but he must return to his work. His newest botany project is time sensitive. 

As you sit by the window, you use an electronic tablet programmed with a basic flashcard feature to get yourself acquainted with the Na’vi language. It’s not particularly helpful, since spoken practice is more beneficial than anything written. You’ve been skimming some of Jake’s old journals, too. But at the time of their conception, he wrote only in English, and misspelled many Na’vi words and phrases. 

The flashcards do nothing besides test your aptitude for memorization. It doesn’t help that your attention span is elsewhere, like you left it on a far, distant planet.

Everytime someone passes by the window in your peripheral vision, you have no choice but to look up and see who’s there. It’s usually another Na’vi face you’ve never seen before. You don’t realize it initially, but the more you turn your head, you’re helplessly aware that you’re looking for someone. It never is, but you’re hopeful it might be Neteyam—you still owe him for saving your life. You have an inkling however, that he’s probably avoiding this place for one reason or another. That very reason might just be yourself. 

It’s obvious that this method of study is inefficient. You power off the tablet and continue people-watching with your knees tucked against your chest. 

Any moment now, you know you’ll see that girl with shoulder-length hair. You want to know why she frowns, but you don’t know how to ask ‘what’s upsetting you?’ in Na’vi. 

Now that you think about it, though, you’re unsure if that’s a wise idea. Even when you are allowed into the community, you know that you will have to keep a distance. Know your place. Although the humans and Na’vi residing here coexist in apparent harmony, you don’t want your presence to disrupt the peace. 

There’s a quiet knock on the other side of the airlock door across the main room—it’s so faint you almost miss it. 

When you sit up, you hear footsteps thudding against the vinyl flooring. You see Spider look around then over his shoulder as he approaches the door. 

He begrudgingly places his hand over the scanner. He presses a button and the front of the airlock opens. 

He quietly shouts something in Na’vi—skxawng. You’re not sure what this word means yet.

From your window perch, you can’t see what’s going on, but Kiri and Lo’ak enter the space through the main door. They each grab a respirator. 

Spider continues to say things you don’t understand. From his tone of voice, he seems slightly agitated. 

“You can’t be here,” Spider says to both of them in Na’vi. “Not until the new girl gets introduced to the community.”

Lo’ak takes a deep breath—the respirator in his hand looks so small. He’s almost as tall as his father now. As the years pass, Lo’ak just gets bigger and bigger. It makes him feel like Spider is shrinking. 

“C’mon man,” Lo’ak says. “Let us in. We’ll only take a minute,” he adds, wearing a devious smirk on his face. “I uh, forgot something when I was here last?” he tries. 

“Yeah, right,” Spider replies. 

“Lo’ak, you’re not helping my case,” Kiri says, glaring at her older brother. 

Lo’ak’s jaw drops. He scoffs at her. “You told me to come with you!”

“Yes, and it turns out you’re not helping!” Kiri hisses. 

Spider groans. “Can you two just leave? I don’t want to get any flak for this.”

Kiri grits her teeth. She places both of her hands on the glass separating them. “Please, Spider. I haven’t seen Mom in forever,” she says. Her eyes water. “It hasn’t been this long since the time we lived in Awa'atlu… I miss her.”

The crease between Spider’s brows disappears. From what you can see, he looks apologetic. “Oeru txoa livu,” he says to Kiri. “But I’m not supposed to let anyone in besides your dad.”

Lo’ak’s expression falters. He looks at his feet. His ears fall flat. “You know, I haven’t seen Tsireya since we left Awa'atlu,” he says just loud enough for Spider and Kiri to hear.

Spider rubs his nose bridge. Kiri sighs and flicks his temple with her fingers. Once Lo’ak starts talking about Tsireya, he can’t stop. 

While this interaction continues to transpire, you stand from your perch and tiptoe over. Your footsteps are padded by thick, cotton socks. You advance slowly, like you’re approaching a crime scene covered with caution tape. 

“Lo’ak, go home and go to bed,” Kiri says, poking his chest. She then spins back around. “Spider, let me in, please.”

 “I’m sorry, Kiri,” Spider replies. “You know I would if I could.” 

Kiri places her hands on her hips. “You can, very easily, actually. Just press the button,” Kiri says. She points to the spot where she knows it is on the other side of the door. “It’s right there.”

Spider sighs. The crease in his brow returns when he realizes Lo’ak is suddenly smiling. “Why are you doing that?”  

Lo’ak waves to you from the other side of the airlock. “Hi!” He greets you in English. “What’s your name?”

Spider jolts when he realizes you’re standing there right behind him.

Kiri gasps. Her eyes go wide—they practically sparkle when she’s excited. “I told you, I saw her!” she says to Lo’ak in Na’vi. 

You smile at the male and female Na’vi before you. They seem so friendly, and the male Na’vi’s English sounds great. “Hello there,” you reply. You formally introduce yourself. 

Spider presses a palm to his temple. He knows he’s going to get in trouble. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” the female Na’vi says, also in English. “I’m called Kiri. And this is my older brother, Lo’ak.”

That’s his cue—Lo’ak waves again, flashing his vibrant smile. 

Spider scoffs. 

“My good brother here, Spider,” says Lo’ak, “this skxawng,” he adds, more quietly, “was about to let us inside.” 

“I was not,” Spider protests. 

“C’mon,” you say. Spider rolls his eyes—you’ve just met Lo’ak but he’s already infected you with whatever ailment he has that makes him the way that he is. At the same time, however, Spider knows it’s one of the best things about him. 

“Why can’t we let them in?” you ask. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in five days. 

“Exactly,” says Lo’ak. “Let us in,” he chants quietly. 

“The door isn’t broken, is it?” you further, keeping a serious demeanor. “I’ll just check to make sure it works,” you tell Spider. 

“Wait–”

The airlock’s inner chamber door opens, allowing Lo’ak and Kiri entry. 

“Would you look at that,” you profess. “I know how the door works.” 

Lo’ak chuckles as he strolls inside like he owns the place. Kiri rushes past the three of you, making a beeline for the large container in the middle of the main room. She presses her palms against the glass and whispers to the Avatar stuck inside. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“You were right,” Lo’ak mutters to Spider in English. “She is short, even for a human.”

Your jaw goes slack. A surprised chuckle falls from your lips. “If you call Spider skxawng, then what are you?” you can’t help but retort. 

He grins. “If there was a clan of a hundred skxawng’s,” Lo’ak says, “they would have no choice but to make me their leader.”

You laugh again—harder than you were expecting to. This Na’vi might be an ass, but at least he’s got a sense of humor. 

Spider groans again. “If you two knuckleheads stay, you have to keep it down,” he says.

Lo’ak puts his hands up, defensively. 

“Can I ask what she’s doing over there?” you say aloud. 

Kiri now has her face pressed against the glass. It fogs from her breath. 

Spider and Lo’ak look at each other. Lo’ak rubs the back of his neck before speaking: “it’s a long story, but that’s the Avatar of Kiri’s biological mother. Kiri is my adoptive sister.” Lo’ak then hums to himself. “Maybe it’s not such a long story, after all.” 

That’s why she looked so sad. She simply missed her Mom. 

You blink once. “Oh, alright.” You nod, looking at Spider. “All of that information about Mia’s coffee mug was really important, but this,” you say, gesturing to the tube in the center of the room. “Not so much.”

Spider shrugs. “It’s important,” he says. “But, this is just commonplace for all of us.”

“She’s been doing this since we were kids,” Lo’ak reaffirms. 

“Maybe we’re blind to it,” Spider offers. “It’s always there, so we can’t even see it if it’s right in front of us.” 

Lo’ak simpers. “Well said.” 

“Thank you,” says Spider. He grins.  

They nod together and rub their chins like idiots. You assume this must be a regular thing for them. 

“Skxawngs,” you say. 

Of course, they both look your way, as though you’ve called them by their birth name. 

“Did I use that properly?” you ask in English. 

They nod. You sigh woefully.

Lo’ak practically snatches such low-hanging fruit: “What’s got you all blue?” 

You can’t help but glare at him. “They say you don’t know a language unless you know how to properly insult someone,” you say. “But I don’t actually know any useful Na’vi, and I haven’t had a conversation with anyone. Half of the words I know are just insults!”

“Simmer down,” says Spider. “You learned plenty today,” he says. 

“And, last I heard, you did have a conversation with someone,” Lo’ak mutters. 

Spider crosses his arms over his bare chest and looks you in the eye. “We’ll do our best to teach you.”

“Then teach me,” you reply, glaring daggers his way. 

Spider’s eyes narrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A couple of hours ago, you were enthusiastic. Now, you’re starting to get on his nerves. 

Spider then looks over at Kiri, and makes an almost silent whistling noise. In response, Kiri’s ears twitch and she peeks over her shoulder. 

“What the hell did you just say to her?” you demand. 

“Oh, that?” Spider chuckles dryly. “I didn’t say anything, yet.”

“What is it?” Kiri calls back to him.

When Spider responds, he speaks entirely in Na’vi. When Kiri replies to him, she does the same. Spider then turns to you, speaks only in Na’vi again, then laughs. He says something else. Laughter erupts. Kiri and Lo’ak follow suit. 

You have no choice to presume they’re talking shit about you in their native language. 

In reality, they’re saying things that make no sense just to get you riled up. The first thing Spider told Kiri was “let’s pretend like we’re making fun of her. Keep going along with it until I say stop.”

Needless to say, they play their roles with great conviction, like actors on a stage. They fool you. 

“You guys are dickheads! That’s enough.”

They finally stop when you fold your arms over your chest and start pouting; but they don’t stop laughing until Norm yells from down the hall to, in his words, ‘tone that shit down.’ When they’re caught, Spider purses his lips, and Kiri and Lo’ak takes deep breaths from their respirator masks in unison. 

“You’re incredibly impatient,” Spider admits, lowering his voice. Lo’ak nods in agreement. You’re all sitting around the tube that holds Grace’s Avatar. Kiri traces small shapes on its surface with her lithe fingertips. 

“And you three,” you say, pointing at each of them, “are a bunch of jesters.”

“No, you’re a jester,” says Lo’ak. He doesn’t even know what that word means, not in English anyway. 

“That’s exactly what a jester would say.” You groan in frustration. “I am impatient, but you don’t have to say it so directly,” you reply. Your expression is downcast and dejected. 

You want to learn the language. You want to be able to talk to people. You want to carry out conversations, and learn, and laugh, and cry. You want to become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of an otherwise hopeless situation. You’re here, you’re alive, yet you don’t feel that way. Not at all. 

You don’t want to feel like an outsider. You don’t want to live life from a bird’s eye view, on your little perch by the tiny window. You don’t want to feel like a canary in a cage. You don’t want to feel like a fish in a large, technologically-advanced bowl. Or like a beetle in a glass jar with holes poked in the top. You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want to be locked away in the science shack, just like how you were in the RDA’s basement. 

Your eyes water. How could it be? Have you simply gone from one prison to another?

“You may be impatient, but I think you’ll fit in with us just fine,” Lo’ak interjects. He smiles genuinely. After a few moments, so do Spider and Kiri.

You wipe your eyes. Your face feels hot. 

Kiri calls you by your first name, grasping hold of your attention. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach you to speak Na’vi, and you’ll be just like the rest of us,” she says affectionately. 

“I don’t know about that,” Lo’ak mutters. 

There’s a pregnant pause. You, Spider, and Kiri expect him to say that you’ll never be a true Na’vi, or something of the sort. You weren’t raised as such, like the three of them. 

“She won’t grow another foot overnight,” Lo’ak says finally. He looks right at you with a shit-eating grin. “You’ll never be as tall as we are.”

“Well said,” Spider remarks. 

---

Kiri and Lo’ak can’t stay for much longer—they have to sneak back to their tent before Jake Sully finds out what they’ve been up to. 

“They won’t get in trouble if he finds out, right?”

You and Spider are the last two awake. You’re sitting at the kitchen table. 

Spider waves his hand around nonchalantly. “They never do,” he says. There’s a brief pause. “Okay, sometimes Lo’ak does,” Spider adds. “But never Kiri or Tuk. You’ll meet her eventually. She’s the youngest sibling.”

“Alright, so there’s the three of them. Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk. And Neytiri is their mother, right?”

“Four of them,” Spider corrects you. “Neteyam is the oldest. One year older than Lo’ak.” 

You blink. “Neteyam is the Olo'eyktan’s eldest son? The one who found me?” 

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” Spider retorts. 

You glare at him. “Yes, that’s what you said, only a whole week late!” You whisper-shout at him. “Just like with Kiri’s biological mother.”

Spider throws his hands up. “I guess I thought someone already told you,” he says defensively. “You talked to Jake, right?”

“Right,” you reply. “But he didn’t mention anything about Neteyam being his son. Didn’t mention anything about his children actually.”

“With all that you went through with those fuckers, he may have thought it could be taken as insensitive,” Spider suggests. 

You hum. Maybe, just maybe, Spider’s right.

“Kiri works in the tsahìk’s tent during the day. Lo’ak puts in the least amount of effort necessary to be considered one of the warriors,” Spider says. “He’s usually around, but oftentimes not. Either way, we will find time to help you learn Na’vi.” 

“Is Neteyam one of the warriors?” you ask. 

Spider nods. “These days, he’s become one of the best.”

Your thoughts drift back to when Neteyam found you. You were practically ambushed—he was so controlled, so swift with his movements. Spider’s words don’t surprise you.

“So, he’s busy all the time?”

Spider addresses you by name. “What are you getting at?”

“I still need to thank him,” you confide. “He can’t avoid me forever.”

Spider sighs. “He can try,” he mutters. 

“So, he is avoiding me?” you ask. Your cheeks are turning red again.

“He’s…” Spider begins. He looks distraught. “He wasn’t always like this,” Spider says. “Neteyam and I are cool, but he never sets foot inside this place if he doesn’t have to. Ever since the Sully family returned from living with the Metkayina, the Reef People, he doesn’t get along with Norm and the others like Kiri and Lo’ak… He merely tolerates the scientists here.” 

“You’re saying he hates humans,” you say bluntly. 

“Hate is a strong word,” Spider replies. “But he has many reasons to dislike them…” Spider swallows. “To dislike our kind.” 

The words fall from your lips: “you’re right.”

You begin to question whether or not you should follow through with thanking him for saving you. The interaction with Kiri and Lo’ak went so well—perhaps it gave you an ounce of hope, things might go smoothly with Neteyam too. He’s been on your mind constantly, replaying in your thoughts like a broken record. You’re certain there are other Na’vi who share similar sentiments. You have to be careful.

“Don’t think about it too hard,” says Spider. He stands from the table. “I’m going to sleep,” he says plainly. His footsteps fade as he walks to the barracks. 

Spider’s sympathies do very little to ease your mind. 

---

Spider kept his word. Kar is teach. Karyu is teacher, and Karyunay is apprentice teacher. Ayfo kar nga—they teach you. 

In the days—and eventually, weeks—to come, you fall into a new routine.

You study Na’vi during the day-time hours. The science shack isn’t so bad. Sometimes, if he’s available, Norm works with you on your phonetics and grammar. But typically, it’s just you, your electronic tablet, and your perch by the windowsill. 

When you learned other Earth languages in the past, it was easier to learn other languages in proximity to their language group with which you were familiar. Romance languages, such as Spanish, French, and Italian, bore many similarities. The same went for Germanic languages, and even some Sino-Tibetan languages. 

Na’vi, however, is completely different from any language you’ve spoken, or even attempted to learn. But your dedication is unwavering. 

Lo’ak and Kiri return to the science shack two days after your first encounter with them. 

“Okay, Spider was right. At first, he was angry,” Kiri says. She takes a deep breath through her respirator. “But then, I suppose he thought about it more and decided it was a good idea after all.”

Jake Sully has given Lo’ak and Kiri his word of approval to help with your studies at nightfall, as long as they don’t slack off their usual duties. 

“He thinks it’s a good ‘method of assimilation’ or some shit like that,” adds Lo’ak.

You nod. “He’s right,” you say. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Lo’ak admits nonchalantly. “Sometimes.” 

You all sit on the floor around Grace’s tube again. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “Today, I studied grammatical structure and simple, common vocabulary. Maybe we could start with-”

“Nga za‘u ftu peseng?” Spider asks. He’s asking ‘where do you come from?’

You blink. It takes a moment for the cogs in your brain to rotate. But in due time, you register his question. 

“I come from Earth,” you reply in English.

“If you really want to learn,” Spider says, “you should reply in Na’vi.”

You should. The only issue is, you’re not sure how. But you have no choice but to give it a try. 

You fail the first time. The second time, you almost get it right—close enough to where Kiri pries her eyes away from her mother to give you a look of encouragement and a thumbs up. 

“You’re almost there,” says Lo’ak. He straightens his posture, no longer slouching against the glass tube. “But if you don’t want to sound like a baby learning their first words, you need to change up the word order. For myself, I would reply with ‘za‘u oe ftu Eywa’eveng.’ Which means in English, ‘I come from Pandora.’ Your reply, obviously, is going to be a little different.”

Lo’ak pauses, takes a breath from his respirator, then mimics your higher-pitched voice, speaking as you would reply in Na’vi. 

His impression of you is already spot on. “I don’t sound like that!” you protest. 

They all laugh, and you can’t help but join them. 

For the rest of the evening, the three of them ask you simple questions in Na’vi. All you have to do is reply, also in Na’vi. The longer you go, the easier it gets. You build upon the scaffolding of your day-time studies, as well as every question and response before the next. 

---

This continues for many nights. 

During the days when you’re sitting by the window and Lo’ak and Kiri pop into frame, you instinctively smile and wave to them. They always reciprocate. 

They don’t say it outwardly, but the two of them look forward to these evenings with you. They get to spend more time with Spider. And, although they’re both fluent in English, the practice benefits them, too. Plus, they’ve taken a liking to you as well. 

“Who the hell are you waving at, skxawng?” Neteyam asks Lo’ak one day. They’re about to head off on their ikrans to train. Lo’ak needs to learn a new hand-to-hand technique. Neteyam is conveniently out of your line of sight.

“I’m waving to the new girl!” Lo’ak exclaims. He continues waving. He’s practically beaming.

Neteyam huffs. 

“Her pronunciation is getting much better,” Lo’ak says. His arm falls to his side again. “But it honestly wasn’t bad to begin with,” he adds. “Do you think you were, perhaps, exaggerating?”

“No,” Neteyam answers curtly. He looks agitated—his ears twitch and his tail swishes wildly. “She’s a distraction." You're proving Neteyam's point. Lo'ak won't stop waving. Neteyam groans. "Hurry up, Lo'ak. We have things to do,” he says. When they were younger, Neteyam would’ve slapped Lo’ak’s bicep or grabbed him by the ends of his hair, but he’s a man now. He can’t show his impatience or impulsivity. 

Lo'ak disappears from your vantage point.

---

It’s already been a month. Your diligent practice is starting to pay off. 

You can hold very basic conversations in Na’vi. You’re learning more about the language and culture every day. 

They don't want to feed your ego, but your teachers have discovered you're a fast, proficient learner.

“Syep means 'to trap.' It’s a verb,” Lo’ak explains to you in English. He’s lying on the floor with his legs propped up on a chair from the dining table. Suddenly, he swings his feet from the chair, and stands to his feet. 

You don't want to feed any of their egos either, but they're all smarter than they think. Especially Lo'ak.

“Spider, peseng lu syeprel?” Lo’ak asks. 

You’re unsure what a syeprel is, but you know he’s asking where it’s located. 

“I think it’s in the supply closet, over there,” Spider replies in Na’vi. 

“What’s a syeprel?” you ask, also in Na’vi. 

“Take a guess!” Lo’ak calls from down the hall. 

You hum. You switch back to English: “Well, it must be a particular type of trap? Like a mouse trap or something?”

Kiri hums too. “It does technically trap something,” she says after a few moments. “But you’re thinking too literally,” she adds with a smirk. 

You scratch your head. You’re dumbfounded. 

“A-ha!’ Lo’ak says triumphantly. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” you call. 

“Ask nicely,” says Kiri. “In Na’vi.”

You try again. “Rutxe,” you say, slightly embarrassed. You do as you’re told, and ask in Na’vi. 

Lo’ak returns. He’s holding an ancient piece of technology—an extremely old hand-held digital camera with a slightly scratched lens. “Say cheese!” 

He snaps a photo of you, Spider, and Kiri lounging around on the floor. None of you were prepared.

Kiri sighs and glowers at him. “Lo’ak!”

Lo’ak chuckles. “Alright, alright. We’ll take another one.”

The four of you stand around Lo’ak, the camera operator. “Kiri, crouch down a little bit,” he says, directing your places. “Spider, lean closer to Kiri.” You hear Spider sigh. 

Lo’ak then glances at you over his shoulder. “Stand on your toes, tawtute. Or else you won’t be in frame,” he chides you with a sly smile. 

You do just that and smile for the syeprel. “You’re an ass, Lo’ak,” you say through your teeth. 

“Smile, everyone!” he sings in Na’vi. Lo’ak spins the camera around to take a photo of everyone while operating it at the same time. He smiles and snaps another photo. The flash is momentarily blinding.

You break free from your pose. “So, a camera is called syeprel?”

“Yes, it is.” replies Lo’ak in Na’vi. “It traps a moment in time, doesn’t it? Rel means like an image, or a picture,” he adds in English.

It’s clicking. Your jaw goes slack. Spider can’t help but chuckle at your expression. 

“Language learning is so cool,” you gawk.

“You sound just like Norm,” says Kiri. 

“Whatever,” you say in Na’vi. You switch back to English again. “There are lots of animal names in English like that. Anteaters eat ants. Junebugs come out in the month of June to find mates. Grasshoppers hop around in the grass. Centipedes are named after their one hundred legs.” 

“Now you really sound like Norm,” Kiri teases you. “Don’t start talking about plants too, or I’ll have to go home.” 

“What about bed bugs?” asks Spider. “I've only heard of them from the others. Never seen them here. I’m assuming they would be found in your bed?” 

You nod. 

Kiri hums, thinking. “What about butterflies then?” she asks. “I know that butter comes from milk and milk comes from Earth cows, but could they make butter too?”

You scrunch your nose at the mere thought of butterfly butter. “I don’t think so.”

Lo’ak can hardly contain his laughter. “What about cockroaches?” 

Kiri smacks his chest. Lo’ak half-groans, half-cackles. Kiri scolds him in Na'vi, but it's not long before she starts laughing too. 

You and Spider follow suit.  From down the hall, Norm calls for you four to keep it down again.

But you can’t stop. In fact, Norm’s complaints make it worse. Joyous laughter fills the room. You’re having the time of your life. For the second time since your escape, you think this must be heaven. You’re briefly reminded of your imprisonment—you remember the few times you laughed with your cellmates. You remember those slivers of euphoria. 

You also remember that you’re safe now. The science shack isn’t so bad. Not with Spider, and Kiri, and Lo’ak, and even Norm, and Max, and Mia, and all the others. 

You laugh until your ribs hurt. You laugh until tears well in your eyes. 

---

A/N: This chapter was so fun to write! I hope you guys had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Again, please forgive any language inconsistencies.

Don't worry my darlings! Neteyam is going to be all over the next chapter. Believe in the slow burn!

And thanks again for all the kind comments, reblogs, and notes. You guys are awesome!

Taglist: @m1tsu-ki @promnightbinbaby

[luxurychristmaspudding]

You and I | On Call

part iv

summary: frankie has one last question.

pairing: neighbour!frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. dual pov. idiots in love, reader is good with kids. reader and frankie are both bi and have same sex exes. fluff, drinking. praise kink. the boys (minus tom). SMUT! fingering, oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v. cum kink? creampie. frankie retains the title of pek 👑

reader is a teacher, has hair, and can be lifted by frankie (he's a big strong boy, don't worry about it) but she is otherwise a blank slate.

wc: 10.8k

an: well, here we are gang. thank you for joining me and for all your sweet words. i've been so awful with reblogging your kindness on this little thing because of how busy i was when i wrote most of it, but i want you to know i appreciate it so much. i've loved sharing these two with you - it's been a privilege <3

shoutout to @jolapeno for helping me with the chapter name, and for very gently reminding me that 20k chapters probably should be split 😉 love you <3

dividers from the glorious @saradika-graphics

series masterlist | main masterlist

When he wakes, it’s well past twelve. 

Nine hours which he imagines he probably needed, but really it puts him two hours behind.

He showers and dresses in a rush, running out the door to his truck, but still taking the time to register that your curtains have remained closed. It makes him smile, knowing you’re likely still tucked up in bed, your stories about the night before resting before they make their way to him.

He practically sprints around the supermarket, grabbing anything that even vaguely crosses his mind as something he might need. Meat, bread, salads of sorts, sauces, soft drinks, beers. He picks up your favourite dessert just in case, and then hauls the bags back to the truck, keeping a nervous eye on the time as his fingers tap against the steering wheel. 

Will and Benny are already there when he gets home. Grinning, leaning against Will’s car as he pulls into the driveway.

There’s a sharp pull of joy in his chest even as Will laughs out a ‘You’re late, Fish’, pounding his back as he pulls him into a hug.

‘Can’t be late to my own fuckin’ house.’ He grumbles back, pulling Benny in in the same way.

‘Can, and you are.’ The younger man laughs. 

‘Thought you might be out with your lady.’ Will teases, and Frankie flushes right to the tips of his ears. 

‘She’s still asleep.’ He says without thinking, a smile pulling at his lips. It’s comical, really, the way the two men freeze and look at each other. ‘Help me with these bags, will you?’

The brothers remain unmoving, staring at him with some degree of bewilderment.

‘Still asleep?’

Frankie sighs, a little exasperated.

‘Yeah. She was out last night.’

Will’s eyes wander to Frankie’s bedroom window just as Benny’s mouth begins to form a question. The realisation dawns quickly.

‘Not in my bed,’ he scowls, ‘Next door.’

‘Oh.’

He turns his back on them, heading to his front door, arms laden with groceries. A nervous, giddy feeling swirls in his stomach.

‘Had us going for a minute there, Fish.’ Will calls after him. Frankie bites his lip against the memories of you in your living room, the desperate kisses you’ve shared since. He feels like a teenager, on the verge of spilling secrets like he’s at a sleepover.

He hums instead, flicking a glance over his shoulder to see Benny grab more stuff from the back of the truck. He grunts and grimaces under the weight, shooting a look at Frankie.

‘What do you have in here? Are we feeding the five thousand?’

Will laughs, loading his own hands with bags, tutting at his little brother.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be the athlete here?’

Benny drops one bag just to give him the finger.

‘This is my rest day, motherfucker.’ 

He groans again as he picks the bag back up, Frankie laughing along with Will.

‘Lift with your knees, not with your back!’ He shouts.

‘Quit telling me what to do, asshole!’ Benny hollers, the older men still chuckling as he shoulders the front door open. 

Santiago arrives not too long after, setting up the last of the food - the salads out on the table, more beers in the fridge. They’ve all clocked Frankie checking his watch, checking his phone, your text that you’d be over in the next five minutes burning a fucking hole in his pocket.

He’s nervous. And they can tell.

He has the distinct impression he’s being cornered when they all turn to look at him at the same time as he fiddles with the burner on the grill. It feels ridiculous - this desire for everything to be perfect. You’ve seen him in all of his less-than-perfect moments, have never shied away. But this - today - feels different.

Pope leads the offence.

‘How’s your girl then, Fish?’

Frankie’s heart drops low in his chest before thumping hard behind his ribs, a hand coming up to try and wipe the sudden smile from his lips. He tries a gruff tone, failing miserably as soon as he speaks.

‘She’s not my girl.’

Will whistles lowly, smirking.

‘Still? We gonna have to smush you together like Barbies?’

Benny snorts, and Frankie shoots him a look which immediately makes him straighten and soften.

‘We won’t. They won’t. Scout’s honour.’

Santi takes a pull from his beer, a glint in his eye.

‘No progress at all?’ He probes.

Frankie takes a deep breath, eyes lowered to the floor before finding the deep brown of his best friend.

‘We’re… seeing each other.’ He murmurs, this time unable to hide his smile, hand scratching at the back of his head.

Silence. Quiet that puts Frankie even more on edge as he watches his friends exchange looks, as a slow smile tilts the corners of Benny’s lips.

‘Well - that’s an improvement.’ Will grins.

‘A marked improvement.’ Santi agrees.

‘So you told her how you feel?’ Benny asks, eyebrows raised.

Frankie sucks air through his teeth, clears his throat. His face grows warm, fingers twitch a little.

‘Not quite -’

Will barks a laugh. 

‘Morales, you dog.’ Followed by the deep rumbles of amusement from the other two men.

‘Oh, the tried and true manoeuvre - the Catfish Canoodle.’ Benny snickers.

‘The Morales Marathon.’ Will adds, tilting his bottle to him. Pope is next, grinning lasciviously.

‘The good old Five Finger Fish Fu-’

‘Frankie?’ You call from inside the kitchen, ‘I have beers, but there’s no room in the fridge -’

You pop your head round the backdoor, beaming immediately when you catch sight of the men in the garden.

‘Oh! Hi,’ you say brightly, emerging fully. Frankie’s heart stutters. You’re wearing that sundress he remembers - hasn’t been able to forget - from when he mowed your lawn weeks ago. Gorgeous, the way it drapes over your curves, the way it lets your skin glisten in the afternoon light. He feels his shoulders drop, his whole body relax. Feels the way he goes a little weak at the knees, knows he’ll be looking lovesick in front of the boys. And he doesn’t care.

‘Sorry I’m a little late,’ you say, hopping down the porch steps towards them, ‘I wish I had a good excuse, but I just - don’t.’ 

Benny laughs, moving with Will and Santi to greet you. Frankie just about catches the look Santiago throws him, a sweet holy shit, brother.

‘Ah, the elusive neighbour. We were starting to think he’d made you up.’ Pope says, matching your smile. You giggle, arms outstretched as he reaches you.

‘Funny,’ you smirk, ‘I was thinking of not turning up just to prove you right.’

He laughs as he releases you, Benny sweeping you into his arms and planting a kiss on your cheek.

‘Even more beautiful than he said you were,’ he says, and Frankie watches your eyebrows shoot up as you fix him with an oh, really? look. His heart drops to his stomach, neck grinding in an effort to shake his head before a shit-eating grin splits across your face. 

‘I had no idea he was so - complimentary - behind my back.’ You laugh against Will’s shoulder as he spins you around.

‘Oh, he is,’ he chuckles, placing you gently down with your back to Frankie. Frankie glowers at him half-heartedly as Will winks back, and the dark-haired man raises a finger, mouthing at him to shut - the fuck - up. ‘Feels like we’ve known you for ages.’ Will continues.

You turn, planting your hands on your hips, cocking your head at Frankie.

‘Just can’t stop talking about me, huh, Fish?’ You tease, and Frankie huffs as he pulls you in for a lingering hug, wondering if it’s too much to kiss you in front of his friends.

‘Guess not.’ He whispers into your ear.

You’re biting your lip as you pull away from him, hands lingering on his shoulders as his stall on your waist.

Will clears his throat. 

‘You gonna introduce us then, Morales?’

Frankie rolls his eyes at him as he turns you around, hands at your hips, pointing a finger at each friend.

‘William Miller,’ he says, as Will pulls a face - just Will is fine - ‘Benjamin Miller,’ - Benny, please - ‘And Santiago Garcia.’

‘I’m only Santiago when I’m in trouble,’ Which is most of the time, Benny laughs. ‘Santi is much better.’

You grin as you give them your name, and Will nudges your arm with his elbow.

‘I thought we were on Bug terms.’

You laugh, batting his arm.

‘You can call me Bug if you really want to.’

Benny shrugs, squinting his baby blues at you.

‘Maybe,’ he grins, ‘But your name suits you. It’s pretty. I like it.’

Frankie rolls his eyes again, squeezing your waist against the flicker of possessiveness that rises in his gut. It’s nothing more than teasing, kindness - something they’ve almost always extended to partners welcomed into the fold. But he’s not blind - they’re a handsome group, and he wants you to himself.

‘You gotta stop that,’ you giggle, ‘Before I wanna hang out with you guys all the time.’

Will throws a gentle arm around your shoulder, leaning back to wink at Frankie.

‘Hear that, Fish?’ He chuckles, ‘She’s in.’

He groans.

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ he murmurs lowly in your ear, ‘Though we’ve got a fuckton of food.’

His heart leaps as he feels your fingers reach for his, tangling briefly before squeezing. 

‘I’m stayin’,’ you promise, as Will moves around you to turn the grill on. ‘You guys put on a hell of a spread, anyway.’

From behind, Will claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, shunting the younger man forward a little.

‘That would all be Fish. Must be a special occasion.’ He smirks, and Frankie looks up to the heavens to try and stop his wish for the ground to swallow him up.

‘Sure is,’ you smile, ‘Feelin’ pretty lucky to be meeting you guys.’

‘Pleasure's all ours, kid.’ He grins.

Frankie smiles softly at you, brown eyes filled with something warm.

‘Want a drink?’ He asks.

You smack your lips, hand grabbing at your throat.

‘Please, Fish,’ you gasp, ‘I’m parched.’

The screen door has barely shut behind you before he has you backed against his kitchen counter again, stealing kisses like you’re about to get caught.

His lips are slow, sweet, hands so lazy, so indulgent in the way they hold you you’re not sure it’s really happening, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He crowds you a little closer, licking into your mouth as he fists the skirt of your dress, palming at your ass. You barely manage to catch your breath before he’s mouthing at your neck, nipping at the skin there as you huff against him. 

‘Good time last night?’ he breathes against your shoulder. You nod, eyes shut tight.

‘Yes,’ you gasp, ‘Really good time.’

‘Good,’ he murmurs, ‘I’m glad.’

You moan softly as he grips your hips, pulling you up against his thigh. There’s a thrill to it, knowing the boys are just outside. It makes your blood run hotter. Dangerously hot - no-turning-back hot.

‘Should get back outside. Before they wonder where we’ve gone.’

‘Don’t care,’ Frankie rasps, tugging at your dress again, ‘This fucking dress drives me insane.’

You nip at his bottom lip as his mouth meets yours again.

‘You’re driving me fucking insane,’ you gasp, lips tipping upwards, ‘In your kitchen, humping your leg like a dog in heat -’

He groans against you, forehead knocking against yours as he breathes heavily.

His eyes are almost black, palms warm and rough as they cradle your cheeks.

‘Once they leave,’ he whispers, ‘We’re spending a week in my bedroom. Or yours. I don’t care which.’

A whimper slips up your throat, mouth pressed hotly against his again as you start to count how many hours until it might be acceptable to drag him away. One hand slips from your cheek to your waist, inching up until he can squeeze at your breast, running a thumb over your nipple. You shudder, whole body ignited. 

‘Fuck.’ He breathes.

‘Frankie -’

‘Hey! Lover boy,’ Pope whistles from behind the screen door. You leap apart at the sound of his footsteps on the porch. ‘Hope you’re decent in there, I’m coming in -’

Santi appears, grinning widely as he pushes his way into the kitchen. He shields the side of his face facing you with a hand. ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, ‘But we’re gonna get grilling.’

‘We’re not naked, Pope.’ Frankie says, bemused. You giggle as Santi drops his hand.

‘Thank God,’ he sighs, before fixing you with a look, ‘I’ve seen enough of this man’s ass to last me a lifetime.’

He’d hoped it would be easy, knew that they’d love you. But he’s never seen these three men take to someone the way they have you.

He smiles as you stand with Will at the grill, watches the brotherly affection develop in real time. The soft smack of your palm against the older man’s shoulder, snorts of laughter, whispered jokes and more serious stories swapped. Frankie relaxes into it more and more, gazing at you over Benny’s shoulder. 

When he brings more food over to cook, Will stays stood by his side as you take his place with Benny and Santiago. The three of you huddled around the crackling firepit, hooting with laughter. He catches his own name a few times, turns to find you watching him with shining eyes as Pope and the younger Miller brother no doubt regale you with embarrassing stories from his youth. Things he hasn’t thought to tell you, things he may well have forgotten. And you fill a chair so easily, so effortlessly, it’s like you’ve always been there.

Clinks of cheersing bottles, conspiratorial shoulder bumps, lowered heads and loud exclamations and giggles. He feels like he’s in a fucking coming of age movie.

‘She’s a keeper, brother,’ Will murmurs to him over the lip of his beer bottle. He turns to him, a little surprised, but Will looks so at ease, so content with his little smile, that he knows there’s no bullshit there. ‘Fuckin’ funny. And smart as hell.’

Frankie hums, busying himself with flipping a burger. His hands are a little shaky - even after everything that’s happened over the last week, there’s still something that’s keeping him unsteady. The rock of a world turned on its axis, the deep want of willing this to work - because he loves you. So fucking much.

‘Don’t go all shy on me now, Fish.’ Will says, turning with him so his back is to you.

‘’M not.’ Frankie says, softly. Will sucks a breath through his teeth, squinting up at the sun just over the roofline of your house.

‘Do you remember what I was like when I first met Charlotte?’

Frankie looks at him - the beard, the hair pulled back, the clear blue of his eyes. He nods.

‘And the way you wound me up? How I was always looking for her, always checking for her? And at the end of the night, you asked when I was buying the ring?’

Frankie chuckles at the memory, the comment made stood at the bar with his best friend, manifesting the future he’d have. The ring that now sits on Charlotte’s finger, the wedding planned for the end of the year.

‘I do.’

Will looks back at him, teeth exposed with his smile. Teasing, full of humour, but it’s genuine, not goading.

‘When are you buying the ring, Frankie?’

Blood rushes to his head so fast he feels dizzy, so fast he has to put the tongs down. He scoffs, the way it sounds out loud so outlandish, but something pierces deep through his chest at how clearly Will sees through him.

Because he’s thought about it.

He shakes his head, swallowing roughly. There’s nothing he can say. Anything like not even my girlfriend yet would sound like a denial. But admitting it, that secret thought, even to Will, feels insane.

He’s still grinning at him.

‘I know it when I see it, Fish,’ Will continues, ‘And I know what you’re thinking.’ He pauses, shrugs. ‘Bring her to the wedding. She might catch the bouquet.’ 

He can’t move. Can’t turn to look at you, he’s sure his cheeks are burning so brightly. Can’t even twist his head when Benny calls,

‘Are you done grilling over there? We’re starving.’

He can’t stop thinking about it. Can't stop his whirring brain as the five of you eat, passing sauces and salads. Can’t stop thinking about a future, a life with you as you sit across the table from him, meeting his eye, chatting, laughing. Can’t stop the thoughts from ploughing through him as your foot catches his under the table, can hardly swallow his burger against the words lumping in his throat. Can’t stop the pounding of his heart when he catches you gazing at him halfway through a story, chin cupped in your hand, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars - can’t stop wondering whether you’ve ever pictured the same. 

He’s barely snapped out of it when the plates are stacked and carried through to the kitchen, bits of salad and smudges of sauce halfway cleared up before you pile outside again, Will and Santi jostling over the chair free from the smoke of the firepit. You walk with him and Benny, the younger man listening to you talk with such interest, such fondness already, that Frankie wonders whether he’s too young to have a heart attack. 

He’s only pulled from the conversation by the crack of broken furniture, the three of you stopping short and quiet as Will wheezes, sprawled on the ground atop the remnants of the coveted chair. He holds a hand up in the air, craning his neck at Frankie.

‘His fault,’ he croaks, pointing at Santi, who holds his palms up in surrender. 

‘Not my fault that he’s so heavy.’

You trap a giggle between your teeth and bottom lip as Frankie and Benny start to laugh, Will scrambling to his feet with the help of Frankie’s outstretched hand. 

‘Santiago.’ Benny snickers, and your bright eyes find Frankie’s.

‘Well. Now you are in trouble.’

Frankie grins, fixing Santi with a faux stern look.

‘In so much trouble you’re gonna have to sit on the floor.’ He chuckles, and Pope pouts.

‘My knees will never recover, Fish, and you know that.’

He shrugs, settling into a chair at the same time as Benny and Will. You stay standing, warring silently with yourself before you gesture to the empty seat for Santi to take. 

‘It’s yours,’ you smile, nervous as you turn to Frankie. ‘Is this seat taken?’ You ask, looking pointedly at his lap.

His eyes blow wide for a second, breath caught in his chest. Unsure, for a moment, of your meaning, ready to give the chair up for you. You raise an eyebrow, palm lowering gently onto his shoulder.

‘No.’ He rasps, blissfully unaware of Will’s smirk.

‘Good.’ You say, lowering yourself onto his thighs, an arm around his shoulders, his around your back, hand at your hip. He swings your legs over his without thinking, and you settle, limbs tense at first, before shuffling a little to get comfortable.

To their credit, the boys don’t make it a thing. They continue the conversation as normal as the two of you join in, wrapped up together, crowing with laughter as your bodies vibrate against each other. 

You hold each other closer as the evening wears on. Head resting against his chest, nuzzled against the fabric of his t-shirt. Laundry detergent, light scent of cologne, the warmth of his skin. His hands are broad and calloused where they cradle you, so easily - never a limb falling slack, never goosebumps that go unsoothed. He rubs his thumb against your thigh in soft semi-circles, leans his cheek against the top of your head, breathing in your shampoo. 

Lets himself be warmed by the pressure of your body against his, willfully ignores his cock when it twitches hopefully as you shift. Which is hard, as you begin to shift more and more the later it gets, the hotter you burn above him. And as hard as you try, you just can’t keep still. Can’t stop trying to find relief for the ache in your core, the wetness pooling in your underwear. 

He finally grips your hips against a particularly wicked wriggle, head dipping to growl in your ear.

‘Stop, baby. Please.’ And it works for a moment - only a moment - as you’re frozen by the flashbacks of him unravelling beneath you eight days ago. Eight days too long.

As though he’s read the shift in atmosphere, Will stands and stretches.

‘I’m heading in,’ he says, rolling his head on his shoulders. ‘The spare room calls.’

You stand, reluctantly, and Frankie is quick to readjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Will gives you a sweeping hug, kissing just before your ear as you say a muffled see you tomorrow into his shoulder. Frankie takes his outstretched hand, pulling him into a back-clapping embrace of sorts, and when he pulls away he’s surprised to see Benny and Pope also bidding you goodnight. He checks his watch. 

It’s not even eleven.

His eyes twitch from you to the boys as he works out whether you’re heading back to yours, too.

Santi catches the look, slapping a hand onto his shoulder as he whispers a do not come back into this house, pendejo. He looks over your shoulder at Benny as Will makes you giggle again, and is met with the firm waggle of a finger.

Stay, he mouths.

Fuck you, Frankie mouths back, watching their backs retreat into his house. 

The backyard falls quiet, only the snap of logs in the fire, the buzzing of insects, and the rush of blood in his ears to be heard.

You turn, facing him in the dark, half your face lit by the dying embers of the fire pit. 

‘Are you - are you tired?’ He asks softly, afraid of disturbing the hushed moment.

‘No,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly.

‘No.’

You nod, gentle smile pulling at your lips.

‘Good.’

You step towards him, slowly, like something out of a dream. Glowing in the low light, sparkling with something divine.

You cup his cheeks with both hands, press your body in a firm line against his, hoping to convey exactly what you mean through the touch. Affection, of course, love, adoration - everything you’ve been planning on giving him over the last week, but now, more pressingly - want. Pure, unadulterated want. 

You tip your head to slant your mouth against his, hot, heavy, teeth clashing at the initial meeting, breath mingling, tongues licking into each others’ mouths. You tug at the back of his neck, hand buried in the soft curls there, yanking his head back a little to open his mouth up to you. You let go. Lips suckling at his tongue, teeth nibbling at the pillow of his lower lip. Further. Pecking at the scruff of his jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. Nipping, raising red on his skin, before soothing it with a tortuously slow lick of your tongue.

Your breathing is so heavy, hands so feverish, you lose the sense of where you end and he begins. Feel fingers scrabbling for purchase, bruising grips, on you and him. One scorching palm runs the length of your dress down to the top of your thigh, grabbing at the flesh there. You shift your stance, moaning into his mouth, finding that hand with your own, moving it closer to that burning place between your legs. Frankie follows your lead.

You press his hand up, and his knuckles graze along the sodden fabric of your panties, lips falling away from his as you whine and he groans. You’re soaked, wetter still as he runs the length of his fingers up and down the material clinging to your pussy, feeling the bite of your teeth as you try to muffle yourself against his collarbone. 

He shushes you, coos at you, pressing a particularly firm stroke against your cunt that makes your legs shake as he asks you -

‘You gonna let me feel it, baby?’

You gasp against his mouth, nodding feverishly. He chuckles, slowing the pace of his kiss so he can really focus on how soft, how warm and wet you are as he pulls your panties to the side with deft fingers, slicking them up before swirling them around your clit. A stuttered breath escapes you, cutting off into a loud, unabashed moan as he slowly, slowly fucks his fingers into you. He sinks right down to the bottom knuckle, kisses forgotten as he breathes raggedly against your cheek, feeling you clench and whimper around him. He curls them slightly, and your knees practically buckle, stomach contracting, hands grasping at his shirt.

‘Frankie,’ you plead, almost losing your train of thought as he plants a kiss just behind your ear. ‘Take me to bed.’

He pumps his fingers, once, runs his thumb softly over your clit before withdrawing them altogether, mouth slanted firmly against yours, stifling your whine. You stumble a little, pulling at the collar of his shirt for him to move with you before pausing briefly, watching as he brings his fingers to his lips. He slips them deep inside, groaning around them, eyelids fluttering as he takes in the taste of you. Your breathing is heavy as he slips them from his mouth, offering them to you. You take them willingly, bobbing your head to feel how thick and heavy his fingers are on your tongue, the taste of your slick diluted with his spit making your mouth water. He stares as you flick the muscle between and around his digits, brow furrowed, eyes dark, before he retracts them. You frown at him, and he licks into your mouth with such ferocity you’re quick to forget your disappointment. 

‘Yours. Now.’ He murmurs, and then you’re grinning, running. Sprinting over his lawn, hopping the fence on unsteady legs, striding towards your porch. You slam up the steps, glancing behind you only once to watch him follow you. Giddy with want, warm all over, soaking wet, you can't help but look for him.

For the first time since you moved next door, Frankie willingly hops the fence. 

He catches up to you before you can get the front door open, clutching your hip, turning the handle with the other. He backs you into the hallway, kicking the door shut behind him, shoes toed off blindly. There’s no reprieve from his lips, no other thought than his hands on your body, guiding you into your living room, hips bumping into furniture, deaf to the clatter of objects falling - not a single fuck given over what - one hand - whose, you’re not sure - flying out to flick a lamp on before he’s crushing you against the sofa. 

Calves to the furniture, you fall, and he follows you - two hands braced either side of your head before returning to their homes on your cheek, your waist, your breasts. Palming at the flesh there, kneading, thumbing over your nipples. You’re gasping, rolling your hips in hopes you’ll catch against something, because he’s everywhere, only to come up empty every time. He lowers both hands, tongue running strongly against yours. One shifts your hips, the other pressing against your panties again.

‘Let me taste you,’ he groans, voice hoarse, ‘Please, baby. I have to - let me taste you.’

You nod fiercely, tugging on his curls again, mumbling a fuck, Frankie, yes, before he pulls away. His lips are spit-slick, swollen, cheeks flushed. Breathing haggard, eyes blown, curls frayed. He looks almost how he did a week ago. 

He holds your gaze for a moment, searching again, letting the question float through the air. You nod, softly, and he begins his descent. 

His lips are wet against your skin, leaving shining marks as he presses them to your clavicles, your breastbone, closing them around your covered nipples. He mouths at them, tongue dampening the fabric of your dress, warming, cooling, the fabric sticking to you in a way that makes your back arch. He works one with his fingers while his mouth is occupied, teasing them into peaks as you whimper and buck your hips beneath him. He watches you darkly, eyes heavy lidded, eyelashes almost fanned against his cheeks. And you ache. Ache so badly, so unforgivably. You can feel how wet you are - panties soaked, dampness all the way down into the cleft of your ass, smudging along the tops of your thighs. He waits until you whine again, louder, higher pitched, nails scraping in his curls, against his scalp - please Frankie, please - before he moves lower. More kisses pressed to your covered stomach, lower, lower, large hands pushing up the hem of your skirt, tracing every bit of skin they can find. He shifts on his knees to get closer as you lift your hips so he can shove your skirt all the way up, lips parting, eyebrows furrowing in a desperate look of need as he fixes his eyes to your clothed core, as you buck again at the look in his eyes, breathing heavily. His palms come together at the very tops of your thighs, thumbs brushing along the hem of your panties either side of your pussy. You huff again, hands leaving their clutch of the sofa to bury back into his curls, tugging him forwards. 

He groans, deep in his throat, easily led. Presses his nose to your clothed cunt, inhales deeply, grinds the tip just against your throbbing clit. You whimper, tugging once more, and he nuzzles your bud again, mumbling something into your heat.

‘Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Frankie - if you don’t fuckin’ - touch me in the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna cry.’

‘I am touchin’ you,’ he growls against your hip, head tilted to look up at you. His hot breath on your skin has your flesh breaking out in goosebumps. You shake your head, frustration burning behind your eyes.

‘I want - your tongue -’ you pant, ‘Want to feel your mouth, Frankie.’

He groans, thumbs digging under the waistband of your panties to rip them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core as he reveals you - glistening, messy, wet, drooling for him. He splits his fingers into a V, spreading your lips as you keen and mewl above him.

‘You want me here?’ He rasps.

‘Yes,’ you breathe, ‘I fucking do.’

He finds it in himself to show you mercy.

The first stroke of his tongue is strong, wide. As though he’s trying to take as much of you in as possible in the first go - licking deep and long to taste your slick, tracing the dip of your hole, ending with a final swirl around your clit. Your chest shudders, eyes squeeze shut, hands tense in his hair.

‘Okay, baby?’ He asks, so soft.

You lick your lips.

‘Yeah.’

He pushes your at knees to spread your thighs wider apart.

‘Look at me.’ He says, and you crack your eyes open to watch as he manhandles your legs onto his shoulders, tilting his head as he considers, pushing them back towards your chest in order to find the best angle to eat you from. Fuck.

He’s not gentle, and he isn’t taking his time. 

The week you’ve waited, the months building up to this, do not mean you have the patience to make this last any longer than he’s already teased you for. He eats you like he’s starved, like he’s never tasted anything like the heaven between your legs. Long, firm strokes of his tongue, flicking at your swollen clit, watching as your head tilts forward, heavy, unable to tear your eyes from him. Chest heaving, something about the way you’re still wrapped in that fucking dress making him leak steadily in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper. He’s barely spared a thought for it so far, caught up in the way you look, the way you feel, smell, taste. He moves his grip from one of your knees to palm himself roughly, and you moan, watching him. 

Your lips part, and he knows, knows that you’re going to beg him to fuck you before the words even leave your mouth. And he will.

He just needs this first.

‘You’re gonna come in my mouth,’ he rumbles, stroking your clit with his thumb, levelling you with a dark, stern stare, ‘And then we can do anything you want. Just need to taste you like this first.’

He watches the pulse of your cunt, the gush of slick that escapes you at his words. Coos at you, so pretty, baby, before leaning back in.

Closing his lips around your pearl, sucking, flicking, tracing shapes - tracing the letters of his name against you - watching as you buck and cry and moan. You’re so fucking beautiful, leaking around him, wetting his chin, his lips, his cheeks. He can only taste you, only smell you. And it’s fucking divine.

Diving in as you bury your hands in his hair again, pulling his mouth closer, reeling in the soft plush of his lips, warm wet of his tongue, the sharp nip of his teeth against your skin. He lets you use him, lets you grind against his face, winding your hips against him. He holds his mouth open, tongue lapping where he can, mumbling against your skin. Blissed out, pussy drunk.

Yes, yes, fuck. Fuck, baby - use me. Use me, just like that. Take what you need, Bug. Taste so good, feel so fucking good.

His eyes dart from your cunt to your face - this beautiful mess you’re making, the fucked out, glassy look you watch him with. Mouth dropped open, brow scrunched in ecstasy, broken little pants and moans, cries of his name. He stretches an arm, a hand above his head, kneading at your breast, pinching your nipple, the other settling above your mound, thumb pulling back the hood of your clit. You shut your eyes quickly, your shout of fuck coming loud, a yelp.

He can taste how close you are, willing you to come with his eyes when you meet his gaze. His come, baby, is muffled, but it’s all you need. 

You break, back arching, breasts heaving, pussy fluttering and clamping around his tongue, heat blasting through your belly, a rush of bright white feeling pouring from you. Your hips freeze, jerk, twitch against him, and he closes his eyes briefly, worried that if he watches you ride the high the whole way through he’ll come in his fucking pants again. 

Your hands loosen in his hair, letting him lick and suck dazedly until he’s content. Nose pressed against you, inhaling, tasting as you whimper, thighs tightening a little around his head at the oversensitivity, and he backs away, pressing kisses to your thighs as your ragged breathing begins to ease into a more even rhythm.

He nips at your skin as you stare at him, something flooding your chest. You feel like you’re still riding that wave, feel like no one’s ever really eaten you like that, nobody’s ever really let you use them like that.

You bring a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the glisten of you on his lips. He tilts his head into your palm, and you smile, mouth dry.

‘Where’d you learn to do that?’ You ask. It’s a dumb fucking thing to say, but you can think of nothing else that could quite explain the light-headed awe you’re feeling. He laughs, a deep rumble, real, into your thigh.

‘It’s a gift.’ He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your belly, shifting on his knees, adjusting himself. Your eyes soften, dropping to his hand.

He sees the question in your eyes again.

He leans forward, squatting, hands moving to the crease between your thighs and ass, before he stands, bringing you with him. You mouth at his neck as he stumbles to your stairs, taking them steadily, shouldering open your bedroom door through the darkness. 

He drops you where he knows the mattress, your bed will be, separating himself from you only briefly. He yanks the curtains shut as your fingers flick on a dim light - you’ll be damned if you're not watching this. 

He stops before you at the edge of the bed, between your legs. You reach out, looking up at him - sharp curve of his nose, chocolate of his curls illuminated by the light, the heat of his eyes, soft clench of his jaw, rough swallow of his throat. He reaches to stroke your hair, cupping the back of your head. You tug at the hem of his t-shirt, and he holds your hands, loosening them so he can pull it up over his head. And then he’s all golden tan, freckles. Stupidly broad shoulders, strong arms, muscle moving beneath the skin as he discards the garment on the floor. Curls of hair over his chest, down his softening stomach, down below the waistband of his jeans. The bulge straining against the denim there. You draw your hands down the lines of him, pausing only to trace the silvery mark of the scar on his abdomen. He sucks a sharp breath in at the tenderness, the intimacy, takes your fingers in his. Watches as you blink up at him, as you move to press your cheek against the heft of his cock, a kiss against his zipper. Hands making quick work of freeing him, tugging down the denim and his boxers. He steps out of them, bending only to pull his socks off, before he stills in front of you. His hard cock bobs against his stomach - you’re briefly distracted by his thighs, the delicious, smooth patches of skin where his hips meet his torso - but he is impossible to ignore. Thick, throbbing. Precum beading down the shaft, head flushed a heady, deep red, veins pulsing beneath the skin. Curved upwards, twitching beneath your gaze. You swallow thickly.

‘Holy shit.’

You don’t even realise you’d said it out loud until he laughs, a little bashful, a little proud. You look back up to him as you reach out, fingers wrapping around his base. Skin like silk, like gossamer, hot and strong. He hisses through his teeth, knees weak and hips bucking all at once. You pump once, twice, letting your breath fan over him.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, ‘Prettiest cock I’ve ever seen.’

He flushes at your words, his retort dying in his throat when you wrap your lips around him, gently taking his head in your mouth, swirling your tongue in circles, dipping into his slit, teasing the skin on the underside. He watches, breath caught in his throat, head pounding as you dip forward, hands flat against his thighs, eyes fluttering blissfully as you take him deeper. Watches as he disappears inside your mouth, as he feels nothing but warm and wet, nothing but your tight swallow, your fluid grip at his base, the vibration of your hum, the glint in your eyes as you look up -

He retracts his hips reluctantly, sliding his cock from your throat. You try to follow, whining as you shift forward, still connected through a delicate line of spit and precum, stretching thin as he pulls you back with a firm hand in your hair. He breaks it with his fingers, letting his thumb catch the dribble of it against your chin. He offers the digit, and you obediently take it in your mouth to suck the mixture off. Your eyes are still wide, pleading. He smiles softly.

‘Not gonna last like that, baby,’ he mutters. ‘Wanna feel you this time.’

You pout, words slurred in your pleasure filled haze, eyes heavy lidded as you hold his gaze.

‘Wanna watch you come every way. Wanna make you come every way. Wanna - wanna taste it, wanna feel it, want you to cover me -’

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ he grits, cock throbbing painfully at your words, head spinning. He never thought he’d hear you talk like that, cock drunk on the edge of your bed, mouth all sad without his dick in it. ‘Get this off.’ he hisses, tugging again at the hem of your dress, pulling it up as you hold up your arms. It comes easy, exposing your bare pussy, soft skin of your stomach, plush flesh of your breasts. 

There's so much blood south of his brain Frankie thinks he might pass out.

He bends to kiss you, groping at your tits again, fingers swiping fleetingly between your legs to find you still soaked.

‘Perfect,’ he growls, ‘So fucking perfect.’

You whimper, backing up across your sheets. He follows, both knees dipping onto the mattress, tongue searching for yours, pecks and nips pressed to your forehead, cheeks, lips.

Your hands find purchase wherever they can, squeezing the tops of his arms, nails grazing the skin, grasping the meat of his hips, tracing the contours of his belly, squeezing and stroking his cock. A deep groan rumbles in his chest again, and he's breaking the kisses to divert and scoot back against your pillows. You crawl to him, eye contact only broken as his eyes flick over your shoulder, and he freezes, shivers. You smile wickedly, guessing at what he can see. You pause between his legs again, lowering your head to kiss at his base, cup his balls, arching your back a little more so he can really see the angle you’re exposed at in the mirror behind you.

He doesn’t know where to look. Where your mouth and hands are, teasing at his cock again, or where he can see your glistening pussy, tilted up, shining, ready. 

He’s losing his fucking mind.

He reaches over, curling his body around yours to land a firm smack against your ass. You whimper at the contact, hot pant of air against his skin, eyes glassy again as he groans, watching the flesh ripple, watching the claim he has staked begin to form. 

You move to kneel, coming face to face, your eyes wide, wanton, desperate.

‘Fuck me, Frankie,’ you whisper, pleading. ‘Please, fuck me -’

He shakes his head, kissing your temple.

‘Gotta get you ready first, bebita,’ he breathes, pulling you closer, moving your legs. ‘Come here for me, turn around. Come closer. Like this.’ He arranges you so you’re sat, cradled between his legs, your back to his front. He spreads your legs wide, hooks them with his ankles so you can’t close them. Runs his hands down your body, your eyes tracing his movements - every squeeze, every pinch, every circle he draws. 

Your breath hitches as his hands travel lower, parting your folds again, feathering over your clit. You turn your head to speak directly into his ear.

‘Don’t tease, Morales.’ You purr. He chuckles, turning to peck at your lips.

‘I won’t, princesa.’

You cry out as he sinks two fingers inside your heat, making good on his promise. Your chin dips, but his spare hand comes up to cradle it gently, angling your head so you can watch him work you in the mirror. The two of you rendered speechless for a moment - just gasps, moans, the slick sounds of your cunt in the room. His dark eyes on yours over your shoulder, in the glass. The firm press, scissor, pulse, of his fingers inside you.

The silence is only broken by a ragged moan from you as he presses against that delicious, spongy spot tucked away inside you, and he chuckles in response.

‘Look at you, baby,’ he breathes in your ear, ‘So pretty. Been thinking about you like this all week.’

You moan as he curls his fingers at a particularly delicious angle, pressing the meat of his palm against your clit. Your hand closes around his wrist, keeping him there, pulling him away - a mix of both. The feel of him is too wonderful to be rid of, too much to take.

‘Longest fuckin’ week of my life.’ He growls, biting at your earlobe, flicking his wrist faster again, drawing a desperate cry from your lips. A pressure building, your pussy obscene in the quiet, so fucking wet, and you can hear Frankie thinking it, marvelling at how your body responds, how you leak and clench and writhe in his grip. 

There’s that pressure building again, your breath heaving in your lungs, cunt getting slicker, tighter. Frankie coos in your ear, his other arm still banded around your middle. You hiccup, moan, arch your back against him. 

‘Fuck,’ you murmur, ‘Fuck, close.’

He hums, tracing his nose along the fine skin of your neck.

‘Yeah?’ He says, voice cracking a little. ‘S’that good? Tell me. Tell me it’s good, baby.’

You whine again, thrashing your head against his shoulder, driving your hips down onto his fingers, pleading for more.

‘So good,’ you moan, ‘So fucking good, Frankie. You have no idea.’

You can feel him rutting against you - slowly - all velvet skin, wiry hair, sticky wetness. His mouth pressed to your shoulder, licking, nipping, kissing alternately, his fingers pressed deep inside you, other arm loosening around your middle, hand playing messily with your clit. His eyes in the mirror, trapping you there with him. Unashamed in their exploration of your body, greedy, watching your soaked cunt pull him in, the sopping sounds she makes as she tries to hold him there. You’re surprised at how hot it makes you feel, how wanted, how turned on. The streak of slick and sweat against your skin, Frankie's wet fingers that spread it there.

You whine again, skin burning, glistening with sweat. Tip your head back, onto his shoulder, to nip his skin impatiently between your teeth. 

‘Frankie,’ you murmur, breath sweet against his ear, ‘Wanna come on your cock.’

‘Fuck,’ he rasps, ‘Is that what you want? You want my cock?’

You moan again, louder, drunk on the feeling between your legs, his continued movement. 

‘Yes.’ You hiss, as he sucks a mark onto your neck.

‘Say it. Need to hear you say it.’

‘Want your cock. Need your cock, Francisco.’

You swear you see his eyes roll into the back of his head in the glass of the mirror, and then he’s moving fast, with precision.

He eases his fingers from your pussy, gentle, not a drop of hesitation. He pushes your hips until they rise, tilting your whole body forwards until you’re on your knees, hands pressed into the mattress. You feel like jelly, so loose and warm-limbed you’re sure you could be moulded into any shape he wished.

‘Good girl,’ he mumbles, pressing hot kisses against your shoulders, down your spine. ��Good fucking girl.’ 

His hands are on your hips, ready to move you, but in a second, you’re turning to face him. He’s watching you, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re here, that he’s here. You place a knee on either side of his, one hand pulling at the curls at the nape of his neck, titling his head back so you can slant your mouth against his, licking between his lips as you lower yourself gently, rocking your soaked folds over his sensitive cock. 

The movement knocks the air from his lungs, mouth stuttering against yours, unable to kiss you back. Feeling you on his fingers was one thing, but having you sliding against him like this is a whole nother. You giggle at him, and a whimper clears the back of his throat.

‘You okay, baby?’ You smirk, voice hoarse. He supposes it’s only fair, now you’ve got the upper hand. He lets you keep it, hands roving desperately, kneading and pulling at the flesh of your ass, mouth dipping to your nipple, letting you glide over him. Now processing how hard he is, how painfully his cock throbs. 

He’s ready to be greedy, ready to find out how he fits inside you. 

He pulls you up, closer, by the hips. Grips his cock firmly between your legs, swipes it between your folds, making sure to bump against your clit just to hear you whimper.

You brace your hands against his chest as you rest your leaking hole against him, the tip just breaching the tight ring of muscle. You whine, scratching fine lines into his skin.

He swallows - so handsome. Dark curls, dark eyes. Strong body, a body that feels like home, like someone who has always kept you safe, has always made you feel seen.

‘Look at me,’ he says, for the second time. You drag your eyes to him, stalling your movements. He waits until he knows your brain has caught up with your body. ‘Slowly.’ 

You nod, lowering yourself against the blunt head of his cock, clenching your teeth at the sweet stretch. He anchors you with one hand cupped to your cheek, the other firm at your ass, listening to your hiccuped moans, your shuddering breaths, releasing his through his teeth. You’re so warm, so wet, so tight.

And he fills you to the brim. Every inch you take a marvel, pressing against every nerve ending, every tender spot, like he was made for you. You settle when you reach his base, clit catching on the wiry hairs there, rocking slightly to feel him even better, letting your slick soak him, feeling yourself pull tight, loosen, ebb, flow.

You knock your forehead with his, finding his eyes. Bright, fiery, needy. You close the space between you, kissing him as you pant together. Feeling so full, so open, forgetting every worry, every niggling doubt. You rest your head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, shaking as you lift your hips, feeling the thick glide of him, clenching, releasing, dropping back down slowly, again, listening to the squelch of him moving inside you, desperate, needy little noises leaving your mouth. It’s intoxicating - the more you move, the louder you get, the louder he gets. Deep rumbles of praise, heavy grunts, hands soothing, pinching every inch of skin they can find. You grind a little more on the downwards movement this time, keening at the scrape against that bundle of nerves again, choking on your words.

‘God.’

‘That’s it, Bu- baby.’ He groans, and a huff of amusement leaves you at the slip.

‘What, am I not Bug anymore?’

It’s breathless, your tease, not your usual gnashing comeback. He groans, teeth grazing the bud of your nipple.

‘I am not using the nickname my daughter gave you when I’m inside you.’

You giggle at the thought, body clenching a little. Frankie moans, open mouthed, eyes squeezing shut, hands grasping at you.

‘Don’t laugh,’ he gasps, ‘Holy fuck, please don’t laugh. I’ll come.’

You hum, giving in, dragging your body up and down again, smooth, slow, letting the feeling, the warmth, the pressure, the ache begin to build again. You lean back a little, one hand on his thigh, one loose on his shoulder, and the change in angle has you crying out, cursing, Frankie watching your face before his eyes fall down your body - beautiful, glistening in the orange light. The curve of your waist, the quickening bounce of your tits, and then your cunt. Watches as he disappears inside you, watches as you stretch around him, watches the glisten of your wetness down his length, where it’s tacky at the bottom, staining the two of you where you’re connected. You reach back with your other hand, moving faster, leaning back further so he can really watch you fuck yourself onto him.

Your movements grow hungrier, a little more uncoordinated; stomach tensing, mouth hanging open, cut off, broken cries of his name, feeling yourself wind tighter, spill more onto his lap. He runs a large palm down your body, thumb finding your clit, catching it, rubbing firm circles. He feels you clench for real this time, whole body shuttering at the feeling, your hand clutching his.

‘Fuck, Frankie -’ you gasp, ‘Please, I’ll -’

You’re cut off as he changes his rhythm, his pressure, finding the pace that makes you moan with every breath, mouth stretching in a smile.

‘You’ll what, princesa?’

You whine, huffing, thighs burning, release so close you can almost taste it.

‘Motherfucker -’ you bite, no real venom.

‘Words, baby.’ He coos.

‘I’ll come,’ you pant, ‘Frankie - I - I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, please, gonna come, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie -’

You sob, loudly, euphoric as your orgasm shatters through you, body cramping, juddering. A gush of liquid between you, your pussy squeezing him tight, so tight -

‘Good girl, bebita, such a good fucking girl -’

And he’s flipping you, deftly, a hand protecting your skull, so you’re on your back, mind and body reeling as you continue to shudder, still calling out for him, nails carving pink half moons in his shoulders as you wrap your legs around his waist on instinct, the angle deepening, his body pressed flush to yours.

‘Fuck,’ he snarls, ‘Feel like heaven, baby, wanna watch you come every day, every hour, all the time -’ he’s babbling, he knows he is. But he’s caught up, entranced by how you look beneath him, his thrusts sloppy already, watching your eyes roll back, your chest heave, tits bounce. Lower again, where he’s fucking into you, soaked with your release. He winds a hand around the back of your neck, gently tilting your head to make you see what he’s seeing, to watch him fuck you.

You clench painfully around him, gasping - shit, Frankie, oh my God, so good, so good - your body rallying for another, senses overwhelmed, aflame with pleasure. He clutches your thigh, hitches your legs higher up his waist. Licks at your pulse point, sucks different mark there, leaning back to take you in again.

‘Look so pretty, bebita,’ he moans, ‘All fucked out on my cock like this.’

And it’s like a switch is flicked. Frankie sees it pass through your eyes, a wicked glimmer. The way the corners of your lips twitch, even as your eyelashes flutter at the sensation of him drawing his thick cock back out of you, even as your body whirs with a second orgasm.

‘Yeah, baby?’ you coo, ‘You like how I look taking your cock?’

He can’t say anything in reply, mouth only hanging open as you start to talk again.

‘Like how I look when I’m full of you? Wanna be full of you all the time, Frankie. Wanna feel you even when you’re not inside me like this. Wanna - fuck - wanna feel you dripping out of me -’

He groans roughly, almost animalistic.

‘Don’t say that.’ He grits.

You moan at his tone, fingers twisting through his hair, mind getting hazy as you flutter around him.

‘But I want it, Francisco,’ you rasp, ‘Want you to come inside me, want you to fuck me full of you -’

He bares his teeth a little, nipping at your bottom lip. Balls drawing up, heat at the base of his spine, faster, harder -

‘You want that?’

‘Please, Frankie.’

He moans again, sees stars when he closes his eyes, as your whimpers pitch higher.

‘Gonna come,’ you whisper, ‘Come, Frankie, please, come inside me -’

You’re not sure who’s first, you’re not sure who’s louder. A shout of your name, his name, ripping through the air, you clamping down around him, the jerk of him inside you as he paints your walls with his cum, fucking it into you as long as he can, the squelch, the sensitivity drawing out your highs.

He eases when it gets too much, rolling you onto your side, keeping you full until he softens enough to slip out, kissing all over your face. You share breath, teeth knocking against each other, tongues gliding along lips, whining as you feel him begin to drip out of you.

Fingers slipping against his damp skin, pulling him close, sharing whispered secrets, tugging him closer still when he starts to harden again against your thigh.

Hours slip by, the darkness behind the curtains blooming into something like daybreak. He tastes you again, fills you again, you make sure to take him in your mouth.

And when the first birds begin to sing, you are fast asleep in each others’ arms.

His fingers are tracing your shoulder, your face pressed to his chest, murmuring conversation in the light of the morning. Sun stretching through your clumsily closed curtains, rustle of the trees outside the window, cracked open for fresh air when the scent of sex was laying heavy in the room. Legs tangled together, further entwined in your sheets. 

In a moment of quiet, Frankie speaks.

‘Your picture’s fallen over.’

Twisting your head, you look to what he’s pointing out and snort, burying your face in his warm skin.

‘What?’ He asks, amusement curling the word.

You pull a face.

‘It didn’t fall over. I turned it over.’ You admit.

A beat.

‘Why?’ 

You rest your chin on his pectoral, taking in the crease of confusion between his brows. You lean to kiss it away, because you can, now. Because you never have to think about it without doing it again. 

You squeeze your lip between your teeth.

‘It’s uh - it’s a picture of me and Dad.’

He frowns again, eyes searching your face. You exhale.

‘I didn’t… I didn't want him to - see?’

He chuckles softly, pink dusting his cheeks as he swipes a hand across his jaw, thinking, remembering.

‘I didn’t see you do that -’

‘I did it before I came over.’

You cringe a little at the confession. Silly now that it’s happened, but still.

‘Before…?’

You nod. Mhm. A smile teases at his lips, eyes lighting with mischief.

‘But we didn’t - I mean - we didn’t plan it -’

‘I know,’ you groan, hiding your face again. ‘I just had a feeling.’

Frankie snorts, squeezing your hip.

‘Good feeling, baby.’

‘Asshole.’ You giggle, nipping his skin between your teeth.

He laughs again, shifting you in his arms so he can hold you properly.

‘Good job I didn’t try anything last week, then,’ he smiles, ‘Can’t have him thinking I’m not a gentleman -’

‘Frankie, you literally came in your pants -’

He gasps in mock offence, squeezing you tighter.

‘And so did you!’

You laugh, properly, against him, chests leaping against each other. You press your lips to his neck as he presses his to your hair.

‘Hell of a first kiss, though.’ He chuckles.

He feels you tense as your heart leaps in your ribs. 

One last secret.

He loosens his grip, watching you, a flicker of worry cooling his joy. You chew your lip, brow furrowing, eyes flicking from somewhere in the middle distance to meet his.

‘What, baby?’ He whispers. You inhale deeply.

‘How much do you remember from Pride?’

He grimaces, relieved at your answering smile.

‘After eleven? Not a lot.’

You hum, pulling yourself from his arms. He lets you go reluctantly, watching as you stand. Your gorgeous body - gorgeous curves, the places he’s gotten to know so well over the last few hours, the marks that have begun to bloom after his lips and teeth. 

You rummage around in a dresser draw, turning to face him with a single thin, glossy strip of paper in your hands. You step back towards him, eyes catching on the way he's sprawled out before you. Golden skin, broad shoulders, one hand behind his head, bicep flexed. One leg thrown out from beneath the covers, his modesty - or what’s left of it - barely hidden by your sheets. A flash of heat moves through you. You bite your lip.

‘Do you remember the photobooth?’

‘Mhm. A little.’

You nestle back down next to him, the slip of paper still clutched to your chest. Your eyes dart to his again.

‘Our first kiss wasn’t last week.’

‘What?’

His eyes are wide, mind whirring as you hold out the paper for him to take.

A series of five shots of the two of you. Laughing, close, and then with mouths pressed together, hungry. The last one messy, still locked in a searing kiss, but he can see the drunk grins peeking through.

He exhales heavily.

‘We kissed at Pride?’ He asks, bewildered.

You nod, twisting your hands in your lap.

‘We did.’

He looks back at you, still confused. A little worried, a little disappointed. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes, ‘I don’t remember -’

You laugh, knocking his shoulder with yours.

‘Neither did I, baby.’ You say, kissing his curls.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

You suck a breath in through your teeth, shrug.

‘You didn’t remember, and I - I panicked. Didn’t know if it was just a thing for you or, you know, a thing.’

‘Like last week?’

You nod, sombre.

‘Like last week.’

He shakes his head.

‘You’re my favourite idiot, you know that?’

You scoff, brightening. 

‘Dick. I had no idea -’

‘I love you.’

The simplicity of it takes your breath away. Winds you, catches you right in the chest, battering against your heart.

His eyes are shining, and the truth of it is there. Has always been there. Somehow, you just never saw it before. 

I love you.

The weeks of wanting, of worrying. Of denying, of lying awake thinking about it -

‘I love you, too.’

His eyes crease at the corners, mouth lifting, tongue peeking from between his teeth.

‘Yeah?’ He breathes.

‘Yeah.’ You whisper. He swallows.

‘Think a part of me always has.’

There’s a prickle in his throat, heat behind his eyes. He wonders when it happened for you.

Wonders whether you had him from that first glimpse from Lucia’s room, from searching for bugs in your yard. Your tenderness with his daughter, the laughter in your eyes. From those moments you curled into his side on his sofa, when he’d come home, so relieved to find you in his house.

Knows, for sure, you’d had him long before his realisation on his porch, sand still between your toes.

He clears his throat, tangling your fingers.

‘That mean I get to call you mine, now?’

You smile, eyes watery. Hey, neighbour. I’m Frankie - from across the way. His curls in the sunshine, water balloons over fences. His broad back to you as he cooked dinner, the warmth of his arm around your shoulders. His gentle hands as you cried, phone calls through kitchen windows.

‘Please.’ You whisper.

The lightness in his beam is infectious, a tear spilling over as he kisses you and kisses you. Mine. Mine. Palms skating over skin, tangled in hair, an endless moment in morning sunshine. Your heart swells impossibly, stitched together, glued together by this man in your bed. You don’t know when he did it. But he holds it now, whole, fixing something you know your Dad never wanted to break.

‘Thank you.’ You rasp against his lips, chin wobbling. He doesn't ask what for. He knows, just by the look in your eyes. He shakes his head minutely, voice thick, quiet.

‘My honour.’

He holds you close, bodies melded together. You never want to let go, the tightness in your chest easing again as he makes you laugh, as you say it again, outloud, breathless. Mine. The whispers only broken by rumbles of noise outside, voices -

Deep voices in his backyard you can hear even from here. You groan into each others’ mouths, the sound dissolving into a laugh.

‘They’ll be wanting breakfast.’ You giggle quietly.

‘They can cook,’ he mumbles against your lips, ‘I’ve got mine right here.’

He squeezes your ass, dragging your hips against his thigh. Still wet, leaking from the two of you, something heating in his chest at the thought.

You hum, not helping the case by kissing down his chest.

‘Should really say goodbye at least.’

He grunts as you nibble at his belly, neither acquiescing or disagreeing.

‘And then,’ you continue, ‘I remember something about you keeping me in bed for a week?’

You pause, looking up at him. He curls a hand around your cheek, so tender. 

‘Me too.’ He whispers. 

You grin as you clamber back up his body, planting a firm kiss against his lips.

‘Couple of hours,’ you promise yourself, ‘And then I have you all to myself.’

He chuckles against your lips, an eyebrow lifting, repeating your words from a week ago - a lifetime ago - back to you.

‘We’ve got the whole summer, Bug.’

You giggle, wiggling your eyebrows.

‘Plenty of time for a ride in the sky, then, too.’ You grin, nudging him.

He presses a long, sweet kiss to your mouth.

‘I’d take you to the moon if I could.’

[loui3e]

Guilty Pleasure

It’s been awhile since you’ve turned up the dial’

Worst!Logan x Reader

Summary: After a first date gone wrong Logan finally confesses the truth.

A/n: I might make a smutty part 2 if you all enjoy this. Has been proofread.

Warnings: A sprinkle of angst, miscommunication (I know), all is solved in the end. Kinda suggestive.

Words: 795

First dates are odd things.

Scary even, especially with a man who you think doesn’t want a bit to do with you.

You’re convinced Wade put him up to this because there’s a scowl permanently etched into his facial features.

You won’t let this get you down though, I mean you’re still on a date with a man that you’ve had a massive crush on since he’s moved in next door. Better than nothing you suppose.

You sip your milkshake, your hands awkwardly tapping the table in an attempt to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“What do you do?”

Your head shoots up, eyes wide. That’s the first time he’s spoken since you’ve arrived to this diner besides telling the waiter what he wanted. His words are gruff, almost reluctant but its words nonetheless.

“Uh, what do I do? Um, art.” You stumble over your words, not use to the sound of your voice after all this quiet. Logan raises a brow from across you.

“Art?”

“Yeah, like I paint.”

“Traditionalist then?”

You chuckle and shake your head, “I guess so.” There’s a new bout of silence, a little more comfortable.

“What do you do?” You reflect the words back, a little happier than his. Shifting your plate out of the way and setting your head on your hand so your full attention is on him.

Logan wouldn’t consider himself a particular interesting person, sure he’s got some stories to tell but those are all circumstantial. But your eyes are on him; bright and curious.

You’re just a naturally curious person, but also partly crushing on him. He’s certainly handsome. You’ve seen him on the halls of your apartment complex, tall and broad. You could fantasise about him all day.

“Not much.”

Your daydream is cut short.

“Surely something?”

Logan’s fully realised he really doesn’t do a lot, now that he thinks about. He expects you to retreat back into disinterest but you don’t, you pry instead.

“Everyone has something, what’s your calling?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. That scowl sneaks back onto his face as he sits back against his seat arms crossed.

You think you’ve might’ve said something wrong, but not for long before the waiter comes over with the bill.

It’s not until you see him at a bar do you speak next, you haven’t really seen him since the date. “Logan,” you call as you take a seat beside him, smiling timidly.

He gives you a nod of acknowledgment. Logan feels a little bad for avoiding you after that date, but after your conversation he doesn’t quite think he’s worth your time.

“We hadn’t spoken after that date, I don’t wanna pry but did I say something wrong? I mean I know Wade put you up to this so you probably didn’t even want to go.”

“What? Wade didn’t put me up to this,” Logan speaks with hard honesty, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I thought- you looked so disinterested.” You lean in closer to him, head cocked to the side. His eyes met yours and he feels a pang of guilt.

God, he’s an idiot, it didn’t even occur to him it he looked like that. “No, not at all,” he takes a swig of whiskey before continuing. “I just, haven’t been on a date in awhile. I don’t think you’d like me much once you got to know me.”

Your jaw falls open as you look at him before you start laughing. Relief washing over your features, and partly at the thought that you wouldn’t like Logan once you got to know him.

“Logan I’ve been crushing on you since you moved in, you can’t scare me off.”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” Logan places a bill down onto the table for his drink before getting up to leave. He’s trying to put up a wall between you and him.

“Logan I’m serious,” you shout after him following him out of the bar. Logan turns on his heel to face you a before you can think you’re pulling him in by the lapels of his jacket and crashing your lips against his. You pull back, stunned.

“Oh my god, I didn’t even think-“ now it’s his turn to take you by surprise because his kissing you back. Your arms wrap around his neck, his walls crumble under your touch.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and smoke. An addictive taste that you’re sure you’ll be coming back for; like a cigarette.

“I guess you were serious,” Logan chuckles, breathing heavily.

“I can show you how even more serious I am, if you come back to mine,” you grin up at him, still wrapped up in his arms and the electricity of the moment.

“I’d like that.”

[knavesflames]

i have a request if it is alright and you're comfortable writing this ! arlecchino x reader who refuses to eat because they are insecure, eventually caving in for their beloved peruere, who Always has her way with words . . . that said if you do write this take your time !! i hope you have a good day <3

Hi! I struggle with this myself tbh, it’s been an ongoing struggle since I was 12/13, so if you’re feeling like this I really hope you’re alright! That being said, I hope you enjoy. I tried to make it as close to your prompt as possible!!

Word count: 985

Contents: fem!reader with implied ed, nothing graphic but she struggles poor thing, husband material peruere fr, shes deffo so soft for her gf

utc!

You have always seemed to have your own silent troubles with body image and eating. Now of course, Arlecchino noticed the day she met you. You can hide it as much as you want to, but she’s become quite aware of your little tricks, and that convincing smile. For the peace of the house, she goes along with them, for the most part. What else can she do when you refuse to admit you have an issue? She instead opts to sit with you when you eat, always snacking on something herself despite her appetite being smaller than the average person. When you attempt to distract either her or yourself from whatever meal you both have sat down to eat, a singular finger will gently tap on the side of the plate or the bowl, a small but silent indicator that she knows what you’re doing, and it isn’t working.

You were getting a little bit better for a while, but someone you hadn’t seen in a while had commented on your body and it had gone downhill from there. Since then, she has watched you with a careful eye, and of course, taken the batteries out of the scale. Arlecchino is one to silently deter you, rather than intervene and make you feel attacked. She has learned from experience that it does not help.

However, when she notices that you once again have not eaten the entire day, she realises that giving you some fruit cubes or a bowl of soup will not suffice. So, she cooks for you. The woman can cook, yes, but not anything other than salt and pepper. She cooks a bland meal, a little variation of your favourite one. She just cannot bring herself to put in the chilli flakes. She casts glances at you as you sit in the living room, noting down each detail she notices about you— the way you’ve chosen baggy clothes over the usual outfits you love to wear. The sad eyes and the way you avoid any hint of a reflection as to avoid seeing yourself. Arlecchino thinks it is so, so sad when the person she loves so dearly cannot bring themselves to love themselves too.

When Arlecchino moves to sit next to you with two plates in her hand, you already know, and you’re already prepared to refuse. Before you could open your mouth, though, the plate is placed in your hands, with one word. ‘Eat.’

You take a few small bites, enough for her eyes to stop watching you constantly. Once you think she’s calmed down, you go about your typical tricks. Yapping on about anything and everything and always attempting to distract her. It does not work this time.

“You aren’t fooling me,” she hums, tapping the ceramic plate with her nail. “I made this for you. Please try to eat it.”

You find yourself faltering at the pleading tone in her voice. Arlecchino does not plead, nor does she ask, or beg. She doesn’t seem to be Arlecchino now, though. She is not The Knave. She’s how she is when she’s alone with you, where she allows you to call her by her true name.

“Peruere, I am not hungry.” You begin, eager to appease her. Peruere is stubborn, though, and wants to hear absolutely nothing about it.

“You are, and you will eat. Please. You look miserable, and I dislike when you are miserable. Why must you suffer for beauty standards that are so unrealistic?” For once, her voice is soft instead of the harsh, cold voice you’ve grown to love. It’s different, but you can’t say you mind it.

“You say that, but you’re beautiful,” you mutter, staring at the plate in front of you. Your hand absentmindedly twirls the fork around. “It’s not the same.”

“I am tall, and I have many scars. I wear a suit. My hands are charred to the extent that they will never return to their true colour. My eyes. I do not fit the so-called standard either, but there is nothing I can do about the issue, so why would I waste my hours suffering at the hands of myself because of it? Why would you, when you are so perfect to me?”

You huff in annoyance, but purely because you know she’s hit a nerve in you, and you know she’s right. It irritates you, because you can’t seem to find a witty comeback. You look at her, and her once stoic face has worry written into her features. You see it in the way her eyebrows crease, and the way her head has tilted to the side. It’s the most emotion you’ll get out of her. You stare at her for a little longer before you cave, and while grumbling incoherently, you stab the food with the fork you’re holding (a bit aggressively), before taking a bite.

You chew for a while, longer than necessary, and she cocks an eyebrow in a silent command. You continue chewing, staring at her for a beat before she realises why you haven’t swallowed yet. She sighs gently, but takes a bite of her own and, the second she swallows, you do too. Peruere decides she’ll take what she can get, and watches as you mirror her until the food has settled into your stomach. Peruere is acutely aware of your little habits, though, and pulls you close to her so you are not able to suddenly stand up.

“You did well. You already look less tired. I do despise when you mistreat the person I love.” She mumbles into your hair, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as you nuzzle into her. Peruere decides that if she has to do this with every meal, she will, because the way your eyes light up when you taste her ever so bland food warms her heart more than she’d care to admit.

[momotonescreaming]

Part One (You are Here) | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

“So.” Jeff starts, voice rising over the Dio cassette Eddie put on, volume down low for once. It makes good background noise. Filling the space of Eddie’s bedroom. Not that it’s not full already.

“Okay so we’re doing this?” Eddie asks, turning around from where he was sorting through the pile of stuff on top of his dresser, stray D20 in hand. He flings himself onto his bed, bouncing on the mattress. He’s looking at Jeff with a shit-eating grin, although it’s not unkind.

“Doing what?” he replies, frowning, turning from where he’s sat at the small desk by the door. There’s not a lot of space, not a lot of wiggle room, so Jeff is immediately faced with Eddie staring at him knowingly from the mattress. They’ve known each other since middle school, since Eddie moved into town, and he can tell with just a glance that Eddie is seeing straight through him. 

It’s only fair, he concedes, he saw straight through Eddie.

“This thing you can’t stop thinking about, but haven’t told anyone. That thing?” Eddie starts, resting his head in his hands. It almost looks like he’s going to start kicking his feet like a girl in a sleepover. The kind of scenes you see in movies. All cliche and shit. “We’re talking about it?”

“Yeah.” Jeff sighs. Takes a deep breath. He looks over at Eddie, watches as his best friend raises an eyebrow, smiles, silently prompts him along.

“You know your horrific crush on Steve Harrington?” he eventually starts, fingers absently tapping at the wood of the chair he’s claimed. He can feel it swirling in his chest. The words, the feelings, all the stuff he had been running through his mind. Eddie won’t be mean about it, of course he won’t, but there’s going to be gentle ribbing and he’s really not sure if he’s ready for it. Maybe with just the two of them it'll be okay. Eddie gets it, after all, maybe better than anyone. 

Eddie just snorts. “I’m aware, yes.”

“And how I teased you for being into the preppiest jock in Hawkins?” He adds, resisting the urge to tap his foot, bounce his knee, run his socked foot along the carpeted floor.

“Also, yes.” 

“Well.” Jeff says, and he grimaces. Leaves the sentence there. He doesn’t need to finish it just yet, Eddie will pick up the pieces. Slot them into place.

He sees the exact second Eddie gets it. Watches his eyes light up as it clicks. The glee on his face is evident, the bastard. It's fucking radiating out of him, leaking out through his pores. 

“No,” Eddie gasps, scrambling to sit up on his bed, inching towards Jeff. He's gripping the sheets, the tan floral fabric strained between his fingers. “No fucking way. You have a crush?”

He just nods, humming in affirmation. 

“Well who is it?” Eddie asks, bouncing in place. He's giddy, fidgeting and not quite staying still. “C’mon, tell me. Are they more attainable than Steve Harrington, at least?”

“On one hand they're more attainable,” Jeff starts, gesturing with his hands. “Because, y'know, straight.” 

Eddie hums, nodding, eyes wide. He wouldn't ever admit it, but he was an incorrigible gossip at heart. Always wanting to know things about people. Listening when Wayne talks about the guys from the plant, picking up rumours from people who bought from him, slowly learning what's happening in the trailer park. Who was sleeping with who, who doesn't do their job, who was moving in.

So when Jeff hinted he had a crush? Eddie was all over it. He was also his best friend, so that helped.

“But on the other hand they're less attainable,” Jeff says, taking a deep breath. Bracing himself for whatever dramatic reaction Eddie was going to spout. “Because it's Chrissy Cunningham.” 

His traitorous heart leaps in his chest the second he says her name. A smile threatens to creep across his face. Chrissy Cunningham. Out of all the cheerleaders, she was the one who stood out. She was cute, and kind, with a smile that lit up the room. The curl of her bangs that framed her face, the way she matches her eyeshadow to her scrunchie. Jeff couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t stop noticing things about her. 

Eddie looks positively giddy, bouncing on the worn springs of his mattress, grinning like the devil himself. Wide eyes and bared teeth, ringed fingers gripping his sheets even tighter. He’s electric, he’s vibrating out of his skin. If he were wearing his wallet chain, Jeff would hear him jingling. 

“Yes!” He exclaims, hair swinging around his face as he moves. Not unlike he’s headbanging. “Jeffery! Jefferson! Join me in Hell!”

Jeff can’t help but concede a laugh, ducking his head, almost pressing his chin to his chest. Hiding a smile, almost shy. It’s kind of nice, having it out in the open now. Having Eddie welcome him into the world of crushes on the most popular kids in school. 

“The fucking karma is so juicy right now Jeffington, oh my god! Eat shit!” Eddie adds, excitedly tapping his feet. He bounces back onto his bed, patting a spare spot of mattress beside him. “But I’m just too excited, Jesus Christ, you get it now!”

“I fucking get it now,” Jeff laughs, getting up off the chair and flopping onto the bed beside Eddie. Feeling the worn sheets beneath his back, looking up at the yellowed ceiling of the trailer. “There’s no way in Hell anything is going to happen, I know this, but fuck, she’s the cutest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, says you and half of Hawkins High,” Eddie replies, laughing, looking over at Jeff, crossing his legs underneath him. 

“Like you’re one to judge, ‘Mr I have a crush on Steve Harrington,’ the most popular guy in school. Even him stopping throwing those parties didn't make people hate him.” Jeff laughs, gently shoving at Eddie, moving him towards the edge of the bed. “You call him an asshole and then turn around and daydream about his laugh, or his eyes, or his hair.”

“Listen,” He retorts, splaying his hands out when he talks. “I am but a humble homosexual, and even I can’t deny the fact that that preppy, douchey, jock is a fucking smokeshow.”

“What?” Jeff laughs. “You want him to slap your ass and hook up with you in the locker room? Woo you with all his dumb jock shit?”

“Literally, yes,” Eddie laughs, flopping down onto his bed now next to Jeff, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a grin as Jeff snorts. Locks eyes with his best friend, and lets his gaze soften a bit. “But tell me about Chrissy, how did this happen?”

Jeff sighs, and is only a little embarrassed at how wistful it sounds. His stomach swoops, organs melting into something soft and gooey as he paints her in his minds eye. As he pictures her. 

“I just,” He starts, and then stops. Sighs again. “I always noticed Chrissy, always thought she was pretty — because y’know, cheerleader, it's a given — but I didn’t think much further than that.” 

“Until?” Eddie asks, drawing out the word. He nudges Jeff's leg with a socked foot.

“Until I held open a door for her one time,” he sighs, giving into Eddie's prompting. “And she giggled, and thanked me, and it sort of hit me just how much I wanted to kiss her.” 

Eddie fucking yelps, grabbing and shoving at Jeff's shoulder. He laughs along with him, his energy infectious. Let's himself move along with the motions, shoving back at Eddie, bedsprings creaking underneath the pair of them. A part of him absently wonders how much of this Wayne can hear. Raising Eddie, he's probably used to it — the noise. The energy. “Jeff, you sly dog!” 

“I didn't actually kiss her,” Jeff laughs. “I just thought about it.” 

“Oh I bet you thought about it,” Eddie teases, wiggling his eyebrows, continuing to grip and shove at Jeff's arm. 

“Oh shut up,” Jeff laughs. “Like you're one to judge.” 

“Oh, I'm not judging,” he replies, stopping his shoving so they're just resting on his bed together. Hair splayed out across the mattress, fingers absently picking at his sheets. “You remember the things I've said to you about Steve.” 

“I do, yes.” 

“But,” Eddie says, rolling over onto his side, propping himself up and looking down at Jeff. “We’re not talking about how much I’ve talked about wanting to suck Steve’s dick right now.”

Jeff snorts.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jeff exhales, the air leaving his lungs softly, as he lets himself melt a little further into Eddie’s mattress. It’s easy, here with Eddie. His best friend, whom he knows everything about and knows everything about him in return. “I see Jason hold her hand as they walk through the halls, and hold her books for her. One time I saw them at a movie date together at The Hawk when I was out with my parents, and I want that.”

Eddie makes a noise, low and soft, as he looks over at Jeff. 

“I’ll never get it, not with her, but oh man,” he adds. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I get it.” Eddie adds, voice still soft and low. “I know I talk about how hot Steve is, but I saw him and that Wheeler chick in the halls. How he’d swing her round and kiss her.”

It sort of hits him, just then, just how much Eddie wants this as well. Wants soft kisses, and romantic gestures. Intimate dates and someone happy to see him. But he can’t be seen wanting things he’ll never get. It hurts too much. 

“When we get out of Hawkins,” Jeff says simply. “We’ll get this. We’ll find people who find our metal music and shitty garage band endearing. You’ll find someone who wants to kiss you in the halls.”

Eddie snorts, but he’s smiling sort of bittersweetly while he does it. “And you’ll bag yourself a cheerleader.”

Jeff smacks Eddie’s side, waving his arm out half-heartedly. They stay like that, sitting in the silence, chilling on Eddie’s bed together. It’s nice. 

“So we agree we’re not telling Gareth about this?” Jeff says, propping himself up to look at Eddie.

“Oh we’re absolutely not telling Gareth about this. '' Eddie replies automatically. “He’ll be so annoying about it.”

“One day he’ll get a crush on a prep,” Jeff replies, smiling. “And then we’ll tell him.”

“The Corroded Coffin curse?” Eddie laughs. “Getting a crush on a prep?”

“Definitely,” he replies. “First you, now me. Frank’s next, and then Gareth is going to eat his words about those hot metal chicks he definitely has a crush on.”

“Who are definitely real, and absolutely not just models in magazines he jerks off too,” Eddie laughs, and it’s nice. Sharing this. Sharing this with someone who gets it. It’s not just that their crushes are preps, or jocks. It’s that their crushes are popular, and hot, and people who are never going to look at them twice. 

Jeff laughs, an exhale of air, and nudges his foot against Eddie’s. 

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

[wosoimagines]

Ausenals - Matildas/Reader

prompt: second part to You Didn't Know? but this time we see R with the Matildas after her move to Arsenal.

warnings: none

words: 2312

To preference again, I am not deaf or hard of hearing so if there is anything that I’ve gotten wrong, please let me know so that I can fix it (I tried to do as much research as I could). Anything that represents sign langue is in continuous italics.

I also ended up changing this prompt up quite a bit. It went from R talking about being born deaf to seeing R interact with the Matildas (and mostly the other Ausenals) while they're at national team camp.

(Y/N) POV

"Sit!” Steph finally snapped once I wrapped Kyra in a headlock. We both briefly froze as our eyes darted to Steph, who was glaring at us. “Both of you. Now!” 

I let go of Kyra as she gave me a small shove before we both scurried to sit down next to each other on Caitlin’s left side so we didn’t have to sit next to Steph who would surely ruin our fun. 

“(Y/N).” 

I whined as Steph pointed to the seat on her right. I wanted to sit by Kyra so we could at least play a game with each other to pass the time. 

“Now.” 

I sighed as my shoulders slumped forward, but I shuffled to sit next to Steph instead. I started to scuff my shoes against the floor. I knew the squeaking sound would drive Steph up a wall. Steph lightly swatted my arm causing me to look at her. Before she could say anything though, I pulled my processing units off so that I wouldn’t be able to hear her. I could see Kyra trying to stifle her laughter behind Caitlin as I gave Steph a triumphant grin.  

I was sure that it was a sight to see considering my processing units would just be hanging from my head since I didn’t pull the magnets away from my head while Steph was just glaring at me. 

I, however, wasn’t expecting Steph to sign to tell me to stop. I froze as I furrowed my brow because I didn’t realize that Steph knew Auslan. 

I grumbled as I leaned back in my seat. It didn’t take long before I crossed my arms and let my head roll back. This was going to be the longest layover ever. Maybe Steph would let me go get snacks. I perked up at that thought as I turned to look at Steph. 

I pointed over my shoulder where I knew that the little side stores were. Steph glanced over my shoulder before she shook her head as she said something. I deflated as I slid down in my seat again. 

I closed my eyes as I tilted my head back. Steph was starting to grate my nerves. Not only did she make us all leave early, but now that Kyra and I were awake, she wouldn’t even let us mess around. And now I couldn’t go get a snack. 

I didn’t open my eyes again until I felt a tap against my foot. I only cracked my eyes open to make sure that it was either someone other than Steph or our flight was boarding. It was Sam, who was standing in front of me. I glanced over at Steph who was already reaching to take the M&Ms that Sam was offering me. I, however, was faster as I snatched the handful from Sam and shoved them into my mouth. 

I only sent a triumphant grin at Steph before closing my eyes and signing, “I can’t hear you.” 

It wasn’t long before my foot was tapped again. I cracked an eye open again. I didn’t trust the others not to leave me behind. But it was just Sam who was sitting in the floor. She tapped at her ears when she saw me peeking. I raised an eyebrow at that but put my processors back into place. 

“You know, you could come join us on the better side of the North West of London. We won’t even mother you there.” 

I rolled my eyes at that, and it seemed that I wasn’t the only one who heard the comment. Steph had whirled to glare at Sam. 

“Oh, right! Like she doesn’t need someone to keep her in line,” Steph started. I had been forced to move in with Steph after the others on the team found out that I still hadn’t found a place to live. Steph had really taken on that role. “Wait for a few days after camp and then see if you still want to take her.” 

Sam’s eyes turned to me as Steph quickly delved into the mischief that I had been getting up to with Kyra lately now that my ear infection had cleared. I sent a smirk to Sam as I pulled my processors off again so that I didn’t have to listen as Steph lectured Sam. 

“I’m good,” I signed to Sam, who tilted her head, “You don’t have pretty Italians on the team.” 

I knew she wouldn’t understand but my eyes did catch the goalie who was sitting across from me. I didn’t miss the way Mackenzie’s eyebrows raised either. If there were any of my teammates who would understand me, it would be Mackenzie. She had proven that during the World Cup when she had found Theo and I having a conversation in Auslan and joined in. 

“Pretty Italians, huh?” 

I ducked my head at that. I had found myself spending a lot of time around Kyra, which meant spending time around Alessia and Vic. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Mackenize held her hands up in surrender. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Kyra reached for my cup again causing me to slap her hands away. 

“Leave it alone,” I snapped at Kyra. She stuck her tongue out at me. “Kyra, stop it.” 

Steph moved in between us as she sent us both a glare. I turned my head before she started lecturing either of us to wave at the camera as we started up the stairs to the pitch. While I was, Kyra took my cup of water from me. My smile immediately turned into a frown as I followed behind Steph and Kyra.  

As we were getting near the sideline, Kyra stopped to take a drink causing Steph and I to stop with her. I reached out for my cup as Kyra pulled it away from her mouth. 

I huffed as Kyra hesitated to give me the cup before she pulled it back to herself and acted as if she was gonna spit the water back into the cup. I pouted as I took a hold of the cup. Steph slapped Kyra’s arm as the other girl finally swallowed the water in her mouth. I sent the camera a grin. 

“Don’t—” 

Steph’s warning fell on deaf ears though as I threw the rest of the water onto Kyra. Kyra froze as she blinked in shock. It gave me plenty of time to get a head start as I immediately headed for Caitlin. 

“Cait! Cait!” I yelled out when I realized that Kyra had finally moved to chase after me. While I knew that Mini would be the safer bet with the national team, Caitlin and Katie had been the ones to take Kyra under their wing. “Caitlin!” 

The other forward turned to look at me as I ran behind her. Caitlin held out her arms as Kyra rushed into her. I kept myself an arm’s length behind Caitlin as the forward didn’t allow Kyra to get to me. 

“What is going on?” 

“She threw water on me!” 

“She’s being a pest!” 

I was sure that was all Caitlin got from either of us as we both started to talk over each other. 

“Okay. Okay!” Caitlin yelled over us. Kyra and I immediately quieted down. Caitlin pointed at Kyra. “You, stop being a pest.” I stuck my tongue out at Kyra in victory. “And you,” Caitlin whirled around to look at me, “good job throwing water on the pest. But next time go to Mini or just deal with her yourself.” 

Caitlin started to move away from us, but I didn’t miss the glare Kyra was sending toward me, so I was quick to stay by Caitlin’s side. I didn’t miss how Mackenzie’s eyes caught mine. 

“No pretty Italian to save you?” 

I could only scowl at the keeper in response. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I grinned as I wrapped up the interview before I headed to the locker room. I had already made my rounds to see the fans.  

However, going to the locker room might have been a bad decision considering water was immediately dumped onto me the second I walked in the door by both Kyra and Charli. Once the initial shock wore off, I shoved the two away from me. 

“Hey, we just had to cool you off after that performance,” Kyra snickered. 

“Assholes,” I muttered under my breath. 

Most of the team congratulated me as I moved to my cubby. I couldn’t help but grin as I finally checked my phone. I hadn’t been completely surprised by the text from Alessia considering we had been texting since the start of camp. I sent Alessia a text back asking if she liked my airplane arms before tossing my phone back into my bag. 

I turned once I felt something hit my back. My eyes quickly found Mackenzie’s. 

“Had to put on a show for the pretty Italian, huh?” 

I rolled my eyes at the question but shrugged. 

“Can you blame me?” I signed back to her. “You’ve seen her. Pretty isn’t enough to describe her.” 

Mackenzie shook her head at me causing me to chuckle at her. But I couldn’t help it. As I moved to change, Kyra joined me.  

“What does this mean?” Kyra asked, drawing my attention to her hands. “I’ve seen you and Mackenzie talking about it since the airport.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” I brushed Kyra off. I knew that if she kept learning Auslan she would probably eventually figure it out, but I was in no rush to tell her. “It’s nothing bad. Just an inside thing.” 

“You sure?” Kyra asked. 

I raised an eyebrow at that as I studied her. She didn’t look too worried, just curious. 

“Ky, if anything bad happens, I’ll let you know,” I assured her. I pointed my thumb over my shoulder where I knew Steph would still be. “Someone has to help you keep Steph on her toes.” 

“Maybe she’ll start calling you a pest too.” 

I nodded along with the thought that brought a smile back to Kyra’s face. I didn’t really think that Steph would call me a pest. At least, not around Kyra. Not since we knew it drove her up a wall to think that no one thought I was as annoying as she was. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“So, you’re staying at Arsenal for pretty Italians?” 

I let my fork drop to my plate as I froze at the question. My eyes darted up to look at the person who had asked the question. Of course, it was Kyra. 

Once everyone else at the table had gotten over their surprise of the question, they turned to me. 

“Wonder how that would go if said Italian was told? I guess we’ll find out as soon as Alessia texts me back.” 

I didn’t miss the way Steph and Caitlin had tensed on each of my sides. They couldn’t be faulted, especially considering I shoved my plate away and tried to lunge over the table. I would have been successful too if the two hadn’t grabbed ahold of me.  

“I’m gonna kill you.” 

Kyra stuck her tongue out at me as she leaned back in her chair. 

“You, calm down,” Steph said, as she pointed at me. She took a deep breath before turning to look at Kyra. “And you, I really hope you didn’t text Alessia to tell her about (Y/N)’s feelings.” 

Kyra just slumped in the seat but didn’t say anything. She also decided to avoid all of our eyes. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I quietly said under my breath. I was well aware that most of the team was already looking at us due to my own display. I didn’t need the rest of them knowing about my crush either. “Forget it. I’m never going back.” 

“Kyra—” 

“What?” Kyra cut Steph off. “It’s not like it’s a lie. I saw her and Mackenzie both signing about it. So, I asked Theo what the signs meant because (Y/N) wouldn’t say.” Kyra had to have been paying attention to Mackenzie and me in the airport and yesterday at practice. “She gets to throw water on me and get away with it? But I just text a teammate and I’m in trouble?” 

“You didn’t just text a teammate, Kyra,” Caitlin scolded this time. Kyra’s eyes turned to Caitlin. Caitlin’s grip on me loosened as I leaned my elbows against the table so I could hold my head in my hands. “You broke the trust of a teammate.” 

“It’s just a joke.” 

“Kyra, it isn’t just a joke. (Y/N) didn’t even tell you—” 

“I didn’t even text her.” 

I slowly lifted my head to look at Kyra. This was all some stupid prank? 

“I just wanted to get back at (Y/N). So, I thought telling her that her crush knew about her feelings would be harmless.” 

I had a heart attack for nothing? 

“Is everything okay here?” 

I didn’t have to look over at Mini who had made her way to our table. I knew that she had the most experience with Kyra, so it didn’t surprise me that she came to check on her. 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” I assured Mini. Kyra finally looked up to meet my eyes as I slowly started to nod, my own plan forming. “Kyra’s just being a pest.” 

“I don’t think everything’s fine,” Kyra shook her head as she turned to Mini. 

My own eyes didn’t leave Kyra’s. But I waited until Kyra went to get up before I lunged over the table. This time I was successful as neither Caitlin or Steph had seemed to think that I would possibly make a move to get to Kyra again. But, honestly, they’d quickly figure out that I wasn’t one to let things go so easily. Especially when I was trying to get back at someone that I considered family.