#PLEASE TALK ABOUT COOKING CHICKEN THIGHS ON THEM

[canisonicscrewyou]

Redditors are so evil, I look for a thread to find a cheap new mouthpiece for my instrument cuz I lost mine right? Tell me why !!! Some guy says “get the selmer C*, it’s great for the price” and it’s 400 dollars??? That’s twice the cost of my instrument hello???

Never play orchestral instruments they r money spending simulators 😢

Idk why I thought you needed to know this but now you do

No that's so real though why are people who frequent hobby subreddits like that. Why are you saying that I need at minimum a $500 espresso machine when my $150ish one works literally just fucking fine.

Now I am kind of glad that I never carried on playing clarinet past 8th grade though. tbh.

[pascalpvnk]

first few dates

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x f!afab!reader

summary: a late night grocery trip isn’t usually that exciting, unless you crush a carton of eggs on the cutest man in the store…

word count: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, strangers to lovers, swearing, location and ages not specified (imo joel is in his 30s renaissance era), no mention of sarah, sex on first date, insecurity, food & alcohol consumption, reader makes chicken alfredo (so sorry to my restrictive diet baddies, it’s one of the only things I can cook 😞), smut x2 (dubcon due to alcohol consumption but consensual, truck sex, fingering, dirty talk, size kink if you squint, handsy joel, unprotected p in v sex, cream pie)/(reader wears lingerie and a dress, body worship, oral (f receiving), one spank, thigh and butt biting & marks, joel “claiming” reader, allusions to more sex after scene), no use of y/n, half self beta’d, half by @mrsswilliams (thank you pookie ily)

a/n: this is a very self indulgent piece so take it with a grain of salt. don’t perceive the date part please 😭. i hope you enjoy! dividers by @saradika-graphics

masterlist

Fluorescent lights beat against your corneas in the somewhat vacant corner shop. The occasional scanner beep sounded from across the store. You scoured the aisles, ticking off items from your list left and right. The time was flying as your cart piled up and you made record time while shopping.

You picked up a half dozen eggs, opening them to make sure none of them were broken or cracked. Upon the first look, they seemed perfectly fine. You inspected each one individually as you made your way back to your cart. 

You weren’t expecting him at all when you ventured out into the night for a procrastinated grocery trip.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed as you bumped into something solid, causing clattering chaos. “Shit, shit, I’m so sorry.”

You looked up at what, or rather who, you bumped into. You were met with a shocked man, his puppy brown eyes melting the thick ice protecting your heart. His hand was light on your forearm, steadying yours and his balance. He wasn’t quite able to stop himself from knocking over a bin of DVDs on display.

Your eyes landed on the huge egg yolk stain on his shirt, the eggs that missed splattered on the ground. Of course he was wearing a light colored shirt, just your luck.

Regret showered over you. Not only did you disturb this beautiful stranger, you left a giant stain on his once clean shirt and knocked over a display all over the place.

“You a’right?” He simply asked, knocking the breath out of your lungs with two words. The deep timbre and twang of his voice sent your head in a spiral.

“I’m fine, I’m so sorry,” you repeated, picking up the mess of movies you made. “I should’ve been paying attention.”

“S’alright, accidents happen,” he chuckled, helping you with said mess. Fuck, his eyes were pretty. The corners crinkled with his laughter and the deep chocolate hue his irises held. Everything about him looked so good. And he was unconditionally kind?

You couldn’t feel more embarrassed.

Once everything was picked up and replaced as it was before, he offered you another friendly smile as well as his hand.

“Joel,” he grinned, his hand enveloping yours in a warm handshake. You offered the same sentiment of your name, holding onto his hand for a little too long.

“Well Joel, once again I’m very sorry. I wish I could make it up to you…I kinda ruined your shirt,” you fully cringed at the mess on his light colored Henley…which accentuated his muscles deliciously…but that wasn’t the point.

“I have plenty of stained shirts, darlin’, no need to sweat it. But hey, maybe you could buy me a beer sometime,” he suggested, a bashful expression on his face. A blush bloomed across the apples of his cheeks and on his neck before disappearing down his collar.

Eyes. He can see where your eyes are staring, you reminded yourself.

“Absolutely,” you smiled softly. You swear you saw a twinkle in his eye as his face lit up. “I can’t tonight…but I can give you my number and we can figure something out.”

After exchanging numbers, you parted ways from Joel with a stupid grin on your face. You turned back for a moment to see him, catching his gaze as he was doing the same.

Fuck the dating apps, fuck the set ups. This was your moment, and you were going to take it by the reins and ride off into the sunset.

You almost talked yourself out of it. The day after you bumped into and made a fool of yourself to Joel, he texted you and asked to make plans for Friday. He initiated it. It was so refreshing to be asked out instead of doing the asking for once.

You arrived about ten minutes early, scoping out the pub from your car. It was only seven o’clock, but the sky was pitch black, a couple stars illuminating through the atmosphere. Clouds rolled across the sky, an impending snow storm creeping over you.

A small pickup rolled across the parking lot, stopping in a spot away from the entrance. Right on time. His mop of dark curls appeared first, then his broad shoulders which were impossibly broader with his winter coat. The sound of your car door closing had his head whipping around, a goofy smile plastered on his lips as he made his way over to you with his hands in his pockets. 

“Evenin’,” the southern man grinned. “Hope you weren’t waitin’ here too long.”

Joel greeted you with a welcoming hug, warmth radiating from him even through the bitter cold of the evening. His skin emanated a freshly showered scent, accentuated by the woody aroma of his cologne. It wasn’t overpowering or headache inducing, just perfect. 

He led you two inside the bar with a timid hand on the small of your back and a lopsided grin. Was he nervous too?

“Hey, Miller!” The bartender announced happily as you stepped into the inviting environment. The man caught your eye and gave a small wave, welcoming you two into his tavern.

“How’s it going, Rob?” Joel beamed. “We’re gon’ do two beers. My usual and….”

“I’ll do a Blue Moon,” you stated, smiling politely at the bartender. 

You turned towards the card reader, but Joel slipped his card to Rob to start a tab before you even had a chance to reach for yours.

“Hey!” You laughed, swatting his arm playfully. “It was supposed to be on me for ruining your shirt.”

“Sorry, darlin’. I can’t let a beautiful lady pay on a first date,” he crooned, removing his debit card as it prompted him. “That is…if this is a date.”

Oh that cheeky bastard.

“Yes,” you smiled bashfully, thanking the bartender as he passed over your beverages.

Joel led you to a booth towards the back of the bar and took a seat across from you. It was very evident that both of you were nervous. 

“So,” he started, trailing off of the word and tapping his fingers on the table. God, small talk is the worst.

“I gotta admit, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out so I’m a little rusty,” Joel chuckled, taking a sip from his glass. 

“S’okay, we can figure it out together, huh?” You offered a sweet smile, wanting to break the tension. “Hmm…what’s your favorite movie, and do you think you could star in it?”

Joel huffed a chuckle, tilting his head in thought. 

“Curtis and Viper 2,” he smiled. “But I probably couldn’t star in it. M’not badass like those guys. My only skills are hammerin’ ‘n drinkin’.”

“Aw come on, don’t sell yourself short,” you chuckled. “What do you like to do besides hammering and drinking?”

A couple rounds later, you and Joel were giggling with one another and bumping your shoes under the table. You felt like a bubbly teen again with him, he was already bringing out the best in you. But along with feeling like a bubbly teenager, you also felt like a horny teenager.

His hands were the main culprit, engulfing his beer bottle like it was a baby bottle. His thick digits tapped the table, scratched his beard, mussed up his hair. After the third drink, you couldn’t even pretend you weren’t staring.

“Where’d ya go, hm?” He spoke softly, his amber eyes twinkling under the lowlight above the booth. His skin was flushed from the alcohol. 

“Sorry,” you snickered, looking out the window. “Do you wanna get out of here? It just started snowing.”

Joel turned toward the window, watching the flakes fall from the sky for a moment. He sighed slightly, but you didn’t miss it. You didn’t want this to end either.

He collected the empty bottles and brought them to the bar and closed out, leaving a few bills in the tip jar. The staff waved you both goodnight as Joel slipped your coat back over your shoulders. 

Snowflakes fluttered from the sky, the beginnings of frost coating the vehicles. Your hand was stolen from your side, fingers interlocking with Joel’s as he walked you through the lot.

“You okay to drive?” Concerned laced his brows. You could write an essay about how much of a gentleman he had been. 

“Yeah…but I don’t wanna go yet,” you admitted coyly, stepping in front of him and grabbing his other hand as well. A smirk grew across his lips as you dragged him past your car.

“Where d’ya wanna go, darlin’?”

“Anywhere…or nowhere. As long as you’re there.”

A glint of mischief shined in his eyes as you approached his truck. He slid his hands in your back pockets and pulled you closer to him. 

“Sounds like a bargain to me, baby,” he bit his bottom lip, a smirk playing across it as his cheeks flushed a rosy hue. The fresh snow in his hair created a pretty halo effect, making him look even more beautiful than before. 

Your lips locked in what had started as a gentle, warm kiss that quickly turned passionate and hot. Sparks were flying and teeth were clashing. Joel had you pinned to his truck with his thigh slotted between your legs, hands making themselves at home as he explored over your clothes. A groan emitted from his chest as your hips ground down on his leg and fingers tangled in his curly locks. 

He reluctantly peeled his lips and hands away to dig his keys out of his front pocket. Your lips landed on his neck as he fumbled with his key trying to get it in the lock. Once he succeeded, he opened the driver’s door and folded his seat forward. Before you knew it, you were in his cramped backseat with him as he made quick work of all of the layers you were wearing.

Clothes were thrown anywhere away from you, lips attacking one another hungrily until you were both stripped of everything but your undergarments. His big, rough hands palmed against you, your tits, waist, hips, ass, thighs, anywhere his heart, or rather his cock, desired.

“Fuck wait,” he panted, putting his slightly trembling hands on either side of your face to catch your attention. Your wide, doe eyed expression caused his cock to twitch against your covered cunt. “I don’t have a condom, we-”

“I don’t care,” you sighed, pushing past his barrier to kiss him once more. “I need you.”

A curse and the lord’s name in vain slipped through his swollen pout. He adjusted himself under you as he sat with his back to the door and his legs spread down the expanse of the backseat.

“Wan’ these pretty tits in my mouth while you ride me, pretty girl,” he grumbled, kneading your ass under his giant palms. A pathetic whine escaped you as he used it as leverage to grind your pussy over his lap, your arousal seeping through your panties and spreading over the fabric of his boxers. His hand wrapped under your ass and slipped under your cotton underwear before sliding easily through your soaked folds to your clit. The calluses on his fingertips created a titillating friction.

“So fucking wet for me, darlin’,” he slurred. “Pussy’s begging to be filled, hm? Sure you can take it, beautiful?”

You nodded frantically as your hot breath fanned over his face. The window behind Joel’s head began to fog over as you panted near the glass. 

Hooking his fingers around the fabric, Joel pulled your panties to the side. The winter air pierced your skin, drawing your attention to how much arousal was dripping from you. No man had pulled that much from you, let alone before he even touched your pussy. 

His pointer finger prodded at your entrance as your body slowly welcomed him in. In comparison to your fingers, his were much larger and thicker, slowly stretching you out with each pump.

“Christ, you’re so tight ‘round my fingers, baby. Gonna feel so good on my cock,” he rasped as he added a second finger to the mix. You were tumbling towards your high the moment his thumb found your clit, a string of profanities and ‘pleases’ pouring from you between moans.

“C’mon, come for me,” he grunted. “Take whatcha want.”

His other hand unclipped your bra quickly before he palmed your breast and pinched your peaked nipple between his fingertips. Your head fell back with pleasure, the crown of it brushing against the roof of his truck. Moans and whines poured from you as he worked you over the edge expertly, like he’d known you for years. 

Folding forwards, your sweat slick forehead landed on the cool window beside his head. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, pulling them in deeper as your orgasm convulsed your body.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love that,” he grumbled into your ear, extending your pleasure with his voice alone. “I’m not done with ya, gorgeous.”

He made quick work of his briefs, exposing his thick shaft. You couldn’t help but gawk at it as you sat against his thighs, resting it on your stomach. It reached up past your belly button. It certainly was proportionate to the rest of him, simply big.

“Still think you can take it, sweet thing?” He purred, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “We can stop.”

Your hand wrapped around his length, pumping it slowly and spreading his precum over the tip.

“I wanna try,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. His uneven breaths hit your face, Joel encouraging you to continue with a nod. 

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled, tilting his head up and bumping his nose against yours. His lips met your parted pair with a content hum as you continued stroking him languidly.

“Spit on my cock, baby. Get it nice and ready for you,” he mused, pushing his thumb into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue. Saliva pooled to the front of your mouth. You pursed your lips and let it fall right onto the tip, spreading it down with your palm. His head fell back, thunking the window slightly with a ‘fuck me’.

He placed his right hand on your hip, the other gripping the base of his throbbing length. The exchange should’ve been awkward in the cramped space, but it felt perfect as he swiped the tip through your slick folds. It nudged your entrance, breaching the hole slowly as he let you take the lead. He supported your shaking legs solely with his arm strength, allowing you to ease down slowly. The stretch was a mix of pain and pleasure, enough for you to see stars.

“God, baby,” he panted, snapping you back to reality. “Takin’ my cock so well. Feels so good ‘round me.”

You finally were able to get fully settled down on his lap. His hands roamed once more, setting your skin ablaze as his palms skated on their path. The sensation caused your cunt to flutter around him, squeezing him tight. A groan escaped his throat into your collarbone.

“Can’t fuck you properly if you do that. Gon’ come like a damn teenager,” he huffed with a smile. He kissed you feverishly, gripping your ass as leverage so he could guide you. He pushed and pulled your body against his, back and forth, back and forth. 

Your hands found purchase on his chest, hairs sparsely scattered on the taut skin. You dragged them down his torso with your nails delicately scraping him.

“Christ,” he hummed against your mouth. “Where’ve you been my whole life? So fuckin’ pretty…perfect f’me.”

He shifted the two of you further into the seat, granting you more room to lean down on him. Your hips rose and fell steadily against his, the drag of his heavy cock stimulating spots you didn’t know you had. Each time he bottomed out in you, your clit ground against the patch of curls right on his pubic bone. It was a beautiful dance, as if you’d been lovers in a previous life. His body melded so perfectly with yours, meeting your hips perfectly, holding you perfectly, touching and kissing you oh so perfectly. 

“Lean forward, baby,” Joel panted as he wedged his hands under your thighs. He almost slipped from the warmth of your pussy, but he stopped you right where he wanted you. You buried your face into his shoulder as he buried into your chest, flicking his tongue against the peaked bud of your nipple.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, letting his lips wrap around the sensitive flesh.

Joel’s thighs tensed as he planted his feet firmly on the seat. His hips pushed up into yours carefully, your hot breath directly fogging the window. Your back arched, head hitting the ceiling and chest right in Joel’s face. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, his jet black irises staring straight at your tits.

Your hand shot up to the window to steady yourself as the speed of his thrusts doubled. What a triple threat he was, pistoning his cock into you, abusing your nipples with his mouth and massaging your clit all at once. The sound of slapping skin and wanton moans filled the rocking truck. You didn’t care if anyone could see or hear, you could only physically care about the man underneath you.

“Joel, m’gonna-” you gasped, his routine faltering as you clenched down on him.

“Fuck, yeah I know, baby. I feel her beggin’. Wan’ you to make a mess f’me,” he hissed between clenched teeth as you whined over him.

Moans were caught in the back of your throat, legs locking up and jaw dropping. With one, two, three more thrusts, your body froze. The only movement came from your fluttering cunt. Bliss completely took over your being as you collapsed against Joel, thighs twitching as you finally found your breath once more.

When you came to your senses, more warmth filled you as Joel came to his. His desperate moans made way to your ears, a breathtaking melody you’d commit crimes to hear again and again.

And you did, without the criminal streak of course.

Each of your following dates ended tangled together, covered in a combination of your own sweat and cum and his own. You were insatiable with this man, as he was with you, christening both his house and your apartment, any surface imaginable.

Around your sixth date, you had something up your sleeve. You had invited him over for a home cooked meal. A silk wrap dress adorned your figure, concealing the prettiest lingerie set you could find while shopping, coincidentally in his favorite color. 

“Hi, baby,” you greeted Joel cheerily as you opened the door. Snowflakes were sprinkled across his shoulders and in his hair. Your arms wrapped up and around his neck, pulling him in for a quick, yet passionate kiss. A couple of snow crystals from his mustache melted against your lips, the cold sensation contrasting greatly from his warm skin.

His face lingered near yours, eyes still closed as he took in the aromas of your apartment. You smelled of a rich, warm vanilla, your living room had an aroma of lavender from your candles, and to top it off, the food you were cooking smelled incredible. You swore you could hear his stomach growling. 

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he drawled. “Y’smell good too.”

He slid off his jacket, hanging it up on your coat rack. He toed his shoes off on the mat to keep from tracking snow throughout your apartment. All the while his eyes devoured you shamelessly, even after you turned away to return to your kitchen.

“Whatcha cookin’, baby? Smells amazing,” he hummed.

“Chicken alfredo,” you smiled at him, stirring the sauce as the pasta cooked in the boiling water. You picked up some of the water in a ladle and added it to the creamy goodness in your saucepan before straining the noodles.

“Wanted to keep it simple, can’t go wrong with a classic, hm?” You returned the al dente fettuccine back into the pot, removing it from the burner and turning it off. 

Joel’s thick arms wrapped around your middle as he fit himself behind you. He slotted his head on your shoulder, peppering soft kisses along your exposed neck. His hips pressed against you, his half hard length trapped between you both.

“Are you hard?” You giggled, only seeing his dark tuffs of curls in your peripheral. You knew that you looked good but you had barely touched the man for Christ’s sake. 

“Can’t help it,” he mumbled against your supple skin, deeply inhaling your scent. “Smell jus’ like candy, baby. Need a taste.”

“Joel, what are you-” you’re cut off by the warmth of his hands on your thighs, dragging up your skin, skimming over your garter belt, and taking the skirt of your dress with them. His presence next to you dissipated as he sank to his knees.

“Keep doing your thing, I’ll do mine,” he hummed, sucking in a sharp breath through closed teeth as he took in the lace adorning the swell of your ass. His breath was hot on your rear as his fingers ghosted over your panties, putting light pressure against your clothed clit.

“Joel-” you gasped in pleasure, his ministrations drawing a whine from you. “I can’t cook like this.”

He chuckled at your response to his actions and peeked his head out from under your dress to look you in your eyes, his fingers caressing and skimming over your soft skin. 

“But you like it?” he asked, his voice husking and his eyes full of desire as he looked you over. “You like to know just how much I want you?”

He let his eyes slowly drift up to your face, gazing at you with an air of hunger and excitement as you nodded silently. He was going to be the death of you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he cooed, disappearing once more, planting wet kisses on your ass and sucking your flesh gently as he teased your entrance with his rough middle fingertip. Your grip on the counter surrounding your stove tightened significantly as your head tipped back with pleasure.

His fingers found their way under your panties, hooking into them and pulling them away from your glistening cunt. He dragged his knuckles through your folds a few strokes, stopping at your bundle of nerves to apply just the perfect amount of pressure.

A gasp was caught in your throat, morphing into a strangled moan as he rubbed your pussy and sucked his marks into your skin. 

“Joel-” 

Your impending complaint was cut off with a firm smack to your cheek. He groaned at the rippling flesh, his tongue diving into your slit.

“You gon’ keep complainin’? I can stop,” he muttered, licking against your swollen clit and sucking it between his lips. The only response coming from you were moans and sighs, the sound going straight to Joel’s cock as he continued to lap at your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried. “Please don’t stop, I need it.”

Joel gripped onto the flesh of your thighs hard enough to leave bruises for the next few days to come. Your back arched, pushing yourself against his face harder. His groans vibrated against your pussy, adding to the multitude of sensations he was giving you. 

The swirling pattern between your lips felt different, felt new, felt so fucking good. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you sighed, gripping your fingers into his curls to anchor him where he belonged. “God don’t stop whatever you’re doing.”

“I’m just claiming what’s mine,” he grumbled as he continued. A moan escaped you in response as you focused on his tongue lapping at your cunt, licking the same pattern over and over again.

J-O-E-L

“Holy shit,” you panted as his tongue dove into your weeping hole, collecting your arousal before continuing his pattern. “Are you spelling your name?”

“Like I said, darlin’, claimin’ what’s mine,” a growl rumbled in his chest as he went right back to work. His palms laid flush against your ass, squeezing your flesh and stretching it up to get a better view and angle of your pussy. The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter as he alternated between licking and sucking, squeezing and fucking his first two fingers into your heat.

“I’m s’close, please please plea-” you whined, pushing your ass back onto his face as you chased your high.

Joel’s pace was relentless as he curled his fingers into your g-spot, massaging the spongy tissue precisely while sucking your clit between his tongue. The awaiting release almost sent you forward into the hot burner, but you were just able to catch yourself on the cool edge of the stove. Your body trembled as he worked you through the intense climax, lapping your cum as it seeped from you with a content groan.

“You did s’good for me, baby,” he cooed as he rose from his knees. His beard was shining with your arousal, damn near dripping down his chin. He took your face in his palms and kissed you roughly, making sure your tongue was completely coated with your spend.

The stovetop timer blared, signaling that the chicken was ready to be taken out. Joel reached past you blindly to stop the pestering noise. 

“Dinner can wait,” he panted between kisses, drawing a guttural groan from you as he pulled your bottom lip back between his teeth. His hand traveled south to your neck, not applying pressure.

“But Joel,” you whined, thinking about the time you just spent preparing the meal. You had to admit, he was making it incredibly difficult to even care. “It’s gonna be cold.”

“But nothin’,” he spat, pulling at the tie of your dress and watching it spill open. His thumb creeped up to pull on your chin, forcing your mouth open to him. “You have a microwave for a reason. I have something else to eat in the meantime.”

His eyes ran hungrily over your lingerie. The dark blue and white set contrasted beautifully from your skin, making his cock constrict further against his jeans. He quickly turned off the oven, the burners and took the chicken out before gripping your hand.

He had no problem finding your bedroom. Joel went to sleep full and satisfied that night as did you. 

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed <3

[ebodebo]

Can you perchance write a smut fic about being married to Ghost and he has to take a phone call in the middle of the deed

The Bet

NSFW CONTENT

—ghost x f!reader

—1.6k+

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

You and Ghost were at Laswell's house celebrating her recent promotion to Station Chief. The party wasn't Kate's idea, but her wife insisted on honoring her massive accomplishment. 

Before you both went inside Laswell's house, you made a bet with Ghost. You bet that he couldn't stay the entire dinner, and he bet you couldn't stay the entire dinner. The loser was in charge of doing the dishes for the next few weeks.

"Ready to forfeit, big boy?" You whispered to Ghost as you sat alone on the couch in the living room with a glass of champagne in hand. "You wish." He muttered. You chew your lip slightly. "Well, in that case.." You reach into your sweater pocket and pull out a bundle of lace. "Took them off in the bathroom." She leaned closer, her hot breath grazing Ghost's ear. "They're dripping." His eyes widened. "Fuckin' hell." He breathed out. 

"Can I have someone's help in the kitchen, please?" Laswell's wife proclaims. You swiveled your head to the kitchen. "Of course." You turned your attention back to Ghost. "Keep them." You slipped the piece of lingerie into his hand. "On the house." His breath hitched as you stood up to go help in the kitchen. He eyed you as you walked, slightly salivating at the thought of you with no panties on. Your bare cunt was only covered by a short skirt that could easily ride up at any given moment. He silently cursed under his breath.

"This smells so good." You chime as you carry the roast chicken to the table. "Thanks. Took forever to cook." Laswell's wife remarks. You smile and go to your seat as everyone else follows suit.

Ghost pulls out his chair next to you and takes his seat. He leans closer to you. "You better not try anything else." His voice drops lower, so low you almost don't hear him. "Or I'll bend you over the table right now." Your breath hitches at his words, your core becoming impossibly wetter. 

It was 40 minutes into the dinner. Everyone was laughing and telling stories; they were all a little tipsy. The food was demolished, signaling that the dinner was almost coming to an end and you and Ghost were still in attendance. You cringed at the thought of losing to Simon and having to wash the dishes for a month straight. You decided to do something drastic. Something that would have to make him come up with a stupid excuse to leave. 

You use your hand that's drink-free to reach for his hand, that's resting on his knee, under the table, making sure not to look too suspicious. You nod your head along to whatever the hell Kate is talking about. 

You slowly bring his hand to your knee. You glance at him, though he looks completely unfazed. You steadily drag his hand up your knee, moving towards your inner thigh. He still appears unfazed. You maneuver his hand up even higher, his hand now grazing your dripping, needy cunt. His face is still stone-cold and serious. His lack of a reaction made you question if he even cared about what was happening. That was until you felt his pointer and middle finger curl into you. Your eyes widened in shock as you spit your drink out into your glass. 

Everyone at the table directed their attention to you. "You okay?" Ghost questioned, his fingers still in your sensitive region, raising an eyebrow. "Yes. I'm sorry. I just swallowed my drink wrong." Your face slightly pink as you go to set your champagne down. Everyone resumed their conversations. 

You narrowed your eyes at Ghost. "Did you think I wouldn't play along?" He murmured as he drew lazy circles with his fingers. Your eyelids closed briefly, taking in his movements, and then you opened them rapidly, remembering where you were.

You tried to keep your breathing steady as he slid his fingers up and down your swollen clit. You eyed him again as he casually took a sip of whiskey from his glass. 

He leaned into you once again, whispering, "So tight." Before you could reply, he promptly pulled his fingers out, wiping your arousal off on his jeans. 

Your body winced at the loss of his fingers. You recoil at the words that leave your mouth. "Let's leave." His lips quip at the lust in your eyes. He nods, taking one final drink from his glass. 

"We better be on our way." He stands up, and you follow suit, pushing your chair in. "Thanks for coming." Laswell remarks as her and her wife follow you both to the door.

"Are you sure you can't stay longer?" Her wife begs. "I wish we could. Got a long day tomorrow." You say, nudging Ghost out the door. You both say your goodbyes to everyone and step out the door. You are all but running to the car. 

Once you enter your house, Ghost's hands instantly wrap around your waist, smashing his lips into yours. He threads his fingers through your hair to deepen the kiss. You let out a moan as he nips at your lower lip, seeking entrance. 

He roughly backs you up against the wall. "Surprised you didn't leave a spot on Laswell's chair from how fuckin' wet you were." He murmurs against your neck. You let out a quiet whimper. "Fuck. And those little noises you make." He presses wet, sloppy kisses on your neck. He grabs one of your hands and places it on the growing bulge forming in his jeans. "Make me so fuckin' hard." You catch his mouth in another deep kiss. "I need you. Right now." He groans.

He grabs ahold of the back of your ass and picks you up; you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. He almost breaks a lamp, a picture frame, and a flower pot on his way to your shared room. 

Once you make it to your shared room, he gently sits on the edge of the bed as you straddle his lap and thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He slips one hand under your sweater and gently grazes your nipple through your lace bra. You moan into his mouth, which causes his dick to twitch. 

His hand skims down your waist until it reaches the hem of your sweater. His fingers curl under the hem and swiftly pull the thick fabric over your head. Once the material passes your lips, he instantaneously reconnects his lips to yours. 

You start to unbutton each of the buttons on his shirt, quickly pulling it off his body. He bends down to connect his lips to your collarbone, slowly moving around your chest as you thread your fingers through his light hair. 

As he plants slow kisses on your chest, one of his hands reaches behind your body and unsnaps your bra, making your breasts fall out, which he is quick to capture with his hot mouth. "Fuck." You whine. 

He picks you up once again and positions you on your back. "Take that pretty little skirt off fer'me." He eyes you as your finger gently sweeps down your body, slowly circling your nipple. 

"Stop teasing..." He warns. You seductively grin at him as your fingers reach your skirt, slipping it off your legs. "That's not fair.." You say. He cocks a brow. "You still have your pants on.." He slightly grins as he undoes his belt and slips off his pants and boxers, causing his erect cock to spring out. "Better?" He questions, stepping in between your legs. "Mhmm."

He pushes you back on the bed and lays on top of you. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, your teeth scratching his own, and your fingers reaching for his cock. "Greedy one you are.." He whispers into your mouth.

He gently slips his cock into your wet cunt. "Fuck. You are tight." He grits. He slowly moves in and out of you, causing you to moan and him to grunt. Right as he finds a comfortable pace, the sound of a phone ringing bounces off the walls.

He peers over to look at his phone. "Fuckin' Price." He grunts. You wrap your arms tighter around his neck. "Call him back later. Don't stop." You whine into his ear. "Wouldn't think about it." His pace fastens as he reaches over to grab the phone.

"Captain." He says cooly as if he's not balls deep in you. Your eyes go wide and he gives you a warning glare. He continues pumping in and out of you. 

"Ghost."

"Problem?"

"Nothing too serious. I need to go over the briefing from last week. Do you have time?"

"Sure." 

Price recounts the last briefing to Ghost as you try your best not to make any noise as his cock pounds into you.

You cover your mouth as Ghost brings his finger to your aching clit and begins rubbing soft circles. The friction causes you to let out a soft moan. "Quiet." He drawls. "Or I'll stop."

"Everything okay, Lt?" Price questions.

"Fine. Continue."

Price continues talking as you feel your peak nearing. "Simon..I'm going to.." You choke out. His pace is picking up. "Come.." He commands quietly.

With that, you both come, and Price finishes talking as if right on cue. 

"Thanks for the heads up, Price." He breathes out, hanging up. 

"I can't believe we just had sex with Price on the phone." You say, out of breath.

"Don't act like you didn't like it." He gestures to your arousal covering his cock and dripping onto the sheets. "Because, clearly, you did like having an audience." 

You slowly get up and head for the bathroom. As you’re in there, you hear Ghost yell, “Don't forget you still lost the bet." 

"Technically, we left at the same time."

"That's not how it works."

"Then, pray tell, how does it work?"

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[fatallyfalling]

Strawberry Wine ~ 𖤓

“ safe & sound “

{{ Peeta Mellark Headcanons }}

warnings: mentions of alcohol, canon Hunger Games violence/trauma, wholesome fluff, etc.

{{ word count }} 487

{{ prompt }} fluffy headcanons for our beloved bread boy !!

{{ a/n }} this is short & sweet while i test out Peeta’s character! I’m not sure what i exactly want to write with him since i’ve adored everlark for forever but for now please enjoy my silly happy thoughts! Some of these i’ve heard around the internet i think but i can’t remember where :[

Peeta Mellark, the ashy blonde from District 12 who stole the hearts of the Capital with his charms and sweet, boyish nature while also managing to tame a stubborn Mockingjay - Katniss Everdeen, and poured out his heart and soul to get back to her any way he could.

- Peeta is a morning person. He'll get up early and have breakfast ready by the time Katniss pulls out of bed (she learns to sleep in post-rebellion).

- His favorite type of bread/pastry is croissants. The tedious labor of laminating the cold butter block into the fluffy dough is cathartic in a way.

- Once, he tried to teach Katniss to paint. Once. Her attempt at trees looked more like crazy brown and green spiders but he still kissed her temple and had the painting framed, much to the girl on fire's dismay.

- Peeta doesn't like hard liquor - he never did. Effie hooks him on a strawberry wine made special in what used to be District 11, he's gifted at least one bottle every birthday or holiday.

- He's such a housewife no questions asked, hands down. Hungry? He'll cook. Thirsty? Anything you want. This man has to be physically removed from the kitchen during friendly gatherings so he can actually relax and enjoy the company.

- Also, his Dad lore is insane.

(speaking to his kids when they're older) "Oh yeah, your Mom tried to kill me once. but it's okay I made it even the next year so we're good now."

"One time I almost got eaten by a monkey in a fight to the death."

"Another time I took a spontaneous road trip, got held hostage, and then led a rebellion to victory alongside your Mom."

- Peeta teaches himself guitar so he can play along while Katniss sings. His chords are wildly out of tune at first, but he gets it eventually.

- Peeta doesn't like store-bought bread, saying his homemade loaves taste better (they do).

- He's a hugger, every hello and goodbye is met by a bear hug. His hugs are amazing as well, nice and tight but also comforting and warm.

- For a while after the war Peeta kept a journal on his nightstand to record his dreams/nightmares. Even if the text turns out to be chicken scratch in the morning Katniss still helps him decipher and work through it to solidify reality.

“What does that say ?”

“Uh… I think… no - wait, I have no idea,”

- Effie and Peeta definitely have wine nights to talk about their scary guard dog partners and how much they love them.

- Speaking of paint - it’s everywhere, all the time, mainly his hands. Oil paint is next to impossible to clean so almost all of Peeta’s shirts have some amount of color speckled on the sleeves or the thighs of his pants.

- Peeta also keeps a cookie jar of homemade cookies in the kitchen, they’re replenished every week with regular flavor swaps.

{{ tags }}

[multifandomworldsposts]

Day 6 of Kinkmas: In Victory With Jack Chambers

KINKMAS ❄️🎄✨

pairing: jack chambers x fem!reader

warning: eating out, fingering, unprotected sex

Y/N’s POV

I get started on cooking the chicken I bought at the grocery store, I cut up some carrots, celery and onions for the chicken until I feel arms around my waist. I turn my head and it’s Jack with his famous smirk.

“What’re you cooking?” He asks about to eat a cut carrot.

“Chicken.” I say continue cutting some celery.

He kisses my neck and hugs me tightly. I giggle by the little pecks he gave me.

“I’m almost done with this chicken so go sit down and wait, okay?” I say looking at him.

Jack walks to our kitchen table and sat in his usual chair, looking attractive to be honest. I get the vegetables on the table and went back to get the chicken which smells delicious. We finally get to eat and talk about our day.

“How was the boys today?” I take a bite of chicken.

“Well, they’re all going good, Peg is now 4 months pregnant already.” He says picking some chicken from his fork.

“Oh really? We should have a little get together party for them one night.” I say.

“I think we should.” He smiles.

After we eat, I get more comfortable in my chair and ask Jack, “Do you want dessert?”

“I rather have something else.” He smirks.

“I’m still sore from last night Jack.” I confess.

“Come on, please?” He gives his puppy dog eyes.

“The answer is no.” I say grabbing our dishes and heading to the sink to set them in the sink.

“Please Y/N/N, you know I won’t hurt you.” He approaches the ledge of our kitchen counter.

“Jack, you know I can’t trust you.” I say.

He knows I’m right.

“Y/N/N, please, I won’t hurt you this time, it’s just you love the way I take you.” He walks over to be behind me and whispers.

“Fine Jack, just take to bed and have your way with me.” I turn around and say.

He picks me up and takes us to our bedroom. When he sets me on the bed, I help him take his suit off and he helps me get my dress off, but he notices I don’t have my panties on.

“You knew that we’ll be doing this?” He says touching my thighs.

“You were still in the mood this morning.” I say getting comfortable on the edge of the bed.

He smirks. He begins to eat me out, I lay my head on mattress, arch my back, and I tug on his hair. He continues to eat me out, I can feel his tongue inside me. He stops and I can see his eyes looking up at me, I whimper.

He begins to finger me. I feel myself about to cum on his finger, he gets up, looks at me, and tastes my cum. I reach out for him and he gets on top of me and begins to make out with me.

After a while, he’s making me scream, moan and gasp. He goes in and out of me, giving me hickeys, the bed banging against the wall. I can’t believe he’s still in the mood.

“You’re a lot bigger then last night Jack.” I moan tugging on his hair.

“Well you are a turn on.” He looks at me and smirks.

“Just fuck me Jack.” I breathe out.

He fucks harder, I scratch his back, I already can tell he’s going to get made fun of.

After all that, we lay on the bed beyond heavy breathing. He was totally in the mood.

“Are you still in the mood?” I look at him.

“Not anymore Y/N.” He looks at me and smiles.

“If you want to do this again, I’ll happily do it, just not when company is around.” I say.

He chuckles.

“Alright Y/N/N. Oh by the way, I’ll always be in a mood for this.” He smirks.

Anytime we’ll do that, he’ll be forever be horny.

[carlos55edits]

Peeping Tom

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Warning: Smut

PLEASE DO NOT TAKE MY STORIES AND PLAGIARIZE THEM OR REPOST THEM! THANKS! ❤️

A new neighbor has moved across the street from you and Carlos’ shared home. You took it upon yourself to walk over and introduce yourself to welcome him into the neighborhood. He introduced himself as Lando. While talking to him about what was around the neighborhood, you were getting a sense that he was checking you out. You kindly dismissed yourself and mentioned that you had to go home and start dinner before your husband arrived home. Little did you know, Lando was looking at your ass as you were walking away.  

Different smells of seasonings poured out of the kitchen as you swayed to the music making your favorite dish, chicken alfredo. Carlos walks into the kitchen with his black t-shirt and navy jogger pants.

“Smells amazing in here baby” He kissed your lips as he moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stir the pot.

“I thought we could have my favorite tonight since we haven’t had it in a while.” You turned around in his arms and held the fork up to his lips with a small piece of chicken and a few noodles handing off the fork. Carlos takes the fork into his mouth, closing his eyes to savor the flavor.  

“Mmm. Damn, you never miss when you cook dinner.” His brown eyes met yours.  

“Good right?!” Smiling, you turned back around to put the fork down on the counter beside the stove and turned the pot to a low simmer.

“By the way, I met the new neighbor today.” You turned to look at Carlos, crossing your arms against your chest and leaning back on the counter.  

“Oh yeah? How did that go? I know I have to introduce myself to him.” He says while letting go of you and leaning against the sink across from you.  

“He seems like a nice fellow. His name is Lando. I recommended some places for him to check out around here...while he was checking me out.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head.  

“Well, I don’t blame him babe. I would check you out too.” Carlos smiles and bites his bottom lip, looking at you up and down. He reached for you and pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his hands on your ass. Giving it a light squeeze.  

“No Carlos. I caught him looking across the street into the house today while I was cleaning the living room and we made eye contact. It was very awkward as hell.” Carlos leaned his head back and laughed.  

“Why don’t we give him something that’s worth looking at. Something that he won’t be able to forget?” He motions his head towards the window.

“For free?” You gave him a confused look on his face. He laughed at you while a huge smile spreads across your face.

“How about we be adventurous and make someone’s night. Let them have a happy ending too, no? Carlos leans down and kisses your lips.

“And you are okay with letting another man see me in all my glory? You uncross your arms and wrap them around Carlos, pinching his ass.

“I don’t care if he sees you naked just this once. We trust each other and you know who you belong to.” He stares into your eyes with lust growing in them.  

Carlos leans in to kiss you, each kiss becomes deeper. His hands leave your ass, moving down to your thighs, picking you up as you wrap your arms around his neck.  

He walks you over into the living room, laying you down on the couch. He stands back up, taking off his shirt. You bite your bottom lip as you take in his tone chest and abs. You reach out to him, rubbing your hand from his chest down to his abs. His tan skin is smooth and warm to the touch. You move your hand over to his v-line, tracing it down to the top of his jogger pants. Carlos put his hand on top of yours, stopping you.

“I want you to strip for me.” He helps you off the couch, switching places.  

You stand in front of him. You lean down and kiss him, pushing him to lean all the way back against the back of the couch. You stand up slowly, your hands sliding down his shoulders, chest, stomach, and over his thighs. You stand tall in front of him, starting to take off your shirt slowly, your curvy breast becoming free. Carlos watches your every move, taking in your beauty. No matter how many times he has seen you naked, it’s like seeing you for the first time, breathtaking.

You continue to strip for him, moving your hands gently over your breast, down your stomach, reaching the button of your shorts. You slowly unbutton them, letting them fall to the floor, your lace panties following.  

Carlos moves his eyes up and down your body like a lion looking at his prey. He moves his hand up to your breast to massage them gently. You lean your head back with your eyes closed. His hand moves further down your body, stopping at where you want to feel him touch you.  

“Mi amor, you are so fucking beautiful. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” He pulls you down, straddling his lap.  

You kiss his lips, taking in his tongue to play with yours. You bit his lower lip as you pulled away from him.  Moving over to his neck, you leave little kisses on a certain spot that shoots straight to his dick. You hear and feel the vibrations of his groans in your ear and under your lips. You move slowly on top of him, feeling his dick pressed against your already wet pussy.  

“I want your dick in my mouth.” You whispered in his ear as you kissed him one last time on the neck and slid down his body to your knees.  

You move your hand over his bulge, feeling him take in a deep breath. You look at him with hungry eyes as you slid his joggers off him, his dick springing free. You took his dick in your hand stroking him, feeling the smoothness of his dick. His girth and length are perfect. You lean down and lick him from the base of his dick to the tip, putting the tip in your mouth.  

You looked up as Carlos, his eyes meeting yours as you take him deeper into your warm, wet mouth. His head drops, resting on the back of the couch.  

“Joder, your mouth feels so good on my dick baby.” Carlos groans as he feels you start to move your mouth up and down, setting a pace. He places his hand in your hair, pushing you to go further down on him. You take all of him all the way down your throat, keeping him there for a few seconds.

“Just like that mi amor. So good.” A moan escapes his mouth as you ease off his dick and move down to suck on his balls. His dick is now slick enough from your spit so you can stroke him. You start to suck on his balls gently, licking them, reaching up to them to massage them. Carlos reaches down and pulls you up to swap places with him. He gets on his knees between your legs.

“Spread your legs for me mami. I want to taste you” He helps you put your legs on his shoulders.  

“Damn baby. Look at you. All wet and ready for him.” He licks your juices that have gotten on your thigh.

“You taste so sweet babygirl. I rather have your pussy for dinner tonight.” He starts to fully eat your pussy, focusing on your sensitive clit. You grab a handful of his hair, closing your eyes and arching your back off the couch.  

“Your fucking tongue feels so fucking good. Shit.” The moment you opened your eyes, you were met with another set of eyes that were not your boyfriend’s. You locked eyes with Lando, the new neighbor on the block. At that moment you didn’t care because Carlos was sending you straight into the clouds.  

“Car-Carlos. He’s watching.” You say in between breaths.

“Good. He can see how good I am at devouring this pussy of yours.” He dives back in with a newfound eagerness, this time slipping two fingers into your pussy. You feel your climax approaching as you start to ride yourself on Carlos’ face.  

“I’m so close. Don’t stop. I’m gonna come!” Your climax hits you like an earthquake. Your toes curl as you shake all around Carlos’ head. He reaches up to hold your hand. Your moans are sweet music to his ears.  

“Fuck mi amor. You almost drowned me.” He looks up at you as you settle down from your climax.  

“I want you to fuck me in front of the window so he can get a closer look.” You tell Carlos as you motioned your eyes towards the window. Carlos helps you off the couch kissing you all the way to the window.  

“Bend that ass over for me.” He turns you around and bends you over the table that is in front of the living room window with a little force. He bends down to your ear and whispers something you thought you would never hear out of his mouth.  

“While I am fucking you, I want you to look at him in his eyes.” You look at him as you shake your head up and down.

“I need you to use your words babygirl.” He moves your hair from your face to get a better look at you.

“Yes sir.” You make contact with his doe brown eyes. So much want filling them making them to appear darker.  

“Good girl.” He kisses down your back. He lines himself up to you entrance, pressing the tip of his dick in slowly. You both let go of a sigh of relief as he pushes himself halfway in.  

“Baby, you are so damn tight. I know you can take all of me.” You push back against him wanting to feel all of him inside you.  

“I want all that dick inside me daddy.” You push back against getting all of him inside you. You could feel him stretching you to the max. He waits a little before he begins to thrust, so he doesn’t hurt you.  

“Please don’t make me wait any longer.” Carlos took that as an order and started to fuck you with force, taking you by surprise.

“Is this what you want baby? You want the neighbor to see how good I fuck that tight pussy of yours hmm?  He grabs your hips tightly as he fucks you. The sound of skin slapping against each other filling the room.  

“Yes! Yes! Fuck! Just like that!” You opened your eyes and made eye contact with Lando across the street. You wanted him to know that this is for him. As you focus a little better you see that he is having a little fun himself. You can’t see too clearly but it looks as if his hand is moving back and forth, as if he is stroking his dick.  

Carlos grabs your hair, making a ponytail before he pulls you up against his chest. He continues to fuck you with such a steady pace. He grabs your breast, giving them a squeeze.

“You like him watching, don’t you? Hmm? Pleasuring himself to us fucking. Look at him babe.” You and Carlos make eye contact with him as he moves his other hand down to your pussy, playing with your clit.

“Fuck Carlos, I can’t hold on much longer.” Your breathing becomes shorter.  

“I don’t care how good it feels, you better not come until I tell you too.” Carlos moves his hand from your clit and moves his arms around the front of your thigh for leverage. He starts fucking you with need. He wants to feel you tight pussy come on his dick.  

“Mmm I feel you getting so close baby. I want us to come together. Can you do that for me baby?” Carlos whispers in your ear.  

“Yes Sir. Make me come on your dick.” You and Carlos’ moans and groans filled the room. His hand leaves your breast and wraps it around your throat.  

“Come on my dick mi amor. I’m almost there. Fuck! Carlos moans in your ear.  

“I want you to come inside me daddy. I want you to fill me up.” After those words came out of your mouth, Carlos' comes inside you with a groan.  

“Ahh fuuuck! I’m coming!” Carlos holds on to you tightly against him, making sure he is getting all of his cum inside your pussy. The feeling of him filling you up brought you to your second climax of the night.  

“Fuck Carlos! I’m coming! Fuck! Shit! You started to scream as you feel your juices squirt out of you, some dripping on the floor and some rolling down Carlos’ dick, falling off his balls onto the floor. You shake uncontrollably in his arm, the feeling of your legs become jelly. Carlos wraps his arm around your waist, holding you up to make sure you don’t fall as you ride out your high. He slowly pulls out of you, some of his cum dripping out, hitting the floor along with your puddle of juices.  

“Damn baby. That was...” Carlos leans his forehead on your shoulders trying to catch his breath.  

“Different?” You say as you turn to him kiss him on his lips. You both smile at each other. You turn back around and look across the street to see if your one-person audience had a good show. He was just standing there looking back at us with a euphoric look on his face. There were some streaks on the window. You are not sure to make of it, but it looks like he got his happy ending for the night.

“Why don’t you go get the shower ready for us so we can eat this wonderful dinner that you cooked for us?” Carlos kisses your temple before he lets you walk away. He walks up to the window, putting his hands on the curtain’s fabric. Before he closes the curtain, he gives Lando a little wink before shutting them closed.  

[applejuicebegood]

All My Love - Platonic!Gaz x Teammate!Reader

Fem!Reader

Summary: Stressing over the cooking for that evening and bad memories, Y/N finds Gaz who talks them through what their feeling. A/N: Wrote this for the very sweet @midnights-song and @kaoyamamegami for their very kind words on my last fic. This one is a sorta fallow up, please enjoy! Masterlist

Cw: Descriptions of absent + alcoholic mother, mentions of PTSD-related flashbacks, elder-child syndrome Word Count: 1960

The smell of cedar smoak and garlic clung to your hands and hair. A dull ache snaked its way up the back of your knees and into your thighs. Wringing your hands with a damp tea-towel you looked over your kitchen, the results of your labour tucked away in the humming oven and boiling on the stove top. Flour and spices swirled together across every vacant surface, oil-stained pots and bowls crowded your skink, and potato skins and egg shells were crowded in a pile across from the filled compost bin you were meaning to take outside to feed to your chickens. You puffed out a long breath, resting your wrists on your hips. You had finally finished all of the cooking for tonight's supper for your teammates. 

Your experience with cooking has been relegated to that of your small family. The distant memories of your aunts and grandmothers crowded in the same kitchen where you stood now, knives and peelers making quick work of the harvested meat and potatoes your farm had cultivated. It was the only thing you recalled as you struggled to discern the cramped handwriting of the recipes left behind by your family. Their jovial laughing and quick gaelic speak now distant memories carved into the cabinets and countertops. Smeared on the vintage china and cast iron skillets hung on the oak walls. If you stayed still and concentrated enough you could remember the feeling of your grandmother's rough palm on your supple cheek and her lips on your forehead. The smell of milk and wheat wafting through your senses. 

You were much younger then. Your fingers easily slipping onto the knife's blade and your wrists burned from boiling pasta water. You needed to use your baby sister's step stool to stand over the cutting board properly. Your mother was too busy passed out on the couch with a bottle of whiskey slipping from her limp grasp to worry about feeding her children. You were the eldest, therefore it became your job to try and emulate the effortless dance you watched your female relatives perform every holiday season or family reunion. 

Now you were quicker, easily controlling the tools in your scarred, tattooed hands. Your time in the military proved helpful in quickening your reaction speed, allowing you to cut through the squash and potatoes faster than before. You had begun the cooking process that morning, refusing the offered help from your teammates. Insisting that guests shouldn’t be expected to cook and that you could handle it. And you could, although it resulted in the ache in your thighs spreading into your lower back, causing a hushed groan to escape from your throat as you tugged at the roots of your hair. 

You quickly turned at the harsh thumping of boots on the creaking wooden stairs. Drawn out of your spiralling stupor. 

‘Holy.. smells fucking amazing in here lass..’ ‘Language! Johny!’ You say through clenched teeth, motioning to the living room couch where your baby sister was supposed to be sitting next to your captain. The volume of the football game on the TV turned down. Johnny winced in apology, hushing his booming voice to a whisper. ‘Sorry.. Sorry, here you go sit.. I’ll clean’ 

Johnny says after looking you over and taking the towel from your hands. Your team had gotten good at noticing when exhaustion or strain worked its way into each other's bodies. Your hunched shoulders and wide eyes giving away your building stress. ‘Oh Johnny no.. you don’t have too-’ ‘Yea.. yea, Go sit lassie.. After mak’in all this food I’m surprised you're still standing’ Johnny says ushering you to the living room before patting your shoulder and turning to find a starting point in the stack of dishes. 

You sigh. The instinct of obeying your higher ranking sergeant hadn’t seemed to wear off yet. Walking to the couch you expected to have your little sister squeal and jump into your arms. Only to find her little body curled against your captain’s side. Her hands bunched up under her chin, the delicate skin of her eyelids shut. Price’s head rested on the back of the couch with his arms stretched out over the cushions, his mouth slightly agape. You quietly leaned down to brush your sister's forehead, as if in response she snuggled her cheek against Price’s side at your touch, not wanting to be woken up just yet. Price twitched in his sleep, pulling Emi closer against him. You kissed the side of her head, pulling the knitted blanket up over her shoulders and across your captain's lap. The warm prick of relief spread across your skin at the realization that your baby sister had grown comfortable enough to fall asleep in the circle of your captain's embrace. Hoping that she had found someone other than you to admire and emulate.  

You made your way to the back porch, pulling on a leather overcoat to protect your warmth from the bite of the winter air. As you swung the glass door open, the brush of cold against your warm cheeks soothed you, your breath clouding up in front of you. You looked out onto the backyard of your farm, a few metres of blanketed gardening space trailing out to the fenced off cliff side. The clothesline pole used in the warmer months stood to the right, the cable attached to the house swinging in the swirling wind. The fence built to keep your cows and sheep and your sisters from roaming too close to the cliff edge poked out from the dull white snow. Past the drop of land, you could see the storm-grey waves churning and thrashing against each other like fighting children. Stretching further into the distance. You slowed your breathing and shut your eyes, trying to test if you could hear the water slap against the cliff side. When you were little, you would climb through the wire fencing and peer over the cliff's edge, never realizing how if you took only a few more steps death would embrace you like the waves embraced the fistfulls of grass and pebbles you would toss over the edge. Sometimes you wished you could return to that state of not even being afraid of falling from a cliff face. 

‘Hey.. Y/N?’ ‘Oh! Kyle.. shit you scared me!’ 

The jolt of surprise at Gaz’s voice ran up your spine and over your chest. In your daze, you didn’t realize Gaz settled on the porch's couch, a book from the living room shelf open in his lap. The deck held a few mismatched outdoor chairs and a couch, crowded with old throw pillows and spear blankets. Small metal lanterns hung overhead, painted and decorated by your sisters when they were both in primary school. The dwindling candle light gently swayed over Gaz’s smooth brown skin, a warm break from the multitude of grey stretching out before you. 

‘Heh sorry, here.. Sit. You look like you need a break’ Your boots scuffed against the deck floor as you settled yourself by Kyle. You tucked your legs up underneath you with a groan. The pain settling in your legs. You were still fixated on the blurred horizon line stretching beyond the haze of clouds that were beginning to roll in from the town harbour. Gaz’s presence beside you blurring like the apparent ending of the surrounding oceans. ‘Hey.. you alright?’ Gaz asked with the snap of his book shutting. ‘Yeah.. yeah of course.. Just, just thinking about.. Ya know, I mean… I-I just want things to be good for you guys’ You say, looking up at him. Folding your arms over your chest. ‘What.. What do you mean? Y/N.. things have been perfect, I honestly don’t know what else you could do to make this trip more enjoyable’ ‘I know.. I mean- I think, I don’t know Gaz.. I just worry that.. that this isn’t.. Ugh! I don’t even know what i’m saying’ You chuckle, gripping your head as you run a hand through your hair. Glancing at Gaz you notice him scratching the jagged scar on his forearm. 

It was during a mission in your last deployment that an enemy soldier split his skin open with a combat knife. Your stitches were frantic and clumsy, being that you were in the back of a moving helicopter for the evac and you had to watch the consciousness drain out of your friend's face. You noticed how as the cut started to heal Gaz would scratch at the scar absently, something that annoyed you being that it would remind you that the split wouldn't be so gnarled had you been able to keep your shaking hands steady.  ‘You really have no clue how to stop worrying..’

His tone was sad, grey like the ocean waters.

‘Worrying ‘bout you lot is my job.. It’s not something I can just.. Turn off’ You were frustrated, picking at the loose threads of the embroidered pattern lacing around your skirt. ‘I get that. I had that during my first break home, not being able to remember how to.. Ya know.. Be normal. To be a person and not a soldier. God, it would drive Ma mad, how I could only get up at five in the morning and.. Ya know.. The flashbacks’ You watched him as he talked, his rich brown eyes cast down at his hands. ‘There really isn’t a proper way to “be normal”, not after what you've been through, what you’ve seen. But that's not something you have to figure out on your own.. I mean hell, most of us would be dead if you weren't on this team Y/N’ ‘Ha.. I know’ ‘Exactly, what I mean is.. You've got people around you who would do anything for you. And we are probably the only ones who know what it’s like to be stuck in trying to remember who you were before deployment. It’s something we’ve all experienced, so don’t you believe for a second you should go through it by yourself.’ Gaz leaned forward, placing his hand on your knee. You instinctively took his fingers into your own, his hands cold. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, gently nodding your head. Your smile tight, trying to hold back the growing dampness in the corners of your eyes. You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over his knuckle. He squeezed your fingers back, a silent language you shared when words were too daunting to put together. You always found it shocking how this kind of comfort felt like it was being directed at someone else. Like it was a puzzle piece ripped in half, it could still fit in the piece but it appeared foreign. You weren't used to it, and how easily it appeared to flow from Gaz. In his words and in his viable willingness to help you. The unusual sensation of being understood made it hard to express your gratitude for it, Gaz knew this. Which is why you both sat there, in a shared understanding only the both of you as colleagues and friends could have. ‘You smell great by the way’

His blunt comment caused a ripple of laughter to fall from your lips, a tear drifting down the bridge of your nose. ‘You dick..’ You scoffed, leaning your head onto his shoulder, tucking your arm under his. 

‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’

You mumble, directing your attention back to the grey horizon line. ‘What does that mean..?’ Gaz asks, following your gaze outwards. You respond with a simple sigh. The stress and aching dissipated for the moment, something you didn’t want to risk losing with your supposed inability to properly thank Gaz for his tenderness and care.

A/N: ‘Do aingeal den sórt sin’ translates to 'your such an angel' in Irish Gaelic

[feyburner]

tumblr user feyburner, i have a confession. i don't know how to roast a chicken, or do anything with a chicken, and at this point i'm afraid to ask.

I can tell you're afraid to ask bc this isn't really a question. But I will answer it anyway. I'm always happy to talk about chicken.

You’ll be pleased to learn that roasting a chicken is so easy. The below explanation is quite long bc I am including all the information I can remember, to set you up for chicken roasting success. But, essentially, you’re rubbing a chicken in oil and seasonings and putting him in the oven for like an hour. Done.

Remember that people have been roasting whole chickens since the dawn of time using whatever they had around bc it’s the most low effort, high reward meal ever. You could say the word “salt” in a chicken’s general direction and toss him at a candle flame and he would still turn out great.  

To roast a chicken:

Buy a whole chicken, however big you want. 4-5 lbs is enough to feed 3-5 people with leftovers.

Prepare a workspace with a plastic cutting board (not wooden bc raw chicken juices) and paper towels. 

Remove the giblets, pin feathers, extra flaps:

1. Stick your hand up his primary orifice and pull out anything loose. There is usually a handful of little organs like heart and gizzards and sometimes these strings of pale bean looking things (tbh not sure what those are). Save these for stock, except the liver (super dark squishy organ) which will disintegrate. You can eat the liver separate if you want.

2. Trim off any sticky-outy bits that have pin feathers on them, and the flaps of fat/gristle over his orifice. Save the fatty bits for stock. Leave the triangle of fat directly above the orifice (his tail). 

Pat the chicken dry with paper towels inside and out. Get him as dry as possible. 

Spatchcock: You don’t have to spatchcock/butterfly but I like to, bc it maximizes outer surface area for that good good crispy skin. Also easier to get breasts and thighs done at the same rate.

All you have to do is cut the backbone out of the chicken with poultry shears or kitchen scissors if you’re desperate. Then push down hard to crack the breastbone so he lies super flat. Save the backbone for stock or jus. How to spatchcock step by step guide.

Dry brine: Prepare a bowl of coarse kosher salt. More salt than you’d think. Like 1 Tbsp per lb of meat. Rub salt over the whole chicken inside and out. Don’t skimp on the salt especially on the inside. It will not make your chicken crazy salty, it doesn't penetrate the meat that deep. Also some will be wiped off before you cook. 

Put the chicken on a wire rack on a baking sheet and chill uncovered in the fridge for 2-24 hours. The point of this step is the salt draws moisture to the surface of the chicken, which then evaporates in the circulating fridge air. It helps you get crispy chicken skin.

Dry brine + resting isn't 100% necessary, if for some reason you must produce a roasted chicken on a time crunch. But it's a good practice.

Roasting time:

Pat excess moisture off chicken inside and out. If you did not spatchcock you can stuff the inside with a halved lemon or garlic head, herbs, whatever you want. 

Seasoning rub: Prepare a small bowl with olive oil (maybe 1/4-1/3 cup?), salt, freshly cracked black pepper, and whatever dried herbs and spices you want. A good starter is: salt, pepper, parsley sage rosemary thyme, paprika, garlic powder, onion powder. I love me some Cajun spice mix like Slap Ya Mama. Start with like 1-2 tsp of each (1 tsp spices, 2 tsp dried herbs) and build from there. Don’t be shy. Recipes on the internet are like “Use 1/2 tsp herbs for this whole recipe” because they’re heading off 1-star reviews from annoying people who can’t handle a molecule of flavor. Season with your heart, your pussy, and your balls. Don’t be ashamed to use a store-bought spice rub. It’s not lazy, it’s efficient. Also, who gives a shit.

Rub the oil all over Mr. Chicken like he’s an Ancient Greek warrior-prince you’re preparing for the Olympic Games. 

Some recipes tell you to use butter, or slip butter under the skin, but butter has higher water content than oil and might not get you the ideal crispy skin. You can do whatever you want though. It’s your chicken. 

Preheat the oven to 425°. People will tell you a billion different temperatures—screaming hot, low and slow—but I’m here to tell you that it is so hard to fuck up a roast chicken, you can experiment and the results will always be great. 

I like to start at a high temp for 30 minutes to get the skin crisping and then reduce to 375° for the rest of the time to avoid burning. Sometimes you’ll have to cover him with foil if the seasonings start charring. That’s fine.

General cook time: 20 minutes per lb of meat, give or take 20 depending on oven temp. A 4-5 lb chicken at 425° -> 375° generally takes me ~1 hour 20 minutes. If you do low and slow at like 325° it might take 2+ hours. Just check on him periodically. Tbh it’s harder to overcook a chicken than you probably think. 5 minutes, or even 10-20 minutes, is NOT the difference between beautiful tender juicy chicken and a bone-dry tragedy. Chicken is not turkey. He is versatile and he can take it.

Pull the chicken when a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145° or above. (160° is the “safe temp” but 1. The temp will continue to rise for a few minutes after it leaves the oven, and 2. 160° is the temp at which bacteria dies immediately. 145° is fine for eating. Disclaimer: I am not a scientist just a guy who makes a lot of chicken.)

If you don’t have a thermometer, pull the chicken when you insert a knife into the thickest part and the juices run clear. Gorgeous.

Let him sit for 10-20 minutes before carving. When carving, find the oysters and give them to your favorite person or take them as the Cook’s Bounty.

**********************

Again, this explanation is quite long because I included lots of detail. If you do it even one time, you'll realize it's incredibly easy and intuitive and doesn't take much time at all.

Godspeed!

[atinylittlepain]

No Surrender

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

Hungry Hearts masterlist

wordcount | 2K

warnings | smut, angst, the usual

a/n | a short but sweet epilogue to this treat of a story. thank you to everyone who has followed along with joel and cherry <3

................................

“Strike!”

“That’s alright, Els! Shake it off, babe, you got this!”

“C’mon, kid, just like we practiced. All in the hips.” Before she steps back up to bat, Ellie shoots a rather pointed look their way, her shoulders rising and falling with a huff.

“Shut up, please.” Cherry laughs while Joel grumbles, not too surprised by the kid’s abrasive command, though still a little taken aback. 

“At least we got a please out of her.” Joel nods, only half paying attention to Cherry’s quip as he watches the next pitch, a ball that Ellie doesn’t bite at, smart. Their team needs a strong hit, Sarah on third and another runner on second, two outs and all tied up. 

“Strike two!” 

“Oh, c’mon now, that was way inside.” He mumbles it just loud enough that the parents sitting in front of them on the bleachers turn over their shoulder to stare at him, Cherry offering them an apologetic smile before turning her attention to him. 

“Joel, don’t start. Do you want a repeat of last week?” Last week, both Ellie and Sarah wouldn’t talk to them the whole car ride home from the fields after he and Cherry both got asked to wait in the parking lot when they got a little too heated with the ump about Ellie’s contested slide into third.

“I blame you for that one.” Cherry’s face screws up, her hand that had been resting on his thigh laying a mean squeeze that makes him laugh.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re the one that started it.”

“Well, you’re the one that finished it, Miller.” Somehow, even after a year, they’re still disgusting for each other. At least that’s what Sarah calls it, Ellie usually agreeing with a grimace and a fake gag. But they’re too busy on the field right now to comment on the smacking kiss Joel steals from Cherry, her frown going slack before crooking into half a grin. 

“How could I not, Cher? That ump was calling my woman’s judgment into question.”

“Your woman, huh?” A quick flush of heat in his cheeks when she says it like that, all simpering low. His cheeks smart with his grin.

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

“How very paleolithic of you.” Before he can jostle her a little for her snark, the crack of a bat hitting a ball pulls their attention back to the field. Both of them are instantly on their feet when they see the perfect zip of Ellie’s hit. Yeah, maybe a little obnoxious, the way they alternate between cheering Sarah on into home and yelling for Ellie to steal second. But it is their girls, after all. 

…

Not that he would go around admitting this to anyone, but Joel has gotten pretty good at cooking tofu. Two pans on the stove, one with chicken and one with the aforementioned protein, he stirs while Cherry chops up veggies for the tacos beside him. 

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that all the boxes we just brought over were only Sarah’s.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m all ready to go. The movers are coming on, what? Wednesday?” She stops chopping, shooting him an exasperated look.

“Monday, Joel, the movers are going to be at your house at nine sharp on Monday. Which, by the way, is two days from now.” 

“Right, I knew that.” She huffs, a murmured uh-huh as she goes back to chopping. Honestly, he’s not sure why she’s so worried about it. Over the course of the last year, it’s just been one big and slow move-in to the point that one evening last week when he and Sarah actually were at their house, he found himself without a toothbrush, having made a permanent home for it on Cherry’s bathroom sink. Really, the movers are just for the few big things they’ve still yet to haul over. Sarah’s bed, which is going to go in what was the guest room in Cherry’s house, walls now painted purple after a quick weekend project and ready for its new purpose. A couch and a flatscreen that’s going in the basement, and yes, he’s already looking forward to football season. And his bookshelf, an open wall in Cherry’s room for its new home, though she’s been adamant that anything with her name on it needs to go in a box somewhere that she can’t see it. Writers, he muses, never without their quirks. 

“Phone’s ringing, Cher.” And it never seems to stop. He swears he could hear it ringing from across town with how used to that sound he has gotten. But she’s been putting it on silent more often these days, and right now, she waves her hand in her phone’s vague direction, a despondent little sound in the back of her throat.

“I’m not answering that, it’s the fucking weekend and I just sent in the first draft to her. And anyways, she’s gonna be in town next weekend, did I tell you that?” She has, probably ten times, but he doesn’t tell her that, just nods, giving her hip a squeeze as he reaches around her for the spatula.

“What’s her name again?”

“Maria. And I was thinking, you know, maybe you could invite Tommy over for dinner the same night that she’s visiting.” Her words slant a little with her hardly-contained grin, and he finally pieces together why she’s been mentioning her editor’s visit so frequently to him.  

“Oh yeah, you were just thinking, huh?” He hooks his arm around her waist, the end of his words getting pressed into the shell of her ear as she squirms in his hold, trying to bite back her smile. 

“I’m just saying. She’s thinking about moving to Austin.”

“Is there a big publishing business in Austin?”

“No, she wants to give that whole remote thing a go. The wonders of modern technology and all that. I tried that new Skype thing out last week for an interview though and it gave me the biggest headache ever. I doubt that’ll last very long.” He hums, letting Cherry go to finish cooking the food on the stove. 

“I’ll invite him over, Cher, but I ain’t gonna promise you that he won’t make a fool of himself. She’s probably way out of his league.” 

“Hmm, we’ll see. I think someone a little more serious would be good for him.” 

He’s used to this now. He might even take it for granted. All the ways that they have configured their lives around each other. Lucky, he thinks, that Ellie and Sarah get along like they do. Lucky that Sarah likes her and Ellie tolerates him, though he thinks the kid’s not giving him enough credit when she says that with a dramatic sigh. Lucky too that two decades felt like nothing compared to all the good they get to have together now. 

A family, he thinks, because what else would he call it? Hers and his sitting down at the table on their back porch for dinner. And yes, it’s theirs now, or as good as, even though the movers are still two days away. 

Sarah and Ellie talk about their class schedules for the new school year. Lord help them all, sophomores in high school. Apparently he said that thought out loud because Ellie screws up her face at him around a bite of taco.

“Well, what were y’all like in high school?”

“Oh my god, Els, did you just say y’all?” Cherry can barely get the question out behind her laugh, and Ellie rolls her eyes so hard Joel thinks they might get stuck like that.

“Hey, she’s just practicing the local customs. But I’m also curious, for the record, about what you two were like in high school.” Ellie nods along to Sarah’s addition, already a team, he thinks. Again, lord help them all. 

“Well, your dad had a bit of a reputation on campus for getting into trouble.” 

“Hey, I was never as bad as Tommy.” He puts all of his energy into the look he gives Cherry, pleading for her to not take this where he thinks she’s taking it. She just grins over the rim of her glass. Sarah and Ellie meanwhile, seem rapt to hear more.

“Maybe so, but I’m guessing you haven’t told Sarah about what you did at homecoming in eighty-three?” 

“Oh Jesus no, and I’m not going to, and neither are you, thank you very much.” Sarah and Ellie take up a chorus of boos at that, Cherry shrugging her shoulders at him, though he doesn’t let her smugness off easy, squeezing her thigh beneath the table as he gets a story of his own ready for takeoff.

“You had a reputation of your own, didn’t you, Cher?” Her face falls just as his lifts with his grin, looking at the girls again, their attention recaptured. 

“This one right here was something of a heartbreaker. Wouldn’t give the time of day to any of the poor boys that trailed after her. Little did they know she was actually a grade A nerd.” A cheap shot maybe, Cherry shoving at his shoulder as Ellie snorts at her mom, enough for him to be pretty pleased with himself.

“I’ll have you know that I wasn’t giving any of them the time of day because I wasn’t interested in any of those poor boys you’re talking about.”

“No? Not even Mikey Donahue?” Cherry scoffs, a wave of her hand, forget it.

“Especially not Mikey Donahue.”

“That right?” “Mmhmm.”

“And how’d that work out for you, Cher?” 

“I’d say it worked out pretty well, at least in the end.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh god, they’re being disgusting again, that’s our cue to leave.” He doesn’t pay Sarah’s gripe any mind, nor Ellie’s groan of my eyes, it burns! By the time the sliding door of the porch closes behind their girls, he’s already leaning in for a second kiss that Cherry meets with a soft hum. 

“You better not tell them about homecoming in eighty-three.” Her brow crooks, nails scratching lightly at his scruff where her hand is settled along his jaw.

“Or else what?” He sighs, like he’s really considering his options, another squeeze to her thigh before he answers. 

“Or else I’ll tell them about the time you peed your pants in Sunday school.” Her smile simmers, her ankle hooking around his, a little tug for him to scooch his chair closer to hers. 

“Hmm, I think homecoming in eighty-three is still worse.” 

“I was trying to be generous, Cher. I could tell them about the time you got sent to the principal’s office for telling Maureen Henderson to shove her nail file up her—” Cherry gasps, quick to clamp her palm over his mouth, though she jerks her hand away when he starts to laugh.

“I never liked her.”

“No, you sure didn’t.” 

“She liked you though.” It’s silent for a moment, Cherry’s smile sliding into something a little more shy as Joel leans into her side, trying to catch her downturned gaze.

“That’s not jealousy I’m detecting is it?” The heel of her palm shoves into his chest with a huff, but he doesn’t budge, just crowds in closer, his arm curling around her shoulders. 

“Uh, considering I’m the one you’re breathing your pickled jalapeno breath on right now, no, I am not jealous of Maureen Henderson.” 

“I didn’t really care for her either.” That gets a smile out of her, the slightest curl of it enough for his to split even wider.

“No?” 

“Nah, I was waiting on someone else anyways.” She leans back to get a better look at him, doing that now familiar thing of pressing two of her fingers into the patch in his scruff, always right there. 

“Hmm, how’d that work out for you?”

“Pretty damn good, at least in the end.”  That gets him another kiss, Cherry just as quickly flitting out of his hold to start cleaning up the table after dinner, another routine he’s happy to settle into with her. 

Yes, maybe it’s strange, still awkward at times, figuring out how this family fits together. Yes, maybe there’s still hurt, two decades worth of it to answer to, to soothe in each other. But he knows that this is theirs, movers be damned. It’s always been theirs. And yes, maybe he also knows that there’s a small velvet box tucked into what is now his sock drawer up in their bedroom. He thinks he knows what her answer will be to that velvet box tucked into his sock drawer. 

...............................

taglist: @spookyxsam @libbylou223 @angel-in-beskar @starstruckunknown-princess @casa-boiardi @tieronecrush @swiftispunk @beskarandblasters @trulybetty @amanitacowboy @pr0ximamidnight @wannab-urs @jksprincess10 @suzmagine @everything-isfucked @lanabobana @kittenlittle24 @sarap-77 @officerrrfriendly @val-srz @bitchwitch1981 @redwoodsanddaffodils @themothersmercy @romanarose @lost-inhawkins @youcancallmeelle @hollywoodcaligirl @harryleatherfit @fifia-writes @brighttears @lokanda @hardlystrictlystarwars @sarahxxo3 @harriedandharassed @anoverwhelmingdin

[slippinninque]

🎊🥂 Tanoshī Yoru 🥂🎊

You both have some catching up to do...

Koji Shimazu x BlackFemReader

warnings: some cursing, seduction, flirting, banter, spicy-fluff, long fic, brief description of violent, jumps between past/future

note: italic parts are flashbacks

The blade was buried deep in your thigh but you had yours in his shoulder. The two of you paused in your whirlwind as

In the pause of your whirlwind, you bared your teeth down at the most blazing eyes and couldn't help yourself.

"You wanna grab a bite later?"

"I cannot believe my eyes."

Your heart jumped but you still played coy, looking over your shoulder as you sat at the ornate bar.

"Hello, handsome."

The years have done Koji Shimazu a service--still devastatingly handsome in his suit, haori combination. The glasses more than suited him and you were pleased to note he kept his hair long now.

Koji came close and you couldn't resist placing a kiss on his cheek. He smelled of bitter tea and neat cologne. He took hold before you could pull away, pressing his cheek to yours.

"It's been far too long."

"....The longest it's ever been, I think."

Patient hands stitching a wound, a small payment towards an already dropped debt. This time you smiled--never knowing that someone could be gentle with a needle.

He spoke down towards your wound, playing chicken with the threads you teethed out from your shirt.

"...I like Udon..."

"Huh. Me too. Udon it is..."

Once he had his hands on you, Koji whisked you off to a private booth and asked you if you were hungry. Only a few moments later and a precession of waiters bearing dishes and platters came to load the table.

"This is sooo good, Koji! Many compliments to the cooks back there!"

"I will be so sure to pass them along. I'll be pleased to let you know that I personally participated in the tasting of this week's menu."

You batted your lashes at him as, "Did you now? How lucky am I you take such good care?"

Koji gave you a wink so flirty that it made you feel twenty again as one of your shoulders drew up, coyly turning away with your delicious bowl of udon as he chuckled into his next bite.

It was one of those nights that you all felt invincible. Caine and John jousting for the last skewer while Koji rubbed your feet beneath the kotetsu.

You laughed hard enough that you couldn't feel the pain in your ribs or see the knot on the side of Caine's head. You looked over at Koji and saw his eyes fixed to your skin exposed by your tattered shirt.

Koji licked his lips.

--------

You both talked about the years lost between you. It's been nearly a decade since the last time you saw each other in person. The butterflies that fluttered all the way with you to Osaka finally rested, their wings beating to the tune of your contented heart.

While Koji made a name for himself in Management, you kept yourself as freelance as possible. Keeping your distance was the only way to keep your independence from the High Table until you went into Information. It was a useful way to keep tabs on your old friends and new wards, as your reputation continues to precede you.

In the exchange of photos and phones, you shifted close enough to each other that the bowls of your wineglasses touched. It felt more than good, more than right to be pressed to close as the both of you reminiscence.

When Koji asked about the light line of skin peeking around your shoulder, you told him about the 12 year old contract from Berlin that came to haunt you only a few years prior.

"It was a quick clean up but it got me banned from my favorite Meijer! Shame too--that Meijer had the best perennial selection..."

You sweet Koji looked troubled about the long-faded scar. His fingers traced the line down to where it vanished beneath the lace of your dress but further still to your lower back.

Soon you were pressed side to side with Koji's arm coiled around you to keep you close. He was still the same old 'Smooth Shimazu' after all.

"Ah, I nearly forgot!" You startled as you remembered the solid, slim gift bag at your feet. You hurried to present it to Koji with a little tune, you clapped your hands softly as he was opening it.

Koji gave a laugh as he appraised the bottle of sake, "Oh wow! Nanbu Bijin Tokubetsu! A night of favorites, indeed."

He popped the cork quickly and you held out his glass first to be filled.

Koji's eyes slipped closed with a pleased hum at the first sip. You watched him, the redness of his lips pressed to the glass and how his throat bobbed.

"This brings back memories...."

You thought of the moonless nights hiding out in the country and long stake outs while gathering information. You thought of the two glasses you shared once you heard about what Caine gave and how John left.

You thought of Koji's hands on you and his voice running through you clean enough to shake you apart ten years ago.

A hand tore at your hair and you cut the forearm for it's trouble. An opening near the ribs and you took it, bracing back against the wall to steady your kick.

It sent you both flying but your hand landed on a bottle neck as the man with the blazing eyes staggered to his feet.

You leaned your head on his shoulder as you took your own sip, getting lost in the gentle jazz of the live band that replaced the DJ earlier in evening.

This was the sake the two of you shared since the fateful night you met and nearly killed each other. The only unbroken thing left after your carnage that went on to become a inside joke between the two of you for years to come.

"May I whisper something to you?"

Oh, Koji. You nodded and watched from beneath your lashes as Koji came closer to you. One of his arms draped warmly around your shoulder as his free hand met yours.

The brush of his goatee against your cheek tickled sweetly as his pressed closer to your ear,

"I find myself...struggling to focus on the past with you so close in the present." His nose barley brushed your lobe and you were already breathless.

The feel of Koji being so close was proving to be too much. It's been so long since you've wanted to be held, to be touched--your slumbering lust rousing for his touch only.

The longing in your heart was stoked into urgency as you felt Koji's lips brush against the shell of your ear.

"You still smell so good," Koji's voice dipped into a purr pressed to your jumping pulse, "My everlasting temptation..."

You moved your neck to the side to gift him with more space to claim, "Only for you. Always and only for you, Koji."

Koji pulled you closer with a hand on the other side of your thigh, making you grin.

"Forgive me if I'm being forward, but would you care to join me in indulging in a few more delights? Aside from the good sake."

Koji's eyes glinted in the candle light and you saw how they slid across your body, the hand on your thigh starting to massage.

In this perfect moment of knowing you could finally follow Koji where he could go--you wanted nothing more in that moment than to follow the man to the elevator and beyond.

You swayed into the song of his lips and assured him, "I would love to join you, Koji."

--------

✨ending notes✨: i love me some Koji and god help me i have so many ideas for this man!🥰 I'm thinking of doing a part 2 because I don't know when to quit 🤣 Tell me what you think and comments/reblogs are always appreciated! ✨💜💕TYSM for reading!!! 💜✨💕

💕taglists💕: @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @harmshake @blowmymbackout @miyuhpapayuh @ellethespaceunicorn

[cakepoppresent]

We Could Be Great

Grayson: Your place? I thought you would take me to a bar or something

Su: I would have but you're all over gossip girl. I didn't think you would want people staring at you all night. Plus you're always welcome here

Grayson: oh...that's just great

Su: Take a seat in the kitchen, I'll get changed and make us something to eat okay?

Grayson: Oh...okay...

Su: You sound nervous. Do I make you nervous Grayson?

Grayson: Just a little

Su: Don't worry, I won't do anything you don't want to do. Understand?

While watching Su's back as he moves around in the kitchen. His mind drifts back to Gideon, he wasn't the best cook but he always tried. He didn't want to think about that right now. Su does really well in the kitchen and makes them chicken cutlets and mashed potatoes

Done with their meal Su takes Grayson over to the couch. Grayson didn't say much during dinner, Grayson usually never stops talking "You look like a drowned puppy"

Grayson: I'll stop being sad about taking a break with Gideon. Let me just throw away my feelings

Su: Grayson

Grayson: What.

Su: A break would be good for you. Give yourself some time to breathe and explore other options. You're here right now because of Gideon. He doesn't deserve your tears

Grayson's head is filled with thoughts, is it Gideon's fault? Can he really be free from his family?

Grayson: Do you really think so?

Su: I think so. Do you remember when I said I don't want you being pulled along by some loser heir? Looks like Gideon isn't being serious. Why do you need to wait? Should you be forced to feel like this? Is that fair to you?

Grayson: ..No..it's not fair

Su: That's right. It's not fair. You deserve better right? You want better right?

Grayson: I do deserve better bu-

Su takes Grayson's hands and leads Grayson to his lap. Hands moving up and down Grayson's thigh, looking deeply into his eyes. "There are no buts Grayson."

Su: It's a yes or no question. Do you deserve better?

Grayson: Yes. I deserve better

Su: Good boy. Let me show you what better is like. Yes?"

Grayson stares at Su thinking, still confused, he does deserve better? Is Su better? "Yes." Su wastes no time and his mouth is on Grayson's. It's better than what he imagined, Grayson is finally in his hands and he doesn't plan on letting go even after the "2-week" limit.

Grayson: Su wait! This is too much I can't think

Su: You think too much.

Grayson: I just need air I need space. Please take me home

It's fine, Su knows he has time he gets up and pulls Grayson to him. "We could be great Grayson. Don't think and just feel okay?"

Previous - Next

[arkclipse]

so, a bit of an update, since time is an illusion and i've been... stressed. gonna talk about mental health & my cats a bit. please send them well wishes & love.

so. about my mental health — it seems depression has been spiking once again, no surprise there. i've been a bit mentally exhausted.

and then, recently with the weather and... well, my mum was eating chicken and fed two of our cats lots of the thigh meat, which i already warned her about before and... they've not been doing too well.

their poops have been liquid / runny and i'm not sure if i'm seeing ( emeto ) but i've been seeing a lot of it. and we don't really have enough to pay for the vet for both of them, let alone all three since the one who wasn't eating chicken also hasn't been doing too great since she decided to eat cat grass like no tomorrow.

my mum also has been a bit hard to talk to about these things, plus knowing it's pretty much because of her actions ( as harsh as that is to say ) caving into their pleas for the chicken ( i feel hard on myself for the fact i wasn't angry enough to get her to stop ) and just... i'm really exhausted and stressed. physically, mentally, and emotionally.

since thursday? and so it's been more than "a couple of days" but she's persisting that we wait a bit more and was adamant about waiting and trying alternative methods. and i get it. yeah. we won't be able to buy food or anything if we take them to the vet. it'll be tough because of bills and she's been having car payments. but for fucks' sake i'm so dysregulated and a bundle of tied up nerves and i've been feverish due to all this stress. i don't know what to do.

i've cooked white rice for them, but they only ate a bit with their canned food before not wanting to eat more. at least they're having water. but i'm so fucking worried about them.

anyway, that's all for the update.

[crinkled-emotions]

28 and 29 sick prompts for Bradley please 🥰🥰🥰

Of course!!

Everyone please welcome Dee; I mentioned her in a Hangman sickfic or two recently and she's actually the character I've been writing a long term fic about since August! I have a lot of the fic planned... but as we writers know, just because you have a fic planned out doesn't always mean it's going to be written or land as well as you hoped it would 😂

This is also me, again, making sure I take care of myself by changing characters and locations.

28. "I'll try not to sneeze on you" and 29. "You have a fever sweetheart, of course I'm not going anywhere."

"Dee, I'm home!"

"In my office, B!"

Rooster kicked his boots off at the front door, tucking them on to the shoe rack as an afterthought. He put his work bag on the couch, knowing it would drive Dee crazy later, and headed down the hallway. The door to Dee's office was half open, signalling she wasn't on call with a client or her colleagues, and when he opened it he sent her a soft smile. Dee glanced up at him, her shoulders relaxing from their tense, hunched-over position. She had the look on her face, one that told Bradley she'd been elbows deep in a complicated case and frustrated.

"Hey, how was your day?" She asked, tossing a file to the side.

"It was fine, y'know; the usual. Flew some jets, embarrassed some kids, Mav embarrassed me right back to keep me grounded. Yours not over yet?"

Dee gestured to the paperwork around her and Rooster winced. He'd been buried in paperwork before, but never like Dee's legal bullshit she had to work with.

"It won't be for a while, Roos, m'sorry. I know it's my night to cook, but-"

"-are you feeling chicken or steak?" Rooster asked, moving from where he'd been leaning on the doorframe to kiss her hair.

"I would love some chicken- maybe with some of that salad you did a couple weeks ago? Do we have the ingredients for that?"

"I can make it happen. You focus on your case, I'll bring it to you."

"You're the best, B. Thank you."

"Don't sweat it."

Bradley and Dee kissed, Dee squeezed his hip, but then she went back to work. With a new plan in mind, Bradley headed for the kitchen.

-

Stomach full of pizza, Bradley flopped on to the couch, listening to Dee work away in her office. When she got stressed, he could hear her humming 5 Seconds of Summer songs. He'd never particularly enjoyed them but she said it was easy to remember their lyrics. Right as he was about to flick on the TV he heard footsteps and when he glanced up he realised she was walking around in the kitchen, looking for her stash of Chips Ahoy. Bradley cleared his throat.

"I read somewhere taking breaks is actually proven to be more productive than working late into the night."

"Roos, I don't want to talk about it, babe. Not right now."

"Okay, I just- I was about to watch the new episode of The Last of Us, but if you don't want to... maybe we could open that pint of ice cream we got last week?"

He could hear the rustling of the cookies, and then his wife sighed.

"Yeah, okay. I'm bringing ice cream and spoons so sit up."

He moved his feet back to the floor and Dee joined him on the couch, putting the ice cream on the coffee table. She leaned into his touch, eyes closing.

"Will you be really upset if I sleep through the whole thing?" She asked. Bradley immediately shook his head but he had a teasing smile on his face.

"Absolutely. Unacceptable; an offence that is grounds for divorce."

"Excuse you, you fell asleep last week watching Outer Range.”

“What can I say; Rhett looks like Bob but western and it freaks me out.”

“You didn’t ask him if he had a twin?” Dee teased. When Bradley sent her a look she rolled her eyes.

“Fair enough. C’mon, start the episode.”

Dee cracked open the ice cream and then nudged her husband. He lifted an arm and she curled up beside him, patting his thigh.

“Say ah, Roos.”

-

Dee woke with her face pressed into Bradley’s chest, listening to the soft (rather obnoxious) sound of him snoring. It was louder than usual, heavier, and she frowned as she reached up to feel his forehead. The furrow between his brows deepened and he moved abruptly to the side to cover his face when he sneezed.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to sneeze on you.”

“You okay?” She asked, huffing as she sat up. They’d somehow managed to fall asleep together, Dee’s head on Bradley’s chest. Rooster grimaced again, frowning as he put a hand to his head.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” he teased, “makes my neck hurt and not in the fun way.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dee snorted, but she was already getting up to look for the Advil.

“Stay there baby, you’re warm,” she called out to Bradley. He scrubbed at his stache.

“M... yeah, guess I’m a little warm.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve definitely got something. You haven’t been hanging out with the new guys have you?”

“Dee, my job is to train the new guys,” Rooster deadpanned. She snorted from where she was in the kitchen. When she finally had a glass of water and a couple of pills, she returned and sat on his thigh.

“You don’t feel sick though?”

“Now that you mention it... thought it was the stress, but I’ve had a headache all day.”

“Bradley...”

“You asked!”

Once he’d downed the pills and they’d managed to make the kitchen decent enough it wouldn’t make them cry tomorrow morning (it still smelled like burned chicken), the pair got into bed together. Bradley rolled on to his side and Dee pressed her face into his back, sighing as she closed her eyes.

“Baby, m’sorry, I’m just a little too warm for snuggles,” Bradley whispered. Dee snorted, scooting back a little.

“Aaaaaaaand there goes the cute moment. Love you.”

“Love you.”

-

Somewhere in the middle of the night Dee stirred, gasping as she gently pushed on Bradley’s shoulders. He’d moved in the night and was now lying on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. Dee huffed, turning her head to the side and running a hand through her husband’s hair. He wasn’t usually like this, affectionate but not accidentally pin her to the mattress affectionate. She frowned, feeling the fever running through his body.

“Roos... I need you to wake up, I think something’s wrong.”

He lifted an arm to his face, Dee narrowly missing being accidentally knocked in the nose, and then he frowned.

“Yeah...”

“You need to move, I feel like I’m about to boil.”

Bradley moved slowly, finding a cool spot on the sheets and shivering. Dee ran a hand over his back, propping herself up on one side.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” She asked. He grimaced, teeth clenching into the sheets.

“Dunno, just... I’m hot, but I’m shivering, and- and my head hurts.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Definitely not the worst, never let Hangman pour the tequila, but it’s up there...”

Dee reached into her bedside table drawer, grabbing the bottle of Tylenol and her water bottle. Bradley sat up and down the pills, wincing as he squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand to his head.

“My face hurts, Dee, why does my face hurt?”

She took two fingers and jabbed him on either sides of his nose. Rooster swore, staring at her in shock.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“Just checking. I think you have a sinus infection, B. Go back to sleep, I’ll check on you before I go to the office tomorrow morning.”

With a lot of gentle coaxing, Bradley curled up on his side of the bed and Dee lay flat on her face, listening to him get comfortable before eventually he started snoring. She was already forming a plan in her head, but she had to wait until a decent hour for it.

-

Bradley woke to sunlight threatening to take over their bedroom despite the curtains still being drawn and immediately panicked, throwing himself on to his other side to reach for his phone. Glancing at the time he kicked off the blankets, pausing before he could get up when a bout of dizziness hit him like a truck. When it subsided he realised Dee’s phone was on her bedside table- she took that thing everywhere, she had to when she was working. Rooster carefully made his way around the bed and located his favourite hoodie hanging up in their wardrobe, the one he only ever pulled out when he was feeling like shit because it didn’t fit like it used to. Once upon a time, it smelled like his biological dad; now it tended to smell like whatever detergent Dee used and his cologne. The hoodie started when he was a toddler, when he realised dad wasn’t coming home ever and his mom had to go back to work to support them. He’d suffered separation anxiety for years, between his mom and Mav. One night when he was having trouble winding down, his mom pulled out one of Goose’s hoodies and wrapped him in it. Since then, every time he missed his dad or was sick, she’d pulled the hoodie out. For the longest time, she’d sprayed his cologne on it too, but that hurt and she’d eventually stopped because it made her cry. Maverick didn’t know what cologne his best friend used, and by the time Bradley was old enough to ask his mom she was on her deathbed.

The living room was empty and so was Dee’s office. Bradley frowned and rounded the corner into the kitchen, eyebrows raising when he saw Dee rifling through their drawer of medicine by the microwave.

“Uh... morning?”

She jumped a little, turning with a soft smile to greet him.

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Not great... Dee, your case... shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Not when I woke up at least once to get you a cold compress- you don’t remember that?”

“No...?”

She burst out laughing, walking over to wrap her arms around his waist. He leaned into her touch, sighing when her fingers tangled in the bottom of his hoodie, the edges frayed from over thirty years of use.

“You have a fever, Roos, of course I’m not going anywhere. Work can wait.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Doing Something (Un)Holy: A Stain on Heaven [Part 2]

Eddie and Jean have settled into their orbits--now officially a pair. With second- first impressions and Corroded Coffins Halloween show, more than the desire to be someone else on a night designed to allow true nature to be put on display come out to play from their hiding spots.

Eddie Munson x Black Female OC (Jean)

CW: 18+ content Smut (oral female receiving, handjobs, talks of BDSM and submissive dynamics)

It's cooking up. I'm already working on a 3rd part

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

Main Masterlist

Requests for Eddie are open!

The trailer gets hot--given how tight things are, the second the heat of the oven swells, coupled with the burners and length that Jean’s been in the kitchen alone, the heat can only grow higher. The windows are opened and the door is held ajar in the hopes that some of the heat escapes into the cool breeze and the cool breeze finds its way inside, but it is undeniably hot in the Munson household. Jean uses the crook of her elbow, where the forearm and bicep meet, to wipe at her forehead and keep the water swelling on her hairline from dripping into any of the food. Something she hardly doubts anyone would care about, but still she’s working to make up her reputation. 

“Sure you don’t want any help?” 

Eddie watches Wayne hover--not in a bad sense like his uncle is worried about the trailer catching fire, but in the sense that it’s clear to Eddie that Wayne is worried about also making a good impression. He wants to be useful. 

“I’m okay,” Jean grins, turning just for a second to Wayne. 

Eddie pushes up from the couch and leans onto the small counter that extends as a divider between the living room and the kitchen. The glass bottle clinks against his rings. “Wayne, if Jean needed help she’d grow a third limb before asking.”

Jean reaches for the towel on her shoulder and tosses it at Eddie. He doesn’t attempt to duck the item, instead letting it hit him squarely in the face. “I’d grow a third and fourth limb.”

Eddie waves in her direction, the purse of his lips reading clearly to Wayne: This is what I have to deal with. 

It’s a tiny and albeit shaky laugh that Wayne gives. “It’s, uh, it’s been quite a while since anyone’s really done something like this for us. Not sure what to do with myself, really.”

“Sit. Have another beer maybe,” Jean answers, checking into one of the breasts to make sure the chicken is cooked more thoroughly. Once she’s pleased with the coloring, she starts to pile the rice onto plates, then rests the chicken on top of it. She scoops two hefty spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto each of the boy’s plates. She makes sure to get some of the gravy drizzled over to the servings too. 

A roll for each plate. Broccoli--one and a half scoops--completes the circle. It’s not a lot. She’d rather make the string beans that she originally intended, but didn’t have the cash for an additional meat product after helping her parents with the gas bill. She had to make compromises and Jean would have to be happy with them. 

“Forks,” Eddie starts, scooting around Wayne to get into the kitchen, “are in this drawer,” he directs to Jean. He opens the drawer regardless of the instruction and she gives a nod. “So are the knives and spoons and what not. Utensils you know--they all go in the same drawer.”

Jean collects the right amount of forks and knives. “Useful when they are.” They click against the plates. Her palms go damp now that’s done. But she inhales, grabs one plate in each of her two hands and holds them out to Eddie and Wayne. “Ain’t much, but I hope it’ll do.”

“This, uh, this is more than enough,” Wayne returns, taking the extended offering. “Thank you again, Jean.”

“You’re welcome, Wayne.” 

With only a small shoo, Jean gets them to settle down with their plates and she exhales. Eddie watches her, hands running down her thighs before she shakes them out. Like someone trying to shake either a cramp or nerves out. Eddie highly doubts it’s a cramp too. He’s up before he realizes it, feet carrying him a couple of feet. Jean hadn’t disappeared--Eddie knows that because he picked her up sometimes from work to make sure she got home safely at night. But the week following the confessions, she’d spent most of her time at work or at home. They talked daily to the frustration and annoyance of Wayne Eddie’s sure. But she always called, even if for five minutes. Jean probably won’t tell him what’s going on--he hadn’t gotten news of any death in town recently. As much as Eddie wants to believe things would be like a switch for Jean, it wouldn’t actually be that way. 

Eddie slips his arm between hers and her waist. He takes hold of the plate by the edge, thumb pressing the fork to stay as well. “A third arm magically appears,” he teases. 

Jean snorts and covers his wrist. Her fingers move in a swift brush motion over his pulse point. “I’m okay.”

Eddie takes hold of her hip and together they spin around. He guides her from behind towards the couch. She won’t ask for help. She won’t tell him but Eddie can still try. As they close in to the coffee table, Eddie keeps a reasonable distance between them so he can bend over to set the plate down without any trouble. Jean scoots over into the cushion Eddie abandoned to make it easier for him to sit. 

Though Eddie feels the retort bubbling in his chest, about her making it more difficult, he swallows it back down. The nerves still haven’t left her hands. But it’s cut easily by Wayne offering a compliment on the taste of the food. Jean’s gratitude is quiet, but her smile is bright. Eddie squeezes her knee in quiet reassurance before grabbing his plate. The conversation is slow at first and comes to a near screeching halt with a simple innocuous question from Wayne, “What do you do? Eddie said you graduated already?”

Jean stares for a hard moment at her plate. It would be easy to lie. “I mean, you don’t really want the truth to that,” she returns with a small laugh. “It’s embarrassing enough as is to say I do retail or sales and trying not to scare people.”

Wayne shrugs. “Gotta do what pays the bills, right?” He doesn’t push it but after getting down his last bite of his roll thinks of a better question. “What do you want to be doing?”

“Art,” Jean returns. “Painter, specifically. I make my own jewelry too. Sale to some people around Christmas time mostly.”

Wayne had seen some of her creations floating around. Some of the men at the plant talked about how their wives enjoyed the handmade and one of a kind creations. “Artistic like Eddie I see.”

Eddie and Jean share a soft smile--a small thread and maybe a good sign. “Something like that,” Jean teases. 

“I’d like to see you try an Iron Maiden solo, sweetheart.”

“Paint something other than boobs or a dick.” Jean’s retort falls before she can stop herself and the sentence ends with her slapping a hand over her mouth. The shock is clear on her face and Eddie’s amusement couldn’t be hidden by the blackest night. 

Wayna chuckles. “Watch out for her, Eddie,” he teases, watching the two of them staring at each other--clearly amused by the sentence but still hovering in the freeze of shock. 

Eddie cracks first, head falling into her shoulder and she falls back into the couch. Their laughter erupts as if someone hit play on them. “I am--I am more artistic than that!” Eddie shakes with his laughter. Only Jean--only she could. Jean covers her entire face with her hands, still shaking with her own laughter. Her snort is sharp against the walls of the trailer and sends Eddie into another fit of laughter. 

“I am supposed to be making a good second first impression,” Jean wails. There is no way to come back from a statement like that.

“Don’t worry, Jean. It’s the most we’ve laughed in a while,” Wayne answers, taking his plate into the kitchen. Jean was good about cleaning as she cooked so the dishes remaining are minimal but Wayne--he wants to leave a good impression too--rolls up his sleeves and fills the sink again with fresh water for the remaining dishes. 

“Oh, I can wash the rest of those, Wayne,” Jean returns, finally catching her breath. She’s up and scurrying into the kitchen before Eddie can even tell her she’s only eaten half her food. 

“My hands ain’t broke.”

“Neither are mine. Besides, I made the mess.” Wayne doesn’t say anything, rinsing the fork off. It’s clear he’s not giving up the spot, but then he hands the rinsed fork to her. Jean scrambles to find the dish towel and scrubs the utensil dry. Eddie realizes in the moment magic is happening--even if they don’t see it, he does and it’s all he needs. 

______________________________

“Yeah, I heard the lead guitarist is hot too which doesn’t hurt.”

Eddie snickers from beneath Jean. Her hands are steady as she applies the small bit of eyeliner that Eddie asked her to. The room’s been a buzz--trying to gauge just how many people are out for the show. The Hideout managed to score some buzz for tonight’s performance, trying to gauge how many people would be there and having heard a little buzz about it at school—it was a quiet buzz for sure but still a buzz no less. Theories were abound: People out of highschool are probably looking for something more than high school house parties to attend and with Halloween on a Saturday the Hideout asked Eddie and the band to play a special show for the festivities or maybe people were just excited to use the night as an excuse to cross over to the wild side or maybe as Jean put it those who were normally shisd about their interest could use the night to gawk. Jean can’t help the joke--it’s all too fitting she thinks as she’s working to prepare the band for their performance. 

“The guitarist’s girlfriend is hotter, so I’m sure she’s pulling a crowd too,” Eddie whispers, one hand slipping up the curve of Jean’s ass over the jeans. She’d forgone a costume though Eddie told her she could dress up if she chose too. He’d proposed it like he didn’t want to bombard her but part of him wishes he’d just asked her to wear something matching. 

Jean’s breath is soft and minty over Eddie’s face as she speaks, “Flattery will get you somewhere.”

“Hopefully in trouble,” Eddie returns, eyes still closed. 

Jean clicks her tongue, leaning to the table and grabbing an eyeshadow palette. She takes the brush and smokes out the little bit of liner so the outer corners get a sharp tip. “Maybe,” Jean returns finally. “Sure you don’t want to go all out?”

The thought stirs the small pit in the button of Eddie’s stomach. He hadn’t really gone that far with the lingerie since that night--nearly four months ago. He dabbled with the makeup, sometimes doing it himself, but most often letting Jean do it. But nothing that deep just yet. “Sure,” Eddie returns quietly. 

Jean hears it--the slight fear. If he did actually want to go that far even under the guise of a costume it probably still felt like too much. Satisfied with the smoked look on Eddie’s eyelids, she gently tips his chin back and presses a kiss to his lip. It’s sticky from her gloss. “Done.”

Eddie goes for another peck. “Thank you.”

Jean lifts up, hands pressing down on Eddie’s shoulders and then she’s working quickly to clean up the assortment she’d brought. The group had agreed that they’d stick to the a black and red look collectively--an attempt at casual but still distinct takes on demons for the festivities. They needed something to do on the cheap and Jean had agreed if anyone of them wanted to paint nails and do makeup she would do it for them. She’d painted all their nails, but only Eddie bit about the makeup. 

“So, was all but a lap dance always on the table for makeup,” someone jokes from behind Jean. She snorts at the comment, but lets it go. She hadn’t started in that position, opting to stand, but Eddie kept fidgeting and reaching for her so she gave him what he wanted. 

Eddie on the other hand gives her ass a sharp slap. The sound echoes. “Nope, only me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jean retorts, dropping the last of the makeup brushes into the bag. 

“You wound me,” Eddie huffs, but he grins. “I kind of like it.”

“You’re sick.” Jean’s tone and face are flat, but then the grin is slow to spread across her face. “I kind of like it.” Jean gives one last call for anyone that needs or wants anything before she slips out of the backroom. Though Eddie told her she could stay back with them until they went to perform, she kissed his cheek and declined. No distractions so you all can positively shred, she’d said. Eddie wonders when it will become less a distraction and more of a good luck charm to have her around. Jean leaves, one last shout of good luck falling from her.

“Quite possibly I could kill a man,” Gareth teases. He’s been in awe of the nails since Jean painted them and Eddie almost lets the secret spill--that the feeling only gets better. But he manages to swallow it back down. 

The nerves come in waves—each one getting hit after another has calmed. It’s ridiculous, they know. A crowd is a crowd they’ve learned. And it’s not like they get much attention in a town like Hawkins. It’s safer to keep expectations low. But still, the edge of wonder hits them and raises with it a bit of anxiety. The microphone echoes with a tap and they boys all linger off to the side still peeking around corners. “Happy Halloween to all the folks here tonight!” The manager booms. “We hope all you ghouls and ghosts are ready to be wild and free! To entertain and to possess you here tonight is the one, the only, the unholy, Corroded Coffin!” 

The cheer is noticeable. Eddie’s heart thumps in his throat. The boys clamber onto the stage. While it’s not quite what they might have dreamt up, there’s more bodies packed around the tables, cheering as they climb onto the stage. From the front center Eddie catches a voice that he’d tattoo into his skin if he could. His eyes search for a moment and he catches Jean in the middle of the crowd a row or two from the stage, pinkies in her mouth as she lets out a whistle. A cute little headband with devil horns on her head. It’s a genuine smile on her face amongst the river of bodies in the room. Eddie doesn’t care at that moment if everything goes to shit tonight, not with her there. And he doesn’t think it will go horribly wrong but should it, Eddie knows he won’t care. 

Gareth’s drum sticks click behind Eddie and he knows he has to get it together. It’s not even the first time Jean’s been to a show and he hopes it won’t be the last. But something feels different, as Eddie introduces the band and lets the notes of the first song hum through the amps, he can see it in the way the crowd responds--arms rising and more claps and cheers echoing out. It feels cliché to say it feels like a dream. It’s not enough to say that it feels magical. It’s not adequate to say that Eddie feels like he’s floating. Because it’s not a dream, it’s not like he’s floating. Eddie’s grounded--more so than he’s ever been, as he works every note and and lyrics out. He feels determined. It’s a crux--something that feels like it’s tipping even if it’s not really falling. It’s right on the precipice. There’s no real clue what he’s on the edge of, but it feels exhilarating as the crowd roars around them. 

Eddie doesn’t remember climbing down off the stage, if he’s honest. He just catches the ringing in his ear mostly. Though, he does remember Jean’s smile. It takes up her whole face and she’s up on her tippy toes, arms winding around his neck. “Incredible,” she whispers. “Sick, even,” she laughs. 

Eddie holds her close, pressing his face into her neck. The apple hair spray invades his nostrils. He doesn’t want to utter it—how blitzed out he feels, how he doesn’t want to ever lose this feeling. If he lets the words fall then it’s real, and it can be taken away. But Eddie falls in love with music and performing all over again. He wants this--needs it actually. The words keep clattering behind his teeth. Like they can’t get out fast enough. Eddie feels the laughter bubbling in his chest. The roar of the crowd is still echoing in his ear. “Was that all for us?” he asks around the laughter. 

Jean can practically taste the disbelief in his voice. She squeezes tighter in the embrace. “Yeah, baby, it was all for Corroded Coffin.”

The boys are loud in the streets, packing up from the gig, even in the car. Jean rides in the back of the van, purposefully, as the front of it is filled with nearly hoarse voices and laughter. Jean only wants to watch as they celebrate. She only wants to bask in the feeling of adrenaline. But it comes to a slow descent and each one of them gets dropped off one by one, taking boxes and instruments with them and still grinning. The van goes eerily quiet as Jeff is the last one to be dropped off and Jean climbs into the passenger seat with a harsh exhalation. Her bag that had the makeup and nail polish clatters at her feet on the floor of the passenger side and Eddie’s leaning across the console, lips ready to paint her cheeks with kisses. 

“I still can’t believe it.”

Jean falls into the feeling of Eddie’s lips.“Dare I say, one of Corroded Coffin’s best performances yet.”

“Yet?” Eddie questions pulling away from her cheek. 

Jean laughs, twisting in the seat. “You boys are going to go all the way to the top.”

“Men--we’re men.”

“Graduate first, then I’ll give you that distinction,” Jean teases. 

“Oh, there it goes again. That knife.” Eddie lets out a small groan before kissing Jean’s cheek again. “Feels good. But thank you--seriously. For coming, for believing.”

Jean leans up, one hand cupping his cheek. “Anytime, gorgeous.” The kiss is tender at the start, a sign of affection and care over the middle console to echo the tenderness of the pet name. But Eddie presses on, deeper, and Jean laughs, pulling away from him far enough that his seatbelt--even if it’s begrudgingly worn--is holding him back. “I think we should get out of Jeff’s driveway before we think about that.”

“If you insist,” Eddie sighs and throws the van in reverse. “You work tomorrow?”

“Open to close.”

Eddie doesn’t hide his small cringe. He hated when Jean worked the full day. Not that he didn’t get it and not that he thought it was somehow his job to make her stop and take care of her in a fully dependent sense. He just knew the full day shift would be grueling and the traffic would be slow on a Sunday, even the most deviant wouldn’t come all the way out to where she worked on a Sunday. At some point, he wondered if the shop would just close on Sundays--but maybe it did better than he assumed, if it meant that Jean still took the shift. 

“I finally got better shoes,” Jean offers in a soothing whisper. “I’ll be okay.”

Eddie nods. “Come back to my place. I’ll drop you off, bring you lunch, and pick you back up.” 

“A true gentleman,” Jean coos. “I’ll be okay.” 

“That’s your favorite phrase,” Eddie snorts. “And if I’m honest, sometimes I wonder if you’re a robot.”

“You don’t seem to distrubed by the thought of potentially having a sex with a robot or the thought that you have had sex with a potential robot.”

The neighborhoods are passing and Eddie slows just enough when he knows her turn is half a mile away that if she wanted, she could make the call and he’d make it. “What can I say? The future is now, I guess, for me. Those things are awfully realistic.”

Jean watches her street come up. The van slows but doesn’t stop. “Keep going. Unless you and Wayne are moving into the block.”

“Not yet, I don’t think. Maybe next month,” he teases and then presses down again on the gas. 

“We’ll have to get up early--so I can get back home for the shoes.”

“Why--we can go back?” Eddie states, looking ahead for the 4-way he knows is about to come up. He can make a left and pull into someone’s driveway to get back to her house. 

“No, it’s okay.” It’s too soft and if it weren’t for the fact that Eddie is attuned to every move she makes, he’d miss it. The silence lingers for a moment. With no traffic on the road, Eddie pulls to a rolling stop, then continues on until he can make the next right. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Eddie asks as the trailer park starts to come into view. 

“Dad’s lost it, since Gma died. He explodes at everything.”

Eddie takes hold of her knee, thumb gently pressing over the denim covered joint. The van rolls to an easy stop and Eddie’s quick to slip the keys out of the ignition. The funeral had only been two months ago and whenever Eddie did see or hang out with Jean she always made a point to either by over at his place or out somewhere in town. It makes more sense now as to why she’d been anywhere but home. His heart aches just a little knowing he’d been so close for so long without ever really knowing that her home life had gotten bad. 

“Sorry--totally not cool, you just had an amazing show. Sorry.”

Eddie’s quick to get out of the seatbelt and reaches for her cheek. “No, no, I asked. I asked, lovely. It’s okay.”

“I’m okay,” she whispers, then she slips from the passenger side seat and Edie scrambles to get down. She’s already at the back doors and Eddie, gingerly as he can, pushes her hands from the latches. “Your guitar,” Jean starts and Eddie stops her, palms squishing her cheeks together so much so the glossy lips pucker up like a fish. 

Eddie plants a gentle kiss to her lips. “I’ll get it in a second. But as much as you talk about being okay and that you’re fine, I want you to know that I like taking care of you. I like being there because I want to be there. Will-will you let me absolutely dote on you for just one fucking night? I know it’s going to make the earth shatter, but it’s all I need.”

Jean glares best she can at Eddie but his assault of pecks, heavily dramatized with a muah that he audibly releases makes a fit of giggle bubble up her chest. “Eds, Eds,” Jean mutters between kisses. 

“Yes?”

“Get your precious guitar and get your cute ass inside the house, because it is only a full moon that my knees are this weak.”

Eddie holds out his keys and Jean takes them, her right brow raising in the silent question. Eddie holds up one finger, to ask her to wait just a second. She does, hiking her bag higher up onto her shoulder as Eddie gets the case out of the back of the van. The night is thick and Jean tries not to think about the flutter of her stomach at Eddie’s words, I like taking care of you. No one had verbalized it like that--a desire all of their own with her at the root of it. She’d become so used to taking things on herself, figuring it out, only having her parents for the things that were expected. 

It isn’t to say her parents were bad by any means. They cared--put her in dance when she wanted to give a chance, threw birthday parties for her when she begged, let her sleepover with friends. But sometimes she felt like her world was just a corner of their corner. Jean understood in some ways it was. They were dealing with bills, keeping her fed and clothed. Jean just felt small. She felt so small for so much of her life. She wouldn’t feel that way again. She’d take care of her own shit. She’d be big and strong. She’d handle everything herself because it meant she wouldn’t feel small. 

The world tilts and before she can understand what’s happening she’s bouncing. She just manages to keep the keys in her hands as Eddie gets her up and over his shoulder. “Eddie, put me down!” she laughs, realizing the world didn’t actually tilt, just her body. She loosens her grip on Eddie’s belt, confident that he has her locked in tight.

“Get the door please,” Eddie returns, turning just a little on the step so Jean can unlock the door. She gets it open and taps his butt to let him know he can continue on. “Watch your head,” he comments.

“I’m more concerned my fat ass isn’t going to fit than my head hitting something,” she huffs, making sure to try and keep her hips down as much as possible as Eddie steps in backwards into the house. It’s a tight squeeze for a moment. 

“Suck it in,” Eddie laughs. 

“I can’t suck in my ass, love. It does not work that way.” It’s half a laugh, half a shout that falls over her throat. “Squat down some.”

They clear the door and Jean thinks it’s done. That Eddie’s going to set her down now that she’s inside. But he spins and then carries her down to the bedroom. They get through that threshold easier and Eddie sets the guitarcase down before Jean is nudged and she lets some of her weight drop and prepare for the rush of the air before her back lands into the mattress.

Eddie lowers, one knee on the bed, holding himself up with his arms over Jean’s body. It’s easy--to tease, to taunt her about the confession she uttered. But for a quick moment he spots something else flashing in her eyes--something sad. But just as quickly as it shows up, it disappears. So he sticks with his original plan, voice dripping like honey even to his own ears. “Is that all I had to do? Ask you nicely?”

Jean tries to hide the twinge of embarrassment by biting her lip and averting her gaze. But Eddie coaxes her gaze back to him with the soft stroke of his thumb over her cheek. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

Her gaze flicks up immediately and the flutter of her lashes makes Eddie’s heart leap. “Yes?” she breathes. 

“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” He doesn’t want it to be a question. But Eddie needs Jean to know that it isn’t a command. She can drop this whole conversation if she really wanted to. 

The sadness comes back. Her face falling with it as she roots into his touch. “Just tired, if I’m honest. So fucking tired all the time.”

Eddie drops head a bit more, elbow bending with the action to brush his nose over hers. Their lips brush but don’t give a proper kiss. “Yeah? That all?” 

Jean hears the question but then Eddie’s lips move to kiss her along her jaw. It's such a soft touch that she just barely registers it. A whine’s crushing her chest around all the words she wants to get out. “Eds,” she sighs. 

“I’m here.”  He wants her to say it again. Eddie needs Jean to tell him that she actually wants it, wants him to take care of her. She implied it but right now, he’s craving those words from her lips. The thought of how she’d sound succumbing to him, falling over her edge at the work of his fingers, or tongue, makes his groin stir. 

Jean reaches up, arms winding around his neck to hold him close. “Take care of me.”

If Eddie’s eyes weren’t already closed, he’s sure they’d be rolling back in his head. The sentence falls out of her in a desperate whisper. He hums in response, latching his lips now to the skin of her neck. The kisses feel like fire, but Jean revels in the feeling of Eddie’s hands slipping up her hips and under the shirt. The bed dips with their shared weight, Eddie now kneeling on the bed and over Jean as Jean arches up. Their movements are slow, like even though it burns, they don’t want to put out the flames. The slowness is a means to be consumed of their own volition. What a way to go out, if it is the end. 

Eddie pulls out of the lock first, Jean chasing his lips. Her attempts to keep Eddie close are feeble and weak as he works first to slip her shoes off and get her out of the jacket. The items are placed to the side, as if somehow tossing them has never been an option. He plucks the headband, which either fell off just now or maybe Jean was clutching it to keep it from getting it dirty or broken, off the mattress too. He can see now it’s not plastic. Delicate fabric--he’s not sure what it’s called--is wrapped around wire which creates the shape of the horns. 

“Did-did you make this?” Eddie asks, lifting the accessory.

Jean pushes up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. I like to think my costume is more The Devil’s Day Off.”

Eddie’s laughter is soft and short, but he gets the accessory off to the side safely before leaning into the table his amp ison. The chains on Eddie’s belt click, a soft rattle as the brush over the wood and he beckons her to stand up. Jean complies. “I like the way The Devil looks on her day off,” he teases. His hands are running along the hem of her shirt. “But I like her better naked and putty for me.”

Jean--for a brief moment--feels something like a fuzz settling into her brain. She doesn’t have to do anything and god, what if-- Jean nuzzles into Eddie’s embrace only for a moment to clear the thought. He wouldn’t. It’d be a little strange. Eddie tilts her head, finding one temple presented to him to kiss. “You okay, little love?”

The fuzz settles again and Jean exhales. “I’m okay,” she hum. To Eddie it sounds like a pur and he takes the hem of her shirt into his hand. She takes the cue and gives just enough space for the long sleeve to slip up and over her head. 

He takes his fingers and trail up and over the curves--the bumps and dips and rolls until he’s brushing a hand up over the cotton bra, pinching just for a moment at her nipples and then up to her throat. The tip of his thumb traces the underside of her jaw and Jean’s head goes slack at the tender caress. The contrast of their skin tones and the black polish on Eddie’s nails sparks something in his stomach--besides desire, besides the drive to consume--and it feels akin to a revelation. Jean’s giving everything to him, but he’d truly be powerless if it weren’t for her own want. The revelation does bleed and intertwine itself with the hunger. He doesn’t want to do anything to ruin her trust in him. He doesn’t want to lose the chance at something like that. 

Eddie brings Jean back to him and kisses her deeply. He’s going to consume everything she gives and then give back, give her more than he took. Eddie’s vowing to himself that he’s going to cater to every whim and though the words aren’t uttered, they still matter. Jean knows her panties are soaked. The moment Eddie gets her to lay back on the bed and starts to tug the denim down from her legs, she’s laughing at herself. “What’s so funny?” Eddie questions, hair falling into the periphery of his vision as he looks up to Jean. 

She parts her legs more for him and he catches it--at first the scent, but then the patch is apparent against the gray cotton underwear. “Drowning,” is all Jean manages to get out because the other part of the thought is clear now, as it stains her panties. 

“Oh,” Eddie groans. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Without much thought Eddie dips his head between her thighs, tongue pressing to the dampness even for just a drop of her taste. Jean shudders at the feeling of his warm tongue over her. Eddie sucks hard where he knows her clit is tucked away and the moan Jean release echoes around the room. He sucks hard again and she makes the same sound, this time fingers tangling in his hair. He laps at her over the underwear for only a moment more before he moves to kiss the inside of her thighs. He sucks a couple hickies into the tender flesh and then peels the panties away from her. 

The air is cool only for a few moments and it is cut by the warmth of Eddie’s tongue running one, then two, then a third strip up the length of her. She’s going to make a mess of his sheets and she wants to tell Eddie, but his mouth works over so well that she never gets the words out. He takes over buck with patience, stroking over her thighs to soothe the ache. He knows, when she twitches, hips raising to meet his tongue, that she’s trying to chase down her high. The thing he wants more than Jean just to organsm is to enjoy the journey. 

He detaches his lips to speak, “Deep breath for me.” He watches the rise of her breast and then the subsequent deflation as she lets it out. “Atta girl. Keep breathing for me.”

Jean takes in another deep breath and as she exhales Eddie’s lips are kissing her clit and she squeals. The reprimand, breathe, is quick and she lets her lungs press out taking in all the air she can before releasing it. Eddie’s touch is electrifying, but it turns more from shock into a deep pleasure and she settles into a rhythm of breathing through the pleasure and her body feels like it’s going to sink and burst all at the same time. 

“God,” Jean huffs at the feeling of Eddie slowly working her open and open with his fingers pulling her completely wide open and his tongue dancing along her entrance. “Shit,” she exhales and then inhales again, loving the way her body is hanging between the extremes. 

Eddie hums as he catches the spasms against his lips. He’s not even sure if she knows she’s doing it--clenching around nothing, but he’s elated to hear the way she sighs above him. He takes one hand and moves to slip two fingers into her. Where he expects her to tense, lock his head with her legs, she only twitches and clenches before exhaling deeply and her body relaxes. 

“So good for me,” he whispers, looking up at her through his lashes. Her breasts sit round at the top of her stomach. He watches her gut twitch in time with the spasms of her core around his fingers. But she keeps fighting against the inclination to tense. He watches every inhale. Eddie finds the one one hand she’s got clutching his sheets and works so her fingers thread through his. 

Jean’s lost--she’s sure of it. The wave of her orgasm is hard and blinding. Her mouth opens and she wants to scream-- maybe she does. But then she can’t tell what’s going on anymore. It’s just the pure fire of ecstasy consuming her, flesh to marrow. When she blinks back to reality, she’s not even sure if it’s reality. Her body is shaking, of its own accord and she can only seem to chat profanities. “Shit, oh fuck, fuck, shit, Eddie. I-shit, can’t. Damn. Eds, gorgeous. Shit.”

“I got you, baby. You’re okay,” Eddie returns, stroking the side of her face. He turns her body into his and she whines. “Ssh, it’s okay.”

It takes a solid minute of the warmth of Eddie to make Jean land back into the right perception of reality. Eddie’s room. His voice. His warmth. Eddie’s bed. His posters. His t-shirt. Jean tries to move to get in closer and the pressure on her clit makes her whimper. It’s almost blinding, almost too much. Eddie’s room. His voice. His thumb brushing at her cheek. “Am I crying?” she asks. It feels like she might be. 

“Ssh, it’s okay,” Eddie returns. “You’re okay. Take your time,” he encourages. 

Jean inhales. Eddie’s scent--detergent mixed in with the hints of old cigarette smoke with a thin layer of the old cologne she bought that clings to the shirts from the repeated sprays. “Thank you,” she mumbles into his chest. 

“Oh, we’re not through yet,” Eddie returns with a laugh. “But you are so welcome.”

“Eddie, I just saw stars,” Jean laughs. 

“Yeah, but you ain’t see heaven.”

“It’s devil’s night. Don’t you mean hell?”

Eddie shakes his head, still pressing her close to his chest. “No, sweetheart--we’re going to absolutely burst hell wide open but we’ve got to taint heaven first.”

Jean ponders for a moment how they’re going to do that. But after another minute she’s too distracted by the sight of Eddie’s neck and only has the thought that she wants to mark it. So she slithers up, lips latching to the pake skin of Eddie’s neck until she’s sure she’s littered several red and blossoming hickies to the muscle. Eddie revels in the feeling, the way between kisses more gratitude falls from Jean’s lips, the way she clings to him. 

His clothes are stripped next--slow because Eddie keeps interrupting with kisses over her neck and chest. The bruises don’t show up as easily on her skin as his, but that doesn’t mean Eddie doesn’t try to mark her as his in such visual ways. It’s nice to take this slow, not to be rushing with each other’s body. They can make out all the freckles and moles, giggling into the kisses when the touches are so light they tickle. 

Jean faces the wall, back pressed into Eddie’s chest. Her leg hitched just a little as Eddie slides into her. The hum from Jean is swallowed by the groan that Eddie releases. She can’t even hear the blissed out mutterings of Eddie because her blood is thrumming in her ears. Her skin feels too hot and ready to burst but she pushes back into Eddie’s thrust. She still craves the feeling of tipping yet again over the edge. It feels selfish--and Jean knows it’s the part of her brain that’s not used to this, not used to letting go completely in any situation. But here she wants to. Here she wants to just for the briefest of moments let go completely. 

The thought that she wishes she didn’t have her hands to control or sight blinks through her mind. A slight fuzz like before but more clearly around is the the thought she hadn’t let herself think earlier. What if she just let Eddie use her? What if she was a play thing just for a moment? She’d have the peace of not having a single thought. The more Jean thinks about it, the more Jean imagines how it might feel to become just a doll to use, the more she wants it. She lets her dance with the fantasy continue as Eddie kisses over her skin. How pretty she could be fucked out and tied down, blind to whatever is coming next. There’s no reason to think. No reason to worry. Because Eddie would understand, wouldn’t he? He’d keep her safe, like he did tonight. Like he did every night they shared and anytime they were together in and out of the bedroom. 

And that’s the thing--Jean feels safe with Eddie. She has no reason not to feel that. 

“You with me, sweetheart?”

The question causes Jean to blink back to her surroundings. The snap of his hips has stopped, hands tracing her hip. “Yea-yeah, I’m here.”

“Tired?” Eddie returns. He won’t point out that she most definitely wasn’t. Or even if she was, he got worried that she’d changed her mind. 

“I-I’m okay.” Jean looks over her shoulder and tries to go for a kiss, but she doesn’t miss the quizzical quirk to his brow. 

While Eddie gives into the kiss, he does pull out and moves so he’s pushed up onto his elbow to look down at her. “You don’t have to lie. If you’re not here, don’t want sex anymore, you can tell me. Doesn’t hurt my pride or feelings.”

Jean shakes her head, turning to face Eddie completely on her side. She can see the work of her kisses turning purple on his skin. She traces over one that’s aligned just a hair off from his trachea. “I-” The sentence falls incomplete into the mattress between them. 

Eddie takes in the pull of her brow. “You what?”

“It’s-” Part of Jean’s brain is still fuzzy with arousal, still aching for release, but she wants to flip the switch. Eddie wouldn’t judge her. “I want to be useless.”

“Useless?” Eddie questions. “I think your circuitry is fried, lovely.”

Jean snorts, head dropping into his chest. “No, you idiot. It’s like how you wanted to be pretty with the lingerie,” she starts. “I want you to do whatever you want to me. Use me and my body however. Tied up and-and blindfolded or something. I don’t really know. I just--I think I’d like it.”

“Oh.” Eddie was not expecting that when he asked Jean to spill her desires, tell him what’s going on inside her head. The word hangs and almost instantly Eddie cringes at the way it sounds when Jean winces. “No, no, sorry. I-shit. No. Not a bad ‘oh’ swear to it.”

Jean can only nod and wish she’d let Eddie drop her home at home to avoid this awkwardness. “Just-we can forget about it.”

Eddie sees it, the way she’s about to back away from him so he plants an arm around her waist and tugs her into his chest. Her breasts rise and fall into his chest and though he’s definitely noticing the pert nipples, he keeps his focus on Jean. “I can’t. You’re safe with me. Tell me more--what do you want?”

“It’s--it’s weird.”

“I am the King of weird,” Eddie returns. 

“We can just finish--”

Eddie feels himself losing her. But he holds tighter to Jean. “No. You’re distracted and using sex just to let whatever tension is hanging around resolve. Won’t have it. Besides, I’m soft now. So that option is kind of out of the window.”

Jean shouldn't, but the small bout of laughter shakes her. Her soft giggles eases some of Eddie’s worries. “You can get hard if I breathe on you.” The number of times she’s noticed a semi hard-on, or full erection while they just happened to be sharing the same space is ridiculous. 

“While accurate,” Eddie starts with a laugh, “I’m more concerned about you.”

Jean is slow to bring her gaze up. Eddie’s big doe eyes drip with concern and are full of clear intrigue. “It’s weird, though, isn't it?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No, not to me. Tell me--why do you want me to use you?” 

“I just--I have this fantasy of just having to surrender. I don’t know. Just want someone I feel safe with to take over fully.”

“And blind-blinded?” Jean nods. “Tied up?” She gives another nod. Eddie takes a moment, fingers running up and down her spine. He is utterly quiet. No smart quip, just thoroughly considering something. “When you say whatever I want, is there a limit? Like there’s some things I can think of that I wouldn’t want to do if you weren’t okay with it, you know?

“There might be, I don’t really know. But I trust you, Eds. I do.” Jean can hear how desperate her statement falls. She’s practically begging. “I just-I don’t know. I want to try it. Please.”

Eddie groans. “Oh, I do love the sound of you begging, Jean.” And the evidence settles between them. 

Jean laughs at the growing erection before slapping at his chest. “See! I told you.”

“Yeah, we all know I’m whipped for you, okay? Quite literally it’s old news.” Eddie traces her jaw. “We can give it a try sometime. But,” Eddie emphasizes, titling her chin up so her gaze is locked on his, “you have to promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much. I mean it Jean. I don’t want to hurt you if we do that, if you give me complete control.”

“I will. Promise.”

“I swear if you don’t--”

Jean interrupts him with a kiss. Thank God, Jean thinks. Of course Eddie would understand. He wouldn’t judge her. They weren’t the type to really judge. But it’s still a relief to hear Eddie settle in and agree to give it a try. “I promise I will. Now, should I assist with this?” she questions hand grasping at Eddie’s hardened length. “Or?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter close. Her grip is confident and steady on his cock. “As-” he exhales shakily, “as much as I want to say yes, this is supposed to be about you.”

Jean hums. “Playing with your cock can be for me, you know? Who said it wasn’t? Also, it can be a thank you.” Thank you for listening, thank you for being willing to give it a try. Thank you for being you. And it’s silly maybe not to utter those words out right. Jean knows Eddie would appreciate hearing them. It just feels foreign on her tongue a little. Like she’s sure she would stumble over them if she were to actually put sounds behind them. 

Eddie takes a deep breath to find resolve again. Jean’s hands are speeding up over him. Just as quickly as he seems to find the words to tell Jean to stop, he loses them. “Hey, oh fuck,” he hums, hips rocking just a little into her grasps. The pressure of their bodies together aiding to the friction as well. Eddie’s not going to last long no matter what. But he hates how quickly he can become puddy in Jean’s hands. A ragged huff leaves his lips and exhales over Jean’s lips. If she could, she’d swallow it down for him. 

“Cum for me, please,” she whispers against his lips. 

“Fuck, yes, okay,” Eddie whimpers out as Jean works over him. The pump of her hand is just enough pressure, just enough teasing over his slit. “Jean,” Eddie groans, feeling the muscles of his stomach tightening. It’s always so easy with her. He makes a mess of her first, hips stuttering until all the last of his seed is emptied out. 

Eddie kisses her, still a bit hazy, and Jean’s grip is still steady so much it starts to hurts. When he hisses, head dizzy from the sting of the pain feeding into the pleasure, Jean lets him go. She sends a wink up at him as she licks off her fingers. “There it goes--the stain on heaven,” Eddie chuckles. 

__________________________________

“Make a list.”

Jean blinks, watching the tiny notebook land on the counter. Beside them, Eddie gently places down a brown paper bag. Jean had just enough time once she got home to shower, change, and then head to work, Eddie dove behind her--insisting that he make sure she got there safely and that no one caused a ruckus while she opened the store. Once it was clear, he left making it well known to the chilly air around them that he’d be back around noon with lunch. True to his word, Eddie is here now, unearthing the sandwich, apple and chips he’s thrown together for her. 

“Make a list of what?”

The store, as it sometimes feels lately, is empty. But on a Sunday, Jean’s not that shocked. The late afternoon will pick up she knows for those souls that dare defile a holy day. If it matters to them at all, which she doesn’t really think it does, though she knows like everyone else a small town like Hawkins definitely puts a clear emphasis on church on the surface level. 

Eddie brings out a bottle of water from his pocket. “Since you refuse to drink water unless I make you,” he teases, setting it down next to the assortment of food. “And a list of what you want me to do to you.”

There’s something behind the words and Jean thinks she knows what it is, but she wants to hear Eddie say it. “Do to me?”

Eddie cracks open the bottle and hands it to her, a sign for her to drink. She obeys the command. “Atta girl. And yes, a list of things you want me to do to you. I believe, and I quote, you ‘want to be useless.’ If I’m misunderstanding, then please, do tell.” It doesn’t feel strange to talk shop like this about their sex lives in the store. Eddie doesn’t really care if the bell over the door chimes and someone walks in. And maybe it’s easier because it’s Jean’s fantasy. It’s her needing him to coax this desire out of her to fruition and not the other way around. They are each other’s loopholes. 

Jean grins around the swallows. “Okay.”

Eddie turns, looking over the toys, paddles, and lingerie on display. “Has anyone come in since I left?”

“A couple people who were trying to not be seen by the church crowd. Give it a couple hours and once it gets dark more people will show you.”

“Did you really mean it?” His question is barely a whisper. “Last night--did you mean what you said?”

“About wanting you to use me?”

Eddie nods, slowly raising his gaze to hers. She steps out from the register and stands toe-to-toe with him. “Let God smite me to smithereens right now if I was lying last night.”

He waits. Barely a second and a half, but still enough a pause to let any lightning that decides to strike to hit and then he takes her hand. “I just--I wanted to be sure. That’s a lot of trust, you know?”

Jean nods. “I know. Good thing I trust you.”

Eddie’s chest squeezes around the phrase, I trust you. She’d said it last night too. He’s grateful to hear it, because God only knows what he’d do to himself if she didn’t. The words--hearing Jean say this without the heat of the moment settles Eddie’s resolve. She does in fact mean it. 

Their kiss is short, but sweet, interrupted by the chime of the door. Jean turns only to greet whomever walked in. A couple, most likely older given by the beard the man sports. Regulars, Jean knows though she doesn’t know anything about them personally. For obvious reasons. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

They smile and give a wave in return. “I’m sure we know the store just as well as you do,” the woman laughs and then they head over to where whips hang on the back wall. 

Eddie watches only for a moment before facing Jean again with the quirk of his brow. She can only laugh, swatting at his chest. “Naughty ones aren’t they?” he whispers. 

“God, you’re ridiculous. Did you eat, by the way?”

“Oh, I’m good,” Eddie returns. It comes quickly and Jean knows. Eddie probably was trying to spare what they had left for Wayne and rather than fixing something for himself is passing his portion on to her. A game two of them can play. She finds the sandwich on the counter and tears it in half, a little hard due to the mayo, but it gets roughly in half. 

Eddie doesn’t miss how she gives him the slightly larger half either. Maybe it’s less about loopholes and more about the fact that their pieces fit together. The shared lunch passes in tufts of laughter. The patrons are in and out relatively quickly, coming in on a swift errand, and then there’s just Eddie and Jean working on their halves of the sandwich--bologna and mayo, but it does the job. 

“Do you cook often?” Eddie inquiries around the last bite of his half. 

“I try to. Learned from my mom. Hard now that I’m working all the time.”

“Could you teach me? Like I can make pasta and breakfast food and stuff. But like fancier things.”

Jean gives a nod, licking the small spurt of mayo that dripped onto her thumb. “Yeah, I can give you a hand. What are you planning anyway? You want me to make a list and help you cook? What’s going on?”

“It’s for when we give your fantasy a go. I know it won’t be a lot but I want to make it special.” Eddie pops open the bag of chips, stealing one of the sour cream and onion powered item before holding the bag out to Jean. It’s her favorite flavor though Eddie keeps trying to convert her to salt and vinegar. 

“You don’t have to do all that, you know. I’m not asking you to be an expert, just you caring enough to try is enough.”

Eddie shakes the bag and Jean goes in for a handful. “You did a lot for me.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Damn, and I was hoping to finally win something in my life right after I’ve won the heart of my girlfriend.”

Jean scoffs, teeth crunching into the chip. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you shouldn’t speak with your mouth full.” Jean retaliates by sticking out her tongue. 

Eddie listens to the scratch of Jean’s pen from above him. Rather than leaving to only have to come back and waste gas, he asked for a spare chair and plopped himself down next to the counter, flipping through the store’s collection of soft pornographic magazine. Every so often he rotates the glossy pages to get a better angle and look at the pair of tits, but it’s mostly something just to pass the time. “I used to do better than this in middle school,” Eddie taunts, holding up a magazine to Jean for her to look at it. 

She looks up from her list. List is being generous in description, if she’s honest, with the doodles and circles she’s been going over. “I mean those are nice boobs.”

Eddie re-evaluates the photograph. They are nice and round, hanging a bit like teardrops. “Prefer yours,” he concludes and then flips on. 

“Why, thank you. I prefer yours too.”

Eddie holds up his middle finger without even looking up. Something soft presses on it followed by warmth and wetness. “That had better been your tongue and not something else.”

“Guess you’ll never know,” Jean retorts. The pen drops from her hands. The circles stare back at her. She’s not sure how to articulate what she wants in just a list. A list feels too dumbed down, but she gets the intent. It’s supposed to make it clear. It’s supposed to make sure that Eddie doesn’t cross a line. She looks back to the small pad in front of her and sighs. Articulating has never been Jean’s strong point. She’d much rather show it. 

Pushing away from the counter, Jean slips behind the black curtain. She heads for the boxes of magazines that they usually ship out for orders that customers don’t want to pick up. Would it be ridiculous? Would Eddie, upon seeing what she was talking about, worry that she was pushing too far on the edge of the envelope. Jean finds the magazine and carries it back to the front, clutching it to her chest. 

“I suck at making a list,” she starts, approaching Eddie slowly. 

“You’ve been making circles for like an hour. I was starting to wonder when you’d just admit it.” There’s no malice in his tone. There’s a bit of humor to the words, too, that Jean can detect. Eddie sits up straighter in the scene, waving her forward. His hands tap lightly at his thighs. “What do you have?”

Jean settles down, sitting so her body is turned into his. Eddie spreads wider to accommodate her, her knees pressing into his thigh. He wraps an arm around her waist to keep her steady. “Sort of like this,” she starts, flipping slowly through the images. Tied up, gags, some of it looks like rope. She’s not entirely sure, given that she spends most of her time just packaging the items up when needed and not worrying or fussing too much about what’s inside. She peeks occasionally, which is why it caught her interest, but she didn’t go deep diving. 

Eddie nods, taking the magazine into his grasp. “Guess I’ve got some studying to do.” He gives a soft exhalation of laughter. “Of course off school premises.” 

“Of course.” Jean’s tender as she hooks some of Eddie’s hair behind his ear. “It doesn’t--it doesn’t have to be a lot. I mean it.”

“Hush. I’m studying,” Eddie returns with a toothy grin before mouthing over her chin. It results in lots of giggles Jean trying to push him back by his shoulders, but being too weak by her own laughter. He wishes she didn’t consistently try and downplay the things that made her excited. He wishes he could convince her that it stirs a little bit of desire in his gut as he looks through the images. He wants to make sure it doesn’t go too far, but still the prospect is still exciting. It was like when she approached him with the lingerie. They can reciprocate desires, share things that they didn’t think others would understand. Because they would--with each other, they would always understand.  

Later in the evening, after getting Jean home safely and returning to the trailer, Eddie reads over the list. He’d put one together after looking through the magazine as Jean helped the last few customers for the night. One of them being someone who’d been dared to come into the shop by his friends and make a purchase to prove he’d come. It was only slightly awkward as the guy recognized Eddie from the performance the night before--he had a face that Eddie would remember so he assumes the kid isn’t from around here, but old enough to get into the Hideout. Possibly a friend of a friend. It felt nice to be recognized but the setting didn’t help much at all. And all the while Eddie scratched over the pad he’s brought for Jean with his own ideas brewing. 

His eyes skim his scratchy handwriting.

Silks (or silk adjacent)

blind fold (or blind fold adjacent)

pillows (for knees)

gag?

paddle or whip?

safe word (HIGH priority)

There would be some improvisation of course on their behalf. Their budgets were only so big in their current circumstances. But it’s a start.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

26 for Sia and Sam!!!

Making Dinner - Intimacy Prompt

For Siobhan Kelly (OC) and Sam Drake - Uncharted

"Cock-a-whaty?" He stared at her with a lopsided grin, his eyebrow raised as far as it could go. He rested against the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched to meet her eye level.

She tied the apron around her back and sighed heavily. "Cock-a-leekie." Looking over her shoulder she could see how absolutely pleased he was with his own joke. "It's a bloody soup, ya dirty feck."

"Now Sia, you can hardly blame a man when a word like that comes spilling out of a pretty woman's mouth." His cheeky grin only spreading wider on his lips.

"What, leek?" She smirked up at him, blue-green eyes dancing with mischief.

"Ha. So what exactly is in this soup?" He stood up tall, his back aching from forcing himself to stay so small.

"Exactly what it sounds like." She mumbled into the fridge as she grabbed the ingredients.

His eyes went wide, hands naturally drifting to cover himself. He was sure it couldn't really be what she meant, but she also ate blood sausage for breakfast and called it black pudding.

She turned to find him looking defensive. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph." She pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Cock as in cockerel, Samuel. It's feckin' chicken." She shook the bag of chicken thighs at him.

"Praise the lord." His hands returned to resting on the counter. "And leeks then, I assume."

"MENSA here we come." She slid him the cutting board and a knife. "You can handle the veg."

"Yes, boss." He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Turning to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

She grabbed the dutch oven and placed it on top of the stove with a heavy thud, clicking on the gas and lighting the flame. Frying the chicken thighs, the sounds of their sizzling flesh filled the kitchen.

"You know what I think always sets the mood?"

"What, love?" She asked, expecting some sort of quip from the fast talking Bostonian.

"Music." He headed into the living room and turned on the stereo. "Got any requests, chef?"

She didn't answer, the sound of the cooking chicken drowned him out.

"Guess it's up to me," he said to himself. Popping open a cd case he slid it into the stereo's cd drive. His head bobbing to the Cult as the opening chords of 'She Sells Sanctuary' began.

"Are ya helping me in here or not?" She called from the kitchen.

"Coming."

She gave him a quick glance as he came back into the kitchen, tucking her hair back behind her ear.

He stood beside her and chopped the leeks in bunches of thick rounds, though his eyes were barely focused on his work. Instead, he couldn't help but notice the soft sway of her hips and the little shuffle of her feet as she flipped the chicken in the pot, dancing along to the music while stuck at the stove.

One year, twelve whole months, to finally get them here. She'd been threatening to cook for him for months, tired of seeing him eat nothing but pub food. "You might not like it, I know most people like to make fun of British and Irish food. All meat and potatoes, no flavour…all that shite. But you can't survive on ale and sausages forever. How long since you've had a vegetable?" She'd looked up at him through her glasses, reflecting the light back at him. She always seemed to care about his well-being, more than anyone else. She tended to his wounds when he came stumbling back from an assignment and was the first to offer him a Tylenol when he was dealing with a hangover.

She was more than he deserved.

"What're you lookin' at?" She asked, giving him the side-eye.

He'd been staring at her a little too long. Wouldn't be the first time she'd caught him doing that and she was always happy to call him out on it.

"You."

"Why?"

Her hair had fallen into loose waves, slipping free of the bobby pins she used to tuck them back. Her glasses pushed up onto her forehead. He had memorised every freckle that was scattered across her skin.

"Why not?"

"Stupid eegit." A flush rose up her cheeks, not only from the heat of the pot she was stirring.

She grabbed the chopping board and dropped the cut leek tops into the pot, along with bacon, carrots and celery. Mixing it to brown them.

He leaned over her shoulder looking down into the pot. "God, that smells good."

She pressed her head back against his chest. "Bacon'll do that."

"Smells almost as good as you." He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed kisses to her cheek.

His stubble rubbed at her skin as he nuzzled in against her neck.

"Don't make me beat you off me with me wooden spoon," she chuckled.

"Message received, loud and clear." He reached into the pot and grabbed a slice of carrot popping it into his mouth. Licking his fingers with a smirk.

"You are so much trouble, Samuel Drake." She smacked the back of his hand with her spoon playfully.

"Guess the nuns should've been more strict with me."

"I'll be feckin' strict with ya." Plunking the spoon back in the pot, she grabbed him by the tee shirt and lifted up on to her very tip toes to kiss his chin.

He looked over the top of her head at the steam rising from the unwatched pot. "Be careful you don't burn your stock, Sia."

Looking up at him through her lashes, she grabbed the bottle of white wine on the counter pulling the cork out with her teeth and poured the liquor over top of the vegetables without taking her eyes off of him. "I've done this before, I'll have ya remember."

With a wink she turned back to the stove and started to scrape at the browned bottom of the pan. Adding the chicken back into the pot, stirring quickly and then pouring water on top. She placed the lid on top and lowered the heat. "And now we wait."

"How much time have we got?"

"Forty minutes."

"More than enough time for me to make all this worth your while."

She pressed her hand to her hip as she rested against the counter. "What kinda girl do you take me for?"

"One who's far too good for me." He smirked, the crow's feet that hugged his warm brown eyes crinkled.

She pressed her finger to his chest. "And don't ya forget it."

[house-of-slayterr]

Dinner Disaster:

Hannibal Family pt. 11: @iloveslasher @charliedawn

Peter’s POV:

Newt was radiantly excited, and I wanted to join them in that joy. But no matter how hard I tried, I simply couldn’t match their energy. Why should I care that their sisters come to visit? She abandoned them, allowed them to be absurd. She’s a coward, and frankly I didn’t want to go downstairs for dinner. But then I look at Newt and how excited they are to see her and I feel bad. I’d at least attempt to be nice.

I trailed after them, following them down to the dinning room. Whatever uncle Hannibal made smelt delicious. At least I could look forward to the food. I don’t know why I was taken aback when I saw her. She looked so much like Newt, of course she did. They shared DNA, they shared blood. Newt ran over to her and engulfed her in a hug.

“We’ll hello, did you enjoy your nap?” She asked.

Her voice was smooth and strong, entirely unlike Newt who spoke soft and fast. Newt’s speech patter was more like a rambled stutter, which got worse if they were excited. But it wasn’t nerves, they just thought too fast sometimes. But her words seemed carefully calculated and lacked any sort of stern authority. Her eyes met mine.

“You must be Peter, your uncle and bother have already told me so much about you.” She greeted.

It was polite, I’d give her that. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak.

“Peter, I believe our guest asked you a question.” Uncle Hannibal warned.

“Really, I haven’t heard much about you.” I settled for.

Morgan sent me a glare as he set the table.

“I don’t talk much about home.” Newt mumbled as the pulled away.

“It’s ok little bug, I’m not upset at you. I believe people should be allowed to make their own first impressions.”

We all sat down for the meal, Newt beside me as usual, and Serenity across from me. I noted Uncle served her the same thing he and the others were eating. Did she know? Or was this some sort of test, seeing how she’d respond. It took Will a long time before he ever knew what he was eating.

“So, Newt, I hear you’re a vegetarian now a days”. Serenity tried to make conversion.

“Peter is, I just sort of eat whatever he’s having. It’s not that I have any active emotional stakes in it. It’s simply practical.”

“We’ll I do hope your meal is as lovely as ours, Dr Lecter I must say this is the best cooking I’ve ever had. You never truly get used to the university cafeteria food. It should honestly be illegal the things they consider food there.” She joked.

“Ah yes, I remember university meals. I used to bribe the chef at our school to let me use the kitchen after hours and pack my lunch for the next day.” Morgan replied.

“You cook as well?”

“Not nearly as much as uncle, but I do enjoy it from time to time. It is rather relaxing.”

I narrowed my eyes at my brother. What was his game here? I knew flirting when I saw it, and Morgan did not flirt often. I rolled my eyes at him, before Kevin sent a warning kick from under the table.

“And what about you Kevin, do you cook?”

“Oh, he’s not allowed in the kitchen.” Newt giggled. “Though I guess neither am I. I’m afraid there aren’t enough fire extinguishers in the world to handle the both of us.”

“Hey! I only set fire to my chicken nuggets one time!” Kevin grumbled.

Serenity laughed at that. Another thing that made her different from her sister. Her laugh wasn’t nearly as joyous, it was bland and unimaginative. Nothing to be remembered.

“Morgan banned me from the kitchen after I accidentally sliced my palm open and he had to give me seven stitches in the middle of the night.”

“You always were clumsy.” Serenity commented.

I don’t know why her comment angered me. Who was she to talk about Newt like that? Like they were some sort of screw up. Or something to be embarrassed of.

“Peter, please eat your food. It’s going to get cold.” Uncle warned.

His tone was stern, letting me know I’d be in trouble if I didn’t listen. Newt gently placed a hand on my thigh under the table, squeezing my knee. I tried to tune out most of the conversation unless it was directly aimed at me. I wanted nothing more than to be upstairs, watching a movie with Newt before bed.

“How are classes going?” Newt asked.

“Let’s just say on a scale of Legally Blonde to Better call Saul, I’m about somewhere between Daredevil and and Breaking Bad.”

“Yikes, that bad?” They giggled.

“I’m nor sure I followed any of that.” Morgan pipped up.

“Serenity is a Law student, all the characters she listed are either Lawyers or deal heavily with the law.” Newt explained.

“Law school?” Uncle asked, I could tell his was trying to hide his impressed tone.

“Youngest in my class. I was able to trick the college into allowing me to attend classes since I was 16.”

“So you’re quite smart then?” Morgan asked.

I glared at my brother again. Why was he complimenting her.

“I suppose that’s what that would mean, yes.”

“What about the professors? Are they cool?”

“I don’t think any Lawyers are particularly ‘cool’ but, if you’re asking if they are good at there jobs, then yes.”

“Least favourite subject?”

“Probably the Criminal Law class, it’s mostly just about glorifying cops, and the most basic information on how they work. Or at least, what their job is supposed to be.”

“You dislike cops?”

What was this, twenty questions? Why was he so invested in getting to know her? She’s nothing special, not like Newt was. She was… boring.

“I dislike most of the American justice system. But the biggest change comes from those on the inside, so I guess if you’re can’t beat them, join them.”

“What is it about the justice system you dislike miss Serenity?” Uncle asked.

“It’s entirely impractical, most cops protect the people with the most money, the laws really aren’t in place to protect the little guys like us. That’s when I graduate, I’m going to be doing mostly civil cases, I refuse to be a lawyer for some big corporate company.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“What about you Newt, what have you been up to in my absence.”

“Oh, me? Ok- umm…”

“Newt does really like talking about themself very much.” I stepped in to help.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, there’s, there’s not really much to tell I guess. Nothing exciting like you.”

“That’s not true.” Kevin said.

We all looked at him bewildered. This was the first time he spoke all evening, and Kevin wasn’t one to speak much during things like this. He knows he has no impulse control, so he stays quiet in public.

“You just don’t want to tell her what you did.” He grinned.

“Kevin” Hannibal warned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, you just don’t want to remember.”

“Kevin I’m going to have to ask you to leave the dinner table if you’re not going to behave yourself.”

I saw the glint in his eyes and began to worry. Why was he doing this right now? Uncle worked very tirelessly to help Newt repress that memory, they weren’t ready to handle it.

“Don’t you dare.” I warned.

“No, no. I want to hear what Kevin has to say. What has my little sibling been up to?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” His grin widened. “They killed your fa-“

“That’s enough Kevin! My office, now!” Hannibal seethed.

I was about five seconds away from jumping over the table to strangle him. Kevin pushed his chair out and exited the room, Hannibal following shortly after. That just left me, Newt, Morgan and Serenity. Serenity turned to Morgan.

“Is that true? You failed to mention that in your little explanation earlier.”

“I- I…” Newt tried.

Their hands began to shake, which wasn’t a good sign. That only happens when they got really anxious. I attempted to reach for their hand under the table but they pulled away.

“Peter is that true? Did I- why would I-“

“Just breath ok?”

“I don’t want to breath Peter, I want answers! I don’t don’t understand. Wouldn’t I remember doing something like that? Did I black out? Am I dangerous? Did I hurt anyone else?”

Fuck, this dinenr went to shit quickly.

“Morgan, please take our guest to the other room.”

He gave me a swift nod.

“Please, follow me Miss Serenity.”

Serenity looked between me and my brother. I gave her a firm, disgruntled look. I was pissed, and I wasn’t sure if it was more are her or at Kevin.

“Natalie I’m-“

“It’s Newt. Don’t call them that!” I yelled.

“Please just go with Morgan, Wren. I can’t do this. I can’t-“

Morgan ushered her into the living room, and I turned my complete attention to Newt.

“Ok deep breath, do what I do.”

They nodded. We took a few deep breath together until the colour in their face returned.

“Peter, why would Kevin say that?”

“Because you did. You weren’t equipped to deal with it so Hannibal has been helping you forget. We were just trying to protect you. I’m sorry.”

“And my mother?”

“We framed her for it. She wasn’t kind to you Newt, she had to go. You trusted Hannibal to handle it and he did.”

“Am I- am I a bad person Peter?”

It made me sick to see the tears rubbing down their face right now. It was something I never wanted to see again after that night. They were usually so calm and care free.

“Of course not. We’re all saw it as self defence, because that’s what it was ok. He hurt you, he hurt you a lot and he deserved what happened to him. If you hadn’t I- I would have!”

“What?”

“He needed to be out of your life. And I just want to protect you.”

“You’d kill for me?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

I gave them a gentle smile and they finally allowed me to grab their hand.

“Newt, you’re my best friend! And I want the world for you.”

“I want the world for you too. Peter, just tell me honestly what happened.”

“You promise you won’t freak out again?”

“Promise.”

I took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain all this.

“So you remember meeting my father, right?”

“Yes…”

“Do you remember what he’s in prison for?”

“Didn’t he kill and eat a bunch of people, and then try to convince that FBI agent to join him?”

I was surprised they even knew that much detail. I’d almost forgotten about fathers obsession with Miss Starling.

“Yes, and He adopted all of us because he saw something in us. Something society isn’t very fond of.”

“So let me get this straight, for the last six months I’ve been living in a house with a bunch of cannibalistic murders. I killed my own own father, you all covered it up and framed my mother for the murder, sending her to jail. Then your uncle brain washed me into trying to forget?”

Normally I was quite good at reading them, but right now they were a blank slate.

“Yes?”

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“We can’t change the past Peter. You did what you did to protect me.”

They pulled me into a hug.

“Thank you.”

I reciprocated the hug, still confused how they were taking this all so well.

“Is that why you always ask Hannibal to make extra of your dinner for me?”

I nodded.

“I didn’t want you to eat someone, especially if you didn’t know about it. Kevin wanted to but Uncle forbid him from feeding you human.”

They giggled softly.

“We’ll I suppose I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“I could never be mad at you silly! Have you ever seen me mad?”

Yes I had, that night they killed there father. And I never really wanted to see it again. They were kinda terrifying.

“No.”

“Exactly! I don’t do mad!”

“I don’t think that’s how emotions work.”

“Let’s just leave the psychoanalysis to your Uncle, yeah? I gotta go apologise to my sister, she must hate me right now. She did just find out I killed our father after all. Shit!” They explained.

“Shit what?”

“Serenity has nowhere to stay! If Dad’s dead and Mom’a in jail, where is she gonna go?”

“You’re amazing you know that.” I said.

“What? Why?” They laughed awkwardly.

“Because you care. People like you are rare.”

They frowned.

“Maybe you just need to hang out with better people silly goose!”

“Maybe I do. Come on.”

I grabbed their hand and led them to the living room where my brother and their sister was. Morgan and Serenity were sat on the couch, and things seemed to be quite civil, I cleared my throat to let them know we were there. Morgan smiled at the both of us.

“Look, Serenity, Peter says what I did was in self defence. Please don’t be mad at-“

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“No. Morgan explained everything to me. I’m sorry for leaving.”

“It’s ok. What, we’re you supposed to put your life on hold for me? That’s ridiculous! The best part of my day was getting to brag about my smart sister who got into college early!”

“Yes, your sister was telling me all about the process of applying to college before she technically got her high school diploma. Quite impressive.” Morgan explained.

Newt moved to sit on the ottoman across from them, and I stood at their side.

“So, everything good?”

“Yeah, everything good. Im sorry for calling you Natalie earlier, I’m still getting used to your new name. You only sent me one letter where you signed off as Newt. I like it, it suits you.”

“Thanks. And it’s ok. I think I’m gonna change it to Newton and just keep Newt for short when Hannibal adopts me. He’s still going through with it right?” They asked me.

“Of course, nothings changed.”

“Mr. Lecter is adopting you?”

“Yeah.. if- if that’s ok with you. I’m not technically old enough to get emancipated, and I don’t want to get thrown into the system you know? And I’ve already been pretty much living here for half a year.”

“No, no, I get it. I’m glad, you seem safe and happy here. Newton Lecter, has a ring to it.”

The smile on Newt’s face was brighter than I’d ever seen it before. Maybe Serenity wasn’t all that bad.

“Shit, I gotta get back to college tomorrow. When you didn’t write me for a month I was really worried. I thought dad might have- it doesn’t matter.”

“No, please stay you just got here!” Newt begged.

“Newt I have to go back.”

“I know I just, I want to spend some time with you. You’re my sister and I love you.”

“Perhaps you could stay just for the night? It is getting late and you’ve had quite a bit to drink.” Morgan said.

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Not if you don’t make it weird, my dear. We have a guest room you could sleep in, and I’ll drive you back to your school tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You should let Morgan drive you. That taxi ride here must have been expensive.”

“Alright, if that ok with you.”

“Of course it is, I suggested it.”

“Right, yeah.”

I raised a brow at my brother. Why was he making things so awkward? And going out of his way for this woman? What was his angle?

“Yay! Then it’s settled! Ooo, can we watch a movie? Can we? Can we?”

Newt was practically vibrating with excitement. It was a cute thing they did sometimes. When their happy emotions got to much to contain. I placed a hand on their shoulder to stop them from bouncing up and down.

“I don’t see why not, would you join us Morgan?”

“I could finish my paperwork tomorrow after I drop you off.” He suggested.

“Yay! Ok be right back!”

They sprinted out of the room. I sighed, sitting down on the ottoman they were before.

“I’m sorry for being standoffish earlier, I’m not good with new people.”

“It’s ok Peter. Thank you for taking care of my sibling.”

“Of course. I like having them around.”

“I can see that.” She giggled.

Yeah, she was definitely drunk.

“You seem normal about all this.” Morgan commented.

“So you’re a bunch of Cannibals, the meat goes to waste anyways. And from what you’ve told me, everyone’s deserved it. Newt’s never…”

“No. Never.” I was quick to say.

“Peter prefers that they don’t. We would never force them to.” Morgan explained.

“Good, great then. I see no reason to have concern, as long as I’m allowed to visit.”

“Anytime you want.”

“Perfect.”

Just then Newt came running back into the room.

“What have we told you about running in the house?”

“That it’s bad and I could get hurt.” The sad sadly.

But they were quick to shake it off.

“Ok, so I could choose just one. So our options are An American Werewolf in London, Bram Stocker’s Dracula or My Bloody Valentine.”

“Definitely My Bloody Valentine.” Serenity concluded.

“Yay! That’s the one I wanted anyway!”

They were about to run to the DVR, but stopped themselves. Instead choosing to skip toward the TV. I chuckled, rolling my eyes at their behaviour. As they put the movie in, the came and sat at my feet. Morgan and Serenity stayed on the couch.

I was sure Kevin was getting yelled at by Hannibal still. He probably had his chores increased. I wasn’t really paying much attention to the movie as Newt laid their head on my legs. Towards the end they seemed to be nodding off.

“I should probably get them to bed.”

Morgan chuckled slightly.

“Yeah, they’ve had a big day. Goodnight Peter, Newt.”

Newt sent them a sleepy wave.

“I’ll probably be gone before you wake up. Text me anytime ok? I will leave school if you need anything.”

They gave their sister a nod.

“Can you get up?” I asked.

The shook there head. “Uh uh, too sleepy.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Come on.”

I crouched down and let them climb onto my back.

“Goodnight Morgan, Miss Serenity.”

“Goodnight Peter. Sweet dreams Newt.”

I carried them off to bed. The next morning I woke up before them, going downstairs to get some coffee. Morgan and Serenity were already awake.

“Good morning Peter.” She greeted.

“Morning.”

“Hannibal and Kevin are already out for the day. Uncle has him running errands with him.”

I snickered under my breath.

“Meet you in the car?” Serenity.

Morgan gave her a nod. I waited for her to leave the room.

“You totally had sex with Newt’s sister last night.” I said.

Morgan didn’t seem at all surprised by my observation and just smirked.

“What? She pretty, smart, and she knows I’m a cannibal and doesn’t care or judge me for it.”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything. Just don’t tell Newt. I’m almost positive they’ll freak out again. You think you like her?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like to like her. She’s good company.”

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok. But it might be best for you to do your little dates somewhere far away from the house. Drive safe?”

“Always do. What are the two of you going to get up to today?”

“Not sure. Newt seems to be rather interested in the anatomy book you were reading last night. Can they borrow it?”

“Peter, you know they’re free to borrow any of my books. I’m glad they’re learning, they’re smart. They could do a lot when they apply themselves.”

“Yeah.”

“You think you like them?”

I shook my head no.

“I don’t think I like many people like that. At least, it hasn’t happened yet. They’re my best friend Morgan, and I’m glad Hannibal is adopting them. It will be nice to have them around all the time. And for Hannibal to put his focus into something that is Agent Graham. Besides, I don’t think Newt has those feeling ever. I don’t think I’ve ever heard them talk about a crush.”

Morgan chuckled.

“From what they tell me about high school, everyone there is an idiot. Will you be ok if they like someone?”

“I don’t see why not. As long as that person is good enough.”

“Peter, we both know you’ll never think anyone is good enough for them.” He sighed.

“Then maybe the two of us will just be alone together.”

“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid or rash. You can get quite possessive.”

“Do we really have to have this conversation while the woman you had sex with is waiting for you in the car?”

Morgan set his empty mug in the sink.

“Fine. But we are having this conversation. Wether it’s with me, or Dad, or Uncle, certainly not Kevin.”

“Oh defiantly not Kevin.” I laughed. “If there’s a problem I’ll come to you, you know that.”

“Have a good day Peter, you and Newt stay out of trouble ok? Hannibal won’t be happy if he comes home and find out they tried to cook something and started a fire again.”

“That was one time, and they were just trying to do something nice.”

He gave me a stern look.

“Ok, I promise to keep Newt out of the kitchen while you’re gone.”

I had a lot to think over, and Newt would be awake soon. I watched as Morgan walked out to his car. I guess is was nice to see him interested in some. Serenity wasn’t half bad.

An: What is this, dinner party week? Why do I keep writing dinner scenes? Seems like Peter may have a tad bit of jealousy happening.