#Yes I am the kind of person to stare at a line of text and go

[ravenloftbythelamplight]

Dialogue is already something when you're a professional over-thinker, but dialogue for characters who already exist and have personalities and ways of speaking? Also something

[bittenbyyou]

Inferior Flames (1)

MCU!AU | MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader | MCU!Spider-Man x Stark!Reader

genre: enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn, lil cute moments

description: Your father wants you to knock Peter down a peg. OR Peter is bitter because you’re an Avenger and he’s not.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: Tony Stark being your father is already a warning as to how ridiculous he could be lol, mentions of Spider-Man: Homecoming, references from Captain America: Civil War, idk where this would fit in the MCU timeline per se b/c I’ve only recently started watching all the Marvel movies. 

a/n: maybe it’ll be a series? idk, if you like it, lemme know!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Firefly, I need a favor.” Your father plopped onto the couch next to you, so you paused your show with the TV remote.

“What is it?” you asked, turning your body to give him your undivided attention.

“You know Spiderling, Spider-Boy?”

“Peter Parker, Spider-Man? Yes. How do you still not know his name?”

“My names are better.”

“Uh huh. Wait, he’s the one that rejected your proposal to become an Avenger.” You nudged him with your elbow, flashing a smirk.

“No, no. I don’t do rejection.”

“But he did turn you down.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate his frustration. “Sure. Whatever. Anyway, the kid wants to be an Avenger now. Been texting Happy nonstop about when’s the next mission and he’s wanting to see me tomorrow.”

You blinked twice and stayed quiet, a blank stare on your face as to why this was an issue. When he didn’t say anything, you gestured for him to elaborate.

“I don’t think he’s ready,” he added, crossing one arm over the other.

“You’re serious? Dad, you’ve never shut up about him ever since you gave him the suit. Even when I was abroad, I’ve seen what he can do. He’s amazing. You wanted him to be an Avenger.”

“I’m aware. But he said no and now… the ball is in my court.” The shit-eating grin on his face was soon replaced with a chuckle that sounded almost sinister.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, he turned me down and now he wants me back. God, I’m making him sound like an ex-girlfriend.” He shivered in disgust and you rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I get to turn him down now. It’s great.”

“So you’re turning him down because he turned you down first. Petty much?”

“Hey, that is not what’s going on here.” He turned his attention to the paused TV screen instead of meeting your judgmental gaze.

“Dad, that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re really letting your pride stop you from recruiting someone as amazing as Spider-Man? Let Peter join.”

“What, are you in love with him or something? You think he’s so amazing?” he asked while doing jazz hands at the word “amazing.”

You wouldn’t call it love; it was more along the lines of admiration. During your time abroad, your father filled you in on all his adventures and antics so if anything, it was his fault as to why you were somewhat enamored with Spider-Man. Deep down, you knew your father adored Peter, so it was only natural you did too.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You can’t date anyone until you’re 21.”

“I’m telling Mom you’re being ridiculous.”

“I already told your mom and we’ve already established that I’m ridiculous,” he said proudly, as if it was a badge of honor.

“You told me you were proud of his decision to lay low.”

“I am. I was. But now the tables have turned and what kind of person would I be if I let him in so easily? The others think I’m crazy recruiting a 15 year old.”

“16 now actually,” you corrected.

“God, this is like deja-vu.”

You giggled. “I’m the same age as him and you’ve been wanting me to join too.”

“Don’t remind me. You were the first person to ever turn me down and I’m still recovering. I’m waiting for you to crawl back and beg me, saying ‘Dad, please! Let me be an Avenger!’ Like the kid is doing now,” he said, using a high-pitched voice when he was imitating you.

“Good luck with that. I have no interest in being an Avenger.”

“See,” he said, pointing his index finger at you, “that right there is why I need your help.”

You crossed your arms in the same way he did, skeptical of where he was going with this. “Go on.”

“I want you to pretend to be another recruit who wants to be an Avenger. I’ll tell him there’s only one position and make him work for it.”

“Dad…” you said sternly.

“What? He doesn’t know you’re my daughter. And I’m trying to protect him too. The kid’s been going off doing things on his own and not thinking clearly. He can wait on becoming an Avenger.”

“He stopped Vulture. He kept looking for those weapons when no one else would.”

“He’s reckless.”

“You’re using me to make him jealous.”

“A little,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m also looking out for him.”

“Uh huh.”

“He’s coming here tomorrow and I want you to battle him. If he beats you, he’ll get to join.”

“This is so stupid.”

“It’s genius, really.”

“You’re making a kid fight for something that you already want to give him.”

“No. Not yet.”

“You know he can’t beat me.”

Your father leaned in and pecked you on the forehead. “Exactly. Him losing will help him work harder to be better. This’ll give him that push he really needs. So will you help me?”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to fight Peter Parker and make sure he loses just so he doesn’t get to become an Avenger even though deep down, you want him to be one?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s the stupidest idea ever. And it’ll hurt his feelings.”

“No, it’ll build character. He needs to understand it’s not that simple. You can’t ask to become an Avenger and get it.”

“... But he can… because that’s what you wanted in the first place.”

“He turned me down so it’s only fair that he proves to me how much he wants it. Like a test. I’m testing him.”

“No. Dad, I’m not doing that.”

“I’ll enroll you in school right now instead of waiting for the following year.”

You sighed, contemplating his ridiculous proposition. He had adopted you when you were 10 on one of his missions overseas and has kept you a secret from the public. As much as it pained him, he could not bring you home right away because you required guidance on using your powers responsibly. You had to remain abroad for a while longer until the adoption forms went through and your mentors felt you were ready to leave the tiny village where you resided.

However, he and his wife Pepper, kept in touch and always checked in. He showed up every birthday and made it his mission to be a part of your life. Now that you were in high school and your powers were restored, he flew you into New York City right away.

It’s been a few months since your transition and you absolutely loved it. The Avengers who resided in the compound were very welcoming and so far, they were the only ones who knew of your existence along with your mom. Your father had yet to announce your identity to the world because he didn’t want the spotlight to overwhelm you. Originally he planned on having you relax a bit and then enroll you in public school next year, but going earlier was enticing to you.

“... Which school?”

“Spider-Man’s.”

“... Fine.”

“You do have a crush on him.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

The next day…

Upon entering the foyer of the Avengers Compound, Happy led Peter to where Stark was. The man stood in the middle of the main entrance hall, sporting a classy suit and sunglasses. Peter clenched his fists in determination, carefully reciting the words he wanted to say in his head since the car ride over.

“Hey kid. What do you want?”

“Mr. Stark,” he squeaked. He shut his eyes in humiliation, clearing his throat and lowering his voice a bit to sound more confident. Once his eyes fluttered open, he puffed out his chest and said, “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind,” Stark deadpanned.

“Yes. I want to be an Avenger.”

“You understand why I’m skeptical.”

“Um… yes, but—”

“Look, you turned me down last time and am I used to rejection?” Peter opened his mouth to answer but was immediately cut off. “The answer’s no, but I respected your decision. All that talk about looking out of the little guy—great—so what changed?”

“I’m ready for more than that now.”

“No, you’re not.”

“That’s not what you thought when I took on Captain America,” Peter argued.

“Trust me, kid. If Cap wanted to lay you out, he would’ve.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the realization that he got off easy, questioning his entire existence.

Stark pressed his palms together and pointed at him. “You really want to be an Avenger?”

The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes.”

He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth. “See, here’s the thing: there’s someone else.”

Peter’s face fell, heartbroken at the thought of being replaced. “What—What do you mean there’s someone else?”

“Well, after you turned me down, I recruited someone else. If you really want to be an Avenger, prove to me you’re better than her.”

“Wait, her?”

“Yeah. You think you got what it takes?”

“Well it’s rude to attack a lady—”

“No. Gender equality’s a thing, right? You beat her up, she beats you up. You both end up in casts—”

“Casts?!”

“Suit up and let’s go.”

With no other choice, Peter obeyed and did what he was told. His thoughts were racing at the thought of battling someone to prove his worth. But this was his dream and he had to get out of his own head. After he finished suiting up, Happy led Tony and him to the outdoor training area that featured a wide-opened space with reinforced surfaces.

It had strategically placed obstacles to encourage agility and tactical thinking during battles. Additionally, the area incorporated holographic projectors to create any virtual landscapes to simulate specific scenarios for the Avengers to train in.

And that was where Peter’s eyes landed on a figure in the distance. You, who was practicing your combat skills with a large kung fu spear. The way you moved was calculated, graceful, like a beautiful yet deadly dance. You performed many high kicks and flips, mesmerizing Peter as your hands maneuvered the spear so flawlessly around your body. Your father and Happy watched you, proud smiles plastered on both of their faces.

“That’s who you’ll be battling today,” Stark said, clapping his hands together once to catch your attention. You stopped what you were doing and landed in a perfect split with the spear parallel to your body, noticing your father and Happy’s presence. You got up and rushed over, your eyes quickly finding its way to the boy in the iconic red and blue costume.

“Hi D-... Mr. Stark. Happy.” You turned to Peter, loving the fact that he didn’t have his mask on yet so you could finally meet him as him. He was far cuter in person, you weren’t going to deny that. “I’m [Y/N].”

Your dad wanted this “test” to be authentic, so you couldn't tell Peter you were, in fact, a Stark. Plus you didn’t look like a Stark anyway, with you being adopted and all. It’d be a cinch.

“P-Parker, Peter. Parker Peter—I mean, Peter Parker,” Peter said softly, shaking your hand. God, you were so pretty that it made him a fumbling mess. He wondered if you two were the same age.

“Great. Now that both you kiddos are here, you both know what you have to do, right?”

You and Peter looked at each other and exchanged awkward smiles. “Mr. Stark, I’m not comfortable battling a… um…”

“Girl?” you finished. “I’d be more worried about yourself, darling.”

The way the word “darling” rolled off your tongue caused Peter’s face to redden like a cherry.

“I’m not saying girls can’t battle, I’m just saying I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Are you going to hold back if the enemy is a woman?”

Peter opened his mouth to say something but to no avail.

“You said you wanted to be an Avenger. There’s only one position available, so we’re going to be testing you both. Happy will launch the simulation sequence and then you two will be fighting one-on-one,” your father explained.

“Good luck,” Happy said, trying hard not to laugh. The two men walked a safe distance away where they could observe you both.

“What’s the simulation sequence?” Peter called out before putting on his mask.

“We’re going to be launching drones at you,” Stark called back from afar with cupped hands.

“Drones?!”

“Yeah, we want to see how much you’ve improved!”

“In 3, 2, 1!” Happy shouted as he pushed some buttons on his phone.

You and Peter both stared up at the sky as a swarm of drones lined up in a similar fashion as the game Space Invaders.

“May the best Avenger win,” you said, sending him a wink. He laughed nervously as you immediately launched yourself in the sky. Peter gasped in awe.

“She can fly?!”

Hovering in front of the drones, you closed your eyes and pressed your index and middle fingers together, forming a "V" shape. Bringing the fingers perpendicular to your forehead, it felt as if you were beckoning an unseen force. With unwavering focus, you opened your eyes, and the spear you held multiplied tenfold, floating effortlessly beside you. Extending your arm forward, you pointed confidently at the drones, issuing a resolute command for the spears to launch their attack. Explosions scattered throughout the sky as you managed to wipe out half the drones with one attack.

“And she can multiply things. Great,” Peter huffed, launching a web at one of the drones to join you.

“She’s going to destroy him,” your father said, chuckling to himself.

“Kid, come back. Don’t be such a sore loser.”

Peter shook his head while removing his mask, muttering self-deprecating thoughts to himself at his performance. You watched as he walked away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Did I go overboard?” you asked, a tinge of guilt eating away at your conscience. Your father chuckled and waved off your concern with a flick of the wrist.

“No, you did great. He’ll be fine.” He went after Peter and placed a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from going any further. “Hey. You put up a good fight.”

Peter spun around, exasperated and using his hands to express his frustration. “I lost. There was no way I was going to win. She can fly, she can multiply things, she can use telekinesis, she can breathe fire—is she part dragon? How was I supposed to compete with that?!”

You saw him pointing at you from afar, giving him a small smile but was only reciprocated with a frown.

Tony put on a contemplating face. “Is she part dragon…?” he mumbled. “Anyway, I told you that I had to find someone else after you said no. And she’s earned her place. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but you lost fair and square.”

“But—”

“No buts. You aren’t ready. So lay low, be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, and work your way up. Go to school, focus on classes, and finish that homework you’ve been putting off.”

“I don’t need to go to school.”

“Yes. You do. Even she goes to school,” Stark said, pointing over in your direction.

You went over to where Happy was, your eyes still glued on your father and Peter. “Happy, he looks so heartbroken.”

“I know. But it’s for the best. Kid’s too eager and knocking him down a peg might do him some good.”

“I feel bad.”

He patted your back and gave you a reassuring smile. “He will be okay. Your father appreciates your help.”

You immediately straightened your posture when you saw Peter come over with your father.

“Anything you want to say to [Y/N]?” your father asked, giving Peter a gentle nudge from behind.

“Congratulations,” Peter said, mustering up as much strength as he could to give you a smile. Because he really was happy for you, but it hurt for him. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and the pitiful gaze in yours wasn’t helping.

“Thanks. You did really well.”

“Yeah, but I have all the bruises,” he joked, pointing at his face in a circular motion. You took a step forward and placed your palm out in front of his face.

“May I?”

His eyes widened in confusion, but he nodded anyway. An ember glow emitted from your hand and all his bruises healed in a matter of seconds.

“You can heal people too? What on earth can’t you do?” Peter was both fascinated but also very annoyed at your perfection.

“I can only heal minor bruises,” you said quickly.

“Of course,” he muttered.

“Happy, take him home for me.”

“Got it. Come on, Peter.”

“Bye Peter,” you said, giving him a shy wave. He only gave you another meek smile before walking away. You glared at your father, who only let out a sigh of relief.

“Great job, kiddo.”

The next day at school Ned practically crashed into Peter, who was at his locker minding his own business.

“Dude, dude, dude!”

“Whoa, what is it, Ned?!” Peter said, a hand on his chest from the sudden heart attack that was his best friend.

“There’s a new girl and she’s so cute. Have you seen her yet?”

Peter closed his locker shut, wracking his brain for a moment when he saw an unfamiliar face today. “No, I haven’t. What’s her name?”

“Uh… I can’t remember. Was it [wrong name]? Or maybe [another wrong name]?”

Peter looked down the hall and somehow amongst a cluster of students, he spotted you walking towards him. Like a moth to a flame, his eyes somehow went straight to you and only you. Irritation overcame him as he remembered the battle from yesterday. How you beat him so effortlessly, so ridiculously cool and being all perfect. And now you’re at his school? What, were you mocking him?

“Ned,” Peter said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Is that her?” He pointed at you and nodded his head in your direction.

Ned looked over in your direction and snapped his fingers. “Yeah! That’s her.”

“Dude, that’s the girl,” Peter muttered.

“Huh? What girl?”

He thought about how he sulked on the apartment balcony, venting to Ned about you. “The… girl… remember what I told you over the phone yesterday?”

It took a few seconds, but Ned’s brain finally clicked. “She’s the one that beat you? Her? Oh my god, you didn’t mention how cute she was!”

“Will you keep your voice down? She’s coming this way!” Peter opened his locker again and hid his face behind it. Ned shook his head in disapproval.

“Are you embarrassed? Come on. Challenge her again.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“No, dude, stop. You aren’t supposed to know about her. Mr. Stark will kill me.”

“But she goes to our school.”

Peter hid his face in his locker until you finally passed. He let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling like he had dodged a bullet. That was, until Ned shouted out, “Hey! New girl!”

You stopped at the familiar label people were referring to you as. Once you turned around, you saw Ned’s huge smile while Peter still cowered in his locker. The boy you were walking with scoffed at Ned’s boldness.

“You don’t need to engage with them. They’re nobodies.”

“That’s not very nice, Flash,” you said, frowning at his poor choice of words.

“If we’re nobodies, why is she friends with Peter then, huh?” Ned exclaimed loudly. If a black hole could open up and swallow Peter whole, now would be the time.

“What, you know Penis Parker?” Flash asked you, incredulous at the new information. Peter carefully pulled his head out of his locker enough to take a tiny peek at you. He wondered what you were going to say.

“Yeah. I know Peter, Flaccid Flash,” you replied, bumping into his shoulder deliberately as you made your way over to Peter and Ned. The entire hallway filled with laughter at your stinging remark.

“Hi. I’m [Y/N]. I think we maybe got off on the wrong foot. How about we start over?”

Peter looked at your extended hand as if it was a foreign object, standing still as a statue. When his brain finally registered what you said, Ned had beat him to it, shaking your hand so fast like he was in the presence of royalty. “We would love to start over. I’m Ned. Peter’s best friend.”

You let out a laugh. “Hi Ned. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Without thinking, Peter grabbed your other hand. “Come with me.”

You didn’t have time to react and he led you to the nearest empty classroom, thankful class hadn’t started yet.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogated, letting go of your hand. You leaned against the wall, crossing one foot over the other.

“I go to school here now?”

“But why here?”

“Because… it’s a nice school?”

Peter placed a hand on his forehead, his jaw clenched as he thought of what to say next without sounding like an ass. “Look, you beat me and you’re an Avenger fair and square. I’m happy for you, really.” His words became soft and broken towards the end. “But seeing you reminds me that Mr. Stark will never be impressed with me. So can you give me space?”

His voice was frail but sincere. You got off the wall and gave him a nod. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.”

Before Peter could leave, you asked him one last question. “Sorry, but could you tell me where gym class is? I have it first period.”

It took everything in Peter not to curse out loud. He had to fight back his bitterness and said through gritted teeth. “Yeah. I have it first period too.”

You smiled to yourself, trailing closely behind him as he led you both to your first class. Together.

Reblogs and thoughts are appreciated! Thank you!

Update: I might be in the middle of writing a part 2. :) Your support means a lot!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your works and your toxic könig so much 😭 for some reason in my head könig was always like a puppy in love even outside of aus but i like to imagine him like this sometimes.

basically if he feels abandoned bc you were busy with something else (literally taking a shower for like 10 minutes or not looking at him while he was talking) he will start crying and needs you to kiss him a bunch of times and tell him he's your favourite boy baby husband man boyfriend sweetheart for like an hour lol. he literally can't stand it if he can't touch you or talk to you for long periods of time (let's say the reader is a civilian and könig often has missions he has to leave for). he literally goes insane and keeps rereading those screenshots of loving messages from you he has an entire folder on his phone for, literally he convinced himself that you've already left him for someone else and is now going to be crying himself to sleep.

when he does return he's literally scared, so it feels like you attached him to yourself physically and that's why he never leaves your side. always holding hands, könig always being there even if your have to move around the house a lot or do the most mundane tasks even if he himself has chores or things he needs to do. kind of creepy bc he's just silent but feels like he'll die if you disappear from his line of sight for more than two seconds.

even aside from that listening to you talk fondly of someone, anyone really: a friend (if he lets you have them), a random cashier (if he wasn't there with you to talk to them instead of you), a relative (if he even allows you to talk to your family) he's so!!! like hurt and upset and goes quiet for long periods of time.

like eyes red from crying, nose stuffed and he's like "i'm fine nothing is wrong" then goes back to crying somewhere more private.

and this kind of behaviour makes sex kind of uncomfortable Sometimes. he often needs you to repeat that you're his, only his, you can't look away from him, you HAVE to be holding his hand when he fucks you but somehow it's a 50/50 when it comes to power dynamics.

either he manhandles you and shows you that he's the only man, the only person you could ever need or love and that he won't ever let you leave him; or he's completely subby, like "please hold my face and kiss me while you're riding me for as long as you want, i'm only yours and i wanna show that" kind of way.

i am insane basically thank you for coming to my ted talk.

This was one of the best Ted talks I've ever been to! I loved every word, every second of it!! 🥳🥹 My god, I want more... I need me some encore now.

I love subby König, holy Christ. And tbh... what's beneath the toxic, crazy killing machine König is someone who is horribly, and I mean HORRIBLY love-deprived and touch-starved and super duper insecure. Which means there's bound to be some subby behavior leaking through toxic König too!

König would so need to have you on his sights at all times. And when he's working, it's annoying because... he loves his work but now he's just thinking about you. What are you doing at this very moment..? Have you talked to someone today? A friend, a colleague, a family member? A stranger??

Do you sleep ok without him (because he doesn't, he just tosses and turns in his bunk/cot/the ground all night when you're not there), and why haven't you sent a text today? He's gonna call you as soon as he gets somewhere more private.

The longer the mission lasts, the more sullen and broody he gets. After a few days, he kills his enemies with a thousand yard stare only because they're basically what's between him and his squeeze.

And yes he has to touch you like a thousand times a day or just watch your every move when he finally gets home. If you're in the bathroom too long he comes to knock on the door and ask if everything's alright (you ran there to have a moment's peace from this big cuddly behemoth who looks at you with that creepy batless obsessive stare... frankly it's disturbing)

And oh my god stop – holding hands during sex? Oh my god. Imagine him bordering on being rough (because he's *missed* you goddammit 👿) while wanting to entwine your fingers together✨️. Toxic König is a huge romantic, even if the "romantic" things he does are a bit... questionable. And he wouldn't shut up during the first round after he got home!

"Say that you missed me,"

"Tell me you're mine... Say it. Now,"

"You're always teasing me,"

would be some of the things he'd say during pounding you to his heart's content. (And you wouldn't even know how you've "teased" him this time... Like... He's the one who left for a week long mission...? 🤨)

After sex he would be so much gentler, but no less demanding and whiny. He needs so much validation and gets odd and grumpy if you don't give him some. If you'd try to domme him though, he would become even more unbearable (being a sub is this man's secret fantasy but he doesn't even know it himself).

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 7

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 7: Dirty Laundry

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Content / Warnings: Reader POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting mention, alcoholism, lying, conflict avoidance, crying, female masturbation, unprotected piv sex, send nudes pls, hold the moan/secret sex, text message chains, movies, fluff, awkwardness, praise kink, daddy kink

Notes: I don't really have any notes! Just excited to share, I hope you like it.

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The first time you wake comes a result of Frankie clomping around the house as he gets ready. 

It used to annoy you, how loud he can be in the mornings. But you’ve come to find it kind of comforting. Each cupboard slam and heavy footfall serves as a reminder that you’re not alone. That you’re safe. 

You stay cocooned in your sheets while he goes about his noisy routine, eyes closed, cradled in that warm, fuzzy space between awake and not. Content. 

When he leaves, a high-contrast silence takes his place. The slow rhythm of your automatic breathing lulls you back to sleep. 

You’re surprised when your eyes flutter open at 10:34 AM. 

Thanks to your opaque curtains, the room is drenched in darkness, despite the daylight trying to sneak in through the cracks. You squint into the brightness of your phone screen and read the text messages that came in while you were sleeping, all about a half an hour apart starting at 7:00. 

> RORY:  > Good morning beautiful > How are you today?  > I get off work at 3 today, wanna do something?  > I miss you 

“Oh my god dude, chill out,” you scoff under your breath while typing a reply. 

< ME:  < Sorry, just woke up. < Yes! I’m cleaning today but that’s all I have planned. What’re you thinking?

He reads and responds immediately. 

> RORY:  > We can check out that trail by the lake? Grab a bite to eat afterwards? 

< ME: < Sure

> RORY:  > Pick you up at 3:30?

< ME:  < See you then 😘

You toss the phone aside and sit up, scrubbing your hands over your face. Your eyes burn when you grind your fists into them and welcome a big yawn that stretches your lungs’ limits. A spasm catches your breath, shoving out a fit of coughs that leave you a little winded. 

Yeah, go on a hike today, that will be fucking fun. 

When you tiptoe through the kitchen, you find the coffee pot still on from when Frankie ran it this morning. Your nose wrinkles at its contents. The stale brew will be muddy and unsatisfying, but you pour it into a mug with some half & half anyway. 

You settle into your spot on the old couch in your living room and pull the notebook out from under your arm. Between sips of terrible coffee, you jot down the nighttime thoughts still floating around your head. 

Hard time falling asleep. Kept thinking about puppies, thinking I should have adopted that dog last year. Regret. No nightmares I think. Woke up at 10:30, feel tired still. Don’t want to go on a hike with Rory, but I am an idiot who can’t say no to people. I would rather stay home and be alone. I want it to be 

You pause here, staring at the passage. 

A jolt skitters across your ribcage. Blood rushes to your face. You glance around self-consciously, then cross out the last two and a half sentences. A few moments go by before you decide it doesn’t seem like enough, so you cross it out again and again, scraping dark lines into the notebook paper until the sentiment beneath is unrecognizable. 

Then you drop the ballpoint of your pen a few lines below the redaction and start writing out your to-do list for the day. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself. 

Frankie’s damp clothes stick to the circumference of your washer’s stainless steel drum. The rank scent that emanates from the machine reminds you of your grandparents’ house in the summer. 

With a sigh, you empty your dirty laundry on the floor of the mudroom and pull his clean clothes from the dryer into your basket, replacing them with the damps, then replacing those with your dirties. En route to his bedroom, with your laundry basket propped on one hip, you text him. 

< ME: < I stg you leave your clothes in the washer dryer on purpose so I’ll fold them 

He must be on his lunch break, because he texts back right away. 

> FRANKIE:  > I would never 😉 

The door opens with a creak when you step through the threshold, dropping your basket on the floor next to his bed. You take a selfie from the middle of the room and send it to him along with your response. 

< ME:  < K well I’m gonna lick all your stuff after putting away your clothes 

> FRANKIE:  > Promise? 

< ME: < Shut up lol 

> FRANKIE: > You look cute btw 

Heat floods your cheeks. A smile spreads across your face as you fall back into his bed. The musk woven between the threading of his sheets tugs at you. Your skin tingles with want, and you find yourself pulling the covers over your body and burying your face in his pillow. 

The phone buzzes beside you. 

> FRANKIE:  > Feel free to take a nap or do whatever you want in there

You sit up and whip your head around, then text back. 

< ME:  < Are you watching me 

> FRANKIE:  > Are you in my bed? 

< ME:  < … what if I was?

> FRANKIE:  > I wouldn’t mind one bit  > What are you doing in there?

< ME: < It’s comfy, I’m laying down 

> FRANKIE: > Can I see?

Your stomach flips. The warmth in your face spreads, sprouting up all over your body. You lick your lips and smirk, then open the camera and take a picture of yourself and send it to him. 

> FRANKIE:  > Wow 😍 > I’m going back to work. See you later tonight, sweetheart 

You start and erase about five variations of a response before just locking your phone screen and slamming it down at your side. Your hands fly to your face. All your organs melt and pool hot between your thighs. 

Fuck, you hate that he can make you feel like this. 

… but you love it, too. 

It’s intoxicating. 

You know him well enough to know that, throughout his day, whether he’s tinkering around in some commercial airplane, or running diagnostic tests, or chatting with coworkers, he will be thinking about you. Wondering what you’re doing. Hoping that when he arrives home there will be a spot in his sheets marked unmistakably yours. 

He always held a particular fascination with you touching yourself, a fact proven true last week when he got off watching you masturbate. 

The memory pricks your skin. Your squeaky mattress. The exchange of gasps and whimpers and moans. His lust-blown eyes, all wild and black as they watched you. 

Even before that, though. 

When you were working for him, he would sometimes text you specific locations in his house, asking you to masturbate there, send him pictures, and leave your panties. Of course, you were happy to oblige. 

There were a few times when he had you choose a place to fuck yourself. You gave him three clues, and if he guessed the location correctly, that’s where he would fuck you when he got home. 

One Saturday night, you were watching Sarah while he and Angie went out on a date. He texted you exactly one minute after Sarah’s bedtime. 

> FRANKIE: > Baby in bed? 

< ME:  < Yeah 

> FRANKIE: > Good > Can you do something for me?

< ME: < Maybe, what?

> FRANKIE:  > Go in my upstairs bathroom and take off that pretty dress > Film yourself getting off in the mirror  > Then send it to me 

< ME:  < Where are your manners sir 

> FRANKIE:  > Pretty please 😘

So you did. You tiptoed into the bathroom and pulled your dress off over your head, which is all the effort it took to strip down to a red thong. You stood in front of the huge vanity mirror and pressed record. 

When they came home, Frankie ushered an extremely inebriated Angie to their bedroom. He emerged a few minutes later and coaxed you into the bathroom. Between heated, whiskey-soaked kisses, he told you, “We have to be quiet.”

You nodded and raked your fingers through his hair, responding to his urgent mouth with your own. He locked the bathroom door and dug his phone from his pocket, propping it up on the bathroom counter before he pressed play. 

You pulled your dress off, watching his reflection in the vanity mirror for telltale signs of him being shitfaced. A stumble or slur. Compared to other nights where he spent hours at the bar, he seemed fine, which was a relief. 

From his phone, you heard your own whimper. You looked down and watched the past you, video you, flick your wrist beneath the cover of your underwear. 

His belt clanked as he undid his pants, pulling your attention back to his reflection. You met his eyes through the mirror and watched the darkness in them churn. He slid your thong aside, head of his cock nudging against your entrance. 

A rasp tickled your ear, “Look at you, the dirty little movie you made me—what were you thinking about?”

Your gaze dropped to the video. To video you grabbing your tits and biting your lips. He plunged forward, splitting you open, pulling a gasp from your lips, “Ffffuck—”

“Thinking about fuck?” 

He started to roll his hips, driving his cock into you, slow and deep. Pleasure rippled up your spine. Video you slid your thong off and showed the camera your pussy. 

Your lips parted to answer his question, but the words caught in your throat. It felt so wrong to tell him. He grabbed your shoulder and pulled your body against his, snapping his hips, pumping into you with sharp, hard movements.

“Holy fuck, Frankie—”

“Tell me what you were thinking about when you were playing with your pussy.”

“This,” you breathed, arching your back into his thrusts, each one a heatwave across your body, “You fucking me—trying to be quiet—trying to be a good girl—”

“You’re doing so fucking good, baby,” he purred, “Can’t get enough of this sweet pussy—drives me fucking crazy, Jesus Christ.”

Little whimpers and gasps started wriggling up your throat. Your eyebrows threaded together and lips parted with a croaked, “Frankie—”

“Fuck yes, baby, take it,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fucking you harder, faster, repeating under his ragged breath, “Take it, take it, take it.”

His cock rubbed along all the right parts of you, sending your pulse racing, adrenaline spiking when you remembered Angie asleep in the other room while he was there with you, dark gaze flicking between your video playing on his phone and your body bouncing off of him. 

Your whimpers morphed into moans, immediately muffled by his warm, rough palm. 

“Gotta be fucking quiet, sweetheart,” he panted in your ear, “I know it’s hard but you gotta do that for me, ok? Can you be a good girl for me, be quiet?”

You nodded. Calmed your moans into frenzied breaths. Lowered your gaze to the phone screen, where video you sank two fingers into your cunt and moaned, fucking yourself, just for him. 

“That’s it,” he panted, wrapping his arms around your torso to hold you in place as he fucked up into you, hot breath heating the crook of your neck, “Fuck, that’s it, such a good girl for daddy, hmm?”

You couldn’t help the choked moan that escaped you. 

“Say it, say you’re such a good girl for daddy—”

“I’m such—such a good girl for daddy.”

“Fuuuuck yes,” he groaned, one hand finding your clit, drawing frantic circles that flooded your body with a gooey, electric, pulsing energy, “Pussy so tight, feels so fucking good, fuck—”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, pushing against his thrusts, nodding your head, “Daddy I’m gonna fucking cum—”

“Holy fuck—that’s it, sweet girl, cum on daddy’s dick, you can do it.” 

You lost yourself, forgetting all about the concession to be quiet—whining and moaning as your bodies slid together with this sick, wet, sucking noise—consumed by the throbbing fire at your center, amplified with each snap of his hips, with his dirty little praises whispered in your ear, cock filling you again and again until you couldn’t fucking handle it anymore and your pleasure reached a fever pitch. 

Frankie released a deep, guttural moan as you clenched down, pussy fluttering around his length, white hot static vibrating across your body. 

He plunged into you once, twice, three more times with a shudder, spilling inside you. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, collapsing forward onto the bathroom counter. His grip softened and he went slack against your back. A few blissful moments went by like this before the spell broke. 

“God, I wish you could stay,” he told you in a breathy murmur, pressing a kiss into your bare shoulder, “Wish I could wake up with you.” 

And it sounded sweet on the surface, but you knew it was your cue to leave. 

You think about it now. 

About Frankie, and the video that you sent him while he was on a date with his wife. How she was under the same roof when the two of you fucked in the bathroom. How he had you call him daddy, and how you were such a good girl for him. 

You think about how it is between you now, how good it would feel to give in to those reckless desires and fuck like you used to. 

Your touch trails down between your legs as you imagine him here in the bed with you, cooing filthy things in your ear, rubbing your clit, laying heated kisses on your neck. 

You grab your breast and pretend it’s him squeezing your flesh. Imagine his soft lips around your nipple, the roll of his tongue against it. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, rolling your hips into your hand. 

A whimper bubbles through your lips and the brazenness of it stokes your insides. Another whimper, this one louder. Tingles shoot up your middle. 

You drag your fingers along your slit, moaning at the puddle of arousal pooling at your entrance, spreading it, coating your pussy in the slick substance. 

“So fucking wet,” you gasp, gripping your tit harder, imagining Frankie there, touching you, watching you with awe, telling you how fucking good you’re doing. 

Your fingers move faster, sliding easy against your lubricated nub, and you release a throaty moan, “So fucking good, daddy, you make me feel so good.“

The words out loud jolt your insides. You think: What if he saw me like this? What if he heard me? What if he knew I still fantasize about him? 

A burst of feral energy overtakes you and you crawl up onto your knees, pulling your loose cotton shorts and underwear aside so your cunt is exposed to the room. You work one hand hard and fast against your clit. The other sinks two fingers inside you.

You roll your hips, fucking your hand, moaning out, “Fuck yes, Frankie, fuck me just like that, so fucking good, daddy, you’re gonna make me cum—”

Uttering the words out loud electrifies you. Heat churns beneath your touch, growing brighter and hotter as your wanton moans hit his bedroom ceiling. Pleasure starts to swell and your movements grow frantic, desperate, chasing that feeling as you whine, “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You convulse around your fingers and gasp, twitchy prods of pleasure gushing at your center each time your slick fingers graze your clit, slowing as the waves ebb into a fuzzy kind of bliss that occupies your whole body. 

You fall back in his bed, chest heaving, and try to gain your bearings. 

Shame starts to creep at the edges of your post-orgasm fog. Without prompting, your brain tells you: I hate myself. 

It stings. 

You gulp and shake your head, whispering out loud, “I love myself.” 

The correction soothes your hindbrain’s outlash enough for you to release a content sigh. A smile creeps across your face. You blink over at Frankie’s dresser, then rise to your feet and start folding his clean clothes. 

As you tuck the folded clothes away in his dresser drawers, you find the underwear he snatched from your bedroom last week. Teal lace, all stiff with his dried cum. 

You chuckle to yourself and shake your head. That familiar, reckless kind of satisfaction spreads through your veins. 

It’s fucked up, but the thought of him getting off on the scent of you fills you with pride. 

This is rocky territory. More than rocky, honestly. It’s dangling-off-a-cliffside-while-your-grip-is-slipping territory. 

You both know it. It’s like neither of you can help it. Over and over, you fall back together like opposite poles of a magnet. 

Are you drawn to each other because there’s something real? Or is it because of the thrill? 

You remind yourself that there is something more between you and Frankie than sexual desire. 

You laugh together, support each other, and enjoy your shared time. The bond you’ve formed is genuine. He has come to be one of your best friends. Second only to your sister, Leah. 

There’s a softness when you’re with him, too. A saccharine kind of intimacy that curls around your body and makes you feel at home. It has always existed between you, even if he never admits it. He used to push it away, but more and more, it’s become commonplace when you’re together. 

You swallow hard and shake your head, finding that you’re still staring at these cum-encrusted panties. You know Frankie won’t be able to bring himself to throw them in with the rest of his laundry. That would mean washing your scent, throwing your gift away. 

A little flint of arousal sparks at the base of your spine. 

After dropping the teal lace into your laundry basket, you shimmy your shorts and underwear down your legs, then wipe yourself off with the gusset of your floral cheeky bikini. You shove them into his dresser drawer in place of the spent pair. 

Two flimsy cardboard boats slide out onto the "PICK-UP HERE” window’s ledge. A booming voice follows, “Order number 32!”

Rory glances down at his receipt, then tucks it in his pocket as he steps through the crowd of hungry onlookers and approaches the rusted-out food truck. He returns holding one basket in each hand, a victorious smile dawning on his face, “Where should we sit?” 

You squint around your surroundings and spot a shaded patch of grass beneath the gnarled trunk of a buttonwood tree, then point to it, “Ooh, over here!” 

“Got it!” 

Rory jogs ahead and lands on the grass before anyone else can claim the spot. You catch up a few seconds later and sit down next to him, crossing your legs. He hands you your shrimp tacos and you murmur a thanks to him while balancing the basket on your knee. 

Under the eaves of the buttonwood tree, you find relief from the unrelenting sun. Your skin, all heated and gleaming with sweat, thanks you profusely. The cool earth somehow feels icy against your palms when you lean back and stretch out. You pull your sunglasses up on your head and tilt back to look up through the twisted branches of the tree, “Fuck, it’s hot out.”

You’re never really sure how to start conversations with him.

“Yeah,” he follows your gaze up into the tree, quickly losing interest. A deep breath expands his lungs as he looks around the park, finally settling his gaze on a playground, “You ever take the kids you babysit out here to play?” 

Your nose wrinkles a bit when he calls you a babysitter. You follow his line of sight to and watch hordes of squealing, laughing children crawl all over the playground. 

“Not this park, but I take them to the one by their house. It has a splash pad and this playground with water features. They love it, it’s pretty cool.” 

He nods. 

“When I worked for Frankie and his wife, I took their daughter, Sarah, here a lot. She was still just a little squish, but, you know, there are all these trails with cool trees and there’s the lake, and another playground further down that-a-way.” 

You point to your left. He doesn’t seem to care much about what you’re saying, but asks, “Is that a job you see yourself having long-term?” 

It’s a question you’re familiar with answering. Always tainted with judgment, insinuating that your job is that of bored teenagers trying to make a buck over the summer. 

“Yep,” you tell him with a close-lipped smile, tilting your head as you wait for him to say more.

“How will that work when you have kids? Do you want to be a stay-at-home mom, or will you bring the kid with you, or what?” 

With a shrug, you tell him, “Figure I’ll see where I’m at when the time comes and go from there.”

Rory hums and nods, brow furrowing at the ground like he’s soaking this in, then he says, “It’s nice that you do that. I like that you’re a caretaker.” 

It takes you by surprise. His gaze meets yours and you smile at each other for a moment. 

“Thanks,” you say and bring your attention to the boat of shrimp tacos resting on your knee, finding them cooled down enough to eat. 

After finishing your food, you and Rory start off towards his vehicle, hand-in-hand. The trail winds by the playground you were watching from afar. Like playgrounds often are, it’s total chaos. Children screaming, running, climbing, crying. 

You spot one little girl sitting in the sand, digging a hole between her splayed legs. She seems oblivious to the world around her. The dark ringlets dangling around her cherub face wiggle as she talks to herself, eyebrows raising expressively like the one-sided conversation is intensely interesting. 

She must feel you watching her, because her spine straightens and she looks around. When her dark brown eyes meet yours, her face lights up in recognition, and she squeals your name. 

You stop in your tracks and can’t restrain the wide smile from spreading across your lips, “Sarah!” 

Aside from the brief glimpse you caught of her the day Frankie moved in, and the grocery store shortly after, you haven’t seen her in over a year. She’s grown so much. Her chunky, wobbly baby legs have elongated and grown more capable, allowing her to run towards you, arms outstretched. 

When she reaches you, you scoop her up, twirling her around as you give her a big hug, “How are you, sweetheart? I missed you!” 

Sarah squeals with delight and says, “Missed you!” 

A cool rush of panic spreads across your skin when you look around and ask, “Where are your parents, sweetie?” 

“I’m digging a hole!” 

“Oh wow, you’re digging a hole?” you laugh and shift her onto your hip as you continue to study the sea of faces, ears growing hot when you remember Rory standing behind you. The last time you saw Angie, she insulted you in broad daylight. How the fuck would you explain that to Rory if it happens again?

“Hey!”

The familiar voice is sharp with outrage. Frankie’s hand grips your shoulder and spins you around to face him. His chest is heaving, jaw clenched, eyes aflame with fury. 

You have never seen him like this. 

Your eyes widen and you hold your palm up to him, “Just me, sorry!” 

He studies your face, still red-hot anger, then it seems to come into focus for him. His shoulders relax with a relieved exhale, then his features soften and grow apologetic, “Oh, hey.” 

You bring your hand back to your hip to support the weight of Sarah and chuckle, “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you—”

“No, no, it’s ok.” 

“We were just walking, and, umm,” you gesture back at Rory, trailing off when you see Angie approaching, arms crossed, beautiful face squared off in a stern expression. 

Frankie’s gaze flicks to Rory and he gives a nod of recognition before returning his attention to Sarah, “Did you see your friend and go to say hi?”

Sarah smiles sweetly and nods, then starts wiggling to be put down. You grant the request, lowering her to the ground and letting her go. She gallops back to her hole in the sand, while you call behind her and wave, “Bye, Sarah!” 

Your face scrunches up into a wince when you meet Frankie’s eyes again, and you shrug, “Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves you off with a smirk. 

“Hey,” Angie greets, surprisingly calm. Her fingers curl around Frankie’s bicep and she blinks at you. 

“Hi, Angie,” you give a nervous nod, plastering on a smile that’s too eager, “I was just passing by with my, um,” you swallow hard and turn to Rory, waving him forward, “My boyfriend, Rory.”

Your voice is shaky. This is a nightmare. 

Rory’s arm wraps around your waist from the side and he gives a polite wave, “Hi.” 

“This is Angie Morales, Frankie’s wife,” you tell him. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Rory smiles and extends a hand to her. Angie says nothing, just shakes his hand while wearing this Mona Lisa smile and steps back beside her husband. 

The silence that follows is painful. 

“Ok, well, sorry again for the scare,” you sigh, looking down at your feet, “It was really nice to see Sarah, I miss her a lot.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie says, and you look up to see his brow knit together, dark eyes all apologetic, “I’ll see you at home, yeah?” 

You nod at the ground, then tell Angie, “Good to see you.” 

She raises an eyebrow and laughs at this. It feels like a slap. You suppose it’s better than her screaming insults at you, though. Or, like, a real slap. 

When you turn and walk away, Rory’s hand finds yours again. His grip is warm and steady, and he frowns over at you, “You ok?” 

You forgot to adjust your face. The pain bubbling up inside you must be obvious. Traitorous tears spring to your eyes, thankfully hidden behind the dark of your sunglasses. You clear your throat and nod, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

It sounds watery and false. 

“Hey,” he stops walking to turn towards you, “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head and sniffle, “Nothing, I’m fine.” 

He raises his eyebrows, searching your face, “Really?” 

Your teeth catch your tongue. Dull pain wells up in each section of the soft muscle you clamp down on, providing a microscopic release. With a deep breath, you look down at your feet and shrug, “I just—I guess I missed her more than I realized.” 

“Come here,” Rory murmurs, ushering you into a hug. You oblige. His body seems to awkwardly wrap around you, but it brings you a small dose of comfort. Even if he doesn’t feel or smell like home. 

“What’s the deal with his wife, why did she seem mad?” 

Fuck. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice, or ask. 

“She, um… she thinks I stole something from her,” you tell him, “That’s why I don’t work for them anymore.” 

Misleading, sure, but not entirely a lie. 

He hums, rubbing your back, “You care about her a lot, huh? The little girl?”

“Yeah,” you croak. A few tears spring from your eyes. You squeeze your eyelids shut and wish them away. 

Rory kisses your hair and gives you a tight squeeze, “Should we keep going?” 

You sniffle and pull back from his embrace, flashing him a tight smile as you nod, “Yeah.” 

When Frankie comes home, you’ve already resigned to your room for the night, content to wallow in self-pity you have no right to feel. 

His footsteps creak against the floorboards as he makes his way through the kitchen, into the hallway outside your room. A knock comes at the door. 

You sigh and pout to yourself, then call out, “Come in.” 

Frankie opens the door and hovers in the threshold. You pause Stardew Valley and look over from your laptop, raising your eyebrows in question. 

“Hey,” he says, puppy dog eyes in full force, crossing his arms, “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know.”

He hums and studies you for a moment, shifting his weight into the doorframe, “Earlier was… It was weird, right?” 

Your eyelids flutter. You shrug, “She didn’t call me a slut this time, which was… nice.” 

He chuckles at this. You don’t crack a smile. 

When your lack of amusement registers to him, he clears his throat and pushes off of the door frame. He makes his way around the bed and sits down on the opposite side, scooting close to you. You roll your head on your shoulders and watch him reach out to touch you, then decide against it, fingertips curling onto his lap instead. 

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he says finally, but doesn’t look at you. 

“For what?”

“I know you miss Sarah. And I know my reaction earlier was—was,” he sighs and shakes his head, “It wasn’t great.” 

“Frankie, you thought I was a abducting your child—”

“I mean after that,” he turns to you now, sincerity etched in his features, “I could have let you hang out with her, or been nicer or something, I don’t know. I just—I know, in my gut, that I could have done better. And… I’m sorry.” 

An ache of affection spreads across your chest. You reach out and rest your hand on his forearm, thumb grazing his skin as you search his face, “I appreciate that, thank you.” 

A small, relieved smile graces his lips. He nods, “Of course.” 

Then he seems to relax a little, leaning back onto one elbow as he squints at your laptop screen, “Whadda you have going on here?” 

“Exploring caves, fighting monsters.” 

“Sounds nerdy,” he teases, “Figures you’d like it.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” you laugh and give him a playful shove, “You think I’m a nerd?” 

“Maybe,” he grins. 

You scoff and shoot him a mock glare, “On what grounds?” 

He frowns, looking up at the ceiling like he’s thinking about it, then shrugs, “Basically just this, but you’re cute when you’re all riled up.” 

“Wow,” you laugh, covering your face as it heats up, “So rude.” 

He grins and lays back in your bed like he’s making himself at home here, so you join him, resting your head on his shoulder. His cheek presses into the crown of your head. You resume playing Stardew Valley. 

Some time passes like this, cuddling with him while he idly plays with your hair, asking you questions about the game like he’s interested. When the sun sets and you both start yawning at regular intervals, you tuck the laptop away in your nightstand. Frankie doesn't move. 

You return to your pillow and roll on your side to face him, tucking your hands under your cheek. He mirrors the action, just a foot or so away. His warm gaze works around your face and he murmurs, “Do you want me to go?”

It’s so quiet you can hear your pulse pounding through your arteries. 

“Not really.” 

A small smile flicks across his lips. He looks down at his clothes, “Do—do you mind if I, um…”

“What, you don’t wanna wear jeans to bed?” you snort. 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “They’re not great pajamas.” 

“Go change, I gotta wash my face and stuff anyway,” you yawn, rolling onto your back, stretching your arms into the air. 

The two of you go about your bedtime routines. When you return to your room, Frankie is laying on top of the covers, arm tucked behind his head as he scrolls on his phone. He changed into gray basketball shorts and his old, worn out Metallica t-shirt. 

“That shirt is gonna crumble into dust one of these days,” you tease while plugging your phone into its charger. 

He sets his phone down and looks at his shirt, then grins up at you, “Until it does, I’ll be wearing it.” 

You shake your head at him, peeling back the covers with shaky hands. He sits up and wriggles between your sheets as you turn off your bedside lamp and crawl in beside him. 

For a few moments, it’s just quiet in the dark. Neither of you move or say anything. You imagine he’s staring at the ceiling with tingling nerves just like you, filled with uncertainty and fear and want. Not sure what the “line” even looks like anymore because it’s been blurred so much it’s indistinguishable. 

Every other time you’ve fallen asleep together since he moved in, it could be chalked up as either accidental or, like when you were sick, necessary. Excusable if brought forth as evidence by others, or each other, or yourselves. 

But this is different. 

It’s intentional. No plausible deniability in sight. Heat blooms in your chest and between your legs. He feels so far away. 

“Frankie.” 

“Hmm?”

“Would it be weird if I asked you to hold me?” 

He lets out an amused scoff. The bed squeaks and shifts as he rolls on his side as you scoot closer to each other. His hands find you under the covers and he pulls your back to his chest, tucking one arm under your head while the other wraps around your belly. 

“It’s not weird,” he murmurs, pausing for a second before saying, “It should be, but it isn’t.” 

This makes you smile. It’s a relief to hear him say it. You relax into his embrace and rest your arm atop his at your waist. 

The darkness surrounding the two of you seems to hold space for honesty. It’s that sort of feeling you got at sleepovers when you were younger, when you and your friends would whisper secrets to each other in the dark. 

“I have nightmares sometimes,” you tell him. 

“I know.” 

You know he knows. He’s been there to wake you from them and calm you down in their wake at least a dozen times. Regardless, there’s this buzzing under your skin like you need to tell him. 

“I can never remember what happens except—except, um,” you blink your eyes open and swallow the thickness in your throat, shaking your head, “There’s this feeling, like… I know that he’s chasing me, and if he catches me, I’m never going to escape.” 

His body seems to tense a little. He looks down at you, “Who?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” 

You can feel the question occupying his tightened muscles, and say, “It’s not you.” 

“But if you don’t know—”

“It started before you,” you lace your fingers with his, letting your eyelids drift shut, “And, besides, I don’t feel like that with you. I feel… safe.” 

He relaxes around you with a sigh that sounds like relief. 

“When I lived alone it was hard. I’d wake up alone and scared, and I couldn’t fall back asleep,” you murmur, “But it’s been better lately.” 

He hums. The noise vibrates against the nape of your neck. His thumb brushes against your midriff. 

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you admit, “I guess… I just want you to know it’s nice having you here.” 

The wet swallow of his throat makes you start to worry you said too much, that you showed too much belly. You brace for him to pull away. But when his voice breaks the silence, it sounds raspy and damp. Heartfelt. 

“You don’t think I’m a burden?” 

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s ridiculous.  

“Not even a little. I’m happy to have you.” 

“I’m happy to be here, mariposa.” 

The nickname stings a little. A sharp, precise prick to the center of your chest. But his arms squeeze around you tighter, bringing you closer to his warmth. 

Your lips curve into a slight smile and you feel the tug of drowsiness on your limbs. 

“No funny business back there tonight, Franklin,” you mumble out, your words fuzzy with fatigue. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nuzzles into your hair, his own voice groggy and low, “Best behavior.” 

That warm, soft intimacy settles deep in your bones and makes you feel at ease. Safe. Loved. And it’s not long at all before sleep overtakes you.

Your Friday nights used to be synonymous with drinking. 

It meant going out to the bar to get drunk and dance and maybe find another lonely soul to spend time with. It meant blackouts and bar tabs and spending your Saturdays absolutely fucking miserable. 

Truth be told, you much prefer your new Friday night ritual: Movie Night. 

You and Frankie each get to pick any movie you want and stuff your faces while watching them back-to-back. After work, you pick him up from his AA meeting and load up on junk food, then head home. 

Tonight, the two of you walk side-by-side down aisle 5 of your neighborhood grocery store, moving at a leisurely pace across the glossy white tiles. A country music station broadcasts softly over the store’s speakers. From the cash registers up front, you hear the rhythmic beep of customers being rung up. Probably the only other people in here, honestly, it’s fucking dead. 

“What’s your movie pick?” Frankie asks while tossing a bag of classic potato chips into the red basket hanging from the bend of his elbow, “And I swear to god if you say Moulin Rouge! I’m instituting a no-repeat policy.” 

Your laughter ricochets down the aisle and you shake your head, “Don’t act like you don’t like that movie! I know you do.” 

“I mean yeah, but… there are other movies.” 

“Other… movies…?” 

He snorts and shakes his head at you. 

“Actually, I wanna watch Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” you tell him, slowing to narrow your eyes at a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips, “Do I want pretzels or salt and vinegar chips?” 

“Why not both?” he shrugs. 

You scrunch your nose up, tossing your head from side-to-side, then grab the kettle chips and drop them into your basket, “What’s your movie pick?”

“I’m between Dazed and Confused and The Wolf of Wall Street,” he says, glancing over at you. 

Your face lights up and you coo, “Ohhh Dazed and Confused, please!”

“Maybe.” 

“Maybe?” 

He grins at you and shrugs, “I will take your opinion into consideration.” 

“What, I can’t help you choose?” 

“It’s my pick,” Frankie chuckles, “You can’t pick my pick!” 

You roll your eyes at him. The two of you round the corner, merging into the vacant main aisle, and you say, “Fuck, I want ice cream.”

“I want a fucking drink,” he mutters offhandedly, then notices your concerned stare and says, “Sorry.” 

“Do you really?” 

His brow furrows as he considers this, eventually admitting, “In a way, yeah.”

You know you shouldn’t take it personally. He’s an alcoholic. But that rationale doesn’t stop the ache that spreads across your chest. 

Frankie must recognize your hurt, because he nudges you and adds, “Not because I don’t like this or anything.”

You give him a warm, reassuring smile as you turn down the freezer aisle. He continues. 

“It just lingers, I guess. Like I think I could drink and be fine,” he comes to a stop in front of the ice cream, glancing around before staring forward into the freezer like it holds all the answers, “Everything is just so… raw without it. All the feelings I’ve never dealt with, they keep bubbling up and it’s—I don’t know, it’s a lot.” 

It surprises you that he’s talking about this so openly, in a public place and everything. Two months ago you could not have dragged these words from his mouth under any circumstances. 

You nod as you study him, “Well, um… I know it’s hard, but I’m glad you’re doing it.”

He doesn’t really react, just continues to look at the ice cream. His eyes are a million miles away, though. Lost in thought. You lay your hand on his shoulder and graze your thumb against him, “Francisco.”

His jaw tightens. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

He blinks a few times, then swings his gaze to meet yours. 

“I mean it. It’s been a pleasure getting to know the real you, in all your, uhhh,” you stop and try to come up with something eloquent, landing on, “sober glory. I know it’s a lot. But I can see that it’s making a huge difference. You’re so far beyond where you started. It’s… it’s really brave to choose sobriety. I’m proud of you, Frankie.” 

It all kind of spills out of you. A collage of sentiments you’ve been keeping to yourself thrown crudely together here in the middle of the freezer aisle. 

His brow creases, eyes all dewy as they flick around your face. You worry that what you said doesn’t make sense, or that maybe it was insensitive. But then, his basket falls to the floor with a clatter and he pulls you into a hug. 

Again, you’re taken by surprise. 

You just stand there for a moment, kind of awkward with your basket dangling in one hand. 

He squeezes you tighter. Unbridled appreciation flows from him. Your stomach flutters and tears prick your eyes. You drop your basket to properly return the gesture, wrapping both arms around his torso, pulling him close. 

The warmth of his body surrounds you. You take a deep breath, inhaling the comforting musk of his skin, exhaling tension, melting into this softness. 

Frankie sniffles and kisses the crown of your head, murmuring into your hair, “Thank you.” 

You part ways, both taking a step back to see the others’ glossy, red-tinged eyes. 

And you’re not sure exactly why, but then you both laugh. Not in a nervous way. More like joy. It bubbles beneath your skin and makes you feel hopeful. 

He picks his basket up off the ground and clears his throat, turning back to the freezer door, “Anyway, ice cream.” 

When the end credits roll on Dazed and Confused, you stand up off the couch and start towards the kitchen, asking Frankie, “Need anything?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” he answers with a yawn. 

You pull open the cupboard and find a bag of popcorn, then toss it in the microwave. While you wait for it to pop, you check your phone. Three unread messages. 

> RORY: > Hey > How was work?  > Doing anything fun tonight? 

“Hey, I was thinking,” Frankie says as he shuffles past the dining room table, into the kitchen. You set your phone down on the counter and cross your arms, looking up at him. 

“Next week is Sarah’s birthday, Ang is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want me to see if she would let you come?” 

The question leaves you momentarily speechless. You never thought it would be a possibility, and the offer completely blindsides you. 

Your mouth gapes open and you blink, “I, um—well, I—”

“If you want to, I mean.” 

You frown and meet his eyes, “Well, yeah, obviously I want to, but is Angie really ok with that?” 

“I’ll talk to her,” he says, leaning back on the counter next to you, “She’s been more receptive lately. And—and I think if you brought Rory, she would feel more reassured, that, um…”

Your stomach drops like a rock. 

A clusterfuck of messy emotions tangle and twist inside your body. At the tip of your tongue sits the question: That, what, there’s nothing going on between us? 

You look over at him and search his face. It’s unreadable. He’s frozen like he knows he came dangerously close to mentioning the elephant in the room and doesn’t know what to do next. 

The air thickens. 

Moments go by that feel like centuries.

You can’t stand it anymore, and lead him to continue the thought, “That what?”

He turns to face you and looks fucking terrified. Forehead creased. Eyes wide. Lips parted like apologies are about to come spilling out of them. 

You hold his gaze. Try not to notice the pungent energy pulsing between your bodies, or the way his eyes soften when he looks at your mouth and takes a step towards you. 

For one heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

A beep sounds from the microwave. 

He looks to the source, trance broken, but your eyes stay trained on him. On the elongated bob of his throat swallowing nerves. On the restless, twitchy movements that suddenly seem to possess him. 

When he notices you’re still staring at him, he only allows a brief glance before dropping his gaze to the ground and shoving his hands in his pockets, finally saying, “I—I just mean that I think she’ll be ok with it. And—and Sarah would be excited to see you.”

You pause before you react, trying to decide whether or not to ask him the question tearing apart your insides like a rabid dog: Do you want me to go so I can see Sarah, or so you can continue to lie to your wife?

Simultaneously, you cannot ask him and you need to know.

You tell yourself: He’s in recovery. He needs support, not criticism. 

You say: Let him figure out the missing pieces in his life and put it back together. Even if the shape it takes breaks you. 

“Ok,” you give him a tight nod and push off the counter, pulling the microwave door open, “If she’s fine with it, I’d love to go.” 

“Yeah?”

You pinch the corner of your bloated popcorn bag and pull it out, nudging the microwave door closed, then turn to face him, but don’t look up, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

A small, distant voice says: You fucking coward. 

[scaradooche]

Lovesick

Buzzing, buzzing is what you wake up to. More specifically buzzing from your phone. You pick up your phone all drowsy to see someone calling you. “Hm?” you say waiting for the other person on the line to speak.

“Y/n where the fuck are you right now? Lumine says hastily.

“At my house.” You mumble

“Y/n it’s 7:58 am school starts at 8.”

You immediately hang up without saying another word. You rush out of bed dreading the outcome of the day already.

It’s 8:20 am when you get to school. You walk slow trying to delay your arrival to your first class which is Ap physics with one of the worst teachers. Ms. Cordez. Great. You take the time to actually look at the outfit you’re wearing. You’re wearing black sweats with a gray sweater and a white shirt. The outfit you picked out wasn’t that bad for picking random stuff you saw in your room but it wasn’t exactly something you would normally wear. You stopped, you didn’t know why. It was like your mind wasn’t processing anything your body was doing. You pick up your head from looking at the ground to realize that you’re in front of your class. You take a deep breath and enter the classroom.

You’re not even one step in before you here a “Ah, look who decided to show up.”

“Hello..” you mutter trying to make your way to your seat.

“Not so fast young lady, why are you late?” You hear Ms. Cordick Cordez say.

“Overslept..”

“Give me a full sentence.”

“I overslept.” you state clearly getting annoyed of her. Sometimes you wonder to yourself if she actually has a life outside of school. You could never imagine that. There is reason why she’s a Ms. and not a Mrs.

“Do you think that is a full sentence?” she says in a irritated voice. When looking at her face you notice that she looks as red as a lobster. You find the comparison quite funny. If you really think about it she does have facial features that do resemble one.

“Yes.”

“Oh, so you want to give me attitude now?” She says in the most obnoxious way ever. At this point you just think she’s trying to get under your skin.

“What the hell? I’m not-“ you try to speak before Ms. Cordez interrupts you.

“We do not use this kind of language in this classroom.” She speaks with a pissy tone.

‘You’re being dramatic, you need to actually chill it’s not a big deal.”

“You do not tell me to chill. I am not your friend. I am your teacher. You need to learn some manners young lady. Detention after school.”

You give her a blank stare before walking to your seat. What a pleasant start to your day you think.

3:00 pm, school finally ended and you can see people heading out of there classes. Some heading out with their friends most likely having plans since it’s a Friday others just going home. You pull out your phone to text your friends.

You close your phone heading to Ms. Cordicks classroom to spend two hours of your life doing absolutely nothing. When you get there the first thing she has you do is check in and hand her your phone.

“You’ll get this back after you serve your time.”

You nod your head and find a table to sit at. Once you find a desk you bring out a notebook planning to just doodle instead of doing any actual work. Around 5 minutes later you see more students coming in you hope that none of them sit next to you. You never really liked the fact that she had table with chairs instead of just desks. Another 5 minutes later Ms. Cordez decides to speak.

“Seeing that everyone is here, I would like to say that I’m not going to be in the same room with you while you serve your time here. Instead I’ll be in another room with Mrs. Smith grading work together. I assume you won’t leave this room without your phones. I except you all to be doing work for the next two hours.” She’s says hastily before she walks out.

Once she leaves you see friends that were split up start getting up and sitting together. The news that she’s not going to be in this room doesn’t affect you at all. While you’re doodling you hear someone getting up. It doesn’t bother you since a lot of people are getting up right now and changing their seats. It doesn’t bother you until this person sits next to you. You stop doodling and look up at this person to only realize it was him. The kids older brother. Your “boyfriend”. Childe.

Prev||Masterlist||Next 2.5: Fuck you Ms. Cordick

Fun Facts:

Idk how to write accurate detention scenes since I’ve never gotten detention 😝😝😍😍

Idk how to write so don’t mind my bad writing

Ms. Cordez is my irl teacher I hate her sm praying on her downfall everyday 😍

Next chapter will probably be uploaded today and it’s gonna be majority writing 😝 be prepared for more of my bad writing 😍😍🔥🔥

No character fun facts this chapter 😔😞😣 the first half wants to be bold for some reason pls don’t mind it 😓😓

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.5

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist      Series Masterlist!

Word Count: 751

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

~

Nat stared down at her screen in disbelief, not only were the two of you close to each other during the battle of New York but apparently, she had actually met you as well. She wracked her brain through all of the interactions she had with civilians that day but her mind was so preoccupied that she barely paid attention to any of the faces she saved. And that was three years ago.

She ran your number through her database then. 

The coincidence or possible lack thereof was enough to deter her from whatever fantasy she’d begun to create about you. You could be a spy, or hydra, or-

Her laptop dinged with the results but she kept her eyes trained on your message, too afraid to look at the screen and be met with a harsh reality she’s so used to. Every time she’s close to having something nice- something for herself, it all comes crashing down. 

She willed her head to lift, eyes expectant and walls reforming no matter what answer she faced.

You were clear. A small green check mark stares back up at her along with a line of words in italics reading 

No Major or Minor offenses committed

You had a clean record. Instinctively she moved her cursor to the photos option, a habit she picked up from needing to identify targets. It took everything in her not to click on the tab and see what kind of person you were. If you threw a big glittery birthday party every year or if you prefer a quiet celebration. If you were the kind of person to post pictures of your food, or if you had a strange hobby that nobody does anymore. But you weren’t a target. And that very habit is precisely why she shouldn’t know what you looked like. She shouldn’t be texting you at all. She was getting too invested. Too close.

Nat shut her laptop and began changing into her workout clothes. Maybe a three-hour workout would clear her mind of all of this. Of you.

Halfway into her workout, Nat’s phone rings with a notification

She decided to at least try to coerce the interaction out of you

                Y/n🍦:

Nat🔪:

Lucky you, I heard she’s pretty

What was it like meeting her? Did she say anything?

Y/n🍦: 

 Woah you a fan or something?

Nat🔪:

You could say that

Y/n🍦:

Cryptic.

Anyway- 

Yeah, she was pretty

Which really isn’t fair because she had just been fighting off aliens and she had scratches and stuff but she was still gorgeous

Nat🔪:

What happened?

-When you met her

Y/n🍦: 

She flew down from the sky and picked me

up bridal style and then took me out to dinner

Nat🔪:

Ha ha.

Does that sound like something she’d do?

Y/n🍦:

Yes. 100%

It really happened to me I swear.

Nat🔪:

You swear? Really?

Y/n🍦:

Yes 😎

Nat🔪:

Swear on your duck socks.

Y/n🍦:

>:(

This is not fair.

Nat🔪:

Have you tried giving up?

I heard it’s great for your health.

Y/n🍦:

Well why would I tell a stranger my most traumatic memory?

So maybe she was still a little salty after last night's “stranger” comment.

Nat🔪:

Point taken.

Is there any way I can make it up to you?

Y/n🍦:

Yes 🥰

You can send me pictures of the front

And back of your credit card 🙂

Nat🔪:

Any other way?

Y/n🍦:

:(

Copious amounts of groveling?

Nat🔪: 

And how do you expect me to do that exactly?

Y/n🍦:

By sending me very sorry pictures

Of the front and back of your credit card :(

Nat🔪:

I can send you pictures of someone

else’s credit card?

Y/n🍦: 

That’s…concerning and yet SO tempting

Nat🔪:

Well?

Y/n🍦: 

I feel like you’d use your FBI privileges to hunt me down 

and arrest me if I did that

Nat🔪:

No promises ;)

That does sound like a fun time.

Y/n🍦:

A simple apology will do Natalyn

Nat🔪:

That’s not-

Nevermind.

I am sorry for calling us strangers, Y/n

I suppose we’re not strangers since you know the color of

My pajama pants

Y/n🍦:

And your bed sheets 

;)

Nat🔪:

Yes… And that.

Y/n🍦:

We’re practically at sleepover level besties

Nat����:

Are we?

Y/n🍦:

OkAy strap in for the trauma babes

Grab some popcorn

Nat🔪:

That’s not a bad idea-

Y/n🍦: 

Nope it’s too late here I go-

Pt.6

Y/n is me, I am Y/n ~ Starry

------

Taglist:

@romanoffsgal @natsxwife @la-douleur-ne-finit-jamais @moistblobfish 

[chicgeekgirl89]

Chapter 4 is up!

Tagging: @lemonlyman-dotcom and @kiwichaeng

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:22pm] Why do smoke detector batteries only die in the middle of the night?

T.K. is chowing down on some of Paul’s chili when his phone buzzes in his pocket. His dad is regaling the table with another of his New York exploits, this one about a rather scandalous call at a night club. T.K. had been off that night, but he’s heard the story so many times he could probably tell it word for word.

“An unbelievable amount of glitter,” his dad says as T.K. slips his phone out. As soon as he sees the text he smiles. 

T.K.

[6:23pm] Are you speaking from personal experience?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:24pm] Yes. Two o’clock in the morning last night. Even though I change them every six months. Took me fifteen minutes to figure out which one. So tell me firefighter, why? 

T.K.

[6:25pm] Bad news. Smoke detectors are sons of bitches. They’re like Santa. They see you when you’re sleeping. They know when you’re awake. And they choose to use that information for evil.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[6:26pm] That seems like a major design flaw for a life saving device.

“Why are you smiling at your crotch?” Marjan asks from across the table.

T.K. slides his phone back into his pocket. “No reason.”

“Nobody smiles at their crotch for no reason,” Judd says, wiping at his mouth with a napkin. “You talking to a guy?”

“I wasn’t talking to anybody,” T.K. says, scooping up another spoonful of chili. It’s true. He was texting. Not talking. He’s a professional at telling the truth without actually telling it.

“I bet it’s that guy from the other night,” Paul says, a smirk on his face.

“Ooh, the hot guy with the six pack?” Mateo asks.

“Son, if you are engaged in sexting I’m going to ask you not to do it at the dinner table,” Owen says, clearly flirting with the line of dad mode and captain mode.

“I’m not sexting,” T.K. says with a roll of his eyes.

“But it is the guy from the other night?” Paul says. “Come on. You can tell us.”

“Is this what it’s like to have siblings?” T.K. asks. “Kind of glad you and Mom never got around to having more kids, Dad.”

“You’re welcome?” his dad says in a slightly bemused voice.

“Listen if you’re gonna text during dinner you’re gonna owe us some answers,” Judd says. “Least you can do for not paying attention.”

“Fine!” T.K. says. “Yes. It is the guy from the other night. His name is Carlos and he’s APD. Happy?”

“Carlos what?” Marjan asks.

T.K. stares at her. “What do you mean Carlos what?”

“What’s his last name?” she says. When he doesn’t answer she sets down her spoon. “You do know his last name, right?”

“I—“ 

“Are you sure he’s real?” Mateo asks, adding more cheese to his chili. “Could be a catfish situation.”

“Catfish?” Owen asks, looking confused. “You think T.K. is talking to a fish that lives in muddy water?”

Judd shakes his head. “I’ll explain it later Cap.”

“I am not being catfished,” T.K. says. “He’s a real guy. A nice guy,” he adds.

“Ooooh you’re smitten,” Paul says with a grin.

“I am not smitten!” T.K. cries.

He does not share the part where he poured his heart out the other night through texts to Carlos. Apparently his New York sob story needed to be released and a somewhat faceless, hot ass phone man seemed like an appropriate person to do it with. He’s not sure if his therapist will be thrilled or horrified.

“Just be careful what you send him,” Marjan cautions. “The internet is forever.”

“Thanks Mom,” he shoots back.

“Marjan is right,” his dad says. “I am all for you sowing your oats or Netflix and chilling or whatever you kids are calling it these days. But you should be careful.”

“One time,” Mateo says around a mouthful, “my cousin thought he was going to some girl’s place, but when he got there, it was actually a dude named Knife. He stole my cousin’s wallet and his cell phone.”

“You know sometimes I really worry about you probie,” Paul says, eyes full of genuine concern.

Mateo’s story takes the heat off of T.K. and the team spends the rest of dinner ragging on him instead. 

But T.K. is still thinking about Marjan’s words hours later when he’s laying in his bunk staring at the ceiling. Everyone else is asleep; he can hear Judd’s chainsaw snores, Mateo’s sleep mumbles, and Paul’s deep breathing. Crazy how quickly those sounds have become familiar to him.

He rolls over and grabs his phone off the nightstand, turning down the brightness so it doesn’t wake anyone else up. He gnaws at his lip for a second before sending another text off to Carlos.

T.K.

[10:41pm] You’re real, right?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:43pm] As opposed to…?

T.K.

[10:44pm] This isn’t a Catfish situation? You’re not really a woman living in Boise who’s going to steal my credit card information?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:45pm] You got me. You’re my third mark this year. What gave it away?

T.K. snorts then looks around quickly to make sure he hasn’t woken anyone up. His fingers fly as he types back.

T.K.

[10:46pm] Prove it.

Office Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] Prove what? That I’m real? How?

T.K.

[10:47pm] Idk. Send a picture of you holding a fork.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:47pm] …a fork?

T.K.

[10:48pm] Four tines? Used for food? Popular with mermaids?

There’s no response and T.K. sets the phone down on his chest. He’s stupid. This is stupid. What kind of stupid person asks someone who’s basically a stranger to send a picture of themselves with a fork at this time of night? 

T.K. winces. Weirdest booty call ever. 

His phone vibrates and when he lifts it up he has to clap a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Carlos has sent a selfie of him holding a fork. His eyes are squinty, like he’s barely awake, and there’s a hint of scruff on his face. His hair is all mussed and he looks so adorable that T.K. feels a very strong urge to kiss him.

He’s also shirtless. Which makes T.K. feel a very strong urge to put his mouth other places.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Do you ever wear a shirt?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:55pm] I was in bed. This is how I sleep. And you’re welcome that I got up to prove my legitimacy to you.

T.K.

[10:55pm] Thanks. Do you want me to prove mine?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:56pm] No need.

T.K.

[10:57pm] No need? What does that mean?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:57pm] I know you’re real.

T.K. thinks for a minute and then his mouth falls open.

T.K.

[10:58pm] Did you background check me officer?!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[10:58pm] …I plead the fifth….

T.K.

[10:59pm] You did!

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:00pm] Okay fine, I did. I wanted to know more about you.

Warmth blooms in his chest, but then is immediately doused like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on it. If Carlos ran a background check…

T.K.

[11:01pm] So…you know about the shooting then? 

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:01pm] Yeah. And the incident at the bar.

Shit. He’d really rather Carlos not know about the bar. He wishes nobody knew about the bar. Having his dad pick him up from jail had been a low point in their first few months in Austin. It had taken weeks for his split lip to heal. At least he hadn’t been charged. He hadn’t realized there was still a record of some kind though.

T.K. 

[11:02pm] Great. So you’ve seen the highlight reel of all my finest Austin moments.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:02pm] I actually already knew about the shooting. It was kind of big news. I just didn’t realize it was you.

T.K.

[11:03pm] Yep. That’s me. Remembered for my near death experience and getting my ass kicked.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked. 

T.K.

[11:03pm] It’s okay. Like you said, you already knew about the shooting. And it’s my fault the bar thing is on record anyway. It was really stupid.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:03pm] Everybody makes mistakes T.K.

T.K.

[11:04pm] Well I already spilled my guts to you about New York. So you know I’ve made more than a few.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:04pm] So have I. You just don’t know them yet.

Why does that small bit of empathetic understanding make his heart ache? His therapist would probably say something about how he always feels like he’s too much for people to handle and Carlos choosing kindness instead of running away at the first signs of T.K.’s baggage.

T.K.

[11:05pm] Do you think it’s weird that we never met before the other day? Since we’re both first responders?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:05pm] Not really. Austin’s a big city. 

T.K. rotates his phone in his hand a few times, getting his nerve up. 

T.K.

[11:06pm] Would you want to hang out? Sometime?

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[11:09pm] Like a date?

The alarm blares and T.K. immediately shoots upward, pulling on his boots and turnout pants as everyone else does the same. The fire is a big one and they don’t get back to the station until four am. By then it’s way too late to text Carlos back and honestly, he’s too exhausted to even form words. He drops into his bunk and falls immediately asleep.

[chiefwritesbook]

Writeblr Q&A

I have been tagged by @scifimagpie (ty for tag) so I shall attempt to answer these questions lezzgo

1. What motivates you to write?

The soup brain has too many thoughts & I have to get them out. Also spite because my asshole 8th grade English teacher said my writing assignment was only worth a C (he was the ONLY one btw I got consistently vv high grades before him) & my Chinese immigrant friend got marked down for not being good at English. Fuck you Mr English teacher

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

(idk have this one from early chapter 2 I guess)

“You mean to say that I was bait,” Talin said.

“Not the word I would use, but in a way, yes,” Red Wolf confessed.

“Why?”

“You have been on the throne for less than a year. If someone wants you dead this quickly, something is amiss. I’d like to find out what.”

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

My boy Red Wolf. He's just...yes. Autistic werewolf puppy. Could definitely kill me without hesitation or talk me to death with weapons knowledge. I would thank him if he punched me.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

I like not writing.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Worldbuilding, no doubt. I am simultaneously the best and worst at worldbuilding. You want a 2000-word essay on how languages & regional dialects evolved over time? I gotchu covered no problem. Want me to stop elaborating on how Hellhound magic is linked to the moon & actually write my sequels? Absolutely not.

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I think the writeblr community is chill. Like y'all are just here for a good time and I can 100% respect that & get behind it. I get to write unhinged answers to these questions & not feel bad about it bc I don't have to self-impose ridiculous societal concepts such as 'maintain a professional image on social media'.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Scrivener? Am I allowed to say Scrivener even though I use at most like 2% of their features. I am the kind of person who if given nothing but a notes app & a two-hour uni class to sit through will hammer out a full chapter in those two hours instead of paying any attention to class. On the other hand if you want me to actually write during my free time I'm sorry I'm too busy procrastinating writing with art & procrastinating art with gaming.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

This is not a wise question to ask me (see: question 5) unless the goal was to make me sit here for ten minutes typing out an entire essay's worth of worldbuilding word vomit, in which case well played. However for the sake of my own free time & sanity:

The legal system in Kies Tor is probably the single greatest thing I've ever constructed & it plays a crucial part in the plot & was built off the early British/European court system as well as my own special interests in law & criminology. In short it's trying its best but it's also deeply fucked up and I love making the fucked up parts fuck up my characters.

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Don't feel pressured to write. If you're staring at the same thing for weeks/months on end of course it's gonna get stale. Heck this Q&A post is the most I've written in weeks.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

@witch-king-of-angstmar ofc (no pressure to answer tho) but other than that I never know who to tag. I have social anxiety what is an interacting. If you see this on your dash consider yourself tagged

[slightlystupidhun]

The One That Almost Stayed

To the person who read the title as “The One That Almost Slayed, I hope you know I almost typed that as the title before going back and rereading it and realizing it was wrong lmao thank you for making my day!! I love reading these comments!! Thank you to everyone who comments!! And thank you to everyone who has been reading my series!! I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed making it.

A Quinn and Darlin fic that is based on the song, The One That Got Away, by the civil wars. It is set before Darlin meets Sam.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,

Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

TW: Cussing, Quinn, Hostility, Blood, Grooming, nonconsensual biting. This fic discusses serious issues Tank probably went through. Please viewer discretion is advised.

David stared at Tanker, his face fell and he felt as though someone punched him in the gut. He stared at his pack mate as if they grew a third appendage. What did they mean? Why did they want to leave? It must be his fault. This surely meant that he already wasn’t living up to the base line of what his dad set.

“You want to leave? Back to Washington?” He asked almost out of breath.

“Yes.” They said void of emotion.

“But why?” He asked leaning forward to them more. The bed creaked beneath his weight.

“I just… I want to be with family.” They looked away from David finding a bird flying out of the window. He was hurt. Did they mean they didn’t see him as family? No, this isn’t about him. It’s about them. They need this. If they need to go, he should let them… right?

“You’re still pretty banged up…” he said trying to remain calm.

“I’ll get extra healing over there. I’ll be fine. Besides, the scar is worth the reminder… it’s a good lesson I guess.” They held the side of their neck they remember Quinn biting. It was covered in gauze. “As soon as they let me go I’ll grab a flight out of here… I… I’ll let my Aunt know. Of course I’ll have to text Declan and Naomi. I’ll let them know they can keep the apartment-“

“Tank… Declan and Naomi… they… they had to get their memories modified. They don’t remember anything…” David said grabbing their hand.

“What?? No… Why? Oh god… they don’t… they don’t remember me.” Tank said losing all feeling in their heart. They felt numb and their world went silent.

———

It had been one month since Tank had arrived in Washington. Their aunt was there to pick them up, and even let them stay with her for two weeks, until they were able to find a Job and a home out there.

Tank felt isolated but they knew it was necessary. Quinn was going to take everyone they loved from them. He would find them and make sure they had no one to go to. Quinn won, and that was that.

They had often received texts from pack members. Even Cristian had reached out and apologized. He asked them if they needed anything and if there was anything he could do. Milo had kept Tank updated on his love life. Occasionally asking if they had found love themself. Asher began texting them about this elevator hottie when he found they didn’t want to speak on what happened. And David? Well… he was David.

D: How are you doing Tank?

T: I am ok.

2 DAYS LATER

D: Hows the recovery going?

T: Fine. Thanks.

Two months into their “healing” Tank found themself trying to adapt to a life with no pack. They didn’t want to inflict any harm on any of them, not even Cristian. They needed to put more distance there. They tried their best to adapt to a more unempowered lifestyle.

D: Hey, how are you?

D:Tank?

T: I’m fine. Sorry was busy.

Months three and four were some of their lowest. They felt all of the sadness, anger, and guilt from what happened hitting them full force. They wished they had never met Quinn. They wished they had killed him. They wished so many things.

Tank didn’t really believe in wishes. They were more of a ‘do it yourself’ kind of person. So what was it that they really wanted? What was the root of their pain? What was the problem that they could solve?

D: Tank, I heard you moved out? How long ago was that? Are you ok?

T: I’m fine. About 3 months ago. I’m ok. Don’t worry.

The fifth month fell flat for them. Now they were just pissed. They had a strong desire for something, but they couldn’t tell just what? It was like something was pulling at them, like they had a lead, a call, a reason to feel pissed. They felt a strong connection pulling them back to Dahlia, but they knew they couldn’t go back.

It wasn’t until the sixth month that Tank knew what the problem was, and that they needed to solve it.

Problem: Quinn is not only attacking me, but my pack. He attacked my friend.

What do they want: Safety for them and their pack. Reprieve from the itching dread they always felt. Revenge, for the friend they lost and the time they wasted.

Solution: kill the problem at any cost.

Problem of the Solution: David doesn’t know Quinn is alive. David would stop them.

Solution: Don’t tell David. Don’t tell anyone.

Months Seven, eight, nine, and ten left Tanker working overtime and saving up every little ounce of money they could. They would work off side jobs. Do random favors. Anything they could to get back to Quinn and finally finish this.

They had almost completely stopped responding to David, or anyone else from the pack for that matter. They were too busy. They didn’t have the time to answer a call, or 59 unread messages.

Month eleven they had requested Milo send them their motorcycle. They knew he had kept it for them, and if they wanted to come back inconspicuously, a flight might not be the best option, especially since the department was keeping a special eye on them.

M: Your bike should’ve arrived today 👀

T: Got it thanks.

M: What did ya need it for?

T: 🙄 Do I need a reason to want to ride MY bike?

M: 🤔🤐

T: Good.

Month Twelve and they were ready to go. They had texted their aunt telling her they were going to explore on their own for a while. They got on their bike and began the drive home. They knew the ride would be about 18 hours with light traffic and no stops so they prepared to have some money on the side to rest for the one day. If they were going to kill Quinn, they would need all the energy they could get.

When they finally arrived back in Dahlia they looked for the cheapest apartment they could find. It was a small apartment in a bad part of town. It was pretty run down but it’s not like they needed anything expensive.

They kept getting a lead, a trace, a scent, a feeling that they felt was Quinn. For the next month they focused on following that scent. It led them to the edge of the Solaire Clan territory. The only issue was that Quinn wasn’t a Solaire. Why was his trace on Solaire property. They knew that if they went over that line, they would be caught and David would be notified so they needed to be careful about how they went about this.

A month later, after asking around town, they finally got answers. Apparently, Quinn found his way on Solaire territory and attacked some individuals. Those individuals are now freshly turned vamps. The name that Tank kept getting was a man named Sam Collins. Apparently he was the maker of a Frederick. Tanker needed to get to him to find more about Quinn. They needed to follow the scent. They knew that Sam was the only possible person who could help them. Hell he might even join them on their hunt if what the reports said held any veracity.

Watch out Sam Collins Tanks coming and there is nothing you can do to stop them.

[emmymaehereeeeee]

Spider Movie

word count: 1,425

first tom holland fic sorry if it is not the best!

@tomholland2013 is going live now

You clicked on the notification and settled in to watch the announcement, you didn’t have any high hopes, there were millions of people who had entered their names into the drawing! Still, you watched with the utmost attention, “Alright are we live? Can everyone hear us? Ok yep!” Tom smiled into the camera as he settled into his seat. “Well hello everyone um my name is Tom Holland and I am joined here today with my lovely co-star, Zendaya, and two of my brothers, Paddy and Harry. So today we are going to be drawing for a few of these items on the table and the final drawing will be for one lucky person to fly out to the premiere of No Way Home.” 

Watching as he read off the names of random followers and signing a few items it finally came time for the premiere drawing. Crossing your fingers you wished upon every lucky star, hoping and praying that maybe you would get the prize. 

There was a slight pause as Tom reached his hand into the vase, “@jessisamess? Z, did I say that right? @jessisamess” 

Zendaya took the slip of paper from him, “Yeah, that is right, congrats to @jessisamess!”

With wide eyes and a slack jaw you stared at your phone screen, “There’s no way, maybe they got the username wrong?” 

“As always we will be reaching out to the winner and if they choose not to accept the award we will draw again, thank you everyone and we will talk to you all soon, bye!” Tom leaned forward and ended the live. 

Sitting there on your couch perpetually flabbergasted at the news that you had just heard you almost didn’t hear your phone ringing. Looking down at the phone you saw it was an unknown number, “Um hello?” 

“Hello is this Jessica? Your Instagram handle being @jessisamess?” A man spoke on the other line of the phone.

“Yes, this is her.” You felt nervous, sure this was not creepy at all, just a random man who knew your full name.

“Alright! This is Andrew Dunlap I am representing Mr. Tom Holland and I just wanted to touch base with you about the whole process. We are going to be working with the airline of your choice we’ll fly you out to the premiere, and pay for your stay at the hotel.

“Shit, this is not some kind of prank is it?” You asked once more- still feeling a tad bit skeptical.

“No ma’am I assure you this is not a prank, we will be in touch with you soon.” 

You heard the phone click and sat it down, “Holy shit, I am going to meet Tom Holland- oh shit.” 

The days passed by quickly and soon you found yourself grabbing your bag from baggage claim and heading towards a supposed, “Andrew.” 

“Jessica, how are you? I’ll take you to the hotel and give you a chance to get ready, does that sound good?” 

“Um yeah, that sounds good!” You followed close behind him not sure of what to say but desperately wanting to fill the silence. “So, how long have you known Tom?” 

He glanced back at you in the rearview mirror, “I’ve known him for a few years now, I promise you he’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet.” He smiled at you, “Are you nervous?” 

Nodding your head you let out a sigh, “Oh my God I am just feeling all of the emotions right now. I mean I didn’t think I would ever you know be here?” 

“You’re going to be just fine.” Andrew reassured you as he parked the car, “I’m going to run a few errands, and then I’ll be back to pick you up, sound good?” 

“Thank you once again!” You closed the door and made your way up to the hotel room, you unlocked the door and sat your bags down on the bed. “Alright- how am I supposed to dress to meet Tom Holland?” Opening up your suitcase you rummaged around until you decided on an outfit. The hour passed by rather quickly and soon enough Andrew was texting you asking you to make your way down to the lobby. “Alright here goes nothing.” Walking to the elevator you took in a deep breath and stepped in. 

Meanwhile down in the lobby, Tom Holland was frantically asking his manager just about every question in the book. “I just don’t want to say anything weird and she thinks ‘Oh my gosh Tom Holland is so weird, I can’t be known as being weird.” He ran a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth. 

“Tom, number one you need to calm the hell down- her name is Jessica and she is probably just as nervous as you are. Secondly- pull it together she’s right here.” Andrew lifted his hand up to gesture towards you. 

“Hey, Andrew- oh shit,” You paused when you saw Tom, he looked so much better in person. 

“Jessica! It is so nice to meet you, my name is Tom but you probably already knew that, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his neck and smiled, “I’m glad that you are here.” 

“Yeah, so am I!” You replied smiling back at him

“Ok, we need to get a move on! Zendaya will meet us at the premiere and we will go on from there.” Andrew ushered both of you out to the car.

“How was your flight?” Tom asked shifting in his seat so that he could face you better.

“It was good, thank you for paying for” He cut you off

“Jess, please it’s the least that I could do for how much all of you support me, really don’t mention it.” He reached over and squeezed your hand, “You look lovely in that dress.” 

If Andrew hadn’t known he would have assumed the two of you were old friends perhaps even lovers. The way the conversation seemed to flow so seamlessly between the two of you, it  was strange but intriguing all at the same time. 

When the car slowed to a stop, Tom was quick to open your door, “You ready?” 

Nodding your head you took his hand and stepped out of the car, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

Standing off to the side you watched as the co-stars mingled and took pictures together, your attention was focused on Zendaya and Tom. There was no reason to be jealous, there was nothing between the two of you- but something about the way he wrapped his arm around her waist made you insatiably angry.

“Jessica, hey come on over here! I want to get a few pictures with you,” Tom called out for you and you saw Zendaya waving you over. Making your way over to the pair, you timidly gave them both a smile. 

“I love your outfit so much, it truly brings out your eyes,” Zendaya said whilst pulling you in for a hug.  

“She is absolutely gorgeous, isn’t she?” Tom asked turning to Zendaya.

Feeling your cheeks burn, you turned on your heel and made your way down the aisle.

“Thomas Stanley Holland, are you crushing on a fan?” Zendaya asked as the two of them made their way to follow you. 

“What? No, I am not crushing on anyone!” His face grew red with blush and Zendaya shook her head. “I mean she is really pretty, she’s smart, kind.” 

“You are really going to just sit here and tell me you are not crushing on this girl?” Zendaya raised one eyebrow.

“Um where- oh sorry for interrupting. I just got lost on my way to the bathroom and I don’t really know what to do next?” 

The pair turned around and went silent, “Jess, we were just talking about you, Tom here he really wants to talk to you about something and I need to run to the restroom!” She quickly sprinted off, leaving the two of you staring at one another. 

“Jess, I just- this may sound weird but I was wondering if you maybe would want to go out sometime?” Tom wrung his hands as he awaited your answer. 

“Wait is Tom Holland asking me out on a date?” You asked him whilst trying not to scream out of excitement.

“He is also very anxiously waiting for your answer.” He replied 

“Of course, how about a movie? There is this really good one playing right now, I think it has something to do with spiders?” You teased him.

[jaylaxies]

OKAY HERE WE GO:

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend. 

yn getting some good dick,, we love to see it yes and omg jay as my bestie? love him so much. oh wait the guy ghosted? nah fuck him 😔👎🏼

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you. 

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

stop he’s so cute im crying

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you. 

NAH NOT DYNAMITE??? goodbye i laughed so hard please i imagined jake singing while fucking out,, like out of nowhere 😭

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him. 

WORKOUT SELFIES HELLO yes oh god,, yep one selfie and im gonna be begging him to fuck me 🫡

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic? 

he’s such a loser i absolutely adore him istg 😭 putting so much thought into nudes aw jakey 🫶🏼

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

again, i imagined this so vividly like his voice would be so desperate like,, out of tune and maybe squeaky but damn,, i love how you’ve written jake

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch. 

he’s so cute hes sooo cute istg, he’s definitely going through a switch in all emotions while jerking off 😭

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

he’s smiling and his cock is twitching?? fuck,, wow what a sight istg that’s how i like my men fr

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan. 

dirty talk and his accent,, kill me

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

i always think of him as someone who cums a lot and that just makes this crazier wow i love how you describe stuff, top tier writing i swear 🗣️

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand. 

HES SO CUTE i love losers

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car. 

i bet he’s kicking his feet rn ohmygod why am i smiling reading this he’s so cute

“Oh, she’s real.”

BYEE HES SO 😭

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

im literally laughing so hard this is so fucking cute

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night. 

yn is me literally 😭 jake is a cutie i can’t get enough of this

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend. 

dw jay i’ll give love to your dick 🫡

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

bye i absolutely love jay

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks. 

OH HES ADORABLE,, the fact that he’s open about how he finds yn so attractive just makes it better

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

desperate subby loser boys will always have my heart

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go. 

his lips are made for this istg i need him so bad

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say. 

absolutely love it when you guide a puppy and he listens to you so well ohmygod 🙂‍↕️

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

i would go crazy seeing him like that please,, the details,, i love love love 💗

He’s in love.

i chuckled fr, i know i’ll be thinking about jake all day now

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

oh he’s desperate desperate and so in love

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

shut up he’s such a loser,,, user simpjaes i love how you write 🫶🏼

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard. 

he literally knows what to do w his lips and everything,, he was made for me fr

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.” 

annoyed and desperate subs i literally literally wanna see him whine and beg for more 🗣️

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

so true, might as well marry him atp cause he’s literally so perfect oh wow

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

SJANHS KILL ME I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake. 

i agree yes please be together please,, sex changed lives 🫡

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line. 

JENDWKJ heeseung 😭 i literally am laughing thinking about how cocky jake would be about this 🫡

oh wow okay i literally loved this so much, your writings are masterpieces i kid you not 🫶🏼 it’s always so amazing to sit and read one of user simpjaes works aaa i love it 💗also also happy birthday to youu <3 have a great day love :3

EROTIC EMPATHY (s.jy)

Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Nope. Are you about to? Yep. or the one where jake has a streak of bad luck in bed and his friends make fun of him for it, you find him advertising himself on a dating app and decide to help him out. 

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it

WORDCOUNT― 12.7k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader 

CONTENT― virgin guy who lives with his parents!jake, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that, facetime-sex, real life sex

SIDE CHARACTERS― jay as reader’s best friend and roommate, heeseung briefly as jake’s friend.

NOTE― if you've read this before it's because im the person who wrote it [ncteez] and im revamping it for jake, pls don't send me messages on either account about stealing a work that's already mine!

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags―big huge dick jake, phone sex (ish), face time sex,  masturbation, pet name: baby, making out, he eats you out twice, fingering, whining and whimpering, deep throating, premature ejaculation, desperate man wants his dick wet lmao, grinding, tit fondling/licking, clit stimulation, he bites the fuck out of his tongue to try and distract himself from coming too soon again,  no condom aka cream pie, jake gets feelings like immediately when u touch him

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Check this shit out,” you laugh, presenting your phone to Jay with a chuckle. “yes or no?”

Jay snorts, nearly spitting out the bite of food in his mouth as he reads the bio of the man you’re showing to him.

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend. 

You wave him off with an apologetic look. To be fair, the dude from before knew how to make a girl moan, it’s not your fault that you managed to find a decent lay in this city. Even if he ghosted you, you assume you may have been a bad lay for him, if anything. 

“I wouldn’t mind trying something new, dude seems desperate.” You swipe through his photos, seeing that he appears to be just a normal dude with normal interests. “He’s cute too, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Jay groans this time, slapping a hand to his forehead and glaring at you. 

“You’d better warn me if you end up bringing him home, I’m not about to listen to some guy start crying over a blowjob.”

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you’re out of the apartment if I invite him over,” You wiggle your brows as you stand to your feet and turn toward your room, eyes now glued to the open dating app’s messages. “Maybe you should go out and find a nice girl to rail to get back at me.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Jay laughs but feels kind of shitty because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get back at you for the loud sex. Guess he just doesn’t have the magic dick to make girls moan the same way you do.

Not that he wants to make you moan or anything, he definitely doesn’t. If anything, he wishes you were more like the girls he brings home.

Fucking quiet.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i’ve never seen a virgin grandpa on this app before 

Jake: ….i’m 21, it says that in my bio

You: I think you’re lying. 

Jake: do u know how to change it, my bitch friends won't tell me lol

You: why would i help you lie to other women

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

You laugh to yourself as you text the new sex interest in your life, wondering if he’s lying about his presumed virginity. 

You: ok, twenty-one-year-old “jaeyun” who is five miles away from me, you’re actually a virgin? Like for real?

Jake: yea….are u here to make fun of me for it too? all the girls here just turn me down even if i offer to cook for them after

Jake: maybe it's the playlists idk

You: send me the playlist

Jake: [spotify link to a playlist titled “NUT”] 

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you. 

You: surely it’s not your playlist…….

You: anyway

You: you’re really just looking to get laid for the first time, like, ever? and you’re offering to cook dinner too?

Jake: yea

You: you’ve never had a blowjob or anything like that? you can’t seriously think I can believe you’ve never been laid, it’s not like you’re ugly or anything

Jake: u don’t think im ugly? :) 

Jake: and yea I’ve had a blowjob before

You: why didn’t you sleep with her then?

Jake: can we stop talking about why im a virgin

You: sure but you know im gonna bring it up again, right?

You’re smiling at your phone, finding him charming and awkward in how he communicates with you via messenger. Of course, you’re curious as to why he’s a virgin, even more, curious as to why he’s on a dating app looking to lose said virginity. 

You: do you want my number? it’s embarrassing to have the app open in public if i wanna talk to you.

Jake, on the other hand, is quite literally kicking his feet and checking your profile every few minutes just to look at you. He didn’t even think too hard about you calling him attractive then not following up on it, because the fact that you just offered your number to him in case you want to talk to him? Butterflies. Given, it’s juvenile for someone of his age to still be experiencing the typical high-school crush feelings, would anyone blame him? It’s just how he is, with or without having had sex. He can’t imagine not feeling giddy inside when he’s talking to someone that he thinks is pretty. 

Jake: yea :) u can text me whenever [redacted phone number] 

You respond to him by texting his number rather than using the app messenger, screenshotting his contact info, and sending it to him with a sly smile. 

You: [screen shot// contact name: grandpa jake] 

Grandpa Jake: :| 

Grandpa Jake: im 21

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him. 

You: it’s been like four days since we started talking

Grandpa Jake: yep, almost five

You: four days of being friends but no mention of your bio on the app, yknow, where you’re begging to have sex for the first time ever?

Grandpa Jake: right, yea. you wanna do it? i didn’t wanna assume lol

You: not answering that til you explain why. i mean, it’s totally ok that you are but like, you’re a green flag all around so im a little worried you might have like a micropenis or something

Disclaimer, if he had a micropenis, you’d still let him use it on you. After all, hooking up is something you enjoy doing regardless of size.

Grandpa Jake: i do NOT have a micropenis

You: prove it

Grandpa Jake: right now???

You laugh to yourself but also like, it’s the first time the two of you have done anything more than bully each other. Or rather, you bully him and he defends himself constantly. 

You: answer my question first

It takes a few minutes for him to respond, but you’re doing coursework anyway so it’s not a huge deal. Totally not like your ears perk up and a smile creeps across your face every time your phone goes off or anything. Definitely not. 

Grandpa Jake: um… i still live with my parents and before u make fun of me for that pls understand that its not like i wanna be here 

Grandpa Jake: i have a job and everything!!! im not a mooch!

He’s getting off track again. You could honestly care less if he still lives with his parents. You wish you still lived with yours, to save money at least. 

You: they won’t let you have anyone over? 

Grandpa Jake: well, that too but 

Grandpa Jake: listen this sounds real stupid but it just never happened? even when i tried or things almost happened, it never did

You: damn, you’re unlucky. so what happened with the girl who gave you a blowjob?

Grandpa Jake: her boyfriend walked in

You: WHAT

You’re trying to pity him, honestly, but damn. Did he go for a taken girl? Yikes. You hate to admit the ick that just flooded your mind. 

Grandpa Jake: its not like i knew she had a boyfriend

You: phew 

Grandpa Jake: so yea. do u wanna help me out or not? 

The whole reason you started talking to him was specifically to help him out. Now that you know he’s not some weirdo, and is definitely super hot and funny, hell yes. 

You: yeah, sure. 

You: about the micropenis though, 

Grandpa Jake: right…um

A few minutes of silence, your coursework is long forgotten in the anticipation of receiving your first dick pic from Jake. You wait, and you wait, and you wait.

You: i mean if you can’t prove it that's ok 

Grandpa Jake:  just give me a sec damn

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic? 

Of course, as he’s taking several pictures of his length to try and impress you, he had to get hard first. He can’t imagine you’d want a flaccid cock pic in your inbox, and that would also mean that he’s working himself up with the amount of touching, holding, and groping throughout the past sixteen photos he’s taken and deleted. It’s at the point that now it’s actually hard to care about taking a photo, pre-cum already dripping out of him as he continues to try.

He’s entered the realm of his regular horny self, only this time he’s texting you. Someone who wants to see what he’s packing. Taking a dick pic is insanely easy once he stops thinking with his brain, and he’s quick to send you a photo of himself this time. His chin at the top of the picture, face entirely hidden, hand wrapped around his thick and leaking cock, sweatpants shoved down. 

Grandpa Jake: [image attachment] 

In all fairness, you’ve never actually cared much for dick pics. Men always look too confident even with the smallest of girth being offered through the pixels. Jake though. He looks a bit desperate even with his face hidden. His cock looks desperate, his fingers wrapped around it look desperate, the way his sweatpants hug against his thighs look desperate. And now, you feel desperate. You keep your cool though.

You: oh, you were jerking off, got it. 

Grandpa Jake: sorry can’t help it 

Then he doesn’t text you back. Which is kind of a drag because he looks to be quite big in the photo alone. Maybe you’d be okay just this once to look like the desperate one. Mostly because you’re about ten seconds from trying to figure out which direction five miles away he resides so you can go palm his cock for him. Plus, the idea of an absolute simp virgin like him seeing you act a little desperate would probably be one for the books. 

You: you know i can help you out with that, right? especially since you definitely don’t have a micropenis

You’re still being ignored. The silence from your phone makes your belly flip around inside of you at the image of him doing it too. He probably does it a lot. He’s probably desperate to feel good and watches porn like 24/7. You can imagine how he’d act if you were in front of him right now, the very idea of taking his virginity becoming entirely too attractive.

Shrugging, knowing full well what he’s doing right now that’s causing him to ignore you, you press the call button and wait. You’re a little bit nervous, mostly because you’ve never actually heard his voice before, or better yet how he sounds when he’s getting off. You’re shocked that he actually answers. 

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

“Don’t hello me,” You gripe, narrowing your eyes at yourself in your mirror. “You’re just gonna jerk off without me after I agreed to help you fix your little problem?” 

The silence on his end is a bit nerve-wracking until you hear the frantic sound of his palm clearly wreaking havoc on him. You smirk, leaning back on your chair and sighing. On his end, processing that it’s you on the other line sends his entire body into a state of burning with arousal. Your voice is sweet even when you speak with the same sarcasm as you do via text. 

God, this alone is enough for him right now. 

“Were you at least thinking of me?”

He hums into the phone, indicating that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. His voice is kind of soft despite only hearing one word and a hum, you want to actually hear him talk to you, or moan, whichever he decides. 

“Were you looking at my pictures?”

He nods his head, forgetting that you’re not able to see him and instantly responds with a small and breathy yes instead. It’s a bit difficult for him to talk right now, especially now that he can put a voice to the photos he’s been jerking off to. It’s a bit overwhelming, actually.

“Do you want better ones?” You ask, encouraging him to speak a bit more. 

“Oh god, really?” He asks through the speaker, his hand pausing on his length as if to hold off until you confirm. “Like, nudes?”

“Mhm, yeah. If you want.” You smile as you speak to him, already standing to shimmy your pajamas off of you and stand in front of the mirror. “Or, you know what would be better?”

“Letting me come over and actually do it?” That’s what he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t, he simply raises a brow and bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” He asks, still keeping his responses short because despite how into this he is, he’s a bit shy about it. 

“I can facetime you.” 

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You backtrack at his silence, but you’re cut off almost immediately. 

“No! no, we can facetime–”

Your stomach flips again as you fix yourself quickly in the mirror before setting your phone against your desk and rolling back a bit in your chair to determine if it’ll work this way or not. It’s not like he’s expecting you to do it too, he probably just thinks you’re gonna sit here naked for him to stare at. You’re kind of excited to see him in action, to hear him in action for you.

You hit the button to switch the call over to facetime and once again adjust your phone as you stare at yourself in the camera. Then you’re needing to catch your breath at the image of him.

Oh fuck.

There he is, his camera angled towards his face and not at all toward what's going on below his waist, but you don’t mind at first. Looking at him, the lighting clearly shows that he’s a fan of mood lighting. You watch his eyes briefly, staring through the screen at you before moving your eyes to his arm, the one that clearly isn’t holding his phone because you can see it moving as he continues to jerk himself off. It’s an interesting feeling to have only seen him in photos until this moment, and it’s insanely attractive for some reason. Seeing him in motion, knowing what he’s doing, knowing that he feels good right now because of you.

“Let me see,” you say quietly, adjusting your bra strap and preparing to slip it off of you if he so much as asks. “Prop your phone up somewhere like I did.”

He nods, his eyes still staring straight through his screen at you as he moves around and the image becomes a blur of movement rather than his face. He settles in quickly, somehow looking even more attractive with the way his eyes no longer stare at the screen. You can almost sense a hint of shyness from him at this moment and it kind of floors you, given how easy he is to talk to and how easily he sent a dick pic to you.

“Feeling shy?” You ask, spreading your legs wide and cupping the seat of your panties, hiding the small spot of wetness forming there. “You act like I’m not going to be touching you at some point soon.”

You see him perk up, his eyes looking to you on the screen with more fondness than arousal. At the same time, his hand grips the base of his cock as he holds it straight up, erect and glistening proudly for you to look at. 

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

“Oh god,” He groans, hearing his name come from your mouth for the first time. His hand jerks up his length once, almost aggressively as he winces at it. “This is going to be so embarrassing.” He admits now, sliding his palm up and down shamelessly as he watches between your spread legs. 

In a way, he wonders if you can see how desperate he is. There’s no way you can’t, right? Like, you can see how badly he wants you, right?

“Embarrassing, why?” You chuckle, tapping now at the spot between your legs. “Can you not see that I’m just as turned on right now?”

He groans again with deep breaths, releasing his length and using that same hand to swipe his hair out of his face, then immediately grimacing at the fact that he now has pre-cum in his hair. Embarrassing, all of it. 

“Well,” He tries to avoid you bringing up the fact that he just did that and only shoots his hand back to his cock in order to distract whatever off-hand shit you’re about to say. “You don’t even have your panties off yet, and I could probably get off right now.”

You laugh, not wanting to ruin the mood with the whole cum on his own face thing, so you save that for later. Instead, you instantly slip your panties off and present yourself to him much like he’s doing for you. 

“Better?”

Jake watched with his breath stuck in his throat, now finding it harder to breathe at the image of your pussy and the way he hopes he can touch it one day. 

“Can you–” He pauses, not being used to dirty talk towards anything other than the porn playing on his phone. He thinks hard, and you can see it based on the way he, once again, neglects his cock with an unmoving palm.

“Can I do what?  Go on,” You urge him, running a hand up to your chest and fondling your nipples right there in front of him, but not yet moving the fabric. “What do you want me to do for you, baby?”

Baby. You called him baby. Not that he’s into that but the fact that you did it makes him wonder if he is now. Maybe it’s because he wants you to take him for all he’s worth at this point. One, to get rid of the virginity looming over his head, and two, because you sound so fucking smooth when you’re watching him get off. 

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan. 

His eyes are boring a hole through his screen as he watches one of your hands tease at your hidden nipples, and the other hand sliding up and down the wet folds there. So badly does he want to see it. He wants to see your hole pulsing for him, leaking, needy. Just like him.

His cock twitches wildly the second you do it for him. Two fingers spreading your pussy open and tensing your hips just to move it closer to the screen for him. 

“Is this what you want?” You start, making damn sure he can see every part of your glistening cunt. “You want to fuck this?” You chuckle now, slowly dipping a finger into yourself and pulling it back out to present the wetness for him.

“Oh,” he sighs, now fucking into his fist at a pace that proves he’s most definitely never fucked a woman before. “Fuck.”

You nod at him, urging him to keep admitting his attraction to you. You’re aware he doesn’t see it though, as his hips continue to move quicker and quicker each time you press your finger into yourself. 

“You gonna act like this when I’m riding you?” You ask with a tilted head, studying how hard he’s fucking against his hand. You can imagine how good it would feel if it were you, and quite frankly, this one finger isn’t enough at this point. 

“God. You’re gonna ride me?” He moans, eyes rolling only slightly as he imagines it, mouth falling open at the mere thought of it. 

“Mhm,” you hum, now sliding in another finger and scissoring yourself open with them. “Would you want that?”

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

You’re not even upset that he didn’t make it into the knitty gritty, considering he’s a virgin and all and you’re literally fucking yourself in front of him while implying riding him. You’re actually flattered. 

His release caused him to see white for several moments, forgetting he’s even on camera for you. When he comes back to reality, watching you continue to finger yourself as your eyes scan your screen, all he can do is feel bashful. 

“S-shit, sorry,” He comments with a half laugh, looking down at his cum covered chest before looking at you again. Honestly, he could probably go again if you let him watch for a bit longer, but he’s embarrassed now. “I uh, didn’t mean to come that fast. It just kind of happened.”

“It’s okay,” You comfort him, slightly out of breath as you wonder if this is all you’re gonna get tonight. “It was cute.”

After a few moments, you sense his embarrassment and slowly slip yourself back into a sobering headspace, closing your legs and trying to ignore how wet you still are.

“Are you, um, done?” Jake says, disappointed.

“Mm, no.” You smile. “But it’s okay, I’d rather make you come first anyway.”

His face lights up despite the disappointment in his gut of not being able to see you get off. 

“You still wanna see me after this?”

You nod with a smile, endeared by his need to give, but inability to do it.

“When are you free?” You ask, wondering if he’s ever going to clean himself up. 

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand. 

“I’ll text you later then,” You smile through the screen and give a small wave before your genuine smile turns into a smirk. “After I take care of my little problem though.”

You notice him sitting up in protest, but you hang up with a satisfied laugh and head to the shower to both finish yourself off and clean up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Grandpa Jake: what about 3pm on thurs?

You: you want to lose your virginity at 3pm….on a thursday???

Grandpa Jake: my parents have plans so ill have the house to myself for a few hours

You: or you could just come here? 

Grandpa Jake: if ur comfortable with that? i thought u were supposed to come here lol

You: im comfortable, plus my roommate will kick your ass if you’re weird

Jake contemplates hard on that last part but shrugs over it. Probably a girl thing, and it’s not like he’s an actual creep or anything. You’d be the one with power over him when the two of you are alone anyway. 

You: what about tomorrow, 8pm? 

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car. 

Grandpa Jake: send ur address, ill be there :) 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Tomorrow, you’ll be a man.” Heeseung croaks through the speaker at Jake, totally assuming that this whole virginity loss dating app plan was actually just a joke. 

“Why do you have to say it that way?” Jake groans back, slapping his hand over his forehead and rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna come through, she’s the first one.”

“What makes you think she’s actually gonna send you her address?” Heeseung laughs, once again placing more pity onto his best friend than anything else. “She’s probably not even a real person, you’re gonna end up at some old guy’s house.”

Jake laughs, or snorts really. 

“Oh, she’s real.”

Heeseung sits up in curiosity this time, switching his phone to the other ear with interest. 

“Hm? Have you already met her?”

“Kind of. We like, um,” Jake pauses, wondering if he sounds way too excited to tell him or not. “We facetimed a few hours ago.”

Silence.

“She got naked.”

“Oh ho ho!” Heeseung encourages him. “So you guys did some stuff on facetime and she still wants to meet you?” 

“That’s what I said–wait,” Jake smiles to himself, about two seconds from kicking his feet before realizing what Heeseung just said. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re kind of a loser, we’ve been over this.” Heeseung laughs yet again. “Call me when you get your cherry popped or whatever.”

Then he hangs up. 

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

You: yeah kinda

You’re laughing at his text as you sit across the table from Jay.

“That him texting?” Jay quirks a brow, watching you smile at your phone and practically ignore him. 

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night. 

“So,” You clap your hands in front of yourself, glaring at Jay. “You’re gonna have to be gone tomorrow at eight because I'm about to literally obliterate this guy.”

“Jesus, I’m scared for him.”

“You should be scared for me. Because, well…” You trail off for a second, scrolling up your texts to see the dick pic Jake sent before the facetime call. “He’s huge and–”

“I did not need to know that.” Jay sighs, scooting back in his chair and standing to his feet. 

“You act like you don’t ask every time I fuck someone.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Weirdo.”

Jay stands there awkwardly before shrugging and lunging for your phone. 

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend. 

“Stop prying, you’ll get jealous.”

He scoffs, brushing off his pants of invisible dust and crossing his arms. 

“I’ll have you know, my dick is perfectly sized.”

“I’m sure it is. Anyway, tomorrow, be gone.” 

He nods, sauntering to the living room and flopping down on the couch. 

“Keep it in your room, please. I don’t want to sit on any cum when I get home.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s Thursday. It’s approximately seven in the evening on Thursday and you’re well aware that Jake is probably bubbling with anxiety if his texts are anything to go by. 

So many “are you sures,” so many “you can tell me to leave if you decide you don’t want tos,” and even more “i can’t wait to see yous.”

“Jay, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” You ask, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. 

You’ve already showered again today, primped yourself up for him really. Everything smooth, soft, and ready to be touched. You wonder if Jake is doing the same, and smile.

“Hm, yeah. But I kinda wanna see him before I leave.”

You turn your head to him with a curious look, glaring only slightly.

“I swear to god if you scare him off, I’m kicking you out.”

Jay laughs, patting the couch as if to invite you to sit with him to ease your own anxiety. He can smell the familiar lotion you use before dates, and he notes that you’ve really tried to look good today. 

“I think you might kill him, if I’m being honest.” Your best friend laughs softly, complimenting you. 

“Thanks, that’s the plan.”

And so, the two of you sit together laughing at stupid comedy shows until your phone lights up at around seven thirty. 

Grandpa Jake: i’m a little early, is that ok? 

“Oh shit, he’s here.” You immediately feel nervous, which is pretty normal for you anyway so it’s easily overlooked by Jay. 

He jumps up, brushing off his clothes and walking toward the kitchen to grab his keys and wallet. 

“Let him in then, I’ll leave when he gets here.”

You give him a knowing look before nodding. 

You: second floor, take a left when you get to the top of the stairs, third apartment on the left.

Within minutes, there’s a very gentle knock on the door and Jay is throwing himself at it to get a look at him. Unfortunately it’s a bit more awkward than he expected it to be. 

Not only did Jake think your roommate was a woman, but he, at the very least, expected you to answer the door. He was preparing himself all day for this moment, to knock on your door and have you open it. At first he thought that maybe he even got the wrong apartment. 

“Oh, I think I got the wrong place, sorry–” 

“Nope, you’re in the right place.” Jay smiles, stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him. “You can come in.”

Jake does, awkwardly. Avoiding eye contact with Jay and barely even looking into the apartment before stepping inside. 

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Jake still hasn’t really looked up from the floor yet, and you make quick work to make him feel more comfortable. 

“Don’t mind him, that’s my roommate.” You say, making your way toward him and trying your best not to stare because, okay, wow. He’s kind of ten times more attractive in person, which is fucking insane considering how good he looked through a screen. 

“Have you and him ever like…” Jake immediately starts, realizing he might have made things weird. 

“Jay?! Oh, god no.” You laugh, reaching for his arm and feeling him lean into it with relief. “You’re allowed to look up by the way. You’ve been staring at that crack in my floor since you got here.”

Immediately Jake moves his eyes up to you, the eye contact feeling more intense than it should, but you’re locked in too. The awkwardness dissolves almost instantly, he feels no need to question you further about anything really, especially with the way he feels his throat run dry at the very idea of this whole plan actually happening at some point.

When he made his profile on that app, it was kind of a half joke until like, people started talking to him. Given, no one ever followed through but you, he’s happy he stuck with it. Happy you came out of the works from said dating app, happy you picked him. 

Really though, he picked you. Part of you wonders about why you want to take this from him. For power, for control, to be praised, to feel like you’re his entire world of desire for a brief time? All of those things, yes, but you can admit now that he’s in front of you that it’s a bit intimidating. 

He’s not shy at all, just a bit awkward. He seems confident, he seems ready, and you find yourself lucky for being the one to get to do this for him, or with him. If at all, Jake is the type of man you could see yourself hanging out with often, with or without having sex. 

Given, upon seeing him face to face for the first time, the only thing you thought about was how attractive he is. Now though, as you look back at him along with the silence of this apartment offering nothing more than awkwardness, it’s not. Because you’re seeing him for all he is and he appears to not be able to help it. Is this what people mean when they say there’s an instant spark between two people? Despite how attractive he is, you find yourself thinking of how many times he’s made you laugh in the short period of time you’ve known him along with how many times he’s willingly embarrassed himself

And now for the first time, he’s right there and all you want to do is…give him exactly what he wants.

“Okay, listen,” You start, swallowing around a lump in your throat as you feel your body heat up at record speed by just having his eyes looking into yours. You know by this point that you’re not going to be keeping your hands to yourself at all. And for his sake, he’d probably prefer it that way. “If I move too fast, just tell me to stop.”

Jake tilts his head with a dopey smile, eyes still fixed on you, scanning you, coming to terms with the fact that you’re absolutely everything he thought you would be and more. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks. 

You find that painfully adorable. No man would ever admit that to you. Especially after just a few minutes of meeting in person for the first time, but this is Jake and in the short amount of time you’ve known him, you’re kind of expecting him to be really forward and say things that will have you frozen in thought.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen. You’re pretending that his apparent inexperience isn’t getting to you, but you’re not really fooling anyone. “Let’s get you some water or something, I can see you drooling.”

Jake laughs, shrugging because yeah maybe he’s drooling a little bit. You smell fucking immaculate, your hand is small in his but still manages to overpower him, your skin feels soft and slightly cold. Honestly, it’s dangerous just having you stand in front of him right now because he could absolutely blow his load just by you looking at him. Embarrassing? Always.

He follows after you, very nearly crowding up to you as the comfort sets in and the last bit of awkwardness leaves his mind. All he can think about is how you sounded over that facetime call. He’s seen what’s between your legs, and during that night all he could think about was touching you, fucking you. 

Now he’s here, and you’re right there. 

It’s hard not to crowd up, it’s hard not to cling to you, it’s hard not to be excited. Seeing your hand wrapping around that bottle of water to give to him, seeing you lean just before grabbing it– of course he’s staring. Of course he’s crowding closer, almost to the point that he’s up against your ass when you lean back up from the fridge.

You turn after grabbing him the bottle and are shocked by his close proximity when you face him. He looks down at you with a soft face, one that shows he’s not embarrassed by how he immediately attaches to you. His smile is just as clumsy as he is, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing too. You’re glad, because it makes it entirely too easy to drop the water bottle, grab his face, and chase his lips all the way until he’s against the counter and kissing you back. 

He sighs instantly into it, wincing at the way the kitchen counter hits his back, you pressing against him so harshly just to get that first taste of his lips. He’s excited that you seem as eager as him, maybe even as desperate as him. 

For you, a man has never been this eager just to kiss you, nor has a man ever kissed you this good. You can imagine that he’s probably got a lot of experience in terms of kissing, not much elsewhere though. You can tell by the way he moves his hands to all of the right places, but his blatant virginity shows through all of it as he becomes a horny mess almost instantly. 

His tongue is warm and wet, small whining sounds coming from his throat as you press yourself against him briefly. His hands never leave your body and he shows no shame in touching where he wants to touch. Rubbing, groping, and caressing every inch of your waist, ass, and even moving up to your face to deepen the kiss. His hips press forward almost constantly, and all you can do is brace yourself on the counter behind him to try and tame his relentless hips and obvious attempts at rushing what he wants right now. 

If you’re going to sleep with him though, he’s gonna get the full experience, not a quickie. Plus, you agreed to keep it in your room for Jay’s sake. 

“Hey,” you sigh, trying to pull back from the kiss but he isn’t having it. Still kissing against you and running his lips down to your neck when you continue to speak. “We should go to my room, your first time isn’t about to be in my kitchen.”

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

Still, his lips don’t leave you, nor do his hands. You find yourself giggling against him with a shake of your head at the way he protests when you pry yourself from his grip. Of course, though, he’s immediately clinging to you and chasing after you to your bedroom before practically throwing himself at you again.

You barely get the door closed before he’s pressing you against the wall, hand running down again to your waist and easily snaking up your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. You let him, enjoying the way he kisses you for just the second time, enjoying more the way you can feel him lose his composure every few minutes from this alone. 

You’re kind of in love with the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to pull back even for a breath. He seems to love kissing, and you wonder what else he’ll come to love doing tonight too. From the way he moves his tongue and his lips on you, you can imagine he’d be fucking heavenly at eating pussy.

Successfully you push him away again, rushing to your bed before he can make you melt against his lips for a third time, and you’re instantly trying to present yourself to him much like you did over camera. 

“You’re really going to let me?” He asks with a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping his mouth. His brain malfunctions at your presumed answer to that question, watching you take your panties and shorts off in one go and leaning back to spread your legs for him. 

At this moment, you’re all his and you make it a point to spread your pussy out for him like he asked you to do before. You can practically see his knees buckle that very instant.

“To think I wouldn’t want to do this is insane,” You say, wiggling your hips for him to see. “Look how wet I am.” You pause, studying the hungry look in his eyes. “Do you wanna try eating me out?”

He doesn’t even nod. He’s immediately on his knees against your bed and gripping your thighs to pull you toward his face. You yelp only slightly at the movement, a chuckle coming out shortly after as you sit yourself up properly to take in the image of his eyes sparkling up at you. 

It looks like he’s been wanting to do this to someone all his life, with his needy body proving it time and time again. Your breath is caught in your throat, a small groan coming out at the image alone before you’re able to process words again. 

“Can’t believe how good you look down there,” You say softly, brushing his hair out of his face for him like he did to himself earlier. “Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. You can feel his nervous yet eager breath against you, making your eyelashes flutter at even that slight sensation. 

“Go on then.” You sigh out, trying to prepare for what he can manage with that pretty mouth of his.

You watch him and the way he doesn’t seem to think at all when he does it. Once again, he’s adorable. His tongue goes everywhere, only grazing your clit briefly every few licks, never staying on it presumably because he’s in the process of finding the clit based on how your body reacts. 

He has a general idea of where it is, but the feeling of having your pussy spread out like this on his lips alone is enough to overwhelm him with arousal, to the point he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he can do is taste and smell the mixture of your warmth along with the soap and lotion you must have used before he came here. 

He’s quite literally tasting the entirety of you and loving every second of it. The way his hands grip your legs, both spreading them further open so that he can tilt his head and lick at different angles, and then hugging them to where they almost lock his head in place. 

It feels like he does this for ages, learning your body and what makes your legs shake. He sucks in different places, kissing your entire pussy to the point that it’s almost impossible for your legs not to shake in a reaction at what he’s doing to you.

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go. 

“Fuck, knew you’d be good at this,” You compliment with a shaky voice, reaching down to his hair and holding his head in place. “Keep licking there, and use your fingers too.” 

He hums without stopping, taking note of where you place his lips and reminding himself that this is the clit, just as suspected. He attaches his lips there, kissing it much like he kissed you in the kitchen. 

You can feel his fingers make their way into you shortly after, each bump of his knuckle sending a delicious sensation throughout your body. You’re tingling from your head to your toes at this point and your face heats up beyond what you thought it would. Your hips move on their own in response, experimentally fucking against his fingers as he keeps his tongue flicking at you. 

“Just like that,” You encourage him, running your hands through his hair and looking down at him. Seeing his head move with each little thrust of your hips is only more arousing in this moment. His eyes half open, watching you, tasting you, almost smiling around your clit when he makes eye contact with you. 

It almost seems like he’s asking if he’s doing well, and goddamn is he. He’s doing amazing.

“So good,” You say shortly, trying to give him the praise he needs while scratching against his scalp as a thank you, still fucking your hips up just to feel his fingers plunge deeper. 

He, on the other hand, is fucking feral right now. Tasting you, dipping his fingers into you, feeling that warmth for the first time, the small clenches— he’s swimming in a fantasy. Every time you move your hips up, he can smell the entirety of you, he can feel your pussy squeeze his fingers, and god. He doesn’t think he ever wants this to end.

All day. He could do this all fucking day. No wonder men make fun of other guys for not giving head. Why wouldn’t they? He can feel your legs tensing up around his head, your gentle fingers running through his hair, the sounds coming from your lips. He’s in love, he’s in love.

He doesn’t stop, tongue flicking your clit so beautifully, fingers slowly fucking in and out of you, not even in time with your jerking hips. Shockingly, you approach orgasm so fucking fast that you can barely warn him, you’re not even thinking when you put pressure on his head, pressing his lips so harshly against your clit— his moan sending a vibration straight through you.

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say. 

There, you release with his fingers plunging in and out of you, the wet sound of your pussy only sounding more messy by the time you begin to release. In the midst of it all, you feel him pull his lips from your clit and lick around his fingers before coming back up and continuing his ministrations, working you through an orgasm you’re not even sure he knows you’re having right now.

Insane, really, that he needed to taste the messy relief before resuming. 

Strings of curses, little tugs against his hair, legs shaking, all of it happens at once until the feeling of his fingers become sensitive inside of you, until his tongue is flicking a bundle of nerves begging to be left alone. 

You swat him away with a smile, leaning up quickly and grabbing him by the shirt. 

He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on but he laughs with you, being pulled to his feet and falling onto the bed on top of you. You can feel his cock in his pants, so fucking hard, probably leaking and feeling quite neglected.

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

You smile at him, leaning up to kiss him square on the mouth before you flip him over and get between his legs. 

“I did,” You laugh in a daze, starting to work on his button and zipper. You’re reeling from the recent orgasm and want nothing more than to let him feel the same way you do right now. “And now, I'm gonna do the same for you.”

He chokes out a nervous laugh, holding your hand in place from pulling his pants down.

“Unless, you don’t want that?” You ask, tilting your head with a bit of a frown.

“N-No!  It’s not that!” He reassures you, cheeks flushing more than they already were. “It’s just that– like, what if I don’t last very long? I’m kind of sensitive.”

His eyes avoid yours when he says it and once again, most adorable man award goes to fucking Jake.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?” You lean forward, kissing him again. “You just gave me some of the best head in my life.”

The light in his eyes returns and instantly he’s flashing a nervous smile at you. 

“Jake, I’ve never gotten off that fast from being eaten out.” You reassure him again, making a point to use his name loud and clear. “If you don’t get off from me sucking your cock, I might actually cry.” 

Well, he can’t have that now, can he? 

He releases your grip on his jeans, allowing you to pull them down. For some reason unable to look at you despite knowing you’ve seen him jerk off before. It’s the fact that like, what if it’s suddenly not big enough? What if his cock is ugly or curved in a way you don’t like?

Before he can even start to doubt himself more, he feels your lips on the tip and instantly his eyes are looking down at you. You’re the one smiling now, using one hand to hold his base and the other hand already scooping up his balls for added pleasure. 

You make a point to look him in the eye as you let the saliva collect in your mouth when you pull back slightly. There, you let it fall from the tip of your tongue, all the way until you feel the wetness against your fingers wrapped around his base. 

He thinks he’s going to go fucking insane watching you like this, and god, does he. You don’t even show him your struggle of taking in the sheer size of him. Lowering your mouth until you’re taking him in as much as you can. You try to keep eye contact up until you have to close your eyes. 

It’s not shocking that by the point you get half of his length into your mouth, he’s fucking up without full intention and letting out a choked apology. Still, you try to force your stretched lips to smile for him, even through the gag, even through the harsh feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

How the fuck has a cock this good not been worshiped before? By a mouth? A hand? A pussy? You’ll be damned not to choke on it. You’d rather eat glass than to let him leave this apartment without being completely emptied and praised for every drop. 

He’s actually struggling already not to come, holding himself back but failing each time his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Each time you gag, it stimulates the fuck out of his cock and he nearly wants to cry each time it happens. Even with that other girl who went down on him, she didn’t even attempt to fit this much in her mouth. Most of the pleasure came from her hand jerking him off while she suckled against his head, but you. You’re down there, slipping your mouth up and down on him like that, gagging, tearing up, and still fucking smiling about it. 

He’s in love.

He holds his hands back at least, keeping them against your sheets and gripping them so hard that he fears he’s ripping through them. Everything feels hot, you look hot, you sound hot, your tongue still manages to move against the base of his cock with what little room it does have, and god– your other hand, massaging his balls. 

“Wait, wait wait–” Jake groans, fucking his hips into your mouth once again until you pull off with a concerned look. 

“Were my teeth hurting you?” You ask, gasping a bit for air.

“No!” He heaves out with fluttering lashes, trying to regain sanity. “I was just getting really close.”

“Hm?” You sigh in disappointment, this time going all in at once and not letting yourself stop until he’s releasing into your mouth. 

You feel his shaking fingers brush your cheek when you do it, hollowing it out just to fit more, more, more into your mouth before lapping your tongue against his base again. 

His groaning turns into frantic moans, his hips jerking wildly, unable to escape the clenching muscles of your gagging throat, and he’s honestly in heaven once again. 

“Ah–wait–fuck.” He tries to protest, not wanting to finish so quickly, but there it goes. There he goes.

Never in his life has he felt an orgasm so satisfying. His eyes roll back and his fingers go numb when he releases, pumping himself deep into your throat and not stopping until he’s dizzy. The fact that you kept your mouth on him through it, the fact that he could still feel you gagging, swallowing, and moaning all at once through it– how?

“How–” he takes a breath, pulling you off of him so you can breathe. “How did you do that?”

You shrug with a confident smile, wiping your tears and crawling up to meet his face. 

“I don’t normally do that for guys.” You say with a rasp in your voice. “I certainly don’t just swallow for anyone.”

He feels special, and fucking spent but god does he want to keep going. His softening cock twitching in a relieving way, probably glad to have finally been touched by something other than his own hand. Part of him wonders if you’re done though, because by now you’ve both gotten off and usually that’s the end goal, right?

But he hasn’t lost his virginity yet, and when he looks at you hovering above him, he already knows you’re not done with him. 

“We need to let you rest until you can get hard again,” You say, kissing him more easily than before and letting him taste himself, letting you taste yourself mixed with him. “What’s something you wanna do to get you back into the game?”

He sighs out a laugh, fucking amazed that you’re his first. How lucky is that? He thinks hard, watching the way you lift your shirt off of yourself. God, he forgot tits existed for a solid part of this day and that’s a shame because instantly his sensitive cock throbs at the image of them coming into view. 

You watch him stare, trailing your hands down and lifting his shirt off of him as well. 

“I– I don’t even know at this point.” He admits with a stammer, ignoring the fact that his hair is definitely sticking up all over from you taking his shirt off of him.

“I’ll just love on you while you think, then.”

He gives a short nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the way your gentle hands caress his chest and abs before you start kissing against the muscles and soft skin there.

He relaxes his body, feeling your hands and lips on him. You were right when you said you’d love on him as he thinks about it. The hard part of it is actually thinking about what’s going to get him harder the fastest. You doing this could be enough, but your tits. And fuck, your pussy.

He lets out a whine, one that feels entirely out of character and it causes you to pause your gentle kiss against his nipple and pull back.

“Already?” 

He shakes his head, staring straight at your chest and then down to what's between your legs. 

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

That’s new. Twice in one session?

“Oh yeah? Did that get you going?”

You receive a small nod from him before his hands are reaching out for your tits and warming them up. 

You relax into the feeling of his fingers on your chest only for a moment before you pull back again, this time adjusting yourself onto the bed face down, ass up in front of him. Might as well try a bunch of different positions for him too, right?

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sigh, already grabbing a pillow to hug through this. 

You can feel the bed shift behind you, the weight of his body dipping right behind you before you feel his warm breath against your core. Only now do you realize that you already missed the way he ate you out the first time, you can barely contain yourself knowing he’s going to do it again. 

His hands snake between your legs before his lips get any closer, spreading them before pulling his hand back up and spreading your pussy open with his fingers on his own this time. 

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

You’d tell him to shut up, but you’re not gonna because it’s cute how forward he is with his thoughts. If anything, he’s treating you right now by doing this, so he can say whatever he fucking wants right now. 

“Yeah? You just gonna stare at it?” You try to urge him, and it works.

Because of course it works. 

You do your best to contain any rising orgasm, solely because you don’t want to spend yourself before you actually let him inside of you in full. But goddamn, he’s just as eager now as he was the first time…if not more. 

He thinks back to the things he did before, mimicking that and hitting all of the perfect spots without fail. Still, you hold back, pushing and pulling yourself away and toward him just to feel his tongue chase. He eventually holds you in place against him, big hands holding you firmly against his face with a bit of force. And now? He’s licking you deeper than you’ve ever been licked before. It’s a different kind of sensation, and the way he groans into it is entirely too much for you right now. 

You need more, you want more. You want all of him by now, so aroused by every touch, breath, and moan that it’s becoming unbearable to just be eaten out. The thought that he’s doing this to get himself hard again is flooring, and the feeling of his fingers replacing his tongue much like before is intense. 

After just that one time, he knows exactly how to make you cum this way and it’s dangerously attractive to realize that. He goes straight for it too, pulling back to watch his fingers slip into you up to the knuckle. 

He hums out a rumbled moan at the sound of your cunt squelching around his fingers. So wet. More wet than any of the girls in the porn he’s watched for years. You’re dripping around his fingers, and the smacking sound is so fucking arousing to him.

And yeah, he can’t reach your clit with his mouth this time so he thinks hard about how to fix this little dilemma and you’re floored even more by the fact that he solves problems without questioning. You feel his fingers leave you and land on your clit, and right then you feel his tongue again, just as deep, licking into you and all over you. 

The sound of your pussy amplifies when it’s against his tongue, and honestly, he could cum right now if he really wanted to. Already he’s hard again, but god feeling you, hearing you, seeing you like this for him? For some guy who has never once been able to give a girl his all like this? 

He’s so focused on you.

Which for you, is a bit of an issue because he’s really not going to let you hold it in, he’s going to have you fucking unravelling again and it’s too good. Thankfully, when you try to lift to look behind yourself, you take note of his other hand working himself. 

He’s hard again, and god knows how long he’s been doing that. 

You pull your body away from him quickly to let your rising orgasm subside, his protesting moan doing nothing but heating your body up more when you flip over and watch him. 

“You were really just going to get me off again and not try to fuck me yet?”

He looks down at himself and then back at you, smiling and running his hand through his hair. 

“I like doing it, I wanted to see if I could make you–”

“You absolutely could have but I’m going to be honest,” You start, interrupting him and pulling yourself up to crawl over him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to live up to my promise.”

His eyes are much sharper than they were before when you say those words. This is actually it. He would have been perfectly happy just eating you out, getting head himself, or whatever. Over and over again. Any and all of it is better than being in his room alone, but you’re really–

“Really?” He asks, knowing full well the answer.. 

“Lay back, get comfortable,” You instruct with deep breaths, scooting up the bed with him, keeping yourself planted on his legs despite the discomfort. “You still want me to ride you, yeah?”

He nods almost frantically, landing his hands on your tits without hesitation and groping them in a blatant show of how ready he’s managed to get himself for this. 

Not that you want to rush, but you’re so fucking turned on by this point, the only thing you want is to be filled by him. His is cock likely bigger than any you’ve taken before, and to be fair, you don’t even care if you’re the desperate one at this point. You’ve almost forgotten he’s a virgin.

“Wait,” He stops you when you slide over his cock, bare pussy coating his length in a languid grind. “Oh, fuck, wait- no,” He breathes in a sharp breath and grips your hips. ”Do that again.” 

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard. 

You groan as you grind, feeling the head of his now, fully hard, cock bumping against your previously stimulated clit. He groans with you, almost at the exact same time but continues to try and leave his mark on you. In love with finally getting your tits in his mouth, your pussy on his cock, and most of all, in love with the fact that you’re not laughing at him for any of it. You seem to melt into it much like he does and he can’t help but want to email the creator of that fucking app and personally thank them for this. 

You rub yourself against him until it’s even more unbearable than before. By now, you’ve completely soaked his length and he’s completely soaked your chest in saliva and tiny swollen bite marks. Not that you mind the biting, his little rumbled grow-like moans only made this all the more arousing.

“Ready?” You finally sigh out, deliberately grinding against him slowly now, with almost your entire weight behind the grinds. 

He groans out a “please” before immediately gripping your hips and stopping you. Pulling his head back so hard and so quickly– he kind of forgot to unlatch from your nipple and it sends a sharp pain throughout your body, one that only makes you want to ride him hard. Right now. 

“Hold on, there’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans–”

“Okay, and?” You laugh, sliding forward again and grinding your clit against him. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” 

He looks at you, his sharp eyes falling back into the sparkling doe eyes as his mouth falls open at the very idea that he gets to hit is fucking raw for the first time? 

“Unless you’re lying, and you’re not really a virgin?”

He’s quick to silence your doubt. He’s 100% never had his cock inside of anything other than his own palm and– malfunction. He’s blank again, staring up at you and wincing at the feeling of you pleasuring yourself on top of him. 

“Please?” He manages to get out, gripping your hips so tightly by now that he’s sure it’s hurting you. 

You smile, humming at him when you lift from him, standing on your knees to grab his cock and position him in the right place. 

“You sure you want it too?” You ask, only now realizing that you’re genuinely about to take a man’s virginity, and it’s only fair that you give him one last time to decide if he wants you to take it from him. Despite how turned on you are, and regardless of how badly you want to fuck him, it’s not right to just do it without making him really think about it. 

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.” 

You can’t help but smile at him when you do. Lowering yourself slowly on him and feeling the stretch of it. His face is something that you don’t think you’ll ever forget. He appears to be lost in it, eyes rolling back, his chest heaving, his teeth showing through a half-smile as he moans out at the sensation. 

He can’t get over how warm it is inside of you, the constant clenching of your pussy dragging along his entire length. He can’t help it when he moans, he doesn’t care that his voice cracks, or that it sounds like a pathetic sob. 

By the time you bottom out and sit like that for a moment, you almost feel like he’s the one who needs to adjust. Of course, you’re needing this moment to adjust too but god– just watching him makes you that much more wet and it’s insane how into him you are right now. As if you haven’t been since you started talking to him.

“Feels good?” You ask, involuntary clenching around his size, letting out a small sigh yourself at the feeling of his leaking cock inside of you. 

He hums at you and then takes in a deep breath before fully opening his eyes again and looking at you. Technically, he’s no longer a virgin now. It’s fucking happening, and you’re hot? So fucking hot? You feel so good? You smell so good. You sound so fucking good. 

Everything is overwhelmingly good, all he can do now is press his hips up and instantly moan out at the new feeling. 

You take that as an invitation to absolutely obliterate him, much like you knew you would. So, you do. Lifting yourself up and sliding him almost entirely out of you before sinking down again. 

His hands shoot to your waist, then he lifts slightly to grab your ass from behind you, and then he flops himself back– seemingly unable to know what the fuck to do with himself at this feeling. 

You opt to grab his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and holding them above his head, all so you can lay chest to chest with him, lips right at his neck. You start kissing, riding him so smoothly and doing nothing but listening to his little sounds that he tries to keep inside. 

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You whisper against his ear, kissing there too before pulling back to look at his face.

That half-smile never leaves his face, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tightly that you actually start to worry that he may break them. Thankfully, he begins to relax after a few minutes. Adjusting to the overwhelming pleasure and now losing himself to the arousal rather than fighting it. 

You nearly squeak when you feel him release your hands and grab your face, pulling you up to him as he kisses you mindlessly. Breathlessly, moaning into your mouth all while moving his own hips now. You can feel him jerk his hips, imagining how he fucked his hand through facetime. This is better than that.

You prop to stand up on your knees, offering him the space to fuck you as hard as he’d like, and god. It’s hard. It’s deep, and it’s so clumsy. No rhythm, no thought behind it at all, you can fucking tell he’s purely running on adrenaline as he plunges into you. 

He’s actually going so hard, that your moans sound more pained than pleasurable, but that’s not the case at all. You actually can’t stop moaning, it’s just the fact that each time he slams into you, your throat lets out a broken sound. 

For a moment, you think you can actually hear him unintentionally growl against your slack lips as he does it. Already he’s lasted longer than you thought he would, especially without a condom, and you’re so fucking impressed by it. 

You slide your hand between your bodies, easily rubbing your own clit and drying out your throat even more with the consistent loud moans of how good he’s doing. After a few moments though, his hips stutter and you take that as a sign that you should take over again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this to me,” You laugh out of pity for yourself, “I really thought I could last longer than this.”

He barely hears you through his ringing ears and rapid heartbeat, but he chuckles at the compliment. Feeling like he must be doing something right to have a woman say that to him. There’s one issue. He’s about two thrusts from cumming again and he will be damned to ruin this for you. 

You take over, riding him harshly and rubbing your clit even harder. He takes a moment to try and distract himself from how good your pussy feels clenching him and takes it upon himself to bite down hard against his tongue. Something to hurt enough to keep his orgasm from bubbling over, but also not something so awful that he’d lose his arousal entirely. 

You continue, pushing yourself back up from him and watching the way he tries to focus on anything but what’s happening. You ride deliberately to get him off though, knowing that the second he does, you’ll let yourself go too. He doesn’t seem to be picking up the hints. 

“Are you close?” You ask, out of breath and riding him so consistently that it’s becoming more and more difficult to hold your own orgasm. “Let it go, do it with me–”

Instantly, you hear him whimper out a moan as he releases the bite on his tongue. Shooting himself forward and hugging you so tightly that the pressure of your fingers against your clit is entirely unbearable. 

“Oh, god. I’m–” You start, moaning against his hair as he hugs against you.

He’s so fucking relieved, already releasing into you as you say those words. All he can do is breathe through it, feeling your pussy pulse around him as he continues to empty himself into you. 

It’s entirely too intense, his ears popping and heart threatening to send him to a hospital. Never did he think having sex was this intense. 

Little does he know… it’s not. But even you, for some reason, find yourself wondering why the fuck that was so good. 

By the time you pull yourself off of him, both of you wincing and trying to ignore the mixture of cum running down your legs, all you can do is look at him with curiosity. 

He can barely open his eyes to look back at you, but he tries, he really does. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

In fact, you made him some food, wobbling on spent legs throughout the kitchen as he lays on his death bed in your room. (He’s being dramatic.)

All he can do is listen to the sounds of you in the other room and think hard about how he just felt. Physically, it was a lot. Surely if sex is like that all the time, he’d rather not do it as often as Heeseung does. Honestly, his sanity would be at stake. 

But like, you’re kind of amazing. Given, the two of you barely know each other past lame texts and bullying each other. Physically, you know him more than any other woman and that’s a block he didn’t think would be an issue until it became one.

You made him cum twice. And he thinks you did too, unless you’re lying just to make him feel better. There’s no way you didn’t feel the intensity of that though. There’s no way your wobbling legs were lying to him when you got up and told him you wanted to have a snack before bed.

There’s no way you would let him sleep over if you didn’t feel the same way he does right now.

And by the time you’re back, handing him a plate of food, he can’t help but believe that nothing will ever taste as good as you.

The thing is, that’s one of the main reasons you did this. To be praised, to have a man think you’d be the best he will ever have until he eventually meets someone else and they do better than you did. Now though, you feel weird. 

This is a one night stand. A charity-fuck, as it still stands at least. 

“So,” You start, taking a bite of your food still as naked as can be regardless of how stupid it must look to be eating in a cum-soaked bed like this. “I guess you should change your bio in the app now.”

He looks at you, and then at his food.

“Yeah, I guess I should…” 

“I’ll help you fix your age on it. Now that you know what you’re doing with a woman and all.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

Thank fuck Jake is forward and embarrassing with it. You’re not ready to give up the single life but on the other hand, after that, you’re not exactly ready to share him with other women just yet either. If he wants to attach himself for a while, you’re going to let him. Purely because, like, look at him. Everything is endearing, and when he’s not being adorable he’s just being fucking hot.

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake. 

You nod with a smile, wondering if he expects you to delete the app too. Because you’re not so sure about that, but also you think you probably would if he asks with those stupid doe eyes. 

Strangely enough, he doesn’t even ask. He just starts eating the food with a content look on his face. Sweat having dried up but left his hair a mess, his skin is glowing– you think…oh no. Why are you looking at him like this?

“Hey, I should probably call Jay and tell him not to come home until late tomorrow or something.”

Jake nods, lifting his eyes to you and watching you take your phone out. 

“I should call my friend too, he told me to let him know when I get my cherry popped.”

You snort at him with a laugh right as Jay answers the phone, and honestly, you’d rather listen to Jake’s friend than Jay whining about having to spend even more time with his overbearing parents. 

“Hey Jay, don’t come home 'til I call you tomorrow, bye.” You say quickly before hanging up. 

Instantly you’re setting your plate on your table and launching yourself at Jake and his phone. 

“Put him on speaker.”

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[1d1195]

A bit controversial, but please give me all the long messages. I am a very 'letter' kind of person, so giving updates or discussions is my absolute favourite thing. Please don't apologize!💕💕

Yes, I can relate to what you feel. I find so much joy in being a best friend. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you, whatever you need whatever is the problem, I am here. It brings me peace and comfort and I can help endlessly. I think this is where the dolcezza!y/n trait comes in when I am the helper I feel like I am worth being loved back but realistically, you can not pour from an empty cup. I understand not feeling that you are not the best friend, you have a competition that you must win and it's a very sucky feeling, but I promise you Sam, you are...I know so many people text you and find comfort in you, I know anons talk to you and come back to conversations, it's so amazing to be the kind of person people can come back to...I do! I rarely interact with anyone on Tumblr but I always open it to see what you might have posted or replied to...you do seem like my best friend and very much like an older sister I can rely too because I think you are very wise, just through your stories...I think I told you before, it is through your stories I realized to accept the 'unloved parts', that even though it is a fictional story, the characters are not going to be perfect but they are going to be loved. That was a very enlightening moment for me. 🫶🫶

You are stronger than me, I would never make it past the terrible book. A big confession: I still haven't read the Song of Achilles because it didn't come in the cover I wanted when I specifically ordered that one, I need to get over it and just read it because I have heard so many good things...Hoarding books is fun, I am a very retail therapy kinda gal...Shopping makes me happy and it is the last thing I do when nothing seems to work (she says as she orders beauty products)....but yeah I need to finish my TBR by the end of the year too, it is also along the lines of 30 books...Anywho, I hope you get through it and have an amazing day/week/year/decade!!! 💛💛💛

-🧸

P.S. It is already the 15th where I am but HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! I hope your day is filled with utmost love❤️❤️❤️

Happy Valentine's Day I hope it was lovely! 💕

I loved Song of Achilles but unpopular opinion I liked her other book Circe more. Achilles was wonderful, I think I stared at a wall for an hour. But I just was so captured by the characters more than I felt attached to Achilles. In general, try not to give up on books. The only one I've struggled with and have paused from reading was Catch 22. My coworker's resolution was to give up on books that she didn't like reading--which is a great resolution in my opinion--so don't feel bad . I need some reading questions lol. You can take the girl out of school but not the girl out of school.

It's really amazing that you can relate to the characters in the silly little stories I write 💕 You're right too, I'm totally grateful for the friendships I do have on here and off here. I'm glad people feel comfortable talking to me--it's actually really special to me and I don't take that for granted. I just kind of wish I had a version of me for myself, if that makes sense.

Have a lovely weekend!

xoxo

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - Part 6

Note: I am thinking about Carmy constantly.  Also, I use some Spanish words within this fic, I am not a Spanish-speaking person, so I did research and I hope that it’s accurate (if not let me know, pls).

Warnings/Tags: Yearning, swearing, smoking, that’s it – I think.

Synopsis: It’s finally happening. You’ve hired a head pastry chef, along with two others, and are preparing for a summer opening in the next two months. You’ve been so busy that you’ve hardly had any time at all to think about Carmy.

Delilah asks you to use her booth space at the annual North River Spring Festival. You should’ve known you’d be next to bunch of other restaurants. However, some are more familiar than others.

(Read on Ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dani was your first hire just before the end of March and you hired Leslie and Ted two weeks later. The bakery started to look like a respectable, desirable place of business. Last week, you made another order for furniture while walking through the space. You smiled, feeling proud, and took several steps backward to take a picture.

The front window originally had tall tables and stools, but you replaced them with chocolate brown armchairs and an oval shaped coffee table. You installed a bookshelf into the empty, useless wall. You thought it would be different and cute to have a reading nook within your bakery. Someone could order a cupcake and read a novel at their leisure.

You snapped a few pictures, angling for the best light, even though the empty bookshelf looked…sad. Whatever. You opened your messaging app to send the photos to your mom, your friends, and your thumb hovered over the text thread with Carmy.

His words remained on your screen: ‘I’m glad you’re OK’ and the timestamp read nearly 3 weeks ago. He called twice. That’s what got under your skin whenever you thought about it (which wasn’t often for the record). He was worried about you—well, not you, obviously. He was worried about your business and still took the time to call you twice. You tossed and turned, chalking it up to professional curtesy, and general kindness but your thoughts and feelings lingered. What could’ve happened that night if you picked up the phone? You sighed.

Your heart flipped and you typed a quick message before you could overthink it. You attached the best image of your reading nook with the question: ‘Book suggestions?’

You stared at the screen for longer than you wanted to admit, expecting the bubbles to appear. What were you thinking? Fuck. Okay, be realistic, you couldn’t unsend the message or delete it and it wasn’t like you said anything inappropriate. It was perfectly friendly. You didn’t send him a nude. You sent him a picture of your bakery. A piece of the bakery that was yours and yours alone, separate from the cakes and menus, and from the kitchen equipment. A piece, however small, of yourself.

Is that why it felt like you sent him a nude? Why the fuck were you nervous? Maybe texting him was a mistake. Opening a line of casual communication could possibly get misconstrued as romantic interest. You considered texting again with a ‘that was meant for someone else’ to cover your bases.

“Hey, Boss?” Ted’s voice brought you out of your irresponsible stupor.

You tucked your phone away with a more-chipper than usual, “Yes?”

“We got a problem.” Ted jerked his thumb into the kitchen.

Ted was fresh out of school, rosy-cheeked and bald, with a thick ginger mustache and heavily tattooed forearms. Dani already got into the habit of calling him ‘Teddy bear’ on account of his gentle and warm nature. When he smiled, it crinkled his green eyes and heightened the freckles that bridge across his nose and forehead. You liked Ted. He was the innovator to Dani and Leslie’s traditional ideas.

You shook your head, but a smile lingered on your mouth. “When don’t we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stepped off the L with your phone cradled to your cheek. Your arms encircled a heavy paper bag that crinkled with each step you took. It was a precarious ordeal; talking, walking, and carrying groceries but you managed it so far.

“Delilah, I can’t – this is insane.” You said, completely flabbergasted at her idea to have you herald her spot at the North River Spring Festival in three days. “That’s your spot.”

“And half my crew has food poising.” Delilah groaned. “This is a matter of health and safety, hon.”

“We’re not even open yet!”

Delilah argued, “You said you have a menu and you’ve been practicing your bakes.”

You pressed your lips together. It was true. The four of you had some cupcakes and cakes that were going to be essentials, while the rest would be custom orders. You bounced between business and front of house responsibilities and shadowed in the kitchen as much as you could. You wanted to know how to do everything within your bakery. Why own a business and not know how to do it all?

Sure, you were running on three hours of sleep most nights and you’ve accidentally burned yourself more than once. But – God – it was invigorating. It was so much more vibrant than sitting behind a desk or giving a presentation to a board room of executives. Sure, those held their own brand of adrenaline and a rewarding pay-off that usually came in the form of a check with many zeros.

This bakery was you, though. You chose the paint, you picked out the furniture, you built the menu while laughing and trying different cakes and icings with your employees. This entire project was an honest, real challenge. Maybe that’s why your grandfather left it to you. Maybe he knew you were the only one equipped and capable enough to take it on. Your chest warmed with pride.

You wondered if Carmy felt the same way about the Beef or if it was impossible for him after his brother’s death. Granted, you only knew about Mike Berzatto’s passing through the newspaper obituary and you knew Carmy inherited the restaurant. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to connect those threads. But you still wondered. The ghost of your grandfather loomed painfully over your shoulder before you made the decision to turn it into a bakery. You couldn’t imagine how Carmy must feel, working in that space, and knowing his brother stood in front of the same stove.

“I’m assuming your silence is agreement.” Delilah said after you hadn’t responded for a full minute.

“Shit. Sorry.” Your cheeks flushed. “I was – uh – I was lost in my head.”

“Baker’s brain!” Joked Delilah.

You chuckled. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Listen. You can use the Spring Festival to test your bakes and get customer feedback. It’ll be good for exposure.” She sighed. “And I already paid the nonrefundable fee to be there, so you’ll be making my money worthwhile.”

“Fine, fine. Let me run it by my people first, though, okay?” You acquiesced.

Delilah gasped. “You’re an angel.”

You snorted, “Okay, doubt that. I’ll call you in a bit.”

You juggled groceries and struggled with your apartment keys before nudging your door open with the tip of your boot. You focused on one task at a time. First, putting away groceries which consisted mostly of boxed pasta, crackers, and fancy cheese. Afterwards, you pulled open an ongoing group chat with Dani, Ted, and Leslie. You blinked at your messaging screen for a moment.

Carmy’s text message thread remained stagnant. You texted him two days ago after completing your book-nook, but he hadn’t replied. Not that you cared. It didn’t matter. You were the one who pressed for distance. You were the one who set the expectations and boundaries. You were the one who left him on read for almost a month. You weren’t his best friend. You were just someone who happened to see him naked, and you happened to be building a bakery across the street from his sandwich shop. That was it. That was all it would ever be. You chewed the inside of your cheek and shook off the lingering thoughts of him.

‘How do ya’ll feel about testing our bakes at the North River Spring Festival?’

Ted’s response was immediate with a thumbs-up emoji.

Dani’s response came about an hour later while you were re-heating take-out and pacing in front of your microwave. She simply said; ‘I like it. We can try out the carrot-cake-cupcakes.’ That left only Leslie to reply, but you doubted she would go against the majority. However, you didn’t want to make the call to Delilah without having her confirmation.

Leslie replied to the group chat while you were in the shower. Her reply was an enthusiastic yes, followed by several paragraphs of ideas, that Dani and Ted bounced off and expanded. You smiled down at your phone with water droplets dripping off your face and onto the screen.

‘Ok. I’ll call Delilah.’

Your phone buzzed in your hand while you brought it to your ear. You ignored it, assuming it was just the group chat with your bakers and waited for Delilah to answer. To say she was overjoyed would be an understatement. She was ecstatic. She offered up one of her vans to transport your baked goods, which you accepted, because the idea of shoving everything into Dani’s minivan sounded like Hell.

You hung up with Delilah, nervous excitement churning in your stomach, and you laughed with astonishment to yourself. Six months ago, you were getting up at five am to go to the gym before work and getting home past midnight after schmoozing with clients at a hookah bar. Now you were standing in your bathroom with an eager group-chat of pastry chefs texting you and asking if they should make the mini-eclairs for the Festival.

You unlocked your phone and your heart skipped. A missed message from Carmy floated on your notifications screen. You opened it immediately, your heart taking a semi-permanent residence inside your throat. He replied with a photo of his own. No text attached. You squinted at it.

It was multiple towers of stacked books on the floor, and you could see their titles. Every single one was about cooking, from different cuisines, to cooking styles, and techniques. You guffawed. You weren’t even a little surprised. You dried your fingers off on the towel wrapped around your midsection and replied.

‘Nerd.’

‘You’re one to talk,’ He replied. ‘I thought it was going to be a bakery, not a library.’

You rolled your eyes, something slow and sweet loosening inside your chest, and burning low in your stomach. ‘Shut up.’

‘That’s an odd way to say thank you for the book recommendations.’

You caught yourself smiling down at your phone and groaned. You tossed your phone onto your bed, hoping that would dissuade you from replying again, and piecing together a conversation with Carmy. The desire to talk to him burned through your veins. It was the worst kind of cognitive dissonance. You needed to keep focus here – on your bakery – on your bullshit. He needed to keep his focus on his side of the street. He had his problems, you had yours, and they weren’t meant to intersect.

It wouldn’t…hurt…though…to text him the good news, right? You could be friendly and professional. You finished getting dressed into your pajamas, climbed into bed, and pressed your lips tightly together while staring at the screen.

“Nope.” You turned your phone to silent. It started with good news texts, and then next thing you’d know, you’d be telling him about your childhood and your fanciful dreams. You couldn’t risk it. Carmy was an open flame, and you were going to get burned if you kept trying to get close.

You slept like absolute garbage, too hungry with foolish hope that a new message from him would light up your screen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The three days of preparation before the Spring Festival were a madhouse. Dani perfected her carrot-cake cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. Although Easter already passed, you let Dani keep the rabbit-themed design that she enjoyed piping onto the frostings’ surface. Dani loved making faces on all her cupcakes. It was Her Thing. You could have a double dark chocolate cake and Dani would stroll up, smiling and show you, ‘Look, Boss. I have made it into a bear!’

Ted focused all his attention on making vegan, gluten-free cookies to test out. It was a guessing game to try and figure out how many you’d need for the day. You were in new territory and none of Delilah’s past experiences would apply to your menu. Ted worked out a formula to have at least 100 of the vegan and gluten-free option and 200 of the standard chocolate-chip. You suspected Ted’s numbers were too low, but you didn’t have the manpower or transportation to warrant making and bringing 500 cookies.

Leslie couldn’t decide between making a batch of lemon drizzle scones or a blueberry one. After her third visit to your office, for your advice, you pinched the bridge of your nose and said, “Just make both, Leslie! It won’t hurt to have extras, right?”

Leslie’s olive-skinned cheeks pinkened slightly and she nodded.  “R-right. Of course.”

You drummed your pencil against the edge of your desk and tried not to think about Carmy’s weight pressing you into the mahogany. You sighed, got to your feet, and decided to join the others in the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By some miracle, you made it to the Spring Festival with all your baked goods intact and your staff in an excited, boisterous mood. Ted hung the large banner above the tent and grinned while everyone else set down coolers and draped plastic tablecloths over the tables.

“We should take a picture!” Ted announced.

“Yes!” Dani agreed immediately and grabbed your shoulder, “You will be in the photo as well, yes?”

You blinked at her. “I – I guess?”

You gathered together in front of your booth, arms around each other, and Ted – kind, sweet Ted – asked a passerby to take the photo. It was an older gentleman wearing a black apron (he needed Ted to show him how to take the photo before he confidently held it upright). You smiled with Dani’s arm around your waist and Leslie’s muscled arm around your shoulders.

The older man said, “One, two, three!”

“Bake off!” Ted shouted, making Leslie laugh, and your grin nudged wider. You huddled around the phone screen to see the result. Your face softened at the sight—you looked genuinely happy.

‘The Cookie Rookie’ banner was slightly askew above your heads which made all the more endearing in your eyes. Ted promised to send the photo to everyone.

“Okay, guys, let’s get to work!” You clapped, “We’ve got shit to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were absorbed in your element of building display of Ted’s cookies when you heard his voice. You dropped the cookie you were holding onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, no one saw, and you regretfully tossed the cookie into the nearby trashcan. Please don’t be in the empty stall next to ours. Please. You silently prayed.

Dani sounded absolutely pleased, “Tina! What are you doing here?”

“I’m working, Mija.” Their conversation continued into Spanish. You glanced to your left and saw Carmy set a heavy cooler onto the ground. No wonder he had those sinewy biceps. You looked away before he noticed you. Of course. Of course, we’re next to each other. It’s not like there’s several miles of sidewalk realty being used for this festival. You wanted to curse the Universe for this rotten luck, but everything else was going so well, and you didn’t want to jinx it.

You expected the rest of The Beef crew to join Carmy and Tina, but they didn’t. You returned all your focus on setting up. You thought – maybe – you saw Carmy looking at you out of the corner of your eye, but each time you glanced over, he was looking elsewhere, his hands busy and hair falling across his forehead.

The Spring Festival gates opened and you, and your team, got to honest work. Ted left the booth with a box of cookies in hand to walk around the festival and offer samples. You handled the front of house, while Dani and Leslie supported you, though everyone’s role under the tent switched and rotated based on need. Beneath the tent was arranged with three tables in a horseshoe shape and the back remained open to hold your stacked coolers and supplies.

“Cookie Rookie, I like that.” A customer said, his brown hair graying at the temples beneath his Cubs baseball hat.

“Yeah? Thank you.” You smiled easily. “I should’ve kept a list of all the ones we didn’t choose.” This was where you excelled. It was your schooling and professional experience coming into play. You could be charming when you wanted to be. Right now, your business needed the charm to generate enthusiasm and anticipation about your opening. Sure, the baked goods spoke for themselves, but getting to know your clientele was never a bad idea.

He asked, “You know any off-hand?” while peeling the cupcake wrapper off.

“Oh, God – uh - the only one that comes to mind is Oven Lovin’.”

You heard Tina laugh from The Beef’s tent. In your peripheral, Carmy turned his head to you, but you couldn’t discern his expression. You resisted the primal urge to look over at him to discover his reaction. Was he smiling? Impressed? Annoyed? You dug your fingernails into the mounds of your palm.

“I can see why you didn’t go with that one.” The man said while laughing.

“Short & Sweet was the other one.” Leslie said, “I liked that one a lot.”

The next customer was a young blonde girl, perhaps five or six, and her mother. While her mother spoke to Dani and ordered two cupcakes, you leaned across the table to be at eye-level with the quiet child dressed in a dazzling pink, princess gown.

“I love your dress.” You whispered conspicuously.

She performed a little curtesy. “Thank you.”

“Are you having fun at the festival?”

She nodded and on her left cheek someone had painted a rainbow.

“Mommy said these treats are for the ride home.”

You gasped theatrically. “No way! You’re so lucky!”

The little girl giggled and scrunched her nose. You returned to an upright position and waved at her when she walked away with her mother. Dani took over the front and you stepped aside, slipping gloves on your hands, and started folding boxes for orders. This table faced Carmy’s prep-station. You glanced up, half-folded box in hand, and your gaze landed on Carmy chopping onions for their hot dogs.

You watched transfixed for a selfish, singular moment. The afternoon sunlight sparkled on the river behind him, and the air thickened with the scents and sounds of the festival: laughing, conversation, smoked meats and the soft wind cutting through the tents and booths. Rationally, you knew Carmy was a competent and knowledgeable chef. However, knowing versus seeing were entirely two different beasts. He finished chopping the onions and scooped them into a plastic container for serving.

He looked up – toward you. Fuck. You looked back down and pressed the edge of your thumb into the folded line on the box. A quick check-in to your front table revealed that the line for your tent was longer than Carmy’s. You mentally acknowledged that he and Tina worked efficiently.

You clicked your tongue. “Tough day for sandwiches. It looks like everyone prefers cupcakes.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you met Carmy’s eyes across the narrow, concrete space between your tables. That familiar unravelling transpired in your chest. You felt your lungs expand a little wider and your neck and shoulders softened.

“You sure about that?” Carmy ventured. “I’m sure they won’t enjoy the cavities you’ll give them.” His smile was thin, close-lipped, and brief. Your heart fluttered but you were determined to ignore it and carry on with the conversation.

You narrowed your eyes at him, “Hm. As opposed to the heartburn that your sandwiches provide?”

Tina laughed.

Carmy gave a pointed look to your stockpile of baked goods near the back of your standing tent. You could practically hear the gears turning inside his mind.

He said, “You’re going to run out soon.”

“I can make more.” You shrugged nonchalantly and finally set aside the to-go box you finished. It wasn’t true. The baked goods you brought to the festival were the only ones you had. But you weren’t going tell Carmy that. You’d rather he viewed you as a skilled and prepared business owner.

“Can you?”

There was a touch of challenge in his voice and curiosity. You didn’t have a degree in cooking, or baking, but you were tenacious and figuring out everything by hands-on experience. Did that mean you fucked up a lot? Yes. One time you tried to make a meringue, the oven was too high, and it split terribly. Not the worst disaster. Another time, a mislabel resulted in banana bread being made with salt instead of sugar. It was completely inedible.

“Mhm.” You grabbed another flat box from beneath the table and began folding, “I’ve improved since last time.” The back of your neck flushed with the tempting memory of the last time Carmy was in your kitchen. The carboard bent with more force than you intended and you quickly re-adjusted.

You looked over your shoulder to Dani, “and Dani calls me Jefe in the kitchen.”

Tina appeared at Carmy’s side and used a spoon to drop relish on the hot dog within the red-and-white paper container.

“She’s calling you ‘Boss’.” She explained with a weighted, perceptive glance to Carmy. You didn’t know Tina or her relationship to Carmy well enough to even try and interpret the look. You filed it away to be Thought About Later.

“Huh.” You pursed your lips, finishing the second box quickly now that your attention wasn’t distracted on Carmy’s tattooed hands. “I was hoping for a cuter nickname.”

Tina muttered, “Try loquita.”

A fresh rush of customers brought you away from the folding station to the front table. The hours slipped by like sweet honey. You joked, you flushed and smiled at the compliments, and ran out of business cards. Ted returned for a re-stock on sample cookies and his bald head was shiny and cherry-tomato red from the sunlight.

“Ted, spend some time under the tent.” You said while untying your apron. “Gimme the box.”

“Oh, no! Boss - I got it.”

You pointedly held out your hand, staring at him, and wiggled your fingers. “Not a suggestion, Teddy. Box. Please.”

Ted sighed and reluctantly handed it over. You patted his sweaty cheeky with your hand. “Get some water, too. There’s some in the yellow cooler that Leslie brought.”

“There’s granola bars too.” Leslie added.

“I have my phone. Call me if you need anything.” You said before leaving and you felt like a Mom of Three instead of their boss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy watched you go and lost you instantly in the crowds of walking festivalgoers. He slid his fingers through his greasy, mussed hair. You lit up like a fucking Christmas tree today and he couldn’t—legitimately could not—stop staring. You were sincere and attentive to each customer with an openness on your face that he’s rarely seen. He knew you held softer edges, especially after you talked him through a panic attack, but he assumed they weren’t shared with anyone else. Especially not the general public.

You were clever, humorous, and vivacious in every interaction. His ears buzzed with the magnificent sound of your laughter and the lines of your smile burned into the back of his eyes. He scanned the crowd fruitlessly. Wherever you were, it wasn’t here, and you likely wouldn’t return for a while. He slipped a new pair of gloves on his hands and stepped around Tina in the tight space.

“You gonna chase after her or what?” Tina asked with a small, teasing grin.

“W-what? What?” He blinked and averted his gaze, “No.” It boggled his mind why Tina would even ask a question like that. All the vendor and food booths were scheduled to remain open until the festival ended. He couldn’t go anywhere.

“Good.” She sniffed, “I don’t want to work this booth alone.”

She continued, “Not saying I couldn’t, but it’s so much easier with you here, Jeff.”

“Heard, Chef.” Carmy said, distracted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You lifted the cooler into the back of Delilah’s van with a strained, exhausted grunt. You pushed both hands through your hair to move the damp pieces out of your face. You wished you could pull your t-shirt off and twist away the sweat that’s soaked into the cotton. The riverside granted a gracious, lovely breeze but the hot sun reflected off water and the black pavement. It was no wonder Ted returned to the tent sweating like a stuck pig.

From behind you, Carmy said your name.  

He was backlit by the picturesque setting orange and buttery golden sunlight. The light framed him in holy radiance. The clouds were pink-tinged, like cotton candy whisps, and the river glittered with a thousand diamonds across its quiet, mirrored surface. A trail of cigarette smoke snaked upward from Carmy’s fingers, and a flick of ash scattered onto the wind.

You leaned back into the side of Delilah’s pink van and extended your hand with a pointed glance to his cigarette. His blue eyes brightened in wordless reply. He sidled next to you and his shoulder brushed yours. You exhaled smoke and watched it plume and float away like another cloud into the cosmos.

Carmy was the first to break the gentle, comfortable silence. “You were incredible today.”

You smirked around the cigarette filter. Your heart swelled with his praise. You hated to admit that it meant something hearing it from him. He wasn’t being fake or manipulative. Carmy was remarkably honest. It was refreshing after a career of sly, passive-aggressive behavior within offices and the empty sympathy that ran like an artery through your childhood.

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” You passed the cigarette back to him. The dying light cut his profile like a gold-leaf painting of an overwrought Emperor. Your heart squeezed like a fist. “Nothing caught fire.”

“Not yet.”

Leaning side by side, the warm metal of the van pressed against your spine, and the back of his knuckles grazed against yours. If you moved your hand less than an inch then you could hook your index finger around his. (Not that you were going to. But you could). You licked your dry lips and lightly bit your lower lip before releasing it.

He passed the cigarette again. “We still have to make it back to the Beef.”

“I have faith in you.” You said with a slow, careful smile.

You tilted your head, temple pressed into the side of the van and looked up at him. Your heart jumped in surprise. He was looking at you, head leaning against the metal, just like yours. His lips were parted softly, his face flushed and sweaty from the laborious day you both endured. The pockets of blue sky within the pink clouds were sallow and dull compared to the clear, alluring shade of his eyes.

You were trapped like a rabbit in a snare. After the chaos of today and this week, nothing and no one could move you from this spot. This quiet, sacred space of resplendent sunlight with Carmy’s knuckles touching yours and your smile reflecting in the wide, dark pupils of his weary eyes.

His lips quirked into a small, dimpled smile. The flame scalded the tip of your nose. Too close, too close.

“I should get going.” You said quietly as if afraid to break the spell of this moment. Carmy held a magnetic force over you, drawing you into his orbit, and threatening to upset the balance of your entire newly built life.

“Yeah, me too.” His smile lingered, “Tina’s waiting for me.”

“You shouldn’t keep her waiting then.”

He nodded. “Probably not.”

No one moved. Chicago breathed with life around you with cars honking intermittently and the faint, thumping bass of someone showing off their sound system. As you stood here delaying the inevitable farewell, you realized the real problem. Carmy slid into the interlock of this new life like a missing key. You saw an echo of yourself in him. A kinship. Your similarities ran deeper than your differences and you suspected you’d uncover more if you allowed yourself to dig deeper.

You sighed, a delicate exhale, filled with a thousand things you couldn’t say. You wanted to invite him back the bakery. You wanted him to meet everyone – your team, your ragtag little family – and you wanted to grab coffee with him before work. Your fingers twitched, knocking knuckles against his, and Carmy’s eyelashes flutter.

You pushed away from the van, “Night, Carmy.”

“Wait—” He took a half-step forward toward you and a rushing sense of déjà vu hit you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here today?”

You turned your face away and focused on the other vendors dismantling and packing away their supplies. You couldn’t tell him the simple, complicated truth: ‘I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of getting close to you and letting you in more than I already have. Because you deserve better than I could ever give you.’

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, “I just didn’t think it mattered.”

He said quickly, “It matters.”

Your brow furrowed and your gaze locked onto his. His raw sincerity threatened to take the breath from your lungs. An ambulance siren cut through the air, sharp and wailing, and a flash of red light danced fleetingly across his face.

“I – I guess I just…” He averted his eyes and scratched his forehead. “I’m always surprised when I see you. You’re never where I – where I expect. It, um, it would be nice to know when you’re gonna be somewhere.”

You swallowed and pressed your lips together. How could you even respond to that? You considered deflecting with humor or being rude and calling him a stalker again. Yet, neither response felt suitable. Carmy blinked a few times and shook his head. He seemed to come to terms with something and you watched it play out across his face.

“You don’t have to tell me, actually.” He began. “I’m glad the bakery thing is working out for you. You seem…I mean…you look good. Y-you look happy.”

“I am.” You admitted, “especially when I need to be.” You added with deep, vulnerable honesty. The sincerity of his nature effortlessly pulled the truth from your lips.

Carmy met your eyes and there—you saw it—the mirror, the echo, the similarity beneath the exhaustion and ambition. You realized with a painful, resounding bang of your heart that the emotion was grief. You clenched your jaw. Silence prolonged, weighted, and poignant, tugging at your heartstrings and begging for a reaction.

A line formed between his brows, “None of that, back there with your customers or – or with your employees, felt fake to me.”

“It’s not fake…it’s…more like…” You rubbed the back of your neck, searching for the right words, “practiced compartmentalizing. I guess.”

He stepped closer and your heart heightened, beating incessantly, and demanding you to feel. A chill flooded the air with the suns’ absence and the sky overhead blossomed like an old bruise.

“And now?”

You peered at him and were a little suspicious of his question. You suspected his question went beyond your happy-go-lucky performance at the festival. “You mean like right now? With you?”

He nodded a little. You inhaled deeply. You weren’t sure what sort of answer Carmy was looking for. Did he want to know if he made you happy? Did he want to know if you compartmentalized your feelings around him? Did any of it actually matter? You knew that you breathed easier around him but telling him would be disastrous. Sort-of-Friends don’t tell each other things like that.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a lie. You weren’t sure how to define your emotions around Carmy. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to. The flames were starting to singe the fine hairs in your nostrils. You were going to burn yourself. If Carmy was the bonfire, then you were reactive gasoline. Everything would blow up in both of your faces if you allowed yourself to pursue this. (Whatever this was. This weird pseudo-friendship that tempted to scrape against the deeper, hidden parts of yourself).

You reached into the pocket of your jeans and the van car keys jingled, “I really have to go. S-sorry.” You took a step backward, “See you in the view across the street.”

“Yeah, I get it.” A muscle in his throat moved. “See you.”

You climbed into the driver seat with your palms damp and slick against the steering wheel. The van rumbled to life, loud as the heartbeat in your ears. Against your better judgement, you peeked into the review mirror before merging into traffic.

Carmy stood facing the river. The shroud of twilight around him diffused by the orange lamps crowded with moths overhead. You straightened your shoulders and tore your eyes away – forward, through windshield glass, to the busy, frenzied streets.

>>>> (Part 7) >>> 

[lawrencegarte]

okay this review is consuming my mind honestly and i typed up my first reply while i was in the bathroom at work so i didn't get to really fully break down why this is so fucking stupid so i'm gonna go through and answer all their questions one by one

-this is like the only semi-fair question but it's not even really valid. the point is they're barbies. like point blank. if you've looked at the barbie line-up at all in recent years you will see a barbie in a wheelchair. you will see a barbie with down syndrome. you will see tall barbie, short barbie, curvy barbie, asian barbie, black barbie, amputee barbie -- these are all real barbies that exist on the market, and THAT is primarily why there is so much sprawling diversity in barbieland. could we have seen more of these barbies in larger roles? maybe! but the reason for their existence is plain.

-it's not a utopia. it's barbieland. and the only explicit couple ever seen pre-patriarchy is stereotypical barbie and ken. because like. they're the dolls barbie and ken and that's what they were made to be.

-again, not a utopia. barbie doll world.

-the difference is that barbie and ken are manufactured by mattel to be a couple. this reviewer seems to not know about barbie. i think maybe they went into the movie believing that margot robbie was just playing herself on screen and is confused as to why actor ryan gosling doesn't have genitals.

-it's not really fully explained if the dolls become flesh in the real world or are made of plastic in barbieland. like that joke about whether barbieland is an alternate reality or a parallel universe to ours or its own separate place ("yes") kind of explains this. there's meant to be some suspension of disbelief in the barbie movie.

-again, they're barbie dolls. feast ur fuckin eyes.

holy shit it's supreme court barbie. wow. wowzer. dipshit.

-oh my god what is this person not grasping about the barbie thing

-no, nobody believes that men and women are markedly different and that women are better than men. that is not what this movie is saying. patriarchy bad. matriarchy... also bad?? if you watched the movie you might pick up on its themes.

-this is going back to the doll line thing. there just simply aren;t as many kens on the market. because nobody cares about ken. he really is just ken i'm sorry girls don't care and boys also don't care. boys play with toys that aren't barbies. it's not a men vs women thing it's a ken vs barbie thing. mattel just isn't going to invest in a fuck ton of new ken dolls that aren't going to sell.

-what?? it's bad because powerlessness is bad. what the fuck.

-submission is not liberatory for ken. this person did not watch this film. "it's barbie... and It's Ken...." these are words spoken aloud by barbie after telling ken he needs to find his own identity separate from her to be happy.

-why are you calling barbie a fascist. anyway that's literally proven, again, through the text in the film that you didn't watch, to be the incorrect course of action. barbieland does not return to being a full matriarchy in the end.

-i dunno, i don't really have a rebuttal for this one. except for um. the barbies are created by people in the real world so it doesn't really matter what flattering means in a world without sex because the barbies are sold in a world WITH sex. half a point for this question!

-i can't answer which is more fun to write. but i can say that america farrera stares directly down the lens at the audience and delivers a monologue about how much it fucking sucks to be a woman because of all the double standards placed on us and then at the end of the movie stereotypical barbie talks to god and is like "hey i don't feel perfect and pretty anymore i don't know who i am without those features. maybe i'm not barbie. maybe i'm just... a human being" because human women are not competent, poised, gentle, and asexual (she gets a vagina at the end!! reviewer must be so happy she can fuck now!!) (also yes some women are asexual, like me!!, but the point still remains)

-ummmmmmmmmmm actually female traits are pointed out all throughout the movie, i think only connecting womanhood to motherhood is actually 100% a you problem. i think maybe womanhood in this film also includes presidency and making scientific advancements.

-haven't seen it. sorry. barbie should have said "don't ask me, i'm just a girl!" in the movie tho it would have been a funny reference.

-oh shut the fuck up

x

[6okuto]

BRUH I REALLY WISH I DIDNT ASK FOR MICAH YUJIN IN ANON FKDNXKDNXK Okay anyways HIII I USED TO BE AN ANON HERE BUT NOW I HAVE AN ACC HAHA FEAR ME /j...unLESS-- OK ANYWAYS pls share that discord u talked abt!!! i wanna joinnnnn AND ALSO A PART 2 FOR MICAH OUR KING????? YES P L E A S E

— micah yujin boyfriend hcs 2

don't worry guys this one was not as long. (part 1 here !) also wow. a past anon..wow. heyy 😍 and the discord link is on the official itch.io page i think but !!

https://discord.gg/Smhppc7J :]

always sends you funny posts/videos he finds and makes sure to react to each one you send Him

^ has and will continue to send you videos where the 12 year old kid is matching initials as soulmates and you show up.

sends you pics of skrunkly (and him) basically on a daily basis. always captions it something stupid (/affectionate)

^ combining these two to discuss cat trends that you keep sending him so he goes OH THAT'S A GOOD IDEA

micah loves doing chores with you!! grocery shopping, Laundry And Taxes, etc etc. #QUALITYTIME i get it. you might not be Quick with him around but it's fun so i consider it a win

^ wants to try cooking new meals with you, especially any of your own cultural food ! if you can't cook then he Will offer to teach you

if you give him any jewelry he won't take it off (said by girl who does the same thing)

do(n't) play co-op horror games with him. will go in guns blazing then start yelling and running to you when he inevitably gets in trouble. actually pretty good when he tries but he doesn't try so what do we do now🤨

^ if you're playing a competitive team game and he's on your team,, there's a good chance micah will Sacrifice Himself very dramatically. if you sacrifice yourself he swears on your life to avenge you

would be very much (sends random text at 3am) (you respond) (wow i cant believe you're Awake?)

you must have a build-a-bear date. it is Necessary. personally i'd get sonic and tails together but you guys do you?

trying to get up in the morning w this guy...one of you is definitely not letting go and repeatedly asking for 5 more minutes until you're inevitably in bed for another hour

there's multiple times where you come home and find him hugging something of yours fast asleep. sorry. i am so sad

shakes you violently. do his makeup. sit on his lap and do his makeup. make him sit somewhere and stand in between his legs and do his makeup. do it . do i

micah is very good at knowing when he should be serious . if he knows you've had a bad day he does everything he can to make you comfortable and remind you he loves you — snacks, cuddles, watching the show you guys always watch, rambling so you can just listen, bringing skrunkly over, etc etc o(-(

currently imagining someone performing on the street, micah bowing and offering a hand, and saying "would you offer me this dance, your highness?" like i will burst into tears rn

i think when he hears an animal he repeats the sound. sorry this isn't boyfriend specific but like a bird cawing and him cawing back. meows at stray cats. you stopped walking 3 minutes ago and micah is still crouching on the ground trying to get its attention

he was not kidding about the maid dress thing. the Real trick is to show up in a matching maid dress/butler outfit. is micah frozen in place staring at you,, maybe

you know those stuffy riders. the mall animal rides. i'm not even going to finish this thought you know what you need to do.

grabs your shoulders and says smth like you're my ride or die before going on big carnival rides. like..thank you. makes some kind of competition out of it (who screams the most/least, etc etc)

^ makes little jokes about those couples in lines but would be that couple with you. "we're the exception, obviously."

have you seen that guy's abs. anyways. micah doing the push up kiss thing. you cheering him on because he "gets way stronger" when he knows his angel is there

if you dye your hair to match his/skrunkly he will explode. might cry a little idk

doesn't realize it sometimes but he stands in front of you to block the sun when it's super sunny

if you hurt yourself he kisses wherever it is. goodnight

bites u /affectionate

not to act like some old married couple or anything but he Will ask if you want to watch like, home renovation shows together. which i love btw. he gets very opinionated

uses the reversible octopus plushies

if you're sitting next to each other and micah notices you're tired he'll wordlessly pull your head to lay against his shoulder

would use one of those apps where you can send each other notes/drawings as a widget. will he write a cheesy pun or draw a penis That Is Not Up To Me

[powerfultenderness]

Worlds Apart

Rated: Mature

Pairing: gn!Reader/Vigilante

Summary: Vigilante gets an unexpected text from his ex.

Warnings: Angst. Hints of abuse. Not a happy ending. Not a sad ending either. It’s just an ending. 

Word Count: 638

A/N: It’s something.

[Masterlist]

[Line Divider]

“Yo, Vig!” It took Peacemaker yelling at him and clapping a hand on his back to snap Vigilante back to the real world. “What’s up?”

“Oh. It’s just…my ex.” He mumbled as he finally looked up from his phone.

Vigilante, even as his civilian persona as Adrian, rarely ever talked about you. Things ended between the two of you some years ago, and not in a good way. 

“Pfft. Ignore it.” Peacemaker shrugged, and added some crass comment about how you were probably just drunk and wanted some dick. 

Unlikely.

You broke up with him after you found out he was Vigilante. In hindsight, your reaction, terrified screaming, was probably normal. At least, that’s what his new friends would say. You were the first person who found out his identity that he let live. Of course, it took months of him following your every move, unknown to you, for him to finally believe the sobbing promise you made not to tell anyone. Eventually his Vigilante work consumed him more than the thoughts of you, then he finally got to work with Peacemaker, and then Peacemaker became his best friend.

And he almost forgot about you. Sometimes, especially when Peacemaker was in prison, he’d think of you randomly and check on you. At that point he was pretty sure you hadn’t told anyone his identity, and never would. Still, he was curious about you. 

But then you started dating someone else and you seemed happy and he couldn’t bear to see you happy with someone else. Then eventually you deleted all your social media accounts, moved, and he lost touch with all shared friends and just like that you were completely out of his life. 

Except…he kept his number, just out of habit, all these years and it seemed you still remembered it. 

“Can I talk to you?” 

Why? Why did you want to talk to him after all this time? You told him, screamed at him, cried, that you never wanted to see him again. If he left you alone, you wouldn’t turn him in. Was this some kind of a trick? Was there reward money for info on Vigilante? 

Eventually he and Peacemaker ended their patrol. He declined to drink with Chris, he wasn’t in the mood to drink. Getting drunk would just lead him to think about you again. You hadn’t sent any follow up texts, and he hadn’t answered you. The whole thing just didn’t feel right. 

It was nearly 4 am when he pulled up to his house, he changed into his civilian clothing in the Vigilante mobile, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw you sitting in front of his door. He hadn’t moved since the last he saw you, and since he hadn’t answered your texts, you must have just gone over to his house.

He glanced around as he unbuckled his seatbelt. No unfamiliar cars parked nearby. You must have ubered…

He stepped out of his car. You stood up from the fetal position you’d taken in front of his door. The headlights illuminated you for a few seconds before dimming out. His stomach twisted up in a knot as his core heated in fury. 

Now that he’d seen it, even in the low star and moonlight, he couldn't unsee it. Your busted lip, black eyes, the dried blood around your nose. Your body was probably littered with bruises that he couldn’t see. 

“Who did this to you?”

You sniffled and looked up at him and whispered a weak defense. “He wasn’t always like this.” 

He stared at you. You were shaking, holding your arm close to your chest. It wasn’t cold out. In fact, even this late, or early, the summer heat was nearly suffocating. 

“Why are you here?” 

You didn’t answer.

“...Do you want me to kill him?”

…

“Yes.”