#but yeah i totally get you this is a really nice thread

[sweet-villain]

A New Tune~ Eddie Munson

Summary : You thought you were just a guitar tech for Eddie Munson, at least that's what you thought.

Older Eddie

The faint vibrations of the bass thumped through the narrow backstage corridor. You crouched by the stack of gear, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. Eddie Munson stood a few feet away, surrounded by a gaggle of eager girls. They laughed, flipping their hair and tugging at his sleeve.

"Come on, Eddie! Just one picture?" A girl pouted, leaning against him.

Eddie grinned, his signature charm lighting up the dim room. "Sure, but only if I get the best angle."

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, heart pounding. Those moments in the shadows gnawed at you. You shuffled forward, lip caught between your teeth.

"Eddie! Can I... can I help you with the guitar?" Your voice barely broke through the laughter.

He turned, eyebrows climbing in surprise. "What? Yeah, totally!"

His gaze lingered on you, not dismissive like before.

"Nice to see you actually speak," he laughed, shifting closer.

You forced a smile. “I thought maybe you’d want—”

“Love that tone. Can you show me how that riff goes again?”

You drew in a breath, feeling the weight of his eyes. “Yeah, it’s like this…”

The world blurred around you. Eddie leaned in, captivated, as your fingers danced over the strings.

The world blurred around you. Eddie leaned in, captivated, as your fingers danced over the strings of the battered guitar resting in your lap. The melody unfurled in the small space, weaving into the air thick with anticipation.

Your gaze flickered back to Eddie, ensuring his every reaction matched the rhythm of your heartbeat. His lips curved into an impish smile, the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. The weight of the girls’ presence faded into the background.

“Damn, that’s killer,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. Appreciation sparkled in his eyes. “You’ve got some serious talent.”

A flush coated your cheeks, but you fought to hold his gaze. “It’s nothing compared to what you do on stage.” 

Eddie shrugged, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the pulse of excitement thrumming in your veins. “Nah, you’re just as important. Without you, I wouldn’t sound half as good.” 

The flutter of your heart quickened. “You really think so?” A quiet vulnerability slipped into your words.

“Of course!” He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “Whose ears do I play for if not yours? You keep me grounded.”

The laughter of the other girls faded to an echo, lingering like a ghost. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, the small seed of confidence pushing through the roots of your timidity. “I just want to make sure everything sounds perfect for you."

“Perfect's a stretch,” Eddie mused, scratching his chin. “But we keep chasing it, right?” 

“Right,” you echoed, a spark of excitement flickering in your chest.

The energy crackled between the two of you, threads of connection weaving tighter. 

“Ever thought about playing on stage?” he asked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually. 

“Me?” Your heart raced at the implication. “No, I’m just…your guitar tech. I don’t think I could handle the spotlight.”

He tilted his head, considering you, eyes glimmering like stars against a midnight sky. “You handle the pressure backstage just fine. Why not out there?”

“What ifI mess up? People would see me, not you.” The thought of a crowd's gaze made you shiver, the weight of judgment pinning you down.

Eddie stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. “Look, I’ve messedup more times than I can count. You learn from it. That’s the beauty of it.”

You darted your eyes to the floor, biting your lip. “Still, I—”

“No more ‘still’.” He interrupted, voice firmbut playful, his smile unwavering. “You have something to say. Let it out. The only person holding you back is you.”

A deep breath filled your lungs, pushing against the walls of self-doubt.

“I’m just not used toputting myself out there.”

Eddie’s gaze held steady. “Every rock star started somewhere. You don’t find your voice hiding in the shadows.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, weighing his words. “But look at you!You beam under the lights while I... I’m just nobody.” 

Eddie stepped closer, his brow creasing with sincerity. “Hey, don’t say that. You think you’re a nobody? The girls out there wouldn't grab my attention if they didn’t see the shine in you. Every time I look at my guitar tech, I see someone a lot more interesting than half of the crowd out there.”

Your cheeks burned with warmth, a mix of embarrassment and electricity. “Really? You mean that?”

“Absolutely.” His grin turned lopsided, effortlessly charming. “You’re the one who makes the magic happen. Without you, I’m just some dude strumming a guitar.”

You lowered your gaze, fighting the urge to smile at his compliment, fear creeping up to curl around your heart. “That’s a lot of pressure,” you mumbled, your fingers brushing over the guitar strings absentmindedly. “What if I flake out?”

Eddie shrugged, the nonchalance brightening his expression. “Then you flake out. We all do. But you pick yourself up, shake it off, and go again. That’s the gig.”

He stepped back, allowing you to take a breath. Themoment hung in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. The chatter from the group of girls faded into white noise—a world away. 

“So, when’s your first show?” Eddie casually asked, leaning against the wall, a teasing glint inhis eyes.

You shifted, a sheepish laugh escaping your lips. “Well, um, I haven’t really thought that far ahead.” 

“C’mon,” he urged, nudging your arm lightly. “You’ve got to have atleast one song stuck in your head that you’d want to perform.” 

You hesitated, fighting the flutter in your stomach. “Well, there’s one…” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Whatis it?” 

You felt the heat creep back up your neck. “It’s...a bit silly.” 

“Hey, silly is my specialty,” he teased, leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with genuine interest.

C’mon, I won’t judge.” He lifted his hands in surrender as if to prove his point, the corner of his mouth curling into that impish grin.

You bit your lip, weighed down by the nervous energy surging through you,

“It’s… um,” you stammered, feeling the words catch in your throat. “It’s that one by The Cranberries. ‘Zombie.’”

Eddie’s brows shot up. “No way! That song kicks ass.”

Your cheeks flared with warmth. “You think so? I mean, it’s kinda heavy… definitely not the usual upbeat vibe for a show.”

His laughter rolled through the air, warm and contagious. “Sometimes heavy’s exactly what you need. "

You felt a rush of courage at his enthusiasm, your fingers drumming lightly on the guitar. “Do you really think I could pull it off? I mean, the crowd would probably prefer something, well, shinier.”

“No way,” Eddie shook his head, confidence radiating from him. “They crave authenticity. You get up there and pour your soul into ‘Zombie,’ those girls out there? They’d eat it up.” 

You squared your shoulders, emboldened by his fiery endorsementthat rolled through you like electricity. “You really believe I could do it?”

Eddie crossed his arms, leaning closer, his confidence nearly tangible. “You need to get over this nerves thing. Just step out there, show them the real you and you’ll have them hanging on every word.”

Your heart raced at the thought. “What if they don’t buy it? What if they see the ‘nobody’ I feel I am?”

Eddie shook his head, a firm determination in his gaze. “They'll see the person who’s been behind the curtain, creating magic, someone they could never find in a sea of faces out there. You have grit, and trust me, they’ll feel that.”

You swallowed hard,an electric pulse igniting within you. “You really think I can be that?”

Eddie stepped closer, closing the gap, his intensity holding you captive. “I know you can. You just have to take the leap.” 

The air between you crackled, anticipation thick enough to slice. You squeezed the guitar’s neck, fingers brushing the worn wood. “You make it sound so easy.”

Eddie chuckled, tilting his head as if weighing his words. “ It’s not easy. But you’ve already taken the first step by even considering it. Most people wouldn’t even dare think about it.” 

“Maybe they’re smart,” you muttered, hiding your smile behind your fingers.

He laughed, thesound deep and genuine, filling the space between you with warmth. “You don’t get it. It takes guts to want more. To want to play. That’s where the magic begins.”

The laughter faded, leaving a charged silence humming in the air, a delicate tension threading between you and Eddie. You let his words settle, the weight of them both exhilarating and terrifying. 

“Maybe I could try,” you said, the thought blossoming with a shy sort of determination.

“Maybe?”Eddie raised an eyebrow, a hint of a playful challenge dancing in his gaze. “Come on. That’s not a ‘maybe’ kind of idea. Just feel it. If you want to do it, say it. Confidence is a wholenew level of magic.”

“Okay,” you took a breath, serious conviction seeping into your voice. “I want to do it.”

The spark in Eddie’s eyes ignited, and he clapped his hands together. “Now we’re talking ! That’s the spirit! You’re going to blow them away.” 

His enthusiasm surged through you like a livewire, electrifying and intense.

The weight of your self-doubt transformed into a challenge, and for a moment, you felt invincible, as if you could crumble the walls that enclosed you and stand under the spotlight, breathing life into the lyrics that weighed on your heart.

Eddie leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes glinting with mischief. “What the plan, rock star?” 

Your heart skipped. “The plan?” 

“Yeah, the plan. You gotta set the stage for this big reveal.” 

You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m not sure... I mean ...I didn’t think that far ahead. I just... wanted to play.”

Eddie’s laughter poured from him, bright and infectious. “And that’s exactly where we start! Step one: pick a spot. What venue feels right for the first time? An intimate crowd? Or should we go big and give them a show?”

You furrowed your brow, ruminating on his words. “Maybe something smaller? A local bar, where it’s just a few friends? I can ease into it without feeling overwhelmed.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes glinting with approval. “A solid choice. You get the comfort of familiar faces without the pressure of a stadium crowd. Plus, you control the environment.”

“Exactly,” you said, your voice steadier than before. “I know the bar’s regulars. They’re a pretty chill crowd.” 

Eddie leaned closer, enthused. “Then, it’s settled. You’ll perform at the bar. When’s your first set? We need to prepare.”

“Set?” The word felt foreign on your tongue, almost like a challenge. “I’ve never performed before. How can I have a set?”

“Start simple,” Eddie encouraged, his voice soothing yet firm. “Two or three songs max. Just enough to get your feet wet.” 

You nodded slowly, piecing the fragments together. “Okay, so I could do ‘Zombie,’ andmaybe something from Joan Jett? I’ve been practicing ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.’ It’s fun.”

“Now we’re cooking!” Eddie’s enthusiasm poured over you, washing away the lingering nerves. “Start with your comfort zone, and then let them see the fire within.” 

“Fire?” The thought ignited a spark of curiosity. “I don’t know about that.” 

He stepped closer, sincerity flooding his expression. “Trust me, everyone has fire. Yours just hasn't been lit yet. You’re ready to unleash it.” 

You tucked your hair behind your ear, feeling the weight of his words. "And how do I do that?"

"Channel everything—the nerves, the excitement—let it all explodeinto the music. When you step on that stage, feel every heartbeat, every breath. Don’t just sing the lyrics; live them,” Eddie urged, eyes locked on yours, fierce and passionate.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “That sounds easier said than done.”

Eddie chuckled, tilting his head in that infuriatingly charming way that made your heart skip. “Maybe. But look at it this way: what have you got to lose? It’s justa few songs in a local bar. If it flops, it’s a learning curve, right? And if it succeeds?” 

His smile widened, a challenge hidden in the corners of his mouth. 

The stakes felt tangible, the thrill pricklingthrough your veins. Eddie leaned against a stack of amplifiers, his presence warm and inviting, like a campfire on a chilly night.

“If it succeeds,” he continued, his tone low and intimate, “you’ll know you’ve taken the leap into something incredible. Something that could change everything.”

You contemplated his words, the gravity of them sinking in. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie’s confidence enveloped you like a shield, a reminder that he believed in you, even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

You inhaled, the weight of possibility resting inside you like a coiled spring. The buzzing rhythm of the world outside the cramped backstage seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in thatmoment. 

“Hey,” Eddie said, tilting his head. “You’re going to be great. Just stay true to yourself.”

You nodded slowly, the pulse of his reassurance echoing within you. “Yeah, true to myself…” The phrase caught in your mind, swirling through your thoughts as if it held the key to unlocking a door you had kept tightly shut.

You blinked, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thanks, Eddie.” The words slipped out before you fully grasped the weight of what he had just offered. Gratitude flooded your chest, blooming into a soft hope, like sunlight piercing through a tapestry of clouds.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, rummaging through his bag, revealing a small, battered notebook. He flipped through the pages, the sound of crinkling paper breaking the stillness between you.

“Here,” he said, finally pausing on a page filled with scribbles. “These are my ideas for songs—a collection of half-formed lyrics and catchy phrases. He gestured for you to come closer. 

“Are these yours?” you asked, peering over his shoulder at twisted lines and chaotic doodles. 

“Yeah,” he shrugged with acasualness that belied the pride in his voice. “Some are just thoughts that hit me in the moment. Others? Well, they might turn into something someday. Or not.” 

You traced the scrawled lyrics with your finger,reveling in the chaotic beauty of his thoughts. Words trailed across the page like a stream of consciousness—each line pulsed with promise.

“‘The shadows dance, whispers in the night,’” you read aloud, lifting an eyebrow.

Eddie leaned in closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You're a poet now,” he quipped, nudging you with his shoulder. 

You chuckled, the playful banter easing the tension coiling in your stomach. 

"Is that your idea of a catchy phrase?” 

“Absolutely,” Eddie shot back, a grin flickering across his lips. “It’s all about creating the right vibe. New song, right there. Rhymes and all.”

You flipped through the pages, the ink smudges reflecting messy brilliance. “These are incredible, Eddie.” The words flowed out without thinking. “They feel so raw.”

“Raw is good,” he said, leaning back, satisfaction dancing in his eyes. 

It captures the essence of where we come from, the struggles we face. It’s the truth that resonates.”

You traced your fingers over a line, feeling the weight of his journey in those brief phrases. “How do you turn something like this into a fullsong?”Eddie leaned back against the amplifiers, a thoughtful frown etched on his face. “It’s about feeling it, really. Take those lines and let them brew. You build around the feeling—the music, the rhythm. 

You let the emotions guide you. Sometimes, it even gets messy, but that’s where the magic lies.” 

You met his gaze, warmth flooding your cheeks. “I’m not sure I’d be able to capture that… messy magic.” 

“Why not?” Eddie's voice carried a playful challenge, twinkling eyes locked onto yours. 

“I guess I’m just... careful. I don’t want to mess up, and if I let it all out, who knows what might happen?”

“Messing up is part of the process,” Eddie insisted, leaning forward, enthusiasm radiating from him. “It’s not a crime; it’s how you find what works. Let the chaos unfold. That’s where the truth hides.” 

His words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in encouragement. You felt a thrum of possibility surge through you, stirring deep within, resonating with a truth that felt so foreign yet tantalizing. 

You glanced at the scattered chaos of lyrics and notes before meeting Eddie's gaze once more. "You really enjoy this process, don’t you?" 

Eddie's grin widened, his enthusiasm contagious. “Oh, I love it. It’s like unearthing buried treasure. Each line tells a story, every note transforms into a heartbeat. You get to put yourself out there, bare and exposed

He smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting with genuine delight. “Absolutely. It’s discovery. It’s revealing pieces of yourself that often remain hidden. When you share it, you connect with others in ways that surprise you.”

You nodded, letting his words settle into you, revealing the layers of complexity in music you had never fully grasped before. This was more than just performing; it was a dance of vulnerability and strength, a way to let the echoes of your soul resonate beyond the confines of your fears.

“So,” Eddie leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, the casualness of his posture radiating confidence. “ So," Eddie leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, the casualness of his posture radiating confidence, "what’s the next step? You have the venue set, the songs lined up. Now you need to plan your attack. What 's your first move? How will you snatch that spotlight?"

You sank back against the stack of amps, feeling exhilaration surge through you like an electric current. “Um, well... I guess I need to practice, right?”

Eddie tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes. “Practice? Pfft. Who needs that?” He feigned disinterest, but the teasing smile gave him away. 

“Very funny,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “I definitely need to practice. If I don't, I might just crumble up there. I mean, what if I forget the words?”

Eddie leaned in, propping his chin on his hand. “Remember what I said? It’s not about the words. It’s about the feeling behind them.” 

You allowed his words to seep in, knitting together the tendrils of encouragement tangled inside you. 

“Just imagine the crowd nodding along, lost in the vibe,” he added, his voice wrapping around each word like a soft embrace. “You think they’ll care about a lyric slip? They’ll be feeling the energy you bring.”

Your heart raced at the thought. “And if I trip over my own feet?”

“Welcometo being human!” Eddie grinned, shrugging casually. “It happens to the best of us. You just keep going. If you trip, you turn it into a dance move. Make it part of the show.”

You laughed, imagining yourself tripping spectacularly, somehow making it part of a rock anthem. “Right, a ‘whoops’ moment turned ‘show-stopping’! That’d be my luck.”

Eddie bit back a chuckle, clearly enjoying the image. ““You’d become a legend!” Eddie laughed, his eyes sparkling. “The clumsy rock star who owned the stage despite tripping over her own feet.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“A legendfor all the wrong reasons.” 

“Who cares about the reasons?” Eddie shot back, leaning forward with an intensity that made your heart race. “What matters is the passion. If you go out there with fire in your soul, they’ll remember you for that, not the little mistakes.”

Your lips curled into a smile, emboldened by his fervor. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Just a guy with a guitar and too much time on my hands,” he says.

You shook your head, refusing to let him downplay the moment. “No, seriously. You take the time to help people see their own potential. "

Eddie chuckled, shrugging off the compliment, but the hint of color painted his cheeks.

“Hey, someone’s gotta light the fire,” he said, leaning against the nearby stack of amps, the confidence in his casual posture making you feel like you were standing under a spotlight all your own.

“Right?” You nodded, biting back the urge to blush. The sincerity in his voice pushed away the faint doubts lingering in the back of your mind. “It’s just… every time I think about it, I get so nervous. You know?”

Eddie leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the focus shifting entirely onto you. “Nerves are what make it real. It means you care. The moment you stop feeling nervous is the moment you stop pushing yourself. You want this, and that’s why it’s scary.” 

You let his words sink in, the truth echoing in your mind like a chorus. 

So, it’s okay to be nervous?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie leaned back, a triumphant smile lighting up his face. “Every great artist feels it. It’s part of the game. Embrace it.”

“I suppose.” You mulled over his encouragement, the weight of your apprehension slowly shifting on its axis. “But I still feel so small, like a tiny fish in a massive ocean. What if I drown?”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes steady and earnest. “The ocean can be overwhelming, true. But you’ve got the tools to swim. You’re not just any fish; you’ve got a voice that can carry. Besides, you’re not alone. I’ll be right there with you, cheering you on, guiding the way. "

“What if I mess up, though?” You knew the question hung heavy in the air, the nagging worry bubbling up like a stubborn tide. “What if I stand there, frozen, and the whole bar goes silent?”Eddie’s expression softened, genuinely serious for a moment. “Then you take a breath. Look around and find someone who believes in you. Focus on the music, not the crowd. You’re there to share something beautiful, not to perform for strangers.”

His voice tethered your racing thoughts, grounding you in an ocean of overwhelming emotions. You took a deep breath, the encouragement rolling over you like a warm wave. “It’s just so terrifying,” you admitted, heart thundering in your chest. 

Eddie leaned closer, the intensity in his eyes unwavering. “I get that. Fear is a powerful beast. But think about it—what’s on the other side? Think about the stories you’ll have. The laughter, the connection, the feeling of pouring your soul into song and sharing it with others. You get to create something real.”

The warmth of his words settled around you, wrapping you in a haze of possibility. “And if it’s bad then I learn. If it’s bad, I get up and try again,” you finished, allowing the truth to hang between you. The fear still throbbed in your chest, but somewhere in that crowded space, a flicker of hope ignited, small yet persistent.

Eddie’s grin widened, and he leaned back, hands behind his head like he’d accomplished something monumental. 

"See that? You’re already thinking like a performer. It’s all about possibility. Don’t let the fear drown it out." 

You leaned back against the wall, tapping your fingers nervously against the guitar body, the pulse of uncertainty still thrumming in your veins. “You really believe I can turn this fear into a strength?”

Eddie pushed off the wall, rocking on his heels. “Absolutely. Fear isn’t the enemy; it’s a sign that you’re on the edge of something great. If you approach it right, it becomes your fuel."

You tilted your head and considered his words, feeling a flicker of understanding ignite deep within you. “So, instead of being afraid, I should lean into it? Let it fuel my fire?”

“Exactly!” Eddie’s enthusiasm crackled in the air like a livewire. He bounced on his heels, energy radiating from him. “You take that fear and turn it into raw power. Channel it into your performance. When you stand up there, your heart racing, let that energy inspire the audience.

They'llbe right there with you, feeling every note and word, riding the waves of your emotion.”

A determined grin spread across your face, the idea taking root in your mind. “I can feel it already, Eddie. Like the adrenaline of jumping off a cliff, knowing there’s water below.”

“Exactly,” Eddie nodded. “Once you leap, you find out what you’re truly capable of. That rush? That’s invincibility.”

You leaned back against the amp, a flicker of adrenaline igniting under your skin. “What if I leap but hit the rocks below instead?” 

Eddie’s expression softened, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Then you’ll learn from the impact and climb back up. It’s about resilience, too. Each fall teaches you something new. Every bruise becomes a badge, showing you survived.”

You took a moment, letting his words wash over you, smoothing the edges of your

Excitement bubbled within you, battling against the lingering doubts. The rhythm of your heartbeat synced with the pulse of newfound determination that thrummed deep inside.

“Okay,” you said, lifting your chin. “I choose to leap. No rocks will hold me back.” 

Eddie clapped his hands together, a flourish of triumph filling the air. “That’s the spirit! Let’s keep the momentum rolling. What's next?”

You cast your gaze around the cluttered backstage, cluttered with cables, half-empty water bottles, and stacks of equipment that hummed with potential energy. Your surroundings felt less intimidating now, just artifacts that contributed to the ambiance of possibility.

“Okay,” you began, your voice steadier, “I guess the next part is actually picking my set list.”

Eddie leaned against a stack of amps, fingers drumming against his thigh. “Absolutely! You need a killer set list. The songs should flow together, create that perfect vibe.” He tilted his head, considering. “What do your gut instincts say?”You furrowed your brow, feeling the weight of his question. “I think… I definitely want to start with ‘Zombie.’ It’s powerful. Then maybe ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.’ They’re different enough to let my personality shine. 

“Perfect,” Eddie grinned, nodding as if you had just announced a secret plan to take over the world. “That’s a solid opener and a crowd-pleaser for sure. But for the last song,

what are you thinking?” 

You rubbed your chin, pondering the idea. “I could go with something more emotional, something to leave a lasting impression. Maybe something like ‘Landslide’ by Fleetwood Mac?” 

Eddie’s eyes litup, a mix of surprise and admiration brightening his expression. “Now we’re talking. That song is beautiful and heartfelt. Perfect for a powerful closer.” 

“Really?” You felt a surge of confidence at his enthusiasm. “I wasn’t sure it would fit with the other two.” 

Eddie raised his brows, genuinely impressed. “You’re missing the point. ‘Zombie’ packs a punch, ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll’ speaks to the fun, and ‘Landslide’ wraps it all up with depth and reflection. It’s like a journey through your emotions, and by the end of it, they’ll feel all the layers you’ve built in that short set. It’s brilliant!”

Your heart raced,the swell of excitement eclipsing any remaining traces of doubt. “I can't believe I actually created a set list.”

Eddie’s pride flickered brightly. “You did more than that. You created a moment. This is your story.” He straightened, excitement radiating through him. “It’s not just about the music; it’s about the connection you create. Those songs compress your essence into a few precious minutes. It’s your chance to be raw and real.”

The thought both exhilarated and terrified you. For the first time, you felt the weight of those words pierce through your nervousness and ignite a flame. 

“Wow,” you muttered, leaning back against the amplifiers. “That’s… a lot tocarry.”Eddie shifted, resting his hands on the edge of the amp, his smile unwavering. “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to carry it alone. This moment isn’t yours to bear in isolation. You’ll have an audience there, feeling every pulse of your music with you."

" and you'll have me" He emphasized the promise, his earnest gaze locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity. “I’ll be right there, backstage, living and breathing every note."

He leans closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. The warmth of his lips lingered like a breath of wind, leaving a rush of warmth trailing down your spine. You froze, caught between surprise and exhilaration. Eddie pulled back, his eyes dancing with mischief, a grin spreading across his face like a forgotten melody suddenly rediscovered.

“Didn’t see that coming, huh?” he teased, attempting to mask the sincerity in his voice with a playful wink.

You blinked, the warmth of that fleeting connection thrumming through you. ““Uh, no, not at all,” you stammered, struggling to compose yourself, the rush of heat flooding your cheeks.

Eddie laughed, biting his bottom lip. " It's cute" 

You stumbled over your words, heart racing. “C-cute? Is that what you’re calling it?”

He leaned against a stack of amps, the mischief in his eyes glowing brighter. “Absolutely. A bold move, if I do say so myself. Shows real confidence.” 

You fumbled with the strings of your guitar, the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, well... I didn’t expect you to go all soft on me, Munson.”

" You think I never notice you backstage or when you tune my guitar for me? I'm Eddie Munson. I'm not the boy that I used to be in high school. I'm older, smarter, and a charmer" 

You raised an eyebrow, a half-smile creeping onto your face. “A charmer, huh? Is that how you win over all those girls?” 

He shrugged, leaning back against the amp, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.“Depends on the girl. Some like the charm, others just want the show.” He leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “But I’ve never been interested in the ones who throw themselves at me. They don’t see the real Eddie Munson. Just a persona they’ve conjured in their heads.”

His words hit home, primal yet intimate, unraveling a thread you had kept tightly woven. You glanced down, fingers tracing over the guitar’s frets, feeling the familiarity of the worn wood grounding you amid the simmering tension. Eddie's words echoed in your mind. You lifted your gaze.

“So, when you see me, what do you see?” The question slipped out before you could catch it.

" Someone as beautiful as the melody" he answers. The air crackled with his words, a powerful resonance that sent a shiver down your spine. "Beautiful?" You barely managed to breathe through the shock, heart pounding against your ribcage.

Eddie nodded, leaning in, intensity swirling in his gaze. “Yeah, just like that. There’s a strength in you, even in your shyness. You’re like a song waiting to be played.” 

The flutter in your chest soared, a wave of warmth washing over your cheeks.

" Munson!" A voice shrieked from the hallway, interrupting the moment. The girls from earlier, still buzzing with energy, burst through the doorway like a whirlwind, laughter trailing behind them. The spell shattered, leaving you breathless. 

“All of those girls waiting for you" you looked away sadly. Eddie's gaze lingered on you just a moment longer, a flicker of something unspoken dancing in his eyes before he turned to greet the girls.

“Hey!” he called, his tone brightening instantly, like flipping a switch.

"We thought we lost you" one of the girls giggled, wrapping her arms around him while you stood up, eyes on your shoes and ready to go. You felt the weight of their laughter, a tidal wave crashing against the quiet bubble you had shared with Eddie. 

“Eddie! Come on, we’re waiting!” Another girl tugged at his sleeve, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Eddie flashed a grin, turning his attention fully toward the group. “I’ll be right there! Just chatting with my guitar tech!” 

Your heart sank as the girls practically surrounded him, laughter and teasing banter filling the space. 

You were about to walk away when Eddie pulls you back in, this time he's towering over you and his breathe lingering on your face.“Hey,” he said, his voice low, cutting through the din of laughter. His eyes softened, holding yours, an unspoken connection hanging thick in the air. “Don’t go. Just hang out for a bit.”

" I have a job to do" it was like he could see the hurt in your eyes from when the girls appeared changing your mood. “I get it, but you’re not just my guitar tech. You’re part of this,” he insisted, his voice firm yet gentle, the intensity in his gaze refusing to let go. 

" This is nothing, not to Eddie Munson" you scoffed. Eddie’s brow furrowed, and he stepped closer, blocking the chatter of the girls behind him. “Don’t say that. You’re more than just what you do. You add something real to this chaos.”

" I am not going to be another notch on your belt" He held your gaze, intensity etched on his face, the laughter from the girls fading into a blur behind him. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Just collecting girls like trophies?” 

" you feel sorry for me, you see the silent guitar tech and offer her a moment of your god like presence" you roll your eyes. Eddie's expression shifted, surprise morphing into frustration. “This isn’t some pity party, alright? I’m not trying to collect another girl for my fan club.”

" I am not going to a girl you throw around like trash. I have feelings. I am a person" Eddie's expression tightened, frustration painting his features. “Damn it, that’s not what I meant.” He stepped closer, invading your space, his gaze unyielding. “You think I don’t see you? You think I can just throw you aside like everyone else?” 

His voice dropped as he searched your eyes, the raw honesty reflected within them making your heart race. 

“I don’t want to just look at you. I want to know you. I want to see the person behind the guitar tech. You’re not just some face in the crowd.” 

" Eddie!" the girls call to him. 

" Go back to your groupies" you roll your eyes. Eddie's gaze hardened for a moment, frustration flickering across his features. He opened his mouth to protest, but your heart felt like glass, ready to shatter.

“Hey, look…” he started, but the laughter of the girls grew closer.

" Eddie, come on. They are all waiting for you to drink with us" 

You look up at him, eyes glossy thinking the moment you shared with him was all too good to be true. Eddie’s gaze flickered between you and the group of girls, conflict roiling within him. The laughter dripped from the doorway, bright and inviting, an allure that pulled him back into the thrumming energy of the crowd.

Before he could say anything. You walked away.

The lights of the venue pulsated like a heartbeat, casting an electric glow across the crowd. Eddie Munson stood atop the stage, guitar slung low, his presence commanding the attention of everyone packed into the room. You stood at the edge, watching as he moved, a whirlwind of energy and charisma against the painted backdrop of neon lights. Each chord he struck resonated through the crowd, a wave of sound crashing into you, tugging at the threads of connection you had just begun to explore. Your heart thudded in time with the music, every note reverberating through your chest. Behind the barriers, the audience swayed, lost in the electrifying haze of Eddie’s performance.

His gaze poured over the crowd, and for a brief moment, it locked onto yours. You felt it like a jolt, an electric current surging through the spaces between you. The crowd blurred into insignificance as time slowed, and all that remained was his intense, searching stare blurred into insignificance as time slowed, and all that remained was his intense, searching stare. Eddie’s fingers danced deftly across the fretboard, each strum sending a ripple through the air, but the fire in his eyes anchored your gaze like a lighthouse guiding a ship through stormy seas. For that fleeting moment, he sang only for you, and the words mingled with unspoken promises and a challenge to leap into the unknown.

“ I know your listening " he starts with a confident grin, voice soaring over the crowd. “And I know you’ve got something to say!” 

Electricity crackled through the air, sending shivers racing down your spine. The heartbeat of the audience pulsed around you, but Eddie’s voice cut through the chaos, wrapping around you like a lingering embrace. It pierced the noise and stirred something deep within your chest, awakening the quiet ambitions you had kept locked away. 

He jumps onto the bottom next to where you stood. Eddie leaped off the stage, landing with an effortless grace that sent the crowd into a frenzy. A tide of bodies surged, hands reaching for him, but for you, the world narrowed to just him. His eyes sparkled with mischief and excitement, a daring challenge painted across his face. The air buzzed with adrenaline, and he approached, his grin wide as the crowd roared around him.

Eddie moved closer, his presence magnetic, and your cheeks flushed with the electric thrill of being so near him. The crowd pulsed, a living entity caught in the rhythm. With each chord, he wove together a tapestry of sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The energy radiated from him, enveloping you in a whirlwind of pulse and passion, sending your heart racing with every word he belted into the microphone.

The heat of his grip was electric, a jolt that surged through your veins as he pulled you closer to the stage, the thrumming power of the crowd enveloping you in a cocoon of sound. Eddie leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he continued to sing, his voice layering over the music like silk. You could hardly process the reality of the moment—the electrifying sensation of his hand entwined with yours, the crowd surging around you, and the intensity of his gaze locked onto yours. 

“Feel it!” Eddie shouted, the energy of his voice piercing through the chaos. “Let it wash over you!” His lyrics wrapped around you like a spell, enticing you to surrender to the moment. 

Eddie cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and the warmth spread through you like wildfire. Around you, the crowd pulsed in sync with the thumping bass, but all you could focus on was him. His eyes bore into you, a swirling galaxy of emotion reflecting back at you. The world around faded into a hazy backdrop, the vibrant colors of the crowd bleeding into one another, transforming them into a chorus of anticipation and excitement. 

“Don’t you see?”

“Don’t you see?” Eddie’s voice wrapped around your senses, each word charged with urgency. “This is your moment! You don’t have to hide anymore!”

You swallowed hard, the call of his words cutting through the din of the crowd. Your heart raced.

" Sing" he gets another microphone. " Show them" Eddie’s voice pierced the noise, drowning out the crowd's chatter as he pressed the microphone into your trembling hands. You stared at it, the cold metal feeling foreign against your skin, the weight of it heavy with expectation. 

“What?” you stammered, voice nearly lost amidst the thrumming energy of the crowd.

“Sing!” Eddie's grin widened, a spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Come on, don’t let this moment slip away!” 

" Are you insane?" Eddie chuckled, his breath brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “This is the moment you’ve been building up to! Grab the mic and own it!”

" I can't" The weight of his gaze held you captive, a mixture of encouragement and challenge flickering behind those passionate eyes. 

" If you sing, then I'll kiss you" 

The words hung in the air, suspended between you like an electric charge. Your heart stuttered, a wild rhythm echoing through your veins, mixing with the pulse of the crowd around you. Did he just—? 

“Are you serious?"” you whispered, feeling heat climb up your cheeks.

Eddie leaned closer, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Dead serious. You take the mic and unleash that voice of yours, and I’ll give you a kiss right here, in front of everyone.” The challenge in his eyes ignited something deep within, an adrenaline rush electrifying your veins. The crowd pulsed around you, demanding, throbbing with energy, and suddenly the weight of the moment hung by a thread between exhilaration and fear, a delicate balance teetering on the edge of chaos. You gripped the microphone, knuckles whitening, a cold metal reminder of the stakes at play. 

The microphone vibrated against your lips, a trembling connection that ignited a spark within you. You opened your mouth, and the words flowed like a river, a tide crashing against every hesitation. 

Your voice emerged, tentative at first, but the energy radiating from Eddie propelled you forward. The lyrics wrapped around you like a shroud, each note gaining strength as you surrendered to the rhythm pulsing through your veins. The cold metal of the microphone warmed against your palm, your voice echoing through the venue. 

Eddie's eyes sparkledas he watched you, the crowd’s energy crackling around you like electricity. 

With every line, the fear that had coiled in your chest began to unravel, giving way to something liberating. You found your footing, your heart syncing with the rhythm of the music. The lyrics cascaded from your lips, gaining momentum as you poured every ounce of emotion into your voice. 

The song culminated in a crescendo, the final chord hanging in the air like a breath held too long. You stumbled back, the microphone slipping from your grasp as Eddie scooped it up, still grinning beneath the electric glow of the stage lights

Eddie stepped back, watching in awe, the energy radiating from you drawing a pulse of electricity through the crowd. A roar erupted from the audience, a wave of applause crashing against you like an adrenaline tide. Eddie’s eyes sparkled, laughter dancing just beneath the surface. 

“See?” he shouted over the din, his voice resonating with excitement, the crowd’s roar echoing your own racing heartbeat. “You’re a rock star!”

You struggled to catch your breath, the thrill of the moment pooling in your chest. Every cheer from the audience wrapped around you, tugging at the corners of your lips, turning every doubt inside out. The exhilaration coursed through you, a tidal wave of adrenaline that drowned out your fears, leaving only a bright flicker of joy. 

" I think you promised to do something, Munson" your cheeks turned red. Eddie's laughter danced in the air as he took an exaggerated step back, feigning innocence. “Did I?” He leaned in closer, a teasing glint igniting his eyes. “What was that promise again?”

His grin widened, the playful challenge lingering in the air, electric with anticipation. “What was it again? Something about a kiss if you sang?” 

" You don't have to.. it was stupid thing..." Eddie’s grin widened, the playful challenge lingering in the air, electric with anticipation. “A promise is a promise,” he said, leaning closer, the light playing in his eyes. “You took the plunge; now it’s my turn to hold up my end.”

Eddie stepped forward, his presence filling the space between you and the pulsing crowd. The heat radiating from his body drew you in, your heart racing as anticipation mixed with the heady exhilaration of performing. 

The electrifying pulse of the crowd faded momentarily, leaving just the two of you suspended in the aftermath of your performance. Eddie stepped closer, the heat radiating from him enveloping you like a warm blanket on a chilly night. This was your moment, a heartbeat between the chaos of the crowd and the intimacy of your shared victory.

He stood there, inches away, his gaze intense and unwavering, capturing the energy of the audience just as easily as he captured yours. You could feel the world shrinking, the chaos around you fading into a melodious hum. Eddie leaned in, tilting his head to catch the glimmer in your eyes, a playful mischief dancing across his features.

" You're being too slow, Eddie" you joked. His grin widened, yet mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Slow? I thought I was taking my time, savoring the moment.”

“Because a kiss is all about savoring it,” you teased back, unable to help the flutter of anticipation that danced in your chest.

Eddie's laugh rolled out, sincere and infectious, drawing you in further. "That's the spirit! But don't think you can roast me and back out of the kiss, rock star." He leaned closer, the earnest glimmer in his eyes igniting a fire within you. “I’m not backing out,” you teased, your heart pounding against your ribs as he moved ever so slightly, the distance between you almost nonexistent. The enthusiasm from the crowd surged around you, a sea of voices thrumming with excitement, yet time seemed to stretch, pulling the moment into sharp focus.

The world faded as Eddie leaned in, his intent clear, and your heart raced with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation. The world around you melted into a hazy backdrop, the pulsing crowd fading into mere whispers as his presence enveloped you. 

His lips brushed against yours—a feather-light touch that sent a spark shooting through your veins. It felt electric against yours—a feather-light touch that sent a spark shooting through your veins. It felt electric, a jolt that resonated through every nerve ending. The world around you disappeared, consumed by the intoxicating warmth of the moment. Eddie drew back slightly his eyes searching yours, a mixture of triumph and exhilaration dancing across his features.

“Wow,” he breathed, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that lit up his entire face. “You’ve got some magic there.” 

" Stop teasing" you tell him.Eddie chuckled, his laughter bright and infectious. “I’m serious! That was absolutely spellbinding.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask your embarrassment but failing. 

The roar of the crowd surged around you, a tidal wave of joy and exhilaration. Yet, even amidst their cheers and applause, Eddie's unyielding gaze held you captive. The world spun around, but you found your center in the spark of connection forged in that moment. You felt invincible, buoyed by what you had just done—and by what it meant.

" Let's give another round of roars and shouts for my awesome cute guitar tech" Eddie says into the microphone. The roar of the crowd swelled, a wave of sound vibrating through the venue as Eddie championed you. Laughter erupted from your lips, cheeks blazing with warmth, your heart racing against the backdrop of their applause. 

" You're something else, Eddie Munson" Eddie beamed, the electric energy coursing through the crowd amplifying the moment’s intensity. “Just wait until you see what else I can do!” He winked at you.

You were going to hold him on that promise.

[devildomditzy]

You’re late for your date.

Like, Late late.

And of course, if the situation were switched, you wouldn’t have minded.

In fact, you would have expected it.

But you are you and Mammon is Mammon.

So of course, his leniency for being ignored is next to zero.

He leans against the front door inside the common room of the House of Lamentation. And he looks at his watch.

4:00

4:00

You’re an hour late.

And of course, Mammon tried to play it cool at first, swiping through his D.D.D with an unimpressed look on his face. He’s cool. Nonchalant. His brothers can’t know he’s internally freaking out;

Because he’s totally not.

Of course not. No way. Not over you of all people.

But he can’t hide the jitters so graciously given to him by his nervous system.

“Are you being stood up?”, Satan calls from a nearby armchair in the room, not bothering to look up from what he’s reading.

“I ain’t being stood up! They’ll be here, they’re just…busy. Yeah, that’s it. They’re busy.”

Asmo lays upside down on the couch, scrolling on his own D.D.D.

“Of course they stood him up, they’d much rather go on a date with mwah”, he gloats from his position.

“Oi! Shut up will ya?!”, Mammon screams back, now standing rigidly, hands balled up at his side in anger, leaning into the conversation, ready to make it an argument.

As he takes another breath to get a word out, Satan cuts him off.

“Where were you going anyway?”

“Yeah, where?”, Asmo brightly echos back.

Mammon sighs, body relaxing as he slouches back into his leaning position.

“We were supposed to go to Devil Coast ‘bout an hour ago. But of course MC ain’t got a bone of urgency in their body.”

He grunts, frustratingly looking down at his D.D.D. Twenty-five messages. No replies. What was up with ya?

Asmo cackles wildly, “Maybe they forgot about you, hm?”

Mammon’s face begins to heat up with anger.

“Listen here you little-”

Satan once again cuts him off. “We all know there’s no way they’d forget about Mammon. He’s much too loud”, he says, turning his page.

“Would y’all shuddup? Jeez”, Mammon’s tone becomes lethal in a way his brothers know they should stop pushing, so they do, shooting each other concerned glances.

“Have they texted you back at all?”, questions Satan.

Mammon sighs, “No, not yet.”

He looks down at his phone, scrolling through your message thread.

2:50 PM

Mammon: Yo! Ready to go?

Mammon: I’m by the front door, I’ll be waitin’ for ya.

Mammon: Remember to bring your coat ya dummy, cause I ain’t letting’ you borrow mine this time!

Mammon: Okay

Mammon: Maybe I would let ya borrow it if you really needed it and were shivering and stuff and needed The Great Mammon’s help to warm ya up.

Mammon: But you gotta say please 😜

2:57 PM

Mammon: Alright, where are ya?

Mammon: Thought we agreed on 3:00

Mammon: Do ya need more time gettin’ ready?

Mammon: Tryin’ to look good for your first, huh?

Mammon: I’ll wait a little longer for ya.

3:10 PM

Mammon: Hurry it up, will ya?

Mammon: I understand wantin’ to look nice, but it’s ten after! Ten!

Mammon: Ya know, you’re the only human that keeps me waitin’ like this!

3:30 PM

Mammon: Okay, yer bein’ kinda ridiculous right now.

Mammon: I mean come on, ya gotta date with Mammon. THE Mammon. Ya know how lucky you are?

Mammon: Alotta people would kill to be in your position.

3:35 PM

Mammon: But of course I wouldn’t go with them. I wouldn’t go on a date with anyone but you, okay?

Mammon: That’s why you need to get yer ass down here!

3:40 PM

Mammon: You’ve got some nerve makin’ THE Mammon wait around for ya!

3:45 PM

Mammon: Whatever, isn’t like I wanted to go out with ya anyway.

Mammon: I was doin’ this for you, ya know.

Mammon: Why would I wanna be see around with some lousy human?

Mammon: What am I, yer babysitter?

3:55 PM

Mammon: Look, I didn’t mean that, alright?

Mammon: Please come down.

“Are you sure they’re not asleep?”, Satan ponders curiously.

“Nah, I don’t think so. We’ve been talkin’ about this for weeks”, Mammon says defeatedly, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Are you sure they’re okay?”, Asmo asks, voice laced with concern.

“Okay?!”, Mammon shoots his attention to the avatar of lust. “Wah- what- why wouldn’t they be okay?”

Asmo looks around sheepishly, bringing his nails up to his lips to bite them, something he never does unless he’s either A) super stressed or B) covering something up.

Mammon steps towards his brother, anger beginning to boil, knowing what his mannerisms mean. “Whadda you know that I don’t?! C’mon, spill it!”

The urgency in his voice compels Asmo to speak, knowing how sensitive his brother is when it comes to you.

“Well… I promised them I wouldn’t tell you…”

“Tell me what?!”

His brother remains quiet for a moment.

“Asmo…”, Mammon threatens dangerously.

“Ugh, okay I’ll tell you”, Asmo sighs, mumbling quickly under his breath, “MC, please forgive me!”

Mammon stares at his brother impatiently as he starts,

“Well, MC came to me the other day after class. I knew something was wrong because there were tears in their beautiful eyes”, Asmo lays his hand across his forehead as if he were faint.

“Skip the dramatics and keep talkin’!”

“Okay, sheesh. So MC came to me and told me they haven’t been feeling very good lately.”

“What, are they sick or somthin’?”

“No no, nothing like that. More like, their brain feels sick? They said they don’t really know why, but they’ve been feeling bad about themselves lately - which I told them was totally ridiculous! AND I offered them a full makeover WITH facial and they denied it, but that always makes ME feel better.”

Asmo pouts before continuing, “Plus, with all the extra work Lucifer and Lord Diavolo have been giving them with the student council, they said they feel like they’re under so much pressure, they’re gonna crack soon.”

“Why ain’t they tellin’ me any of this!?”

“Because,” Asmo says annoyed, “they don’t want to upset you!”

“What? That’s ridiculous!”, exclaims Mammon.

Asmo matches his volume, “I know right?! That’s what I told them! But they said you were so excited about your date that they didn’t wanna ruin it- hey, where are you going!?”, Asmo yells as Mammon walks out of the room.

“Where’d ya think! I’m gonna go talk to MC!”, Mammon yells back.

So that’s why you weren’t there? You’ve been hurting? For awhile it seems, and you didn’t tell him?

He’s gotta admit, he’s a little hurt. But he knows this isn’t about him right now.

It’s about you.

Mammon didn’t know he would be nervous to see you until he was standing in front of your door. What if says the wrong thing and makes it worse? What if he can’t help you at all? What if he made you feel this way?

Okay. He realizes with that last one that he’s spiraling. Time to fix this.

He lifts a shaky hand to your door, knocking three times rhythmically - the one you know is his knock. And only his.

He cringes when he hears your weak voice choke out a small “come in”.

The room is dark; All the lights are out and it’d be pitch black save for the window next to your bed, illuminating your form, a shivering lump hiding under your blanket.

He lets out a sigh as he walks further in. He should have known about this. He should have been able to pick up on this. Boyfriend of the year, huh?

You sniffle as you pop your head out from under your hiding place.

“H-hey Mams”, you hiccup, giving away the tears that still stream down your face. “I-I’m sorry I ruined our date. I should have texted you, I-I just…”

Mammon walks till he’s leaning right over you, hands on his hips. “Uh-uh, I don’t care about that right now. What I do care about is you, mainly why didn’t ya tell me you were feelin’ like this before our date?”

The tone is his voice gives way to his own hurt, and you can’t help but start to cry again at the sound of it, knowing it’s your fault.

“Shh, shhh,” he quickly sits down on the bed next to you and puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug. “I ain’t mad at ya or anything, I just wanna know why.”

He knows why; Asmo told him. But, he wants to hear it from you.

You pull your arm out from under the blanket (and Mammon’s hold) to wipe your face. “I’m fine really, it’s just”, you sniffle, but Mammon cuts you off.

“Ya clearly not, c’mon MC”, he says, oceanic eyes meeting yours and - it’s hard not to crack under that gaze. “Tell me what’s the matter, please.”

Mammon stares at you in silence, signaling that it’s your turn to talk, and he would quietly listen. As long as you trust him, he’d always listen to whatever it is you have to say, no matter what.

You sit up a little straighter, pulling your arm out from under the comforter to wipe your tears. Composing yourself, you look into his eyes. His face softens at the sight.

Clearing your throat you start, “I don’t know. I’ve just been so overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed with what? All that work Lucifer and Lord Diavolo keep pushin’ on you? Tell ‘em to shove it!”

You shoot him a dangerous look. “We both know I can’t do that.”

“Sure ya can, I do it all the time!”, Mammon proudly declares, making you smile brightly and chuckle.

“And you always end up hanging from the rafters”, you laugh.

“I never said I got away with it”, he replies, smiling just as brightly back.

Your giggle peters out as you begin to speak again. “I’ve got so much more work to do and so little time to do it”, you frown. “And I’ve been pushing myself really hard! And- I dunno. I guess it’s taking a toll on me.”

“Yeah, Asmo said you were havin’ it pretty rough.”

At the mention of Asmo’s name, you shoot upwards in shock.

“He told you?!”

“Course he did. Did ya forget which ones of us you can trust with secrets?”.

You grumble in anger. “That little - UGH! I’m gonna kill him.”

“Let’s put murder on the back burner,” Mammon says, pushing your shoulder to lay you back down in your slouching position. “How’s ‘bout ya tell me what’s really bothering’ ya and I’ll help ya threaten the primadonna later, yeah?”.

You give him the side eye, but collapse under his gaze. Curse those eyes! You swear he can put you under some kind of truth spell with those things.

“Fine. I guess… it’s just… I…”

“Any day now, Treasure.”

You make an exasperated noise and glare at him. “You know it’s not fair to use that word on me when I’m upset.”

“When you’re upset at me. And yer not upset at me right now, right? Please say right”, he finishes his sentence with a sense of urgency, now worried that he could be the cause.

He’s wracking his brain for anything he could have said or done recently that made you upset. Are you mad at him cause he teased you the other day when you did your makeup differently. He told ya he only did it cause he liked it. Are you mad because he cheated off of you in potions class? Well, he’s your first, dammit! You should be helping him anyways. That’s what a loyal subject does.

“No, no it’s not you. I just haven’t been feeling very good about myself lately.”

“What! That’s ridiculous!”, he shouts and - he’s trying to be helpful in his own way, but his raising voice makes you wince. He notices, quickly shifting his tone. “I mean, what’s there not to like, doll.”

You smile to yourself at the nickname. He’s trying his hardest to be sweet. You should try your hardest to let him in on your thoughts a bit too.

“I don’t like the way I look. I’m not pretty, I’m not cool, I don’t even know what you see in me.”

“Don’t be dumb, MC!”

“Mammon, look at you! You’re you. You’re one of the seven demon lords of hell, you’re a whole model, and you’re one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met - Devildom, Human Realm, or celestial! You know you’re hot, so I’m worried…”, you trail off quietly.

“Worried bout what, MC?”, he asks at your hesitance, worry evident in his eyes. He places his hand on top of yours on the bed without breaking eye contact.

“…I’m worried that one day you’ll realize you’re too good for me and leave.”

“Leave? Whaddaya talkin’ about? How would I leave? I live here too ya know”, he says, poking your nose.

“You know what I mean, Mammon”, you say swiping his hand away from your face. “You’ll leave me.”

Mammon rolls his eyes, waving a hand towards your direction dismissively. “Oh yeah, I’ll leave you alright. That’s exactly why I was waitin’ for ya at the door for an hour to take ya on a date. Cause I wanna leave ya soooo bad. Do ya see how ridiculous you sound?”.

You sigh, eyes looking towards the bedsheets as you play with his hand that has found its way back to yours. You don’t look up as you speak. “See, I didn’t even come down for our date. Or text you. I just moped around up here. Im a terrible partner. And I’m sure you’re gonna realize it soon.”

Mammon makes a ‘tch’ noise with his tongue, before grabbing you by the chin and making you look into his eyes, making you gasp in surprise.

“And ya think I’m such a great boyfriend, huh? I’m just the best? The guy who spends his free time at the casino runnin’ up scams? The guy who used ta blame his screw ups on ya to get outta trouble? Yeah MC, I’m a real peach. Cream of the crop if ya ask me”, he lectures, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What are you trying to say”, you question, grabbing his wrist to take his hand off your chin, to which he carefully obliges.

“I’m sayin’ that I’m not so great myself. But you still love me, right?

“Yeah, and?”

“Exactly. I’ve got flaws, we’ve all got flaws, even father had flaws, clearly”, he mumbles the last part under his breath.

“I wouldn’t stop lovin’ ya over any dumb thing like looks or status. In fact, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d stop lovin’ ya, ya dumb human. Sorry ‘boutcha luck, but yer stuck with The Great Mammon forever”, he jokes, ruffling your hair.

“What about when I die? I’m human, you’ll outlive me by a long shot. Don’t you want to be with someone, I don’t know, with the same…life span as you?”

“Nah, I’ll still love your dumbass skeleton when you’re a stupid ghost.”

“How romantic.”

“Listen. My point is I’m yours and you’re mine. That ain’t changin’, alright? And I’m not mad ‘bout our date, we’ll reschedule it. Just next time, ya could let me know before I stand by the front door for over an hour like a jackass. My brothers got enough to make fun of me over already.”

He pulls a little smile out of you with that last one.

“And about all that student council junk Lucifer and Lord Diavolo keep thrown’ on ya, I’ll talk to them. Maybe they’ll let you divide it up between all of us, alright?”.

You sniffle, wiping your face once more and shaking your head in an affirmative nod. “Sounds good. Thank you, Mams. I’m sorry.”

“C’mon now, quit yer apologizin’. It’s fine. You apologize for somethin’ like that again, I’m tellin’ Beel you ate his pudding from Madam Screams.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I’ll dare alright, ‘n then some”, he jokes, tackling you to the bed. “Why don’t we watch a movie or somethin’. You gotta make up the lost date time you owe me.”

You laugh at his antics, agreeing. “Okay, okay. I’m on it.”

As you sit in front of your shared DVD collection to pick tonight’s selection, you throw your voice over your shoulder.

“Hey Mams?”

“Yeah?”, he asks from his spot on your bed, scrolling on his D.D.D.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Treasure.”

[moonstruckme]

hiiiii!!!! may i request high!reader x high!steve or sirius just being all sweet and cuddly and lovey and dovey

Course you can :)

cw: weed

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 635 words

“Dude.” 

You turn towards where Steve sits next to you on the couch, tapping his shoulder urgently. “Dude, dude.” 

He catches your hand by the wrist, looking at you seriously. “Call me ‘dude’ one more time and I swear to god I’ll break up with you.” 

Your face splits in a grin you can barely feel happening. It’s like second nature, no muscles required. “You’re such a liar.” 

Steve shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “What do you want, loser?” 

“How’s that any better than dude?”

He takes your face in his hand. Kisses you soundly. “Just tell me.” 

It takes you a bit to remember. Steve’s kisses always get you in a tizzy, but combined with the weed it feels as if you have to pull yourself back to consciousness. Like your very mind will drift off-kilter if you don’t keep it in check. 

“Soft serve,” you say after a moment. “We should go get soft serve. God, doesn’t that sound so good? The cold, and the texture…” Your tongue tingles as if you can feel it, your entire being aching with yearning. 

“Oh my god,” Steve laughs, “you’re so far gone.” 

You laugh too, though you’re not totally sure why. It just keeps happening. Every time Steve speaks, it feels like he’s tugging laughter out from inside you like a pulled thread. 

“I am not,” you giggle. “Doesn’t soft serve sound amazing?” 

He pivots, bringing one foot up in front of him so that he’s sitting sideways on the couch, facing you. His hair squishes flat where he leans against the cushion. “Yeah, it does,” he says. “One problem, though.” You mirror him, tilting your head curiously. “Neither of us can drive right now.” 

Your heart sinks. “Oh.” 

You must look really put out, because Steve chucks your chin like he thinks he’s a dad on TV. 

“I might have some ice cream in the freezer,” he offers. 

“It’s not going to be the same,” you sigh. “It’s not soft.” 

“I can leave it out until it gets soft.” 

“Not in the same way soft serve is soft.” 

He hums, saddened by your sadness, which feels appropriate. It’s nice to know he understands. He works a hand behind your ear, eyes warm and brown and tender. “I’m sorry, honey.” 

His voice feels like honey, the way he says it. It drips slow and sweet into your core, where it pools with pleasant stickiness. You make a tiny, lovesick sound in the back of your throat, nuzzling his palm. 

“You look really good,” you whisper, like it’s a secret. 

It’s overwhelming how true it is. Steve always looks good, but today he looks soft and rumpled and special. He’s wearing sweatpants that never leave the house, his shirt is all wrinkled, riding up his side that’s pressed into the couch to reveal a triangle of abdomen, and his always-perfect hair is in complete disarray. The sight of him makes your head feel all lax and sappy. You like that this Steve is just for you. 

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a hush, too, in solidarity. “So you do. You’re really pretty, have I told you that?” 

You grin, face mushing into his hand. “Yeah,” you say bashfully. 

Steve smiles too. “I thought you were upset about the soft serve.” 

You shake your head. You should be, maybe, but the weed keeps diffusing the edges of your feelings. 

“I’ll be upset if we don’t cuddle,” you tell him. 

“Oh, now we’re giving ultimatums?” he asks, already gathering you in his arms. You slot your knees on either side of his ribcage, forehead bumping against his nose. “You must have me real wrapped around your finger, babe.” 

You giggle, leaning up to kiss his cheek. You like to think you do.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve wakes up and feels like his head is being split into two. The light coming from his blinds is too bright, his mouth is dry as hell and tastes like shit, and why is his body so sore?

Yeah, fuck, he needs to stop drinking.

He groans and turns only to find that he's not alone in his bed. Oh, and he's definitely naked. Shit.

He tries to rack his brain last night for any type of memory as he checks the girl out. She's facing away from him and her wild curly hair is a mess scattered all over her face and Steve's pillow. But he gets distracted because the stranger has kicked off the blanket sometime in the middle of the night and well... she has a really nice ass.

Steve tears his eyes away. Maybe they didn't sleep together, and, if so, it is entirely not okay for him to stare.

...but it's a really nice ass... Plus, come on, they're both naked in his bed so...

A faint memory of the day before pops up. He remembers Robin, Nancy, and Eddie coming over at some point because they had planned to hang out earlier that day... right?

They definitely got into the pool at some point. At least, he and Eddie did if he remembers correctly, but that doesn't explain why this random stranger is in his bed and-

Wait... did he... did he kiss Eddie? Oh fuc-

The so-called stranger grunts in their sleep, and Steve's eyes snap to them. Yeah, he knows that curly mane and he has no idea how he didn't recognize it in the first place, and oh my god he was checking out Eddie Munson's ass. Is checking out his ass. Fuck, he needs to stop staring at his ass!

Steve does the only logical thing and shoves the blanket back over the boy and turns away. Okay, so all he has to do is put on some clothes, tiptoe the hell out of there, and pretend like nothing happened.

Because nothing happened... Right?

Right. Steve wakes up naked next to one of his best friends who is also naked and has been the subject of some of Steve's late-night thoughts for a while now and-

"Fuck," Eddie groans next to him and turns to lie on his back and brush the hair out of his face. "Where the fuck..." he trails off as he looks around squinting and blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Well, there goes Steve's plan of running out of there and pretending nothing happened. He watches as Eddie sits up, lifts the blankets to peek under them, and then puts them back down. "Hey Steve?"

"Yes Eddie?" Steve asks as he turns his head to stare at the ceiling.

"I'm naked," is all that Eddie says, no joking tone just kind of listing the facts.

Steve nods and replies, "Mhm."

"You're naked."

"Yep," Steve says and cringes before slowly sitting up. His back protests, and, Christ, what happened last night?

Eddie nods his head with his eyes wide. "So, uhhh, do you remember what happened? If... anything happened?"

Steve squints and tries to think but comes up with nothing except... "I think I may have kissed you."

Eddie lets out a deep breath and nods again. "So, we may have kissed at some point and now we're both naked in your bed..."

For some reason, Steve decides to just accept the facts and goes on to say, "Yeah, and I don't know about you, but I'm really sore. So, I think we..."

"Yeah because I'm sore as hell too."

Steve puts his head in his hands and sighs, "This is not how I wanted this to happen."

There's a panicked chuckle to his right, "Yeah, man, if you just want to pretend nothing happened we can totally- wait." Eddie pauses and Steve can feel the bed shift. "What do you mean this isn't how you wanted this to happen."

Oh shit. Steve glances over at Eddie whose eyebrows are raised as he waits for Steve to answer. "Uh," Steve starts and clears his throat then runs a hand through his hair. Might as well come clean about this. "Okay, well since this already happened, let's just say anything we say can be completely like forgotten along with last night if we want that."

"Okay..." Eddie says and nervously fidgets with a thread on Steve's blanket.

"So, I think it's probably clear now but uh... This is definitely not the first time I thought of you in... this way. And it sucks because I would never want our first time to be forgettable or hell, not consensual. Oh, fuck." Steve runs his hands through his hair. Oh fuck drunk him, he's never drinking again. "Eddie I'm so sorry that I may have taken advantage of you and-"

"Fuck, I was scared I had somehow taken advantage of you. You have no idea how long I've wanted this," Eddie says in what sounds like one breath.

Steve's heart races. "Really?"

Eddie nods and then laughs, "Of course, the only way I would ever confess something like this was if I was drunk off my ass. I should've known drinking so much around you was a bad idea."

"Shit," Steve says and laughs. Honestly, it sucks that he has absolutely zero memory of the night before, but he's almost grateful to have been drunk enough to get his feelings across to Eddie... well... sort of. "Hey Eddie?"

"Mhm?"

Steve runs a hand through his hair and notices it feels worse than usual but he'll have to figure that out later. "After I shower, brush my teeth, make us breakfast, and start feeling human again... do you want to actually do something memorable?"

"Steve, are you asking me if we can do the deed again? Because I am more than happy," Eddie says with a wide smile.

Steve groans, "Oh, please don't call it that."

Eddie laughs and launches into multiple horrible euphemisms for having sex that Steve will never be able to unhear.

-:-:-:-:-:-

A few hours later, Steve kisses Eddie sweetly and whispers against his lips that he has to call Robin and he'll be right back. Eddie tiredly just hums and burrows deeper into his pillow.

Steve wanders downstairs and laughs again at the line of clothes he and Eddie had at some point stripped off on the way to his bedroom from the night before. This is going to be an interesting call.

Steve dials Robin's number and is glad to hear it's her and not her mom. "Hey, Robin."

Robin groans, "Are you calling to apologize for what you and Eddie put us through last night?"

Oh, shit, what did they do in front of poor Robin and Nancy? Steve sits on his counter and frowns. "Actually, I was hoping that you would fill that part of the night in since neither of us remember."

There's a sigh on the other line before Robin launches into it, "Well, for some reason you two decided to see who could drink more which turn into the two of you wondering who could swim better drunk. Let me tell you, you both were seriously struggling out there but refused to admit it, but Nancy and I had to stay because we were too afraid you two would drown. Then, you both got out and said you were freezing, and Eddie told you how he had heard that people with hypothermia can get hot really fast when they huddle up naked under the sheets."

Oh shit.

"Then, Nancy and I had to witness you two drunkenly stumble your way up the stairs while trying to take off your clothes, and you two would not listen to us telling you that maybe that wasn't a good idea. Luckily, when we went to check on you two, you were both already passed out. Now tell me how awkward this morning was,"

So... soreness because of all the swimming in the pool. Stripping to get wet clothes off... and, "So you're telling me Eddie and I didn't get drunk and sleep together?"

Robin cackles on the other line, "Please tell me you dinguses really believed that."

Steve takes a deep breath and confesses, "Is it worse that we decided that if we had no memory of it then maybe we should make a memory of it?"

The cackling stops on the other line before Robin whispers, "No fucking way."

Steve nods then realizes Robin can't see him, but he remembers something and asks, "Wait, I remember kissing Eddie! What about that?"

There's a pause on the other line and Robin says, "Maybe that happened but..." There's another giggle on the line. Oh no.

"But what?"

"I think you're remembering when you kissed us all on the forehead and wished us goodnight - including Eddie."

Steve groans and sighs, but all things considered, "I'm really glad I didn't call you and ask you about it this morning," Steve confesses.

"Yeah?" Robin asks and Steve can hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah," Steve says. "But I have no idea how I'm going to tell Eddie."

"Tell me what?"

Steve jumps and turns to find Eddie standing in the doorway to his kitchen.

"Have fun!" Robin says with another laugh before hanging up.

Steve sighs and starts, "So, funny story..."

Eddie ends up laughing his ass off while Steve sighs and goes on about how Robin will never let him live it down.

But he won't lie, he's absolutely relieved that his first time with Eddie was sober and entirely memorable. But he's also still convinced that drinking around Eddie is definitely a bad idea since he ended up sleeping without washing the chlorine out of his hair.

The things he does for Eddie Munson...

[chronically-ghosted]

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed 

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled. 

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder. 

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.” 

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.” 

Partner. 

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. 

And then he met you and the definition changed again. 

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why. 

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days. 

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions. 

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts. 

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed. 

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here. 

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all. 

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.” 

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime. 

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath. 

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee. 

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold. 

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.” 

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee. 

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets. 

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night. 

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids. 

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it. 

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since. 

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks. 

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair. 

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation. 

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay. 

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold. 

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love. 

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants. 

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare. 

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him. 

“Baby–,” 

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this 

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall. 

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer. 

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in. 

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut. 

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars. 

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day. 

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is. 

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head. 

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful. 

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you. 

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you. 

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees. 

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now. 

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it. 

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch. 

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart. 

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips. 

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs. 

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes. 

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it. 

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford. 

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair. 

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.” 

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole. 

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair. 

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh. 

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty. 

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible. 

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean. 

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face. 

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine. 

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point. 

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now. 

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls. 

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest. 

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table. 

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock. 

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?” 

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich. 

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.” 

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.” 

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork. 

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist. 

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.  

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain. 

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.  

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.” 

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” 

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it. 

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done. 

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.” 

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow. 

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy. 

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire. 

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust. 

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again. 

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm. 

“B-baby, please–,” 

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer. 

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.” 

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.” 

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. 

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name. 

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep. 

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again. 

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst. 

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs. 

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet. 

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor. 

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull. 

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face. 

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.” 

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest. 

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.” 

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips. 

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all. 

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed. 

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you. 

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.” 

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach. 

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.” 

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

[lovers-rck]

summary where you and ellie go to a halloween party and end up in a tiny bathroom with an angel and a sick bunny.

theme friends with benefits

hiiiii this is my comeback to writing. i swear. or not. i don't know. im just happy to be back at this !! anyways enjoy

i don't know why but while writing this i pictured the saltburn costume kind of party (just the aesthetic)

☆

it all started like a month ago, in the halloween party.

"is this okay?" she asks, her hands caressing slightly your breasts over the fabric

you chuckle, embarrassed "yes" you see how ellie's face is covered in a blue and violet light "you can take my band if you want"

"sure" she murmurs, her hands grabbing the "prom queen" band and throwing it off to the floor.

the cold tiles of the wall meet your back, the sudden change of temperature making you shiver. handmade costumes dance on the dance floor, fake blood and poor imitations are present in the night.

upstairs, in a tiny and so-well-decorated bathroom you can hear your own breath get heavier as you feel ellie's fingertips play with your covered breast. she leaves wet kisses in your neck, shy but hungry.

ellie can't decide which was the moment when she realized that something was about to happen. later in the week she would think, ¿was when she catch you looking at her lips? ¿or when you "accidentally" touched her ass while dancing to ABBA? and she would think and think so much that her brain will start deteriorating.

but what she knows now is that she is having the time of her life.

"you have such nice tits" ellie's mouth says before she could stop herself

you laugh, a fake spider web in the wall tickling your face "thanks"

ellie nods and lick your neck, her tongue tasting your salty and perfumed skin. you whimper as she continues assaulting your skin, sucking and kissing and sucking again.

your hand grab her head while you think of for how long you been ignorant of your friend's mouth and her abilities.

your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror, a very stylish spiderman suit and a bloody carrie making out in the tiniest bathroom of all times.

"i think i gave you a hickey" ellie says, a thread of saliva dangling as she moves away, her lips shiny "i can't really see with these lights"

"i'm glad you're so committed to your spider costume that you have to bite me" you joke and she rolls her eyes

"i'm spiderman, not a simple spider you idiot"

you roll your eyes at her. it pass a few seconds until you talk again "do you think it will be weird if i kiss you?"

"don't think so" she says, placing the hair behind her ear "no weirder than giving you a hickey"

"yeah but isn't kissing more intimate?"

"only if you make it more intimate" ellie says as she fix your plastic crown "a lot of friends kiss eachothers"

"yeah?"

she nods

"it's just a kiss" she replies "it doesn't have to mean anything"

you nod "right" you lick your own lips "we can be that type of friends"

"yeah, totally" ellie swallows "we can"

so you kiss her. and it's feels warm and wet.

ellie grabs you by the jaw quickly, taking the power. her grip is strong and the moment you moan in her mouth you want to punch yourself in the face.

"you were dying for me to kiss you huh?" she teases you, her breath hits your wet lips as she speaks

you could feel her confident starting to grow "in your dreams"

"i do other things to you in my dreams"

before you could react, ellie's lips are over yours again. your agitated breath echo in between hungry kisses, floating around the curious hands and hot skin.

but when ellie's hands are in the hem of your shirt, you hear a loud knock on the door.

"i"ll be out in a minute" you shout and push ellie away. she lean back against the sink, agitated.

"she's about to throw up!" a girl yells from the other side of the door "open up now!"

you grimace at ellie and she opens the door.

a plastic feathered angel and a playboy bunny quickly interrupt in the bathroom at the same time as the bunny vomits an almost neon green liquid over the toilet.

"let it all out" the angel says to the bunny "i told you you shouldn't accept tyler's drink from fight club"

ellie raises her eyebrows as she admires the scene, you notice how her lips are swollen and her hair is messy.

"are you going to stand there and watch?" the angel says as she holds the bunny's hair "it's not a fucking show"

"jesus" you say

"uh, sorry" ellie mumbles, awkward "goodbye"

the angel's words of encouragement to her bunny-friend become meaningless once you and ellie leave the bathroom. the loud music hits you one more time as you come back to the dance floor where sweaty bodies glow under the neon lights.

[starlightsuffered]

I Miss You

Info - shy reader, praise, oral (male receiving), a bit of face fucking, masturbating while giving oral, cupping pussy, cum swallowing

"I miss you," I whined. I wasn't usually this way, but I did. I decided to bare my feelings and tell him how I was feeling.

"Well finally," Timothée chuckled.

"What?" I asked.

"You're so, I don't even know the word for it. Perhaps polite would be the right one?"

"Still don't know what you mean," | said slowly. He had a smile in his voice which quieted my anxiety.

"Well, you're always so benevolent, and sweet. You don't whine because you think it would make me think negatively. Hearing you miss me is..... nice. Am I making sense?"

"I think so," I said with a small grin.

"Like, you're selfless, you always want to focus on me. I like you being needy and desperate-"

"I'm always desperate for you," | interrupted him.

"You know what I mean y/n," he said smugly.

"Yeah I do. I just can't help it! It's only been a couple weeks but fuck I miss your touch and your body and laugh and personality and... was that too much," I ended nervously.

"Not at all. You know I love when you get like that, all rambly and sweet," Timothée swooned.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," I said shyly.

"You really miss me?" Timothée asked quietly after a silence.

"So much," I whispered.

"I miss you too, I'll be back before you know it. Maybe next time I'll take you," he said.

"Maybe," I said gently. He knew so much attention and people would be hard for me. However, being without him was also hard for me.

"I have to go my princess," Timmy said lightly. He didn't know how hard that hit, romantically and sexually.

"Okay baby, please be gentle with yourself and sleep well."

"Yeah," Timothée said. I didn't know if I quite believed him, but I was so tired

"Alright my love," | said. We said our goodbyes and I fell into a restless sleep. I missed his warmth next to me. I wanted to feel his body.

I was awoken by large soft hands. My eyes opened groggily. I didn't believe what I was seeing. I'd never been one for sleep paralysis, but it couldn't be.

"Hello darling," Timothée said with cheer.

"Baby?" | asked with teary eyes.

"My girl finally said he missed me, I had to come home for my weekend," Timothée said and nuzzled his mouth against my neck.

"Ohhhh," I gasped.

"Let me take care of you," he offered.

"No!" I said immediately. I sat up and we almost knocked heads.

"What angel?" He asked. I melted.

"My little princess. My girl, my sweetheart," he swooned.

"I want to take care of you. You've been working so hard," I frowned.

"Well so have you, plus-"

"Please, I need to," | pleaded.

"Okay," Timothée nodded.

I shakily tried to undo the button on his pants. I couldn't believe I was nervous. He was my boyfriend, and yet I was.

"It's okay, I can-"

"N-no," I responded. I wanted my beautiful boyfriend to do nothing. I wanted him to be completely and totally serviced.

I pulled down his pants finally. I slid them down his legs. I was breathing hard. I couldn't believe I got to touch him again.

"Your cock is so beautiful," I said, looking up at him adoringly. He smiled and leaned down to kiss me. I did so longingly.

"You're so beautiful."

"I try to be," I half laughed.

I took his glorious cock in my mouth. The soft velvet covering the ram rod hardness was perfect. I let my tongue flatten as my lips suctioned him. He was moaning.

His long fingers threaded through my hair. He ran them throughout my locks. He finally gripped. I bobbed my head. I was trained by now not to gag on his thick length.

"Good girl," Timothée sighed.

I sucked and sucked desperately. I wanted him to collapse afterward, fully satisfied and ready to cuddle me back to a blissful sleep.

"Oh y/n, oh fuck!" Timothée moaned. He was started to force his dick a little deeper now. I whined around him.

He was used to face fucking me usually, but right now I wanted love and pleasure and romance.

"Sorry," he said. "You're just so good."

I had to stop myself from smiling around him. I moved closer. I was soaked in my panties. I rubbed my clit slightly as I serviced him.

"Oh you're so beautiful, you're so fucking pretty it drives me wild," Timothée said as he watched me.

"Mm, mm, mmm," I gasped around his dick. I couldn't keep quiet with his cock in my mouth.

"You do this so well. You're the best l've ever had. Suck that cock baby," he urged me.

"Mmmmmm," | groaned.

"You're a fucking great dick sucker," Timothée said. I let my hands fondle his ass. I rubbed all over it. He let one of his hands run down and feel my body as well. He finally, cupped my jaw and aided me in suckling.

"Good girl, perfect girl, you're the best girlfriend in the world," he cooed. He was tracing my features and I nearly teared up.

I sucked harder now. I was giving it my all. I smacked and licked and swirled my tongue. I was completely in love.

"Oh, oh, I think I'm going to cum y/n, fuck you're amazing!" He cried. He shoved his dick deeper and his hot semen spurted down my throat. He poured his gift down. I swallowed over and over again. I wanted it all in my stomach.

"Goooood," moaned Timothée. His balls rested on my chest as I gulped all he had.

"You do that like a fucking porn star," Timothée sighed as he pulled his cock out of my needy mouth.

"Because I love you," | replied.

"And I love you," he answered.

He dropped down. He held me close and rubbed my cum filled tummy. He was so possessive when it came to me swallowing his load, he kissed my neck. I felt his softening cock between my cheeks. I was still slick and wet.

As though he read my mind, he stuffed his hand down my underwear and cupped my pussy. His warm hand kept me secure. I could deal with being wet as long as he held my cunt. I fell asleep peacefully. I was so happy.

[cxsmicbaby]

something nice - 1

CHAPTER ONE OF A SERIES 

pairing : miguel o’hara x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k

warnings : smut at the end! cursing throughout. enjoy :)

you and hobie play a prank. miguel doesn’t like it, but he can never stay mad at you. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“And then... my uncle died.” 

“Mmhm.” The smell of hot coffee grows stronger. It’s mere inches away.. I just have to suffer through this for a moment longer. 

“And I realized. I’m not even real! I’m just a clone of the real Peter. And that totally destroyed me.”

“Oh wow,” I say, nodding. Ben, or Scarlet Spider, continues to go on about his tragic backstory, somehow still managing to flex his biceps as he begins to well up in tears. 

Finally, the spider in front of me finishes filling their mug and it’s my turn. God, if I had to stand in line with this melodramatic asshole for a second longer I think I would’ve tried to cut my own ears off. He’s still talking as I fill my cup with coffee, but this time I’m not listening. It’s probably some variation of the same things I’ve been through, anyhow. I wonder how Miguel is able to sit through thousands and thousands of these things whenever he recruits a new spider. He’s not a very patient guy. 

Miguel. He walks through the lobby at 5:30am, every morning. I woke up early today so that I would run into him. Not like I said anything to him; I walked past him, smiling, and he just grunted. Just about what I expected. But I still woke up early to see him. I feel a little stupid thinking about it. I’ll probably do it again tomorrow. 

“Yeah, Ben, that really sucks. Maybe you should see a therapist.” I turn and give him a pat on the shoulder, smiling as genuinely as I can. He nods, and wipes his teary eyes. This guy cries way too easily. 

I swing off into the main lobby. Thank god, I can be free. I don’t know what the plan is today, but I’m always up for an adventure. 

“Oi!” I hear, and behind me Hobie is swinging forward, his mask already on. That must mean there’s something happening. Regardless, I’m always happy to see him. He’s probably the only person I really talk to here; other than Miguel. 

“Hey! Got anything for me?” I ask, as we land on a free platform. Hobie pauses for a moment before he starts digging around in his pockets, and pulls out a bag of my favorite snack from his universe; unfortunately, it doesn’t exist anywhere else, so I depend on this not-so-dependable guy to bring them for me. 5/10 times he actually remembers it. 

“What’s with the drink? I thought you hated coffee,” he asks, plopping himself down on the edge of the platform. I do the same, and we watch as the spiders swing and climb all over the place, like a jungle gym. Every time I take a step back from this whole thing like this, it always amazes me. Just a few weeks ago, I was stuck in a universe where I was the only one, and now I’m in a place where everyone is just as corny as me. It’s lovely. 

“I do,” I start, taking a sip of it. I fight the way my lips threaten to purse in disgust. “I needed a pick me up.”

“Ah.” Hobie pulls at a loose thread of his shirt and smiles deviously. “Up all night thinking about Miguel, huh?” 

Hobie is far too observant for my liking. There’s nothing that gets past him, which is great for combat, but not great for me. 

I swallow hard, and shake my head. “No. And you should stop saying shit like that! What if someone overhears? They’ll think something weird is going on.”

“Like?” Here we go. 

“Like. They’ll think I’m in love with him or something. We’re just friends. He’s cool. I’m cool. Everything’s cool.” I sound like an idiot, and I know Hobie thinks the same when I hear him laugh. It’s like I’m a fucking teenager again, gossiping about my crush in the locker-room. I hated high school. 

“Cool, cool. Everything’s cool,” he teases, mocking me. 

We’re both quiet, basking for a moment in the odd sort of peace that comes out of this chaotic place. 

Hobie snickers softly, shaking his head at something that he’s thought of. “Heard some of the others talking bout how Miguel’s pickin’ favorites. Guess who’s the favorite?”

I sigh, and down the rest of the disgusting black liquid. “Whatever. I’m not his, uh. His favorite. He talks down to me like all the rest.” 

Hobie is quiet. That’s rare. When I look over at him he’s just staring down, a weird sort of smile still on his face. His fingers are drumming against the platform. 

“Hey, what’re we gonna do today? Please say you’ve got something fun.” 

That seems to get him, because his head perks up and that teasing expression is replaced by one of excitement. Thank god. If I had to talk about Miguel for another second it would not have ended well—I tend to get a little loose with the things I say the longer I’m forced to talk about them. 

“Something fun, eh? I’ve got something fun. But only if you’re up for it.” 

I smile. “You know I am.” 

Compared to a lot of the others, I’ve been here for a very short time. Still, I’ve learned the ins and outs, the dos and the don’ts. Like, do listen to what the higher ups (and Lyla) say. Don’t make fun of Miguel’s tediously slow entrance on that weird platform thing. Do make friends. Don’t be an ass. And for god’s sake, do not pull any pranks. 

The thing about spider people; we tend not to really listen to rules. 

Hobie and I are perched on a bar above the lobby. We’re trying to figure out the best way to go about things. Me, I think he should take charge, but he seems to think nobody really likes him, so they won’t listen. He thinks they’ll all fall in line with my beguiling feminine charms and do whatever I say. I think that sounds like bullshit, but I don’t really wanna do the other thing, so I agree to it. 

I drop down smack in the middle of a group of spider-people in a conversation. Immediately, I put on the most panicked expression I can muster and start running around frantically. 

“Jessica’s gone into labor! I repeat, Jessica is giving birth at this moment! Help her get back home so she can go to a hospital... or something!” I shout, trying to get as much attention as I possibly can. Of course, everyone loves Jessica, so everyone starts rushing to her aid. None of them actually know where she is, but they just launch into help-mode, as Spiderman does. Soon, the lobby is basically empty. Sometimes, I think about how gullible I must be if I’m really just a variation of this same person. 

“Coast’s clear,” Hobie calls, dropping down from above. “We don’t have a lotta time, gotta make this quick.” 

I frown. “We? But you said all I had to do was get them out!” 

“Yeah, that was a lie.” Hobie shrugs and tosses me a spray can. “Now, you gonna help or not?” 

The idea of getting caught spraying painting the building Miguel has built specifically for us makes me queasy. The idea of being caught doing anything that would make him upset makes me queasy. But if I back out now, then I just made a fool of myself for no reason. I don’t mind looking stupid, but it’s gotta be for a reason. 

I sigh, and reach up to tug my mask over my face in case someone realizes that Jessica is not even here right now, and decides to come back. I mean, not like I would really be hiding much, considering everyone knows what my suit looks like, but there’s no harm in it. 

The moment I pull it down, the room is doused in red light and an alarm starts blaring. Fuck. 

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me, mate,” Hobie groans, tossing his head back in frustration. “That old man did not just sound the alarm ‘cause we’re pulling a goddamn prank. Might as well do as much as we can before the rest of ‘em come back.” 

That does not sound like a good idea. If Miguel is angry enough to turn on the alarm that signifies intruders, he will definitely not like us continuing in spite of his obvious warning. But Hobie’s already swinging up, spraying bright purple in a strangely elegant ribbon across the walls. I start to hear footsteps, but they’re far enough away that I think I have some time. So, despite my better judgement, I follow Hobie, tagging wherever he’s painted with a green design of my own. Gotta admit, it looks pretty dope. That assuages my fears somewhat and I find myself letting go a little, whooping in excitement as I swing around the lobby. 

Then, I hear it again. Footsteps, but I know these very specific footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry. My stomach drops and I land, turning to Hobie to see he’s still painting away. He probably hears it too, he just doesn’t care. I wish I could be as carefree as him. Especially when it came to this sort of thing. 

But I can’t. In fact, once Miguel actually appears in the room, hair slightly disheveled, face twisted up in an almost scary amount of anger, I freeze in place. God, he’s fucking fuming. His eyes sweep the room like we just painted Miguel Sux! in somebody’s blood. And then his gaze lands on me, and I feel myself shiver; in fear, in anticipation, in... something else. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Miguel bellows, and that catches Hobie’s attention. Before he can say anything else, the flake is gone. Typical Hobie. Saving his own ass. I can’t even really be mad at him, because if it weren’t for the annoying way my feet were sticking to the ground I would’ve done the same. 

The alarm shuts off, and the room goes deadly quiet. I’m still staring at him as he approaches me, his chest heaving as he takes deep breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. He needs to see a therapist, I think, but don’t have time to even smile at my own quip before he’s looming right above me. 

“Do you get joy out of causing this type of shit? Out of wasting everyone’s time?” Miguel spits, and I know I’m supposed to be hurt by what he’s saying, but god if I don’t wanna just pounce at him right here, right now. 

So I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t seem to like that. His fists are clenched tight at his sides as he studies me. 

“You know, if I knew you were gonna be such a fucking nuisance, I would never have brought you here.”

Ouch. That one sort of hurts, so I take off my mask and I look up at him, trying to keep my composure. I frown. “It was just some harmless fun, Miguel. No need to get so mean about it.” 

That was not the right thing to say, apparently, because his eyebrows furrow even deeper. Before he can open his mouth to say something that will probably make me cry, I force a smile and swing up to the wall. 

“And it looks great! Don’t you think this place is too... I don’t know. Sterile? Everyone’s gonna love it.” I hope he can’t hear the way my voice is trembling. When I hear my words echo back to me, I’m relieved to find that I sound quite confident. I’ve always been good at that, faking like I know what I’m doing. I think that’s a Spider-man thing. 

Miguel doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales deeply, hanging his head. 

“You are going to clean this shit up. Understood? And when I find that little shit Hobie, I’m gonna tell him the same thing.” 

I think that’s the closest I’ll get to him saying he isn’t really that mad about it, and that’s good enough for me. I swing back down to stand in front of him, and this time when I smile, it’s real. 

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, it looks super—”

Miguel’s eyes narrow and I feel my stomach twist. “Don’t test me.” 

I straighten up and salute him, fighting the urge to run as Miguel’s eyes burn into mine. “Yes, sir!” 

I swear to god, he almost smiles, before he just shakes his head. 

“Don’t do shit like this again. I won’t go so easy on you next time.” 

                                                       𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

“You don’t let yourself have anything, do you?” 

Miguel pauses. He finds himself looking up at you, despite the desire to remain stoic and focused and uninterested. It’s always hard to do that, with you. 

“What?” he says, his voice slightly biting. He means it to be. He wants to scare you away so you will leave him alone, finally. It’s been mere weeks since you joined them, and in those weeks, you have made it your mission to annoy him more than anyone ever has in his life. It’s like you live to bother him. He should hate it more than he does. 

He should hate your stupid fucking pranks and your dumb, unfunny jokes. But he doesn’t. He knew it was you today, even before he got to the lobby, but for some reason he wasn’t that mad. And then the fact that he wasn’t mad about it made him mad about it, and he was mean to you. He wants to apologize, but that’s not like him. Everything he does or feels when it comes to you is a contradiction to the person he has built himself up as. The whole thing is just so muddled up he’d rather ignore it. 

You sit on a metal box to his left, swinging your legs back and forth as you scrutinize him. Miguel doesn’t like how you always have this knowing look on your face, like you’re waiting for him to discover something you’ve already found out. Frankly, all the Spider-people have that sort of glint in their eyes, but with you it’s different. He bites the inside of his cheek and forces himself not to look away. 

“I mean, you don’t let yourself have anything nice, or fun. The closest you get to letting yourself feel happiness is those empanadas you make me bring you.” 

You smile at him, and he thinks to himself that he wishes you would do it more, but the moment the thought passes he stamps it out with a frown. 

“And even then, you always scowl when you eat them.” You cancel out his grimace with a little laugh that makes Miguel fucking furious.

“You know, it’s not in your best interest to keep talking about this. If causing a useless ruckus is fun to you, then yeah, I don’t fucking do that.” He practically spits it, and swivels his head to focus again on his work. He doesn’t know if he wants you to apologize or if he wants you to just go. Apologize? He’s kidding himself. You would never. 

He can’t help but listen carefully for your movements, wanting to hear if you’ll leave or not. But he hears nothing, and he turns again to see you just sitting there, swinging your feet. Still smiling. 

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have shit to do?” Miguel asks, narrowing his eyes at you. He notices that his tone lacks the sting he meant it to deliver and chooses to ignore it. 

You boost yourself up from the box and stand. “Not really. Can’t I just stay? I won’t make any noise, promise.” 

Miguel frowns deeply. “That’s impossible.” But he doesn’t tell you to leave. 

You sigh, your body swaying side to side. Miguel thinks its a subconscious thing you do when you’re standing; most people would just be still, but he’s noticed that you cannot possibly remain perfectly in place for more than a few seconds. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna get some sleep. You should too.” You send him a small wink and turn, walking off toward the exit. You stop briefly, turning to face him with an expression he can’t quite read.

“And, uh. Sorry about today,” you call, and he says nothing. You turn again and he watches you leave. 

Everything has changed since you showed up, and if anything can be taken from his obsession with anomalies, it’s that Miguel hates change. Especially when it seems like there isn’t much changing for anyone but himself. 

It was him that found you. He went on a mission to a universe he had not yet traveled; a rare occasion, because it wasn’t to destroy an anomaly, but because something was telling him to go. It wasn’t like a voice, or even a sense. More like a feeling. There was something there for him to discover and so he went without saying anything, hoping he’d be back before anyone noticed. 

Miguel found you on the roof of a museum. You were sitting on the edge, swinging your feet back and forth, just staring into the streets. You had your mask off, which he remembered thinking was incredibly stupid, seeing as it was still light out. Your suit was nothing to gawk at, nothing too different than the hundreds of others he had seen, but for some reason he knew it was you he was supposed to find. You, he had been called to. For what, he didn’t know.  

You noticed him before he intended you to. When you saw him, you didn’t look shocked, or scared; you looked happy. No one had been happy to see him in a long time. 

“How long you been standing there?” you asked, turning your body to face him. You crossed your legs and watched him approach, staring up at him like he was someone you knew, someone you had been waiting for. 

Miguel was quiet. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. 

“You know, one of us is gonna have to change.” And you laughed hard at your own dumb joke. Your laugh made him uncomfortable, how truly happy it sounded, how real it felt. You seemed like you hadn’t yet experienced the tragic things that came with being a Spiderman. You seemed innocent. Like you needed to be protected. 

And by god, you were beautiful. The suit didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

The thought startled him and he stayed quiet.  

“Your suit is super cool. Kinda cyberpunk.” You stood and you watched him carefully, walking slowly around him in a circle. Miguel’s eyes followed you, his body on guard as if you were going to suddenly lunge at him. 

“Why aren’t you... surprised?” Miguel finally said, his tone accusatory. But you didn’t seem to notice, and if you did you didn’t mind. You stopped in front of him and stuck your hand out, inviting him to shake it. 

“Welcome to Earth-72, Miguel. I’ve been waiting for you.” 

And that’s how he found out about a Dr. Strange, and how you knew about Miguel already; in fact, you were expecting him. The idea made him irrationally angry. Someone like you, obviously flippant and probably reckless, with knowledge about something as dangerous as the multiverse? You were most likely new to your abilities, to the mask. You were too naive and carefree not to be. 

But Miguel was wrong. You had long been bitten, lost your uncle, your sister, your best friend. You just seemed to lack that bitterness that he saw in the others, in himself. You were happy. 

Like most things, that also made Miguel angry. 

You begged him to let you join the Spider Society. You said you had known about it for a while, and you dreamed of being apart of it, of something bigger than yourself. Your words exactly. He was slightly impressed by that, but didn’t show it. In fact, Miguel wanted deeply to say no. But he didn’t, for reasons he’s not quite sure of himself, and that’s how he ended up with a permanent, relentless distraction. He was starting to wish he never brought you back in the first place. 

If you were more like him, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have this problem. But you’re not. You’re almost the exact opposite. It drives him fucking crazy.

Miguel shook his head, grunting in frustration at his own inability to focus. It seemed even when you weren’t there, he was plagued by the thought of you. 

And think about you he did, for hours on end, sometimes. When he would lie awake in bed, his body aching from the strains of the day. He wouldn’t be able to close his eyes, because the image of you was always waiting for him. Smiling, laughing. Looking up at him with those eyes of yours. He would find himself imagining what it felt like to be close to you. Your skin would be soft, he knew. Your lips would be softer. Your hands, calloused by years of fighting, swinging, winning, losing. How they’d touch him. How they’d hold him. 

How he would touch you. Make you feel good. Make you think about him, just like he thought about you. Make you want him. 

Miguel always lost himself in thoughts like that, and he was usually able to bring himself back to reality. When he got back to his room that night, though, he felt as though he couldn’t push it down. He didn’t let himself have anything nice. And god, did he want something nice. 

The water ran over his taut back, soaking his hair and running down his cheekbones. One hand, splayed against the tile wall, and the other by his side, just inches away from an itch he is fighting not to scratch. His cock is aching. He swears he can see it pulse with every second that passes, every drop of water that lands on his shaft, veins prominent and throbbing. 

Miguel imagines that you’re there with him. That you stand in front of him, and that instead of the wall it’s you he’s touching, your skin slick with water and sweat. That your hands are on his chest, your nails scratching him just the slightest bit, and god, those eyes, staring into his like he’s the only thing that has or ever will matter to you. 

When he finally wraps his hand around his cock, it takes his breath away. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, slowly stroking himself, gripping so tight he’s sure his fingertips are white. It’s not enough. 

Miguel closes his eyes, and immediately he pictures you. He feels almost guilty to think of you this way, on your knees, with your lips wrapped around his dick. But he can’t stop. His breathing grows heavier as he imagines you taking him deep into your throat, gagging on him, your nose brushing against his pelvis. He thinks about what he’d say to you. How he’d tell you how good you were doing, how perfect you were. He grips himself impossibly harder and is unable to stop himself from relentlessly jerking his cock, his hand pushing so hard against the wall he’s afraid it’ll crack. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice breathy and deep. More water drips onto his shaft and immediately he thrusts desperately into his own grip, envisioning that it’s you, spitting on him before you take him in your hand, running your tongue over his tip, looking up at him. 

He thinks about what you’d say to him. He knows he would be too big for you. But you’d try to take him all, because that’s what you do. He’s sure your hand wouldn’t even wrap around his entire length. And you would tell him how big he was, how beautiful you thought he was. You’d probably tease him too, about how quickly he’d been reduced to a mess, how eager he was. He’s surprised at how close that thought brings him, and he has to bite his lip to keep from letting out a shameful moan. 

When Miguel comes, he says your name. It’s not loud; it’s more like a plea, a prayer. His body caves in on itself and he shudders with the force of it, his legs trembling ever so slightly as he tries to bring himself back to reality. He stands there for a moment, trying to catch his breath, feeling a little ashamed at how quickly he finished. He hasn’t had the time to do anything like that in so, so long. He hasn’t let himself. 

He washes himself off and gets out of the shower. 

When Miguel lies in bed, he’s haunted by the thought of having to see you tomorrow, knowing what he’s done. And then he grows angry. You did this to him. And you’re not even trying; you’re just there. What a nuisance you are. 

He tries to close his eyes, but he finds himself plagued by you still. 

                                                      𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪

CHAPTER TWO

[dangerousduckcloud]

Flowerbeds make up for a nice eternal rest

Read it also on AO3

“You know, I’m going on a date soon.” “Yeah?” Your voice was coarse. “Yeah, she’s truly pretty, and I want to make it special, but I’m not sure what her ideal date would be, though.” You chuckled. The heat on your cheeks was simply due to the burnout of the whole exercising and not because Jason called you pretty. Not at all.

Chapter 12 < > Chapter 14

Masterlist

taglist: @kurai-hono-blog @katrina0-0 @readingfictionnothingelse @lookingforsyd @jackrabbitem @lvlythea @qmabailor

If anyone else would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

so, the last update was like two weeks ago, sorry, life happens also, happy birthday to our favorite crime lord, i raced to post this on his bday ♥

There's mentions of grooming almost at the end of the chapter: nothing like that happens (nor will it happen in the future of this story), it's all due to a newspaper's libel.

You should run. You should leave.

Maybe if you wished hard enough, one of the bats (the animals) would take you by the shoulders and whisk you away to never be seen again.

It was different when Damian was here, knowing the topic of a date wouldn’t come out with him present (and maybe that’s why he left you two alone), but now that the kid had disappeared, there wasn’t a string of ones and zeroes in which you could hide yourself behind, either with the excuse of not seeing the notification or being busy (with what, though? he knows you don’t do squat all day.)

No, if he took the opportunity to bring up the mention of a date, you would be left on the spot, forced to reply, to stumble and make an idiot out of you.

Regardless, it seemed Jason wasn’t as frantic with the situation as you were, absorbed with fixing something on his bike. You could totally leave, bid your goodnight and go upstairs, where your racing mind could catch a break.

But of course, you didn’t. Wanting to bask in his presence as much as you could, not knowing when you would see him again.

Was he serious about the date?

In lieu of leaving, you picked up the taped-up toy to busy yourself, and not be dumbly idle fiddling with your hands. Your movements were slow, sluggish, your aching muscles not giving you full movement, but also because you were doing everything you could to prolong being left with nothing to do while you tried to think of what else to do.

There was a steel box filled with sharp, dangerous gadgets that were all broken in some way; some were salvageable, while others were destroyed beyond repair that you couldn’t even identify what they used to be, left here to be used for spare parts. This crate must be from where Damian took the tape, but you couldn’t see it anywhere when you turned your head left and right to search for it. Where did he put it? You better look for it before it gets lost, before it rolls over the floor and down into the—

“Did you ask Damian for the lessons?”

“Not really, no.” You turned round to answer him. He was fiddling with a loose strap of the red threads he usually worn around his hands in his Red Hood suit, not even pretending he was interested in talking to you. You gave up looking for the tape, making a beeline to the weight bench and sitting down, inspecting the bandage on your left hand that had the tiniest red dot. “He sent me a message to come down here. I don’t know if it was his idea or not, but—”

Your eyes looked for his face, only to find no one in the spot he’d been standing just one second ago. Out of the corned of your eye, you saw movement in the medbay, the bulky figure going through the cabinets in there.

Anger and disappointment were bubbling up inside you, battling each other for one of them to emerge victorious. Why would he ask a question if he didn’t care in hearing the answer?

“But?” he asked as he turned around, making his way back to you, gauze and cotton in his hands.

So, he was paying attention after all.

Jason sat down next to you, gently talking hold of your hand to remove the dirty and sweaty bandage, his calloused hands sent sparks all over your body, the twitch of your fingers at wanting to lace them between his mistaken as the reaction of the cotton touching the cuts. You weren’t in any pain, the cuts smaller than a paper cut, yet he mumbled a soft apology.

“But… It’s nice to have someone to care for me like that.”

Your gaze was focused on his hands, hands that’d been in countless fights, knocking unconscious men and women bigger than you without breaking a sweat, hands that were forever bathed in blood, hands that pulled the trigger on numerous criminals without a second thought, without remorse.

Only he knew how many had met their fate by these hands, and only he knew how many more would pile up to the list. He could break bones and spill blood as easy as it was breathing.

And yet, they were still capable of kindness, gentleness, of moving so delicately with every motion thought with the most care and attention it made you feel like the petals of a flower. These hands were capable of healing, of comfort, tending to the practically invisible cuts with a careful caress.

“I’m sure you have someone back home that cares for you.”

“No, at least… not anymore.” Now that you thought about it, it was taking Damian to find Tim longer than it should.

“How come?”

“I work all day, and —I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes it’s grueling dealing with all that people that…” Great, now you were rambling, the immediate conscious feeling of thinking, knowing, he might be regretting starting a conversation. “That in my free days I’m not in the mood for dating or friends.”

He nodded, cleaning the last cut on your hands and picking up the used bandages and cotton balls. Tilting his head up to meet your eyes, with the cutest, small smile on his face, and dimples on his cheeks, he asked “What about family?”

It was a matter of time for someone to ask about them, for someone to open the wound once again. “They’re gone. Car accident.”

The hands once again found their place over yours, engulfing them in the warm his body was radiating.

“I’m sorry. I—” You shook your head, both to ask him to stop and to prevent tears from falling. It’d been so long, yet every time you thought about it, the dread that consumed your body that day felt just the same. The silence stretched out uncomfortably, mostly for him than you, focused on ridding yourself of the painful memories and the tears welling in your eyes. “You know, I’m going on a date soon.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was coarse.

“Yeah, she’s truly pretty, and I want to make it special, but I’m not sure what her ideal date would be, though.”

You chuckled. The heat on your cheeks was simply due to the burnout of the whole exercising and not because Jason called you pretty. Not at all.

You’re sure that if your brain wasn’t so dehydrated to the point of resembling a raisin, it would be malfunctioning.

“I bet she’d like something romantic, like a picnic, or chocolates.”

“No flowers?”

“No flowers.”

“Alright.” He closed the lid of the aid kit, the echo disturbing the sleep of some of the bats. “I’ll do that, then. Wish me luck.” With a wink and a grin on his face, he got up just in time when echoing voices broke the silence.

When you were out of your stupor, you stood up. There wasn’t much for you to do here, as you wouldn’t be able to be of any help with the case. Besides, you were in dire need of a hot shower for sore muscles that were going to hurt like hell tomorrow.

“Timbo!” The voice rumbled through the cave, greeting him once he and Damian were at the end of the steps. “Got some intel for you.”

“Yeah, Damian mentioned something like that.”

The tense shoulders and the cognizant eyes were painfully obvious signs of how overstrung and uncomfortable Tim was, forced to pretend he’s unbothered being left with the two brothers that attempted to kill him, both more than on one occasion.

Question was, did Jason and Damian were oblivious to that, or they simply not care? Was it believable to think the two vigilantes didn’t notice?

Your shower could wait. Besides, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious at seeing them work.

Tim wasted no time, eager to get this over quickly, and sat down in front of the computer, fast fingers gliding over the keyboard, Damian at his left and Jason behind him, scooting over when he saw you approach.

“I got a name. Gregory Crowther. Low tier goon, but he’s the one getting the girls out of the city.” His hand brushed against yours for a second. That’s simply things that happen, you thought to yourself, nothing done on purpose, no hidden meaning behind it.

You shook your head to clear your mind, focusing instead on the grand screen in front of you; a database Tim had accessed to with the information of one Gregory Crowther, the mugshot of a stout, balding man with eyes so dark and full of hatred piercing your soul through the screen, a disgusting yet impressive list of crimes next to the photo: shoplifting, indecent exposure, fraud, murder, arson, assault, battery, drug possession… and now kidnapping and trafficking. This guy was a golden worker for criminals, with years of experience dating since his teen years.

“Gregory was released from Blackgate three months ago, for arson.” Tim said. “He worked for Riddler a couple years ago, but this isn’t the type of things he does. Besides him, he never worked for any other rogue, this must be an outside ring.”

Jason began pacing, a murderous look on his face, completely different from moments ago. “Huh, well, this is… Interesting.” Tim kept talking, moving closer to the screen. “He works for a shipping company that’d had several complains of delays in deliveries since the start of the year, all of them from New York.”

“So, he picks the girls in Gotham and takes them to New York.” Jason stopped pacing, his hand holding the back of the chair with so much force you could see the leather creasing. “You said the start of the year? Can you access the records of everyone that has done deliveries to New York?”

Another list came out, with at least the names of fifty people on it.

“I’ll get their addresses and do a background check, see if some of them have some link in common. In the meantime, I sent Gregory’s address to your phone, Hood. He had a day off today.”

“I’ll have a chat with him.” Jason mumbled while looking at the address on his phone. He’d walked past you to get to his bike when he stopped abruptly. It seemed he was debating something, his hand going up as if to catch Tim’s attention, who was engrossed in the information displayed on the computer, only to fall flat at his side. Your eyes met for a second, his expression unreadable.

He shook his head and got on the bike, speeding out of the cave.

What was that?

Damian and Tim were none the wiser to whatever situation had happened just now, still focused on the screen, the very far corner of it reading fifteen past nine.

“Come, Damian.” You put your hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs. “It’s getting late and you have school tomorrow.”

Tim’s snicker earned him a glare from the kid.

“I am not a child.”

“I’ll believe that when you can reach the pedals on the Batmobile. Come, or I’ll go get Alfred.”

He grumbled, but heeded your order nonetheless, stomping with every step he climbed.

Definitely not the reaction of a child.

———

As expected, your sore muscles woke you up in the morning, every move of your legs and arms needed ten times strength than usual, but there was still a reason for which you wanted to wake up early and not lay in bed all day (you could do that later). Taking another quick, scalding shower,  you went downstairs hopping you weren't late.

"Morning, Alfred" You grabbed a freshly baked muffin and sat down at the kitchen island, if Alfred was still here, that meant you were on time, maybe even early considering how empty the kitchen was.

“Good morning, Miss Jane, you seem quite excited today."

"My body is on fire, and I hide my pain behind my smile."

As expected from the man who raised a household of vigilantes, his only reaction was to curve a brow. "Well, at least you're honest, unlike my grandchildren. May I inquire what ails you?"

"Damian's teaching me self-defense, and now my muscles are paying the price"

"Ah." Alfred places a steaming cup of chamomile and lavender tea in front of you, the first sip already doing wonders for your tender body.

"Master Damian mentioned it to me last night. I must say, I appreciate having a... Let's say normal person spending time with him, teaching him how to be a normal kid, especially one that cares for him as you do."

Alfred's gaze did not concord with his words. It wasn't hateful nor suspicious, simply... wary. Of what, though?

"Yeah, he’s... difficult, but I care for him like the little brother I never had" The sound of dragged footsteps drew your gaze to the door, whoever was making the noise, they wanted to be heard. "Speaking of my favorite brat. Why are you still in your pajamas?" Unlike the posh and pristine uniform, you were expecting to see him in, Damian was still wearing his plaid sleepwear.

“I am unwell, Pennyworth. I believe it wise to rest and avoid getting my classmates sick.”

“Is that so?” Alfred didn’t believe him in the slightest. “Come here so I can feel your forehead.”

“I must refuse.” Damian coughed surprisingly real. “I am contagious and do not wish to sicken you in your advance, frail age.”

“I can do it then, I’m not old.” You turned to look at Alfred. “Sorry, Alfred.”

“Apology accepted, Miss Jane. I believe it is the best option anyway. After all, my frail body could confuse Master Damian’s temperature and believe him to be healthy, we wouldn’t want to send him to school sick, now, would we?”

Before Damian could run, you put both hands on his face, the back of your hand feeling nothing but his cool forehead.

“Why don’t next time you put a warm towel before coming down? You might fool us.” Damian grumbled something in Arabic that you had no idea what it meant, but you knew he wasn’t complimenting your outfit for today. “Go get changed or you’ll be late.”

Stomping, again, he left the kitchen, his usual frown on his face ten times stronger.

Soon, the clanging of pots and pans was replaced with chatter and clattering of utensils. After patrol, Steph had spent the night in the manor, recounting how patrol went between bites of her breakfast.

“It was a pretty calm night for Gotham. There were like, only three muggings, so Cass and I stopped by BatBurguer for fries. Condiment King was there.”

Your eyebrows gently shot up your face.

“He’s real?”

“Unfortunately.” Tim piped up. “The night’s he’s out are the worst, I never know if I’ll get back covered in mustard. Do you know just how hard it is to get rid of the smell?”

“Buddy’s not that bad.” Steph said. “… When he’s taking his meds. We chat with him for a while, and he was doing pretty alright, he’s working in a convenience store next to my school, I might drop by from time to time and say hello, make sure he’s not relapsing.”

“Didn’t he used to be a comedian?”

“Yeah, but there’s a limit to the number of condiment puns one can tell.”

“Bad jokes.” Cass agreed.

Alfred walked inside the small dining room, the one connected directly to the kitchen through a simple arched wall. There was a formal, bigger dining room, but since there were rarely enough people in the manor to use it, all meals were taken here, in a booth placed next against a window. He was drying his hands on a kitchen towel, taking off his apron next.

“Master Damian, we better leave now.” Without any fight left in him, Damian begrudgingly stood up from the table, you mimicked his movements, however cheerful rather than moody.

“Why are you following me, Jane?”

“Oh, I want to go with Alfred to drop you off.”

“Why?”

“I take enjoyment in your suffering and I wanna see it as much as I can. Consider it my revenge from making me exercise more than I’ve ever done in my life.”

———

It wasn’t until Alfred had started the car that you realized what you were about to do. Cold, tingling limbs scared of going back to the city, scared of being taken hostage or kidnapped again.

Every rumble of the car felt like a beacon of your location, every possible pothole or pebble that shook the vehicle felt as if the car would stop instantly and a man would open the door to pull you out.

The rational part of your brain was begging for you to realize how improvable that was, you were safe. Both of those times you’d been in open, vulnerable areas, vulnerable situations. Besides, you were sure Alfred must be carrying a weapon with him.

You tried to focus on your surroundings rather than your invasive thoughts, looking for something that would intrigue you; there were simple, boring buildings on either side, a stray dog relieving himself on a bush, an unopened bottled water in the cup holder, Damian next to you drawing— “Is that me?”

The sudden question caused Damian to jump in his place, quickly slamming shut his sketchbook.

“Must you be so nosy?” Damian put away the book inside his backpack. You were dying to see his drawing, yet you knew how annoying it was to have people forcefully taking hold of things you wanted to keep private, so you simply said “Looked like me. I was curious.”

In the distance, you were beginning to see the form of Gotham Academy’s main building. The red, brick wall fence and trees surrounding it ineffective in covering the structure. The groups of tweens and teens excitedly chatting between them on their way inside, most likely catching up on their extravagant activities done while on vacations.

Alfred stopped the car way further than where the entrance was, discovering the reason once he spoke. “Oh dear.”

In front of you were two other cars stopped, the drivers fighting each other on who was at fault. You were confused at exactly what’d happened until you noticed the tiniest of scratches in one of the cars, barely visible, nothing these people couldn’t pay to get it fixed.

“Miss Jane, would you be so kind as to accompany Master Damian to the entrance and make sure he goes inside while I turn the car around? I shall be waiting at the corner.”

“Sure.” Taking off your seatbelt, you left the car, rounding it to get on the sidewalk, hearing Damian slamming the door shut. He was quieter than usual, not complaining or judging people, his gaze focused on the sidewalk, kicking a small pebble until it rolled to the street.

You let him be, gauging into the daily lives of the one percent; despite being young and talking like any other kid, they still exude an air of grandeur, or properness and poise.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you hate me?”

That made you stop. Where had he gotten that idea? Where was this coming from?”

“What? No.”

“It is alright if you do, you would not be the first one.”

“I don’t, Damian. Why would you think that?” You placed a hand on his shoulder for comfort, resuming walking when parents began scowling at you for hindering their walk.

“Earlier, at the manor. You mentioned enjoying my suffering.”

You’re quite an idiot, aren’t you?

“Oh, fuck, Damian no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how?”

You’d forgotten you were talking to a kid that’d gone from being an only child to having four siblings, all older than him. He wasn’t social and took all things completely literal, he most likely wasn’t used to this type of jokes.

“I was joking, Damian. It’s like when Tim asks me to do something, and I say no, but I do it anyway. It’s just to mess with him.” He was so deep in thought, a frown on his face.

“So, you do not hate me?”

“Not at all, Damian. In fact, you’re my favorite.” His frown was replaced by a smug smirk.

The bell rang, the few kids still outside running to their classes. You sided hugged Damian, wishing him good luck on his first day. His walk to the entrance as calm and unbothered as he could, not caring if he was late.

With the ring of the last bell, the street was soon empty and quiet, even the men fighting had resolved their issues and left. You were alone now, with no one to protect you from an attack, no one would know your location if you were taken.

A familiar car was the only one left in the street. That’s right, Alfred’s waiting for you. It’s not even a minute walk, nothing could happen; yet you still sped up your walking as much as you could without looking suspicious

“Everything alright, Miss Jane?”

“Yeah, just… Making sure Dami didn’t try to escape.”

“Very well then.”

Your breathing calmed down once the car was put on motion, you were soon going to be safe behind the manor’s walls. The streets were calmer now that parents had dropped off their kids and all workers were already in their offices, the drive calmer and smoothly than it’d been ten minutes ago.

While waiting for the traffic light to turn green, your phone vibrated next to you on your set. A text from Damian.

              | Useless torture

A photo of his desk with an open history book attached to the text. With a smile, you typed in a reply.

              | We can paint something when you get back

              | Your artistic skills are not your forte.

              | :(

              | But I suppose even abstract ideas can convey something.

              | :D

———

Both Steph and Damian were busy with school, Tim had locked himself in his room for a meeting, Cass was taking a nap, and while Dick had contacted Alfred to let him know he was alive and coming back to earth, he still wasn’t available for idle chatting, and all your bravado of the other day hadn’t dare to make an appearance today, so you didn’t have the confidence to send Jason a message (although you were curious, what did he do during the day?)

It was an unusually bright day in Gotham, the breeze light enough to not lift the pages of the book you were reading, the condensation on your glass of lemonade made it even more appetizing than it already was, cooling down your warm body. The birds were taking the lack of rain as their opportunity to sing to their hearts content.

You’d never felt this calm before, without the looming threat of real life, of work and expectations, without the need of society to be fast, fast, fast. No, time had slowed down for you, letting you breathe, fill your lungs with rose scented air from the nearby flowerpots. You were in a dream, in a bubble of peace and quiet, broken in seconds by the notification on your phone.

Normally, you wouldn’t have cared about any of this before. You still couldn’t care less about politics and sports, but now that you were a part of this city that once was fictitious and not just an outsider feeding of the scraps the fandom could get you, you’d set up notifications about local news and entertainment of Gotham (as well as Metropolis, reading everything written by Clark Kent and Lois Lane)

Of course, now that you lived in the house of a well-known public figure and his children, you also set up an special alert every time the name ‘Wayne’ popped up in any article, which, despite them not being extremely active in society lately, there were still quite a couple of newsclips every week.

So, when your phone lit up and began loading the article, it wasn’t a surprise, however, the title in big, bold letters was an unpleasant one, forcing you to take a big gulp of lemonade to help pass down the pretzels you were munching and almost chocked on.

‘Underage Bruce Wayne Lover?’

This morning, a photo of an unknown young woman seen with Damian Wayne, biological son of Bruce Wayne, began circulating all around social media, with citizens wondering if this mysterious woman is Damian Wayne's mother due to the warm embrace they were both sharing.

Since the appearance of Damian Wayne in Gotham three years ago, not much is known about his mother, with Bruce denying commenting about the topic. It's now time to wonder if his reluctance is tied to the problematic situation he got himself in.

It is important to note the youngest Wayne has not been seen caring, nor affectionate in public with any member of his family. Why, then, would he be affectionate with her if she were not his mother? They certainly share similar physical qualities.

The problem of the matter begins when one questions the age of the girl in the picture, as she does not look old enough to be the mother of a ten-year-old, in fact, she probably was his age when he was born.

This newspaper begs to the GCPD to investigate Bruce Wayne's private life and discover what he's doing behind closed doors with all the children he's adopted 'out of the goodness of his heart'.

At the time of writing this article, Wayne is out of the country in Wayne Enterprises matters, making him unreachable for questioning. Since last year, he had left most of the CEO responsibilities to his third youngest son, Timothy Drake-Wayne, so why is he the one meeting with possible clients? Could it be that these meetings are code word for whatever nefarious activities he's involved in?

You were disgusted, staring dumbly at the article, reading it once again to make sure your brain hadn’t made up the whole thing.

At the end of the article were two photos, one of when you were side hugging Damian before he walked inside the school (he wasn’t even hugging you back, how is that ‘affectionate’? There were probably thousands of photos with Dick doing the same), and the other of you getting into the car with Alfred, your face completely in focus.

Comments on the article were a mix of people throwing shit at Bruce, and others throwing shit at the article itself.

> I always knew Wayne was sick, why else would he adopt so many kids in the first place

> They should remove his custody of all of them and get them to safety

> You gotta be a fucking idiot to not consider the possibility that she's just another stray he adopted who got close to the kid

> Wasn't Wayne found in a stint of a group of child molesters a year ago and declared as 'working undercover'? I wonder how much he paid to the police to say that

> I find it highly unlikely Brucie would do something like that when he almost beat to dead a guy who tried to touch his oldest when he was a kid

Your hands were shaking, sure that all color had been drained from your face. When did they take the photo? How did they know to be there?

The reflection of something on your face drew your attention from your phone to the gate in the distance, a shadowy figure high up in a tree with a camera pointing at you.

Shit.

You didn’t even bother to take your stuff before going inside, you’d fucked up and had drawn unwanted attention on the family, not to mention helping Bruce get labeled as a groomer.

Opening door after door in hopes of finding someone, the sound of one closing in the distance reached your ears.

“Timmy!” It appeared he’d just finished his meeting, rubbing his shoulders after his two-hour conference. When you shouted his name, he immediately changed his posture; going from relaxed to cautious in a second, his hands went down to his torso, raised and ready to defend, his left leg going forward for a more stable position.

“What’s wrong?” When you shoved your phone on his face, it took him a few seconds to react, relaxing his posture and taking the device from your hands, eyes skimming over the page. “Ah.” Was all he said, calm as if you’d told him it was going to rain in Gotham “What about it?”

“What? Tim, this is serious, I’m ten years older than Damian, they’re implying Bruce slept with a twelve-year-old. Why are you so calm?”

“Because they’ve done it before.” Tim went back to his room. You’d never been inside before, only seeing glances of it when the door was left ajar and you were walking down the corridor. It was… Tidy was not the word you’d described it. Clothes were strewn all over the place. Half-filled, cold cups of coffee forgotten in every surface available. You were pretty sure Alfred would disown him if he saw this.

While you were observing his room, Tim had turned on his laptop, notes and diagrams of his call still open. Once he found what he was looking for, he turned the screen to you, the web results with several links all accusing Bruce of being an abuser, some even decades old, coincidentally, they all came from the same newspaper: the Gotham Weekly.

“They’ve been doing it since dad adopted Dick. At first the cops investigated it, —or well, Commissioner Gordon did— but they all quickly found out it wasn’t true, every two or three years they post something about this that people don’t believe them anymore, especially when they started to corner us at galas and events to give our statements. You should’ve seen their faces when their recorder accidentally hit Cass in the face, Bruce was fuming, threatened to sue them all for everything they had if they didn’t stop. I’m surprised they haven’t gone bankrupt already.”

“Oh.” Was your turn to say. “Why, though?”

“The owner, Bill Blacklow, has some sort of grudge against Bruce since their teen years, so I guess he’s trying to get back at him, I don’t really care much to look it up, after that incident they pretty much stopped, but I guess they got bold because Bruce’s not here. This isn’t really a problem, but we could give out our statement if it makes you feel better. But really, only like ten people will read this.”

His assurance and calm demeanor brought down your anxiety levels.

“You’re sure this won’t affect your family?”

“Can Superman fly?”

You sighed, letting yourself drop down on the bed.

“There was also a paparazzi outside.” Tim’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, crouching down next to the bed, the sound of boxes moving coming from under you. “What are you looking for?”

Instead of replying, his face popped up next to you, slowly raising his hands to reveal a… Oh.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

[unifox]

Sunset lover

~Pairing: gn!Reader x Mingyu

~Genre: fluff / angst / NonIdolAU

~Warnings: Mentions of food, beach, jealousy, feelings and confusion, overthinking (don't even know what should and shouldn't be a warning at this point)

~Words: 2,5 k 

~Summary: When your cousin decides to ruin family bonding time by bringing two friends to your shared beach house, you unexpectedly find a lover in his childhood friend

a/n: SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG. It's finally here!!! Wonwoo just became a background character who almost doesn't appear but yeah.

Also, regarding the boy's ages: Cheol, Mingyu and Wonwoo are the same age (one year younger than reader) and cousins May and Rina are like 4 and 7 years younger than reader, respectively.

Inpired by the songs Sunset Lover - Petit Biscuit, Fuck It- BoTalks and Bends - Carly Rae Jepsen

Taglist + anon list open! ~Foxy🦊

Read the intro! | Navigation | Masterlist

When the four of you reached the food trucks, the place was full. You all walked around trying to see what kind of food there was but ended up settling for hamburgers. Rina said she wanted a regular cheeseburger and stepped out of the line to look for an empty table.

You and your cousin May fell into a comfortable conversation, talking about whatever while Mingyu stood behind you two, just listening.

Every once in a while May would sneak glances at Mingyu who attentively listened to you talk. After ordering, May decided to stay with her sister and keep her company, leaving the two of you to wait at the pickup area.

"So... Mingyu, how's life abroad? Making many new friends? Are you living alone?" You bombarded the boy with questions. It's been around three years since you last saw each other and it was a pleasant surprise to see the skinny tall boy coming home all grown up, strong, mature... and really handsome

"It's been pretty good! I live with a roommate, his name is Jeonghan. He taught me a lot haha... My classes are also fine but I'm still trying to get used to using another language whenever I leave the house" He says proudly

"Got a girlfriend?" You thread carefully

But the man smirks

"No, I only got eyes for you"

You roll your eyes smiling. He's flirty now too

"As if" you both giggle together when you get called by the staff of the food truck

After eating Mingyu excuses himself and heads to the toilet. When he's out of earshot, both your cousins turn to you and smirk.

"He's totally crushing you"

"YES. He's totally like a puppy looking at its owner... Maybe you should own him..."

You choke on your drink, almost spitting it

"Girlie are you ok? Are you guys even hearing yourselves? Mingyu's just being nice" You try to recompose yourself

"Ugh blind. He's literally giving you heart eyes, and won't stop looking at you"

"Maybe he looks up to me? Cause I'm older" You try to reason "He's just flirty. Maybe he's like this to all girls"

"He wasn't flirty with us" Rina speaks while gathering the trash

"Maybe because you're six years younger than him?" You speak with a duh tone

"Wow y/n, you're really blind. He's into you, that's why he's flirting... Oh he's back"

If Mingyu notices the sudden silence between the three of you, he doesn't mention it. You all stand up and look for a place to get dessert but the only thing on your mind is what Rina said

He's into you

What about you? Are you also into him? I mean, he's cute but you never saw him as more than your little cousin's (even if only one year difference) friend. It felt kinda wrong to crush a younger guy when you were a teenager but now... In your twenties... Does it really matter?

Mingyu notices that you're lost in thoughts and every once in a while he links your pinkies in order to bring you back and get you to not lose yourself in the crowd of people

Add caring to the list of green flags in Mingyu.

After that night, things seem to have changed a bit

Mingyu seems to be getting closer to you and also seems to be spending more time with you than with his friend, who actually invited him to the house.

You're cooking. Mingyu is there to help

You're cleaning up the kitchen. Mingyu offers to do the dishes

You're going to the beach earlier. Mingyu is ready to make you company

Mingyu was everywhere you were. Maybe your cousins were right, maybe he's... a tiny bit into you? Let's find out

One afternoon, everyone decided to stay back in the house and just lounge by the pool, but not you. You decided to take a walk on the beach. And of course, so did Mingyu.

You were a bit skeptical regarding his (and your) feelings so you came up with an idea. See if he gets jealous.

"So, Mingyu... Tell me more about that roommate of yours... Jeonghan was his name?"

"Yeah, Jeonghan" Mingyu liked talking about his friend but you seemed too interested in him and it was making him feel weird

"What's he like? Is he older?"

"Yes, he's really nice and caring but he's a menace sometimes. He's a year older than you"

"He's also from Korea?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh is he single?" You asked but this time looking deep into his eyes

Oh, how he could get lost in them. It took a lot of strength to not kiss you right now

"Hm why"

"Oh you know... weighing my options... When Cheol goes to visit you I could tag along and... meet some guys" you said looking at the beautiful sunset. Oh, he was jealous.

"Why not me?" Mingyu didn't miss a beat

"What?"

"Why not me? Go out with me. We're not kids anymore. I'm not a kid anymore" he emphasized stopping in his tracks to fully look at you

You stopped not expecting him to be so forward with his answer and feelings. Turning around he looked... ethereal

His light clothes swayed with the sea breeze and the pinks and oranges of the sunset complimented his tanned skin so well. You know Mingyu was good looking but you didn't realize he was THAT good looking

"I... You're..." You were caught off guard and didn't know how to respond.

Mingyu sighed loudly at your statement, or rather your lack of a response.

"Well, if you didn't like me that way you should just tell me. Please don't lie to make me feel better" he looked uncertain about what he said himself but turned around and walked back to the house.

Why did you say that?

When you returned to the house, the boys had gone to the market to buy more snacks and drinks

You couldn't even say sorry because he wasn't there

After getting in, you went straight to the room you shared with your cousins. They both stood in the living room and exchanged concerned looks since you didn't even spare them a glance.

Why did you say that? You didn't like him? That wasn't true and you knew it. What was it then? Afraid of being lonely? Were you being too sensitive?

Those thoughts made the tears start to flow

"y/n? Are you- oh my god" May immediately got inside after seeing you crying sitting on your bed "What happened?"

"Did something happen with Mingyu? When he came back he seemed upset as well..." Rina added and that made you cry harder

May hugged you and let you cry until you were too tired to do anymore. When you finally calmed down you told them everything, from the night you went to the food trucks to the moment he left you on the beach

Lonely am I being sensitive? You are the sensitive one Where are you tonight? Where's your home tonight?

Mingyu didn't mean it, but he couldn't help but put his walls up

He didn't want to be hurt anymore

When you guys were younger he saw that you looked at him the same way you looked at Seungcheol. Like a little brother, which he didn't really like. He desperately wished time would change the way you saw him and he left it up to fate

He went to uni abroad while you took yours in your home country and now it's his vacation and he's back home. Of course, he knew you met other people and he did as well, but sometimes he wished it was you there, in his arms

And now he knows that you don't want him, and it breaks him.

Of course, it crossed his mind that maybe you both could be together temporarily like some sort of summer love but he didn't think he could handle the aftermath when he left again.

He was upset but what could he do? He couldn't just stay away from you when you were living under the same roof for 2 weeks but he could distance himself a bit. Seeing you would definitely make his heart hurt more.

Mingyu didn't realize that he was being awfully quiet during the market trip, which was very unlike his upbeat puppy personality

"What happened to you?" Even quiet Wonwoo went to check on him

"Nothing"

"yeah sure" Wonwoo shrugged but Cheol turned around to put his hand on Mingyu's chest to stop him

"Are you messing around with my cousin?" Seungcheol asked skeptical

"What? No I-" Mingyu tried to defend himself

"Then what? Explain yourself. We got time" Cheol motioned for them to sit on the small bench at the market's exit. Popping open a can of beer and motioning for both friends to sit as well

"Well..."

"Well, I'm screwed. I guess I do find him endearing but at the moment I couldn't say anything. I do like him a lot but I never considered... dating him. I'm not opposed to the idea tho"

"Just go on a date with him. What could go wrong? Just go for it" May said

"What if things don't work out and we get awkward? I don't want to ruin things for Cheol-" You started to panic again

"Can you stop overthinking for one second? Just do it, the rest is the rest" Rina exclaimed "Gosh, I will charge next time for the therapy session" She smirked when you started giggling. At least you weren't crying anymore

"I guess you're right. Thanks. What would I do without you two" You said hugging them both. "Now let's go, you'll both help me with dinner"

"Oh no..."

You dragged both girls to the kitchen and gave them instructions to prep the tomatoes and arugula to make with pasta. You went to freshen up quickly, getting rid of your crying face and went back to help them and cook the pasta.

When dinner was almost done the boys arrived with more bags than anticipated.

"Sorry we took too long. We got some extra stuff because Mingyu said he was gonna prepare a special meal for us tomorrow" Cheol announced as he set the bags near the counter. The other two did the same and Mingyu started to put the ingredients away.

The girls moved to set up the table, asking Wonwoo to help by taking the heavy stack of plates to the dining area. Cheol gave you a soft smile and moved out of the kitchen as well.

"I'm-"

"I'm sorry I acted that way" Mingyu cut you off "Actually I wanted to talk to you about it" Oh no, he thought "You caught me off guard, I won't lie, but I wanted to give it a try. You and I"

Mingyu stopped what he was doing. Maybe he was imagining things

"We could go on a date tomorrow if you'd like it... I mean, if you're still willing to"

"Yes- I mean. Yeah, I would like that" He said without hesitation

"Oh, great" you have him a shy smile " Can you help me take this pan to the table?"

"Yeah, let's go" he moved to help you smiling brightly. Maybe things were starting to work out

The next day arrived and passed as normal. In the afternoon you all decided to go grab some ice cream and you and Mingyu decided to separate from the rest to go on your date.

"You didn't have to pay you know? I'm the one who has a job and not a part-time" you smirked as he passed you the waffle cone

"I'd be rude if I didn't pay on our first date" he retorted

"Well thank you, what a gentleman" you giggled as he sat opposite you. The ice cream parlor was daily empty, but it was good because it gave you some privacy.

"Mingyu" you started "I wanted to be honest with you. I think you're cute and overall a great person, but I would be lying if I said I ever thought about dating you. I don't see you as a kid anymore, you've grown into someone so admirable... you grew up so well. Your confession wasn't something I was expecting but I guess the idea of us became... surprisingly pleasant" you said looking at him

"Y/n, thank you. For being honest with me. I- I have liked you since we were teens and when you didn't respond I put my walls up. I didn't mean to be rude to you, I guess I was just scared that you would reject me. I shouldn't have acted that way I'm sorry... but I'm happy. I'm happy that you're willing to give us a chance" he smiled. A smile you could definitely get used to.

"Well lover boy, how about that special recipe Cheol said you were going to prepare?" You said and he smirked

"Get really to taste the best dish you've ever had. I'll sweep you off your feet and you'll definitely fall for me this time" he said proudly, taking a bite of his cone and having some ice cream on the corner of his mouth

"I'll be looking forward to it" you said while grabbing a napping and cleaning the corner of his mouth.

He could get used to that

Your days at the beach were ending and your dates with Mingyu were making your relationship become stronger.

"Mingyu what are your plans when we get back to the city?" Tina asked as you all were lying on beach towels under the sunshade.

"I'll go visit my family for a while, my grandma lives on the countryside" he answered and took a peek at the magazine you were reading. Your head rested on his stretched arm and he moved you to basically lay on his chest since his arm was starting to feel numb.

"Before you go back to uni, could you spare me some time?" You asked looking up at him. Even under the sunglasses, he could see your doe eyes

"Anything for you" he smiled

"Ew, don't say those things in front of us" Seungcheol made a face of disgust and gave Mingyu a slight slap. "Anyways, anybody wants to go take a dive? I'm melting"

"Yeah let's go" Wonwoo said standing up, as well as Rina. May also stood up but reached for her purse.

"Should I get us snacks? That tent is selling French fries"

"Oh yes, please get us two portions! The boys eat too much" you responded sitting up as your dousing just nodded and went on her way.

"Before I move back I'll take you on a really nice date. Maybe at your house? I could cook again since you liked it so much" Mingyu smirked as he resumed your previous conversation

"What are you implying Mr. Kim?" You side-eyed him but smiled after "That would be nice, I'm sad you'll have to leave me soon" you pouted

"Don't worry, I'll come back running for my girlfriend. You could also visit me you know..."

"Oh? Am I your girlfriend now? Since when?" You raised your eyebrows at him. It was amusing to poke fun at him, his cute pouting was a sight you loved

"You don't want to be my girlfriend?"

You pecked those pouty lips. You were both being really cliche, but with him, things were beginning to feel right.

You pecked those pouty lips. You were both being really cliche but with him, things were beginning to feel right.

"Yes, I would love that"

I'm sorry about this open ending! I got stuck on this one and had to extend it because I wasn't liking it at all. I hope you guys like it! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Stay tuned for the Wonwoo version!!!

[luveline]

hi I am obsessed with your writing! can I request do you want to dance and candy apples with rockstar!eddie, maybe where reader is super quiet and doesn’t seem like the type to date a musician but he is super soft with her offstage even though he’s a total badass on stage?! okay bye love you

join luveline's halloween party ♡

tysm for ur request baby ily! rockstar!eddie x shy!fem!reader

The VIP section in most venues is the same. A balcony backfitted by a bigger room with a bar. Eddie has you sequestered on the balcony, the two of you looking down over crew both roadies and the venue's making preparations for tonight's show.

"Teddy," you begin quizzically, watching his eyes trace the shape of the stage. "Why'd you bring me up here?"

You'll have had to sit up here yourself in a few hours to watch the show.

You can tell he wants to be down there having a little bit of a say in things, though most of the time crew staff ignore him anyways. (Or rather, pretend to indulge his suggestions and do what it is they've been told to do by their boss, instead, as they should.)

He lifts his head from his observing and smiles at you. "Guy can't want some along time with his girl?"

"Up here?"

"Most private place I could think of." He grins, hair falling into his eyes as he straightens his back and extends a pale hand. "We never get any alone time anymore, sweetheart. Miss you."

You thread your fingers together and let him curl you into his chest, a smooth plane that you splay your fingers over lovingly. Before he can try anything you lean into his neck, and before he can complain you dot a little kiss against his throat. You really want a hug right now, and that's what you get.

He leans against the railing. You have no clue how he can do it without having a heart attack but you're too distracted by his nice touching to tell him otherwise, hands seeking the hem of his shirt to rub his back as he rubs yours.

You spend long, private minutes like that. His arms are a sanctuary, as dramatic as it sounds, where you can be as quiet as you want to be without feeling like you're doing something wrong. It's in stark contrast to your boyfriend's turbulent, brash personality. Yet somehow, you always fit. Maybe because he knows when to indulge your solitude, and you know when to cheer him on.

He kisses the top of your head.

"See? I missed this," he says.

You nod hurriedly in agreement. This is nice. This is bliss. His arms and his voice and nothing else, only the echoing hustle of the staff at the bottom of the atrium to reach you.

"It's been loud, these last few days. Are you okay?"

"You asked me that last night," you murmur, brows pinching together in confusion.

"I know, but it was busy last night. Thought maybe you wouldn't feel like you could tell me."

"I'm perfect," you say, startled by his question. "I promise." You lean back against his arms to look him in the face, his chin titling down to indulge you. "Are you okay, Teddy? How's your earache?"

"Fine, it's fine. Just gotta remember to wear the new earplugs tonight. The other ones seep too much." He smiles softly, brings a hand to your cheek. "I'm perfect, too."

You kiss him and hope that it says what you're trying to say. Yeah, you are.

His kiss quickly turns nipping and hard. You buckle underneath it, exhaling hard into his open mouth.

"Teddy," you say, though it's muffled into incomprehnsibility by his insistent kissing.

His thumb presses into the column of your throat as he leans down. You lean back with him, eyes closed and listless at the ardency in his touch.

"Teddy," you say again, giggling. "Stop."

He pulls away, frowning gently. "You okay?"

"Can't kiss me like that up here."

"Why? You don't like it?"

"You know I do..." You let your forehead rest against his chin, hiding from his bright eyes. "Too much."

"C'mon, sweet thing, nobody's up here."

You wrap one of your arms around the back of his neck to try and prevent him from convincing you. You both know how much you liked to be kissed by him, especially his rougher ones that make you dizzy, but you're not willing to be found up here. Not in the state he'll put you in.

"I'll make it worth your while," he tempts, a dulcet murmur.

You breath hard against his frame and grumble.

"What?" he asks.

"I hate you," you lie.

Eddie kisses all the way down your cheek. "I'll believe it when I see it," he says into the corner of your mouth. "Want me to do that thing you like?"

You sigh heavily. "Yeah, please."

[askuemki]

@vivgst new thread <3 (I have the cut so it won't be a pain to scroll lol)

I've never watched Death Note, but I guess Ill just say L is my favorite since we share a name (technically) Honestly? my answer is simple w/ what animal Id be Almost ANY cat (not the flatfaced or folded ear ones though they can have some bad health issues :( ) Like if you're a domestic cat, you have the stuff to survive both in the wild, or in someone's house. You have super scenes of smell, night vision, claws, sharp teeth, AND probably enough smarts to not get eaten by dogs or smth. On the other hand with humans, at least 70% of the population would adore you, and maybe even take you in to pamper you. It would be very easy to get them to do your bidding since you'd be just some animal, and perhaps put above your caretaker's needs. Pets? Affection? Just act all adorable and stuff and they'll give it to you, cling on to them and they'll say they're your human now. On the other hand (or paw) there's the wild cats!! Still very cute. Still very cool. Now your defenses are upped by a ton, and people still find you cute. Though with how shitty environmental conditions are, and with the bigger cats slowly going to extinction :( , I may or may not just stick to domestic cats But hypothetically.. It would be neat to be either a snow leopard, tiger, or a jaguar. I love snow leopards for their big fluffy tails, and it would be cool to be able to roam through snow and stuff, but that seems to get a little boring from time to time. Love tigers for their stripes, I don't think they can roar..?? But that doesn't change anything. Think Tigers and Jaguars are both pretty efficient in survival, but I'd pick Jaguar just for their athletics and HUGE bite force (least from my 1st search). Or maybe, maybe not because there's an outfit/skin or two of Valeria's that are based on jaguars.. (or leopards, but ill go w/ jaguars) im obsessed w/ this woman man hdwhadwjadawnk OH ALSO ON THE TOPIC OF BIRDS??? AS FUN AS IT WOULD BE TO BE A MALE BIRD AND SHAKE YOUR COLORFUL BUM AROUND, THERE WAS A WHOLE ASS WAR W/ EMUS AND AUSTRALIA Honestly who wouldn't wanna be a relative of a dinosaur, but smaller and just as fucking scary Also for vacation.... I don't like going on vacation. I just like being in my sad little room, on the internet or drawing my ass off But, Id love to visit Japan and see their Ghibli Studio museum, it's so cool... Or even just go to a few hotels or smth here and there, I love their stellar technology, I love how everything is so cute or neat there, oh and I especially LOVE the social rules there, I'm a goody-two-shoes at heart and perfectly agree with being "nice"... Like yeah sure I may not like you or the opposite, but at least we can co-exist without biting our heads off (unlike the fucking us) and japan seems open to their culture being explored by others, so I'd totally love to (respectfully) participate in some traditions here and there OR I could visit Europe. Like not even a specific country? Just Europe. Cuz the US is like really fucking big, and a country like France is apparently as big as Texas. And it would be cool to take a week trip just exploring cultures and stuff (well everything except food, I'm a terrible picky eater ugh) Vacation in the US scares me tho, I'm fine where I'm at rn Maybe id be a little open to going to canada.. but bc of how they're treating the Palestine genoside rn maybe like later in life if they redeem themselves, but like the us? Fuck them too I think crocodiles r cute, but I wouldn't wanna go near one :3 Most of my relatives are either in the Philippines or Maryland, I barely know abt them now Never thought I'd be the one to be the gay cousin, ngl

[suzukiblu]

WIP WEDNESDAY GAME

Taken from @kedreeva.

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

file names:

think pink

mirrorverse!Clark and Kon's daddy issues both get some

Match and Kon and the time magic made them do it

interdimensional whoring for TimKon

the Core Four gangs up on Kon's objectification kink

Yes, yes it IS the porn edition of WIP Wednesday this week. You're welcome or I'm sorry, whichever one more accurately applies, haha.

And just to remind you all, I'm totally cool with people requesting multiple WIPs, but I'd prefer if you sent them in multiple asks! Just a little easier for me that way.

snippet from “think pink”:

“Made you wait long enough already, yeah?” Kon says, biting his lip before flashing them both a grin and spreading his thighs a little farther, and a little more deliberately. “Show me what all the fuss is about, man.”

“Ngh,” Tim says. Bernard curses, then laughs in disbelief and grabs the lube. 

“I actually cannot believe you’re letting me touch you,” he says. “Like, at all.” 

“I want you to touch me,” Kon says firmly. Tim picked Bernard. There’s no way this isn’t gonna be good.

Bernard flushes and laughs again, shaking his head and shifting over to kneel between Kon’s thighs, and Kon feels–not self-conscious, exactly, but just very much aware of the fact that this is not the usual kind of thing he does in bed and not the usual way people touch him or look at him, and not really something he knows how to . . . 

“That still feels so nice, geez,” Bernard says, which is when Kon realizes his TTK’s gotten a little bit away from him and wrapped up both Bernard and Tim. He flushes himself, a little embarrassed, and tries not to look sheepish when he grins up at Bernard again. 

“I aim to please,” he says. “What do you need me to do?” 

“Nothing,” Tim says, stroking his collarbones again. “Just relax and let us take care of you, alright?” 

Kon isn’t actually sure how to do that, but . . . 

It sounds nice, he thinks. Like–several kinds of nice. 

Like really nice.

[poisonlove]

a

yes yes yes please a part 2 is what i need it doesn't even have to be happy it can be harrowing again I just need to know how Y/n is going to get over this, if Vada regretted it, I want to know EVERYTHING I'm not going to lie I want vada to suffer :)

Tears… of happiness?| v.c

part. 2

Three months later

I was at my house, preparing dinner with Sofia, a girl I was getting to know better, when suddenly I received a call from Amelia, Vada's sister. —I'm sorry, Sofia— I say with an embarrassed smile as my phone starts ringing. —I need to take this call.— Sofia smiles understandingly.

—No problem, go ahead. I'll be here when you get back.— I get up from the table and make my way to a quieter corner.

—Hello?— I answer the call with a gentle smile, trying to hide the agitation that's already starting to creep in.

—Hi, t/n. I'm sorry for calling you so late. I needed you to know something.— Amelia's voice is filled with a mix of emotions.

I listen attentively as Amelia tells me about Vada's situation and how she's recently come out of a detox center. As her words fill the air, I feel a weight lifting from my chest.

Finally, Vada's total disappearance makes sense.

—I really appreciate you calling me to let me know—I tell her sincerely. —I had no idea about any of this, but I'm glad to hear that she's trying to improve.— Amelia sounds relieved.

—I'm glad you're taking the news well. I know you two were close, and... I just wanted you to know.— After hanging up the call, I feel as though a knot has been untied. I return to the table with Sofia, who smiles kindly at me.

—Everything okay?— she asks.

—Now it is— I reply, feeling a sense of release. —Thank you for understanding—I say with a shy smile.

Deep inside my heart, a small flame of hope ignites. The news that Vada has come out of a detox center has shaken the foundations of my emotions. In an instant, my mind is torn between the hurricane of conflicting feelings: concern for her, fear for what she's been through, and that small but powerful hope that maybe, just maybe, all of this could be a step toward the change that we both needed. I find myself reflecting on every word spoken and unspoken, on shared moments and ones left hanging. The possibility that Vada took this step for herself, and perhaps even for us, starts to take shape in my mind. Maybe our bond wasn't completely severed. Maybe, somehow, there's still an invisible thread keeping us connected.

—Who was that?—Sofia asks curiously. Sofia's sudden question pulls my attention away from my thoughts.

—It was just a friend— I reply with a light smile, trying to keep my tone casual. —Anyway, where were we?— Sofia seems to accept my answer without further questions, and we return to our previous conversation. We continue discussing various topics, but my mind is still occupied by the news I've just received.

—It really was a nice evening— Sofia says with a smile, looking into my eyes. —Do you... want me to stay?— She adds a hint of playfulness.

I nervously chuckle and shake my head slightly. —Thank you, but I think it's better if you don't stay— I reply, walking her to the door.

Before I can realize it, Sofia kisses me. It's an unexpected moment that catches me off guard. My heart races as I try to process what just happened. After the kiss, we lock eyes for a moment, emotions swirling within me between surprise and confusion.

—So... see you at school tomorrow...—Sofia mumbles shyly, her cheeks flushed as she looks down at the floor and fiddles with her fingers. —Yeah... see you tomorrow— I respond, still feeling the lingering sensation of Sofia's lips on mine.

The girl gives me a timid smile before turning and walking out of the building. Closing the door behind her, I find myself thinking about how strange, yet oddly pleasant, this evening has been.

*** During the lunch break the next day, I feel even more nervous than usual. I engage in small talk with my friends, trying to maintain a normal conversation, but my mind is completely elsewhere. I feel the curious gazes of my friends on me, and I realize they're noticing my odd behavior.

—Hey, t/n, you seem a bit distracted today. Everything okay?— Alex, one of my closest friends, asks me. I try to smile and nod, even though I know my smile comes across as forced.

—Yeah, everything's fine. Just a bit tired, I guess—I reply. Sarah, another friend, laughs. —Maybe it's because of the math class this morning. That professor always manages to give us a headache!—

I chuckle too, trying to join in the conversation. But the truth is, my head is filled with thoughts about Vada and what I've discovered. I wish I could share everything with them, but it's such a delicate situation that I don't even know where to start.

While lost in my thoughts, I notice a figure in the distance. It's Vada. Suddenly, my heart races, and it feels as though the world has come to a standstill. Vada looks pale, but different. Different in the way she holds her head high and walks with more confidence. Beyond that, she looks healthier. Her brown eyes meet mine, and unconsciously, I smile.

It's an instinctive, unconscious smile. Everything I've felt in the past months seems to surface in that moment. All the doubts, hopes, and disappointments. As our gazes lock, I feel there's still a connection between us.

My emotions are in turmoil as I try to conceal how shaken I am by her presence. The past and the future blend in an instant, and I know I must find the courage to confront all of this.

(...)

Vada Pov's

I come to a halt, seeing t/n in the distance. I nervously fiddle with my backpack strap, trying to conceal my unease. I can't take my eyes off her, and I realize she looks more beautiful than ever.

It's as if time has turned every feature of hers into a work of art.

But as I look at her, my thoughts travel back in time. I remember why I entered that detox center after our breakup. I wanted to change, to become a better person. The days spent there were dreadful. The days dragged on unbearably slowly, and there was a darkness within me that seemed unwilling to leave. I battled against withdrawal, faced the ghosts of my past actions, and tried to understand what had happened.

Now, facing t/n, I feel a mix of emotions. Surprise, fear, and hope blend as her eyes meet mine. That moment seems to last a lifetime, and I wonder if t/n can see the changes I've made. I hope she can glimpse the determination I put into trying to improve.

Looking at her, I feel the weight of unsaid words, choices we've made, and wounds we've inflicted. I don't know what t/n thinks of me now, I don't know if there's room for forgiveness or something more. The decision is hers, and I feel a lump in my throat as I wait to see what she'll do. My mind is in turmoil, but I try to hold onto my desire to redeem the past.

I feel the eyes of many curious students on me, and I hear whispered comments like "shame on you." The tension in the air is palpable, and I realize how suddenly I've become the center of attention. Everything seems to happen in a blur, but then someone passes by me, heading toward t/n. Suddenly, everyone's attention is captivated by this figure.

—No... look at me...— I murmur sadly, trying to convey how important it is.

Tears well up at the corners of my eyes, and the pain I've felt all these months rushes back. I watch as this girl kisses t/n, and the sound of whistles and applause from her friends fills the air. It's as if the world is spinning too fast, and all I can do is stare at that scene before me.

My heart shatters even more as reality hits me full force. All the mistakes, gaps, and missed moments seem encapsulated in that kiss. All my hopes and desires dissolve into the air, as I try to contain the pain welling up within me. It's an overwhelming feeling, and I feel vulnerable and betrayed, even though I know I have no right to feel that way.

The scene unfolds before me like a blurry dream. Laughter, applause, and the kiss merge into a whirlwind of emotions. Then, as I try to confront it all, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and see Nick, an old friend, looking at me with a concerned expression.

—Vada, are you okay?— he asks gently, trying to understand what's happening.

Tears start to fall uncontrollably, without me being able to stop them. My heart crumbles as I try to contain the sobs rising from my chest. —Nick... everything... it's just so hard...— I stammer, unable to put my pain into words.

He wraps me in a protective hug, trying to comfort me. —Shh, it's okay. It'll be okay, alright? You're strong.—

But the words of comfort don't seem to be enough. The pain I've kept hidden for so long is now out of control. The wounds of the past, the struggle in the detox center, and now this scene before my eyes merge into a flood of emotions I can't contain. Tears flow incessantly, making even breathing difficult.

Nick tries to support me, but I feel like I'm in freefall. Everything I've tried to overcome seems to resurface at this moment. I feel vulnerable and shattered, as if all my defenses have crumbled. I keep crying, trying to release the weight I've carried with me.

—Let's go somewhere else, okay?— Nick suggests gently, trying to lead me away from the tumultuous scene.

I wipe my eyes and nod, allowing him to guide me as we move away slowly. Every step seems to require an immense effort, but I cling to the help Nick is offering me.

As we walk, someone approaches us. A boy with red eyes and a strange smile on his face. His gaze seems to wander to some undefined point as he approaches. Then, with a distracted gesture, he pulls something out of his pocket and offers it to me.

—Hey, you don't look too happy... want some?—he says, his voice sounding distant and muffled.

My eyes fixate on that offer, and for a moment, I feel the urge to take it. All the emotions I've felt, the pain, the confusion, seem to converge in that moment. But deep within me, I feel a small flame of willpower still burning.

I look into the distance, trying to find that determination that led me to take a step forward. I think of t/n, of the shared tears and smiles. I think of how difficult it has been, but also how meaningful. And I think of myself, the person I'm striving to become.

Taking a deep breath, I look the boy in the eyes and firmly say, —No, thank you.—

The boy seems surprised for a moment, then nods with a strange smile and walks away. Uttering those words gives me a sense of triumph, as if I've overcome an important challenge.

Nick looks at me with an encouraging smile. —Well done, Vada. I'm proud of you.—

I don't know what the future holds, but I know I still have a lot to face. I hold onto that small flame within me and to those who are close to me, ready to confront whatever comes.

***

That evening, Nick organizes a private party with his closest friends to celebrate my return. I find myself at Nick's house ahead of time as the final preparations are being completed. I'm a bit nervous, but also grateful for the opportunity to spend time with loved ones.

Nick approaches me with a smile, and I greet him with a nod. —You've done a great job with this party—I say, admiring the cheerful atmosphere he has created.

—Thanks! I'm glad you're here—Nick responds, glancing at the crowd of friends around us. —I was wondering, could you help me bring the beers to the kitchen and set up some snacks?—

—Of course— I reply with a smile. We grab some beers from the table and head to the kitchen, joking that it looks like they've got enough for an entire month. As we arrange the trays of snacks, we exchange knowing smiles. —I hope there's enough food for everyone—Nick says, laughing.

—Well, considering how many friends you've invited, we might need to make a second trip to the supermarket— I respond, laughing along.

The doorbell rings, and Nick turns to me kindly. —Vada, could you please go answer the door?—

I accept with a nod and make my way to the entrance. As I open the door, my heart beats faster. But when t/n's eyes meet mine, my smile fades, replaced by a mixture of conflicting emotions.

I timidly glance at t/n, trying to control my unease. T/n looks so stunning, wearing an outfit that makes her shine. She's wearing a simple sweatshirt paired with a light jacket of the same color. Her hair is neatly styled and seems to capture the light in a magical way.

For a moment, I feel a bit intimidated and insecure. Yet, there's something about her that makes me feel like anything is possible. I sense t/n's gaze on me and try to smile, even though it's a mix of nervousness and uncertainty.

—T/n... hi— I say with a slightly trembling voice, trying to hide how flustered I am.

—Hi, Vada— t/n responds with a gentle smile, and the sound of her voice resonates within me.

I realize there's still a lot to face and clarify between us, but in this moment, as we look at each other, I feel that there's still a bond that connects us. A bond that has never fully faded, despite everything.

T/n coughs softly, and I sense her discomfort as my gaze lingers. Suddenly aware of the situation, I realize the tension is palpable.

—Um... can I come in?— t/n asks timidly.

I react immediately, fully opening the door to let her in.

As t/n passes by me, I instinctively close my eyes. A shiver runs through me, and I catch a familiar scent that I've missed so much. Her presence is enveloping, bringing back memories of shared moments, sweet gestures, and heartfelt words.

I make an effort to contain the emotions welling up, striving to stay calm and composed. I don't want t/n to sense how unsettled her return has made me. I open my eyes as t/n enters, trying to offer a gentle smile. —Make yourself at home— I say, attempting to lighten the mood.

¤¤¤

As the evening goes on, I try to maintain a relaxed and friendly demeanor. It's strange and surreal to be here, in the same room as t/n after so much time. But at the same time, I feel that there's a new beginning in the air, an opportunity to confront the past and perhaps build something different for the future.

Gradually, the other friends start to arrive, filling the room with energy and joy. But when Edward asks about Mia, I notice t/n tensing slightly.

The atmosphere suddenly becomes tense, and I sense that there's something I'm not quite understanding.

—Hey, guys, where's Mia?—Edward asks, looking around.

Nick grimaces. —Oh, Mia is out of town right now.—

However, I notice that t/n's smile seems forced, and a sense of unease continues to linger in the air. I keep chatting with friends, trying to maintain the party's lightheartedness, but at the same time, I can't help but feel that tension that doesn't seem to dissipate. While friends laugh and joke, my gaze occasionally meets t/n's, trying to read her expressions and understand what she's feeling in this delicate moment.

—How about playing 7 minutes in heaven?— Nick suggests, trying to change the subject.

As friends enthusiastically embrace the idea, Nick hands me the bottle, saying that since I'm the guest of honor, I should start. I take the bottle with a nervous smile, trying to hide my unease. I spin it, and my heart races as the bottle continues to spin, again and again. All eyes are on me, and I feel every moment growing more intense.

My heart seems to stop when the bottle finally comes to a halt. I look, and for a moment, the world seems to slow down as I see that t/n is the person the bottle points to.

I feel as if everything has come to a halt, and my stomach tightens as I wait to see t/n's reaction. T/n takes a sip of whiskey, and the tension in the air seems to grow even stronger. Then, without saying a word, she abruptly stands up from the floor. —Come on, let's go— she mutters before walking determinedly toward a closet.

Her voice is filled with emotions, and I can sense her uncertainty and her willingness to leave that situation behind. I suddenly feel a bit out of place as t/n walks away, but hesitantly, I decide to follow her. I try to understand what she's thinking, but her words are cryptic, and I don't know what to expect.

—Have fun— Nick murmurs, and amid the laughter of friends, he closes the closet door after both t/n and I enter.

I feel my heart pounding, and the tension in the air seems palpable. As the door closes, I find myself suddenly alone with t/n, and I don't know what to say or do. I look around in the darkness of the closet, trying to keep calm despite the agitation I feel. My breathing quickens as I wait to see what will happen after this unexpected moment. I don't know what to expect, but one thing is certain: fate has put us in an unexpected position, and now we have to face it together.

🍾🚪

T/n sighs —How are you, Vada?— Her voice reaches me, and I sense genuine concern in her words. With a bit of nervousness, I reply: —I'm fine, thank you.— A brief silence falls between us, and then, suddenly, I find the courage to ask: —And your girlfriend? How is she?— The question comes out of my mouth almost instinctively, but now that I've said it, I feel my heart racing. I don't know what to expect from her answer, but I feel it's important to confront the reality of what has happened during our time apart. I wait, trying to meet t/n's gaze in the darkness, as the words that have been spoken hang in the air between us. I don't know what will happen after this conversation, but I know we need to face it if we truly want to understand what has changed and if there's room for a new beginning.

T/n sighs in the darkness —We're just getting to know each other; we're not together.— Her words reach me, and a strange feeling of relief starts to creep in. But that feeling is soon overshadowed by jealousy when I hear her bitter reply. —From the way she kissed you, it doesn't seem like that.— I retort with a hint of venom. The silence inside the closet seems to become even heavier, and I feel that tensions are soaring. What had started as an attempt to clarify things seems to have taken a different turn, and now we find ourselves in the midst of a confrontation charged with emotions. —It's not what it looks like,— t/n shoots back, her voice revealing a mix of irritation and frustration. —I don't want you jumping to the wrong conclusions.—

Yet, I can't help but sense a shadow of doubt in her tones. My jealousy seems to have caught her off guard, and now we're clashing in the dark, trying to figure out what's happening between us. —Vada, I don't think it's fair for you to...— But before she can finish speaking, I feel anger and frustration welling up within me, and I abruptly cut her off. —I don't even want to hear about your conquests,— I say firmly, trying to hold back the emotion that threatens to overflow into my words.

The words escape my mouth almost involuntarily, but once spoken, I don't retract anything I've said. I don't want to hear about t/n's escapades with other people, especially when there's so much to resolve between us. I feel vulnerable and hurt, and the idea that there might be someone else who could take my place hurts. T/n seems surprised by my words, but I don't take back any of it. I look around in the darkness of the closet, seeking some sign of understanding in her eyes. I don't know what will happen now, but I know it's important to set boundaries and expectations between us.

—Vada, I understand that you might feel that way,— t/n says, perhaps trying to calm me down. —But you have to understand that it's not what it seems. I don't want you...— Her response only fuels my anger, and I can't help but interrupt her again. —I don't care about what you want or don't want. I don't want to hear it,— I grit my teeth.

—What the hell has gotten into you, Vada?— she demands angrily. —First, you leave me... I try to be kind to you, and yet you treat me like this?— Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach, yet I can't hide my anger. I feel that the emotions within me are exploding, and I can't hold back the scream of pain that's about to escape my lips.

—When I needed you, you weren't there!— I mutter with a broken voice, as tears start to fill my eyes. Her words make me relive those dark moments when I was alone and desperately seeking a way out of my addiction. And the truth is, all I wanted back then was her. To hear her now, accusing me of not being there when she needed me, makes me feel even more vulnerable and shattered. T/n moves suddenly closer to me, and our breaths mix. I instinctively close my eyes due to the proximity, feeling her presence draw even nearer. Then I feel the palm of her hand slam against the wall behind me, the sound echoing in my ears like a wake-up call. Silence becomes heavy between us, and I feel almost lost in a storm of emotions. Her voice lowers even further.

—I was... I tried... but I was a terrible girlfriend after all, right?— Her words hit me straight in the heart, and I feel the weight of the truth behind them. I know there has been pain on both sides, and now I realize that maybe I haven't considered her side of the story enough. I'm lost for words, not knowing what to say to ease the situation. I feel like I'm at the center of an emotional storm, and the truth is emerging between us, raw and painful.

—I... I... I'm trying to be a better person...— I murmur weakly, trying to convey the sense of pain and regret I feel inside. My words seem to hang in the air like an appeal for understanding. I want t/n to know that I'm trying to face my demons and change, to become the person she deserved me to be. But my voice is barely a whisper, almost drowned out by the weight of the emotions I carry.

Our gazes meet, and I notice t/n seems taken aback by my words. Then, instinctively, my hand moves and lands on her chest. I'm not sure if I want to push her away or feel her even closer, but I sense her breath mingling with mine, and the contact seems to convey all the emotions I can't put into words. I try to find the right words, but my mind seems jammed, overwhelmed by the complexity of what I'm feeling. T/n looks at me, and our eyes communicate silently, conveying everything we can't express in words.

—If I went to that center, it was for you!— I mutter loudly, the words broken by the emotion and anger I feel inside me.

The scream in my words seems to fill the entire space, carrying with it all the emotions I've tried to contain for so long. I want t/n to know how hard it was for me, how willing I was to change and fight for us. But my voice gets caught in my throat, and I feel tears beginning to flow down my cheeks.

T/n leans even closer to me, and our noses barely touch. I feel her warm breath mixing with mine, and the close contact quickens the beating of my heart. I feel like I'm on the edge of an emotional precipice, teetering between anger, sadness, and hope. As t/n gets closer, I sense time slowing down around us. I realize that the 7 minutes of the game seem endless, and I'm nervous about what might happen between us during this time.

—Don't you think... it's too late, Vada?— she whispers just inches from my lips.

Before t/n can pull away, I feel the impulse to act. Without thinking too much, I wrap my arms around her neck, pulling her towards me with a needy intensity, and our lips meet. I want her close, as close as she hasn't been in so long, and the need to feel her against me seems to overpower everything else.

Our bodies draw near, and I feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. My mind seems to be overshadowed by everything except the sensation of t/n being so close. I feel like I've been waiting for this moment forever, as if all the accumulated emotions are converging into this kiss.

T/n emits a surprised sound, a muffled moan from the unexpectedness. But the kiss isn't immediately reciprocated, and I feel my heart pounding strongly in my chest. I don't know what to expect, but I know I don't want to pull away. I want t/n to feel the need I'm feeling, the passion and urgency of what we're sharing right now.

I cling to her with a mixture of desire and fear. I don't know what will happen after this kiss, whether t/n will respond to my desire or if we'll grow further apart. But in this moment, all that matters is our closeness and the possibility of reconnecting, even if only for an instant.

T/n timidly returns my kiss, and I feel my heart beating even stronger in my chest. It was a kiss laden with complex emotions, an attempt to grasp what we used to be and what we could still become. But before I can intensify the kiss, the door suddenly swings open.

We break apart suddenly, as if we've just received an electric shock. T/n leans in close to my ear, and I feel shivers running down my skin at the touch of her words. —We need to talk,— she whispers, her voice so thin and cold that I almost fear I imagined it.

The feeling of anguish grows within me, and I know there's something we must confront, something that's been waiting for us for far too long.

comments, please?

Sorry for this shit :)

[beautifultypewriter]

Boyfriend Material ~ Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin

Requested: No

Warnings: Jerk guy who passively insults reader, bad dates, mentions of sex, nakedness, fwb relationship, language

Word Count: 1,915

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Reader has a fun game she plays when she ends up on a bad first date. Her friend with benefits, Hangman, is the key piece in the game, but he may take things too far one night.

A/N: I told y’all that I was obsessed with Hangman. This idea hit me like a freight train when I was scrolling TikTok and saw a video of a girl doing a skit about going on a date with a red flag and I had the brilliant idea of doing this to an ass who mistreats you on a date. And Hangman was perfect for it.

First dates could go one of two ways; they could be awkward, filled with long silences and minimal eye contact or they could be downright terrible, filled with bad conversations and rude guys. Though you supposed they could go another way. Really great with both parties clicking and no uncomfortable moments. It had been a long time since you had one of those and it was starting to feel like you were destined to never have one again with the guys you were picking.

  The one currently sat across from you was definitely one of the ‘not getting a second date’ type. Not that he seemed to realize it as he continued to talk about himself, barely pausing to take a breath. You pursed your lips as he smirked at you. Something stupid is about to come out of his mouth.

  “You know, I was a little apprehensive about tonight because I usually go for the model types,” you breathed out slowly and he was quick to hold his hands up, “but you’re attractive too.” He winked at you, and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes at him. Though you were sure he wouldn’t have noticed if you had because now he was talking about his ex-girlfriend. You reached for your glass of water, completely ignoring the glass of red wine that he had ordered for you. You don’t drink red wine. He chuckled, “Yeah, she was totally crazy. Dodged that bullet.” He pulled his phone out, firing off some text messages as he ignored you. Plates of food were set in front of the pair of you and not even that pulled his eyes away from the screen of his phone. You scoffed, pulling your own phone out and clicking on the top conversation thread in your messages. Your text was simple, a time, the name of the restaurant that you were at, and a black heart emoji. The reply was instant, a thumbs up. You smirked to yourself, picking up your fork and digging into the meal in front of you. At least the steak was good. Your date chose that moment to pick up his fork and launch into another one of his work stories. Forcing a smile at him, you nodded along, wondering what kind of seasoning they put on your mashed potatoes.

  The waiter had asked if you cared for dessert and your date had answered that you didn’t need any and he asked for the check. After he had paid, he led you out of the restaurant, stopping and turning to face you on the sidewalk. He smiled as he leaned closer, an attempt to charm you, you supposed, “You want to head back to my place? I’ve got a nice bottle of wine. We could talk some more.” As his hand reached out to stroke your arm, you grit your teeth, preparing your reply.

  It never came though as an arm wrapped around your shoulders and a low voice spoke near your ear, “Hey, babe.”

  Your eyes lit up as you turned to grin at the newcomer, “Jake.” He grinned back at you, his lips pressing against your cheek quickly. Your date looked between the two of you, his eyes moving faster than you thought possible. His chest puffed out and he stepped forward, his hand pushing his hair back. You looked over at him, your smile turning sickly sweet, “Oh, it was really nice meeting you, Tim, but I don’t think this is going to work out.” Your eyes met Jake’s again and you could see him barely able to contain his laughter.

  The man’s shoulders sagged, as his arm dropped to his side and he recoiled, “It’s Jim.”

  You half turned back to your date, “Right. Thanks for the dinner.” Jake spun you around and the two of you started walking down the sidewalk, away from the restaurant and the bad date.

  Jake pulled you closer, “Your place or mine?” He quickly glanced back to see Jim still standing in the same spot, watching the two of you walk away, frown on his face. Jake chuckled. He couldn’t deny that he loved when you sent those black heart texts. Poor bastards had no idea on what they were missing out on. He didn’t think about it too much though because he was glad to be the guy picking you up from your failed dates.

  Tapping your finger against your chin, you pretended to think about it, “Mine’s closer.” Jake nodded and the two of you continued down the sidewalk, the same small talk that you two always engaged in flowing between you two easily. The two of you fell into the same pattern with no difficulty at all. The game was easy because it didn’t require anything deeper than the friendship the two of you shared and your friendship was easy. It had been from the moment the two of you first met.

  The pair of you continued down the sidewalk, turning onto your street. Your footsteps got quicker without your notice, and you were at your building in no time. Jake released your shoulders as you grabbed your keys from your bag and unlocked the front door. Stepping into the lobby, Jake followed, his arm going around your shoulders once more as you waited for the elevator. The doors opened and he gently guided you in, pressing the button for your floor without looking. His attention was solely on you as you leaned against the back wall, one hand resting on the railing there. Jake smirked as he moved gracefully into your space, his hand resting next to your head and his face moving close to yours. With a smirk, you moved your free hand to rest on his shoulder as his body pressed close to yours, heat radiating between the two of you. Just as his lips were about to touch yours, a loud cough caused the two of you to pull apart. Jake took a step back and spun around to see your neighbor stepping slowly into the elevator. He smiled as he leaned against the wall next to you, his arm brushing against yours. You smiled at the woman, “Mrs. Freeman.” She hummed as she nodded to you, her eyes flickering between you and Jake, a smirk growing on her wrinkled face. The elevator ride was quiet as you watched the numbers going up, trying to ignore Jake’s eyes on you. When your floor dinged, you waved quickly to Mrs. Freeman before you grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him down the hall to your apartment, your keys in your free hand.

  As soon as the door to your apartment was opened, Jake’s lips were on yours. He gently pushed you in to your home, kicking the door shut behind him. His lips never left yours as the two of you took the familiar path to your bedroom, your clothes mixing with his in piles on the wooden floors.

  Pulling the sheet up over your chest, you turned your head to smile at Jake. He was on his back, looking up at the ceiling with a small smile on his face. When he felt your gaze, he turned to look at you, his smile growing. You giggled as you leaned closer to him, “Tonight might not have started out so great, but it definitely ended very nicely.” He pecked your lips before you pulled away, sitting up and reaching your arms above your head. Jake watched the muscles in your back stretch, and he reached over to rub gentle circles on your exposed skin. You sighed, leaning back into his touch, and readjusting the sheet. He watched your muscles relax as he continued his ministrations, and another sigh passed your lips.

  “How about you let me take you out?” He wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but they were in the air now and he found that he didn’t mind it, even as the silence stretched.

  Your head turned to the side, so that you could see him from the corner of your eye, “On a date?” He nodded and you laughed, “A real date?”

  He nodded again, his voice even, “Yeah.”

  You turned at the waist, your eyebrows raised, “Why?” He was still laying there, wholly unbothered, one hand behind his head as he looked up at you like he didn’t completely change the entire game. The entire friendship.

  With one half-hearted shrug, he glanced to the ceiling, “To have a nice time. To go on more dates.” He turned his gaze to you again, giving you a quick wink, “Hell, maybe I’ll even become your boyfriend.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you as he grinned.

  It felt like the temperature of the room had gone up 20 degrees and you wondered if fanning yourself would have been odd. Instead you scoffed, turning back around to face the window, “You don’t wanna date me.” You swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t see what was going on in your head.

It was his turn to scoff as his hand dropped away from your back. Had he been drawing the circles this entire time? You pressed a hand to your forehead as he answered you, “What do you mean I don’t want to date you? I just asked, didn’t I?” It couldn’t be controlled, a laugh forced its way out of your mouth, hanging in the air for a moment.

  Regaining your train of thought, you shook your head, “No because if you dated me and became my boyfriend then you’d have to do boyfriend things.” You turned back to him, fixing him with a pointed stare, your head tilted slightly as you watched the gears turn in his head.

  “Like what?”

  “Like,” you looked up to the ceiling, several thoughts swirling through your head until you landed on one, “going to work parties with me.” You nodded as he grinned at you, “You’d have to send me good morning texts and go to brunch with my sister and her husband. You would have to buy me flowers and listen to me rant about my bad days at work. Have dinner with my parents. Those are boyfriend things.” Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as you leaned closer, your voice dropping to a whisper and your eyes narrowing, “You hate boyfriend things.” You had him. You knew you did.

  He stared up at you, his mouth set in a straight line and his voice low, “Not if they’re for you.”

  Pulling back from him, you moved closer to the edge of the bed, “Jake…”

  As he noticed your retreat, he shot up, the sheet bunching at his waist, “No, just hear me out. Please.” You sighed, but nodded to him. He held his hands out, moving them slightly as he spoke, “One date. One real date, that’s all I ask.” Pursing your lips, you stared at him, mulling over his request. He smiled as he saw the lines forming on your forehead, “And if I’m not boyfriend material then we forget this whole thing ever happened.”

  Pursing your lips, you nodded, “Okay.” He grinned as he reached forward, his hand resting gently on your neck. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and you quickly pulled back, your hand resting on his chest, “One date.” He nodded before pulling you into another kiss, leaning back and bringing you to the mattress with him. You giggled as he peppered your face with kisses.

[some-pers0n]

Hey guys I was gonna reblog to @avianreptiles's cool reblog thread of your current art WIPs (which you totally should do)(sharing art is cool) andddd I wanted to share something myself. But I didn't write it yet. I then got carried away with writing it. Here ya go.

It's a scene from my Albatross fic that I've been trying to figure out how to do for a while. It's framed as a oneshot for now, but yeah it'll be integrated later on. It features a dead wife and sad aromantic Albatross.

Reblogs are always appreciated!! I adore seeing the notes people leave behind. They make me giggle and kick my feet. I love you guys <33

Albatross never got the point of funerals. Others tried telling him that they were worth his time. "It's a celebration of life!" they would say. They'd frame it as a commendable event. That he should be happy that somebody is dead.

He couldn't imagine a place he wouldn't rather be than here, standing before her grave.

Marlin, his wife, had passed away a few days ago. Albatross was the one to find her. He will never forget the utter horror that was seeing her lying on the floor, bleeding out with a single cut on her neck. She was long gone by the time he got there. He tried everything he could, even desperately begging for his magic to somehow bring her back, but to no avail. She was lost.

It had been a blur from then and up until the funeral. A dazed state of vague emptiness. A fog of numbness. He hadn't cried since discovering her body, something he felt guilty for. Manta and Eel, their very own dragonets, had been bawling nonstop. Even Lagoon was weeping earlier. Surprising that she had emotions.

No, he shouldn't say that. Being petty gets him nowhere. She was so distraught over Marlin's death. Even if he found the ceremony obnoxiously long and overdramatic, especially when she got upset at him refusing to speak, he should be grateful he set this whole thing up. 

Marlin deserved a nice send-off. She deserved a lot better than what she got in life, so she deserved just as much in death.

The grave was in the center of one of the Island Palace's gardens. It was where they got married and was always her favourite spot. Echoes of memories flowed through him. The feeling of warmth watching her tend to the bushes and flowers. The sweetness of seeing Manta take up an interest in her mother's craft. She loved this area.

Now she's memorialized with a grave. A marble statue erected where her body was buried, complete with aquamarines for her eyes.

The sky was overcast and grey. The wind wasn't cold, but humid enough to be slightly uncomfortable. It was as though he was standing in a world where the life was drained from it. Any joy or hope that could've been had decayed.

It was late into the evening. Everyone had already gone up and left. Manta and Eel were put to bed an hour ago. The only one awake in this palace was Albatross himself. He didn't feel too happy with the service. Many mourned the loss of Marlin, but more than anything, Albatross wanted to spend it alone.

"I'm sorry," he said. He didn't know why he said it, but it felt better to hear his voice. "I'm sorry for, well, everything." He glanced at the bushes around them. Some were trampled and stomped on, disturbed by the guests. "I wanted a private event. I wanted it to be just me, the dragonets, and you. I didn't want it to be this whole thing. But, you know, Lagoon insisted." He scoffed.

The statue did not respond. He wasn't expecting it to, but the apathetic silence was deafening.

"A lot of things between us shouldn't have been as public as they were. Lagoon." A faint smile cracked across his snout. "You always said I should've been more assertive. Not let her push me around. And you're right. I really, really should have." 

His expression faded away. "You wouldn't have liked it being like this. I'm sorry about that. I should have been firm with her, but she just kept pushing about it and..." He winced. "She brought up her again. Used her as an argument against me, again. Then, she brought you up. She never said it, but I knew what she meant. She thinks I could've saved you. If I had been there, I could've protected you. I could've gotten to you before you died."

He sat down, folding his wings to his side. The words were spilling out of him. "And she's right. I'm a coward. A stupid, childish fool who's afraid of his own shadow. Because of it, I ruined Sapphire's life. Because of it, I let you die." He tapped his talons against the ground. "I don't think I could do anything to make it up to you for what I've done." 

He glanced up at the statue. He was met with the frozen stare of those teal gemstone eyes.

"You did more than I deserved, quite frankly. You gave me two wonderful dragonets. I cannot thank you enough. If there's one thing I could do for you, it's giving them a life that is better than ours. They are the light of my life." He smiled, lost in thought over them. "I'll be a good father."

He heavily sighed, his grin washed away. "It's a shame they came from Lagoon pressuring me. She wants another animus. Obvious why. I'm sorry that you were roped into all of this." He walked closer to the statue.

"Everything about us was dictated by her, really. Even our own marriage she arranged. Maybe, had you been luckier, you wouldn't have ended up with me. You could have had a lovely life with a better partner. A partner who...actually loved you."

His jaw quivered. "I was never clear about that, but I think you knew. You were the most beautiful dragon I've ever seen. You brought me more joy and happiness into my life than I deserved. But, even as I said my vows on that very night when we were wed, I lied." He bit his tongue. "I never felt more disgusted by myself when I told you 'I love you'. I didn't. I never did."

He blinked, feeling tears well up. "There's...something wrong with me." He looked at his talons. "I don't know whether it's this magic or something I was hatched with, but there's something deeply wrong with me. I wanted to love you. I treated you with so much care and respect. I liked you, Marlin. Every moment we spent together was one I cherished...but I never felt that spark."

His voice began to break. "Every day I wished that somehow I could fix myself. That one morning I would wake up and magically the hole in my heart and begin to feel any sort of attraction or love to you. That we could be together forever. End up like a couple in a storybook, where we rush off into the sunset forever, full of only love with one another."

He rested his head on the statue. "And I'm sorry that I'll never be able to give you that. You deserved someone who could love you in a way that meant something. You deserved a better life than what you were given, and I'm so...so sorry..."

He gave way to incoherent weeping, quietly murmuring to the statue the same thing over and over again. He was sorry. He couldn't do anything to fix it. He could only feel pity for himself. For being incapable of making a stand. For being incompetent when it came to social situations. For being a terrible, horrible partner.

Marlin was dead, and Albatross was left with nothing more than the cold, unfeeling statue that stood before her. As though her life was little more than a name on a garden decoration. A footnote in a long, long history of SeaWing royals. She would be forgotten by the sands of time.

So long as he lived, he would ensure she would be remembered. That, somehow, her story will be recounted even thousands of years later. It was the one thing he could promise.