#camel top coat

[oxfords---notbrogues]

[my-outfitisamasterpiece]

Emmat Watson in Prada head to toe in Milan 24'

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Casual was much harder rule to abide by when Eddie spent more time with you, as facilitated by his daughter. Dialed back was a flirting style you weren't accustomed to, and proved near-impossible to follow when Eddie's lips were pressed to your ear.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, slight scent kink, allusion to jerking off, reader wears eddie's jacket, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 5/20 [wc: 15.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 5: You're Gonna Get Me in Trouble

————

The days of the week lost their meaning in the best way. Turning from one to the next like the colors of the leaves. Falling in and out of obscurity. What was a Monday, when Monday felt like Friday? And what was a Friday, when the familiar clicking sound of your bicycle spokes found him on a Saturday?

The days blurred. The edges sharpened. They were long when the sun was short. They were beautiful, and aggressively tender, including the lows, because the lows themselves used to be the highs.

The days swirled into an everlasting seasoned breeze of cherished moments. Too many to fill the memories of those collecting them. Glimpses into a life of pleasantness–of contentedness–if one were to grasp them.

————

Leather. Vanilla cologne. Spicy deodorant and earthy tobacco.

You grabbed the cuffs of your sweater into your fists and worked your arms down the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket before grabbing your bike from the porch, and setting off on your shortcut through the frosty grass.

The farther you journeyed, the more you smelled like him. The more you sounded like him.

In Robin’s driveway, cigarette smoke overwhelmed your nose, but as your skin warmed from exertion, the nuances appeared. The natural musk clinging to the inside lining, and the artificial fragrances on top, now enveloping you. You turned onto the main road leading to the auto shop, and the chains on the sleeve cuff clinked against the broken zipper. Bouncing your tire up onto the sidewalk, the snap tab collar jangled in time with the small rocks you rode over on the way to the front employee door. You dismounted your bike in a fluid motion, and the supple leather made to fit Eddie creaked and groaned as you got out your keys.

The door opposite you in the garage was ajar, meaning he was smoking in the alleyway.

Quietly, you went to the break room, and said your peace. “Boy’s clothes are always better.”

Standing in front of the coat hooks, you slipped your hands into the pockets and pulled out the items for no other reason than to observe them in remembrance, as if you hadn’t inspected them for hours over the weekend. A half-empty pack of Camels crowded with rolling papers. Translucent green BIC lighter. A grocery receipt from two weeks ago with an obscene amount of pasta and marinara listed on it. A peppermint candy wrapper you could now confirm came from the candy dish on your desk intended for customers. And, of course, a tiny blue high heel shoe belonging to a Barbie doll. Because what father wouldn’t have that in their pocket.

Returning the items from whence they came, you fished a strip of paper out of your jeans, and added it to his treasure.

You removed the warmth you’d become accustomed to, and stared at the coat hook. You glanced down the hallway. Listened for Eddie.

Silence pressed in on you.

Intentionally, after spending more time doing this in bed than you cared to admit, you found his scent to be the strongest on the inside of the collar, and brought it to your nose.

Hugging the jacket to your chest, you inhaled deep, and sighed.

Years of the leather being draped around his neck did wonders for your loneliness since moving here. Last night you caved despite the voice in your head telling you it was weird to find comfort in your coworker’s belongings. As you stared into pitch-black attic, laying alone in a borrowed twin size bed with someone else’s parent’s hand-me-down blankets, cold, and without the glow or noise of the city to keep you company, you surrendered, and wrapped yourself in him. It was a split second decision, quickly overwhelmed by a sensation you hadn’t felt in quite some time. And it was an emotion you were more than happy to shove behind the other clutter in your brain, vowing you’d unpack it some other day, totally. Definitely. You’d absolutely process the heady buzz, and delightful sweat breaking out across your skin at the thought of your coworker’s arms giving you this embrace, and being able to press your nose to the crook of his neck to experience his salty taste on your tongue first-hand.

A squeaky truck passed by on the street, breaking you out of your spell.

“Good God, get a hold on yourself,” you begged aloud, and hung up the jacket.

~~~

The coffee machine sputtered liquid energy into the pot, signifying the end of your morning chores. And yet, Eddie had not made his appearance, whether it was wanted or not, depending on if he was hiding around a corner, or doing the thing he did where he stood next to you and looked like he wanted to say something, but never did.

The back door was still ajar. You poked your head out, and he was there, leaning against the wall. The stubby end of his cigarette was pinched between his forefinger and thumb with a trail of smoke coming off of it.

Early sunrays pierced the tree-lined horizon, gilding the silhouette of his nose in brilliant beauty. He heard you step onto the rocks, and rolled his head to the side to watch you stand between him and his car. The sun caught his hair. Glanced off the gentle slope of his cheek. Caused him to squint one of his eyes, and wrench his mouth into a lopsided grimace.

“Good morning,” he was first to say.

“Good morning,” you replied brightly. “You cut your hair.” By the way his face fell, you gathered he assumed no one would notice, but the feathery edge of his bangs curled higher onto his forehead, flaunting the harsher shadows of his confusion. You reassured him, “It looks good.”

He continued to stare at you without an emotion you could decipher.

“Really good?” you added, thinking he was seeking a better compliment.

With a soft smile and averted gaze, he flicked the ash from his cigarette, and admitted, “Sometimes I have problems vocalizing my thoughts before they’re gone, and I forget you can’t hear them if I don’t blurt them out. Luckily, my daughter demonstrated much better manners than I did, and thanked you for her costume, while I–”

“Waved for an obscenely long time, and then made fun of me,” you finished.

On cue, you both made eyes at each other, and looked away.

The sun couldn’t compete with his smile. The birdsong couldn’t compete with your giggle.

“Yeah,” he exhaled in a croaky groan. “I did do that, didn't I?” You shrugged and told him it didn’t bother you. It was just how you teased each other. “Still, thank you for putting in so much effort to make it special for her. She was crazy excited when she saw it. My uncle, too. I–uh, I appreciate you doing that for us more than I let on.”

“I know you do.” While Eddie may not have shared many of the details of his life prior to your arrival in Hawkins, it was evident in his every decision that people were not frequently kind to him, and the simple act of noticing he trimmed his bangs was something he’d think about for days.

“You think my hair looks good?” he asked, circling back to the original topic.

“The bangs, or everything?”

After a beat of consideration, he ventured, “Everything?”

You tilted your head. “Oh, it’s outdated. Messy. Unprofessional and like you just woke up from a 7-year coma. The worst case of bed head I’ve ever seen. More like a bird’s nest after a storm than anything, but yeah, it suits you. Can’t picture you with any other hairstyle, to be honest.” His expression was a mixture of bafflement, yet also flattery. You put emphasis on the latter. “I love it. It’s wild. I think you look good,” followed by, “for a weirdo,” to dodge the implication of calling him attractive.

In the long seconds that ensued, you rocked from foot to foot, waiting for him to say anything. Do anything besides stare at you with a slight smirk. Anything at all to make you feel like your nervous habits weren’t being examined under a microscope.

Cheeks suitably burning from the shyness of saying too much, you tugged your sleeves into your sweaty palms, and pivoted while saying, “Welp, time for me to be anywhere else on Earth but here.”

You swung open the door to the garage and he spoke up.

“You look pretty today.”

Halting your momentum on a dime, you slid your gaze from the floor to him–to his way of pressing his shoulder blades to the brick wall, leaning his full weight into the pose, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette between his lips, eyes set on you with an irresistible amount of tenderness to them.

You said, “Thank you, handsome,” and left the door open behind you.

But before you walked inside, before you blinked away, you watched that tenderness widen to excitement. You saw the soft curve of his mouth stretch to a smile. Heard him expel his breath in a single stunned laugh. And you listened to his voice fade as he turned his face up to the sky, and took the final drag on his cigarette with a smug mumble of, “Knew it.”

————

The next morning you stared at the full coffee pot suspiciously. The countertop was wiped clean and the powder creamer container was replaced, alongside the sugar packets being restocked.

Still wearing your backpack, you slipped off one strap, swung it around to unzip the top, and put away your lunch in the fridge. While bent over, you surveyed the room again, and narrowed your eyes at the shiny glass pot filled with dark brown coffee.

A certain someone was feeling generous today, helping you out with your morning chores, and that certain someone was currently sneaking behind your desk.

Pretending to mull over who could do such a courteous thing for you, you ran your finger over the packets. Neatened the coffee stirrers. Hummed a pleasing tune as you left the room with heavy steps. Stomp, stomp, stomp, all the way to the end of the hallway, meandering just before you would turn to sit at your desk.

“Raaah!” Eddie jumped from behind the wall–hunched over, hands clawed at you, face etched with utter deviousness, grinning broadly to bare his teeth.

You took the coffee stirrer and thwacked him on the forehead before sidestepping to your chair.

His wickedness withered away. “Hey,” he complained, rubbing the sore spot. “How did you–?”

“Your reflection, dork.”

He clicked his tongue and peered down the hall at the full coffee pot and microwave door, both giving away his movements. “Damnit.”

————

Lunches together became the norm.

Even after Carl and Kevin left the room to ruminate over the real clunker of a car that came in yesterday, you and Eddie remained crowded together on one side of the round table, eating.

You swiped the crumbs from your sandwich into your container. “How’s Adrie’s sleep been? I thought the whole ‘regression’ thing was just for babies.”

Eddie spoke with his mouth full of half-chewed spaghetti, gesturing with his fork, “Usually, yeah. It’s more like she has nightmares ‘nd stuff. Scared of the dark. Monsters under the bed. That sorta thing.” He hadn’t even swallowed before dipping his garlic toast in the marinara sauce and taking a bite. “It’s gotten better, though. I think only one nightmare these past two weeks.”

It happened last Wednesday. You remembered. After your boss and the other guys went home, Eddie fell asleep at the table, and you turned off the lights for him, letting him rest after taking his work jacket off the hook and placing it over his shoulders. He always pretends to not be awake when you do that, but you could tell from his breathing when he was awake and when he wasn’t.

“That’s good,” you said. “I had a talk with her on Halloween about how the dark wasn’t so scary; how she was a bat and bats love the dark, and I’m a mouse, we’re nocturnal, nighttime is just like daytime and there’s nothing to be afraid of, yada yada..” You trailed off upon seeing the faint shadow of his dimple flourish. “What?”

“That’s a genius move,” he said, impressed. “You sure you’re not a parent?”

You wanted to continue the conversation, you really did, but..

Sighing, you closed your eyes. “Eddie, you have sauce–just–all over your mouth.”

“–Shit, sorry.” Intent on rushing to the stack of napkins near the sink, he didn’t notice how close you were, and stumbled into your chair when standing up.

He caught himself on you. His hands were heavy on your shoulders as he regained his balance. Landing there on accident, yet it felt on purpose when they remained a moment longer, benefitting from your innate response to clasp your hands over his wrists and ask if he were all right, looking up at him with wide eyes of concern and your cheek pressed to his forearm.

He cursed another apology from above your head, and withdrew his grip–but only after you let go, too.

————

“Oh, Adrie, I found that shoe you were.. looking.. for?”

It was the weekend before Eddie managed to wear his leather jacket. He reached into the pocket after coming inside from smoking on the makeshift porch attached to the front of his uncle’s trailer, and uncurled his fingers.

The blue high heel rolled across his palm along with a folded piece of paper.

Jutting his bottom lip in confusion, he gave his daughter the shoe, and as she galloped to her room to play with her dolls, he opened the note.

sorry i stole your jacket

 come to me for a prize when you find this :)

if you find this

So that’s why you gave him that weird expectant look every morning..

————

Facing you on the other side of your desk after a customer left the lobby with their receipt, Eddie held up the note pinched between his index and middle fingers. “What’s my prize?”

Elated, your eyes lit up at the sight, and you motioned for him to give it to you while you held the phone to your ear with your shoulder, and continued your conversation with the auto parts dealer. “So–Yeah, three of those,” you went on, making a note with your pencil on where you left off in the catalog. “Yes, the smaller size, please.” You wrote something on the back of the paper and gave it to him.

Eddie snatched it–darting his eyes over your handwriting–and his excitement melted.

you finally cleaned out your pockets

    your prize is a job well done ♡

“That’s not a prize,” he said, face falling into a pouty glare.

Unamused by his inability to keep his mouth shut when you were clearly busy, you turned your hand over as if to ask ‘what did you expect?’ and directed a question at the man over the phone.

Not one to be ignored, Eddie began searching through the candy dish for a treasure to appease his appetite for a reward, and spilled peppermints over the side as he dug to the bottom.

You made a shushing gesture at him, widening your eyes at the crinkling wrappers interrupting you. “You’re out of those? Okay, then, I’ll move on to the door handle replacement. Let me just find the model number,” you spoke evenly into the receiver.

Eddie grunted, not finding what he was looking for.

You snapped your fingers at him, and pressed the phone to your chest to muffle yourself, “Do you not have a job or something?”

He held up a pink Now and Later, and asked in a stage-whisper, “Where’s all the butterscotch candy?”

“Bu–What?” you balked. “You ate them all? Those are for customers, Eddie! Yes, I’m still here,” you rattled off a make and model for the car. Eddie’s eyebrows rose at the quick switch from your speaking voice, to your cloyingly sweet customer service nasally octave, and back down to your annoyed tone at him. “Stop eating candy not meant for you and get back to work. You’re distracting me, you absolute nuisance.”

“Can you buy more butterscotch ones? Those are my favorite.”

“Sure, gramps, I’ll get right on it.”

Undeterred, or perhaps spurred on by earning your attention, he flattened his stomach to the ledge, and leaned over, invading your space to grab a stack of Post-it notes from the far end of your desk. Your Post-It notes. Your Post-It notes in his scuffed up, greasy hands, and his wavy hair sweeping from over his shoulders to block you from reading the lines of numbers and letters you were about to recite.

“What’re you..” You gave up when he grabbed your favorite pen.

You slid the catalog into your lap and turned away from him, facing the wall as you ordered the rest of the parts you needed, ending the call with an unintentional chat about the mild autumn weather–two minutes tops–and spun around to no one. Eddie had gone out to the garage. But not before sticking a note right smack dab in the middle of your desk where you couldn’t ignore it.

BUY MORE BUTTERSCOTCH

                                     -EM

His initials. It was silly, but two months into knowing him, and you’d never heard his last name. It wasn’t said aloud by him, his friends, or the other mechanics. Maybe you’d remember to ask him what it is one day.

————

Eddie had one rule–no reading over his shoulder when he was writing in his black notebook.

“Oh, chill,” you scolded him. “I’m here to microwave my lunch, not read your diary.”

Mr. Moore was out of office and the photocopier was broken, meaning you had to bike to the drug store and use theirs, missing your lunch break. With Eddie being the only mechanic in today, and having no customers, he made himself at home over the hour you were gone to catch up on.. whatever it was he was catching up on.

He slammed the thin red book shut and flipped it over. And when he thought that wasn’t good enough, he smashed the looseleaf papers back into his binder, closed it, and scrambled for his notebook, tearing through it like a wild animal until he found a blank page. Quick–He spun in his chair and laced his fingers in his lap, donning a weak smile. About as composed as a floundering fish. 

A pink flush crept up his neck, and his heavy breathing caused his unbuttoned coveralls to open wider over his chest, showing more than a glimpse at his black shirt underneath, stretched taut across his pecs.

His pencil dropped to the floor.

“Uh, hey. Didn’t hear you walk in.”

“Yeah, that much was obvious,” you snorted.

“What took you so long? I thought it’d be, like, 15 minutes tops. You could’ve read the manual and fixed our own copier by now.”

You popped open the lid to your container, and placed it in the microwave. “I’d rather jump off a bridge than sit there and read instructions. Anyway, I took a detour to see an apart–”

“Actually, that’s a good question. Would you jump off a bridge if someone asked, with your policy and all?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.” You punched two minutes on the timer. “As I was saying–Do you know that motel that closed down on Cypress? Bobbie told me it was a little mom-and-pop place that struggled to compete with the Motel 6.”

Perplexed as to where this was going, he squinted, and answered with a tepid, “Yeah?”

“Well,” you explained, “apparently someone bought the building and has been renovating them into apartments. I guess it wasn’t in too bad of a shape, with them just knocking down a few walls to make them into two bedrooms, and stuff. Bigger kitchens, whatever.” His features softened. The fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes lessened, and the tenseness in his jaw weakened. “Bobbie met the guy who’s renovating them and, uh, they’re gonna be available sometime at the beginning of next year, and the projected rent isn’t that bad. Really manageable for the both of us. As long as her dad is getting better, we could be moving out soon. It’d be nice to not live in their attic anymore, y’know.” You ended it almost on a lilt, as if it were a question, but maybe you were just goading him into saying what was on his mind, because with the way he was looking at you, you had no idea what had him so captivated.

“I–Yeah, I know the place you’re talking about. It’s just a few minutes from here.” And he added helpfully, “It’d be a shorter commute to work.”

“Yeah!” you exhaled, nodding in agreement. “Shorter commute.”

“Yeah,” he said again, allowing the information to wash over you both in different ways. “Closer to the grocery store, too.”

“Yeah. Yeah, and the laundromat.”

Eddie raised his brows. “Oh, nice. I use that place when our washing machine is broken.”

By some miracle you kept your mouth shut, saving yourselves the trouble of listing more establishments you’d be near when you moved. He must’ve realized the awkwardness as well, because he fidgeted with his fingers sheepishly.

“So, does that mean you’re staying in Hawkins?”

Hearing him take interest in your future kicked up your heart rate. It could be coming from a place of blunt curiosity, or conversational politeness, but like hell if your adrenaline didn’t surge from the unmistakable way he leaned in, hanging onto your every word, as the warm hum of the microwave served as background music to the glimmer of eagerness in his eyes.

Downplaying your excitement, you told him one eensy-weensy tiny caveat about your situation, “I am, but Robin’s moving in with Vickie at some point–don’t know when, but probably by the end of summer when she goes back to Indianapolis.. so.”

“And after that?”

“Dunno. I can float rent and bills by myself for a few months, but I’m not sure after that. Could tag along with them to the city, or stay here and, y’know, keep answering phones and annoying my favorite mechanic like I do now. Maybe even find someone willing to go on another date with me, since my first one was a bust.” He didn’t laugh. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll end up back in New York and audition for Cats.” You threw it out there as an outlandish possibility without serious consideration, and you thought you conveyed that through your jokey tone.

The microwave beeped.

You turned around, missing the way Eddie averted his gaze down and away before speaking.

“Just waiting for the next big thing to catch your eye and sweep you away, huh?”

“Not the first time you said that,” you commented teasingly, thinking you were still playing with each other. You grabbed your steaming rice and stirred it with a fork from the cutlery drawer. “What’s wrong? Afraid of not having a pretty girl sit across from you at lunch every day? Scared some other mechanic’s gonna need a receptionist, and then I’ll be gone? Or are you worried you’ll actually miss me if I leave?”

You giggled at your melodramatic phrasing and waited for him to respond. And when he didn’t, you looked over at him.

His shoulders rose and fell with his steady breaths as he thumbed through his notebook, mouth in a flat line.

Confusion stung embarrassment to your cheeks. Holding the hot tupperware, you asked, “Are we not eating together?”

He opened the binder and shifted closer to the table, scraping the chair legs across the tile, signifying the end of the conversation. Worse, still, he spoke in what would be a casual tone, if it weren’t for his rejective back facing you. “Actually, I’m trying to finish this,” he said, putting his pencil to the page and continuing the sentence where he left off.

“Oh.. Okay.”

You walked out the room and sat at your desk. Alone. Glaring at the stupid grains of rice and moving them around with your stupid fork and slouching over to rest your stupid cheek on your stupid fist.

Were you really less interesting than whatever he was writing in that notebook of his?

“Maybe I will find a bridge to jump off of,” you concluded, deciding you’d clock out on time in order to preserve your dignity. At least Robin would be home, and she would be honored to hang out with you.

————

An apology of sorts waited for you on your desk the next morning.

Three fresh-picked flowers in a chipped vase with a torn square of lined paper beside it.

     YOURE RIGHT

  I WOULD MISS

     EATING  WITH YOU

IM SORRY

                    -EM

The bud vase was from his home, the paper from his spiral bound notebook, and the dew-coated flowers from Hawkin’s soil–the last of their kind before the season put them to sleep.

Eddie wouldn’t be coming in today; he had the day off to take Adrie to the dentist. So, he woke up early to leave this peace offering when he could be sleeping in.

You set your elbows on you desk, and laced your fingers to rest your chin atop them, taking in the finer details of the periwinkle blue asters. After a moment, you traced your knuckle along your grin, and nibbled at the skin.

“So silly.”

————

And the morning after that, Eddie strayed from his bee line for coffee to approach you with a familiar meek posture; head lowered in deference, and a pouty expression of remorse on his lips.

The glass candy dish shined like a chest of golden coins awaiting him.

He folded his forearms on the ledge, and picked one of the butterscotch candies on top, pulling either end of the wrapper to unfurl it until the lustrous surface of the sweet flashed under the lobby’s lights.

You sank into your chair and watched him sweep his gaze across your desk in search of the flowers, and after not seeing them, he popped the candy in his mouth, and mumbled, “Does this mean you forgive me?”

Flitting your focus back and forth between his big eyes, you peered into each one, drawing out the moment by clicking your pen in thought, forcing him to sweat and fiddle with his wrapper in the echoey room. “Hmm..” You crossed your legs and shined your fingernails on your shirt, inspecting them.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, favoring the side with his dimple.

Tipping his head so he was looking at you from under his lashes, he begged, “Come on, haven’t I groveled enough for you to have lunch with me later?” Bravery swelled his chest, jerked his chin in a smug nod once he had your attention. “Got you flowers and everything.”

You locked eyes with him for one, entire, sweet second, in which he winked at you.

Interestingly enough, you remembered you had paperwork to grab from Mr. Moore’s office, and rushed out sloppy sentences as you went, laying the sarcasm on thick to disguise the hitch in your throat, “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll have lunch with you if it’s that important to your livelihood, since you can’t live without me, or whatever.” You closed the office door behind you.

God, your face had never burned so hot.

~~~

And it was that night, when Eddie was alone with himself, he thought of the morning smiles through the glass window, and the afternoon laughs shared at the lunch table. The way you sat next to him and he moved his feet outward, spreading his legs to occupy as much space as possible. And he thought about how you accommodated him. Nudging his knee at first to test the waters, and when he responded by closing the distance between your shoe and his, you leaned towards him at the height of the story you were telling, and the length of your thigh pressed against him in a satisfying squish. He wasn’t entirely sure it was on purpose, but with the state he was in, it mattered not.

Eddie fluttered his eyes closed from blinking lazily at the shower head, stroking away the fleeting guilt of wondering if he should be testing his boundaries by thinking about you while doing this, even as his lips parted with silence, and his stomach tensed from pleasure.

Even as he held his shaky breath to keep himself mute, and his hand moved with renewed swiftness from his release mixing with his spit, and he watched the mess gather in his palm before washing it down the drain, he convinced himself.

This was so casual.

————

Saturday you went to the grocery store–AKA, hell day in hell land. You only needed a few ingredients, and figured getting out of the house for a while was better than calling Robin and asking her to pick them up for you.

However, life mocked you. After a heart-racing encounter with a truck narrowly missing you on the highway, you slowed to an agonizing stop every few feet from people blockading the aisles, taking their sweet time to decide what type of oil they wanted, when you could’ve snatched the one you needed, and moved on if they–would–just–move–a–freakin’–inch.

Least to say, by the time you made it to the baking aisle, you were mentally over it, and yet..

The cocoa powder was on the top shelf, taunting you by sight, just out of reach.

You huffed.

Rising onto your tiptoes, you employed your entire wingspan into clawing for it–tasting victory with your fingertips–but not enough to grasp the slippery plastic.

And of course no one else on the aisle was taller than you. They were hunched over walking canes, and clutching their layers of cardigans over their chests.

And of course, as you were stepping onto the bottom shelf for leverage, and becoming intimate with the bags of flour you inadvertently shoved your face into, your worst nightmare loomed behind you.

You knew it was Eddie before he spoke. You knew his gait, his smell, the sound of his laugh when he kept it in his chest. You knew his radiating warmth, his soft grunt, the way he took a sharper breath and held it for a beat before releasing it as a teasing remark. You knew the magnitude of his presence even when he was being demure. How respectful he was to invite himself into your personal space without crossing a line, squeezing his firm hand on the meat of your shoulder to let you know he was there, and heeding a modest gap between your bodies as his unbuttoned shirt brushed your sides.

He backed away half a step, and waited until you were turned around in the crowded space of him and the metal shelves to wave the tub above your head. The rings decorating his fingers glinted as he boasted, “Shucks, looks like it’s the last one too.”

You held your palm up and dropped your head to the side. “Are you gonna make me jump for it like Adrie, or are you gonna be a grown up and give it to me?”

“Give it to you? Maybe I need” –He read the label– “Cocoa powder.”

“You so do not.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, lifting his chin at your bored expression. “If you want it..” He shifted his stance and sank into his hip, curling his bottom lip over his smirk as he peered down at you, prolonging your misery instead of just finishing his sentence. “..You can use the magic words.”

What an infuriating immovable object. Blocking everything in your view that wasn’t his red flannel thrown over a wrinkled white tee, and his rebellious hair eclipsing the fluorescent lights.

Just the worst person to rescue you from your predicament. Standing so close you could scrutinize the permanent five-o-clock shadow on his upper lip, and the wispy curls composing his sideburns.

So annoying how his hair reached the shadow of his clavicle, where a chain link necklace showed beneath his shirt, and the tendons in his neck stretched an alluring contour from the hollow of his throat to the underside of his square jaw.

His shoulders shook with a quelled snicker. “Come on,” he sang with an infuriating timbre, swaying the cocoa above you.

You met his steeped tea eyes, and insisted in a warm honey tone, “Please stop being a dickhead, and thank you for not being an asshole and handing over the cocoa.. Fucker.”

Eddie’s face cracked into the biggest grin. Beside you, a blushing grandmother shot you a scathing glare, and grabbed a bag of sugar from the shelf before tsking and walking off.

Bestowing you the tub in your hand, he wrapped his palm over top of it and didn’t let go as he bent to you. “Hey now,” he said in a lower register, voice cracking on the consonants from the remnants of his laugh, “no bad words in front of my kid. Or the elderly. Show some respect.”

You perked up. All transgressions in regards to baking ingredients were forgotten when you spotted his daughter sitting cross legged inside the shopping cart behind him. “Adrie!” You pushed Eddie out of the way, and wrapped her in a tender, heartwarming hug.

“Miss Mouse!” she cheered in equal enthusiasm, dropping the box of cereal she was reading aloud to lock her arms around your neck.

You giggled at the giddy feeling soaring in your chest, and encouraged her, “Yeah, I’m Miss Mouse.” The clunky braids Eddie put in her hair smashed against your cheek as you held each other tighter.

Taking inventory of the sparse groceries she was amongst, you spotted a pattern. “You like pasta, huh?” It was an easy guess considering there were three bags of noodles with two large jars of sauce standing out from the rice dinners and a few cans of soup. Practically a replica of the receipt you found in his pocket. But she corrected you.

“No. Daddy’s just bad at cooking.”

Your eyes bulged, and you pursed your lips to refrain from bursting out in impolite laughter. Standing up straight, you combed a few stray curls behind her ear, and whispered, “Geez, kids are ruthless.”

Eddie shifted his weight to his other foot, and gestured at the groceries with a pencil before striking out something on the short list he had written one on a pad of paper. “Eh, Wayne’s the chef of the family. She knows what she’s getting when it’s my turn to cook.”

You hummed at the new information, and went to pick your hand basket off the floor when something caught your eye–and it definitely wasn’t the leather loafers on the old man shuffling past you.

Eddie, obviously, wasn’t dressed in coveralls.

His black tennis shoes were nearly identical to the white ones he wore on Halloween, with the floppy tongues out against his light-wash blue jeans. (Very, very nice fitted jeans with holes in the knees, and a rip stretching wider across the curve of his thigh.) Dragging your gaze up, you clocked the interesting belt buckle he wore on your way to admire the soft outline of his stomach pressed against his shirt. He moved his flannel aside to stuff his shopping list in his pocket–struggling due to how tight his pants were–and incidentally showed off a smidgen of skin above the waistband of his plaid boxers.

Just a hint of skin marked with the bottom lines of a larger tattoo and you were salivating–

A loud intercom announcement sang a jingle about tortillas, and you were reminded of where you were, and where Eddie was, a few feet away from you, well aware of the places your gaze stalled before landing on his smirk.

He caught you checking him out.

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “Find everything you were looking for?”

“I, uh–” you stuttered two words out before your brain threatened you to shut the fuck up. As an alternative, you snapped into finger guns aimed in the opposite direction, and made up an excuse. “I forgot to get.. something.”

“Forgot what?”

You blinked. “Milk.”

“Milk, huh?”

“Yep.. Milk.” Sweating under the heat of his narrowed eyes, you made yourself scarce. “Welp. Hope to never see you outside of work again, because this was we-ird,” you enunciated in lilt as you strutted away. But just as you were about to disappear around the corner, you stopped, and said, “Adrie, however, I’d love to see you any day of the week.”

She turned in the shopping cart and waved. “Bye, Miss Mouse.” Eddie was too busy watching you make a fool of yourself to correct her, letting the nickname stick.

Rounding the end cap display of premature Christmas themed candies and bakeware, you held your gaze steadfast ahead as you passed by someone not-so-inconspicuously trying to blend in with the background, wearing a red managerial vest, and holding a clipboard over their mouth.

Robin lowered the employee break schedule, and whispered rather loudly, “He’s so in love with you.”

You groaned. “Can you not spy on us?”

She sweetened you up, “Seriously, he was totally checking you out when you bent over.”

You turned down an aisle and felt her hot on your heels. Yielding in front of the boxes of chamomile tea, you examined one, and asked with an air of disinterest as if you were inquiring about the weather, “Was he now?”

Screwing her face up, she nodded empathically, “Majorly.”

“Good, because I want to crawl in a hole and die.”

~~~

Six feet under seemed like a better fate than what you were dealt.

Though you gave it your best effort, meandering about until enough time had elapsed that you figured he’d left by now, you made your way to the front of the store, and stopped. Eddie had the end of his cart angled towards the registers. Adrie held a package of cookies out for him to approve of, and in a depressing moment of realization, you watched him revert to the person you met him as.

The playfulness was gone. His face was cast with the exhaustion of being around strangers for too long. His lips were bitten raw. His chest sank with a long exhale, and his stomach caved as he looked at his daughter asking for something the other parents around him could throw in their cart without a second thought, and he had to disappoint her.

He didn’t say ‘no’ exactly, but the nervousness of doing so was there. “They’re not on the list,” he begged her in a defeated whisper to understand and not make a scene. He couldn’t handle a scene.

Not yet five-years-old and she sensed his stress and put them back.

“Hey, cutie.” You didn’t know you spoke until Eddie jerked his head up, and you witnessed the change in his mood wash over him. Turned on a dime. He grinned at you in genuine relief, and in a bout of awkwardness, you smiled at Adrie in particular to imply your initial greeting was for her. Not that he wasn’t cute, too. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

He pushed his cart forward, taking the next spot in line, and peered into your hand basket, assessing the Reese’s Pieces, baking goods, tea, and distinct lack of one item. “Hmm, got lost on your way to the milk, huh? Or did you need someone to reach it for you?” He placed his gallon of milk on the conveyor belt first for emphasis. You rolled your eyes.

The two of you must’ve appeared cozier than you gave off, because the cashier motioned at you–specifically, he pointed from Eddie’s groceries to yours. “You two together?”

Eddie froze. Just a useless doe-eyed deer in headlights. You, on the other hand, swallowed your spit before you choked on it, and realized what he meant.

“No, no, separate,” you answered, taking a plastic divider from him and putting it after Eddie’s bag of red delicious apples and before Robin’s dad’s tea.

You stifled your giggle as your beloved coworker fumbled into action after the exchange dawned on him. Bouncing between bagging his groceries, finding the cereal box for Adrie so she could finish tracing the maze on the back, and wiggling his wallet out of his back pocket. The chain attached to it clinked as he rifled through the papers in the biggest slot. They didn’t fit quite right like proper money would. They didn’t look quite right, either. Printed in muted red, purple, green, and blue like Monopoly money. Big text on the front with a picture of the Liberty Bell. Large numbers in the corner with fine print beside it.

Food stamps.

They were food stamps, and it was the middle of the month, and he didn’t have many left.

He counted two of them out, and hesitated, choosing to add a few dollars to meet the total, and handed them over.

Eddie had no reason to feel embarrassed. This was his life. This was how he fed his daughter. But still, he snuck a glance at you, and you looked away so he didn’t think you were staring, even though you were. You were. Not from a place of judgment, but of natural curiosity. Unfortunately, as you directed your gaze elsewhere, you noticed other people around you weren’t as gracious. Eyeing Eddie with cruelty behind their study of the town freak coming inside their territory and depending on their honest wealth to pay for his food.

He’d only begun to stop chewing on his lips when he left the store. Exiting swiftly to begin the process of calming his anxiety as he loaded his car with groceries, knowing he had meals to eat, even if the price he paid stung his ego.

You went through the motions of bagging your groceries in your backpack, and listened to your gut.

Outside, you unchained your bike and put your bag in the wire basket attached to the handles, squinting in the noonday sun as you walked it to the back of the parking lot where Eddie was placing the plastic bags into the trunk of his car. No one parked on either side of him. Not a notable thing, but with how the store was packed, it stood out.

Eddie heard your wheel spokes click as you neared, and schooled the indications of worse emotions from his face to keep you from prying, but he frowned anyway when you passed him to talk to his daughter instead.

The rear door on the passenger’s side was propped open. You flapped your hand at her to get her attention, and she stretched her arm out as far as her car seat allowed in effort to link your fingers. “See you later, girlie,” you said, squeezing her hand in lieu of a proper hug. “Be good for your dad, alright?”

“I’m always good,” she responded, giving you an assured nod of angelic innocence. Eddie barked a laugh, and closed the trunk.

“You can’t swindle her,” he told Adrie. “She knows all about the fit you threw the other morning when I wouldn’t let you bring your stuffed animals to school.” She cut him a sassy glare at being called out.

“Don’t listen to him,” you consoled her. “You’re perfect.” She beamed at you, and you paralleled her delight as you let go of her to smack Eddie’s hand away from your ribs. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. Gotta get this milk in the fridge, y’know.”

You stole a coy look at him reveling in what you hoped wouldn’t become a running joke, and steered your bike away, saying another final goodbye to Adrie.

“Not gonna say goodbye to me?” he asked with an aching amount of pitifulness.

“Ch’yeah.” You swung your leg over the frame, put your feet to the pedals. Ensuring you were a decent distance apart, you called out, “You’re right! I should respect my elders.” You waved and shouted at him pointedly, “Farewell, Eddie!”

He fixed his lazy grin on his daughter, who was laughing like it was the funniest thing she’d ever witnessed, and told her with utmost fondness, “Saw that one coming from a mile away.”

————

Sunday morning, Adrie threw him for a loop.

“I want Miss Mouse to come to my play,” she said, spearing the scrambled eggs on her plate with the tines of her plastic Little Mermaid themed fork. “Can you invite her for me?”

Eddie went rigid. The triangle shaped extras from her pancakes being cut into stars flopped off his fork, paused mid-air on the way to his already stuffed mouth. He chewed slowly. Methodically. Swallowing the syrupy sweetness coating his tongue, biding his time as he hunched deeper over his plate, and stared her down while his uncle took special interest in her request.

Wayne wasn’t able to make it this year, and Adrie was quick to think of a suitable replacement.

With a voice scratchy from cigarettes, he directed his question at his nephew, “Miss Mouse?”

Eddie shut him down with a diplomatic answer without breaking eye contact with his daughter. “Adrie’s nickname for the receptionist at work.”

“Oh! The one who did the costume, and went trick-or-treating with you.”

He sounded much too happy, much too chipper for Eddie’s liking, and when he withdrew his gaze from Adrie to pin it on Wayne, the sharp rush of annoyance at the twinkle in his uncle’s eye manifested in a low, tempered correction for him to drop it. “My coworker from the auto shop, where I’m lucky to have the job that I do.”

Wayne wasn’t having it. He leaned in, and matched his intensity, loading his words with a much deeper meaning than the type of conversation they could have in front of Adrie. He spoke to him man-to-man. “The receptionist who is nice to you and Adrie, and, understandably, is being asked to go to a small event at her school.”

“I know what she’s asking,” Eddie replied from behind his hand. “Stop acting like you don’t.”

“Daddy, please,” Adrie begged, kicking his shin under the table. Eddie inhaled sharply and scooted away.

Wayne looked at him.

Adrie looked at him.

His rules, convictions, and morals of the workplace looked at him, rising as a tense pressure in his chest. Eddie sighed them out.

He was weak.

————

Sunday night, you and Robin were up to your usual bullshit.

Stress baking, and stress baking.

Her house was dimmed to only the small lights above the stove and sink, painting the room in an intimate mood of warmth bouncing off the smoky haze clouding the cramped space from the counter where you transferred a tray of hot cookies to a cooling rack, and she swayed behind you to the sultry Cher record spinning in the distance, seeming far away with her deep vocals melding into loops in your sleepy highs.

“Eddie’s beyond in love with you,” Robin said for the hundredth time, probably.

“He is not,” you argued for the hundredth time, probably. “Can you get me a bag for these?” The double chocolate cookies with Reese’s Pieces on top were ready to be put away to make room for the oatmeal ones.

“I just don’t get why you think he doesn’t like you–Oops.” While reaching for the ziploc bags from the top of the refrigerator, she accidentally knocked down a piece of artwork hanging on the door. She tossed you the box and picked the magnet up, along with the drawing of a mouse, owl, and bat off the floor, and put them back into place. “I mean, the way he looks at you every time you speak..” she trailed off in a wistful, airy breath. “So romantic.”

You answered her dreamy grin with a melancholic shrug of your own. “Yeah, but you don’t see all the other times he looks at me.”

Robin persevered. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.. He’s really–” You struggled for a word, interrupted by the sound of roiling bubbles behind you. “He’s really confusing.”

Exhaling at the ceiling, she asked, “Confusing how? Seems pretty clear to me.”

You groaned. Robin jabbed her elbow into your arm and offered you the bong, and when you showed her your greasy fingers, she turned it around and held it to your lips, lighting it for you until your lungs ached from a full inhale and you gave her a thumbs up to pull the stem.

Different place, same old bullshit. Smoking the last of your combined stash of weed you moved here with while bitching about life. It was hardly the first bowl of the night–or even the third–and the sentences you were trying to string together lulled into the drowsy dregs at the back of your mind.

You dropped your head back and sighed the smoke out. “He gets weird sometimes.”

“He’s always been weird.”

Shaking your head at her, you shifted the tone of the night to a somber one. Serious. Reflective.

Rolling the sugar cookie dough into balls, you recounted Eddie’s most recent rejection. “Last week I was telling him how we were hoping to move out soon, and he was giving off signals and asking questions like it was leading somewhere, but then I ran my stupid mouth, and it’s like he flipped a switch. He just stopped talking to me for the rest of the day.”

She put the bong down on the counter next to the tiny vase holding three flowers, and crossed her arms. “Ran your mouth how?”

You groaned louder into the hot wave of heat fanning your face from opening the oven door. “The dude will seriously flirt with me from clock in to clock out, but I–I dunno. I think I lay it on too thick, and it freaks him out. Like suddenly he realizes I’m serious, and he’s not into it. I’m pretty sure that’s what happened last week, anyway. We were going back and forth listing the pros of me living closer to work, and the cons of you eventually moving in with Vickie, and I kinda made a pass at him..”

“A pass how?”

You drew your brows in, and blinked your droopy eyes in a concentrated effort to recall the conversation. “..To be honest, I can’t remember. It was along the lines of me hinting that I’d want a second date with him. Which I only said because he seemed interested after I told him we were staying in Hawkins, but whatever. Guess I read it wrong.”

Perhaps too astute, your best friend in the entire world navigated your love life with undue keenness in spite of how blitzed you two were, breaking into dumb giggle fits at, quite literally, you dropping a spoon. “How obvious was this hint of yours?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You waved off the notion before you could grow attached to it. “We’re still coworkers, so I need to dial it back, regardless.”

“I think you should dial it up.”

“If I dialed it any more up, I’d get an HR complaint.”

“You don’t have HR,” she reminded you.

Squinting, you paused mixing the chocolate chips into the next batch of cookies. “I think I am HR?”

You handed her the pyrex bowl since it was her turn to roll them into cookies, and as she snacked on the raw dough, you filled the ziploc bag with more treats, stuffing it full.

Cher sang about starting over and finding love again.

The drawing on the fridge was in your periphery, as was the vase. Reminders of how kind, and gentle, and sweet Eddie and his daughter were. You were bound to misread his flirtations, but there was no harm in matching them, right? As long as you didn’t cross any lines, yeah? Just followed his lead and stopped when he made it clear it wasn’t welcomed.

Yeah.

Dialed back. You could do dialed back.

————

This was new.

It was early afternoon when you closed the manila folder of invoices, and directed your attention to Eddie, who, for the first time, imposed himself on your side of the desk.

He acted brave when he was timid. A blatant facade, still hesitant to commit to crossing the threshold past the invisible line where your desk ended and the hallway began. Made himself smaller by leaning on the wall behind you, giving you room to leave if you wanted. Not yet courageous enough to take his hand away from playing with the ends of his hair over his rosy cheeks. “So–um–Adrie’s class is putting together a Thanksgiving play, and she requested your attendance by name,” he finished with an adorable pout of your moniker, “Miss Mouse.”

You sat up straighter with lifted brows.

Thinking he was doing you a favor, he dropped the formalities, and gave you an out–a carefully worded out to avoid any cheeky response about your policy, “It’s gonna be a bunch of rambunctious toddlers singing off key, and not remembering their lines. It’s cool if you don’t want to go, I’ll tell her you were busy or somethin’. She’ll understand.”

You gripped the armrests in a burst of enthusiasm. “What? Of course I wanna go! When is it?”

Eddie was unconvinced. He crossed his arms, and bent at the waist to better assess if you knew what you were getting into. “Uh, Wednesday around lunch time–we can be out and back during our break if we hurry–but I’m serious about the little kids being obnoxious part. You don’t have to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” It was a rhetorical question he was going to answer, but you knocked the air from his lungs with one simple sentence. “I want to be there for her.”

Warmth bloomed. Spread throughout his body. The things he suppressed. Taking over all at once.

“You said Wednesday around lunch time?” you clarified. He nodded dumbly, a bit distracted. Your grin grew. “Both Mr. Moore and Carl are taking a half-day to start their Holiday early..” you began, and waited for the realization to cross his features.

“So we could just..”

“Lock up, and..”

“Take the rest of the day off too,” Eddie finished with an undertone of pride. He’d have to work extra hard to complete the cars he was working on before then, but the idea was genius. Playing hooky under his boss’ nose like he was a teenager again.

There was perhaps more he wanted to say, but the phone rang.

You answered and kept the exchange short, using your normal speaking voice. “Robin’s dad is being discharged from the hospital today,” you told him after hanging up. “I’m gonna clock out early to help prepare the house for when he gets here.”

Eddie watched you tidy up your desk in preparation to leave, and figured he should get back to work.

Picking up where he left off, he sank into the passenger’s seat of the Ford Taurus outside, and ran a mental checklist of things he still needed to do. Or he tried, rather. He was mostly sitting there daydreaming about potential scenarios, until he saw you come from the breakroom with your jacket in hand, and left out the front door, waving goodbye as you went.

Two dramatic minutes passed.

The quiet warehouse amplified the aural representation of his loneliness.

Eddie frowned. He wasn’t about to attribute the weather to your proximity, but he was certain the temperature in the garage dropped when you weren’t in the office. Or, maybe, he lost the pretty thing distracting him every few minutes, and he had the time to reflect on how badly he wanted a smoke break in the sun to warm him up.

He went inside to get his jacket from the breakroom, and instead of encountering a pack of Camels in his pocket, he grasped an oddly shaped object, and wrangled it out.

bobbie & i made too many

    share with adrie & your uncle!

                      ♡

An array of cookies surprised him. Several flavors, in fact. Some with fun toppings, some plain.

He smiled.

Well. Smiling would be putting it mildly.

Acting on impulse, he (accidentally) crushed the bag to his chest, and made a high-pitched noise of glee in his throat, absolutely smitten. Eddie hadn’t received a sweet gesture like this in years. If ever. Ironically blessed with the allure of being older in high school, he couldn’t distinguish the genuine crushes girls may have had on him from the fake love letters people stuffed in his locker to mess with him. But this? This was sincere. Even if the intention behind the cookies were to pawn them off because you made too many, you still thought of him and Adrie.

Too excited, he opened the bag and went to eat one, but a distinct odor itched his nose–one he was too intimate with to miss.

He held the baggie up and sniffed, then smelled the cookies. Inhaled the acrid scent clinging to the plastic, and nibbled on one of the innocuous looking treats.

He consulted the note again.

share with adrie

You didn’t just give him and his daughter edibles, did you?

————

Wednesday came unannounced. You crossed several days off the calendar in the garage, forgetting to do so with the influx of orders, phone calls, and customers getting in their last minute fixes before the Holiday break. You did what you could. Eddie did what he could. And now, you taped a handwritten sign to the front door and locked it until Monday morning.

Grabbing your backpack, you went to the women’s restroom, and Eddie went to the men’s to change out of your work clothes. After some arguing back and forth through the doors, you made him agree to open them on a countdown, and through your giggles, you shouted, “Three!”

You swung open your door and were instantly disappointed. “Why are you wearing that?”

Eddie made a similar sneer across from you in the hallway, and questioned your sanity, “What in the world are you wearing?”

“It’s adorable, and festive!” You defended yourself by pointing out the scarecrow patch on the chest pocket of your baggy overalls, and how your orange flannel matched the one he was wearing. “Do you not think so, you big gray cloud?”

“Yeah, super cute. You’ll blend right in with the toddlers,” he snarked with much less malice than his words implied, on account of his lopsided grin.

“Big talk coming from the guy dressed like a moody teen.” Sinfully tight black jeans, black boots, black belt sporting a handcuff buckle, black leather jacket, black tee with a graphic of a rattlesnake wrapped around a skull.

It was his first date outfit again. How sweet.

And you didn’t need to be checking out his ass to see the bandana hanging out of his back pocket as he escorted you to his car, but you weren’t complaining about the opportunity. “You should worry about scaring the children with how angry you look.”

He held the employee door open for you, and locked it–then almost tripped on his way to unlock the car door, and hold it open for you too. “Angry?” He glanced from your outfit to his. “Good thing I’m with you, then. We’ll balance each other out, Sunshine.”

“An unlikely pair,” you agreed in good faith. Once he shut your door, and was in the process of walking around to his side, you gawked at the nickname. “Sunshine?”

You snapped your mouth shut as he fell into the driver’s seat, and started the car.

“So,” you drew out to break the silence after he didn’t have the courtesy of turning on the radio to ease the tension of being stuck in a small enclosure together, “red, huh?” The entire interior–every last detail–was custom made in the same bright crimson, from the air vents to the tiniest knobs.

The engine revved with his heavy stamp on the gas. Your stomach flipped. His grin went wicked.

“There weren’t many made in this color,” he said, thrilled to see your fingernails dig into your palms as he peeled out onto the street, and the garage became a miniature in his rearview mirror at a frightening speed, considering you were coming up on an intersection. “I’m lucky I found her used, and she didn’t need much work.”

Petrified as you might be by his reckless driving, you still had it within you to make a sound of disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that refers to their car as a woman.”

“What?” he scoffed. He relaxed one of his hands on his thigh as he lounged back with his head cocked, brazen with his newfound vanity. An arrogant curve to his lips as he interpreted your lingering gaze on his fingers splayed across his leg as being impressed by him, his car, his attitude. The whole package. “You don’t gender your bike?”

Without giving it much consideration, you supposed, “I think my bike is a he.”

“Ha! You ride a man to work every day,” he mumbled after the abrupt laugh.

His smile vanished.

The fact he didn’t mean to say that out loud became very apparent.

The blood drained from his face as quickly as it returned. Splotches of blushy red worked its way up his throat, turning his ears the same color as his beloved car’s interior. Same shade as the traffic light up ahead. Same bawdy hue typically associated with the lustful act his brain suggested before his mouth caught up.

Eddie sat at attention. Swallowed against his pulse as he stepped on the clutch and downshifted gears. The leather strapped steering wheel creaked under his dual vice grip. His chest deflated with a heavy breath, and blinking rapidly at the road, his pounding heart trembled his voice, “Please forget I said that.”

Curled into a ball facing the window–stomach clenched painfully tight from uncontrollable laughter–you muffled yourself with your flannel’s collar, “Never!”

~~~

The rest of the car ride was boring in comparison to the start, but you made it to Adrie’s preschool with only a few more unintentional eruptions of giggles when you remembered Eddie’s horrified face, while he drove in abject misery.

He parked the car, and got out quickly.

“How precious,” you said. The squat brick building had aged pine needles clinging to its shingled roof, and Thanksgiving themed art hanging in its windows.

Opening the entrance door brought the waft of buttery biscuits and grape jelly. Eddie guided you with purpose through the makeshift cafeteria, made snug with four child-sized picnic tables in the middle, and fingerpainted art adorning the navy blue walls. His keyring dangled from his belt, drumming against his jeans as he pivoted into a hallway illuminated by the overcast day outside. Gentle music came from the empty nursery to the left, and to the right was a heavy wooden door that did little to quiet the ruckus beyond it.

He paused. The rectangle window above the door knob streaked the side of his face with warm light from within, countering the nervous energy in his eyes as he took a long moment to look at you. You waited for him to speak, but he decided against it.

“I’m excited,” you offered, just above a whisper, wanting to say anything to help ease the eerie vagueness in his expression.

A muscle in his cheek twitched like he was going to smile, but it came across rather apprehensive.

He turned the knob. You walked inside first. Both of you stood still.

The room was as inviting as it was overwhelming. Bright, decorated, and packed with people. People who were dressed in business casual, and broken off into pairs of two. People who knelt to speak on level with someone who displayed a combination of their distinct features. People who mingled with other adults after the little ones were ushered to the front of the room by the teachers. People who gushed over a topic with their heads together, beaming at a miniature version of themselves dressed in a costume. People who contributed in a joint effort to create life, and the reason they were here today.

Parents.

They were parents.

This was an event for parents.

This was a play for parents to attend to see their child perform, and partake in themed crafts with the implication of going home afterwards to spend the Holidays together.

Eddie watched you realize this.

An older woman gravitated towards you two.

This was very, intensely, happening right now, and you had to navigate the whiplash to the best of your improv abilities.

“Good to see you,” she greeted Eddie first, and he gave a pleasant reply, but she didn’t hear it. Her attention was on you, eyes magnified by her thick glasses, and smiling wider than before. “You brought someone,” she all but gasped, speaking to him, though she was clasping your hand. “I’m Mrs. Teresa. And you are?”

Eddie had a response prepared.

“I’m Adrie’s friend!” you blurted.

He pressed his mouth shut and gave you a sideways glance.

“And, uh,” you continued to dig your grave, “and I work with Eddie. I met Adrie one day, and we really hit it off, haha. Next thing I know I’m trick-or-treating with her, and uh.. now I’m here!” When her expression of anticipation did not wane, you followed up your ramble with your name, and she nodded appreciatively, patting the back of your hand.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” she said. “We’re starting soon if you’d like to sit.”

She moved on to a non-platonic couple, and collected their kid to the front where a backdrop of an autumnal forest jostled due to the jittery group of children hiding behind it–most notably, the little girl at the edge who peeped her head out, and jumped up and down.

You both waved at Adrie.

Eddie’s hand landed on your mid-back, and he directed you with an appropriate amount of pressure towards the last row of chairs, choosing two in the middle.

“Smooth,” he commented.

“Shut it.” Sneaking an eyeful of the broad man next to you wearing a blazer under his boiled wool overcoat, you scooted your chair closer to Eddie’s. He must’ve had a similar train of thought, because he did the same to get away from the woman next to him, unwittingly making you two cozier than you were at the movies.

Shoulder to shoulder, he kept his hands in his pockets, and your elbow slotted into the crook his arm created when he slouched towards you.

“Are we not friends?” he asked in reference to your introduction.

You assured him, “The best of reluctant friends.”

The impish smile he shared with you dwindled with each set of hypercritical eyes getting their gawk in before one of the teachers turned off the lights.

The room was overcome with darkness. Blackout curtains suppressed daylight from coming through–for naptime, you assumed–and as children do, they squealed. The teachers soothed them with an amused shush, and turned on two lamps, pointing them like spotlights at the backdrop. Your eyes refused to adjust past the faint outline of your leg pressed flush against Eddie’s, (from hip to calf as a result from seeking support in each other,) but that was beside the point. The show began.

Mrs. Teresa sat off to the side and opened a comically large book. She read the first passage aloud with the pages facing the parents, and out came the kids dressed as pilgrims, brandishing their buckle shoes and hats. In another breath, the ones wearing brown shirts and feathers arrived, and you grimaced at the watered down kid-friendly rewrite of history being acted out, interspersed with songs about sharing.

At least Adrie was dancing around as a carrot with other vegetable-clad children, spelling out what part of the cornucopia they were.

Truly, it could’ve been worse.

But it was during a chorus about friendship sung at the top of their lungs, you unbit your tongue, and leaned into Eddie. “So when are they gonna enslave the Natives and steal their land?”

“Pft!”

Several pairs of shoulders in front of you turned to glare at what they assumed was Eddie snickering at their children’s bad singing before sitting forward, surely perturbed.

He knocked the side of his fist on the top of your thigh, and went to scold you.

But the room was dark.

So dark.

And he misjudged how close you sat.

The cold tip of his nose made contact with the cusp of your cheekbone. His stuttered breath caught your jaw. Your arm slipped further into the curve of his body.

He could’ve realized his mistake. He could’ve stopped there. He could’ve apologized for overstepping the coworker code of conduct. He could’ve reminded himself you’d be gone by the end of the summer. He could’ve dialed it back. He could’ve kept it casual. He could’ve backed off, and dropped the silly reprimand altogether. He could’ve done so many things. But he didn’t. He accepted the risk, and committed to it.

He dipped his head until his plump lips discovered the shell of your ear. Every word vibrated on your skin, rippling goosebumps in the wake of his groaned warning, “You’re gonna get me in trouble.” Trembly, raspy from keeping his voice low. Hardly hitting the hard consonants with his tongue before he was withdrawing.

The humidity from his exhale remained. It cooled on your skin. In the weak lamplight, you shifted your wide eyes to his, and the knowledge of what transpired reflected in his keen gaze gauging the consequences of his actions.

Stuck in a daze of buzzing endorphins, you had no idea how to interpret what the hell just happened.

Careful, he didn’t dare express an emotion that would give his true self away.

Together, you both redirected the focus to his daughter.

It took another few seconds for either of you to discern the back of his hand resting on your thigh. He took it away, and crossed his legs, establishing some much needed space between you.

~~~

The play ended, and the lights were flipped on. Everyone winced. There was an announcement from one of the teachers about a snack and crafts for the parents who were staying; and without an auto shop to attend to, you and Eddie were able to dote over Adrie instead of being forced back into the intimacy of his car.

He stood up and said he’d be right back. Lucky for Adrie, she bolted for you first, and you wasted no time in scooping her up into a crushing hug, grateful for the distraction.

Overflowing with pride, you channel all your love into lauding Adrie in mushy compliments, rubbing your cheek against hers. “Oh my gosh, you did so good! You were the best carrot I’ve ever seen. I’m downright impressed by your performance, remembering all those lines.” Pulling away, you waggled your eyebrows. “You wanna grow up to be an actor? Have people flock to see you on stage?” Her face brightened in renewed excitement.

“On a stage like Da–?”

Eddie intervened out of nowhere, “You two ladies gonna join me?” You startled an imperceivable amount from his sudden appearance–truly, you didn’t even jump–but it was enough to earn his toothy grin. “I reserved two seats at the Queen’s table for the princess and her esteemed guest for the evening.” He bowed with a swept out arm, showing you the way through the sea of adults.

Queen’s table was certainly a way to sell it.

It was a tiny, tiny thing. There were several of them at the back of the room, seating four children at most–or two adults and a four-year-old–and Adrie chose a blue one with a cartoon turkey decoration in the middle.

Half an ass cheek fit in the chair, the tabletop was at your shins, and your knees were tucked to your chest. You met Eddie’s gaze above Adrie’s head, and rubbed her back while he stroked her hair, running his fingers through the tangles.

You assumed, for the most part, he wanted to ignore what happened earlier as if it never happened, and you followed his lead.

Adrie broke you from your musing. There was commotion surrounding the teachers, and she gasped, flapping her hands when she saw what they were carrying.

A palm-sized pumpkin pie was set before her, along with three spoons.

“I made this fresh this morning,” she informed you as if she were running a bakery. And as head baker, she was in charge of portion sizes. She took one spoon and scooped out a modest amount of pumpkin filling, and not a crumb of graham crust more. That one was for Eddie.

For you? She split the rest of the pie, and gave you your half balanced on your spoon, and dug into her half without giving her dad a second glance.

“Hey,” he whined. “Not fair. I’m the one who raised you. Why does she get more?”

Speaking down to him like it was the most obvious thing ever, she rolled her eyes, and said, “Because girls are better, Daddy.”

You didn’t hide your snort.

“Yeah, Eddie.” You taunted him by waving the spoon before sticking the pie chunk in your mouth. “G–irls sh’are better.”

Chewing on his measly portion, he regarded his princess and her esteemed guest with a similar amount of weakness, and the tension at the corners of his eyes softened. He submitted. “Yeah. Girls are better.”

~~~

After the snack was a craft. In this case, hand turkeys. Paper, crayons, markers, and colored pencils were passed out amongst the tables, and a teacher gave instructions to the kiddos.

You grabbed the cartoon turkey decoration in the middle of the table for reference, and began your masterpiece. Adrie kept it classic, tracing her hand. Eddie did.. whatever he was doing, hunched over to hide his paper from you two for the past ten minutes.

“I made a princess turkey,” Adrie announced. Indeed, her turkey was decked out with a flowy dress and pink pointy hennin. In the background was a cobblestone castle.

You showed her your realistic turkey, hoping to impress her, but she pulled a face.

“Ew, he’s ugly.”

Frowning at your drawing, you compared him to the one on the table centerpiece, and felt bad for all the less-than-beautiful turkeys around the world. “That’s just the way he looks..”

Eddie, happy as a clam, slammed his pencil down and flaunted his drawing. “I turned mine into a dragon.”

Converging with Adrie, she whispered in your ear, and as a unit, you judged his hand turkey, weighing the artistic ability versus the outlandish deviation from the original assignment.

After a heated debate, you cleared your throat for his attention.

You both applauded his efforts with a humbling clap.

~~~

It wasn’t long before Adrie grew bored with coloring, and left to play with her friends. They gathered around a chest by the teacher’s desk, and brought out non-Thankgivingsy costumes. She played dress up in a fairy-unicorn combo, and another girl hopped around in a mermaid outfit, complete with a shimmery tail.

Eddie switched seats, flopping into the middle chair with a grunt. He moved Adrie’s drawing aside and set up shop. Made himself right at home. Really just invaded your area like he owned the place.

“Uhh–” You gaped. “Can you kindly remove your knee from my vicinity? You’re blocking both my drawing and the colored pencils.”

He imposed himself more. Nudging his feet wider for the sole reason of bothering you until you were forced to curl in on yourself in an uncomfortable hunch. Actively ignoring your plea by sketching the finishing touches on his dragon.

Resigning your sneer at the back of his head, you agreed, “All right.” If he wanted to play that game, you would too. You snatched the orange pencil you needed for your turkey’s feathers, and shoved the markers to the far side of the table, outside his reach.

Giving him no time to prepare a counterattack, you looped your arm around his leg to his shin, and hugged his thigh to your chest with your flexed bicep, locking his knee in a sleeper hold any wrestler would be proud of, preventing him from getting up.

Yes, things scattered as you did this. Yes, people rubbernecked. No, you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t, either.

Well, he cared a little, even if the grumpy persona he donned cracked with each failed frown.

His mouth curled into a grin despite his resistance. “I can’t have the red marker?” The syllables were caught amongst his hissy laugh at your ridiculousness–tip of his tongue to his teeth, voice rich with affection, and eyes squinted from pure adoration–a short question articulated through his mirth, with his chest braced against your arm after accepting the position of your entwined bodies, and another beg for you to understand on his lips. “How am I supposed to outline the fire he’s breathing, huh?”

He furrowed his brows to appear angry, but it was futile. His smile was here to stay. And what a treat it was to get lost in the moment.

At any point he could’ve easily broken from your hold. Hell, you hardly had his leg secured in your embrace after he shook his hair out of his face, and your muscles were rendered to warm jelly. But still, he played along.

You hunkered down and returned to your drawing with his jeans rubbing on the underside of your chin. “I once heard of these magic words you could use to get what you want.. if you ask nicely.” He hummed a disgruntled noise to show his displeasure. Poor him, being beaten at this own game, and served with a dose of his own medicine.

Incredulous, he huffed, “Magic words?” But there was something suspicious about his tone..

Something just not quite right, indeed..

Without looking, you snatched his hand seconds before his mischievous fingers wiggled their way to your ribs. You interlaced an assortment of index, middle, and thumbs in a twist of power, and dragged your gaze away from your artwork to mock him. “So predictable, Eddie.”

“Am I?”

An aware glimmer from how unpredictable he was half an hour ago presented itself as a gorgeous flash of slyness across his eyes, crinkling his crow’s feet at the corners–

The metal feet of Eddie’s abandoned chair scraped along the floor.

You disengaged from each other, cheeks burning with fresh shame.

Mrs. Teresa had a yellow paper folder tucked under her arm. This was not favorable for Adrie on account of her sharp heel-turn when she saw her teacher sit at the table with her preschool assessment opened for her dad to pour over.

You couldn’t read anything from your angle, but it appeared to be a collection of Adrie’s assignments and a progress report with many notes written in the margins.

Pushing her glasses up her nose, Mrs. Teresa licked her fingertips, and flipped through the pages, updating him since the last time they did this.

The conversation was about the places Adrie excelled, and where she could improve. In regards to education, she was surpassing where she should be, and she was a quick learner. Kindergarten would be no trouble for her. It was sharing, and social interactions she was struggling with, despite her ability to make friends.

Mrs. Teresa guided Eddie towards a more serious discussion about these concerns by asking him if he told her ‘no’ frequently, and how she reacted when he did. You’d never seen him so nervous. Fidgeting, bouncing, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Stuttering through a weak admission that he has trouble disappointing her.

He was uncomfortable, and you did your due diligence to tune them out. But it was no use.

Surveying the room, your mind was consumed by Eddie once more. For a different reason, and inciting a different emotion.

Parents at the other tables whispered observations about his mannerisms into their partner’s ear. About his disheveledness. His weirdness. His clothes.  His nonconformity. His last name. The whole package.

He was the father to the sweet little girl they invited to birthday parties, but never stayed after dropping her off with a gift? This was the man who never spoke. Never lingered long enough to put the rumors at rest. Never denied them either, so, logically, the gossip about him must be true.

“As you know, Adrie will throw tantrums from time to time when you drop her off,” Mrs. Teresa eased him into the topic. “When she cries, she asks for you, and it’s difficult to calm her down. This is abnormal for how long she’s been enrolled here. Have you been working on those techniques I taught you to help steer her towards more independence?” Her inquiry was kind, and sympathetic. It was valid, but his first instinct was to defend himself.

“I-I, well.” He took a shaky breath, and leaned towards her with his elbow on his thigh to cup his hand around his mouth, and sliding it to wring the back of his neck. “She’s–It’s just, she’s all I have, a-a-and–”

Mrs. Teresa rubbed his shoulder.

Though you were missing context for what Adrie’s teacher was trying to correct him from doing, you wanted to show your support. Lessen his stress. Afterall, the integrity of dialed back crumbled when his lips grazed your ear, and following his lead culminated in you being invited into his daughter’s world, so what’s the worst that could happen if you took a risk and comforted him? ..Besides discovering if David’s Auto Repair had an HR department.

Eddie’s pitch fluctuated as he bounced his leg harder, “When I’m home, I just want to make her happy–and, she’s, she’s–” You placed your hand on his knee, and stroked your thumb over the skin peeking out from the rips in his jeans. His inhale hitched at the sensation.

Without otherwise addressing what you did, he covered your hand with his own, crooked his cold fingertips into the spaces between yours, and parsed his thoughts. Slowed his mind. Ceased his nervous habit of bouncing his leg. Appreciated the gesture, even as the tacky silver spider ring on his pinky taunted you.

“I’ve been better about telling her ‘no’ lately,” he said more clearly. “The tantrums are happening less, and they don’t last as long when she sees I’m not budging. But the other stuff.. I don’t know.”

“Do you still carry her?” she asked, and he avoided eye contact.

“Yeah.”

“She’s almost five. She’s not a baby anymore, dear. It’s best to wean her now before it becomes a bigger problem.”

“I know.”

Mrs. Teresa gave him a motherly pat on his back, and smiled at you–his coworker–and rearranged Adrie’s folder to the bottom of the stack she had, and moved on to another table.

For a while, Eddie twisted the hair at his nape around his finger. Eyes fixated on the crayon box. You waited for him to come around, and when he did, he smiled and squeezed your hand before sliding his clammy palms to his thigh, allowing you to let go of his knee.

His chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Sorry, was I shaking the table?”

Yes? No? Maybe? You weren’t paying attention to notice. “Yeah, like an earthquake,” you joked.

“My bad,” he said with not a hint of remorse displayed in his delighted expression.

On cue, serving as the perfect interruption to the prolonged stare you gave each other, another autumnal craft was being distributed amongst the parents remaining, and Adrie set her chin on top of where your and her dad’s shoulders touched.

Mrs. Teresa’s advice regarding his codependency went ignored for another day.

Eddie shut his eyes and pressed his temple to Adrie’s, humming contently to himself, cherishing the affection he ached for.

Adrie, on the other hand, gasped when she spied what was on the table, and rang his ears, “Glitter!”

~~~

Thank God Eddie was a safer driver with Adrie in the car; your stomach couldn’t handle another queasy acceleration through a yellow light while you made a concentrated effort to get flakes of gold glitter out of your eyebrows, having no recollection of how they got there.

In her car seat behind you, Adrie regaled you with the plot points of the latest episode of My Little Pony Tales, chirping away happily about the interpersonal relationships between the cartoon horses until Eddie pulled into the alleyway behind the auto shop, and you turned around to say your goodbyes, thanking her for inviting you.

You opened the car door and heard Eddie do the same. You were about to ask him why he was getting out too, when he went up to the employee door and unlocked it for you.

Right, you left your keys in your backpack.

Rationally you knew he wasn’t a mind reader, but you were still sheepish when getting your bike, wheeling it out to stand across from him in what was a dreadful amount of silence.

“So, uh,” he faltered in the same rush of feelings crashing like a wave over the both of you. “Thank you for coming today. I know Adrie appreciated having you there.” He went shy, scratching the back of his head before putting his hands in his pockets. “Sorry about the mess.”

You shrugged at the mention of glue on your sleeve. “It’s whatever. I’m just glad I got to watch her perform.” Dumbass move, bringing up the play when what happened during it influenced every bit of this awkward interaction. You hurried to move past it, “Plus, the pumpkin pie was nice.” And what happened afterwards when we held hands–twice–was nicer.

Jesus Christ.

Reeling in the desire to bolt, you gambled on one last question before going home to scream into your pillow. “Uhm–Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,” he answered with a wary tone.

“Why do people look at you weird?” You motioned at his clothes. “Besides the obvious.”

The deep creases between his brows from years of scrunching his face in a sour expression became more prominent. “There’s a lot of rumors out there about me.. Some are true, some aren’t.”

“Do you want to tell me which ones are true?”

Inside the car, Adrie swayed in her seat, belting a tune neither of you could hear.

“I will some other time, okay?” He flicked his gaze to you, saw the understated kindness of your soft smile, and diverted his attention to the rock he was grinding under his shoe; bashful despite the burden of his reputation affecting the instant sag in his posture. “I will,” he promised again, giving you a curt nod.

You walked your bike up beside him, and bumped his elbow. “Hey, don’t look so glum,” you insisted. “Whatever it is, I’ll still go with you to parent-teacher conferences as Adrie’s best friend so you don’t look so painfully single.”

You threw your head back in a witchy cackle as you hopped on your bike and rode away.

And it was when you were in the familiar territory of woods flocking either side of the dirt road leading to Robin’s house that you gave into the urge, and released an embarrassed, guttural, annoyed groan of one word, scaring the blackbirds in the nearby trees, “Why?”

Single, single, single. Good God, could you be more obvious?

Dialed back was a lost cause from the start.

“Well, whatever happens, happens, I guess.” And you finished it with, “Idiot.”

————

Eddie had been sitting in his car for all of two seconds when he patted the side of his seat for the back recliner, and cranked it until he was almost laid flat.

Driving his hands from his nape and upward, he gathered his hair between his fingers and covered his face, mashing the curly ends over his eyes screwed shut from red-hot shame.

He inhaled deeply, and reprimanded his dumbassery in the loudest groan. “That was so–incredibly–not casual.”

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Adrie asked, sounding like a therapist as she pinched her sticky fingers together to shift the gold glitter from one to the other.

Composing himself, he finished dragging his palms down his cheeks, and combed away the strands stuck on his eyelashes. He blinked. “It’s nothing.” Nothing at all. He definitely wasn’t thinking of how fucked he was, believing he could handle today without taking things too far.

But it wasn’t how he almost kissed your cheek that bothered him the most, nor the multiple scenarios he supplied in effort to hold your hand, or touch you in general.

No. It was worse.

Staring unfocused at the ceiling, his lips parted with a realization.

His whisper was for himself, and his heart only. “I didn’t even care that people were staring at me today..” The mercy of your presence brought a line of water to his eyes. Not enough to flow over, but enough for him to notice his loneliness.

“Can you invite Miss Mouse to Thanksgiving?”

“No, she has her own Thanksgiving to attend,” he told her, and held his hand out, making a grabby motion at her. She understood and put her shoe in his palm so he could squeeze her ankle. Any affection. Any at all. Giving or receiving.

Knowing the answer, he asked, “You really like her, huh?”

“She’s my favorite.”

“Yeah, she’s my favorite too,” he said, in whatever capacity she meant, he meant it as well. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but he did.

Massaging his thumb and forefinger into circles on his forehead, he meditated on the right thing to do. Meaning, he thought about the hundreds of reasons he should put an end to this, to discourage Adrie’s relationship with you, and to resist the temptation of forming his own; and instead he latched onto the idea of him not appearing single for a little longer than his logical brain was comfortable with.

Coworker, risk, flighty personality, yada, yada..

He snorted. “Yeah, I should probably stop this.”

Adrie rolled her leg in his grasp to get him to let go. “Can we stop at McDonald’s first?”

“Wha–?” After a moment of confusion, he sighed. “Give me a break, kid.”

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Look More Expensive & Elevate Your Aura

Looking expensive or 'rich' is all about investing in yourself, your appearance, how you carry yourself, and not shying away from signature details or indulgences. Here are some tips to level up your look and demeanor to feel high-class in your daily life – no matter how much money you want to spend in these life arenas.

Appearance:

Prioritize Proper Grooming: Always looking clean and put-together is the ultimate sign of class. Shower daily. Brush, and take care of your teeth. Wash your hair on a regular schedule. Never allow your hair to look greasy – brush and blow dry it regularly. Cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize every inch of your face and body. Perform your skincare routine religiously. Apply sunscreen daily.

Tailor & Steam Your Clothes: Freshly-pressed and well-fitting clothes always look infinitely more expensive – no matter their price point. Looking rich and expensive is about high self-regard and paying attention to the little details. Ensure your garments look crisp and clean – no wrinkles, pet hairs, loose threads, lint pieces, or fabric bulges highlighting an improper fit.

Create A Classic & Streamlined Capsule Wardrobe: Simplicity radiates a chic sophistication. Go back to the basics with timeless pieces – like a button-down blouse, a classic crewneck sweater, black trousers or straight-leg jeans, leather pants, a leather jacket, a trench or wool coat, a well-fitting cami or tee shirt, a simple slip dress, or a knit set. Focus on a neutral color palette – black, champagne, dark grey, chocolate brown, camel, or crisp white shades. Seek out elevated fabrics – such as Pima cotton, cashmere, washable silk, and buttery vegan or recycled leather.

Invest In Signature Pieces: Spend on "outer shell' items – coats, jackets, heavyweight knits, handbags, and shoes – that directly interact with the outside world and can be worn repeatedly with almost every outfit. Save on items like tee shirts or more simple jewelry pieces that can be found for less while still being fairly high-quality. I recommend Everlane, Lilysilk, and Naadam for affordable basics (Frankie Shop, Skims, and Norma Kamali for moderately priced pieces) and Catbird and Oma The Label for well-priced accessories. Here are all the everyday essentials you need to build the ultimate Femme Fatale Wardrobe.

Simplify Your Beauty Routine: Fresh, clear, and glowy skin radiates rich girl energy. A well-curated skincare routine should do half the heavy lifting. However, you will probably want to include a shade-matched foundation, concealer, and powder into your makeup routine along with a bronze contour, a rosy blush, and a subtle highlighter. Shape and fill in your brows for a polished look. Apply a deep black mascara to your lashes and luscious black eyeliner to your top lid, waterline, and tight line – keep the strokes thin and crisp (create a subtle wing if desired). Finish your face with a deep pink nude, red, or deep wine lipstick/gloss/lip tint. Here's a guide to the ultimate Femme Fatale Beauty Routine for a completely elevated (and sensual) look.

Eat Healthfully & Workout: Health is wealth. Taking care of your body shows self-respect – your most priceless asset. So, incorporate whole, plant-based foods into your daily diet and make it a priority to find movement you love that you can incorporate into your routine multiple times a week.

Lifestyle:

Streamline The Details: The rich girl aesthetic is all about refinement and looking put together at all times. Always have a set of matching pens with coordinating notepads on your desk, a uniform set of coffee mugs on the counter, coasters, glassware, sheets, pillowcases, cold-weather accessories, etc. This attention to detail instant makes your environment look more expensive.

Have Personalized Stationery: A high-value woman isn't shy about leaving her signature touch. Have personalized stationery (thank you notes, greeting cards, business cards, etc.) monogrammed and on hand for anytime you need to send a note or gift to a friend, coworker, boss, client, etc. This addition shows your attention to detail, leaves the recipient something small to remember you by, and adds a human touch to any gift or gesture. Try gold lettering on cream cards for an elegant, expensive look.

Keep Prosecco & Sparkling Water On Hand: Bubbly on a budget feels just as expensive as champagne (and tastes great too). Sparkling water elevates your daily H20 – add some lemon, lime, orange wedges, or frozen berries for a fancy, fruity twist.

Have Proper Place Settings: Neat, thoughtful presentation exudes class and rich energy. Whenever hosting any type of sit-down event or cocktail party, have the plates stacked, glasses and cutlery arranged correctly. Have all of the appropriate utensils readily available. Again, it's all about the details.

Stay Informed & Well-Read: A thirst for knowledge, learning and having the ability to engage in thoughtful, informed, and intellectual imbues a high-class radiance into any room. Read books, learn about different cultures and current events, and invest in studying different industries, and interests. Explore your hobbies. A rich mindset translates and generates an overall elevated aura.

Demeanor:

Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately.

Maintain Good Posture: Shoulders back and relaxed. Open your chest. Keep your back straight and your head held high. Take up space. Command presence.

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Read more of my tips HERE.

Embrace An Abundant Mindset: Free your mind of limiting beliefs and notions of scarcity. There are plenty of opportunities, experiences, and emotions to go around. Another person's success doesn't take away from your potential. Focus on expansion, not envy.

Remain Confident & Unbothered: Believe in yourself. Invest in your well-being. Prioritize your goals and block out the noise from anyone trying to tear you down or criticize you for your ambition, goals, or desires. Stay in your own lane. Allow others to do the same. This is how you level up to elevate into your queen energy to create a rich life and design your dream reality.

[csuitebitches]

Guide to Building a Classic Wardrobe

I was asked a long time ago by an anon for a guide to build a wardrobe. This style caters to someone mature, slightly conservative, NOT fashionnova-esque, something that will last a long time in all fashion seasons, provided you look after your items well. I live in a relatively hot climate and the coldest temperature I’ve experienced when living in a place is like 10 degree Celsius, so I will admit that I am not very well versed with living in cold climates for a prolonged period of time (I don’t think a 2 week trip to Switzerland in the summer counts as “cold”).

I have purposely built with keeping neutrals in mind. I’ve learned that its best to first build a neutral coloured wardrobe in mind, then start adding colour to it. You might find this wardrobe boring, but if you work in a corporate environment/ somewhere where you can’t showcase too much colour or creativity/ if you come from a relatively conservative/ high profile-but-not-entertainment /modest culture, you’ll find this useful.

ALWAYS keep an eye on the material of the item you are buying. If you have to buy a sweater and you live in a cold climate, buy cashmere. Yes, it will be expensive, but it will keep you warm and last longer. If you live in a hot climate, invest in tops and dresses made out of pure cotton. Material plays a huge role in the climate you live in.

I do not endorse fast fashion or over-consumerism but I understand that it is affordable. I would therefore recommend you to buy things carefully and with consideration, not just for the sake of the environment but for your wallet. It’s better to buy 1 quality item than 10 horribly made, short-lasting items.

Never mix more than 3 colours in your outfit at a time. That’s something my father taught me, and I recommend you stick to it, especially if you’re new to building a serious wardrobe.

Lastly, do not be enthralled by what influencers buy or wear. I can guarantee you that the clothes they wear on Instagram aren’t even theirs half the time. Don’t fall into the trap of micro trends.

(Pictures for this post have been sourced from Pinterest).

Underwear

Nude bra + thong/ undie

Black bra + thong/ undie

White bra + thong/ undie

Strapless bra (black)

Strapless bra (nude)

2 sexy bra sets (optional, I have these in red, pink, blue)

Nipple pads

Tops

White silk cami

Black silk cami

White plain tee

Black plain tee

White tank

Black tank

Beige tank (or whatever suits your complexion - brown/ nude)

White shirt

Black shirt (satin/ silk)

Blue shirt

Pants

Navy blue trousers

Wine/ red high waisted trousers

White trousers

Beige trousers

Black trousers

Straight leg jeans (blue)

Another pair of jeans (not ripped, blue)

White jeans, straight leg/ mom cut

Skirts

White

Black

Red

Beige (a checked print, like Burberry)

2 maxi skirts

1 pencil skirt in black (work appropriate)

Shorts

Denim (not distressed)

Tailored white shorts

Tailored blue shorts

Tailored black shorts

Formal attire

1 maxi dress - red/ black/ a neutral colour

White/ black vest and trouser set

Everyday dresses

Knit dress in black/ cream/ brown (long)

2 summer dresses, short

White peasant dress

Outer wear

Leather jacket in black/ brown

1 cardigan in black/ white

A shawl/ silk scarf

Denim jacket

Long trench coat in camel/ brown/ beige

Blazer in white/ navy blue/ black

Sweater in black/ white/ red

Shoes

Black/ white/ brown leather boots

White/ silver heels

Black heels

Gold heels

Mules in black

Home slippers

Running shoes

White sneakers

Accessories

1 brown/ black leather bag

1 tote bag

1 clutch for parties

Hair clips

Tights/ leggings - sheer and opaque in black

Socks

Jewellery

Diamond studs

Everyday pendant

2-3 simple bracelets/ bangles in silver/ gold

Signet rings in gold

Chunky hoops

Devices

Hair straightener

Hairdryer/ Blow brush (i prefer the blow dry brush)

30 mm curling wand (for long, big curls)

[k-germsworld]

Karaoke

Eunha x M!Reader

Blowjob!

1.8k words

This is the first story I write when I start. So maybe the story is rough and not good enough. However, I will keep release my fantasy. So, Enjoy 😃

Hongdae is a place where Gen Z likes to go. Hongdae is a place that never sleeps. There are a variety of shops to visit like cinema, cafe, food and many more. However, there is one shop that opened very far from a crowded place but the shop is still full of customers. Many people know what the shop is, including me.

Once I reached Hongdae, I went straight to the shop but the shop was so crowded. The waiter asked all the customers to form a line and wait patiently. The line has form but the queue is too long, I can't even see the end of the line. I reached the shop by 9 pm but I already thought today was not my day to visit this shop. Luckily, the timing for queueing is short. I wait for 30mins only and my chance is getting closer. I see many people go in happily but come out angrily or sadly. I smile slyly and know they will come out like this for sure. Since my first time is also like this and this is the third time I visit.

"Sir, your turn now, enjoy," the waiter says happily. I forgot about the other then I stepped into the shop. The other waiter brings me to the counter and starts to explain the pricelist, the hostess list, and all the rules & regulations. Their price is based on the hour you sing. The starting price is 10000 won per hour.

Rules & regulation

Maximum 3 hrs per session. After 3hrs had reached you must leave.

If you pay by song, you must leave after your song ends.

If you order a hostess, then you are invited to join our karaoke challenge. The challenge is easy. You can ask for the counter to get further information.

Our shop has its scoring system. If you hit a specific score, you will get a special reward.

Score 71-80, 50% discount Score 81-90, get a second blowjob Score 91-99, Can fuck the hostess within 3hrs. Score 100, 100% discount, and can take out the hostess

After a long and boring explanation, they let me choose the hostess. They are full of hostess names and their price.

Sxwxn 30000 won

Yexxn 30000 won

Exxha 30000 won

Yxjx 30000 won

Sxxb 30000 won

Umxx 30000won

Others 20000won

I already come here for the third time and spent a lot of money to try to win. I used to choose Eunha as my partner. Of course, I will also choose her as my partner this time even though she is expensive but who cares? As long as I can hit to score 100 then everything is worth it.

Once I booked the hostess and made the payment, the waiter brought me to the room. I sat calmly and waited for her. 'Knock knock ', a girl opened the door and walked in. Eunha is wearing a black lace short lingerie with a black coat. The lingerie makes her body is more tight and hotter. At the top u can see the lingerie pushed her boobs looks bigger; at the bottom, you can see the panties can't even hide her camel toe. Just by seeing her sexy body, my cock already rocks hard. Her body part for me is a fantastic view. Her face is cute while talking to me, but she makes a seductive expression when giving you a handjob.

Eunha says no more and asks me to order a song and start the challenge. I ordered a song called " Pull Up ". This song is short and I had already trained so much for this song. I had scored 100 more than once in another karaoke room. So I have the confidence that this time I can score 100 when she gives me a handjob.

Eunha pulls off my pants and starts giving me a handjob while the intro just starts. My cock is already hard just by seeing her. She smirks at seeing this situation because she doesn't need to make my cock harder.

Starting, I sing the song perfectly. Once Eunha starts to stroke my cock, I feel like I am gonna fail again this time. Her hands are so cold compared to my heated cock. Her handjob is the best in this shop so she confidently stroked my cock at the slow pace from the head to the balls, then move opposite.

Her cold hand gave me a different excitement. I got a handjob from her three times but I can feel that every time is so different. I can hear my voice shaking, but I still can sing to the beat. Eunha hears my shaky voice but still can sing well so she stands up and comes closer to my ear. She dirty talk to me unexpectedly, " Oppa, do you wanna taste my pussy? Or you wanna grab my tits and slap my ass? Do you have the confidence to score 100, and take me out or fuck me here the whole night? " Even though she is saying dirty words, her voice is so sexy and sweet.

Her dirty words made my voice more shaky. My singing went off, I couldn't even hit the chord now. My singing voice is mixing with my moaning. As the song ends soon, Eunha stroked my cock faster and keep saying " cum for me!! " I almost reached my limit, but I will hold it till the end.

"Pull up… Pull up "

Finally, the song ends. However, Eunha also successfully makes me cum. I cum a lot on her hand. Luckily, the song ended faster than me cumming. The jukebox is entered into the calculating page. My heartbeat is beating faster as the score is calculated. Eunha cleaned her hand aside and saw the result together.

"Congratulations, you hit an 85 score! "

The system shows this sentence. I felt down when I saw the score but I felt a little happy at the same time. My record last time is below 70 so the only thing I get from Eunha is a handjob. I can finally get a different award this time from her. Eunha also congrats me on hitting 70 or above.

Eunha pulled me to the seat and kneeled between my legs. Her eyes are lustfully seeing my cock. She gets closer to my cock and smell my cummed dick. "It's smelly…. but I like it. " She used her hand and stroked again my cock to make it harder. My cock is fully erected now. She blew to my cock making my cock twitch. Eunha happily sees how my cock is twitching. After that, she stuck out her tongue and played with my cockhead. She licks from my head to the bottom then licks backwards from the bottom to my head. She treats my cock is like her toy. After several times of foreplay, my cock now is full of her saliva. She contentedly put my cock inside her mouth. She slowly swallowed my cock from the top, then the middle, then the bottom. My cock is like disappeared in her mouth. She starts moving her head up and down, her hands are playing with my balls. Her blowjob skill brings me to heaven. I becoming a moan mess just because of her blowjob. Suddenly, Eunha stopped her move and I was curious why she stopped. Before I say that, I saw her eyes hinting to me she wanna a face fuck. So, I stood up and aimed my cock to her mouth. She still kneeling and waiting for my cock.

I slowly put it into her mouth, her mouth is like a black hole. The space in her mouth is unlimited. Even if I put my whole length to her mouth, I can see no suffering from her face. I move my hips back and forth at a slow pace. After a few thrusts, I pulled out my cock from her mouth. I see my cock is drooling with her saliva. Eunha is so horny for my cock now, she is sticking out her tongue and letting her saliva dripping to the floor. Her face is so slutty and horny. Her lustful face brought my horniness to the max. I quickly insert back my cock and deep down her mouth but this time at a faster pace. I can feel her throat quivering every time I deep thrust her mouth. The normal face fuck now cannot vent my horniness, so I decided to choke her. I push my cock deep into her mouth until I can feel her throat, then I stop there and let her almost out of breath. Her struggle makes me more aroused. Her face became more struggle and patted my leg asking me to let her breathe.

I quickly pulled out my cock, seeing her finding breath and I let her rest awhile. After finding back her breath, me using my fastest speed to fuck her face this time. I holding her head as support to fuck faster. I don't care about Eunha's feelings, I just fucking her mouth like her pussy. She can't keep up with my speed so her saliva keeps dripping from her mouth.

I feel my limit is soon. I should hold for more time but her mouth is so warm and wet now making my load almost burst out. I pressed her head tight and let me cum inside her mouth. I shoot every drop of my cum inside Eunha's mouth and make sure not even one drop left her mouth. However, my cum is a large amount this time until she can't fit in anymore so she spit out some.

After every drop is inside her mouth, I pull out my cock and see how messy she is. The semen she spits out just now drops to her tits and some stick to her lips and jaw but she still keeps many cum inside her mouth. I feel so tired by just cumming one time and find a place to sit down. Eunha crawled to my side and opened her mouth wider, letting me see how much I cum inside her mouth. I am thinking she will spit out my cum after showing me but she using her tongue to play with my cum. She made my thick cum full of bubbles then swallow it. "It's tasty!"

Then, she cleans the leftover cum on her tits and jaw with her hand and put it in her mouth like drinking sauce. When I saw her slutty move, she made my cummed twice cock harder again. She notices it and says " Sorry oppa…. You can't have it anymore. These are the rules ." She smirks.

After she was done, Eunha thanked me for the thick cum and left the room. She left me alone in the room. I am not very satisfied with my performance today. However, I already broke my last record since I didn't get any service the last two times. I believe that I will hold it for her handjob and score 100 in the future. So I can let Eunha become my sex slave and cum on her every hole that night.

[ameriko-steelie]

HappyLifeSims (LonelyBoy) - 4t3 Pitti Uomo Camel Peacoat

Final part of this set! I might convert the hat later, but I know there a lot of similar hats by HLS converted by Jooj already.

This is classified as a top!

I like to use one of the base-game leather patterns on my coats, as seen above.

For: TM, AM, EM

Categories: Everyday, Formal, Career, Outerwear

Polycount: 5.5k

4 Channels - Coat, Buttons, Shirt, Tie

Maternity

Small glitch in CAS where there is a black line on the collar's sides.

Also, on Christmas Day, I may have a bunch of CC ready as one file dump; you know, like a wrapped present, or a mystery box 😉

---

Advent 2023 Links:

Day 1

Day 2

---

Download - SFS

or

Download - Simblr.CC

---

@wanderingsimsfinds @xto3conversionsfinds @pis3update @gifappels-stuff @matchsim

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 12 - Wrapping Paper

(Ao3 Link)

Of all the things that Hob had expected Morpheus to get stuck on in regards to the gift giving season, wrapping paper was nowhere on his list. Morpheus, having worked for the library for almost a full year now, has earned himself a good paycheck and insisted on finding appropriate gifts for those he cares for.

That, oddly enough, was the easy part. All the gifts have been obtained at least a month ago and have been sitting, hidden in the back of their closet. Now, however, Hob isn’t quite certain how to help with Morpheus’s particular problem.

“Those ones no good either?” He asks as Morpheus returns to his side after scouring through every roll of wrapping paper available at Tesco over in Bushwood. Morpheus pulls the collar of his coat up against the winter chill as he nuzzles into Hob’s side. Hob wraps his arms around his shoulders, tucking the black floof covered head under his chin.

“No,” he mumbles against his shoulder. “They were all wrong.”

Hob hums as he rocks his boyfriend in his arms. “Sorry, love.” He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I think we’ve looked at every store around that’s got wrapping paper. No luck on the internet either, yet?”

“No…” Morpheus mumbles again. He sighs and lifts his head off of Hob’s shoulder. He’s slouched, his face down turned. It breaks Hob’s heart to see him so sad over something Hob feels helpless to fix.

Then he has a thought.

“Have you tried asking Daniel?” Morpheus looks up at him, brows furrowed.

“For what purpose?”

“Well, it seems like the wrapping paper of your dreams might only be found… in your dreams.” He gives Morpheus a smile. “At least until us humans catch up to your brilliance.”

His lover turns his gaze over Hob’s shoulder, staring out in a look that Hob’s learned means he’s thinking very deeply. He stays there, rubbing Morpheus’s shoulders, waiting out his thought process. After a few moments, he turns back to Hob and nods.

“That is not a bad idea… however, it is a trivial request. It would be foolish to ask such a thing of him.”

“Mmm, why not give it a shot anyways? You might be surprised.”

“I… suppose.”

Morpheus is sitting in their living room above the New Inn. It is raining outside. More specifically, it is raining upwards and the water is orange. There is a camel sitting in the chair across from him, speaking in German. He is dreaming.

“I call to you, Dream of the Endless, if you will hear me.” Morpheus calls out into his dreamscape.

“Morpheus,” Daniel’s voice rings in the small space. Within a blink, the camel is now Daniel, white flowing robes undulate around his form, the emerald dreamstone sits proudly upon his neck. He is smiling. Morpheus smiles in return.

“My lord,” Morpheus ducks his head in a bow. Daniel raises his hand, dismissing him.

“You are family, Morpheus. And you were once us. Do not worry for such formalities.” Daniel shifts, folding one leg over the other as he pulls forth two glasses of wine from the fabric of the Dreaming. He passes one to Morpheus. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Taking a sip of the wine, Morpheus hums. He remembers it’s taste from centuries ago. It is old, older than Hob, in fact. “I have a dilemma. Hob suggested I reach out to you to see if you would be able to assist. I am aware it is a trivial matter, but…” He takes another sip.

Daniel looks him over, watching his movements before finishing his sentence for him. “But it is important to you.”

“Yes.”

Daniel nods, gesturing for him to continue. Taking a breath, Morpheus speaks. “There lives, quite possibly only in my mind, paper I would wish to wrap the gifts I have found for those close to me. I have been unsuccessful in my search for something near it in the Waking world. I thought, perhaps, you may be able to help me obtain this. From within my dreams.”

Morpheus may be human, no longer Dream of the Endless, but the knowledge of how the Dreaming works remains. Within mere moments, the wrapping paper he has so clearly envisioned in his mind’s eye appears in front of him.

The paper is crisp, smooth, and blacker than the night sky. Stars twinkle lightly in the void with patches of color like nebulae in the distance. It sent a pang through his heart at the realization he was seeking paper that looked identical to the lining of his coat when he had been Endless. No wonder it was impossible to find in the Waking.

“This is the paper you seek?”

“Yes… I.” Morpheus clears his throat.

“Very well. When you wake, this shall follow you.”

Morpheus jerks his head up. “Truly?”

“I would not lie.”

He smiles. “Thank you. Daniel. Truly, I thank you.”

When Morpheus awakes in the morning, the impossible starry night sky wrapping paper rests on the nightstand beside him. He reaches over, pulling the paper close and rubs his thumb over the twinkling stars. He loves his human life here. He would not trade it for the world, and certainly wouldn’t wish to return to his old responsibilities. But, impossibilities like this, the familiarity of it all, that he does miss.

“Dove?” Hob mutters into his pillow to his left. “S’early.”

“Daniel was kind enough to grant my wish.” Morpheus says, not lifting his eyes from the wrapping paper. He hears Hob shuffle in the sheets and then sees a tan hand reach out and graze the top of the night sky.

“Well, if this is what you were trying to find, I’m not surprised you didn’t find it at Tesco.” He says with a laugh.

“No. No I suppose not.”

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Who'd You Have to Blow to Get That Part?"

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Tags: mild D/s elements, mild degradation, reference to past sexual encounters, slight daddy kink, lovers to enemies

Summary: Ransom won't let you leave the room until you agree to go out with him again.

You’ve been ignoring Ransom’s calls for a week when he finally corners you in your dressing room

“Well well well,” he simpers. “The Lyceum. You’re really making your way up from the chorus line, little girl.” You glare at him and he chuckles, doing a slow walk around your body, appraising you in a way that manages to feel both admiring and ridiculing at the same time. He plucks at the ribboned hoop of one of your panniers as he passes. “Well, la-dee-da,” he mocks. “What on earth is this? I think I like it.”

You swat at his retreating hand with a huff. “Who let you back here, Ransom?” 

“Oh didn’t you know I know everybody? The director’s an old friend. He knows I have an interest in … the theater. Said I could poke around backstage if I wanted.”

“Great. I’m sure he didn’t mean in my dressing room.”

“Your very own dressing room, by the way: how fancy.” He doesn’t look at you as he says it, instead sauntering along past the couch and then over to the dressing table, feeling free to snoop around. You cringe when his fingers drag across the vanity top and land on the script you’ve left lying there. He picks it up and starts flipping through its pages. “Hmm …”

You fluster at the idea of him seeing all the notes you’ve scribbled in the margins. “Do you mind not touching my stuff?” you gripe. “Ugh.” Looking around for your robe, you spot it draped over the back of the dressing chair but realize that it won’t stretch around when you’re wearing the panniers. You huff and try to plant your hands on your hips assertively—a motion that is likewise hindered. You settle for gripping the sides of your whalebone-stiffened waist. “I don’t have time for this. Why are you here?”

“You’re one of the leads,” Ransom says, feigning impressed as he waves the packet of papers in the air. “So Daddy finally bought you a speaking part, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat, hating him with every fiber of your being. “No,” you grit, hurrying over to snatch the script from his hands and set it back on the table. “I got this part myself, you insufferable piece of shit.”

“Been practicing those blowjob skills, then?”

Your jaw works as you fight not to react. “Why are you here?”

“I tried calling,” he says. “But you’re surprisingly hard to get a hold of these days.”

“Ever consider that I lost your number?”

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s it.” He smirks and leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, can see every detail of that stupid-pretty face, the hair that’s gelled and combed to perfection. He looks good, just like he always does, which only makes you hate him more. “I haven’t seen you twirling in your usual circles, bunny,” purrs. "Not since we parted ways. What’s it been now, three months?”

“Five,” you say tightly. “Though who’s counting?”

“Clearly not you,” he teases, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll admit I’ve hardly thought of you at all, since then, but …” He’s wearing a camel-colored coat and cashmere scarf, and he reaches past said coat’s lapel to produce a single, long-stemmed rose, presenting it to you with an earnest pout. “I heard about the role. Thought I’d stop by and congratulate you, see how you’re doing.” He lets his gaze drag over your half-dressed form again, eyeing you up appreciatively. “I still think about you, you know.”

“I thought you’d hardly thought about me at all."

He looks surprised for a second, before he’s chuckling at you again with that trademark blend of affection and condescension that you wish you hated more than you do. “Oh, bunny,” he coos, nudging your chin with the rose’s fragrant bloom. “You pay attention to what I say. I always liked that about you. That’s just how you are, isn’t it? So attentive, such a good girl.” You color mightily at that, too flustered to think of a waspish response like you want to. He sees this and smirks, dragging the rose’s velvet petals over your lips and humming in satisfaction when you hastily snatch it from his hand. “There we go,” he praises softly. “Pretty flower for a pretty girl. Though I worry how you’re doing when you don’t turn up in public for months on end.”

You force a prim smile. “That’s sweet, but I don’t need you to worry about me, or bring me gifts.” You turn around and stick the rose into a nearby vase, which already has a number of similar blossoms in it. Ransom’s is the biggest and freshest, but you rearrange it into the middle of the pack so that it doesn’t stand out as much. “And I’m doing just fine, if you really want to know.”

“Are you, though?” he presses. He steps closer, close enough that the frame of the panniers presses against his pants, and it’s easy for him to reach up and finger the strap of your stays. “I seem to remember you being quite the social butterfly.”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“You’ve missed the last several big events of the season, and I know you well enough to know that it’s not like you to play the shut-in.” He traces the strap from your shoulder, down to the top of the busk. You see his blond eyelashes lower onto his smug fucking cheeks as he shamelessly leers at the swell of your breasts, his fingers hovering just over the skin. “Who’re you supposed to be?” he asks. “Marie Antoinette?”

You scoff and push past him. “Unlike you, I get busy. I actually work for a living. And yes, that sometimes means that frivolous parties aren’t my number one engagement. So if you’ll excuse me.” You’re supposed to be over in wardrobe, getting fitted for your costumes. Danielle is probably already waiting for you. But Ransom blocks the door when you try to leave, and he does nothing to disguise the way he looks at your body when you stand back to regard him with another huff. “Ransom, move.”

“You should wear corsets more often,” he drawls, ignoring your protests entirely. “It actually makes your waist look tiny.”

You glare at him and try to move around him to grab the door handle, but he leans back against it so that you can’t pull it open. He grins, eyes raking over you from head to toe. You fight not to squirm, feeling more ridiculous than anything else, decked out as you are in your eighteenth century reproduction undergarments. You sigh and stand back, frustrated at how goddamn entitled he is. “What do you want?” you ask, knowing that he wouldn’t be here bugging you right now if he didn’t want something. 

“I want to give us another try,” he says. 

You wait for the punchline, or for him to crack a mean smile and laugh at how gullible you are, but neither happens and you’re left standing there blinking at him like a dummy, heart in your throat. “What?” 

“You heard me.” He pushes off from the door and stares you down as he steps up close. He cups your face in a palm that’s soft from never having seen a day of work in its life. You have to fight not to press your cheek into it, and of course he notices, the overconfident prick. “I think we called things off too soon,” he murmurs. “Don’t you?”

“‘We’? You’re the one who ended it.”

He frowns thoughtfully. “Hhhm, did I though?”

“Yes.”

“Ehh, I don’t know if I remember it that way.”

You purse your lips. “I said I wanted to be exclusive, and you called me clingy.”

“Well that’s hardly ‘ending’ things …”

You scoff. “You said my pussy wasn’t ‘anything to write home about’ and left me at the restaurant.”

“Hmm. Well … maybe I was too hasty.”

“Yeah, right. ‘Hasty’.” More like genetically predisposed to assholery, you think.

“Hey, I mean it.” He grabs you when you try to move around him, holding you still by your upper arms.

“Let me go.”

“Maybe I never gave things between us a real chance, bunny” he says, trying to ply you with his words and sheer proximity. “That’s what I’ve been thinking these past months. That I let you go too soon, didn’t think things through. That I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“More like your dick,” you mutter, but he ignores you. 

“After all, we had good times together, didn’t we? And you always look amazing on my arm, and the sex was soo …” he trails off, letting his fingers trace your skin. His mouth twitches when he notices your breathing picking up, your chest heaving visibly against the front of the stays. “Come on, princess. Just think about it,” he coaxes, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “You and I fit so well together. Don’t you remember how it was?”

You shiver instinctively, body reacting to the words he’s murmuring so intimately against you, to the way he’s touching you like he owns you. “Ransom,” you breathe. “I don’t—”

“I miss you, you know. I do. In my life, in my bed. I don’t like waking up alone.”

You ignore the flutter in your belly at hearing him admit that, and force yourself to shrug his hands away. “Well that would be your problem, not mine,” you say. He’s not good for you, and letting him bust in like this and insinuate himself back into your life will only lead to disappointment at best, heartbreak at worst. “Excuse me,” you grit when he walks backwards to block the door again. So fucking entitled. “Seriously, Ransom. I have somewhere to be!”

“I don’t really care. We’re not finished here,” he growls, eyes losing their charming sheen. “You can leave when I’m done talking to you.”

Your core clenches at those domineering words, and you have to square your jaw before you can bring yourself to insist, “Ransom, get out of the way. I’m warning you …”

“No, I’m warning you,” he says darkly, grabbing your arm and yanking you in hard against him. You gasp and catch yourself with a hand against his chest, but he keeps you off balance as his other arm scoops in behind you and holds you tight to him by your lower back. “Mmm, I like this,” he purrs, fingers finding the laces of your stays and grabbing onto them. He grabs you by the back of your neck with one hand while he tugs at the laces with the other. “Makes a nice handle. Good for moving you where I want you.”

“Get your hands off me.”

He tugs the laces again, jostling you forcefully. “Thought you liked it when I handle you.”

“What I’d like is for you to let me go,” you grit. 

But he only narrows his eyes and sticks his face closer in yours. When he speaks, his breath fans out warm against your lips. “You’re confused, bunny. I should bend you over that vanity and remind you just how much you like it.”

To your shame, his manhandling and his domineering words turn you on, and you know he can tell—he can always tell what he does to you. That’s part of what makes him so infuriating, and so dangerous. “Let go of me,” you say lowly, surprised (and disappointed) when he actually listens, his hands releasing you so suddenly that you stumble back a step in your heels. His eyes bore into you slyly as you huff and right yourself. “What is your problem?!” you fume at him. 

“Come with me to the Governor’s Ball,” he demands, confident and cocky as always, as if the past few minutes and your numerous refusals haven’t even happened. “You have an invitation, I presume?”

You glower at him. “Of course I do, you twat.” Given that your father is the Governor, it’d be odd indeed if you didn’t have an invite. “Awful presumptuous of you that I don’t have plans to go with somebody else,” you snap. “After the way you treated me? I wouldn’t take you as my date to a dive bar.”

He chuckles, and it’s in that low, self-assured way that drives you absolutely bonkers and makes you feel like a “pick me” girl all at the same time. “Oh, bunny. You think I don’t know you better than that?”

You shoulder your way around him to yank open the door. “You don’t know me at all, jerk.” 

You inhale sharply when his hand clamps around your wrist and he shoves into you from behind suddenly, pressing you up against the door and slamming it shut with your combined bodyweight. “I know you better than any man alive, princess,” he hisses, grinding his hips against your ass and kissing your cheekbone in gentle counterpoint when you gasp at his audacity. “Shhh shsh,” he hushes. “Don’t worry, now. You’ll have an excellent time, I promise. Now, you go get fitted for your little costume, and I’ll send a car to pick you up Saturday evening. Say nine o’clock?”

You huff, flustered by what an utterly presumptuous asshole he is (and by the way your cunt is clenching on nothing, being pressed up against a surface full-body by him like this). “You know what your problem is, Ransom?”

He drags his nose across your cheek with a chuckle. “What’s that, bunny?”

You can’t get as much leverage as you’d like, pressed up against the door the way you are, but you do your best and jab back into his solar plexus. And his shocked, breathless grunt is a satisfying indicator that your elbow has met its mark. You turn around and take his face between your hands to peck a kiss of your own to his cheek. “It’s that people’ve been paid to make you think you’re better than you are your whole life,” you whisper sweetly. You kiss his cheek and then let him go, leaving the room before he can regain his breath.

Masterlist

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This has been a fill for:

AFG Dark bingo @anyfandomgoesbingo @anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow/sarah-writes-stucky

Square B3: "Lovers to enemies"

@badthingshappenbingo

Card: sarahyellow/sarah-writes-stucky

Square I5: "thwarted escape"

@blackhawkfanatic

[silkscream]

sangria🍷 jealous peter and enemies to lovers

genres: enemies to lovers, jealous!reader, academic rivals, implied smut

you didn’t have a particular reason to hate peter parker. if anything, anyone you knew who would surely disagree about your negative opinions of him. but maybe that was what did it — the kid was squeaky clean, new york’s favorite boy-hero, and had an academic record to impress any ivy league. how utterly cliché.

peter had tried to be civil with you, but after years of your high school bickering, he took his throne as the top of the class with you as second, and the two of you were known rivals.

“would it kill you to be nice to him?” mj quips next to you. “he’s my friend.”

“you have poor taste in friends. i mean, look at me. midtown’s cunt, is what flash called me?”

“oh, but you love that title.”

you shrug, smirking as you take a shot.

“i need a cigarette.” mj nods and salutes you on your way out to the steps of the large row house.

perched upon the front steps, you light your camel crush and exhale the smoke into the velvety night, the summer air thick with august’s end. your ears perk up when you hear voices at the end of the street getting closer. it sounds like a lovers’ quarrel.

“not now, cat.”

“you are such a buzzkill, peter. i thought getting outed as spider-man would give you a reality check but you’re still so small and scared of the world around you! like, have you even talked to anyone at this party?”

“yes, i have. i don’t need you following me around when i’m off-duty!”

“oh, please. you need me. your virgin status is a cry for help.”

you don’t mean to eavesdrop. you’re just… there. but when peter gets to the front of the house with an incredibly attractive silver-haired girl attached to his hip, your face goes hot for some reason.

“hey,” you mumble.

he either doesn’t hear you, or he chooses to ignore you.

“can i bum a cig, lovely?” the girl asks you, her tone saccharine-sweet. she grabs peter’s arm before he’s able to walk up the steps. “peter, don’t be rude! say hi back.”

“this is my last one, sorry.”

“hey, y/n,” he huffs.

“hey,” you echo. “i thought i was the only one allowed to bully you.”

you use a playful tone but he rolls his eyes. for some reason, it stings.

“oh, honey, i’ve probably been at it way longer,” silver hair quips. her mere presence is making your blood boil. you try to hold your tongue until it bleeds. you stomp the cherry of your cigarettes on the concrete.

you clear your throat. “i wish we could stay for a chat, but i just remembered that our friends were just looking for peter!”

peter flashes you a confused look when you grab him by the arm and usher him into the foyer, slamming the front door in black cat’s face. out of panic, you open the first door you see in case any of your shared friends see you.

“what the hell was that?”

“she was annoying me,” you shrug.

“okay… so why are we in the coat closet?”

you purse your lips, staying silent. frantically, you reach for a light that isn’t there and end up accidentally touching peter’s chest in the dark. as you lean back into the wall, your body hits the light switch.

“are you okay?” you sigh. “she seems like a bitch.”

“she is a bitch,” peter shrugs. “nothing i’m not used to. why do you care?”

“maybe i’m nicer when i’m drunk.”

“oh, was that supposed to be you defending me back there?” peter doesn’t even look at you. instead, he’s looking around at all the random shit around the two of you. when he jiggles on the door handle, it doesn’t budge.

“oh, shit.” he bangs on the door. he looks at you with a hardened expression.

“if this is one of your little games, i’m not in the fucking mood.”

“it’s not!” you exclaim, crossing your arms in defense. you swallow the lump in your throat. “i was… trying to save you from her cruelty!”

“or you’re jealous because you’re not the only bully in my life. is that it?”

“you’re just as much as a dick to me!”

“i’m really not, y/n. you started this in freshman year and haven’t stopped since. i had no idea why, i don’t think i’ll ever know why.”

he searches your face for clues and it leaves you vulnerable. fuck it.

you press your lips to his quickly, clutching his shoulders as you lean in. he’s kissing you back to your surprise, holding you by the back of your neck. you gasp in between kisses, leaning back in for more passion each time as your tongues mash together, tasting of cider and cigarettes.

“so, that’s how you’re nicer when you’re drunk and jealous?” peter sneers, his voice low. his face is inches away from yours.

“i’ll be a fucking sweetheart if it gets you to shut the fuck up.”

“there’s my girl,” he muses. your eyes close when you feel his warm tongue on your neck.

[honeyhotteoks]

into the aurora - chapter eighteen (ot8)

chapter eighteen: little places under stars

summary: you don't realize he's taking you on a date until you're on it, but it doesn't matter, it's just right

warnings: some discussion about anxiety and depression, but it's light. smut, specific warnings for: big dick yunho, nervous yunho because big dick yunho, verbal direction, oral (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, lots of praise (gratuitous good girl, pretty girl, beautiful girl), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, very sweet aftercare

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: fluff, angst, romance, ateez ensemble x reader, polyamory, non-idol!reader, fem!reader, smut

word count: 10.2K

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It’s Sunday when he finally comes to you, almost a full week after he put you to bed and told you to just be a little patient. You’re steadily focused on a project, headphones on and eyes focused on your laptop screen, when you hear a light but firm rap on your sliding bedroom door. You pause the track and glance over your shoulder, “Come in!”

The door slides open and Yunho appears, stepping over the threshold and giving you a warm smile. “Hey,” he murmurs. 

“Hey,” you reply, “what’s up?” 

“What are you doing right now? Are you busy?” He asks, his eyes bright, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. 

“Uh,” you glance back at your computer, “not really, I was just messing around with something for work, but I can walk away. Why?” 

“Perfect,” he grins, “put something warm on, I’m taking you somewhere.” 

“Something warm?” 

“Mm,” he nods, “it’s cold out tonight.” 

You glance over his outfit and realize now how he’s dressed. He’s layered up in thick relaxed jeans, heavy boot socks, and he has a substantial oversized beige flannel over one of his warmer hoodies. You hop up and start sifting through what you have on the clothing rack nearby, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he says, “it’s a surprise.” 

Warmth curls in your chest and you smile back at him before pulling some layers off the rack to pull on. Your current jeans will work just fine, but you pull a brown turtleneck shirt over the tank top you’re currently wearing and your coziest teddy-knit cream hoodie. Judging by Yunho’s attire you aren’t going anywhere too fancy, so you opt to wear your white sneakers and throw on an oversized camel colored wool coat. 

Yunho watches you dress appreciatively, smiling at how quickly you were able to get yourself together and turn towards him, ready to go. 

You follow him out into the garage, waving goodbye to Mingi as you do, and see him pull a beanie down over his hair and add a black face mask for additional anonymity. You assumed you’d be getting in a car, but instead he takes you to the elevator which leads to the ground floor garage entrance that has a back exit out into the streets of Seoul. 

You follow him, conversation still quiet between you as you navigate a few streets away, and as you do, you realize you’ve never really been out alone with just Yunho before. You had become friends the past few weeks, but mostly spent time with him around the other members or if alone, within the confines of KQ or the dorms. It feels nice to walk beside him out in the world, and you feel the way he continually glances down at you to make sure you’re still in step with him as he leads you. 

“So, a surprise,” you say, “can I have a hint?” 

“Well,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “you’re not from Seoul, so I don’t think you’ve ever been to this place before.” 

“That doesn’t really narrow down the list,” 

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he jokes. 

You can feel yourself grinning, the anticipation bubbling in your stomach. Evening is in full effect, with the last rays of sunlight dropping out of view over the horizon line of the city. He looks handsome in the hazy blue light, and you want suddenly to reach out and hold his hand or loop your arm with his, but outside the dorms you have to be so cautious about any level of physical touch. 

“This way,” he says, cutting to the left into the entrance of the closest subway stop, and you feel the weight of his hand when it connects with your upper back to steer you in front of him. You maneuver through the throng of people, painfully aware of your height when you try to navigate in a crowd, but his hand never leaves you. 

It only takes a few minutes until the train Yunho is looking for pulls to a stop on the platform and he once again directs you through the busy commuters into the waiting train car. The car is full for a Sunday, with no seats available and plenty of people standing closely together, utilizing the overhead handles. Yunho moves you into the center of the car and takes one of the handles with one hand, before reaching out with his opposite arm and pulling you in a little closer, bracing you against him since there are no easily available spots for you to hang on yourself. 

While you’re not fully pressed against him, just held in the firm cage of his arm, you’re dizzy at his proximity. The ride on the subway is quiet, respectful of the other passengers, but you keep stealing glances up at him. When the train pulls to a stop, you stumble slightly, and he pulls his arm tighter before looking down at you. His hand runs along your back, steady and soothing. You have never had this kind of contact with him before, up to this point you have just been used to how playful he is, but this is a calm and relaxed side of Yunho’s affection that is wholly new to you. 

He taps your back twice and gestures up with his head to indicate the next stop is yours. He’s taller than almost everyone around you, and you love the way he carves a path for you out of the train car when it arrives, buffering space between you and everyone else with an outstretched arm. 

Once off the train you note the station. “I’ve never been here before,”

“I didn’t think so,” he says, directing you up the steps and back to the street, “but it’s really beautiful here and one of my favorite places in Seoul.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, “I’m excited to see it then,” 

The chill in the air is stronger once you get to the top of the stairs, and you taken in your surroundings. A large stretch of river snakes through this edge of the city to one side, and you can see walking paths, gardens, cyclists, and restaurants and bars lining up the streets ahead. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, and takes your hand in his. 

He doesn’t hear the little gasp that leaves your lips, but you recover quickly and interlace your fingers with his. He gives you a light squeeze and you can feel him starting to relax now that you’re off the train and lost amongst the other couples in the low evening light. 

“It’s beautiful here,” you say, watching a riverboat pass, covered in glittering lights. 

“Mm,” he nods, “there’s almost nothing better than the Han River at night,” 

He leads you up towards a café and releases your hand for a moment to pull open the door. “First stop,” he says, “let me get you something to warm up before we go to the real spot,” 

He orders two hot chocolates and you’re mesmerized by how decadent they look while you watch them being made. “This is the best in the city,” Yunho says with a gesture of his hand, “nothing compares.” 

“The best?” you raise an eyebrow but judging by the rich velvety drink you’re watching pour into your cup, you believe him. 

“Watch this,” he prods you. 

The barista sets both of your hot chocolates down on the counter, leaving a few inches of space in the cup. She turns to an acrylic case and reaches in with a pair of tongs, retrieving a square white block and gently placing one on the top of each of your drinks. Your mouth falls open, “That looks…”

“I know,” he cuts you off excitedly, “that’s real marshmallow. A block of real marshmallow.” 

“Wow,” you breathe, and the barista caps both your cups with a plastic lid before sliding them across the counter to you both. 

“You’ll never be able to drink store bought again,” he says, “I’m ruining you for all other hot chocolates.” 

The warmth of the cup is welcome against your palms and once he leads you out of the busy café and into the street by the river again, he stops, waiting for you to take a sip with eager anticipation. 

You take a long sip, the rich flavor overtaking your senses, the slight bitterness perfectly undercut by the dissolving sweet cloud of marshmallow. A satisfied groan leaves you before you can stop it and you can tell that he’s grinning under his mask. 

He fist pumps and says, “I ruined you, right? No other cocoa could ever compare?” 

You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand to wipe away the excess chocolate, “Yes, Yunho, you’ve ruined me.” 

“I knew it,” he turns on his heel then, sweeping a hand across the top of your shoulders, “now for the best part.” He walks forwards, angling towards the river and towards a wide walking path that stretches along its edge, lined with benches and lamps lit for the evening. 

“Yunho,” you murmur as you walk with him, “is this a date?” 

He swivels his head to look down at you, brow furrowed, “I thought that was obvious,” 

You smile, “Traditionally one is asked out on the date, so they know it’s a date to begin with. I would have dressed up more or done something special,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, enjoying teasing him just a little. 

“You’re perfect,” he responds, with no hesitation. 

Your cheeks heat, and you look back down, focused on the path ahead. 

“I’m serious,” he says, “I like it when you’re like this.” 

“A mess?” your first date with Yunho and you got dressed in about two minutes and didn’t even do a single thing to your hair or add any extra makeup. 

“No,” he rolls his eyes and nudges you, “relaxed, real. You look beautiful all time, and I don’t mean anything by it. You look beautiful dressed up, but I like this.” 

“Thank you,” you manage, taking another sip of your drink. 

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you it was a date, are you?” It’s the first time he’s ever really sounded nervous. 

“No,” you insist, reaching again and catching his hand in yours, “not at all,” 

“Good,” he breathes, “because I was really trying to be romantic and spontaneous.” 

“I’d say you’re succeeding,” you squeeze his hand softly and feel his thumb smooth along the back of your hand in response. 

You continue walking in comfortable silence for a little longer before the path takes a deep curve and you realize you’re alone. Yunho tugs your hand softly and walks off the path towards the river itself and you squint trying to see where he’s taking you. In the dim lighting it’s not completely clear, but he steps forward with sureness as if he’s made this exact walk a thousand times, so you fall into step behind him. 

You quickly note the rocky edge, and he reaches back for you to take both hands, leading you forward over the uneven juts of large rocks. “Careful,” he says, “it’s not too much farther,” 

“Yunho, where,” you start to say, but he eases you a few more steps forward and you see it. A large slab of rock, jutting out at an angle, and you realize from this vantage point up on the path you’re almost perfectly concealed from view. He takes a seat on the rock and gestures for you to follow, and when you get settled to his side and look up your breath catches. 

Across the river Seoul is glittering, with darkness finally settling in on the city. You watch the blinking lights of the passing boats, the car lights passing over the bridge. The reflection in the water is a swirl of light and color, the only sounds distant and ambient, masked by the lapping edge of the water. 

“This is my favorite place in the city,” Yunho murmurs, and when you look up you see that he too is staring right ahead at the lights. He’s taken off his mask and the small smile that plays across his lips makes you dizzy. 

“It’s beautiful,” you agree. 

You sit watching the lights for a few minutes before he shifts his attention back to you and reaches an arm around you to pull you into his side, running his hand up and down you back to give you some warmth. “I wasn’t sure where to take you,” he admits, “and I wanted to show you something special,” 

You soften at his words and lean into his touch, “it’s perfect,” 

“I know we haven’t had much of a chance to spend time together,” he says, “but I was really trying not to crowd you when you arrived.” 

“You were?” 

“Mhm,” he murmurs, looking down to catch your gaze, “you changed your whole life in a week, right? New city, new home, new job, new… love life,” he laughs, not quite sure how to say it, “I didn’t want to add any pressure.” 

“That means a lot,” you put your hand back in his, “it was a big change.” 

“Exactly,” he says, “but all flirting aside, I like you.” 

“I like you too,” you reply, butterflies swimming in your stomach, “but I’ve really appreciated becoming your friend,” 

“Oh,” he pauses, and you realize what you’ve said. 

Spinning to face him, breaking his hold, you wave your hands, “Yunho, wait, that’s not at all what I meant.” 

“Okay,” 

You feel flustered, tripping over your words, “I meant it was nice to get to know you as my friend first, before the rest,” 

“Oh,” he smiles, “that’s good.” 

“Yeah,” you shake your head, unable to stop yourself, “I didn’t mean it like that at all, I mean, who wouldn’t like you. You’re gorgeous, and funny, and you do things like taking me out to spontaneous river dates, and you’re tall,” 

He grins, watching you fumble through your words. “y/n,” he shifts towards you, “relax,” 

The wind flies right out of your sails, “I’m sorry,” 

“If it helps,” he sets his hot chocolate aside and plucks yours out of your hand to sit beside his, “I think you’re gorgeous and funny, and you said yes immediately to my spontaneous river date, which I like. And you’re pretty tiny, which I also like. It’s cute.” 

“Oh,” 

“So, come here,” he pulls you gently forwards, and you tip towards him, kneeling between his open legs and bracing yourself with your free hand against his chest. “My point was,” he murmurs, his warm breath against your cheek, moving to interlace his fingers with yours, “you seem settled here now, like this is a little more like home. I thought it was about time I did this,” 

You’re holding your breath, and his lips connect with yours, soft and warm. He reaches around you to pull you closer, deepening the kiss and gently sliding his tongue along yours. Your skin feels like it’s tingling, the cold sending a blush across your cheeks but your body warm and weightless. You lean back for a moment, taking a brief breath, and when you slide your hand up his chest to rest at the back of his neck, fingertips in his hair, he dives back to your mouth. Your hands break apart and he shifts you quickly, his hands dipping under your thighs and pulling you up to straddle him

A surprised sound squeaks out of your mouth, still tangled with his, and he slips his hands inside your coat to hold you closer. With your hands firmly in his hair, you kiss him again. He groans softly against your lips, and when he grips your side a little too firmly you break away from the kiss with a gasp. From this position, you’re perched slightly above him, and he looks up at you with feverish eyes, his lips parted as he catches his breath and his ears visibly pink. His hands slide down, holding your hips, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to grind your hips against his, and to remember that you’re in public. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe, glancing up to make sure no one is around. 

“Why?” he stares up at you, confused. 

“Yunho, we’re out in the open,” you remind him, and you watch that register on his face, “believe me, we’re doing that again, but at home.” 

“You’re right,” he shakes his head, “of course you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

With a breath you drop a quick peck on his lips before sliding back off his legs and dropping back to your knees. 

“Let’s stay awhile,” he sighs, “unless you’re too cold?”

You shake your head and smile, “I’m good, let’s stay.” 

“Come here,” he says again, but this time he just positions you sitting between his legs, leaning over you to wrap his arms around you and rest his chin against the top of your head. 

“What if someone sees us, Yunho?” You glance up. 

“No one can,” he assures you, “we can relax for a little while, I think.” 

After a few moments you snuggle back into his embrace more. His body is warm and solid around you, and you both rest, listening to the water and the sound of the city in the distance. You squeeze his hand and murmur, “When do you come here?” 

“When I’m conflicted,” he answers honestly. 

“About what?” 

“Anything. When I moved to Seoul it was such a change, and I’ve loved it, but sometimes I miss home,” he says and you listen, “there have been a lot of times I wasn’t sure what the right choice would be. I remember I came here when I was trying to decide if I should sign the contract with KQ. I was completely alone out here, and just a kid, but I found this spot and stayed here and thought about it for hours, and in the end, I made the right choice.” 

You nod against him, “I know what you mean,” 

He presses a kiss to your temple and sighs against you, “You said before that you didn’t have anything where you were before, you were alone?” 

“Yes,” you reply quietly, “I didn’t have many friends, we grew apart after school, and I was living alone. Things weren’t really working out with my music, and at the time I didn’t have the money to move to Seoul and try to work in my field. It was an isolating year,” 

“I’m sorry,” 

You shake your head, “It’s because of you all that I found my way, I’m so grateful.” 

Yunho dips his head and kisses your shoulder tenderly before saying, “Finding direction in this industry is hard, and there’s so many eyes on you all the time. It’s exhausting but if you love it, you love it.”

“How are things for you?” You asked, placing a hand over his.

“Good,” he responds easily.

You press a little more, “I never see you have a bad day, and you rarely complain. I see the way you are with everyone, Mingi especially.”

He tenses slightly at the mention of his best friend, “I don’t know what you mean.”

You sense the delicate nature of this, feeling how protective Yunho is, remembering Mingi’s words, but decide to continue. “You watch him,” you start, and he stays silent, “it feels like you’re always ready to do what he needs or be what he needs. You’re his person. He’s yours. I just want to know if you’re okay too,”

 “He’s,” Yunho starts but sighs, his limbs relaxing, and you feel him lean his cheek on the top of your head, “it’s different. Things affect him differently. He feels everything, he takes so much on himself.”

You squeeze his hand and murmur, “he and I talked about that.”

“You what?”

“We’ve been getting close,” you let him know, “he’s helped me a lot and we’ve talked a lot. It wouldn’t be right to tell you anything more than that, but he’s okay,”

“Helped you?” he asks softly, tightening his hold just slightly.

“Like you said, it’s been a lot of changes at once,” you sigh, “Mingi saw that and he’s been there,” 

Yunho exhales against you, “You’re okay though? He’s helped?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I’m good, and so is he by the way.”

Yunho shifts behind you and quietly clears his throat, “Good, that’s good,” his voice is soft. 

“But I’m asking about you, Yunho,” you murmur, “I just want to make sure you’re okay too.”

“I’m good,” he responds quickly, but after a moment he says, “I am.”

“Okay,” you take him at his word, knowing there’s an undercurrent of something else in his tone, there’s no way around that. You add softly, “If you’re ever not, you can come to me.”

He nods against you and sighs. You both look across the water in silence, taking comfort in each other. 

“I’m sorry, I guess that wasn’t good first date conversation,” you confess, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

He glances down at you and makes a dismissive noise, “that doesn’t matter, and we’re not exactly on a normal first date.” 

“It feels pretty nice and normal to me,” 

“y/n, you’re on a date with one of your eight boyfriends, who all happen to be idols.” He nudges you playfully with his knee, “still nice and normal?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Boyfriends, hmm?”

“I mean,” he kisses your temple again and nuzzles you playfully with his nose, “what else would you call us?” 

The low timber of his voice in your ear sends a sharp spike of heat through you and you can feel how flustered he makes you. You shift, restlessly, and reply, “I don’t know,”

“Hmm,” he kisses the hollow of your ear, his lips traveling down lower to pepper against the exposed skin of your neck. 

His hands slip beneath your coat again, gently squeezing your waist and you blink hard, clearing your head. “Yun, do you want to be my boyfriend?” you tease. 

You feel him chuckle against your throat, smiling, “So what if I do?”

“Mm,” you decide to tease him more, his hands driving you crazy. You slide your hands to rest on his thighs, squeezing gently and arching against him to give him better access to your neck.

As you shift, one of his hands slides around to splay across your stomach. The way his hand stretches across the full expanse of your front sends a rush of heat through you, and when he nips at your neck softly with his teeth you inhale sharply. His fingers press down and your thighs press together in response. 

“Yunho,” you say, breathless.

“Yes?” he says without lifting his lips from the gentle ministrations against your throat. 

“Take me home,” he stills completely.

“Say that again,” 

“Yunho, take me home.” You repeat and his hands tighten on you before he lifts his head away and removes his body from yours completely. 

You turn to him, but he’s already standing, reaching down for you. You take his outstretched hand and once standing he lifts you into a bruising kiss, one hand lacing into your hair. You can’t control the light moan that leaves your lips, and he breaks the kiss, “We don’t have to do anything tonight, this was supposed to be a date,”

“It is a date,” you extricate yourself from his arms and smooth your hair down, looking back up to him, “but you’re gorgeous and wouldn’t stop teasing me, and I like you. I’m asking you to take me home.” 

“Let’s go,” he reaches for you, helping you navigate over the rocks. It’s darker now than before, and your foot lands just off the corner of one, slipping just slightly. He lifts you without hesitation and walks the last three steps with you in his arms. 

“I was fine,” you protest, rolling your eyes slightly.

“I know,”

“You just like to show off,” you playfully shove him once you’re back on your feet.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he takes your hand and heads for the path, “now let’s go home.”

He calls an uber once you make it back from the walking paths to the main road, his hand resting warmly on the exposed skin of the back of your neck as you wait. His touch is soft but possessive, and you feel stomach clench every time he brushes his thumb along your skin. The tension is still there, the anticipation of having each other all to yourselves within the privacy of home sending chills up your spine. 

Yunho on the other hand seems considerably relaxed, and as you wait for the car and as you travel home, he fills the time with questions. You talk about work and your hobbies, you flirt, and you trade gentle chaste touches. You manage to fit all of the normal date conversation into a twenty-minute Uber ride, and it does nothing but stoke your desire for him. 

You like him. 

The moment you’re in the elevator, he crowds you back against the wall and bends to capture your lips. He laughs against your mouth, and you push away, “What could possibly be funny right now?” 

“Remember when you said you only wanted to be friends?”

“I never said that!” you protest pushing him again, “I just said I was happy we were friends first!”

He smirks, “You’re very cute when you’re this flustered.”

“Yunho,” you groan, and he laughs again. 

The elevator slows, and the doors slide open. The dorms are relatively quiet, and Yunho pulls you over the threshold silently. Upstairs you can hear voices, and someone is clattering around in the kitchen, but thankfully your room is close enough to the garage access door that you can both slip through your sliding door without drawing attention to yourselves. 

Once inside you both stand frozen and eyes locked on each other. You’re not sure where to begin or what he wants, and somewhere in the deep back of your mind you think about his face when he said you needed to pick a safe word. Nervous anticipation runs through you.

Yunho picks up on it immediately. “You seem anxious,” 

“A little,” you admit. 

He closes the distance to you, but instead of kissing you like you expect he simply rests his hands on either side of your neck softly and says, “If you’re nervous, we can stop.”

You rest your hands against his sides, “I don’t want to stop, I just,” 

He waits patiently while you gather your thoughts. 

“I told you all before I don’t have a ton of experience,” you confess and he immediately understands, but you continue, “so I want you, but I still can’t help but be nervous. I’m not sure what you want, what you like… and we live together, so I’m a little,”

“Terrified?” he laughs, “It’s okay, we’ll just take it slow, figure it out together.” 

“Together,” you repeat, and he smiles. 

“Plus,” he gets a little closer and you feel him so tall above you, “what about what you like?” 

You’re quiet, searching for anything to say. 

“Ah,” he nods, grinning, “we’ll just have to find out then.” 

You swallow, the nerves still swimming. Knowing that, he takes the lead and slides off your coat, then your hoodie. You pull the turtleneck off on your own, leaving you in your fitted black tank top and jeans. He shucks off his flannel and pulls the hoodie over his head, never looking away from you. He pulls you to the bed and maneuvers you both to lay down in the center, facing each other. 

“Okay?” he checks. 

“Mhm,” you nod, shifting to face him better. 

His broad hand sweeps down your body, resting over your hip, “just tell me if you want to stop, or if something doesn’t feel good, okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching for him, “tell me too, okay?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “there’s no way I won’t like whatever you do to me,” 

“Yunho,” you’re about to protest, but he shifts his hand to your back and pulls you across the mattress flush against him. 

“Shh,” he murmurs, “just relax,” 

He shifts to move over you, capturing your lips again. The kiss starts off tender and probing, he’s careful to go slowly, letting your reactions guide him forward and inform what you want. When you gasp softly, he dips his tongue into your mouth, pressing you back into the pillows behind you, his warm hand coasting from your throat, down your chest, across the plane of your stomach. He slowly peels down the straps of your top and slides his finger along the top seam, his knuckle brushing against your nipples. You gasp into his mouth, a shaky moan on your lips and he smiles against you, tugging your top down and kissing down your chest, teasingly grazing the skin of your breasts with his teeth. 

When his mouth closes over your hardened nipple you can’t help but press up against him, “Yunho,” you groan, “that’s… I…”

He chuckles against you, flicking your other nipple firmly with his free hand, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger with the perfect amount of pressure. Heat rushes to your core, your hands grip the sheets beside you. 

“More?” he murmurs, and you nod, a little frantic. “Use your words,” he directs. 

“Yes, more,” you reach for him, a hand carding through his hair. 

He hums against your skin before lifting away from you. For a split second you’re worried he’s done, but he kneels between your open legs and reaches for the button on your jeans, popping it open and sliding down the zipper in one fluid motion. “Lift your hips for me,” he says, soft and firm, coaxing your hips up so he can slide the jeans off your body. When you settle back below him, legs open and shirt pulled down under your breasts, he groans. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, “you’re driving me crazy,” 

A thrill runs through you, and you smile up at him, “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he confirms, his nails gently raking over your exposed thighs. 

“Yunho,” you say, and he looks up to you, hands slowing slightly, “you’re a little overdressed.” 

“Oh, am I?” he smirks, but yanks the t-shirt over his head and backs off the bed to drop his jeans. 

Your mouth falls open. He’s lean but incredibly toned, his height even more apparent when you see him exposed like this. He’s grinning down at you, and you swallow hard, eyes flicking over him. You clench when you take in his hardened length, still mostly concealed by his boxer briefs. You assumed he would be bigger, especially given his height and the size of his hands, but now you’re sure. 

Yunho drops back onto the bed, opting to lay between your open legs. He kisses the inside of your thighs, suckling the soft sensitive flesh, his hands running over your hips, your stomach, slipping under you to grip your ass. By the time he lands a gentle kiss over your clothed heat, you’re throbbing and soaking through your panties. He teases, slipping his fingers under the seam of your underwear, dragging down your skin but never getting close enough to your slit to give you any relief. 

You’re squirming under his ministrations, pushing your hips into his touch, and reaching to grip one of his hands. He returns his mouth to your inner thigh, and you shudder, “Please,” you choke out. 

“Please, what?” he brushes the pad of his finger down the length of your slit, but with the gentle touch and the barrier of your underwear it only makes you more desperate. 

“Please touch me,” you beg. 

“Touch you how?” He runs his finger back up, pressing down lightly on your clit. 

You gasp, grinding down against his hand, “Please, Yunho, please, anything, anything,” 

He pulls your underwear to the side fast and his lips connect with your clit, his tongue flattening out firmly and flicking firmly upwards, sending a spike of pleasure through you. When you press down against his mouth he groans, “That’s good, baby, just like that,” 

The pet name makes you keen and you moan. He removes himself for just a moment, yanking your underwear down your legs and tossing them to the side. Resettling, he loops his arms under your hips and lifts you to a better angle for his mouth. He’s driving you crazy, the heat spreading through you, his movements alternating between sucking your clit and licking stripes up the length of your wet opening. You’re shaking by the time he touches you with his hands, and at the intrusion of two of his fingers while he firmly flicks your clit with his tongue, you’re a wet mess. 

He pumps his fingers slowly, pressing up deeply and stroking your walls. “You’re soaked for me,” he looks up to you, never slowing. 

The sight of him between your legs working his hand inside you, his mouth glistening with your slick, makes your body clench, your orgasm fast approaching. “Yunho, please,” you beg again. 

He pushes a third finger inside you and your head drops back against the mattress, your hips frantically working yourself down onto his fingers. “That’s it,” he croons, and when he returns his mouth to your sensitive nub your thighs are shaking, moments away from your release. 

He knows it, and the hand that still holds your hips moves to stretch across your lower stomach, holding you steady as he works. Your head is swimming, flushing heat across your body. As he works you to the precipice, he suddenly presses the heel of his hand down just above your public bone and you scramble. Your hand grips his hair, you’re falling apart against his mouth, working your hips against him to chase the exact friction you need. The pressure snaps fast and you clap a hand over your own mouth to keep from letting the entire house know what he’s doing to you. Yunho works you still, but slows his fingers to ease you through the comedown, shifting to press soft kisses to your mound, your thighs. You’re a mess, your hand still locked in his hair as you breathe through the aftershocks, your legs trembling. 

With a firm kiss to your hip, he gently removes your hand from his hair and moves up the bed to collapse next to you. You blink open your eyes and shift to look at him, but his gaze is dragging over your body. He reaches to run a hand from your sternum up to your throat. “You look so pretty like this,” 

You can’t form any coherent thoughts, but you smile at him. 

“You’re blushing,” he moves to nuzzle you, pressing a kiss to your mouth and you taste yourself on him. It sends another rush of heat through you. “My pretty girl,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead, your cheek, your neck, your chest. When you don’t say anything, he pulls back from you and smooths your hair back away from your face, “Still okay?” 

“Very okay,” you manage. 

He grins, self-satisfied, “You like this,” he stretches his hand over your stomach again, and you can practically feel yourself getting wetter, “you get shaky when I touch you like this.” His hand presses down a little and you groan. “Do you have any idea how tiny you are?” 

The fog around you is clearing and you sigh, “I think you like how tiny I am compared to you,” 

“It makes me crazy,” he admits. 

“Come here,” you murmur, reaching for him so you can kiss. You can feel his hardness against your thigh as you do, and you reach to dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. 

He captures your forearm and presses your hand back into the mattress. 

“I want to touch you,” you protest against his lips, “I want to make you feel good too,”

“You will,” he promises, “but right now it’s about you.” 

He sits up, pulling you up with him so he can slide your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side. You let him move you, still feeling boneless after your orgasm and grateful for the initiative he’s taking. When he settles you back down against the pillows, he slides off his boxers and you can’t help the breathy sound that comes out of you. 

He looks back down at you, “What?” 

You could tell from the outline of his cock under his boxers that he was big, but now unobstructed you’re shivering. Fully hard in front of you, you’re suddenly nervous. He was gifted, long and perfect, and thick in a way you had never had, but you were so much smaller than him and your mouth goes dry thinking about how this could work. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, and you imagine he’s had to do this with other partners in the past, “we’ll take it slow and if you want me to stop or if it doesn’t feel good just tell me,” 

You nod and exhale softly, “Okay,” 

“If you want to stop,” he leaves you the option. 

“No, no,” you shake your head, “Yunho, of course not. I want you,” you tell him honestly. 

He moves over you, pushing your legs apart wide and reaching down to pass his fingers against your wetness again. You gasp as he moves two fingers inside you, scissoring them for a moment. “Relax,” he instructs, working you softly and using his other hand to press over your stomach, “just relax,” 

As he slowly opens you up, the tight contraction of your walls release, and you know he’s right. If you anticipate pain or discomfort, you’ll tense up and make it harder for both of you. He feels you easing back into his touch and circles your clit a few times with his thumb before maneuvering over you. You’re cradled now in his arms, your head resting in one of his wide palms, his other hand on your hip. The height difference has your cheek closer to his chest, but he keeps a watchful eye on you as he shifts his hips lower. 

The tip of him runs over your clit and you moan softly against him. He drags himself over you, back and forth, until you’re shifting your hips to angle up and work against him. He pulls your legs up around his hips and lowers, the head of his cock pressing into you. 

He pulls back to watch your face, moving slowly into you. The initial push of him is familiar, but with each slight movement forward you can feel yourself stretching wide in a way you’ve never experienced. His mouth is parted in pleasure, but he’s clearly fully concentrating on maintaining his slow pace. Yunho studies your features carefully, and when he’s halfway seated inside you, he sees your carefully controlled expression break as you wince at the burning sensation. He feels your fingers tighten and your pelvic muscles contract. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs down to you, stilling his movements completely, “talk to me,” 

Your eyes are pressed shut, and you’re focused entirely on trying to make yourself relax, breathing slow through the taut sensation of him stretching you wide combined with the knowledge that you still had more to take. When you don’t answer him, the hand on your hip moves to cup the side of your face, “Sweetheart, where did you go?” 

Your eyes flutter open and you see his face close, brown eyes full of concern, but he still hasn’t moved an inch in or out of you. “Give me a second,” you murmur. 

His fingers stroke you, “You okay?” 

“It’s tight,” you breathe, “but I’m okay, just go slow,” 

Once he feels you start to relax again, he pushes in again and this time you can feel your body accepting him with just a bit more ease. You exhale low against him and widen your legs a bit, at the slight shift the head of his cock drags over a sensitive spot inside you, and you release a broken cry. 

He pulls back, pushing your hair away from your face and searching your features, but when he sees your expression, mouth open in pleasure and brows knit together, he smiles. 

You meet his eyes and pull him closer, “that feels so good, you feel so good,” 

He bites his lip and looks down at the connection of your bodies where his cock disappears inside you. With controlled precision he rolls his hips and works inside you, the sensation still tight but no longer painful. You can feel every inch of him, and when you grip him above you and let out a satisfied whimper, he rolls his hips again, this time fully seating himself inside you. 

“Oh, God,” you stammer, the press of his public bone against your swollen clit combined with the sensation of his cock fully buried inside you sending a spike of pleasure through your core. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs. 

Your brain searches for the words but you land on the only thing you can think of to describe it – “Full,” 

He groans, a shudder running over him, and he drops his head against yours, his breathing heavy. 

You roll your hips against his, grinding your clit against him, and let out a choked moan. “Yunho,” you pull yourself to lock your arms on his shoulders, “move, please,” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice, and he braces his forearms on either side of you so he can move, rocking his hips and setting a steady rhythm. With every thrust you can feel yourself spinning, the feeling no longer uncomfortable but instead essential, the sensation of him filling you something you never want to lose. 

“Fuck,” he stutters against you, “you feel incredible,” 

You work your hips up against him, matching his movements in time, each stroke sending heat up your spine. “Yunho, please,” 

“Please?” he pants, his hips connecting with yours in a firm snap. 

You are close to losing coherent thought, but you know you need more friction, “Harder,” you manage, and he sinks into you firmly to punctuate the word. 

“You think you can take more?” he pushes his hips into yours again and you hang onto him for dear life. 

“Please, please,” you beg, “I know I can,” 

He pulls away and suddenly you’re empty, the loss of him inside of you making you whimper. He kneels and pulls your hips up, sinking his cock back inside of your wetness and holding you by the waist to keep your hips propped up in this position. At this angle you can barely breathe, and you reach to grip his hand. 

“Fuck,” he says again, still. 

“Yunho,” you stutter, looking up at him, “please don’t stop,” 

He shakes his head, his eyes locked on your core. You squeeze his fingers and shift to try and get him to move. Yunho looks up at you, and you take the moment to drink him in. He’s gorgeous, a light sheen of sweat across his body, cheeks flushed, lips red, and eyes blown out with desire. “Feel this,” he catches your hand in his and presses your own palm to your hip, guiding your hand to slide over your stomach. Your fingers ghost up over the subtle but present outline of his cock and your eyes widen. 

“Sweetheart, you take me so well,” he says, pressing his hips further into you, the bulge of his cock beneath your palm shifting. His praise and the sensation of him deeper inside you has you arching against him, your free hand searching for something to brace on and finding his tense thigh. 

“Mm,” he rolls his hips again and you can hear the smile in his voice, “does my girl want to hear me say it? Does she want to know how well she’s taking my cock?” 

You choke, fingers squeezing him, body tense, you feel like you could cry, the sensation is so strong. “Yun,” you whine, and he presses down over the hand you have on your stomach, forcing you to feel every thrust of his cock through your skin. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” his pace turns relentless, his hands holding your hips now with such a sure grip you’re going to bruise. You can barely breathe, the knot in your stomach tightening. You grip his thigh in one hand and reach for purchase against his forearm with the other. 

“Yun,” you manage, “I’m close,” 

“Come, sweetheart,” he soothes, “let go for me,” 

He shifts to hold your thighs as you come, shaking against him at his command, and he watches you come apart with a choked cry. As the sensation washes over you, his hips slow and he passes his hands over your trembling flesh with soft reverence, tracing the curves of your body with his fingertips. He pulls out of you, easing your hips back down against the mattress. 

You know he hasn’t come yet, but in this moment, you can barely open your eyes let alone conceive of how you would be able to take any more. Your eyes are still closed when you feel him shift on the bed and slide his hands under your shoulders, pushing you up into a sitting position. He comes behind you on his knees and lifts you with ease to kneel in front of him, still facing away. 

You forget about the scar on your back entirely until you feel him fall still behind you, running the pad of his thumb down the length of it at the base of your spine. It’s old now, no longer pink and angry, just a divot of silvery flesh running a few inches long. It was easy to miss, but not to him. 

You can’t help the way your body jerks away from him, unconsciously shifting your hips forwards to get his hand away, to stop him from touching it and bringing up painful thoughts at a moment like this. His hands settle back down on your hips, and you can feel his hesitation as he lets you get comfortable with the feeling of his skin on yours again. 

“Yunho,” you manage, not wanting to look back at him. 

He shifts closer to you, still on his knees, and wraps his arms around you now, cradling you against his chest and he kisses your temple. “Come here,” his voice is gentle, and he reaches down to push your legs snugly together so he can lift you and sink you back down onto his full length.  

You stammer out a cry at the sensation, your closed legs making the fit tighter and more filling, the sudden thoughts of your scar and your old injury dissipating instantly. His hands lock around you to help control your movements and hold you close, and thrusts up once, in and out of you deliciously. You’re panting, pliant in his arms, and you look up at him. 

His expression is desperate, holding you steady while his hips start to thrust back up into your heat. You can barely take the sensation of him, your walls fluttering and your body aching from the overuse, but somewhere deep inside you another orgasm builds. He’s panting behind you, teeth grazing your shoulder, cock buried deep. You know what he needs. 

“Yunho,” you manage and his eyes open to catch your gaze, “please,” 

“Please?” he asks again, pushing you once again down onto his cock and making you tell him what you want. 

“Fuck me harder,” you beg.

He groans against you and snaps his hips up, “Is that what you want? Tell me,” 

“I want you to come,” you pant, “inside me, please,” 

Suddenly your positions are shifting, and he holds you suspended as he rocks back against the bed, laying himself down flat on his back, his knees up with his feet firmly planted on the mattress. He coaxes you to fall back with sure hands, guiding you down against his chest and wrapping one arm around you to rest on your chest, the other holding your hips firm. 

“So pretty for me,” he groans in your ear as he resumes his pace, slamming his hips up to drive his cock into you again and again. Your head drops back over his shoulder, your damp hair fanning over his skin. You’re so close to breaking again, and he can feel it. He turns his head slightly to watch you and at the sight of your face contorted in pleasure he loses himself, driving into you with sloppy thrusts, chasing his own release. 

“Please come,” you reach back, threading your hands in his hair and holding his face to yours, “Yun, I want it,” 

His hips snap up at your words, releasing himself wet and warm inside you. His pace slows, but he works himself until he’s fully satisfied, panting against your cheek. Yunho stills, and then smooths his hands along your shaking body, he can feel that you’re a breath away from coming again, your walls contracting around him and legs trembling. 

His eyes open, meeting yours, and without pulling out he reaches down and pulls your legs apart wide harshly, hooking your legs over his to hold you open. His fingers connect with your clit, and you clench desperately around his still hard cock. He hisses in your ear at the overstimulation but doesn’t so much as shift to move out of you. Yunho simply picks up the pace of his fingers, rubbing fast firm circles into your swollen nub. The arm he has over your chest shifts and he palms your breast, flicking your nipple. 

“I can’t,” you choke out, trying desperately to find anything to grip onto. You're arching against him, body overly sensitive and nearing a painful peak.

“Just one more,” his low whisper comes in your ear, “you can give me one more, sweetheart, I know you can.” 

His words finish you, the sound of his voice and the way he calls you sweetheart snapping you in two. Hot tears rush out of your eyes as you come, and Yunho presses a hand over your mouth when you moan loudly, writhing against him. As you come, he slips his now softening cock out of you, and you feel his hot seed rush out of you as your muscles flutter and clench around nothing. He shushes you, pressing kisses against your temple, his fingers sliding off you and hands returning to holding you softly against him. 

Your body has never felt so raw, his breath against your skin feels harsh like you’re an exposed nerve. Your eyes flutter open and more tears spill over, running over your temples into your hairline and the first breath you take with his hand off your mouth is sharp, sounding something like the start of a sob as you start to come back from the shaking pleasure. 

“Baby?” He tries to raise his head to get a good look at your face but from this position it’s difficult, so he slides you off him to the side and rolls to look down at you. When his hand slides up your arm, the feeling is overexposed and sharp, and you let out a choked noise, trying to catch your breath and come down from this feeling of unhinged overstimulation. 

“y/n,” he tries again, and catches your eyes, “I need you to tell me what hurts,” 

He looks panicked, and through your haze you realize what you must look like. You shake your head and reach for his face, steadying your breathing as best you can, “Nothing, I’m okay,” you manage. 

He brushes his fingers along your face to wipe away tears and holds your cheek in his palm, “Sweetheart?” He looks nervous, his eyes flicking over your expression, scanning down your body. 

“Yunho,” you insist, catching his attention, “you didn’t hurt me, I’m good, I’m better than good,” 

“You’re crying,” he says simply. 

“It was really intense,” you tell him, “But you didn’t hurt me. It was incredible,” 

“You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” you repeat, finally smiling up at him, “but I need you to stop worrying and start cuddling me, because that was amazing but also kind of overwhelming and I need a hug, okay?” 

“That I can do,” he relaxes, his shoulders dropping. He slips his arms around you and tucks you close to his chest, running a soothing hand down your back as your body still trembles in his arms. After a few minutes he slides back with a soft grin and kisses you, before fluffing the pillows up above you and resettling you up to relax against them. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be back, okay?” 

“Okay,” you watch as he pulls on his boxers and slips out your bedroom door quietly. He’s gone for almost ten minutes, and you’re starting to worry that he ran into someone in the hall or something when he slides the door back open and hurries in. 

He’s carrying a large breakfast tray stacked with items and you can’t help but laugh. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m staying over,” he shoots you a wry smile, “and I brought some classic post sex necessities, don’t worry about a thing.” 

He sets the tray down on the edge of the bed and comes to your side. Gently with his hands under your arms he slides you up into a sitting position against the headboard and grabs a warm wet washcloth from the tray. You blush when he swipes it over your skin, wiping away the mess you both made. Once done, he reaches back for a crewneck sweatshirt that you had seen him wear before and slips it over your head, helping you pull your arms through and pulling your hair back out of the neck to fall across your back. 

“Best part,” he leans in to kiss you soundly, and then turns to reveal the rest of the tray. He’s brought two water bottles and two steaming cups of instant spicy noodles, a bottle of burupen, a pack of makeup remover wipes, and his iPad. 

“Yunho what is all this?” 

“I didn’t get to take you out to dinner earlier,” he answers with ease, climbing back in bed with you and opening the case on his iPad to select something for you to watch, “plus I know I got a little carried away and you might be sore.” 

“You’re amazing,” you sigh, shuffling closer to him in the bed and finding your legs still barely work. 

“Here,” he shifts you back against the headboard and pulls the tray to rest across both of your laps. He passes you your cup of noodles, opens the seal on your water bottle for you before screwing the lid back on loosely so it doesn’t spill, and sets up his iPad on the tray. Yunho sidles close and starts to dig into his noodles, gesturing for you to do the same. 

The show he selects starts running, and you realize it’s one that he’s seen you watching, and he’s glancing down at you now to make sure he picked right. You sigh, nodding at him and kissing his shoulder softly, too tired to try to reach anything else. He smiles softly as he eats and you follow suit. Once he’s done, much more quickly than you, he tucks you under his arm and rests you against the firm cushion of his shoulder and chest. You eat as much as you can, but you’re exhausted, full and sated. 

You rest your chopsticks in the remaining noodles and broth, the cup still held in your hand but resting on your knee. 

He nudges you softly, “Don’t let it get cold,” 

“I can’t eat another bite,” you murmur, your head lolling against his chest. 

“You’ve got to eat more than that,” he drops a kiss to your temple. 

You groan, “Babe, I really can’t.” 

“Babe?” He teases. 

You blush, “Sorry, it just… I don’t know it slipped out,” 

“Oh no,” he squeezes you, “I like it,” he reaches and grabs the chopsticks from your cup of noodles, “I’ll be your babe. So, you’re done with these?” 

He makes you giggle, his fingers pressing your ribs to tease you more and you sigh, exaggerated like you’re irritated with him, but a smile still spreads across your face, and you hold the cup closer to him. He doesn’t take his arm from its position around you, simply uses you to hold the cup of ramen while he tucks in and eats your scraps. 

“Yours tastes better,” he says, his cheek full of food. 

“Mhm,” you shake your head, “I’m sure it does,” 

He finishes your noodles in a matter of a minute and a half, singularly focused on slurping back the noodles while you watch him eat, “Did you want your broth though? You should have your broth,” 

“Yunho,” you shake your head, “I’m fine.” 

“Give it here,” he takes the cup from you and dips it back, drinking down the remaining broth and sighing pleasantly when he finishes. 

He relaxes a minute more, letting you rest against his chest, brushing his fingers along your bare arm, but it’s late now and he yawns next to you, contagiously you follow suit. 

“Here,” he murmurs, and unwraps himself to discard the food containers before pressing two of the anti-inflammatory pills in your hand and urging you to drink some water. As you take them and drink a good amount of the water, he slips open the package of makeup remover wipes and takes one wet cloth out. 

“Do I look crazy, is that what you’re telling me?” you quirk an eyebrow at him. 

He rolls his eyes, “No, but if I don’t do this, I’ll just hear my makeup artist’s voice in my head all night chiding me for letting you fall asleep with foundation on.” 

Your cheeks ache from smiling, and your chest warms when he shuffles close to you and starts to run the wipe across your skin softly. You expected him to hand you the wipe, but he takes the lead, one hand coming to rest at the base of your neck to hold you steady while he works. 

“Close,” he murmurs softly, and you slip your eyes shut to comply. He’s incredibly gentle, letting the cloth sit over your mascara for a moment and dissolve it before he wipes it away. “Okay,” he finishes with a swipe under your eyes now that they’re open again and looks you over, “my conscience is clear.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you grin. 

“You like it,” he dips in and kisses you again, soft and slow, “you called me your babe, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got you wrapped around my finger.” 

“Oh, is that what this is?” You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips down to yours again, “I don’t know, Yunho, I seem to remember someone was begging to be my boyfriend.” 

He laughs, sharp and sudden, his head back, “That’s true,” 

“Mhm,” 

“Okay, okay,” he kisses you again, still chuckling against your mouth, “I’m wrapped around your finger, you caught me.” 

He dips you back into the covers, shifting you down with ease so you’re lying under him again, and he kisses you once more. His lips soft and plush, shifting down your jaw, the hollow of your ear, your throat, before he sighs long, a warm breath of air against your chest when he kisses your one exposed collar bone. “We should sleep,” he leans back. 

You roll into him, nose to nose to kiss him again when you feel his hand shift over your lower back again. His fingers brush down the length of your scar, and you break the kiss, shifting back a little in his arms. 

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, sliding his hand up and away, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” 

“It’s okay,” you assure him, and you can see questions curling around in his brain, but you hope he won’t ask. 

He studies your face, and you watch him come to the conclusion that now is not the time. Your body language is telling him enough about what you need and don’t want, so he dips forwards to kiss you again, “Let’s go to bed then,” 

“Yeah,” you nod, and he pulls more blankets over you before shifting you where he wants you and spooning you from behind. He props the iPad up on your nightstand and lets the show keep running, smoothing his hand along your skin softly, but letting you relax into him fully, your body exhausted and ready for sleep. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. 

“For what?” 

“For saying yes earlier,” he sighs, “I really needed you tonight,” 

It’s clear he’s not talking about the sex, but instead the trip to the river. “Are you okay?” you ask. 

“Mhm,” he pulls you close against his chest and sighs against you, “I am now.” 

You make a note to ask him more later about what brought him to the river tonight, and what brought him to your door to join him, but you’re both easing into each other and into a warm sleep so you just whisper, “Goodnight, Yunho.” 

With a contented sigh he replies, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

You drop into deep sleep with his hand spread over your heart and his lips against your hair.

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[billthedrake]

GOALS (PART FOUR)

Story idea by and collaboration with top son Turner (bimgm36@gmail.com).

[AUSTIN]

The holidays were tough. Thanksgiving meant family time for Scott. Shannon was back home and Scott took time off to spend with his wife and daugher. He even canceled our Tuesday session that week.

I had a full couple of days of training sessions to preemptively make up for the holiday. Wednesday afternoon, I made the drive an hour to my Mom's aunt's place where we always spent the holiday, at least since my parents' divorce. It was my first time visiting since I'd come out to them, and I was a little nervous. They acted like nothing was different though. Maybe nothing was different. I was still little Austin in their eyes, and nothing too much had changed.

I texted Scott throughout the day, like I did pretty much every day now. We used a different app to be discreet. By midday though his texts stopped, so I decided to give him a break and let him enjoy family time.

December also meant not as much Scott Delahunt time as I wanted. The man had some work obligations - corporate holiday parties, fundraisers, attending social events from his and his wife's circle of friends. By mid-December, too, Shannon was back home.

Scott seemed apologetic. One evening after our sessions, we were back at my place for a quickie. I used to love quickie sex, and I still did, but that's all we had time for lately. Still, Scott made a show of stripping down for me and getting on his knees in my living room. "Let me take care of you buddy," he hissed.

I still occasionally blew Scott, but it was rare now. And when time was short we went for the basics. His mouth on my cock.

I'd been worked up, and I lasted no more than a minute and a half. Scott greedily gulped my seed. He didn't even pull back to taste the cum, he just let his throat milk me. He'd gotten real good at relaxing his throat.

My prick plopped out of his lips with a smack. Scott had a proud satisfied look on his face as he slowly stroked the lower part of my rod. "Sorry I've not had much time for you, man," he said.

"You don't have to apologize, Scott," I said. "Your family comes first. I mean that."

He looked at me, a little emotional. "Wish I didn't have to choose," he admitted.

"You don't," I said. "But can I get a kiss before you head out?"

"Definitely," he grinned as he stood up. Even with a quick suck, he'd managed to cum in his fist, and I saw his spike still pulsing.

"MMMhhh," he moaned as our bodies connected, then our lips.

"Something to tide me over," he said dreamily as we pulled back.

I had been sincere about wanting Scott to enjoy his family time. But I also knew Christmas would be another tough stretch. Scott and I had no definite plans, but I'd bought him a nice golf-attire zip-up and some expensive golf balls. I wasn't sure when I'd have a chance to give them to him.

Turns out the Saturday before Christmas I got a private message from Scott. Around 7 AM, but I didn't get it until closer to 8, when I woke up.

"Short notice, buddy, but you have any free time today?"

My morning wood jerked even harder. "Yeah, absolutely," I wrote. "When is good?" Saturday usually meant a morning workout and afternoons cleaning up the apartment. But I knew I'd rearrange my schedule to his.

"Kelly and Shannon are going shopping late morning. Wanna meet at my office? Should be quiet there."

We set up a tentative plan. Which two hours later became less tentative. I was able to fit my workout in and shower, then drove straight to his work building right from the gym. Traffic was heavy with the run-up to Christmas, but I still made it on time. It was the first time I'd ever been to Scott's work. He did a great job of keeping me separate from his regular life. I think he thought I'd be offended by that, but I had experience dating married men. Maybe too much.

He was waiting at the entrance. It was cold out, and he had a knee-length camel-colored winter coat on and a plaid scarf that set off his handsome features and silvery temples. "Hey," he smiled as he took his hands out of his pocket and offered his hand for a shake.

It felt weird to shake his hand, but we were in public and this was Scott in his business mode. He was even wearing a suit.

"What's going on?" I asked, chuckling some.

Scott had an impish grin. "I thought we'd have a private Christmas celebration. Just you and me."

"Here?" I asked.

"Here, buddy," he said with a wink. "Come on."

I followed him and I felt nervous. Mostly because it felt like we were risking something by walking into his office building together, even on a Saturday.

It was deserted of course, except for the security guard. "Good day, Mr. Delahunt..." the older African-American man greeted. "Another working weekend?"

"Fraid so," Scott said. "Have some project materials to give Matt here..." he lied.

The man waved us on and soon we were taking the elevator up, way up. I think I had a fantasy idea of what a C-suite office would look like. Scott Delahunt's corner office lived up to that fantasy. Spacious, amazing view, modern furnishings, big desk.

He shut the door behind us and took off his overcoat. He wore one of his pinstripe suits, along with a banker-striped shirt and patterned tie.

I set down the shopping bag I carried, one with his presents. "I brought you your Christmas gifts," I said, excited for him to open it.

He seemed pleased and said, "I have one for you, too, buddy.... but first things first... why don't you have a seat.... over in my chair."

"You mean?"

He nodded. "It's your fantasy, right?"

I'd told him about this one all right. Turns out Scott was determined to make it a reality. I'd barely sat down in his plush leather swivel chair when the middle-aged exec undid his coat button and knelt down on the floor in front of me, almost half under his own desk. He reached out and ran his hands up my jeans and then undid my fly.

I was rock hard within seconds. Particularly as his fingers pulled down my boxer briefs and freed me for his inspection.

"How does your fantasy go?" he asked as he gave my hard tool soft gentle strokes.

"Pretty much like this," I gulped. "The big boss servicing me at his desk."

He took his eyes off my cock and looked up at me. So frickin handsome in his suit and tie. "You like being the big boss for a change, huh?"

"Oh god," I grunted and nodded. Amazed he was indulging my turns on so effortlessly.

"Well, sit back and enjoy," he hissed. Then he took me into his mouth. He was slower than normal. Almost torturously sly. I could tell he wanted me to relish this scene. I'd dreamed of it, and here Scott was, delivering it on a silver platter. His hot executive mouth working me up and down. His suit bunching up some as he hunched his shoulders to brace his upper body on my thighs.

Soon those slow strokes were going deep. All the way to my pubes. "Ah FUCK!" I hissed. Looking around the walls and out the window. Amazed I could enjoy this professional space of his as our private sexual space. "Suck my cock, boss!" I hissed.

My hand rested on his head and now pushed him down on me with each deep swallow. Just enough roughness to turn me on, but not so much as to freak Scott out. He seemed to sense my need and one hand left my thigh to take my wrist to guide it to his head.

I pumped his throat now, lifting my hips off that chair to fuck into his hot mouth. I tested his gag reflex, once but only once. Amazingly he took it for the twenty or thirty seconds it took me to work toward my cum. I looked out the window once more, then back down on his reddened face, a tear forming from the corner of his eye. My hot cocksucking dad.

I blasted. Thankfully I let up my grip when I did, and Scott pulled off for a quick gasp of air as I painted my belly with come. Until his mouth took me in to suck the rest. When I was done Scott pulled off and started licking the sperm from my abdomen. Sucking it all up.

I could tell he was hard in his suit when he pulled back. "Merry Christmas, stud."

"Maybe I can return the favor." Like I said, I rarely offered to blow Scott these days. But I didn't like how his wife sometimes cut him off, and this was the holidays...

I knew I'd said the right thing. "Yeah?" He stood up and reached down to unzip. "I know you're into being the top... but it's been so long since I've had a good blow job buddy. And you were the one to give it to me."

His spike popped out, leaking and ready. I wheeled the chair in and started licking him. I knew it wouldn't take long to suck him off. I decided to enjoy this, feeling that spike fill my mouth and the soft gentle in and out motions as I bobbed on him.

"Getting there, man," he warned, spreading his legs. Then I felt that dick jerk in my mouth and flood my craw with his daddy seed. I suckled a little as I swallowed then pulled off.

"I don't do that for you enough," I muttered. Torn between my fantasy of dad-fucking sex and the reality of being grateful for Scott Delahunt and what he meant to me.

Scott nodded as he tucked back in. "You do prefer to be serviced," he observed.

"Pretty much," I blushed.

He looked at me thoughtfully then leaned down for a soft kiss. He patted my shoulder as he leaned back up. "I love making you happy, Austin. You know that. But maybe, you think, on occasion, we can find a way for that?"

"Yeah," I conceded. "You must think I'm an asshole."

He reached in his coat pocket. "Here's how much of an asshole I consider you," he smirked. "A little early Christmas present."

"I think I know what it is," I said as I opened the card. There were two Titans tickets and a gift card for TopGolf.

"I know you're not a regular golfer, but I figured it would be fun if you wanted to go some time. You know, when the weather's warm."

"That'd be awesome," I said. I then looked at the inscription of the card.

"Merry Christmas, Austin.... Thank you for making me a new man. Love, Scott."

I bit my lip then looked up at the man, who was looking at me with such openness. "You like making me emotional, don't ya?" I laughed.

"It's a good look on you," he smiled.

"Well, I have some gifts for you, too," I said. "You can read the card later, if you like."

Scott rooted in the bag and pulled out the card. "I can't read it now?"

"You can," I said. "But it's corny."

"I like corny," he winked and undid the envelope flap. It was another one of my heartfelt letters inside. Talking about how I never got along with my dad, but I considered Scott to be the kind of dad I wished I'd had.

He looked up at me. "Oh, buddy."

"Too much?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said. "I'm honored. Truly."

I blushed. I wasn't used to being this vulnerable with another guy. "Just a warning: the gifts are kinda 'dad' gifts."

Scott laughed and pulled out the small box, the golf balls. "Nice," he said. Then looking up at me. "You ever think about playing? For real?"

"I'd need a hell of a lot of practice," I said. "Or maybe lessons."

"That could be arranged," he smiled. He looked me up and down. "You got the strength and athletic ability to do real well."

I thanked him then nodded to the bigger box. "Open the other one."

He seemed genuinely wowed by the golf top. "It's perfect, man," he said. Then leaned forward for a kiss. "Listen, I got about an hour and a half before I gotta be back. What do you think of grabbing some lunch somewhere?"

It wasn't fancy or anything. Just a regular burger lunch spot. But in my eyes Scott and I had our Christmas meal together there. It would become our tradition, actually.

[SCOTT]

"Come on, it'll be fun," I said to my daughter. "We've done Europe three summers in a row."

"Your father has gotten on one of his mid-life kicks," Kelly explained.

"We both have," I reminded her. I wasn't the one who'd signed up for baking classes.

Shannon giggled. As much as I sometimes griped to Austin about my spoiled daughter, it was still always great to see her. She was young and happy and her happiness was infectious. "I just can't believe you've been using Austin as your trainer."

Kelly sidled up to the kitchen island with a wine glass in hand. She liked to let loose over the holidays. "I think Austin has some extra business because of him," he put her arms around my shoulder. "My girlfriends all have pestered their husbands to go to him."

I blushed. Maybe I was a grade-A heel for acting like everything was normal. Like I wasn't having sex with Austin a couple of times a week. But I'd been open about developing a close friendship with my trainer. It was kind of in an "I always did like that kid" kind of tone.

But this was more. I had told Kelly and Shannon my dream of hiking Glacier National Park and was upfront this was something Austin was helping me train for. We'd be doing spring hikes in Tennessee and aim for a July trip out west. Austin and I would do the hike and then we'd meet in some resort.

"Linda Price says Jackson Hole is overrated," Kelly chimed in. "She says the smaller resorts are the real deal and much nicer."

"Can I bring Bryan?" Shannon asked. Her boyfriend of the moment.

"Of course," I said. "And some friends if you like." Maybe I figured that this would help sell the trip. But also, I knew it would be awkward to seem like I saw making Shannon's ex the only other person there.

"How come you didn't ask me to do the hike, Dad?" Shannon teased. She could get in her "girl boss" mode sometimes.

I shrugged. "You strike me as more the glamping type."

She laughed. "Maybe. Yeah."

[AUSTIN]

I really worked Scott hard that Tuesday.

"You should have pity on an old man," he teased as we walked out to our cars. It was February and plenty dark out at 8.

"I know what I'm doing," I asserted. "I specialize in training older guys, remember."

"I remember," he said. Then, quietly, Scott asked. "Have there been others? Besides me?"

He didn't spell it out but I knew what he meant. "You serious?" I asked.

"That’s not a no," he said.

"No one else," I assured him. "Yeah, sure, sometimes it's fun to look but you're the one exception to my business-only rule."

He liked that answer. I liked that he liked it. "Hell of an exception, buddy.'

I laughed. "Got time to come back to my place?" Sometimes he didn't but this was as close to routine as we'd get.

"You bet."

He was surprised when he walked in. I had a massage table set up in my living room.

"What's this?" he laughed. "Starting a side business?"

I'm not licensed," I explained. "But we did sports massage some in Kinesiology at UT."

He looked at me. "For me?"

I grinned. "I can't afford a fancy gift, but you have a birthday this week." I pointed to the table. "Come on, strip down and I'll help you relax."

He grinned and started taking off his workout sweats. I enjoyed seeing him hard. But I urged him to lie face down first.

I took my time. I applied massage oil to his daddy muscle and slowly worked it in. Like a lot of exec types, Scott was tense as hell, and our workout hadn't helped. But he moaned and shut his eyes softly as I worked him.

I did what I knew how, but there was a lot of improvising. And some more sensual, sexual stimulation, up the insides of his thighs, and along his ass.

“Turn over,” I instructed. There was his rigid spike again, leaking on his belly. But I didn't touch it. I started with his temples, then down his neck and shoulders. I could sense the tension leave him, even if I wasn't an expert.

Or else the tension was going straight to his prick. I went to the other end. I started with the calves and worked up the legs, one then the other. Finally I grabbed hold of his hardon with my oiled hand and pumped.

I didn't have any special technique here, either, but I was mimicking a tug motion, like milking a cow's udder. Scott was so worked up. He opened his eyes. Hungrily feasting on my shirtless body.

"Austin!" he hissed. And like that sperm flew out, over my first and up onto his chest.

His body tensed in aftershocks, then he reached out to touch my own tented crotch. "Let me do you," he urged. I'd been ready to make this a special Scott day. But I wasn't gonna turn down a blow job. I pulled my sweats down and let my hard cock just toward his face.

Scott twisted his position and took me into his mouth. He'd gotten so good at this. Rapidly he worked his head and up and down while I took in the vision of his naked body. Older, beautiful, just having had its own release.

I pulled out. My prick spurted on Scott's tongue which got him to open wide for the rest of my load. Some of it hit his chin and dribbled down but the man caught most of it before circling his lips back on me to suck it all down.

"You've never done that," he remarked when he finally sat up.

"Yeah, I wanted to see the cum," I explained.

"Was hot," he said as he leaned in for a kiss.

I let him shower the oil off. "I'm gonna sleep well," he said as he came in fully dressed again. Ready to head back home.

"I'm glad. Happy early birthday, Scott."

"I won't be able to spend any time with you this weekend," he explained.

"I get it," I assured him. "For real."

He gave me a nod. I could see some conflicted emotions but stoically he walked out of my pace and into the February cold.

[SCOTT]

Two years ago I would have hated a place like this. But it was a warm March day and I was hanging out with Austin at TopGolf. It was a blast. He had a competitive streak and though I was a better hitter, he had some power in his drives. He got into keeping tally of our scores.

"Good thing it's not a putt putt challenge," he said. "My Dad would always take us when we were in Gatlinburg. I got pretty good."

"How long ago was that?" I asked as I sipped my beer.

"A while," he admitted. "But a few of my buddies and I would actually go play when we were in college. We'd get hammered then make bets on who'd get the best score."

I laughed. "Sounds like a country club," I deadpanned. "Only the drinks would cost more."

"How's the trip planning going?" Austin asked after his turn. He was responsible for the hike planning for Montana, but I was arranging flights, hotels, transportation, park reservations, the rest of it.

"All booked," I said. "You're gonna have to put up with Shannon and her friends."

"It'll be fine," Austin grinned. "I'm a charming guy." He was a little tipsy, I could tell. "Just tell me we're gonna have some alone time, Mr. D."

I smiled. "A week backpacking's not enough alone time?"

"I mean after," he said. "I'm greedy that way."

"We gotta be careful," I cautioned him. "But you have a way of getting me to do things for you, Mr. White."

[AUSTIN]

"How you doing?" I asked as we entered a steeper stretch. I had tried to give myself more of the weight, but Scott insisted on carrying an equal load in our packs.

"Doing good," he said, a little out of breath and very much breaking a sweat, but not making a show of it. "I have a personal trainer who's whipped me into shape."

I laughed. "The gym's different from the trail," I reminded him.

Scott was never short with me, but he was getting short now. "I told you I wanted a challenge, buddy, and I meant it. I'm good."

I was used to type-A corporate types in my job, and it was times like this that I remembered Scott Delahunt was one of them.

The first day was the longest and hardest, and when we got to our first spot to set up, Scott was quiet, almost moody. "Can we rest for a sec?" he asked as we plopped down on a rock. He looked out over the landscape. Parts of the Smokies weren't dramatic. This was dramatic. But contemplation of the scenery was the last thing on Scott's mind. "Glad we beat the thunderstorm," he said as he pulled out his water bottle and took a good swig.

I let him be frustrated. I'd gotten real good at reading Scott's moods. I took a good swig of water myself and enjoyed just being up in the mountains again. Then I got up and gently squeezed Scott's shoulder and walked over to unpack the tent.

He was actually really efficient at helping put it up. "You learn those knots in Scouts?" I asked.

"Probably," he smiled. I was glad to see his humor return. "But I forgot them. I studied up before coming."

I fixed the last of the tiers to the poles. "Looks like that thunderstorm is coming," I said as I looked up to the sky, feeling the breeze pick up just as the clouds were really darkening.

We got the bags inside the tent. I had the foresight to take a tarp and stretch it over some exposed rock dirt and secure it with rocks. We'd want somewhere dry to cook and eat.

The drops came, a few of them, then a lot. I got in the tent first, and Scott ducked in a second after.

"Welcome to the Smokies," I said.

"Love it," came his reply. We plopped down on the tent floor. Scott unfurled his sleeping bag as I did mine.

"I hope we're only using one of these bags," I teased.

Scott looked over, a playful look in his eyes. "Tight fit," he said. Already he was untucking his shirt. "But maybe we can test it out."

I was matching his moves. "I'm a little sweaty," I said.

"So am I," Scott replied. "The hike leader is a real slavedriver."

He managed to get naked first and I saw that beautiful dad spike sticking out of his crotch. I loved every hardon Scott threw for me, with me and around me.

We scooted toward one another. The tent wasn't that big anyway. "We can take our time, right?" I asked.

The rain was coming down. It felt magical. The right time with the right man. The two of us alone in nature.

We kissed and humped against one another. His body was warm and clammy. He gripped my own sweaty muscle. It felt like how men should have sex.

Apparently that's what Scott thought. He pulled back and ran his hands along my arm muscle, from my forearm to my biceps and triceps and then back. "It's nice being with a man," he said, thoughtfully. "Sometimes, I still can't believe it."

I looked into his face. Just that older, dad-like handsomeness was enough to make me and keep me rock hard. The lines around his eyes, and the salt and pepper hair, now grayer than when I first met him. "I've always been too scared to ask you, but you ever get weirded out by it?"

That caught him by surprise. "Why are you afraid to ask?" he hissed then kissed along my chin. I liked this private version of Scott a lot. Sensual as much as sexual.

"I dunno," I said. "Maybe a part of me is always afraid you'll go back to being straight."

He looked at me, taking in my words. "It's not about words for me, Austin. I can't explain."

"You don't have to," I said. "Some things can be put into words anyway."

He nodded. "Maybe. Still, I don't want you afraid to ask me anything. Ever."

"OK," I said. I rolled over on top of him. Just this position got me going. I held my body up above him and felt his hands explore my lats and sides as we looked into each other's eyes. "Do you love me, Scott?"

He didn't hesitate. "I do." I could feel his heart pump through the connection of our dicks. "I don't want to lead you on, Austin. Maybe I can't give you what you need. But I love you."

I smiled. "You give me plenty, sir."

"Sir?" he laughed.

I blushed. But gently thrust my cock against his. "My parents taught me to respect my elders." Kind of teasing, but also suggesting to Scott what was on my mind.

I could see the wheels turning in his head. "I've been afraid to ask you things, too."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Are you looking for a daddy?"

I raised my eyebrow. "You've been studying up on the gays," I teased.

"I gotta keep up with you somehow, Austin," he said sincerely. "But you didn't answer my question."

"I have a daddy already," I said directly, getting the courage to look him in the eye as I described my fantasy, my kink. "I guess I'm looking for a dad."

His fingers now lazily traced circles along my flank. "Sorry. You're gonna have to explain."

I scooted off him, taking the chance to run my hand along his chest and furry abs. He'd slimmed down a lot over the last month, and I could see knotted ridges of his abs now. "A daddy is any older guy I'm with. But a dad.... well, I get turned on by the incest fantasy."

I examined his face for a hostile reaction. Or a positive one. Instead I saw pure curiosity as Scott reached over and wrapped his hand around my cock. "You're rock hard just talking about it."

I nodded. "We don't have to explore this," I assured him. "But I think about it when we have sex. A lot."

"You think of your father instead of me?" I could tell he was a little hurt by that idea.

"Fuck no," I interjected. "I dream of you being my dad. And being with you that way... Sorry if that freaks you out."

He shook his head and removed his hand from my dick. "Doesn't freak me out. It's a new idea to me. A little weird. But I like seeing you turned on." He turned over and I got an amazing view of his backside as Scott rifled through his backpack. I'll just say his back and leg workouts were paying real dividends.

When he turned back he had some lubricant in his hand. "It's been too long," he said. "You wanna?"

I nodded. There would be no rim job this time nor any extended foreplay, but it turns out we were both worked up. The thunderstorm had passed, but the rain still pattered on our tent. Scott scooted in place beneath me and let me place his legs on my shoulders. I decided I like this position, a lot. The ability to see Scott's handsome face as I penetrated him.

"I'm not ready for the 'dad' talk," he said. "But if you wanna think it..." he urged.

Just that permission felt wild. I pumped Scott slow and deep. And he became Dad as I fucked. My hunky, wonderful Dad who let his son have his way far too often. Like now. Scott's eyes looked up at me, knew what I was thinking, his hands urging me to enjoy this fuck.

He was enjoying it, too, his own fist working his spike slowly with each steady pump of my cock inside him. His body enjoying that connection between his p-spot and his dick.

I had an idea though. I nudged his hand aside with my own. Grabbing his cock like a handle, I took over stroking him. Focusing a little less on my own immediate need, though after so long Scott's ass felt amazing on my bare cock.

"You like this?" I asked. Eyes on his as I fucked.

He nodded excitedly, amazed at feeling a different hand than his as we mated. "God yes."

"Keep your hands to the side, OK?" I asked and more than a little commanded. "I wanna get you off."

His eyes were pure excitement as he let his body take over. I was getting real close to nutting myself but I wanted to see if this would work first. I knew Scott loved seeing me get my pleasure and the telltale look on my face was tripping his triggers.

"Keep your hands off!" I urged, louder now.

Scott nodded eagerly, already on the climb toward orgasm.

Just at that moment I let go and put all the power into my thrusts. By instinct Scott's hand went up but I intercepted. And like that, I was watching Scott Delahunt have his first hands-free orgasm. That spike spurting high globs of semen onto his furry front as his body jerked and his deep voice cried out.

"Yes," I hissed and like that I was shooting my wad deep into the man.

The man fell back onto the sleeping bag, head limp as he caught his breath. I slowly pulled out and let his legs come down from my shoulders.

"That was SO hot, Scott," I said as I leaned down to kiss him, his spermy body connecting with my sweaty muscle.

"I'm glad," Scott muttered as he pulled my hard body to his. "I still can't think," he laughed. "You fucked it all out of me."

[billetwoes]

It Has Begun! Billet Woes Part 1

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, rudeness is not.

Word Count: 1,637

Synopsis: You are one of the volunteers scattered throughout Earth Realm and Outworld that have volunteered to billet MK1 protectors that assigned to you when necessary. You take this as the highest honour and are wholly committed to giving your all to being the best host to your temporary billet guest. However, will the guest assigned to you return the same courtesy?

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

When Lord Liu Kang became the Wielder of the Hourglass, he had sworn to craft a timeline where all the Realms will get the opportunity to experience and therefore value peace. It had taken him aeons to craft a timeline with certain malefactors are neutralized in some individuals to keep evil ambitions and tendencies at bay, whereas certain opportunities to build better lives and relationships were given to others. Overall, it can be attested that it was one of the best timelines, first of its kind, created by the former Earth Realm Champion turned Fire God.

A mutual agreement between Earth Realm and Outworld was established and has been in effect for centuries. Warriors and protectors are temporarily housed and looked after when on active missions and during times where certain locations needed to be patrolled due to the likelihood of unauthorized portals that pose potential risks of invaders and troublemakers.

Few individuals scattered throughout the two realms who not only know of Lord Liu Kang’s and the current Outworld’s ruling monarch’s existence and but are supportive of their missions for peaceful co-existence. Volunteers have been approached by the Fire God himself regarding billeting arrangements, and all have usually been glad to volunteer, unless unexpected life events happen. Some are excited to learn about different realms and their cultures; some love to hear stories of adventures and victorious battles and life experiences while carousing, which can get interestingly hilarious; and some are being paired with certain individuals for, well, who knows what. These types of experiences tend to be like buying one of those plastic eggs from one of those $0.50 gumball machine and getting all excited to find out the contents of the egg that was randomly chosen for you. Sometimes the item’s exciting, sometimes it’s disappointing. Occasionally, it’s painfully amusing.

In the present day, people in your neck of the woods are going about your day-to-day life. You had just finished your shift at your office job and were sorting out stacks of paper to deal with the next day, and then proceeded to put on your camel coat and took your car keys out of your handbag as you positioned the straps on your shoulders and headed to the car.

After passing a few colleagues on your way to the car with pleasantries and well-wishes for the evening and stepped on a banana peel and nearly fell down the stairs, you finally reach your car, hopped in, and suffered the rush hour traffic but had an old CD with nostalgic music from high school playing to keep your sanity.

You finally made it home and settled your stuff in their homes and was greeted by a domestic shorthaired gray and white cat named Minou while the other one named Bijoux, who was an aloof calico cat, couldn’t give a damn; she was perched on top of a cat tree by one of the big windows of your two-bedroom apartment where you’re currently living in alone. You had just gotten settled when you heard a knock on the door. You go to answer it and were in shock as you were greeted by Lord Liu Kang. Your jaw must have dropped to the ground, as always, to which the Fire God responded with a polite smile.

“Greetings, Y/N,” he started, “I am here on billeting business.”

You opened the door wide and gestured for him to come in eagerly and then gave a respectful bow.

“Lord Liu Kang, it is an honour, as always,” you greeted back with a smile, “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Both the kitties quickly rushed over to greet the new visitor, with choruses of meows and trills. Minou, the social butterfly of the two immediately busied herself circling and marking the Fire God’s booted feed and then flopped on her back to expose her belly while purring loudly. The Fire God has been marked as one of her favourites. On the other hand, once Bijoux had her fill of sniffing walked away a few feet before settling on staring at Liu Lang with wide and interested eyes. Liu Kang reached down to give the social kitty some pets and chuckled before the both of you met at the living room with you holding a tray of green tea in a tea pot and two sets of cups and saucers. You poured tea in one cup and handed it on the saucer to your very important visitor, which he received appreciatively.

As you went to sit down, you nearly sat on Bijoux who had snuck behind you to take your spot on the couch. You caught yourself on time when she gave a sharp yowl, scratched your butt twice, jumped behind the couch, hissed, and then disappeared into your bedroom.

You shrugged and gave a sheepish look before sitting down on the other couch that is perpendicular to the other one that Liu Kan sat on.

“I will not take too much of your time,” he began, taking a sip of tea.

“I understand I will be billeting someone again,” you nodded, interested to find out who you will be housing this time. You had billeted before and so far, the experiences had been interestingly wonderful. Like, you never thought that you would have a day where you were stuck in Costco for HOURS geeking out over every items with a lovely Outworld demon turned almost human named Ashra, who was fascinated with every samples being offered. Not to mention, she turned heads, partly due to her alluring and attractive appearance and partly due to her Kriss. In the end, both of you exited with $1,500 worth of food, snacks, and beverage items but in high spirits!

“Yes,” he replied, “There is a suspicious area outside your city where a portal has been spotted to materialize and disappear at random intervals. So far, no threats have come out of it, but we must always be vigilant. We are sending a small group to patrol and monitor the area to make sure that all threats, if any, will be neutralized.”

You nodded while listening attentively. The news made you anxious, as the proximity of this anomaly was so close to home. You were vaguely aware of conflicts relating to Earth Realm, Outworld, the Netherrealm, and other realms, though the outcome had always been positive as Liu Kang’s warriors, champions, and allies have always succeeded. Though you played no frontline roles (thank goodness!) in their affairs, you and many other willing volunteers played very important roles in providing support to the realms’ protectors, which is a huge honor in and of itself. Discussions were always had regarding matching a warrior’s schedule in the absence of emergencies with your family lives, schedules, jobs, and, most importantly, financials. Expectations on the billet families roles have always been clear and accommodations. Communication between hosts and guests are a must.

“Since you have been successful in your past billeting experiences, our arrangement continues, unless you no longer can continue,” Liu Kang said, taking another sip of tea. There was never any pressure to accept an arrangement before it began, but are expected to commit once agreed on.

“I’m sure I’m able to continue,” you replied eagerly, “How long am I expected to house a warrior?”

“Give it a month, more or less,” he replied, “I also understand that you enjoy cooking?” He looked at you knowingly with a smile.

“I do enjoy it very much, even though I’m no Master Chef,” you admitted humbly, “It’s more a hobby. I love to explore and try new recipes, and billeting has given me inspiration and drive to do so.”

Liu Kang nodded in confirmation, “Very well, then. I am pairing you with a warrior who is suitable and won’t be difficult to accommodate. He will be part of a group stationed in your city and the members will be on a rotation to patrol the suspicious. His shift is scheduled to coincide with yours as close as possible to minimize any disruption in your day-to-day activities. I understand that you have two jobs?”

“Yes,” Aside from your main job, you also run an Etsy shop, hence the second bedroom, which has become your workshop. So far, your business has been running steadily, that still allows you time to cook, clean and eat out with friends. However, it is mid-September and it tends to pick up as it heads towards the holiday season.

“Can you handle the financial burden of meals and transportation?”

“Yes. I have a fund dedicated to that, and it won’t cut into my day-to-day expenses.”

“Very well. Thank you for aiding us in our mission to keep all the realms safe. May you be blessed” Liu Kang stood up to leave.

“It is an honor, Lord Liu Kang,” You stood and bowed your head in reverence and respect.

He waved his arms in circular motions to summon a portal to what looked like a scenic and beautiful Japanese Garden with a pond in a centre and a beautifully carved wooden bridge over it. You can hear what sounded like warriors training in the background judging by the loud and controlled martial arts sounds.

Liu Kang stepped into the portal, and it quickly vanished.

“Wow! That was amazing,” you said under your breath, staring at a now blank wall. You were brought back to reality when you heard yowling. Startled, you saw Minou staring just as wide eyed at you with her hackles up and crouching as low to the ground as she can. You smiled reassuringly at your fur baby and then went to pick her up to cuddle and stroke her back.

“Looks like we’re gonna meet a new friend!” You cooed into the cat’s fur while giving her rapid kisses.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Old Habits

Frank Adler x Reader

Chapter 7

Masterlists Chapter 6 Summary: Three years after she left Frank and Mary behind, Y/n returns to Florida for the wedding of mutual friends, what ensues may prove that like old habits, some feelings just don’t die. Chapter Summary: Y/n and Frank come face to face a month after their friends' wedding. Warnings- Angst

One month later.  Shedding her coat as she stepped through the front door, Y/n draped the camel colored garment on the coat rack while wiping off the wet soles of her shoes on the welcome mat. With a tired huff, she slid her bag off her shoulder and absently set it on the table in the foyer, discarding her keys in the little ceramic bowl next to it. Tiredly, she staggered through the front hall towards the living room, getting her phone out of the front pocket of her pale blue scrubs on her way there. 

Unlocking the device, she found that there was a couple texts from Amanda, who’d just returned from her and Jack’s London honeymoon, probably relating to the conversation they’d been having off and on throughout the day. Tapping the notification as she slumped to the sofa, kicking off the shoes in the process- sure enough, it was related to their ongoing conversation.

Just talk to him, please. You’re both miserable and maybe it can be good for both of you. 

I hate seeing my friends like this. 

Reading her texts, Y/n quickly conjured up a response, promising Amanda that she’d think about reaching out to Frank. The truth was though, she’d been doing a lot more than thinking about talking to Frank. Atlanta had stopped feeling like home ever since she’d returned from Florida and all she could think of was all the little moments they’d shared over her last visit. Everyday, lying to herself was getting harder.

She wasn’t okay without him- she never was.

Leaving- the first time and the second- was a mistake. 

More and more, Y/n was getting the sense that she should have fought for him, the way he’d fought for her the first time around. She should have caught him alone after seeing him and Bonnie in the lobby and confessed that she still loved him, and that even if she’d gotten through the past three years without him, it had been hell. He deserved to know that she still kept her favorite picture of their family at her bedside and that he and Mary crossed her more times than she could ever stand to count. 

Frank deserved to know that even if she’d wasted all that time pretending that she'd moved on, there wasn’t any length of time that could pass that would consequent her getting over him. 

As Y/n threw her head against the back of the sofa, her phone went off again. With a lazy sigh, she lifted the phone and glanced at the screen once more, finding that time, she had an email. It was a confirmation message from an airline, letting her know that she’d successfully booked a plane ticket to Florida. 

Now, all she had to do was figure out what she was going to say. 

Saturday’s usually meant spending the afternoon down at the beach. It didn’t matter how many times he and Mary had been there, she never failed to enthusiastically gather her bucket for sea shell collecting and swipe the sunscreen off the bathroom counter. Frank swore if she didn’t remember the sunscreen, they’d both just get awful sunburn; before she’d left, Y/n had always been the one that packed for the beach trips. A bag with sunscreen, extra water bottles, snacks and a little “emergency kit” was always her thing, though Mary had watched her do it enough times to pick up bits of it on her own. 

“Ready Mar?” Frank called from his bedroom, closing up the plastic buttons of his light blue button up before grabbing his sunglasses off the top of his untidily packed dresser and hooking them in the pocket of the shirt. 

“Yeah!” Just after she answered, there was a knocking on the door that was easily heard through their small abode. “Frank,” Mary called, her small voice etched with the purpose of someone a little older, “I’m getting the door.” 

“Do not do that,” he warned firmly, putting some haste into his step, Frank hustled out of his bedroom. Even if he did now have full and legal custody of Mary, she knew that answering the door was off limits, solely because of stranger danger. Tripping over one of her toys, Frank grabbed the nearby cupboard to stop himself from falling. Of course, like every other kid her age, the concept of putting away her things seemed foreign to his niece. “Mary, do not get-”

Upon reaching the front of the house, Frank stopped in his tracks, though it was not entirely because Mary had blatantly disobeyed him, but also in part because of who she’d opened the door to. 

“You’re back,” Mary looked up at her with big eyes, and swallowing thickly, Y/n gazed down at her. In silence, the three of them just stood there, and for a minute, Frank was worried that Mary would lash out the way she had when he’d gone to get her from her foster parents. When her reaction was entirely different though, he gasped. Instead of firing a slew of untrained punches, Mary flung herself into Y/n’s legs, reaching upwards to hug her hips. “Why’d you leave me?” 

Clearly surprised, Y/n sucked in a sharp breath before succumbing to her knees to reciprocate the embrace, “Look how big you’ve gotten,” she rasped tearily, smoothing one hand over Mary’s hair as she used the other to rub her back affectionately.

“I’ve missed you,” Mary said when they pulled away a little, though still holding each other. 

“I’ve missed you too, Wiggles,” Y/n pressed her thumb to Mary’s nose, and Frank easily recalled that both the pet name and the gesture had been little things between the pair. Mary had been such a squirmy baby, earning herself the nickname in just her first few months with him and Y/n, while the thumb on her nose had somehow become a little, sign of affection they developed in their time together.

“Mary, where’s your hat, go get your hat,” Frank swallowed thickly, taking a couple steps forward. He hated to break up their reunion, but having them reintroduced like that wasn’t right, Mary didn’t need to have her hopes built up only for them to be broken down again. 

And neither did he.

Looking over at him, she frowned deeply, “But Frank-”

“Go,” he urged, touching the top of her head before pointing towards the inside of the house.

“Fine,” she grumbled, begrudged. Folding her arms petulantly, she turned and marched inside, stopping when she was through the doorway to glance back at Y/n, “Don’t leave again, okay?”

Y/n sucked in a breath, managing a faint smile, “I won’t.”

With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, Frank stepped closer to the door, waiting until Mary was safely out of earshot before speaking. “You shouldn’t have said that to her.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to deduce that he was still angry about what she’d done after the wedding; made him think that there was still a shot for them only to disappear the next morning, as if it had all meant nothing. 

As she blinked slowly, Frank recognized the shine in her eyes as tears, and wrapping her arms around herself, Y/n sniffled, “Say what?” 

Frank scoffed, “That you’re not gonna leave, because that is all you do.”

“That is not fair,” Y/n argued, voice breaking. 

“But leaving without explanation, twice, was?” Licking his lips, he glanced backwards to the inside of the house, “Do you have any idea what you did to her when you just disappeared like that?”

“I......I know it must have been horrible for her, and I know I shouldn’t have come here like this but I wanted to talk-”

“Oh, so now you wanna talk?” Frank’s words were laced with venom and while he absolutely abhorred being mad at her, he didn’t think he could help it. None of it felt fair,  and if he was being honest, the whole thing was beginning to seem like a cruel game, and he’d been played one too many times. 

Y/n furrowed her brows at his furious question, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She folded her arms defensively across her chest, she straightened her back. 

“It means that I thought things would be different between us after that night, but you skipped out on me, again and I cannot keep doing this with you.” “Well what was I supposed to do? Stick around and ruin your relationship?” Y/n huffed, tuning her face away for a moment before meeting his gaze again, “And for the record, I waited. But then you didn't show up and when I went down to the lobby, you were getting ready to leave with your girlfriend.”

Frank scrunched his nose, “Wha-no. No, that is not what you saw-”

“Don’t tell me what I saw,” Or didn’t see, in the moment, Y/n was not interested in specifics. 

“Fine,” now loosely mirroring her stance, he held her gaze, with his defiant pools of blue, “Then you misinterpreted what you saw.”

“What?” Suddenly, Y/n’s voice was quiet and Frank felt guilty for yelling the way he had.

“What you saw in the lobby was probably me and Bonnie breaking up,” he explained softly, ducking his head, “I just thought that if I came back to you with that whole part of it out of the way, you’d hear me out better. Even though you had someone else.”

“I didn’t have anyone else,” Y/n clarified quickly and Frank confessed to eavesdropping on her conversation during the reception, “Oh that….that was,” she chuckled dryly, “I actually broke it off that same night…..cause-”

“Got my hat, Frank!” Mary popped out from the cover of the door, sure enough wearing her hat with the front pulled down over her face a little. “Do you wanna come with us to the beach, Y/n?”

“You still go to  the beach on Saturdays,” wearing the first hints of a breathless smile, she glanced at Frank. 

He was about to respond when Mary interjected urgently, “Please Y/n,” she put on her best puppy eyes, “It’ll be so much fun.”

“Uh….” Y/n was visibly hesitating, “Only if its okay with Frank,” and just like that, she shoved the entire thing on him. 

Undoubtedly, his decision would greatly impact the rest of the evening. Saying yes would facilitate the opportunity for them to properly finish their conversation, and would obviously make Mary very happy. But Frank didn’t think he’d be doing right on her if he let Y/n continue to duck in and out of her life.

But Mary was giving him those eyes. The same eyes that led to them adopting Fred. 

“Alright,” he caved, secretly hoping he wasn’t making another mistake.

Mary had insisted that they spend some time together collecting seashells, and while she and Y/n strolled along the shore, where the waves washing the sand would touch their feet, pulling sand from under their bare soles as the water receded, she’d explained that she still put them in their special jar. It was a little habit Y/n had encouraged when Mary was a toddler; they’d go to the beach, sometimes together, sometimes with Frank, and gather any shell, sand dollar or small rock that was pretty or unusual and then put it in a jar they kept as a decoration in the living room. That used to be her favorite part of her days off. 

“Did you miss me when you were gone?” Mary peered, glancing up at Y/n as they slowly threaded along the shore. Her small hand held on tightly to Y/n’s, who couldn’t help but notice how much Mary had grown- seven was small, but not near as small as four. 

She couldn’t believe that she’d missed so much. Mary’s first day of school. The custody battle, which Amanda had relayed to her in great detail- it had broken her heart when Frank had relinquished custody of Mary and she’d been happy from afar to hear he’d gone back for her. 

“Of course I missed you, Wiggles,” Y/n licked her lips, easily recalling how many times she’d thought about Mary and Frank; the family she’d left behind and the life she still missed. “I thought about you everyday.”

“Then why didn’t you call?” She frowned deeply, stopping suddenly, “You just disappeared,” her lips were wobbling and it pained Y/n to know that she’d hurt Mary so badly. “I thought you stopped loving me.”

Abruptly, Y/n sank to her knees, not caring if her jeans got wet. Affectionately, she took hold of Mary’s fragile shoulders and urged the child to turn towards her, “I could never, ever stop loving you. Couldn’t even dream of it,” her voice broke at the end and she teared up a little, “It’s just….when I left…..I was really hurting, and I didn’t think I could take care of you and Frank the way you deserved. But that was a mistake, and it was not your fault.”

“It was a mistake?” Mary sniffled, using the back of her free hand to wipe her tear stained cheeks.

“The biggest one I ever made,” for a split second, Y/n glanced at Frank, who’d hung back near his truck, sitting on the trunk of a coconut tree that had fallen before they’d even moved to Florida, beer in hand and eyes cast towards the horizon. “And I’ve regretted it everyday.”

“And you won’t leave again?” She prodded hopefully. 

“Never for that long,” Y/n reassured. She’d already decided, albeit impulsively, that it was high time she moved back to St. Petersburg, she’d already started updating her CV so it would be ready to send to hospitals in the area and looking into apartments. Even if she and Frank didn’t get back together, Y/n wanted to be close to Mary again, if he’d allow it. “I’d have to go back for my things, but I’ll come back- and I mean that.”

Mary hesitated for a moment, before asking, “Promise?” 

Y/n nodded, pulling her in for a warm hug, “I promise,” she kissed the side of Mary’s head. “I should go talk to Frank,” she glanced at him again before pecking Mary’s forehead standing and dusting the wet sand off her pants, “But stay close, okay?” When Mary nodded, Y/n set off towards Frank, wrapping her arms around herself. 

As she drew closer, Y/n caught her lower lip between her teeth, secretly hoping he’d cooled off a little since their spat at the house. Upon seeing her trudge nearer, feet sinking in the soft, warm sand with every step, Frank lifted his elbows off his thighs and sat up straighter, taking a swing of his beer. “She missed you. A lot,” he gestured towards Mary with his bottle. 

“I missed her too,” Y/n dusted off part of the trunk before sitting on it, leaving about six inches between them, not daring to steal a glance his way yet. They were quiet for a while after that, until Y/n remembered what they’d been talking about back at the house, “I broke up with him because….I was only with him to forget about you. But its hard to forget you when you’re right in front of me. And he’s married.”

His head snapped in her direction and Frank took a while before responding, “Married,” he whistled lowly, “That is not like you….at all,” he might have been an authority on the matter, considering he knew her almost as well as she knew herself. 

“I know,” Y/n hummed, “I think that’s why I was with him,” she shook her head, “Because being part of me involves being with you. When I left the first time,” she bent her head to look at her tangled fingers, “It was because…..when I looked at you and her all I could think of was that part of our family was missing. We should have had our baby, she should have had her cousin. I was sad and disappointed and angry. I thought leaving meant I could get away from that. You know? Maybe a new place and new people would help me shake it off. But I lied when I said it helped,” she glanced down at the sand pitifully, “It didn’t, it kept following me. By the time I’d realized that I made a mistake, I figured it was too late to come back,” she sighed, continuing after a pause, “Then, when I saw you with Bonnie, I told myself it was definitely too late, I wished I’d waited a little longer though,” when she turned to him, she discovered that Frank was looking at her, brows knitted with intrigue and lips pressed together, “I’m sorry I left, both times. I regret it, and I miss you and I’d love if we could try again.” 

"I have thought about getting back together since the moment you left," Frank admitted, "I think....I think part of being me involves being with you too. I'm tired of being mad at you, I'm tired of wondering where we'd pick things up from," he exhaled audibly, glancing down at his bottle, where the short nail of his thumb was digging at the edge of the label and his words made her heart quicken. Was he going to turn her down? “I'm just tired of not being with you," Frank paused and Y/n held her breath, "Will you put your ring back on?” He lifted his head to meet her eyes and his question surprised her, though, Y/n knew her answer from the moment she registered his question. 

“I’d really like that,” she scooted closer, until her knee was touching his, “Are you sure it won’t be confusing for her?” Y/n nodded towards Mary. 

Frank huffed a chuckle, “The only person that wants us back together more than, well, us, is Mary.” 

Y/n laughed quietly, sighing contentedly when Frank casually slung his arm over her shoulders, “Are we back together?” She scrunched her nose, tipping her chin to meet his eyes, “Just like that?”

“I don’t see why not. Unless that’s not-”

Leaning up, she cut his words off with a chaste kiss on his lips, “That’s exactly what I want,” she smiled when they broke, "We have a lot to figure out, but I love you and I want this to work.”

“I love you too and I know we can fix this,” Frank kissed her again, and when they separated again, Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder. Though, the private moment of quiet was short lived when Mary approached them, handing Frank her bucket of seashells before taking both their hands and urging them up so they could all go walking again. Standing between them, holding both their hands, Mary led them down the gentle slope, towards the shore, occasionally jumping so Y/n and Frank would swing her playfully.

Just like that, they felt like a family again, and all the heartache from the past three years was muted; as long as they were together, they’d figure it out. 

*****

Tagging- @patzammit @dearmasaddict @swthxrry @flowerjewels @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @onenightnorth @royalwritersoftheuniverses @sn0wpiercer @elrw24

[michelleelizabethtanner]

whats your take on beth adopting rio's all black vibe? imitation or just a coincidence?

I love Beth’s slow metamorphosis into Rio! I don’t think it was our imagination. There were some really intentional parallels the show made between Beth and Rio, and his influence on her. Or rather, her slow acceptance of herself as she really was. She and Rio just happen to be similarly-minded, so it appeared that she was taking on more of his persona. When in reality she was always this. Just hidden.

Rio didn’t introduce Beth to black clothing. Beth wore black when she was playing the criminal. She wore black for the grocery store robbery. She wore black when she was being sneaky and stealthy even in season 1

It’s just that in the early seasons Beth was still also really rooted in the persona she’d been cultivating her entire life. This weird, uncomfortable image of someone who’s “proper” or “ladylike.”

Truly, what is this outfit? Purple slacks, black top, camel coat, and pearls? What are you wearing?

It wasn’t so much Rio, as Beth finding more and more confidence and comfort in moving away from her mask persona and becoming more her true self that I think we’re seeing in her. She took her dresses – the ones she used to hide her monster …

And she replaced them with her true form

It just so happens that her true self always matched Rio’s self. She just wore the mask to hide it.

Take this outfit, for example. Season 2 to season 4, the way it looks on her changes. Because Beth changes.

It’s the same suit, and yet in one she’s someone weak and broken, and in the other she’s his equal.

It isn’t the outfits or that her wardrobe took on an overall darker tone. It’s that as she accepted the darker aspects of who she inherently is, she allowed herself to move with confidence and that’s when we see, they move alike. They’re matched and each complements the other. Their mannerisms match, their stances match, their bodies fit because their spirits fit. And in the light of day we see their connection.

[cocomere]

hello i have made more fanart but i actually like it this time

also i finished reading fool's gold and. why. why did you do this 😭

first off we have my wonderful child innit (yes i've adopted it, no there's nothing you can do about it)

secondly i tried to draw Vio. surprisingly the thing i was most overwhelmed about was the jewelry. i just couldn't cope with the lack of hair so i gave him some more hair.

the first one is with the colours i picked and the second one is "canon" colouring. i wasn't entirely sure what his tail or the triangle pin looks like but i tried. yes i used the splatter tool for the marking i tried drawing them by hand but it looked terrible. i also tried to include the second joint in how he bends his arms. originally i has the lab coat's colour to be more obnoxious than the one you had picked but it hurt my eyes so i changed it

also i noticed the mention of his second pair of eyelids a lot. so he has a nictitating membrane? i'm assuming that's what it is, since it fits the description and the way those open/close would be considered wrong (from left to right instead of up and down)

if it is a nictitating membrane- i remember seeing somewhere that his planet had glass(?) storms, so i was wondering if that protects his eyes like a camel's protects its eyes during a sandstorm? sorry i just find this sort of- not world. uh species-building interesting lol

!!! MORE ART FOR THE FRIDGE AYYYYY

You aren’t the only one to adopt Innit. Askblog is interesting. You can see the evolution of Daz in it, too!! I did it because I feed on reader’s tears :3c Also, Innit Going Away was pretty much inevitable. There was no way for it to be on the askblog suddenly without it having vanished, because Innit was created LONG after Daz had been introduced. I had to work backwards to figure out what would have made that happen. I think the answer is kind of heartbreaking, ngl, but like...I don’t see another way it could have turned out. It led to some fun content tho!

Oh, right, you didn’t see the very top. The canon colors are to give a better idea of what I had in mind. Sky blue could mean a LOT of different shades! I know that actually drawing with those PRECISE colors might be difficult, and I have a disclaimer about “yes, I know it could shift in Actual Art, this is just to have a solid baseline to work off of.”

The tail is more like an alligator’s, and it’s the spines along the top of it that can go flat or Not Flat as he so chooses.

And, yes, that’s what I mean by that lmao. I honestly didn’t consider it re:glass storms, but you’re right! That’d definitely help with those, as well as with general sand blowing about.

I loooooove world and species building. It’s SO fun to really dig into the minutiae of how do these things work and WHY? Vio has a lot of really interesting quirks in particular-- like, magic is basically poison to him. A LOT of enchantments either don’t work at all or cause a huge backlash if he tries to use them (water-based ones in particular. That’s why he hates tridents lmao). Others only kinda-sorta work. Silk touch is one that straight up has zero effect. Even with a properly enchanted pick, it fails to activate. This will eventually become a plot point in the rewrites, hehe!

I have a lot of lore sunk into Sanctuary itself (and a fair bit of it is in Sibling Acceptance Rituals and onwards!!) as well as Blood & Gold. A LOT of stuff that never actually made it into any fic was figured out! For instance, one of the few things bgWilbur DIDN’T lie about was his mom being Lady Death. This comes up in a few AUs, but not in the main timeline nor Welcome To The Inn/Creepypasta.