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writeonwhiskey · 21 days ago

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the skz house: ch 32 (18+)

a/n: it feels surreal posting this, knowing it's the last update for this fic. thank you @bahablastplz and @chanssoftgalaxy for editing. and thank YOU, dear readers, for taking this journey with me.

[ read chapter 31 here ]

Chapter Thirty-Two: Of Epilogues

TWO YEARS LATER

The silence in the room is deafening, now that you’ve asked everyone to clear out. You had to request a moment of peace amidst the day’s chaos. You let out an exasperated breath and grab a napkin to dab at the unwelcome perspiration exiting your body. You toss the napkin in the small trash can near your feet and resist the urge to rub at your face.

How did you allow yourself to get here?

It’s been a long road, to be sure.

After that weekend with Chan, you were still left with more questions than answers, yet you chose to trust the process. To trust him. He wanted you to meet his parents before they all flew back home, but you had to insist it would be better to wait. To your surprise he accepted your answer and didn’t push the topic any further.

You had to exchange numbers, again, and this time swore to never delete them. Saying goodbye to him for the second time was equally as emotional as the first, but now you had the reassurance that it wasn’t forever. You’d definitely see him again.

From the moment he left, to three months later when he came to visit again you were essentially in non-stop contact with him; if you weren’t texting, you were calling or video chatting. It made the distance easier.

The next time he came to visit was for Thanksgiving (thankfully No Nut November was not being observed). He had the opportunity to meet your parents and though you were a nervous wreck for it, everything went smoothly. They were enamored with him. ‘The son we never had’, is what your dad started calling him.

That Christmas, Chan flew you to Australia to meet his family and once again you felt like you were going to vomit the entire way. He put you up in a nice hotel—not because you were unwelcome in the house, but because he wanted you to scream his name with passion without fear of his family hearing. It was a good call.

On Christmas Eve you joined his family in their home. It was mostly a warm welcome. His siblings and mother were excited to meet you, but his father took his time warming up to you. Like, a year’s worth. As the months went on, he saw the way you and Chan were together, and you nearly lost it when he admitted you made his son a better man.

With all the support and blessings of your parents, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Chan would propose to you. Yet it caught you so off guard when he did. It wasn’t some huge grand gesture—he knew you wouldn’t like all the attention—so he asked at night, when you were coming out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth.

You let out a startled scream, seeing him down on one knee as soon as you opened the door. It took you a moment to even register the opened box he was holding in his hand with a diamond ring inside of it.

“Marry me.” he said.

“Chan…”

“I know, I know,” he understood your shock. “There are so many ways I thought of doing this—over dinner, dropping it in your drink, at our park bench, in front of your family…but I couldn’t pick one. And I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“How long have you had this?” you inquire.

“Since I showed up with Berry at your internship.”

Your mouth dropped.

He reached out for your left hand and held it gently in his.

“Marry me.”

He has a way of asking you to do things that sound like more of a demand. You’ve grown accustomed to it now. You no longer fear that it’s a command which you are unable to object to. If this isn’t something you want, you can say no, and he will take you at your word. It doesn’t mean he won’t shoot his shot again later, though.

“Okay,” you replied softly.

The ring fit your finger perfectly.

Now here you are, six months later, preparing to walk down the aisle and marry the man that has changed your life in so many ways. You’d already made the leap to move to Australia, after getting credentialed and licensed there, so this is the last step to really seal the deal.

You know for a fact that Chan is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. After all he’s shown you in the past two years, there are no lingering doubts. However, the thought of standing at the altar in front of nearly a hundred guests is making you feel anxious.

Your stomach is tied in knots as you slowly raise your gaze to the mirror in front of you.

You hardly recognize the woman in the reflection. She’s clad in a white, off the shoulder bridal gown with sequined lace. The fabric hugs and accentuates her curves in all the right places. Her hair and makeup have been professionally done, too.

It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been three years since your time at the SKZ House. But it has. You’ve grown so much both independently and as a partner, yet you still sometimes feel very much like the same young woman that lived there. Looking at yourself now, you have to accept she will always exist within you.

There’s a knock at the door that pulls you from your thoughts.

“Come in,” you call out.

You turn around on the stool you’re sitting on as Hyunjin enters. He’s wearing a dark maroon suit with a black button up shirt beneath it. His long, dark hair is pulled back into a half ponytail, with a couple of bangs left out to frame his face. He is, and always will be, stunning.

“How’s our girl?” he asks with a dazzling smile.

Our girl.

He still insists on calling you that, as if you could ever forget you once belonged to both of them. It wasn’t until nearly a year after Chan came back into your life that you saw any of the other members again. They were all so busy, working underneath their fathers in various roles, that getting them all together in one place proved to be a difficult task.

Seeing them all felt so bittersweet. It made you think of the other girls, and whomever else came before you that truly had to say goodbye to these men forever. You felt incredibly lucky, but sad for them at the same time. Seungmin congratulated you on ‘cheating the system’, while Lee Know joked ‘I thought we got rid of you’. It was nice to see they hadn’t changed too much.

You had a long discussion with Chan about how to approach a renewed relationship with Hyunjin. It was important to you both not to cross any boundaries, but you still had to acknowledge the history the three of you shared. Chan was upfront in telling you that communication—calls, texts, whatever were acceptable. He didn’t even care if you and Hyunjin hung out alone because he trusts both of you completely. He did make it clear, though, that any sexual contact would be done only with his involvement, too.

You were once again left with your mouth hanging open. You hadn’t imagined it would even be an option. It happened twice—the first time you were all drunk, the second time completely sober. It was just as good and magical as the first time, but you never felt a pressing need for it to be a consistent thing. Plus, you wanted to remain respectful if Hyunjin ever brings a partner around. Though, if you left it up to him and Chan they’d probably just try to include her in the mix. And you’re not sure how you’d feel about that.

“Nervous,” you finally reply.

“Getting cold feet?” He pulls up an empty stool next to you and sits down.

You shake your head vigorously.

“There’s just been so much rapid change over the past year and it’s all culminating in this…me walking down that aisle, with all those people watching. And I do not feel like myself in this dress.”

“You know what they’ll be thinking?”

You shake your head again.

“That you’re beautiful. That Chan is lucky to have you. That you’ve both grown so much in the past two years and will do well in the future together.”

You sigh.

“You’re annoyingly helpful, Hyunjin.”

You didn’t quite need him as a shoulder to cry on anymore, but after moving to Australia if you ever felt lonely you would give him a call and he’d cheer you up. He understood the terms of his access to your relationship with Chan and never did anything to cross the line.

“That’s half my charm,” he shrugs.

Your phone on the counter buzzes. You pick it up to view the notification:

Fiancé (real)

I’ll see you in five minutes, Mrs. Bang.

You can’t stop the smile that breaks out across your face. He’s been calling you that since you accepted his proposal. You’ve never gotten tired of hearing it, either.

You set your phone back down on the counter and stand, facing Hyunjin.

“Does everything look okay?”

He stands, too, and helps adjust the train around you.

“Perfect. You’re gorgeous, y/n.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly, looking down to smooth out the front of the dress.

Hyunjin hooks a finger under your chin and lifts your head up.

“It’s fine. Eyes up—I’ll see you out there. I’ll be the other guy standing at the end of the aisle,” he winks at you.

You roll your eyes at that, “Get out of here.”

He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek before exiting the room, leaving the door open. You see your father standing outside and tell him to give you another second.

You turn around to your reflection once more and put the crowned veil in place.

You realize you don’t recognize this woman because she seems so sophisticated, so regal…so genuinely happy. There was a time when you didn’t think any of that was possible for yourself. And now you’re living it.

3 YEARS LATER (Chan POV)

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past seven years—it’s that I’m not always right. But there are a few things I take pride in being right about. The one at the top of the list?

You.

Seeing you welcome my family into our home for the Christmas holiday with a smile, after everything we’ve been through, reaffirms that I made the right choice in coming to find you.

Standing here next to my father and Lucas, drink in hand, willing myself to listen to him talk trade deals, I can’t take my eyes off you. You’re smiling and laughing, talking with Hannah about God knows what. Probably something at my expense, but I don’t care. Whatever makes you happy.

I watch as my mother comes to your side, showing you something on her phone. Is she talking to you about business too? You have no idea the way my heart fucking soared seeing you two work together for the first time. Mom’s always been a philanthropist, so the fact that you created a charitable organization together, helping serve the underprivileged youth and get them in touch with animals is one of the greatest gifts of our union.

My father purchased the ranch, without hesitation, when you two brought the idea to him. You serve as the on-site veterinarian and thus, still get to have your own career—which you’re thriving in. You’ve come a long way from working with just cats and dogs…do you miss it? Is this too much? I’ve seen the way your eyes light up as you care for the wide array of animals, though, so I know it’s not. You’re right in your element.

The doorbell rings and I step away from my father to answer it, already knowing exactly who it is.

“About time you guys showed up,” I say, opening the door wide and stepping aside to let my brothers in.

All seven of them file in, some with a partner in tow, some still stag.

As soon as they step inside and start greeting everyone, the house becomes so loud it reminds me of our time at the SKZ House. The beginning of our story was tumultuous. You were naïve and I was reckless with it. But we grew together, and here we are.

When I return to the living room, my eyes immediately find you. You can’t hide the smile on your face when you see Hyunjin and his dyed hair—he’s gone back to blonde again. To spite his father, I’m sure. He’s finally settled into his role in their family business, but still finds ways to remain true to himself. I know that’s part of the reason you love him.

I smile, too, watching him embrace you. It’s a long hug, but it doesn’t bother me. He’s been nothing but respectful of our relationship since you came back with me and I’d trust him with my life, so I trust him with yours too.

You’re my girl.

No.

You’re more than that now.

You’re my wife.

I’m pulled into another conversation with Changbin and Jeongin, discussing what they’ve been up to over the past couple of months since I saw them last. I’d rather be standing next to you. Or upstairs in our bedroom with you.

You’d think after this long I would have had my fill…but no. I can never get enough of you.

I’ve also discovered that I can’t get enough of surprising you. Of making you smile.

You don’t know it yet, but your parents will be arriving in a few days to ring in the New Year with us. I know how much you miss them. I know how hard the distance has been for you. I promised to make this work, though. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life doing so.

My parents end up leaving around 10:00pm, Hannah and Lucas stay along with everyone else. As the night carries on with copious amounts of drinking, I urge everyone to pick one of the four guest rooms, if they aren’t going to take an Uber home. Although I love when it’s just us in this massive house, I cherish their safety more than my peace and quiet.

When it approaches 2:00am, games are still being played. I watch you carefully for the signal—a yawn—then let everyone know we’re calling it a night. They’re free to carry on as they wish, but I’m tired of sharing you with them already.

We say our goodnights then make our way upstairs. I walk behind you, watching with a lazy smile as your hips sway from side to side with each step up.

“You regret choosing to host at our house this year?” I ask.

“Not at all,” you reply. “I’m happy to see everyone here.”

“Me too, then.”

You open the door to our bedroom, and I close it behind us. You turn on the hall light that leads to the bathroom and start walking in that direction, but I grab your hand and pull you back to me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To shower,” you say pointedly, looking up at me.

“Not yet,” I shake my head, walking you towards the bed. “You were so busy playing hostess I hardly got to have my share of you.”

I place my hands on your hips and lift you up. You let out the squeal I love hearing so much as you wrap your legs around my waist.

“This dress looks good on you,” I tell you, walking towards the bed. “All I could think about was getting you back up here all night.”

“Whatever for?” you ask, coyly.

“Aljana neol gamanhi dul su eomneun geol.”

You’ve become more familiar with the Korean language being around my family, but the look on your face says you don’t understand what I’m saying. That’s okay. I fully intend on showing you.

I unhook your legs from my waist and toss you onto the bed.

“Chan,” you say laughing. “You have to be careful with that now.”

I crawl onto the bed in front of you, spreading your legs apart and causing the dress to rise up your thighs. I take the ends into my hand and push it up further, exposing your torso. I lower myself on the bed and shower your stomach in kisses.

“Do you remember what you said that day in the park?” I ask, pulling down your underwear. You lift your hips to let me pull them all the way off.

“That one day, when you have little ones running around, you’ll thank me,” you answer matter-of-factly.

“I do thank you. You were right.”

“Well…they’re not exactly running around yet,” you reply, touching the barely noticeable bump of your belly.

You claim to hardly see the difference, but I see it so clearly. The slight little curve. The tiniest little bean inside. Our little bean.

You stopped taking your birth control six months ago, and we both took great pleasure in trying to make the dream of having our own family a reality.

“We still need to tell everyone,” you add as I take off my shirt.

“Soon. I want to enjoy this secret with you a little longer.”

You sit up and start to pull your dress up to take it off, but I stop you.

“I wanna fuck you with it on.”

I pull down the straps and you take your arms out of them before pushing the top half of the dress down to your stomach. Majority of it sits scrunched up across your abdomen, with all the best parts of you on display.

Well, your mind and your heart are definitely the best parts of you because they chose me. But your physical attributes are second best, only to them.

“No bra?” I ask rhetorically, seeing your exposed breasts.

“Too constricting,” you say with a light shrug.

I lower myself to your breasts, taking each nipple into my mouth, in turn. A delectable moan escapes your lips and I can feel my cock start to harden through my jeans. You have no idea how sexy you are. Seven years in and the slightest touch or sound from you can set me off. I kiss my way down your torso, stopping to pay special attention to your stomach again, causing you to giggle.

You’re carrying my child inside of you. I didn’t think I could love you anymore, but I’ve realized I can. It continues to grow each and every day. I would do anything for you. For both of you.

When I reach my home between your legs, I inhale your scent, rubbing my nose around your folds. This is why I couldn’t let you shower. I love the natural smell of you. No soaps, no lotions. Just you. I stick my tongue out and press a long, hard lick up your slit.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” you say.

“Naekkeo,” I reply.

You know this word all too well.

Mine.

You’ve been mine for seven years—even through our time apart.

Your hands tangle themselves in my hair, pulling on the strands as I tease you with my mouth and tongue. Your pussy’s getting so wet. You love it when I play with you. You love it when I fuck you with my tongue.

I feel it when your legs start to tremble, when your back arches off the bed—you’re close. So I stop.

You collapse back onto the bed, breathless and annoyed.

It’s so fucking cute.

“Chan,” you whine.

“On your knees,” I tell you.

“Excuse me?” you ask, arching an eyebrow. “Is that how you speak to your wife? The future mother of your child?”

I smile at that.

“On your knees…please.”

You scrunch up your face, but still do as you’re told. I step off the bed to unbutton my pants and push them down along with my boxers. I grip my cock in my hand as I beckon you towards me with a curl of my finger. Your eyes are on my cock as you crawl to me.

You’re hungry for it, aren’t you?

You’ve wanted me just as bad all day.

Your eyes snap up to mine as you open your mouth, and I feel my pulse quicken.

The things you do to me, y/n.

I place a hand on the back of your head and guide your mouth to my cock. Your eyes flutter shut as you take it inside, licking around the tip before sliding your head back and forth on it. It feels so fucking good.

Before you can get too carried away, I take a step back, pulling my cock out of your mouth. At the sudden withdrawal, you look up at me with a pout on your lips.

“Chan.”

I love the way you say my name. Especially at times like this.

“Turn around,” I instruct.

You turn around on the bed, pointing your ass towards me. I grab your hips and pull you to the edge of the bed, taking a second to admire my view. You really do have a beautiful ass. You hate the littering of stretchmarks that formed there, but I love every single one of them. I don’t need you to perfect. I just need you to be mine.

I grip my cock at the base again and rub the tip up and down your slit.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask.

You rock your hips back in an act of defiance, clearly not wanting a long, drawn out teasing session tonight. I can understand, it is nearly two in the morning, after all. We aren’t as young as we once were.

But, still.

I want a verbal answer.

I smack your ass with the palm of my hand and you moan in response.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I ask again.

“Yes.” You reply, and I can hear the pout in your voice.

“Are you sure?” I ask, slowly inserting the tip.

It takes everything in me not to slam into you like this. I pull it back out, and resume rubbing it up and down your slippery folds.

“Yes,” you say again. “Banjjak, jebal.”

It’s not only your word choice that catches me off guard, but your pronunciation too. You’ve been practicing. And it completely fucks with me, hearing that desperate plea in my mother tongue.

I thrust my hips forward, slamming into you with force.

Banjjak. Jebal.

My other half. Please.

Fuck. You still find ways to make me crumble.

I grip your rumpled up dress in one hand, careful to make sure it’s just under your rib cage and not around your stomach as I use it for leverage, pulling you back against me. You take on some of the work, arching yourself and fucking me back.

Your pussy feels so good around my cock. Too good.

Tight.

Wet.

Mine.

I feel your walls clench around my cock, and I know neither of us will last much longer. Not after the day we’ve had, being on our best behavior in front of others. Your ass and thighs jiggle, each time our bodies connect, and the sight is going to send me over the edge too.

“Come for me, baby,” I say, leaning back to watch as my cock thrusts in and out of you.

Your hands grip the sheets as you come around my cock and I let myself go, too. You moan as I loudly groan, slowing down my thrusts as I spill inside of you.

There’s always so much I want to do to you, every time we fuck. Handcuffs. Collars. Restraints. Spreader bars. We’ve entered a new experimental phase of our love making.

And that’s what it is. I don’t just fuck you anymore.

No matter the context, no matter the equipment. We’re making love because you are mine and I am yours. In every way possible.

You collapse onto the bed, and I lay down beside you, scooping you up in my arms to pull you close to me.

“Just what I needed,” you say with a happy sigh, turning around to face me.

“There’s more where that—”

“Slow your roll,” you tap my lips with your finger. “I need a shower and sleep. Then maybe I’ll think about it in the morning.”

I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively and you laugh. You know, by now, that it’s not just about the physicality of our relationship. Although I love it, I enjoy having your presence around me more.

I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t taken me back all those years ago.

I don’t want to know.

I don’t want to think about it.

And thank fuck I’ll never have to find out.

a/n: and that's all, folks. from 11/29/23 to 10/25/24. 32 chapters. 153,021 words (and a few hundred typos, i'm sure haha). what a wild fucking ride. i cannot thank you all enough for reading this story--for liking, reblogging and sharing your thoughts with me. i appreciate it more than i could ever express through words. your continued support has left me speechless! and has warmed up my cold little heart.

thank you, thank you, thank you 💜

A note for any future readers: I will always be logged into tumblr so continue to share your feedback! Even if it’s months from now, I will still appreciate it!

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eiightysixbaby · 1 year ago

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personal jesus

word count: 8.6k

pairing: stripper!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: your friends take you out to a strip club for your birthday, and you really hit it off with one particular stripper….

cw: 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI. mentions of alcohol consumption, billy is in this fic (I promise he’s not in it for very long it just makes perfect sense for him to be a stripper OKAY 😭) lap dances, depictions of sensual dancing/strip routines, oral (m & f receiving), very brief mention of spanking, spit kink, unprotected piv, creampie

author’s note: well. I’ve been working on this for a while now and I’m extremely happy that it’s finally ready to be shared! I highly recommend listening to personal jesus by depeche mode while you read this, considering the entire idea for this came to me while listening to that song! I hope you all enjoy, I put a lot of time into this and I hope it shows.

It’s your birthday. A day to celebrate you turning another year older. Another year closer to death, and another year painfully single and alone.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. Turning 25 doesn’t exactly make you geriatric, but seeing the people close to you hit milestones in their relationships had you feeling a little insecure on this particular birthday. Nancy was engaged, Robin and Vickie just celebrated their 3 year anniversary of dating, Chrissy and Steve had finally made things official a month ago and were sickeningly cute together. It just had you longing for a connection.

You’d had horrible luck with guys lately, and it was weighing on you. You wanted someone special to spend your day with, someone to hold you at night and stick by you forever. Or, at this point, you were even okay with just having a little fun. Any sort of male attention was fine with you, wanting to end the drought you’d been experiencing.

So, it was only natural that the girls decided to take you to a strip club this evening. The car pulls up to the door of the seedy looking building, everything very discreet from the outside. You’re wearing a shimmery silver dress with very thin straps, the fabric stopping above your mid thigh. Sheer black tights with tiny sequins adorn your legs, accompanied by silver heels with straps that you wrap around your lower legs and tie. You step out of your Uber and into the parking lot, heels clicking on the pavement. Here goes nothing.

You pull the door open, being greeted by a rush of blasting air conditioning, and the strong smell of alcohol and cologne. You see all of your friends at a table close to the stage at the center of the floor, and they immediately turn and wave at you. You prance over to them eagerly, receiving hugs from all of them along with shrill ‘Happy Birthday!’s. Robin immediately pulls out a sparkly sash that reads ‘Birthday Girl’ and throws it over your head, letting it rest diagonally across your body. Her and Vickie had actually come up with this idea for tonight, knowing it would be fun for you to let loose a little. You all start to catch up with one another, diving into the latest gossip and life updates.

Conversation lulls briefly, Chrissy taking this as her opportunity to pull out a tray of homemade cupcakes from their hiding spot under her chair, Nancy sticking candles in each one.

“Guys, do we really have to sing?” you groan, smiling despite your reluctance.

“Yes! We have to sing you happy birthday!” Chrissy insists, her delicate hands grabbing your forearms gently and squeezing. “You’re 25! This is exciting!!”

Nancy’s hands hold a small lighter, fingers cupping around each candle as she lights them individually. The diamond on her ring finger glistens in the lights of the club, catching your eye. You snap yourself out of the self-deprecating thoughts before they can even start, remembering where you are and how tonight is about you. Once every candle is lit, the girls gather close around the table, singing happy birthday to you rather loudly and theatrically. You’re a flustered mess as you giggle at them, blowing out your candles swiftly after they finish. They all clap and cheer, Vickie passing cupcakes around on small plates to everyone. You order a drink, your personal favorite, deciding you need to catch up with your friends who already have their beverages.

The lights in the club dim as you take a bite into your cupcake, strawberry icing greeting your tongue. A spotlight shines on the curtain at the back of the stage, and several whoops and hollers erupt from club patrons, including you and your friends. Your drink is placed in front of you by a server, and you take a sip, letting the alcohol sear your mouth. An electric buzz runs through you as the first sip travels down your throat, and the house music cuts. A new song begins and your heart starts racing. As excited as you were, you’d never been to a strip club before, and you felt your cheeks grow hot in anticipation.

The song that plays is ‘Pony’ by Ginuwine, you recognize it instantly. As cliche of a choice as it might be, you can’t pretend like it isn’t the perfect song for something like this.

The curtains flutter and a male figure appears, your head whipping in his direction in an instant. You can’t deny, he’s gorgeous. Big blue eyes, curly caramel hair styled into a mullet, but it totally works on him. His teeth are perfect, and his body, oh his body. He’s wearing leather pants and a white button up shirt. Most of the buttons are undone, exposing his muscular chest. The sleeves of the shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and you can tell his biceps are begging to break out of the fabric. He has a black bowtie snug around his neck, and for some reason it makes him all the more attractive. The crowd cheers as he parades around the stage, holding his arms out in greeting as he walks the perimeter. He makes a show of undoing the last few buttons on his shirt, fingers slowly popping them out one by one. You and your friends cheer excitedly, all of you in fits of eager giggles.

“This one is Billy,” Robin leans in and whispers to you. “I was informed there’d be three performers tonight, and based on the stars in your eyes we’re off to a great start,” she teases you, and you swat her away with a laugh, eyes still trained on the stripper, who you now know to be named Billy.

He trails his hand down his bare chest slowly, grinding his hips into his hand when it hovers over his crotch. You’re practically swooning in your seat and based on the wolf whistles erupting from women around you, you’re not the only one. He takes his shirt off fully, throwing it into the crowd haphazardly. He parades around a little bit more, showing off that spectacular body, before he stills and the lights change color. The song starts to fade out, fading into a different one.

‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails begins to play through the speakers, and you notice movement behind the black curtain once more. Another man steps out, a striking contrast to Billy. He’s lankier, very thin, and his energy is far more submissive. It’s attractive all the same, and your eyes turn their focus to him. He has a head of shaggy brown hair and bangs that fall in his light brown eyes. His arms and chest aren’t as toned as Billy’s, but it works for him. He’s also wearing the black leather pants and white button up that Billy came out in, finished off with the same black bowtie. He commands the room better than you’d have expected him to, kneeling on the floor of the stage, leaning back on one hand as he rolls his hips upwards. He moves fluidly, and the way his hand glides down to grab his dick beneath his pants makes you sweat.

“Who- who’s that one?” you ask the table, leaning into their personal space a bit too far - but you’ll blame the alcohol.

“Jonathan,” Vickie smiles, and you’re impressed that they seemingly did their research before coming here tonight.

Jonathan and Billy both walk to the end of the stage, right in front of your table, and they both catch the sash you’re wearing. They wink at you, somehow in unison although it couldn’t have been planned, merely a glorious coincidence, and you give a flirtatious little wave in their direction. Jonathan shrugs his shirt off of his shoulders, throwing it in the opposite direction of the crowd as Billy had thrown his. It’s funny, but until now you didn’t even take note of the shiny metal poles fixed to the stage. Each man positions himself at one, and your eyes are transfixed on them. You can’t wrap your head around the way the two of them spin on the poles, how strong they must be to support their bodies like that. Billy has toned arms and a defined chest, so he fits the type, but Jonathan… you wouldn’t have expected this sort of strength from him. You’re absolutely entranced watching them move, and you don’t know how much time has passed before the music starts to fade again and the lights dim.

Various whoops and hollers erupt once more, wolf-whistles and claps of hands, and you can only assume whoever’s about to come out next is the crowd favorite. You chew on your lip in anticipation, watching as Billy and Jonathan simply walk back towards the curtain, standing in front of it unmoving. The previous song has completely faded out, the room dead silent for the first time since you got here. It only lasts a moment, though, before a new song announces itself over the speakers, without warning.

Reach out and touch faith.

‘Personal Jesus’ by Depeche Mode, it’s not a hard one to clock after that opening line. The curtains open in the dark, a spotlight coming on to illuminate the new figure. Your jaw drops when you see him, luckily catching yourself before your drink falls from your hand. You don’t need any more explanation as to why he’s the fan favorite stripper. He’s gorgeous - long brown curls cascading over his shoulders, a sheet of wavy bangs falling just above his eyes. He has a silver lip ring, and a piece of black jewelry in his left eyebrow. He glides his tongue along his top row of teeth in a smug open-mouthed chuckle, knowing the effect he has on the room. He wears the same leather pants, but he has a black button-up shirt on in place of the white ones the other two men were wearing. The way he moves in perfect time with this song makes you believe he must have lots of practice - this is his song and he’s making that clear. He walks easily to the end of the stage, stopping right in front of your table. He unbuttons his shirt in the most sensual fashion you think you’ve ever seen, nimble fingers drawing out every movement, making it take longer than it truly needs to. You can’t help but giggle when Billy and Jonathan come to his sides, pulling the garment off of him. The shirt gets tossed directly at you, the glowing birthday girl, and you gasp in surprise.

“And this one,” Nancy leans in close to your ear, “-is Eddie,” she winks at you, your hands clutching the shirt as you stare up at the man on the stage.

He’s even more glorious with his shirt off, his body littered with tattoos that you think you might want to lick. He has a tie around his neck, not a bowtie but a standard tie, and he tugs on it with force, dropping himself to his knees as if yanked by a leash. His eyes meet yours, unwavering as he watches you. Deep pools of brown that you feel like you could drown in. He lowers his torso to the ground, reaching a hand out and closing his fingers maybe two feet from your face, as if grabbing something.

Reach out and touch faith.

He’s grinding against the floor now, Billy and Jonathan entertaining different groups in the crowd from different sides of the stage. Eddie leans back on his heels, rolling his hips up into the air, one hand tugging on that damn tie and the other gliding slowly down his body. He grips his crotch, the shiny silver rings that adorn his fingers glistening from the bright lights above. You think you see Chrissy literally swoon beside you, and even Nancy’s biting her lip, cheeks flushed pink. Robin and Vickie are slack-jawed - impressed with the way these three guys know how to command the attention of a room. Your heart pounds in your chest with every rumble of the bass over the blaring speakers, your brain melting into a euphoric feeling.

Just as you think you’re able to catch your breath, Eddie jumps down from the stage. Oh god. He approaches you, standing with his legs apart, leaving room for your legs to rest between his. He bends down to your ear, one hand gripping the back of your chair.

“Think the birthday girl deserves a special show, hm?” he rasps into your ear, and you feel your skin grow hot.

His hips roll in front of your face, you’re eye-level with his crotch. Your skin feels white-hot, you know all the attention in the room must be on this scene and you’re both flattered and a little shy. You have to refrain from reaching out to Eddie, have to refrain from letting your fingers glide up his stomach, feel him. As if reading your mind, though, he grabs your hands, sliding them up his stomach and chest, encouraging you. You’re so taken with him you don’t register that the other two strippers have joined him until Billy’s murmuring in your ear from behind you.

“Happy Birthday, sweetheart,” his honey voice drawls, hands resting on one of your shoulders.

Jonathan comes to stand behind you as well, and in his hand is a shot of whatever liquor the girls had ordered for you. He holds it where you can see it, your head tilted back to look at him. He gives you a smile - one that momentarily shatters the raunchy stripper vibe and reveals his true kindness. He quirks an eyebrow, waiting for you.

“Open,” Eddie says, smirking down at you while he resumes in giving you a lap dance, his hips grinding lower over your lap now. He’s as close as he can be without pressing his full weight on you.

Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer

Your lips part, your whole body vibrating as Jonathan tips the shot glass down towards your mouth. The liquid falls in a single stream onto your tongue, and you swallow it in one go.

“Mmm, she knows how to swallow,” Eddie purrs, and you feel your face heat up under his intense stare.

You can only imagine the looks on your friends’ faces, but you hear their cheers for you along with the rustling of dollar bills that you can only assume are being shoved in the guys’ pants. Jonathan and Billy turn to head back on stage, but not before turning back to get one last eyeful of you. You blow kisses at them, giggling when they pretend to catch them. Eddie’s still focused on you, still invading your personal space. You’re squeezing your thighs together beneath your tight little dress, looking right into his eyes as he laughs to himself. He stands, walking around your chair slowly. Your left hand slips bills into his tight pants, your fingers lingering just a moment too long. Feeling a little bold, you grab his tie with your other hand and tug on it playfully, almost catching him off guard but he steels himself. He quirks an eyebrow at you, now standing behind you. He bends down, gravelly voice rumbling in your ear.

“You have no idea what that does to me, sweetheart.”

Your own personal Jesus

Eddie’s lips nearly touch your earlobe as he speaks. The way his breath makes your skin tingle can only be described as a religious experience. Ringed fingers caress your arm before he picks up your hand, placing a kiss to the back of your palm. He teasingly bites one of your fingers, flustering you for probably the millionth time tonight. He finally retreats, mouthing one last ‘happy birthday’ as he returns to the stage. He’s not done with his show though, joining his costars for a little bit of action on the pole that waits for him. His leather pants squeeze his ass so tight, you hope you’re not drooling as you watch him. You suddenly wish he was back on your lap, murmuring filthy things into your ear, fucking you senseless. But you can’t hook up with the stripper, you remind yourself, and you try to wave the thoughts away as you watch the rest of his little performance.

There’s no denying the way he locks eyes with you any moment he can, strong limbs wrapping around the pole as he seems to effortlessly spin a little. Chrissy reaches out to touch your arm, giggling excitedly.

“He can’t stop looking at you, ohmygosh!” she squeaks, pulling her lip between her teeth as you meet Eddie’s eyes once more, as if to confirm her statement.

“Where do I inquire about adopting a stripper?” Robin asks jokingly. “Yeah, um, I’d like to take that one home please… and can we wrap him in a pretty bow?” she says, pretending like she’s talking on the phone to someone important. “Seriously, I think he likes you,” she says to you, tone serious once more.

“Guys, come on. Do you know how many girls he probably does this same exact routine to?” you say, waving a hand dismissively and trying to be lighthearted, but you can’t deny the sting in your chest when you say the words.

Eddie is a stripper. This is a routine - a money maker. It’s all just a calculated game to him. He probably treats every other birthday girl the same way he treated you. Your mouth feels dry suddenly, and you throw back another shot to hopefully drown out the incoming sadness. Even if it’s a routine, it doesn’t make him any less hot, and it doesn’t mean you still can’t have fun, you think to yourself. You focus your eyes back up at the three gorgeous men on stage, watch as they move in unison, gyrating and touching their bodies and each others’ bodies. Cash is being thrown to the stage around them, raining down as the lights flash and pulse. Eddie keeps catching your eyes, winking at you for good measure. The alcohol in your system enhances the effect he has on you. He’s so close to you yet so far, you want to grab a hold of him and pull him to you.

Reach out and touch faith

The song comes to a steady close, music fading as the guys all bow and blow kisses and wave. You and your friends are all clapping and cheering with giddy delight, your head a wonderful swirl of explicit thoughts. They slip back behind the curtain, one by one, and your heart pangs for a moment when Eddie gives one last pointed wave in the direction of your table before disappearing behind the black velvet.

“Oh. My. God!” Chrissy’s mouth is agape, her lips shiny from her sparkly lipgloss. She fans herself, mock-fainting back into her chair, making the whole table laugh. You must sound like a bunch of schoolgirls, blushing and fussing over a few pretty boys.

“So, like, we’re not gonna drop the fact that Eddie is totally in love with you, right?” Robin asks, turning her body to face you.

You roll your eyes, fingers pressing into her arm as you shove her oh-so-gently. “Stoooop. He is not in love with me,” you say, biting on your lip to hold back a smile.

“You can’t even say that with a straight face! You, at least, are in love with him,” she says matter of factly, nodding her head once with finality.

“I am not!” you meekly defend, taking a bite of another cupcake to avoid talking more.

“Oh come on, babe, you’re not fooling me. I’m not into the guys, I was just watching for your reactions the whole time. You are sooo crazy for him,” she laughs, Vickie nodding along as she talks.

You feel your cheeks heat to an impossible temperature, shaking your head incessantly as you continue to devour your dessert.

“Hey, at least he gave you a little souvenir,” Nancy says, nodding towards the shirt that he’d thrown at you, which now rests on the table top. You’d nearly forgotten about it. The fact that it was once on his gorgeous body, and now you have it, makes your head spin.

The topic of conversation eventually shifts, easing the pressure on you to answer their every question about Eddie. Your thoughts, however, linger on him. You were totally fucking into him, and you’re screwed. All he was doing was acting out a routine, probably something he does for every birthday girl or bachelorette that steps foot in here and has money to offer. That fact didn’t stop you from wanting him, though, your mind wandering to how it would feel to have those rings of his pressed deep inside of you, his lip ring cold against your mouth and the skin of your neck.

“Hello? Anybody home in there? Did you have too much to drink? Oh my god, are we gonna have to take you to the hospital on your twenty-fifth birthday?” Robin’s voice breaks you from your trance, your eyes widening in realization that you’d totally drifted off to outer space for a minute there.

“What? Oh god, no. I’m fine, sorry, just zoned out a bit,” you give them a reassuring smile, not wanting them to press you again about the too-attractive men that were all over you tonight.

“No worries, we were saying we were probably gonna get going, it’s pretty late,” Vickie jumps in, sticking out her thumb and motioning towards the door.

“Oh, yeah, of course! I’m getting tired anyways,” you affirm, moving to stand with the rest of the table.

You bid your friends goodbye, giving each of them a hug and thanking them for setting this outing up for you. You decide to hit the bathroom before you leave, declining Nancy’s offer of a ride home, so they all go on without you. You make your usual promises to text them soon and plan another get together before they leave you, stepping out into the cool night and going home.

Entering the bathroom, you find that you’re alone, much to your relief. You stare at yourself in the mirror, genuinely enjoying your appearance tonight. You wonder if Eddie thought you looked good, too. You let yourself wonder if he truly was interested in you like your friends were insisting. Sighing, you sit down on the toilet, pressing your palms to your cheeks and tugging the skin down frustratedly. You wish you’d been in a setting where you could’ve asked Eddie for his number or something, or even just actually had the chance to talk to him, to hold a conversation.

You’re lost in your thoughts as you finish up in the bathroom, making your way towards the door to leave. The chill of the air conditioning suddenly feels too cold, giving you goosebumps, and you quickly throw on the shirt Eddie had given you to keep yourself warmer. It’s the only cover-up you have, so, what else could you do? You totally don’t think about how it smells like him as you approach the exit. Your palm presses against the glass door, heaving it open in front of you. Heels step onto pavement, your eyes searching your bag to ensure you have everything. But as you’re looking, you bump into another figure.

“Oh shit! I’m sor-” you go to say, but the words evaporate into thin air when you see who you’d run into.

His leather jacket covers his arms and torso, dark brown curls draped over his shoulders. He has a cigarette dangling from his full pink lips, and a silver lip ring catches the light from the parking lot lamps for just a moment as he turns. Deep brown eyes meet yours, a soft expression on them. He recognizes you instantly, of course.

“Oh, hey, sweetheart. I’m sorry, I should’ve been paying more attention,” he apologizes sincerely, eyes raking over your frame, but not in a way that makes you feel small or uncomfortable.

“No, that’s my fault too. Sorry,” you admit, looking down at your high-heeled feet. You’re suddenly shy, and you wish you had some more liquid courage to down right about now.

“I’m Eddie, by the way. If you didn’t catch it earlier,” he says, holding a hand out for you to shake.

“Y/N,” you tell him your name, taking his hand in your far softer grip, bouncing them once in a greeting.

“Nice shirt,” he says, eyeing the black button down that rests loosely on your body.

“O-oh! Did you want it back?” you ask, embarrassment creeping up your spine. He wasn’t supposed to see you in his shirt, it was just to keep you warm until you could get home and change. Your eyes look towards the ground, suddenly too shy to look at him even though he’d quite literally been grinding on you an hour ago.

“Keep it,” he says, smiling brilliantly at you. “Looks better on you, anyways.”

“Thank you,” you say, voice impossibly quiet. A small smile tugs on the corners of your lips. Why is your heart pounding so hard?

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, sweetheart,” he continues as if reading your thoughts, and his deep syrupy voice is reassuring as he places a gentle hand on your arm. “Promise I don’t bite…. unless you want me to,” he says, giving you a cute little smirk.

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, holding back a giggle. You scrape the toe of your shoe on the concrete absentmindedly, looking down at it as Eddie watches you.

“Did y’have a nice birthday?” he asks coolly, his index and middle finger delicately holding the cigarette at his side as he leans against the wall of the building.

You feel your cheeks heat, and you curl your lips inward to hide your smile a little. “I had a great birthday,” you say finally. You shove your nerves down, reminding yourself of the way he was all over you before. Maybe your friends were right, maybe he really is into you.

You feel like the universe is giving you a chance here, giving you an opportunity to talk to Eddie one-on-one like you’d wanted. Better not fuck it up, you think as you prepare your next words. “There was this really hot stripper that made the day so much better…” you trail off, shyness still evident but feeling more confident under the way he eyes you up.

“Oh? Tell me more about him,” Eddie says, stepping ever so slightly closer to you.

“Well, he’s tall and muscular and so handsome, and he has really sexy tattoos…” you say, flashing him a brilliant smile as he watches you through hooded eyes, “and he just made me feel so special, and it’s such a shame I couldn’t get his number or anything…..” you sigh exaggeratedly, your doe eyes looking up at him.

Eddie smiles, and you swear it looks shy, like he isn’t used to the compliments or the attention. Like he doesn’t do what he does for a living.

“Well, I’ll have you know there was this girl… I hear it’s her birthday, actually, and she just made my shift so much better than it could have been,” he rambles. “She was just the prettiest thing,” he says, not breaking your gaze as he does.

“Oh, yeah?” you reply, tilting your chin up to him.

“Yeah,” he says softly, looking down the bridge of his nose at you. “And I think I can do her one better than just giving her my number,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest.

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, half-lidded eyes flitting from his lips to his eyes and back down again. He purses his lips in a smirk, stomping his cigarette out with the toe of his shoe.

“Why don’t you come back to my place and I’ll show you?”

“Hm. That depends. You’re not a serial killer, are you?” you ask, teasing.

“Oh, shoot, sweetheart. You caught me,” Eddie says, holding his hands over his eyes and peering through his fingers.

You laugh, and he thinks about how he’d like to hear that sound a lot more. He reaches a hand out for you to take, nodding down at it. “Whaddya say? Care to join me?” he asks, and you meet his eyes as he peers through his bangs at you.

His open hand waits, silver rings catching the fluorescent light from the lamps in the parking lot. It beckons you, asking you to take it. The song from earlier rings in your head.

Reach out and touch faith

You take his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Lead the way, handsome.”

Eddie’s vehicle is nice, extremely nice, actually. It’s a black Jeep, black leather seats with red details and stitching. The money he makes at the club clearly pays off, you suppose. Hell, you’d seen how much cash he’d been thrown tonight alone - including what you’d contributed. He has a pair of red fuzzy dice that hang from the mirror, and you can’t help but laugh to yourself as you swat them once, making them sway where they hang.

“Are you laughing at my dice, sweetheart?” he asks, shuffling into his own seat.

“Oh, no. I’d never,” you say, biting back a smile.

His sparkling eyes don’t leave yours, pulling you in, refusing to let you go. You notice his tongue dart out to wet his lips, notice the way he leans ever so slightly towards you. The tension in the closed space suddenly grows palpable, like you could slice it with your fingernail if you reached out.

You don’t make it to Eddie’s place. You don’t even make it out of the parking lot.

You’re the one to close the distance between the two of you, leaning over the center console of the car to press your lips to his. He grunts in pleasant surprise, his hands finding their way to your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. Your heart is racing, thoughts going a mile a minute as you process the fact that this is really happening. You can feel the metal of the ring adorning his bottom lip as your mouth glides against his, the jewelry not getting in the way but remaining noticeable. His tongue doesn’t ask for permission, just slides its way past your parted lips. It mingles with yours, swapping spit back and forth in a heated encounter. You bite his bottom lip and tug, toying with the metal ring with your teeth. He whines, pulling away from you the slightest bit, eyes half lidded as he jerks his head to the side, motioning to the backseat.

“Get in the back,” he pants, “need you right here, right now.”

You oblige, opting to get out of the car and actually go in through the back door rather than climbing ungracefully over your seat. Eddie follows suit, crawling towards you like an animal stalking its prey, not satisfied till his face hovers over yours, his mouth dipping down to meet your soft lips. He captures them briefly before pulling away again, moving down further to press kisses to your jawline, your neck, your collarbone. You feel his tongue and teeth against the skin, biting, sucking, licking. You whimper beneath him, raising your hips to brush against his. The chuckle that leaves his mouth sends a shiver down your spine, one of his strong hands coming down to push your hips firmly against the seat.

“Such a needy thing, hm?” he tuts, looking up at you with those big doe eyes before he resumes kissing your neck.

His hand holds you in place like it’s easy work, keeping you still when your body tries to writhe beneath him. The smell of his cologne fills your nose, intoxicating as you breathe it in along with the whisper of cigarette smoke from the one he’d had mere minutes ago. The chain around his neck dangles low, the guitar pick pendant brushing the dip between your breasts that your dress leaves partially exposed.

You remember the way he teased you inside the club, remember the way he let you tug on his tie, the way his hips gyrated above your lap. You grow wetter at the memories, more than ready to actually get to have him now. You pull his shirt off of your shoulders, playfully tossing it at him, mimicking the way he’d tossed it at you. His eyes go wide at it, a hand pressing to his forehead as he pretends to swoon, making you laugh. The shirt gets discarded to the floor, Eddie leaning back over your frame. He shoves the neckline of your dress down, freeing your tits for him. You went braless tonight and you’re thanking yourself for it, the ease with which he takes one of your peaked nipples into his mouth sending you reeling. He sucks on one, then the other, his hand always toying with the mound of flesh that isn’t currently being entertained by his tongue.

“Eddie,” you whine, arching your chest further into his touch.

“What is it, baby?” he purrs, the hand on your hip now skirting down your thigh, reaching the hem of your dress and hiking the fabric upwards.

“Please,” you reply breathlessly, not begging for anything specific but just for more.

He looks at you, leaning back on his calves, hands raking over your thighs as he slides back.

“Look how pretty you are,” he muses, eyes trained on the lace between your thighs. Your dress is pushed up so far, leaving you almost entirely exposed.

He presses his thumb over your clit, just a thin excuse for fabric separating his skin from yours. You suck in a sharp breath, bucking your hips slightly into his touch.

“Oh, she wants me to touch her so bad, huh?” he teases, finger stroking over the growing wet patch on your underwear.

“Please,” you whine again, gasping when Eddie hooks a finger into your panties, yanking them down.

His big hands delicately take your heels off of your feet, setting them on the floor of his car. He tugs your panties completely off of your legs then, letting them land wherever he tosses them. His leather jacket comes off as well, being thrown into the front seat. His black t-shirt hugs his biceps well, the fabric clinging to his body in a way that makes him so much more enticing.

He swipes a finger up through your folds, collecting your slick before bringing said finger to his mouth. He sucks on it, tasting what he can of you and moaning. You’re awestruck watching him, feeling like your heart is going to beat out of your chest when his eyes meet yours, dark and needy. He crouches down swiftly, settling himself so his face is right in front of your waiting pussy. His tongue sticks out, licking up your folds in the same pattern his finger had just followed. You cry out in pleasant surprise as he begins eating your cunt, a present perfectly unwrapped just for him. He presses his tongue inside of you, velvety muscle tasting every inch of you.

His hands grip your thighs, holding your legs open for him. Dark brown eyes look up to meet yours, and the sight is unholy. The way his lips attach to your clit and suck, the way he purposefully makes a show of dragging his tongue through your puffy, swollen lips, never once breaking eye contact. It makes you want to worship him, a divine presence for you to praise.

Someone to hear your prayers, someone who cares

“Eddie…” you whine, screwing your eyes shut when his tongue flicks faster over your clit.

He simply hums in response, a pleased noise that vibrates against your core. He knows what he’s doing to you, he can tell by the way you whimper and writhe beneath him. His tongue stays focused on your clit as he brings two fingers to your entrance, slipping them easily inside of you. You gasp, tugging on his hair in desperation. He groans, a deep, throaty noise that catches you by surprise.

“Keep fuckin’ pulling my hair, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your wet heat. “Wanna know how good ‘m makin’ you feel.”

Your back arches into his touch when he curls those fingers inside of you, perfect pink lips still pursed around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your orgasm is quickly approaching, tension building and building in the pit of your stomach the more he winds you up.

“Eddie, I- I’m gonna-” you pant, fingers still entwined in his curls, eliciting more pleased sounds from him.

His fingers only move quicker in response, curling inside of you and bringing you right to the edge, letting you plummet into bliss. You clench around him, squeezing his fingers over and over as he works you through your high. You jerk your hips, suddenly overstimulated, and Eddie takes the hint. He removes his fingers, his mouth unlatching from your sensitive clit.

“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he grins, flashing those perfect white teeth at you.

You flush, scrunching your face in embarrassment before he leans down to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you throb. You suck lightly on his tongue, letting out a breathy laugh when he grinds his hips against you in response.

“Fuck, angel, need to be inside you…” he murmurs, mouth pressing kisses to the shell of your ear.

“Mmm, not yet,” you reply, capturing his lips in another quick kiss. “If I don’t have my mouth on you in the next five minutes I’m not gonna survive,” you purr, mouthing at his jaw, sucking the supple skin of his neck.

He groans, raspy and deep, letting you mark him as your fingers make quick work of the button and zipper of his tight jeans. His erect cock hangs heavy in the thin fabric of his boxers, finally letting you gauge how big he is. You swallow, hand wrapping around the outline of his cock and squeezing. Eddie inhales sharply, dropping his head to rest on your chest. His arms tense as he props himself up, his resolve threatening to crumble with the way your thumb teases his tip through cotton fabric. You can feel the pre-cum leaking from him, sticky strings of it attaching to the pad of your finger as you tease.

“Baby, mmmmfuck,” he moans, looking back up at you with pleading eyes.

“Sit back,” you instruct him, removing your hand from his bulge. “Let me take care of you.”

He just about combusts when you clamber to the floor of the spacious back seat, tugging his boxers from around the taper of his hips. You let them drop to his ankles, pooling around his shoes. His cock springs free in front of you, heavy and leaking for you. The trimmed patch of hair at the base has your mouth watering, his balls hanging beneath like the perfect temptation. You open your mouth, making a show of sticking your tongue out as you tap the tip of his cock against it. You give teasing licks across the head, lapping up the pre-cum and tasting him properly.

He whines above you, his head thrown back and the veins in his neck pulsing. His previously cocky demeanor is gone in this moment, giving in completely to how desperate he is for you. It seems to be a give and take, both of you worshiping each other like the holiest entities.

You take him fully past your lips, saliva pooling beneath your tongue. You bob your head, coating him with your spit. The girth of him stretches your mouth uncomfortably, and you move slowly as you adjust to taking him. One of his hands flies down to your hair, gripping it to give himself some sort of leverage.

The sight of you on your knees for him, tits hanging free on your chest and your perfect lips sucking him right in has him feeling like he could melt into the seats of his car. Your big doe eyes peer up at him, feeling like a shot to the fucking heart.

“God, baby, your mouth feels like fucking heaven,” he praises, watching himself disappear into your perfect mouth.

You hum in satisfaction, picking up your pace. You take him until his head hits the back of your throat, making your throat restrict as you gag around him. The whine that comes out of him is sinful, there’s no other word to describe it, and it has you pressing your thighs together for some relief to your core that already aches for him again. His modest muscles strain against the tight fabric of his t-shirt, every inch of his body trying to maintain composure and failing. You grip his balls with one hand, holding the base of his shaft with the other. You pump his cock in your fist in tandem with how your mouth bobs on his length, other hand squeezing the squishy flesh of his balls simultaneously. He almost jumps off the seat his hips buck so hard, forcing another gag from you as his cock hits your throat again.

Your nose brushes the curly hair on his pubic bone, and you take a deep breath as you pull your mouth off of him, regaining your control. You continue what you’d been doing, both of your hands and your mouth working him closer and closer to release. Strings of curse words leave his perfect parted lips, the hand in your hair guiding the movements of your head ever so slightly.

“Babybabybaby,” he rushes out, a strangled groan escaping with the words. “Don’t wanna - fuck - don’t wanna cum yet. Need to fuck you, pretty girl,” he says, his chest heaving as he catches his breath.

You press soft kisses to the head of his cock, the skin still flushed a darker shade of pink, ready and waiting to be inside of you. He pulls you up onto his lap, hands immediately cupping your breasts and squeezing as he presses a rough kiss to your lips. Your dress remains bunched up at your middle, your glistening pussy rubbing right against Eddie’s cock, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

Eddie stops the slow rocking of your hips suddenly, as if startled.

“What’s wrong?” you urge, meeting his eyes that hold a guilty expression.

“I totally don’t have condoms…” he says sheepishly, biting his lip.

“Oh - I mean, we don’t need to use one, if you’re okay with that. I’m on the pill and I - I’m clean, and stuff,” you ramble, wondering why you’re finding it so fucking hard to get words out now.

“I’m clean too. Promise. I, uh, don’t exactly do this often,” he looks at you shyly, the demeanor unfitting for him. The confession that he doesn’t do this often admittedly makes your heart swell, all of those nervous thoughts you’d had about him earlier, about being part of a routine, washing away gradually. “But if you’d rather we don’t, it can wait till next time,” he continues.

“Next time?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Y-yeah. I mean, I mean if you want to see me again after thi-” you cut off his nervous stammering with a firm kiss, your fingers cupping his chin as you claim his mouth with yours. His nervousness makes him so much less intimidating, taking him down from being this larger-than-life entity, an unobtainable stripper who sees attractive women every night, to just being… a regular guy. A cute, sweet, charming guy who’s also insanely sexy.

Pulling away, he smiles lazily at you, kiss-drunk and awestruck. “Yes I want to see you again. And yes I want you to fuck me, right here right now,” you reassure him, your sultry gaze enough to make him do anything you could ask of him.

“Fucking deal, babe,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head, exposing his chest to you. His tattoos are on full display, and your eyes rake over him, your cunt pulsing with all of your filthy thoughts. He smirks at you, clearly liking the way you drink him in, biting his lip as you raise your hips slightly so he can position his cock at your entrance.

You sink down onto him without a warning, the two of you gasping in unison. You grip his shoulders for leverage, the stretch to fit him slightly uncomfortable despite your extreme arousal. You work yourself down, down, down, slowly until you’re fully seated on him. He sits heavy and thick inside of you, making you ache with an enticing kind of soreness. Your walls flutter slightly around him as you wiggle your hips around, getting used to the feel of him. His hands grip your hips, his lips parted and his eyes screwed shut as you start to find your bearings on top of him. You dip your head down, rolling your hips on him as you suck a brutal hickey into the column of his throat. Your teeth gnash at soft skin, tongue soothing the sting afterwards. A low growl escapes him, fingers squeezing your doughy flesh as he starts to rut himself into your soaked cunt.

Breathy moans leave your lips, your jaw hanging open as he fucks into you faster. Your tits bounce in front of his face, and he wants to take them into his mouth and stay latched on forever. Perfect swells of skin, all for him to touch and kiss and suck. His hands grip the soft globes of your ass as his mouth sucks the skin of your chest, making you moan when his fingers squeeze hard.

You’re so fucking full of him you feel delirious, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every deep stroke he delivers to you. His name is tumbling from your mouth in a rhythmic pattern, over and over, like a prayer. You really can’t get that damn song out of your head from before, and it makes so much sense why he chose it to be his.

Your own personal Jesus

You want to praise Eddie right beneath the roof of his Jeep. Want to shout his name from the rooftops, make the whole world know how good he’s fucking you right now. You want to follow every word he says, every command he gives you. You want to pray to him every night before you go to bed, you just want to worship him. The way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his lips suck on your neck make you feel like you’re being worshipped, too. He sucks and squeezes and fucks like this may be his last opportunity to, like he’s savoring every possible bit of you and committing you to permanent memory.

You bounce on his cock, gaining some more control as Eddie’s thrusts slow down with fatigue. You take the reins, cupping his face in your hand and kissing him hard. Licking into his mouth desperately, humming when his tongue meets yours. But then he somehow takes control again, making you pliant for him even as you ride him with vigor. He squeezes your jaw, letting your mouth fall open before he spits into it, a string of his saliva dropping onto your tongue. You swallow it, not needing to be instructed, and you swear Eddie gets even harder inside of you. You recall Eddie’s comment from earlier, when Jonathan had given you the shot. ‘She knows how to swallow.’

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, jaw tight and the veins in his neck prominent as he stills your bouncing on top of him and thrusts up into you.

He goes so deep you’re left seeing stars, lurching forward and gripping his shoulders for stability. Your body feels like it could crumple into itself if you let it, every one of your limbs overtaken with pleasure. You feel a familiar tension building higher and higher in the pit of your stomach. The sound of his balls slapping against your skin and the occasional smacking of your lips against his fills the vehicle, the air growing humid with every hot breath that leaves your mouths. The sounds he makes are downright obscene, any bit of composure he’d had completely slipping away for you. His thrusts get faster, faster, and you let your fingers drop down to your clit, rubbing quick circles on the sensitive bud.

“Ohhhh fuck baby,” Eddie moans, watching the way your head tips back as you pleasure yourself. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Eddie,” you cry, thighs trembling as your orgasm crawls closer and closer.

His fingers squeeze your hips impossibly tight, one of his hands letting go only to deliver a swift smack to your ass. You whine, cursing under your breath as the pads of your fingers circle your clit again and again. Eddie fucks you ruthlessly, pulling almost entirely out just to sheathe himself inside of you again, taking your breath away. The friction and the fullness is euphoric, your body giving way completely to pleasure as your second orgasm finally rips through you. You’re screaming out for him, chanting his name again and again as you come undone on his cock. You soak him, lewd, wet noises coming from you as he continues to thrust beneath you.

“‘M gonna cum so fucking hard, baby,” he rasps, looking at you through his lashes. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside. Inside Eddie, please,” you rush out, begging him to fill you with his seed. He lets out a strangled whine at this, gripping your flesh even harder.

You swear his eyes roll back into his head, hips stuttering and his cock pulsing as you feel the warmth of his cum painting your insides. His final thrusts are sloppy as he gives you every last drop of his cum, your mouth hung open in a silent moan at the overwhelming sensation of him gliding against your sensitive walls.

His chest is heaving with each breath he takes, his palms splayed out across your lower back, holding you close to him when you slump forward. Your legs feel like jelly, weak and trembling from exertion. Your mind is fuzzy in the best way, a smile on your face when Eddie tilts you to look at him.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his eyes roaming over your entire face, loving how blissed out you look. “Wanted to have you all to myself during our whole show tonight, god…” he continues, smirking a little as he shakes his head.

“I could say the same to you,” you reply, looking at his lips as you talk.

His mouth catches yours in a lazy kiss, tongues dancing together sloppily. His fingers rub soothing circles on your skin, slowly guiding you up and off of his softened cock.

“So, do I have to shove more dollar bills in your pants for all of that, too, or?” you joke, earning a laugh from Eddie that presents itself in a harsh puff of air from his nose.

“Nah, that’s on the house, baby,” he says, giving you a lopsided grin.

You both sit in silence for a moment, your delicate fingers tracing patterns up and down his arms. He looks at you like you’re an angel sent from the heavens, those chocolate brown eyes admiring you in the kindest way.

“Do you, uh, still wanna come back to my place?” he says finally, that ill-fitting nervousness creeping back into his voice.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to ponder, pulling your dress back up over your breasts and tugging the hem to rest normally on your thighs. “What’s in it for me?”

“I have a stripper pole in my living room,” he says with a smug grin. “I’ll give you your own private show.”

“Sold.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #stripper!eddie munson #stripper!eddie munson x reader #stripper!eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction

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msnihilist · 3 months ago

Note

Murowa selfcest would be amazing

One of them would kill the other.

#ask #anonymous #my ocs #fic: diamonds are forever #i mean. an opportunity to cut herself open??? SHE'D BE ALL IN

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yan-lorkai · 4 months ago

Note

Since I absolutely adored your fic on escaping Idia, could you by chance do something with a reader that broke up with him only to find out she was pregnant later? Honestly, I just want the drama of the reader raising this child alone and Idia finding out down that his ex had a kid.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I took this request and ran with it, I hope you like the drama! ⁽⁠⁽⁠ଘ⁠(⁠ ⁠ˊ⁠ᵕ⁠ˋ⁠ ⁠)⁠ଓ⁠⁾⁠⁾

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, mention of stalking and controlling tendencies, threats, poison mention, afab!reader but no pronouns used.

"You robbed me from being her father." Idia didn't sound angry. But there was a bitter taste that lingered on his tongue when he looked at you, the love of his life from when he was just a teenager and your child, sleepy on his arms, same blue hair shining under the dim lights. "I may not like it, but I understand why you did it. I'm so sorry that you didn't feel like you could tell me though."

In any other world, you could feel yourself melting at the scene that was so domestic, so sweet. But right now, when you are coming home, tired and hungry and seeing Idia sitting on your favorite armchair while he held your daughter so dearly and carefully in his arms? A shaky gasp left you, your heart starting to beat loudly in your chest as you watched each and every moviment he made, conscious of every chuckle, of his chest raised, of his eyes that lost their soft gaze and we're hardened now.

You still remember how he used to treat you when both of you were younger, he was like a spider weaving his web full of possessiveness, his words twisted to make you feel like he was the only one who could understand, love and treat you like you deserved.

You were dumb and innocent but dumb and innocent people don't survive for long out there. And when you realized that something was wrong, you had to do what you had to do in order to survive and escape him.

For seven long years you survived. But you felt as if a threat of death was looming over you for as long as you were stared by your ex-boyfriend - he didn't reacted well when you broke up with him. Like always, Idia threw a tantrum, begged and cried and screamed for you to stay, holding onto your legs pathetically. Though now he was older and got a more mature beauty to him, his eyes, so yellow, they were like diamonds watching you.

Your eyes followed the way his fingers moved and toyed with your daughter's hair, a tiny smile on her little lips as she got even comfier in his arms.

This was what you used to imagine when you lay in bed awake, thinking about the what ifs. What if you stayed? What if Idia was just a normal, good and plain guy that didn't scared you? Would he love his child? He did thought he was cursed, fated forever to always watch over the underworld gates, he told you himself. There were so many uncertainties, so much toxicity that you just ran away from your problems and him.

And now your past returned to bite you back.

"You should have told me. We could have done this together." Even he sounds unsure at that, a bit contemplative and thoughtful as he ponders what could have been of his life if he knew earlier about your pregnancy.

Toothy grin growing on his lips as he noticed your disgusted stare, so happy he could still make you feel something - anything was better than your hate, after all. The tick tock was the only sound echoing for a long moment before the growing anger bubbles up on your chest, not believing a single syllable that left his mouth.

"You got to be kidding!" You count on your fingers the number of creepy things he did, feeling your whole body shaking. Either from anger or fear, you can't tell. But it surely amuses Idia, who's smiling wider now. "Stalking me, watching me through the cameras, threatening my friends, you even tapped my phone and used to read my messages like they were a magazine, Idia! A kid wouldn't grown up to be healthy and normal around a freak like you."

You pointed in his direction, your finger jabbing at his face.

The illusion of a family had to end before it even begin. It was his fault that everything turned out to be this way and even with seven whole years passing by, Idia still wasn't able to see this. He was helpless, beyond help.

"That's a funny way to see things, Yuu-shi." He giggled softly, making you wince, the sound so unfamiliar now, while he rearranged the covers to wrap around your child tightly, not wanting her to wake up. Not right now, at least. "From the way I see, you hid my child existence from me. And honestly, I bet it was so hard and tiring, wasn't it? You worked two jobs to raise her, after all."

Your child let out a sleepy giggle, mumbling something on her sleep about her mom and dad finally being reunited. Idia looked back at you, smugness irradiating from him in waves.

"The nerve you got, I can't!" In an instant you were before him. Your whole body fighting to suppress fear and disgust, fighting against whatever was trying paralyze you. You had to take your daughter. You had to take her from him. You had to protect her.

He hummed a little, taking your hand on his. His grip was gentle, reverent even but strong enough to let you know he could overpower you whenever he wanted. He was looking at you through his eyelashes.

And you didn't like how he was looking at you. Like you were a collectible that he wanted to bury on his closet, to hide to never be seen again. Like he knew something you don't.

Exactly how he used to look at you in the past.

"You don't deserve to hold her, you don't even deserve to be near her." You told him petulantly. She was nothing like him. She was kinder and radiant, a good girl. She wasn't a calculating monster like her father.

You took her in your arms and he let you do it, crossing one leg over the other as he threw his head back and laughed.

"You tell me that she wouldn't like me but did you know that she was happy to know who I was? Did you know that she confided in me that you were working so hard that she missed you greatly but didn't want to annoy you?" You rolled your eyes at his attempt at lying, unable to believe anything he said.

There were no signs nor change on your daughter's behavior that indicates that any of this was true. At least, that you think so. You knew her better than he did.

You glanced at him, his eyes still smug but there was a pleading glimmer inside them that almost begged you to believe him this time. Raising a child was difficult, even more when you were raising one alone and had to be there for them 24/07, available emotionally and physically for whatever your daughter needed.

Looking at her soft, round face, you felt a pang of guilty. Idia was telling the truth or he was just messing with your head again?

He's lying, you screamed in your head. Of course he is lying. Lying is far easier than admitting that he was downright toxic.

The memories of his lies and half-truths were still fresh in your mind even after all those years, making it difficult to discern the reality now. You had trouble trusting people even to these days because of him. But his words struck a chord inside of you.

What if it was true? Your little one was a little more skittish and silent around you the past few days. You didn't want to believe this possibility. You couldn't. You worked hard to always be there in every moment, to not let her realize how it was to not have a parent around.

Had you failed?

"Why should I believe you now?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "You did nothing but hurt me when we were together. I don't trust and I don't like how you are all cozy on my armchair, in fact, you are not welcomed here at all.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He obviously didn't want to talk about the past, it's not like he didn't know but in his twisted mind everything he had done to you was justified. Idia always do something with a purpose on mind.

"I know I've messed up before, more times than I can count. But this... this is different."

He gestured to your child, looking at her with a soft, fond gaze. You though didn't believed a second that he had a sudden change of heart just because of your child.

"It's true I didn't wanted a child because of my cursed blood and the fate that would await them. But when I hold her like this, nothing else seems to matter."

You scoffed at this, despising how sincere his voice was. "If you're telling the truth, why didn't she told me herself?"

"She was afraid, I guess. Afraid that you wouldn't understand or she didn't want to add to your stress. She thought she was doing the right thing." He exhaled slowly, the emotional turmoil inside him boiling over. Yet he forced himself to remain calm, to watch each and every step you make, every breathe you take.

Like a spider weaving its web.

His words hung in the air and you looked away, trying to sort through the conflicting emotions that surged within you. Trust had been broken before, boudaries ignored, there was no mending this. There was no salvaging the past, no matter how much he looked like a kicked puppy.

You held your daughter tighter. "Well, that was enlightening but I think you should go. Now."

Idia's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flickering within them as he stood up and lazily stretched. "You're still trying to push me away?" He asked, voice low and cold. "I won't stop you, of course, I get that you're still afraid and all but are you sure you want me to leave? I walked right into your house. Didn't you even wondered how I entered? Or where the nanny you hired went? Or why our daughter didn't woke up yet?"

Desperation crept into your voice, a sudden realisition that perhaps he would do something foolish such as harming his own flesh and blood. "Idia, what... What do you mean by all that?"

He tilted his head slightly. hiding the curve of a smile with his hand, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. You could only wonder what kind of things he was thinking and you didn't like it not knowing what to expect. You stared at him, heart beating loudly as held your daughter closer to your chest.

He laughed, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. "You're scared," It wasn't a question but an observation. His smile got bigger. "Good, you should be. You think you have a choice in this? Your daughter… she's already been exposed to a little something I concocted. A slow-acting poison."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down at your daughter, now noticing that she was starting to tremble. "How could you do this?" You whispered, voice choked with emotion.

"Because I love you," Idia said, voice low and intense. Taking a step closer, he was staring you face to face now, warm breath over you. "And I won't let you go. Not now, not ever. We're meant to be together and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that happens."

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic and anger swirling within you. "Give her the antidote, Idia. Please; I'II do anything."

"Not yet," He shook his head slowly, a twisted smile on his lips. His tone was almost gentle and soothing. "You'll come with me first. Once we're safe and together, then she'll get the antidote. But if you try anything... if you try to leave or call for help, well..."

He let the threat hang in the air, the implications clear. Like a wreacking ball he destroyed everything you've worked for all these years. You hated it. And you hated how powerless you were right here, right now.

You felt a wave of despair wash over you, the weight of the situation crushing you. Your daughter's life hanging in the balance and there was no choice but to comply.

"Alright," Vou whispered, voice breaking. You looked at him with hatred and something more you couldn't name, too worried with your daughter's health. "I'll come with you. Just... please don't hurt her."

Idia's smile widened, a flicker of triumph in his eyes. "That's more like it," he said, reaching out to gently touch your daughter's cheek. "We'll be a perfect family, just like I always wanted."

With your heart heavy and your daughter's safety foremost in your mind, you followed Idia, knowing that you were stepping into a nightmare again.

But you could always escape... Right?

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jflemings · 3 months ago

Text

— she looks so perfect

pairing: ucla!jessie fleming x ucla!reader / self titled series

synopsis: jessie’s moving to london and she has every intention of taking you with her

warnings: mentions of a rocky familial relationship

a/n: 5sos was the first fandom i was ever in and their self titled album will forever hold a very special place in my heart, so here’s this fic in honour of it being almost 11 years since i first saw the band live :’)

୧ ‧₊˚ 🌹 ⋅ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Let's get out, let's get out / 'Cause this deadbeat town's only here just to keep us down / While I was out / I found myself alone, just thinkin' / If I showed up with a plane ticket / And a shiny diamond ring with your name on it / Would you wanna run away too? / 'Cause all I really want is you

jessie’s so stupidly in love with you that it’s ridiculous.

it’s a wonder she’s even gotten as far as she has in her career, because all she thinks of all day, every day is you you you.

she knew from the moment teagan introduced the two of you that she’d be at your mercy for the rest of her life. she knew that it didn’t matter if she never made a move, you would follow her and plague her brain until the end of time.

it was the unwavering, immovable feelings that drove her to the door of your dorm room at two in the morning during freshman year finals week. she had been cramming and completely overloading her brain with so much information that she snapped. in her unrested and borderline delirious mind, the best time to confess her feelings to you was during one of the most stressful weeks of the year.

she had banged her knee against her desk when she stood after having the genius revelation, waking teagan up from where she was hunched over her psychology textbook. she had merely told her roommate and friend that she ‘had something important to tell you’ before marching her ass straight to you.

her nerve never faulted, even after you opened the door looking both ridiculously sleep deprived and gorgeous as ever. you couldn’t even get a word in before she was spilling her guts.

“i really like you” jessie says with wide eyes “and i’m well aware that this probably isn’t the best time to tell you this, but the lack of sleep is getting to me and, unfortunately, i have found myself here”

you nod along to her word vomit, taking it all in and processing what you can. you cock your head and smile “it’s about time fleming” you say teasingly “i’ve been waiting for you to make a move all year”

jessie gawks at you “excuse me?”

“yeah. i didn’t want to say anything because i figured that you’d come to me when you were ready” you take a long sip of your coffee before continuing “didn’t think it would take you this long though”

“you knew i liked you all along and didn’t say anything? how could you let me embarrass myself like that!” she groans as she wipes a hand down her face “jesus” she mumbles.

you shake your head “it wasn’t embarrassing, jess. i thought it was cute the way you’d tell teags and olivia to shut up everytime they made jokes about it when they thought i wasn’t listening”

“yeah. awesome” she grumbles more to herself then to you.

checking your watch, your eyebrows crease “i’m gonna head to bed but come grab me for coffee tomorrow morning? we can get bagels from that place you like”

jessie’s head shoots up in shock “what? like a date?”

“yes, jess. like a date” you smile crookedly

“okay” she says smiling before beginning to step back “how’s ten sound?”

“ten sounds perfect”

that date eventually led her here, in your shared apartment staring at a ring. she’d put any money she could spare away to get it for you and although it wasn’t anything glamorous with a big rock, it was something that she knew you’d like. the canadian had been waiting for the perfect moment to propose to you, but since signing her first professional contract with chelsea, she’d been running out of time.

she fiddles with the box in her hand as she sits on the end of your bed. her thoughts are so loud that she almost doesn’t hear the front door slam and you curse as you make your way to the bedroom. she scrambles to dive over to her side of the bed, messing up the made sheets, as she hastily puts the box in her bedside table. the drawer slams at the same time you open the door.

jessie turns to face you, a cheesy grin on her face as your sentence dies on your tongue.

you cock your head “what are you doing?”

“nothing!” she says all too quickly as she sits up “what are you doing?”

“figuring out how to tell my mother that she doesn’t run my life” you sniffle and drop your bag.

jessie stands quickly and walks towards you, already grabbing your face and wiping the few stray tears that have fallen. she hadn’t noticed that you were crying when she first saw you, but your red rimmed, slightly puffy eyes, tell her that you started before you even walk through the door.

“what happened?” she asks as she guides you to sit on the bed

“she just—” you groan and furiously wipe at your eyes “she just doesn’t get it! she still treats me like a clueless kid who doesn’t know what they want in life. she says that my degree isn’t gonna get me anywhere and that i should just quit while i’m ahead and get a real job”

jessie frowns and tenderly pulls your hands away from your face so you don’t make your eyes more irritated. she holds your hands delicately in her lap and guides your head to rest on her shoulder. you turn into the crook of her neck and sniffle some more.

“and she thinks that you moving to london is even more of a reason for me to go back home” you mumble against the skin of jessie’s neck “it’s so stupid”

“just come with me” she blurts out.

your head shoots up from the crook of her neck, eyes wide and jaw hung “what?”

jessie gulps “i said just come with me. to london”

“jessie are you crazy?”

“no!” there’s a pause “not really” she mumbles.

“i— are you fucking with me right now?” you ask in complete disbelief.

the topic of jessie’s move had been mostly avoided by the two of you because of the uncertainty surrounding the future of your relationship. you both knew that you wanted to stay together, but long distance was scary, and the both of you were still young.

“no” she answers with a little more confidence “i want you to come to london with me. i want to make a life with you that no one else can interfere in, i want to take the next step in my life with you.”

silence rolls over the two of you and doubt starts settling in jessie’s mind. maybe you weren’t ready for that with her, maybe you didn’t even want to continue being with her, maybe this was a bad time, or too soon, or maybe she’d read it all wrong and you actually were considering going home. maybe—

“okay” you breathe “okay. i’ll come to london”

jessie’s eyes go wide “seriously?”

“seriously” you nod.

she jumps up in front of you like she’s going to run somewhere before she stops. her eyes dart to her bedside table over your shoulder before quickly looking back at you.

you look over your shoulder “what was that”

“what was what” she rushes out, still unmoving.

“that look, what was that look?”

“look? what look? no look”

the two of you stare at eachother for a moment, both not speaking as you try to wordlessly figure out what jessie could be hiding. she’s still standing in a half bent over position with her feet pointing opposite directions like an idiot, and you think she resembles a cornered animal.

your eyes flick to the side of you and you make the split second decision to throw caution to the wind and dive to her bedside table.

“no! wait!” jessie shouts as she dives after you, but she’s too late. by the time she’s looming over you from behind, you’ve already got her bedside drawer open.

you hear her suck in a sharp breath from above you.

slowly, you pull out the black velvet ring box that looks back at you. it’s sitting on top of a half-read book, a stack of post it notes and jessie’s old broken phone charger. it’s a stark contrast to the disorganised mess that is jessie’s bedside table.

you pull it out and pop it open slowly, revealing a simple silver band with a small diamond. you gasp “jessie”

jessie sighs and sits back on her knees, allowing you to sit up with one leg thrown over the edge of the bed.

“it’s not— i wasn’t—” jessie tries to explain, but the words keep dying in her throat. she sighs again “you weren’t meant to see that”

you look up at her “when did you get this?”

“i don’t know, a couple months ago maybe?” she rubs the back of her neck “there’s never been a right time and with me moving, i just didn’t know if that’s what you wanted”

“you thought i wouldn’t want to marry you?” you ask in disbelief, the shock evident on your face.

“there was a point where i thought you wouldn’t wanna be with me period” she huffs out a half assed laugh before her hands settle in her lap.

you shake your head and and push the box into jessie’s hands “are you gonna sit there and look pretty or are you gonna ask me to marry you?” you sass her with a glint in your eye.

jessie’s jaw drops “what? right now? i don’t— i don’t have a speech or anything!”

you wave your hand about “as if i give a fuck about a prepared speech jess. everytime you speak to me it’s like a declaration of love, say whatever comes to mind”

the midfielder scrambles off the bed and onto one knee in front of you, her hands slightly shaky and completely unprepared. she clears her throat “y/n” she starts.

you give her an encouraging nod.

jessie nods along with you “there’s a lot of things in life that i’m proud of, but everytime someone asks me what i’m most proud of my first thought is you. you, who is so selfless and so determined to make a better life from the cards that you were dealt. you, who has chosen everyday to to show kindness to those who may not have been the most kind to you.”

your vision goes cloudy when you see jessie’s tearing up. she wipes her eyes before continuing.

“there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t picture you in my life. every mile stone, every big life moment, you’re right there by my side. i would follow you to the end of the earth and back three times over if you needed me to, and i know you’d do the same for me” she clears her throat again “you’ve made me the best version of myself and there’s no one else i’d rather spend the rest of my life with. so, will you marry me?”

“about time fleming!” you half sob, half laugh as you throw your arms around her neck “oh my god, of course i’ll marry you!”

you pull off her and she shakily puts the ring on your finger. cupping her face, you wipe her tears and tuck some hair behind her ears “i love you” you say as you kiss her hard.

jessie’s arms wrap around your waist and she begins to stand, taking you with her. she walks you back until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you sit down. jessie steps between your legs and breaks the kiss “i believe we have some plane tickets to buy”

you roll your eyes and bunch your fist up in the collar of her shirt “mhm later” you say lowly as you pull her down to your level to kiss her again “gotta show my fiancé how much i adore her”

——

you had booked your tickets that night and almost immediately began thinking of things you were going to be able to sell for some extra cash. now almost two months later, you’d still chosen to not to tell people that you were moving, or that you were engaged, and you’d been dodging your mother’s calls since that last conversation with her.

you knew she wouldn’t agree with you moving or marrying so young, despite how much she claimed she loved jessie, so the two of you thought it would be best to not even let her know until you were in london.

you put the money you got from selling your dresser into an envelope that you needed to take to the bank, and sigh “glad that’s done” you say as jessie walks into the kitchen.

her arm lazily wraps around her waist and she kisses your cheek “at least now we can just live out of boxes” she says as she hooks her chin over your shoulder.

your hand comes up to cup the side of her head “you make it sound ideal”

“well, now we know when we’ve packed too much”

“i’ve already gotten rid of so many of my clothes”

“and you’ve still got so many more” she says cheekily as she unwraps herself from you “don’t worry about it, if you don’t want to get rid of anything else we can ship some stuff up to my parent’s place and they can send it over when we get more settled”

you rub your face“it’s okay, there’s still some things that i’ve been meaning to get rid of. i really don’t want to take all of it”

“we’ve got a month before we leave. that’s enough time to sell whatever you want” she says as she puts her hand over your left “stop stressing. with our combined savings we’re going to be fine for a little while, and you’ve got that job lined up. there’s nothing to worry about”

you nod and turn fully to look at her, cupping her face in your hands “i know”

jessie raises an eyebrow “say it”

“we’re going to be fine” you sigh

jessie smiles as kisses you “yes we are”

#jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #jessie fleming fic #woso x reader #woso fic #jflemings woso #jflemings writes #canwnt x reader

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strniohoeee · 2 months ago

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ahhh you’re my favorite writer!! can you write something about dad!matt please!! maybe something about the whole family going to the cape

Warm Summers

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Fourth of July Weekend calls for fireworks, barbecues and most importantly family. Matt, Y/N and their twins take a trip to the Cape for the holiday weekend☀️

Warnings⚠️: None, this one was kinda cute. Might make more dad Matt fics in the future 😌 to the person that requested this thank you for the support I LOVE YOUUUU😭🖤

Song for Imagine: Tell Me I’m Dreaming- Los Yesterdays

The star make diamonds

Upon your face

The moon smiles down

From outer space

“And the Princess was so so sad because she thought her Prince didn’t want to be with her. He said he was afraid that he would hurt her” I said as I slid the sock on my daughters foot

“No! Mommy… the Princess needs her Prince” She said getting sad

“But then on a rainy cold night the Princess sat in her room, crying and holding her pillow close to her chest. Oh how she wished her Prince would come back” I said as I finished slipping her sneakers on, scooting over to put the socks and sneakers on her twin sister

“And then what?” She practically screeched

“Suddenly a soaking wet Prince ran up her castle stairs and bursted into her room. He fell to his knees crying with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Begging the Princess to take him back and saying how foolish he had been. He said he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her and to make her his Queen” I said watching as her and her sisters eyes lit up

“Did she take him back? Mommy please tell me she took him back” They both screeched as they clung onto their pink stuffed bunnies

“The Princess did! She got up and grabbed the Prince sooo tight and she kissed him” I replied

“Ewwww” they started scrunching their faces up as I laughed

“And they stood there hugging forever. And next thing you know they became King and Queen, they got married and had two twin girls” I replied as I smiled

“Twin girls? Like us!” They said as their eyes lit up

“Just like you both” I responded winking

“Mommy, is that a real story?” they asked

“Yes it is and your daddy was the stupid Prince who almost made the worst decision of his life” Matt suddenly spoke from the bedroom door frame

“DADDYYYYYY” they yelled as they jumped off their beds and into Matt’s embrace. Which caused me to smile

“Daddy you almost didn’t marry mommy? How could you? That’s so silly… she’s the best mama ever” Our daughter asked him

“I know daddy wasn’t so smart when he was younger. I’ll never forget that rainy night. You know that’s why your name is Lluvia. It’s Spanish for rainy season and you so happened to be born during a rainy season” Matt said kissing her on the forehead

“And what about me?” My other daughter asked him

“You’re Luna which is Latin for the moon, the night you both were born it happened to be a full moon and raining” I responded as I took Luna from Matt’s arm

“Mommy and Daddy are so cool” Lluvia squealed as she giggled

“We’re the coolest” I said winking at them

“Now who’s ready for that trip” Matt asked them as they started to jump around in our arms

“MEEEEE” they both yelled

We put them down and let them run down the stairs. Watching to make sure they got to the bottom we both let out a sigh.

Matt looked over at me and pulled me into a hug. Pulling back slightly I leaned in and planted a kiss to his lips.

“I can’t believe we’re 26 with a house and kids” I said reminiscing on our teenage years

Matt and I had been together since we were 18 and friends our whole life. It’s so crazy that this gross sticky boy I used to be neighbors with is the father of my kids and my husband….full circle moment

“Twins at that…. Want one more?” He asked me as he cocked an eyebrow

“With our luck I’d pop out another set of twins or even triplets” I said laughing as I grabbed the girls mini suitcases

“We’d have a herd of Sturniolos” he said giggling

“A herd is insanity, the girls are 4… so another one or two wouldn’t hurt” I said looking over at him

“Good thing we’re all going to be in separate rooms up in the Cod” he responded winking at me

“You are sickkk” I said smacking him playfully

Loading up the car we buckled the girls in. Matt and I’s family always went to Cape Cod during the summer months. It has been a tradition since before we were born. So naturally we thought now was the perfect time to start taking them.

Lucky for us Matt purchased a cabin out there near his parents and my parents so we’d be able to have family get togethers and always be around one another.

Given it was Fourth Of July weekend we thought it was perfect for a whole family get together.

Our hour and a half drive flew by as we spent most of it listening to Disney hits and stopping the girls from fighting with one another. They were just like Matt and his brothers.

We arrived after everyone and settled our stuff into our cabin. Taking the short walk over to his parents where everyone was at.

“Yooooo” Chris said as we walked out back to where everyone was sitting

“Hey guys” I said as I put the girls down

One ran to my mom and the other ran to Mary-Lou. As they hugged their grandparents I said hi to mine and my in laws.

“How was the ride out here?” Jimmy asked Matt

“Not too bad for holiday weekend to be honest” he said opening up the cooler and getting a juice pouch out for each of the girls

“Y/N how are you? Matt driving you crazy?” Justin asked me

“I’m good and honestly he’s been better” I said winking at Matt

Nick came over to play with the girls as I chatted with everyone.

“Okay but who’s the best uncle?” Chris asked Luna

“You both are” Luna said

“What? Not fair I’m better” he said crossing his arms over his chest

“I like Nick the best” Lluvia said as she hugged Nicks arm

“Only because he lets you do whatever you want” Chris said

“nuh uh” she said shaking her head

“Yuh huh” Chris said shaking his head

“He went from fighting with us like a child to fighting with our kids like a child” Matt said laughing

“You’re a meany uncle Chris” Lluvia said sticking her tongue out

“La La La La I can’t hear you” he said covering his ears and sticking his tongue out at her

“Will you quit being a child” Nick said smacking Chris

Giggling at them it was closer to dinner time. We all sat at the large table outside as we chatted.

The girls sat on my lap and Matt sat next to me. Turning our chairs towards each other Matt was feeding the girls while I ate.

Cutting up their hotdogs into bite size pieces he fed them as I held on to them. Wiping their mouth and giving them a sip of their waters

“Babe do you want the rest of my burger”I asked Matt

“Yeah, leave it there I’ll finish it” He said nodding his head

“All done” Matt said in his baby voice as the girls finished eating

“Grandma” Luna said as she began to slide out my arms

“You want to go with grandma” Matt asked her

She nodded her head and rubbed her eyes, anytime Mary Lou was around Luna had to lay on her and fall asleep. Lluvia reached out to my dad and so I gave her to him. Somehow within 10 minutes she landed in Justin’s arms and was dozing off.

Matt sat down and began to eat, standing up I headed over to the cooler and grabbed him a root beer. Opening it up for him I placed it next to his plate.

“Thank you baby” he responded winking at me

“You’re welcome, thank you for feeding them and letting me eat” I said blowing him a kiss

“Always my love” he said taking a sip of his soda

“It’s so funny to me watching you all grow up together. Sitting here at this table since birth and now two of our babies are married with babies” My mom said

“It’s so interesting to watch. I for sure thought Y/N hated all of them. I never imagined Matt and her to end up together” Justin said giggling

“I always thought yall had cooties and that’s why I never liked hanging out with you guys till we got older. I never thought Matt and I would need up together it’s so funny” I responded

“You guys just work so well together, I love you guys” Chris said reaching over and hugging Matt

Laughing at this we all finished our dinner. Having dessert with coffee as we watched the fireworks. The girls enjoy all the pretty colors.

We laid in the grass with the girls as we watched the fireworks. Reminiscing about our past.

We spent the rest of the weekend there jumping between houses for hangouts. And even getting alone time with Matt’s brothers as our parents took the kids. It was beautiful and peaceful, and I loved Matt and the girls with all my heart…

The End

Idk how I feel about this, but I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Can't wait to post more akekekek. Love yall dearly I’m almost at 2,640 followers which is insanity to me. Thank you sooo much🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo imagines

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suikamelon6 · 4 months ago

Text

Loustat reunion fanart "Conversation" and the list of all post E15 Loustat reunion fics.

Because I have OCD and I need to collect them all in one place.

I would love to go back to the old house by concretebrunette

the comfort of your arms by verlec

it takes an ocean not to break by slightlysmilingface

Sleep like the Dead by iwtv

Nearer My Heart, To Thee by JustCallMeWinschester

And the Knowing is Sweet, Too by shavir_light

My Own Companion by seeyouintime

braving the sun by vulcanscully

With Open Arms by magicbubblepipe

Wind Whirls Back by Are

Like Coming Home by TardisRose

the landscape after cruelty by kurstiel

j’veux pas mourir toute seule by WeeBeastie

mystified by how this city screams your name by akosmia

It always ends in a hazy shower scene by casperintheattic

Enduring in B Minor by foreignemotion

It will always just be me by TheGoldenDice

You and I both know by thelamphouse

Threads by lesfleursrouges

Seventy-Seven years by lesfleursrouges

Say that you’ll hold me forever by femininomena

you are the moon that breaks the night for which i have to howl by peacefrog

After the Storm by CarmillaMurray

Haunted by CarmillaMurray

The moon welcomed him with open arms the Storm by Ikharys

your love’s a banquet for me to feed on by CallMeVampy

Bring Me Home/I Never Thought I'd See the Day by tm1205

A Conversation of Consequence by writerformanymuses

Furnace by spockswife

Lilac Wine is Sweet and Heady by carftnarok

All I Have to Do is Dream by Anonymous

These Ghosts Among Us by LokiNeedsHugs1031

hire a gardener for my grave by elke (weidli)

one deep breath out from the sky by samyaa

You and I Will Always be Connected by Humansunshine

hyperspectral by chinxe

Shall Gentle His Condition by sheafrotherdon

The Eye of the Storm by cottagecorelore

Allegro, for Piano by sheafrotherdon

we'll be diamond when the golden days are done by rickybobby

MULTICHAPTERS

Beginning Where I End by transarchangel

Pearl Diver by ohalicent

ancient wounds by lestattvl

We own the night by moderndaylestat

only wanna move when you move by itmeanslife

Strange, Euphoric Melancholy by miraculan

in the whisper of a hurricane by certainlyjim

COMIC

After Odette by DPeartree

Please reblog or/and reply if you wrote one or found one I haven't mentioned and I'll add it in ^_^

Thank you for adding so many to the list, @squirrellypoo

#iwtv art #Interview With The Vampire #iwtv #Loustat #Lestat #Ldpdl #suikamelon6art #iwtv fic #iwtv fanfic #loustat fic #iwtv fic recc #loustat reunion #iwtv s2 #lestatcore

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chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

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

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

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

🤍Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure of it.”

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

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

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

Partner.

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

And then he met you and the definition changed again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which could be:

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

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

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

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

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

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

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

Then dark. And light.

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

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold.

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

So much fucking love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby–,”

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

I’m not worth this

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just wonders how stable it really is.

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

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

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

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

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It almost brings him to his knees.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.

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

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

“I wanna fucking marry you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“B-baby, please–,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he unravels, divinity calling his name.

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep.

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

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

Baby, please.

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

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