#hand held shower hose

[scrapxrat]

3/4 Bath in Orange County Bathroom - small contemporary 3/4 beige tile and ceramic tile pebble tile floor bathroom idea with flat-panel cabinets, light wood cabinets, a wall-mount toilet, white walls, a vessel sink and quartz countertops

[michelepoehler]

San Francisco Kids

Small trendy kids' gray tile and ceramic tile porcelain tile and gray floor bathroom photo with flat-panel cabinets, a two-piece toilet, gray walls, an undermount sink, white cabinets and granite countertops

[devynmccart]

Bathroom - Modern Bathroom Large minimalist master gray tile and porcelain tile porcelain tile and gray floor bathroom photo with flat-panel cabinets, gray cabinets, a one-piece toilet, blue walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops and a hinged shower door

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 | Eddie Munson x reader

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summary | Eddie had taken on the responsibility of watching over you when you were younger. But, now back home after dropping out of college, watching over you seems to mean something entirely different. Alternatively, seducing your dad's best friend who just so happens to also be a virgin.

author's note | this is as close to writing eddie as i think i can get anymore hdsjfk. thanks to my wives (@gracieheartspedro, @amanitacowboy & @chaotic-mystery) for the beta & support!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, set in the early 2000s, older!eddie, virgin!eddie, the double whammy everyone needs in their life, age gap (20s & mid 30s), DBF!EDDIE!!!!, eddie knew reader as a kid but nothing nefarious, internal conflict, money issues, dropping out of college, flirting, eddie catching you half-naked, confident!reader, screwing and screwdrivers amirite, fingers, couch sex, eddie comes in a millisecond, pull out method

word count — 9.5k

The email comes through Friday night.

The college name and yours bolded at the top and a sigh slipping from your lips as you’re already anticipating the inevitable.

This email is to inform you that your enrollment is being terminated due to outstanding financial obligations on your student account, payments must be continued in a timely manner for the issue to be resolved.                       —  Warm regards

You’re packed up by Saturday afternoon and back home by midnight, settling back into the small and cozy childhood bedroom you were so desperate to leave, begging to escape the stuffy trailer park the moment you turned eighteen.

But, here you were, stuffing your feet into your fuzzy slippers as you took out the kitchen trash to the dumpster at the end of the short driveway, the frigid wind biting at your skin as you tugged the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

It was the time of year where mornings were unbearably cold and by noon, you were sweating.

The problem was that you had tried.

You sacrificed a few assignments picking up extra shifts at the diner near the edge of campus, barely minimum wage with the few and far between tips. It felt like life or death sometimes, deciding between studying, paying for a few items to enjoy a decent dinner, or paying on your tuition.

Eventually, it all became uncontrollable. It was like a giant, looming monster hovering over your shoulder at every turn, threatening you with the power it held. What came now was relief, but still the slightest hint of worry.

You had to find a job, pick up the slack—the trailer was, to no surprise, a mess.

Your father worked grueling shifts at the factory in Hawkins, twelve hours days that wore him out, enough time to grab a quick meal and shower before he was turning in for the night on the worn-out recliner in the living room despite his perfectly good bed.

He wasn’t working today, but he was having breakfast with a friend.

You got an invite but decided against, determined to make the place spotless by the time he returned and you do as much, picking up the mountains of growing trash, starting laundry, vacuuming, every possible task until the place smelt somewhat pleasant and livable, propping the windows open as the air started to warm, hearing the faint laughs coming up the drive as we’re spraying down the deck with a hose, washing away the caked up dirt between the slats of wood.

“She lives,” His voice is easily recognizable, married with the shake of metal from his litany of jewelry and trademark jacket, jingling like a cat with a bell on their collar, you’re smiling before you turn around, though it quickly fades as he continues, “how’s college been treatin’ you?”

Your dad isn’t slick, but he makes an attempt, his hand mimicking a slice over his neck as a warning for Eddie to cut the conversation dead, though he’s more focused on your face and the way it falls.

“Er, or not?” he guessed, “Or not, yeah—you doing alright?”

“I’m surprised dad didn’t spill the beans,” you admit, “an hour together and he didn’t mention his college dropout daughter and how she’s unfortunately back home, wasting away her genius,”

“Honey, you know I’m happy to have you here—if I could pay to put you through, I would,”

“I know, I know,” you soothe his worry, “so much for scholarships when schooling still costs a fucking fortune, I should’ve tried selling shit on the black market like everyone else, I can live without a kidney,”

Eddie chuckles at your efforts to lighten the mood, “Tough break, squirt,”

“Hey,” you retort quickly, “I’m not five anymore, quit it,”

“She’s all stuck up now,” your dad jokes, your mouth dropping in offense,

“Am not,” you quickly snap, “is this fucking open season on bullying me?”

“Sorry, princess,” Eddie offers a half-smirk as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jacket before nodding a goodbye to your father, then you, softening you with a wink that has the same effect as it did on fifteen year old you, swallowing hard behind the unusual swell of nervousness in your throat.

“Language,” your father warns as he approaches, kissing the top of your head as he walks by, “and thank you, kiddo, for being’ here—cleaning up the place,”

You nod quietly, offering a smile as your eyes drag back toward Eddie’s trailer, the same one you’ve wandered toward many times before, his uncle Wayne sitting on the steps offering out a pre-packaged lollipop or candy that he never told your father about, so easily becoming a second family to you and your father, him raising you by himself from such a young age.

Unfortunately, Wayne had passed a while back.

You were nineteen now, a couple years older than your father was when you were born, kidless, and relationships nowhere near your radar for the time being, it felt odd. But, you were settled and secure with yourself in that regard, praying that things would fall into place in due time.

But, more urgently, you needed a fucking job.

–

As much as you don’t physically see Eddie the first few weeks you’re settling back in Hawkins, he’s everywhere; posters plastered on brick walls or taped up on the glass windows of stores in town, shoutouts on the local radio as you drove down the backroads to town, he’s a small celebrity around town no doubt, but to you, he was annoying Eddie Munson.

He’s the guy who liked to scare you as a child when you were giving your father a hard time about falling asleep, making up convoluted stories about monsters that came after bad kids that still had you checking over your shoulder some nights. He’s the guy who liked to tease you for being tone deaf but still insisted on teaching you how to play guitar despite you not retaining any of it.

You admired him more than you could admit—he’s never cared what people thought of him. Eddie made a habit of standing out and being confident in his choices, going against the fray of students fighting tooth and nail for college admissions.

It didn’t matter that Eddie was a super senior by the time he graduated, he’s made a name for himself now, kept to his roots, and was still the same person you knew before you could even reach his kneecaps.

It was the rare nights as you grew older, just on the cusp of seventeen and listening to your father and he relive the times before you—how wild and carefree Eddie had encouraged him to be.

It wasn’t that he’d lost his life when you arrived, he just had different reasons to be happy.

Their mouths worked in tandem as they talked through their food, enjoying a shared dinner on the couch watching an old comedy from the 70s that you couldn’t remember the name of, the men finding great humor and joy in a movie you could care less about. 

You remember the moment it happens, the skip in your heart as the smell of Eddie’s cologne wafts to your nostrils, admiring the straight edge of his defined jaw as he ate, the dimple that deepened as he smiled.

It was the same feeling you had when you found out you had a crush on sixth grade on a boy who was just as nervous to talk to you as you were to him, but this—it was in a league of its own, making you seek asylum in your room as you escape from dinner with a lazy excuse.

Eddie goes touring for the next few months after you arrive back, in and out of town, but you’re lucky enough to miss him by minutes, seconds, occasionally. Because as much as you had hoped that schoolyard crush would go away, it hadn’t.

The same sinking feeling in your gut returns with every appearance of his face, even the presence of his empty trailer, his voice echoing in the back of your head like he’s there.

You spent the most of his absence applying for jobs and praying for anything at this point, even if the pay was absolutely shit. You end up at the grocery store in town as a stocker, nothing crazy: the hours were flexible, the job was distracting, and you could keep to yourself. 

The last thing you wanted was a familiar face from high school wondering how girl genius had dropped out of college, not that it was anyone’s business, but the judgement was the last thing you needed.

When you arrive home after a longer shift, feet scraping tiredly against the pavements as your keys jingled in your hand, trying to move quietly because you knew your father was sleeping after an equally long day, you hear the whistle from a few feet away.

You could mistake it for a bird, but given the time of day, you knew it was Eddie, the melodic hum to the whistle that has a smile tugging at your face.

“Finally pullin’ your weight I see,” he remarks with a grin, arms resting over his hood as he stares, you with no response other than your lips pulling into a tight line as you slump your shoulders, “tough crowd—‘lright, fair enough.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” you respond, gravitating toward the arm of the stairs that led to the porch of the trailer, “not all of us are gifted with the ability to perform, remember?”

Eddie chuckles at the thought, watching you fumble with his guitar, “Yeah…yeah,” he nods, fiddling with his keys and the chipped guitar pick on the key ring, “but—seriously, you’re doing okay? Your dad didn’t tell me much about what happened, so…”

“There wasn’t much to tell him,” you admit, “I’m broke, stressed, and life isn’t very forgiving to some of us,”

Eddie’s eyes squint in thought, averting awkwardly.

To you it seems as if he’s trying to think of how to comfort you, campaigning his next words on his head.

But internally, he’s fighting the thoughts that this wasn’t how he pictured you ending up; not because he thought you were above it, but because he'd always imagined you running far from this place—admittedly, you tried; away from the faded street signs and rusted trailer roofs. He stops himself from saying something stupid, knows that even if the words feel gentle or caring, they'd sting.

He can’t help but admire you either, despite that nagging feeling in his chest.

You’ve changed, grown into the permanent scowl on your face that matched your feisty personality, aware of how you carried yourself with a confidence that mimics his own, fake it ‘til you make it.

“Hey,” he says finally, voice softening. “If you need anything…well, you know I’m like—down the street.” He motions vaguely toward his own trailer, and you nod knowingly, “well, across…the grass, I guess. You get the idea, dollface,”

That was a new one.

You chew at the inside of your lip to hide the grin brought on by amusement and delirium from your long shift, wondering how you were still on two feet and listening to Eddie ramble, somehow you manage the energy to be teasing, easing back into the familiar playfulness you both threw at each other when you were younger and more naive.

“And what do I owe the great Eddie Munson for his generosity?”

He gives a dramatic sigh, flicking his wrist like he's dismissing the idea, “I’m all for charity, helpin’ out the needy.. Why? You feeling needy?”

It’s your turn to squint now, the skepticism easing into a smile. There’s a comfort in this banter and it lifts the weight off your chest in a way you can’t describe, rolling your eyes at his growing smirk.

“Careful,” you warn him, a glint in his eyes, “I’ll take advantage of you if you’re offering, just like old times,”

You wrap your grin up in a perfect bow of innocence, palms meeting at your chin to frame your face up with a picture perfect smile before you’re leaving him, yearning for your bed.

Eddie recognizes you, he thinks.

It was you, personality and mannerisms to match.

But, you’re different now.

He couldn’t admit it out loud though or even begin to linger on the thought out of fear and a sudden guilt that pinged in his gut, chastising himself over it.

–

A weekend and privacy came with a much needed bath, lounging in the comfort of the tub until your muscles stopped aching, eventually wrapping yourself in a towel after a quick shower as you walked through the living room, spending most of Saturday and Sunday alone as your father had escaped for his own getaway—the only difference this time was that you didn’t need a sitter.

It was a designated job of Eddie’s for many years, always offering to keep an eye on you.

But, you are an adult now. Fully grown, filled out. The towel is shit and thin but you hold it tight to your body anyways, readjusting it over your bare chest as the front door squeaks open on the rusty hinges and—

"Jesus!" you gasped, clutching the towel tighter.

“Oh, shit!" Eddie practically jumped back, hands up as if he were surrendering. "I thought you'd be gone. Sorry, sorry!"

You’re standing wet and unsteady, staring at him with a mix of embarrassment and amusement while he’s caught red-handed, looking increasingly guilty as he covers his eyes with his hands.

“Sorry,” he repeats, “Your dad wanted me to check in on the place, figured you’d be gone,”

You force an awkward laugh, the tension dipping into something easy and familiar despite the situation, “Well, I’m not..”

He turned to look away now, the tips of his ears burning red. “Seriously, I didn’t mean to, uh—”

He uncovered his eyes slightly, peeking at you with a crooked grin as you responded with a teasing, “Obviously, Eddie.”

You swore he was blushing—you’ve never seen it before. Not like this. You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight to one hip, watching him squirm as the towel parts slightly, revealing a risqué sliver of skin by your inner thigh.

Eddie clears his throat suddenly, looking up at the ceiling with a finger pointing randomly, like he’s doing an inspection of the place before he’s stumbling over his words, “I’m—gonna…go? Place is good, you’re good—I mean,”

“I know what you mean,” you interject, walking toward him as your fingers press against his chest on his backwards trek outside, pointing lazily toward his trailer as he fumbles for the doorknob, “now, if you don’t mind?”

Eddie knows he deserves a special spot in the worst parts of hell now, finding himself curious of how you’ve grown, something that has never plagued him until recently, seeing you back in town and nothing like the young girl he used to know.

Of course, you’re still you, but then again—not at all. 

He can’t quite place it, but he knows this is bad.

Not good.

And he returns home to take a shower of his own, longer than necessary for a number of reasons.

–

Later that night, you perch yourself in the old, plastic chair on the side of the trailer and light the rolled joint, savoring the soft hum of nature as you wrapped the blanket tighter around your body, curled up barefoot and closing your eyes as you inhale the smoke until it burns, blowing it out through your nostrils.

"Didn't know you smoked," Eddie chirps, cigarette in his mouth as he approaches quietly, startling you slightly. He’s dressed for bed—a loose, tattered old band shirt and sweats hung low on his hips, black socks with a growing rip on the side of his left foot.

He’s always been broad, but the defined muscles of his biceps were new. Thicker, a little tanned, tendrils of muscle stretching underneath the skin as he crossed one arm over his chest.

As your heart settles, you smirk and add darkly but joking, "College changes people."

"Yeah?" He exhaled a slow cloud of smoke. "Guess I never really changed, have I?"

"You still play with the band?"

You already knew the answer, making conversation.

"Yeah," he grinned. "Not famous yet, though. Maybe next year. We’re just doing shows around Indiana—pays the bills and then some."

Eddie was well enough off, you knew that. There wasn’t a single person in Hawkins who didn’t know his name, negative connotation or not—you would have to be living under a rock to not know who Eddie Munson or Corroded Coffin was.

The conversation eventually drifted into quieter places, dragging the equally dilapidated empty chair beside you, closer, knees knocking.

He asked about school; you asked about life on the road. He admitted, too easily it seemed—that he never really caught up with most of the kids he graduated with. "Most of 'em settled down," he said. "Married. Kids. Guess I just... never did."

He'd never been shy, but something in the way he said it felt more vulnerable than usual.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” you shrug, puffing quietly as his eyes track the movement, his cigarette long forgotten before you’re offering him the joint, the corners of his mouth turning upwards quickly as he snatches it from your fingers eagerly.

“Right,” he doesn’t entirely believe you, haunted by the idea of never being able to move on—stuck in this revolving circle of trying to make it big but just coming up short.

It’s been almost twenty years, something had to give way. 

"You're much better company than the guys, by the way," Eddie smirked as he took a long drag, his eyes finding yours through the haze of smoke, “you should come out to a show, too—I’ll comp your tickets.”

“I’ll make an effort,” you tell him honestly, “but—with work and trying to make sure my dad isn’t running himself into the ground…I’ll—I’ll try, I promise,”

“Do you have plans to go back?” Eddie asks, passing the joint back to you, “Like, to college?”

You shrug, “I want to, but money is tight. I’d need a fucking miracle to happen before—”

“I can pay what you owe,” he responds like it was the easiest thing in the world to offer, “if—I mean, if you want. Or, at least a chunk to help you out. It helps, living in Wayne’s old trailer. Everything is paid, I just keep the lights on and the water running.”

You stare at him, momentarily speechless.

“Eddie,” you’re unsure how to continue as his name falls out like a breath that’s been held too long, “that’s not fair to you,” you tell him, unable to ignore the weird, twisting feeling in your chest that makes your heart flutter nervously, “I can’t let you do that.” 

You knew Eddie wasn’t the type to expect anything in return, but the idea—just the thought of him helping in such a way, it was tempestuous. But, you’re stubborn.

“I think I need to give myself time,” you decide, “find out if going back is something I want to do—if it’s even worth it.”

Eddie never even attempted college, so he figures his opinion is null and void.

Instead, he pokes you with a finger to your ribs as you squirm, giggling softly.

"You should come on the road with us then. Be our groupie, for all intents and purposes." 

You laugh, not sure if he's joking or serious or somewhere in between. "You’re asking me—the daughter of one of your oldest friends, to be your groupie?"

Eddie considers how it sounds, pausing as he tries to work it out in his head before he laughs, shaking his head with amusement, “Fine—bad way to describe it. You could just…come and help, or not. We don’t really have a manager, either. We’re wingin’ it. Weren’t you going to college for something in that field?”

“A minor in music management, yeah, but—”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise in intrigue and you look away with a flurry of emotions.

Amusement, forthright. You laugh, the sound bubbling around the joint between your lips, but his eyes fall so easily on you, wide and glazed over and it makes you nervous in a way you’ve never felt.

“Your dad asked me to keep an eye on you, take care of you when I could—” Eddie begins, legs spreading out as he leans back in the chair, memorizing the subtle curl pattern to his hair and his bangs that begged for a trim.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” You remind him, tilting your head to meet his eyes as he lazily pivots his head to look at you, a distant but genuine smile on his face.

“I know,” Eddie responds, his hand rubbing gently over your knee, the cold press of his rings into your skin as his knuckles curled around the bone, “doesn’t mean I don’t care or worry about you.”

It was such an innocent touch, reassurance wrapped in a perfect bow. 

But, his hand doesn’t move immediately, slowed, almost as if hindered by the weed in his system. He watches the way your legs part, his hand slipping further to curl around the bend of your knee and around the inside of your thigh, fingers tucked between the space.

Your reaction is delayed too, eyes locked on the movement of his hand before you’re forcing yourself to kill the tension, wrapping your fingers around his own and returning the gesture with a gentle squeeze.

“I appreciate it, Ed,” it bleeds sincerity, “thank you—but, that is something I’d really have to think about.”

“No rush, dollface,” he grins, slipping his hand away casually.

He moves to stand, but you stop him, hand pressed against his chest.

“Don’t—don’t tell my dad,” even if you were an adult, your father still had his ideals, “that I—that we, you know…”

Your finger circles the general area before you pick up the small remnants of your impromptu smoke session with Eddie and his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he nods.

“Seems hypocritical considering how much weed we used to smoke in high school.” Eddie reminisces and you only persist, hand still pressed against his chest until he gives you the answer you were looking for, “Oh, come on—I can keep a secret. Don’t worry.”

You nod slowly, unsure. Eddie grins again, a half smirk as his fingers wrap around your wrist and gently push your hand away, “You seem a little…agitated,” Eddie ponders, “are you sure you’re alright?”

His look is smarmy and cocky, a mixture that gets under your skin like nothing else can.

You shake your head dismissively, stumbling slightly on your feet as you stand with him.

“Sick of me, aren’t you?” he teases.

“I mean, we’ve seen more than enough of each other today.”

“That shit wasn’t intentional and you know it,” Eddie defends, not an ounce of bite in his tone. It’s rather playful, feels like a mirage as his eyes crease at the corner and he smiles again, a trademark look for him but you since the admiration in his gaze, beyond what it should be for his best friend’s daughter.

And you catch yourself thinking about it, too. Looking, considering any other possibility that could have happened—a slip of your towel, if Eddie had gotten worried and progressed further into the trailer, if you had forgotten the towel entirely.

This wasn’t innocent and it wasn’t a crush.

“Watch yourself, Munson,” you warn, flicking a finger at the necklace hanging over the soft cotton of his shirt.

Eddie can’t describe how it feels like quicksand at his feet, unable to move as you corner him where he stands, intimidated but enticed by every single aspect of you.

He’s in such deep shit.

–

Eddie disappears for a few weeks—not without warning, though.

It was a short stint of shows around Indianapolis and he had asked you to watch over his place while he was gone despite there never really being any worry around this side of town—it was quiet anymore, eerily.

Still, it integrates into your daily schedule. A quick glance inside before work and another check after your shift, taking a couple days to throw out any moldy food in the fridge or water his dying plants, surprised by the fact that he even had any—though, the cactus seemed to thrive amongst the death and decay, centered at his kitchen table with a small figurine buried in the dirt resembling a mystical dragon.

It always makes your smile so big that your nose crinkles.

Eddie hadn’t changed at all, really.

A few days before Eddie’s due to arrive back, you hear a concerning sound coming from his fridge and immediately enlist the help of your father who had the magic touch for everything. There wasn’t anything that he couldn’t fix, really. And this was no different.

You tried calling, but Eddie never answers.

He was busy—understandably. You leave him a note on the fridge indicating that your father had fixed the condenser fan and you could thank him another time.

When he does arrive back in town, he does so quietly and in the middle of the night.

You hear the roar of his engine around midnight but don’t stir, followed by the crack of metal as the driver’s side door closes, some rustling of keys, and then you’re succumbing to sleep again.

“Sweetheart, I think I left my screwdriver at Ed’s,” your dad tells you from across the trailer.

“Got it,” you answer swiftly, “I’ll bother him later.”

Later that night, you do.

Eddie looks tired upon first glance, hair tied up loosely but it is a welcomed change to his usually untamed mane.

He invited you in, beer in hand as he returned to the couch and laid his guitar across his lap, an unspoken and hefty amount of empty bottles lining the table.

“I’m fine,” he reassures your silent thought, catching his glance as you stand, arms tucked behind you back loosely, “gotta unwind somehow, right?”

You shrug, indifferent. You weren’t going to judge him.

“Uh, my dad said he left a tool here,” you finally say, “did you see a Phillips laying around anywhere?”

“Drawer at the end of the counter,” Eddie instructs, not looking up as he fiddled with the strings on his guitar, “gonna have to give it a good tug, it likes to stick,”

You nod, moving toward the draw and giving it a sharp pull, watching as the screwdriver rolled toward the front.

Perfect.

“Did you want a beer?” Eddie ask offhand, “I’ve got a few left in the fridge,”

It was a silent invitation—but for what, you weren’t sure.

Eddie often seemed lonely back home, no real purpose when he wasn’t on the road and performing, attempting to fill his days with anything that wasn’t band practice or sound checks.

“I’m not twenty-one,” you respond, laying the Phillips screwdriver on the counter.

Eddie shrugs, hands held up in defense.

“I’m not the police, dollface,” he jokes, “I won’t snitch.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t drank in college.

Fuck it. 

The fridge cracks open as the seal separates and you reach for the bottle, finding that Eddie has approached in the flurry of motion to reach for the beer.

You watch as he brings it to his belt buckle, using it as a makeshift bottle opener before passing it back into your waiting hand.

“Show off,” you tease with faux disdain, taking a small sip from the beer as Eddie leans against the counter, one hand curling around the edge while the other nurses a bottle.

You both drank, talking about nothing in particular, until his words slurred a little and his smile turned softer, a faint flush to his cheeks.

“No plans?” he asks curiously

“It’s Friday,” you shrug, “I should make some, but I haven’t reconnected with anyone since I’ve been back.”

Except for Eddie, obviously.

“You’re all dolled up,” he notes, though there isn’t much to be considered notable aside from the dress shifting mid-thigh and your bare shoulders on display, bare-faced.

“I showered,” you laugh, brows knitting together in confusion, “but—thank you, I guess?”

He’s terrible at this, isn’t he?

Eddie clears his throat, chin tilting down as he his shoulders square and you feel the undeniable urge to tease him, though your eyes are stuck on the way the muscle moves underneath his shirt.

“You should wear your hair like that more often,” you suggest, nodding toward his messy up-do as you sip at the beer, “it’s…cute.”

“Cute?” Eddie throws his head back and laughs, watching a few strands slip from the bun as he shakes his head.

You reach forward, invading his space, brushing a hair away from his cheek as he tenses slightly, reveling in the subtle effect it had on him.

“Undeniably…adorable,” you reiterate, patting his cheek gently, his eyes trained on the way your eyes linger over his face before you smile, stepping away. 

“So, you tease me and ask me to keep your secrets,” Eddie says, counting on his fingers.

You feign innocence, looking him up and down in a way that Eddie could easily misconstrue, part of you prays that he will.

"You know," he said, gaze sliding lazily over you in a similar manner, "I always knew you'd grow up to be trouble."

"Trouble?" you laughed, but something tightened in your chest.

"Yeah." He drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down with a thunk. 

It was like a silent challenge, begging him to elaborate.

But Eddie just smiled, lopsided and knowing. 

He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, nodding a subtle invitation for you to follow him to the couch, your task forgotten as Eddie shoved his guitar aside to make room for you beside him.

“How were the shows?” you ask curiously, one foot pressing to the couch as the other crossed behind your heel, separating your dress and exposing your skin, barely attempting to cover the slip of your panties underneath as the fabric fits between your thighs, your hand pressing against the cushion of the couch to keep it in place.

Eddie watches it happen, how easily you’ve slipped out of your shoes and made home on his couch, like you were always meant to be here, like this had always been your home, too.

He sinks into the couch beside you with a deep sigh, the furniture shifting with the weight.

Tipping his head back, he shrugs.

“Same old,” he replies easily, fiddling quietly with the thick skull ring on his middle finger, flexing them, your eyes watching the insistence of his movement, “things are weird though, lately—like we’re all feeling stuck but no one wants to bring it up.”

“Complacent?” you inquire and Eddie nods with a smirk.

“Complacent,” he tries the word out on his tongue as he looks over at you, an immense amount of appreciation on his face, “that’s the word—smart ass.”

“I think the words you’re looking for there are—thank you.” 

Eddie shakes his head nonchalantly and the corners of his mouth turn down, “No…no, I think you enjoy being a smart ass.”

Your fist digs into your cheek as you lean against, “Okay, well—go and run to my dad and tell him how you’re being bullied by his daughter,” you reach a finger forward and poke at the dimple in his cheek, “that you’re feeling oh so threatened by me.”

Eddie has a limit—a bullshit meter if you will.

Before, it would end with him sending you on your way back home, a smug but annoyed expression on your face. But, as you sit here now, he doesn’t feel the urge.

He reaches forward, dexterous fingers attacking the sweet spot underneath your ribs before he’s tickling you into submission, jumping forward to latch onto his right shoulder, attempting to wiggle away from his grip.

He’s relentless, though.

One hand turns into two and soon enough you’re leaning over his lap with your hands on the empty cushion beside him and panting, begging for mercy.

“Stop—stopstop,” you plead, “Eddie—fuck, please,”

Something there lingers, trying desperately to shove his hands away but finding yourself slipping backwards in the process. A soft yelp rips from your throat as you slip back, but Eddie’s already got a hand on your thigh, tight and harsh as it digs into your skin to keep you upright.

Your face morphs from momentary fear to frustration, a harmless scowl forming on your face as you shove at his chest.

“Sorry,” Eddie responds playfully, trying desperately to ignore how warm your skin feels against his palm, maneuvering you back into your spot beside him, “shut you up though, didn’t it?”

“I think if you wanted me bent over your lap you could have just asked,” you retort with a fire in your chest as you readjust your dress, fixing the straps on your shoulders.

Eddie looks surprised at your outburst, eyes wide.

You shoot him a look that tears right through his ignorance, “What? It’s not like you’re some sexless virgin, we’re both adults, aren’t we?”

The silence is especially deafening on his behalf.

You quickly come to the conclusion on your own, “You’re the lead singer of a metal band and you’ve never had sex?”

Eddie avoid answering outright and instead attacks, “Okay, now you’re just being a little shit and judgy.” 

He won’t meet your eyes as you stare at him, the faintest hint of a smile on your face, finding his innate shyness over the topic immensely endearing.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just—seriously? There’s no one just throwing themselves at you?” you ask curiously, “All this time and you’ve never once got caught up with a groupie?”

You sit back on your legs, having never been more interested in a conversation in your life, helplessly curious.

“Not ones that I want,“ Eddie admits, “besides, one thing or another happens and it just…doesn’t work out.”

Huh. 

You’re quiet, processing the information.

You’re not sure why it shocks you, but it does.

Any idea or assumption you’ve ever had about Eddie was completely shattered, like you were staring at him for the first time, eyes averted. The chain on his wrist jingled as his knee shook anxiously. 

You curl your fingers around his kneecap, similar to how he had weeks before, calming him. 

“I’m sorry…for assuming,” you apologize, “it’s just…you’re—“

“Old,” he says deadpan and you can’t help but laugh.

“You’re not old,” you reply in defense, “what do you consider old?”

“I’m the same age as your dad, dollface.”

“My dad hasn’t worn an Iron Maiden shirt since ‘95, so I think you’re still safe,” you tease, squeezing his knee.

Eddie smirks, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in his eyes that makes your chest feel strange and soft. He’s silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

He should cut the conversation short, but then you’re opening your mouth again.

Another question, another step further.

“So, I mean,” you pause, adjusting yourself to sit criss-cross to face him, hands resting in your lap, “what qualifies?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” Eddie replies like an empty threat, wincing at how eager you look to receive the information, a split second away from a sticky situation. 

“No sex,” you start to recite to yourself, thumb jutting out as you count on your hands like he had earlier, “oral is a no-go, I’m assuming,” pointer finger out as Eddie watches you work through the list in your brain and he’s nothing short of mortified as his lips part and he stares at you with a wild gaze, “fingering? What about fingering? Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You look up eventually to find him speechless, his cheeks reddening as you continue and you shrug so nonchalant he can’t believe this is reality, “What? I’m curious.”

“Well, get un-curious,” Eddie retorts with a lazy chuff of laughter.

“You were the one who asked me to be your groupie, remember?” 

Eddie scoffs, slapping your hand down gently where it was lingering near him, fingers still laid out in count, “Bad choice of words, remember? This is—”

“What? Am I not your type?”

And, there it was.

Eddie gulps, his hand curling into a fist as his knuckles dressed into his thigh, the fabric creasing under the pressure and he doesn’t answer outright.

You hold your hands up in surrender, “Okay, fair—I’m not offended if I’m not—”

“No,” Eddie quickly interjects, “it’s not that.” 

He flattens his hand against his leg, tension slowly loosening as he huffs out a breath.

So, you were his type?

“Is this a morality thing?” you cut through the tension, “Because if we want to go down the list of things that make us adults I think I might have you beat, you know—graduating, college, relationships, a steady job,”

Two of those were a shaky defense at best, but you were trying to prove a point.

Any qualms Eddie had were built solely around his hesitancy to defile his best friend’s daughter or even suggest the implication that he might want to—that he might even find your the slightest bit attractive now, grown up and incredibly sure of yourself, oozing a raw confidence that Eddie has learned to fake.

With you, it was genuine. 

You knew exactly what you wanted.

“Is it?” you repeat.

“No,” Eddie breathes out, “I mean, yes—kind of. I just don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Oh god, Eddie,” you say, exasperated. “I’m not a fucking kid.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” he says desperately.

“Then what?” 

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes twice before giving up altogether and just staring at you.

You stare back, unyielding.

He sighs again and shakes his head, “You really don’t get it.”

“I think I do,” you insist and then you hear yourself say, the words just tumbling out, “I’m into you too.”

Eddie’s eyes widen comically. “Shit,” he mumbles.

You can see the shift in his features, the way he’s chewing at his lip like he does when he’s working out a new song or trying to find the right chord.

Eddie always had this way about him—passionate, intense. 

Your lips curl into a teasing grin, but there’s understanding behind it. 

He’s struggling, caught in the moment, unsure whether to take you seriously or play off your relentlessness with humor and break the growing tension.

“Can I try something?” you ask curiously.

“Try what?” His voice is wary, but there’s a glimmer of intrigue underneath.

You pause for the briefest of moments and then decide to seize it. 

You lean forward, resting your hands casually on his knees where he’s angled his body toward you. It’s enough to make him freeze, his eyes locked onto yours with a flicker of panic, like he’s suspended mid air and unsure if he’s going to survive the drop. 

“Don’t freak out, okay?” you murmur and Eddie nods as you grin every so slightly on your approach.

His breath catches when you close the space and press your lips to his.

It’s tentative at first, slow and steady like testing the heat of running water, but sooner than later you feel his resolve slip. His hand ghosts upward almost involuntarily, right where it should be, finding its place at the back of your neck and pulling you closer.

He inhales sharply and parts his lips to meet your tongue with his own.

Alright, he’s not clueless.

You sigh softly into his mouth as your fingers dig into his thighs, an eager pace growing as you lick into his mouth, the faintest hint of beer on his tongue and thick layer of lust invading your collective brains before Eddie was pulling you fully into his lap from where you’re already halfway leaned over him, taking his silent guidance in stride as your thighs spread out over his and your arms fall over his shoulders, taking his face between your hands as you slow the pace of the kiss.

You pull back eventually, just slightly to gauge his reaction. 

His eyes are still shut tight, as if he’s afraid that opening them will make you run for the hills.

Instead, when he finds that you’re not returning, he does.

It was tentative, a peek through one eyelid before he decided to open both.

You’re not smiling, rather observing, a curious wonder on your face.

“Your dad,” Eddie gulps, “he’s waiting for you, isn’t it?”

You nod quietly, his face still cradled in your hand.

A man you’ve admired for years suddenly feels small in your hands, delicate.

“You’re gonna go home,” Eddie instructs softly, “we’re not gonna talk about this, alright?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat but you understand—there were too many cons, too many worries. 

“Say it,” Eddie encourages.

“I’m gonna home,” you appease him, “we’re not gonna talk about this.”

“Go on, dollface,” Eddie nods toward the door, helping you off of his lap like a gentleman despite the rejection he’s throwing your way, unknowing of the immense amount of self-restraint he’s using to end this before it starts.

He watches you leave, but not before pressing a kiss into your hair.

He’s done it before, a gentle gesture.

The door locks behind you and the blinds are quick to shift closed, the lights to Eddie’s trailer turning off soon after—from your point of view, he’s resigned to bed, kicking you out for the night.

But, for Eddie, it was an attempt to control himself.

To not let things ramp up so far he couldn’t find a reason to come down.

Usually, he’ll relieve himself in the shower but his cock was straining hard under the confine of his dark-washed jeans, belt jingling loudly as he struggled to rid himself of the fabric until it pooled at his ankles, sinking back into his couch with his shirt pushed halfway up his stomach, letting out a sharp curse as he wraps his hand around his cock.

He can’t deny the fact that he’s thought about you before like this, almost a constant paint imagine of you in his head after he’d caught you at home, a few quick flashes before then that he couldn’t even bring himself to admit—ever since you had showed up in town again, you were everywhere.

He felt you in the similar sense that you did with him, but the problem for Eddie was that he didn’t have a reason for any of this—and it was a suffocation of guilt trailing his immediate need for release before he blew his load in his jeans like he was a goddamn teenager.

It was long, hurried strokes with an iron grip; Eddie knows your hands would be softer, gentler. But, he doesn’t allow himself that thought for longer than a moment, white knuckling his cock until his head looks bruised, red and pulsing. It’s embarrassing, the melody of skin against skin matched with his pathetic grunts, chest heaving with hurried breaths until his cock twitched violently, pearly white strips of cum spurting over his stomach in mindless pleasure, eyes slipping shut.

“Gah—fuck,” Eddie says in a guttural groan, “fuck!”

He’s not sure how long he lays there in the dark, breathing heavily with a slick mess coating his front and jeans still pooling around his ankles. But, he knows one thing—he couldn’t let you near him again.

–

You don’t hear from him for weeks and that’s fine.

Sort of.

Not really.

He’s been aorund the entire time, coming and going, but he’s been home.

He sees you when you’re coming back from work or when he’s leaning against the railing of his porch as he smokes his morning cigarette without anything more than a nod of acknowledgement.

Maybe you had pushed things too far, been too forward, overstepped some boundaries.

But, you know Eddie—he would have told you.

It was the weekend of your twentieth birthday when his silent treatment festers to a head, invited over by your father for a small cookout—it was only ever the three of you anymore, aside from a few lingering friendly neighbors that your father was more than happy to pass a plate or two of food too.

When you weren’t looking at him, he was always looking at you.

You feel it.

It was a heat that prickled the back of your neck and every time you turned to catch him in the act, Eddie was already haphazardly engaged in conversation with your father—talking about work or music or whatever.

An intentional silent standoff that lingered into the night, the summer bugs buzzing in the grassy courtyard as the two men and a small group of neighbors laugh amidst their supposedly riveting conversation.

You didn’t like the cake or big celebrations, so by the end of the night you were curled up on the stairs and staring down at the trail of ants that traveled through a crack in the pavement, bare feet against the grass and not hearing the voice that calls for you until the fifth try.

Your father tossed Eddie’s keys into your hand as you looked up, barely registering what was happening but able to snatch them before they hit you square in the face.

“He’s on a call,” your dad mouthed to you, “beers?”

Uninterested but compliant, you stand and make your way across the yard.

The kitchen is still close enough with the chattering of your father’s friends that you don’t hear Eddie trailing behind you until you’re stopped at the fridge, fingers curled around a handful of cold bottles.

“I got it,” he interjects and you pull a face out of habit, annoyance overtaking your features as you pull the beer away from him.

“So now you decide to talk to me?”

“I’ve been busy,” he replies defensively, scratching at his jaw. “I didn’t think—”

“You know, if you’re scared of me you could just say that—”

“Scared?” Eddie chuckles, “Of you?”

You drop the bottles on the counter, one nearly toppling over but Eddie catches it before it hits the floor. He sets it back upright and just stands there, contemplating. Eventually, he holds up a finger.

“Don’t leave, alright,” he tells you, scooping the beers into his arm, “I’ll take these to your dad and come up with some excuse—just, stay, alright?”

He’s standing there, waiting for an audible response before you eventually throw your hands up in frustration, urging him to move.

Eddie scrambles then, gone and back in under a minute, slightly out of breath as he closes the door to his trailer behind him and locks it, “I told him you needed some quiet,” Eddie explains.

“Are we…okay?” you ask impulsively, hand twisting anxiously around the edge of the counter.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” Eddie asks, taking a seat on his couch and placing his guitar carefully against the adjacent wall.

“You haven’t spoken more than a word to me in almost a months,” you confront his facade, “I kissed you and suddenly you wanted nothing to do with me, sorry if that gave me the wrong impression but—”

“It…wasn’t that,” Eddie explains, “things have been picking up for the band lately...kinda, out of nowhere. These big record companies in LA are interested in signing us but we’re all…older and they’re hesitant. I’ve been busting my ass trying to prove our worth, but,” he throws his hands up, “seems kinda pointless.”

“That’s good though, right?” You ask, seating yourself on the arm of the couch near him, whatever frustration you had toward him dissipates quickly, “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Eddie leans his head back, eyes tracing the ceiling. “Yeah. Just didn’t think I’d have to sell my soul for it.”

“That’s a little dramatic, besides—s’kinda your brand,” You try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring to the side, lost in thought, “so you’ve just been busy?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insists, “busy.”

You study his face, trying to decide if he’s lying to you or himself.

And when he turns to you his eyes are sincere, pleading almost.

“And the kiss?” you press, unable to stop yourself. “You didn’t freak out because of that?”

Eddie sighs, his foot tapping anxiously against the leg of the coffee table. “I didn’t freak out,” he says. “I just—didn’t want to ruin things for you. I mean—your dad, and sweetheart, I’m twice your age.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, looking down at him, “Well—if you make it out in Hollywood you might finally find the right one,” you tease him, “they can snatch that illustrious title from you.”

Eddie chuckles softly, “I don’t care about that,” he admits, “I never have. I don’t think about it…or talk about it. I’m not ignorant about it, you do understand that, right?”

“The way you kiss, I would fucking hope not,” you admit in a crass manner.

“Frankly, I think you’re only interested in defiling me,” Eddie jokes, your brows perking up at the mention before a laugh bubbles from your chest, “I feel like you’ve had it out for me since you got back.”

His eyes are focused on the bare skin of your thighs under your dress now, exposed by the way you were sitting, the back of your calf resting over his knee as you leg bounces idly, his hand grazing over your shin to stop that insistent movement.

“You know, I used to think it was because of what you were,” you explain openly, “I thought you were cool—cute, out of my league obviously and off limits. I dated and every time I thought I found the right one—I couldn’t help but think…well, they’re not as cool as Eddie. I had a huge crush on you but I almost admired you.”

“So, s’just because you think I’m cool?”

“I think you’re sort of an asshole now, actually,” you admit, “But, I know you think about me, too—I know you kept staring at me tonight. You always are…and the way you touch me,” your eyes linger on his hand now, his fingers molding against your skin.

“What about it?” Eddie asks.

“You’ve always taken care of me,” you remind him, ”let me take care of you.”

His thumb press gently into the sinew below your knee, his hand curling around the back of it.

Eddie slowly guides your legs apart, revealing the thin fabric covering your cunt.

His hand lingers on the inside of your thigh as if he was weighing his options. 

You know that he is. 

Too considerate and focused on all the other things surrounding you both to actually be present in what’s happening now. Always worried about the right thing to do, always considering everything.

His eyes flick up to look at you briefly, your hand pressing into the back of the couch as you lean back, balancing on the arm of the couch as you take a small breath.

“I’m just saying…this is a terrible idea,” Eddie sighs out, his voice low as he feels like a rabid animal, watching your skin tense under his touch, “we shouldn’t.”

“Suit yourself,” you tell him lazily, aware of how he hasn’t bothered to stop touching you, “but I think you’ll regret it.”

Quietly, you reach for his hand and cup your hand around the back of it, pressing his palm flat against your cunt, the heel of it adding a delicious pressure against your clit under the fabric.

Your mouth parts in anticipation, watching him repeat the action on his own a few times before he’s pushing the fabric aside on his own volition, fingers drifting through the short, but coarse patch of curls as his middle finger drags down the seam of your folds, the digit glistening with a sticky slick.

“You’ve done this before haven’t you?” you ask curiously.

“Specifically, this?” he asks, “A couple times...I’ve been told my fingers are like magic if that helps.”

You pull your lips together and let out a soft pfft as you laugh quietly, gasping when his finger breaches your hole, pressing inside with gentle pressure, wrist angled so his thumb can catch over your clit in the same, sinful motion.

“I…like more,” you direct him with a soft voice, “like, uh—”

“Like what?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Just…more,” you explain, “I like the pressure, the stretch…it—”

“Feels good?” he finishes for you and you don’t have to look to know he’s smiling.

You nod jerkily and feel his pace quick, your head dropped back and eyes closed as his unoccupied hand holds your thigh open, the fingers digging into your flesh occasionally when you squeeze around his fingers.

“I like..the feeling,” you gulp quietly, “of being filled, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Eddie answers idly, focused intently on your pleasure alone as he pumps his finger, then two, eventually three, until your fingers are tight around his wrist and he has no other option than to focus on your clit, rubbing over it in tight, quick circles until your letting out a sharp gasp, his hand pulling away in an instant as you cunt spasms around nothing, thighs shaking as your orgasm washed over, completely unsatisfied but overwhelmed with momentary euphoria.

When you finally resurface, there isn’t a moment lost.

Eddie moves with you, just as eager. 

You quickly unbuckle the belt to his jeans, bunching your dress up and lifting it over your head as Eddie shifts his pants down, cock bobbing free against his stomach as you pause, noticing the flush in his cheeks as a smile grows on your face, his eyes locked on you.

“This is probably a bad time to mention I don’t have condoms,” Eddie jokes, your hand reaching forward to wrap around his cock, thick and uncut, pulling the skin back as your thumb swipes over the slit of his head, rubbing the precum over the top.

“You’ll pull out,” you assure him with a smile, “don’t worry.”

Eddie nods obediently, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was racing, watching you position yourself over his lap, his hands raising up to squeeze at your hips nervously, chin tilted down in awe.

“Waitwaitwait,” Eddie interjects, eagerly waving you forward with a hasty motion of his hand, “c’mere.”

You’ll bite, leaning forward obediently, he latches his lips onto your neck, gentle kisses that trail slow until he’s reached the valley of your breasts, tongue curling around your nipple before he captures it between his teeth, squeezing dutifully at the other, squealing quietly at the sharp sting of his teeth.

Slowly, his cock presses inside with your guidance.

He chokes out a gasp into your skin, wet and hot against your breasts.

“Shit,” he curses, turning his head to lean against your chest, his hands returning to your hips as you begin a slow, gentle, and manageable pace for him to adjust, but also to allow yourself to adjust to the stretch of him.

Eddie was trying so desperately to not blow his load right there, focusing intently on the steady beat of your heart, fingers tangling into his hair as you kept him tight against your chest and moving your hips in slow circles, occasionally raising your hips for the inevitable descent that made Eddie’s chest tighten. 

His moans are broken, soft gasps as you bounce on his cock with an eventual quickened pace, his hands roaming insistently for anything to anchor him, met with your softer gasps and the gentle murmur of his name, “Oh, Ed,” you whine, “you’re doin’ good, I promise.”

He nods dumbly, barely acknowledging your praise as he felt you squeeze down, a cry ripping from his chest as he squeezed tight at your hips, turning his head to look up at you, cradling his face in your hands as he stared you with glazed over eyes, lips flush and parted.

“Baby, I—” He breathes, eyes squeezing shut as your heart clenches at the sight and sound of his voice, “I’m not gonna last, m’sorry—I can’t—you’re so fucking…god,” he groans, his head falling back as he relaxed in your grip and let you take control, controlling the pace until it was nearly unbearable for him, the small hint of tears forming in his eyes as he desperately, but gently shoved you back.

He’s been in this position before, not so long ago, hand gripped tight around his cock and wish you were there—but this is reality even if it seemed like a fucking dream, jerking himself until the pressure at the base of his cock swelled and pushed to the head, coming in long, thick spurts over your stomach, his head rubbing against the skin as he squeezed from base to tip with a fucked-out expression, groaning through the high of his orgasm.

“That was fucking close,” Eddie says after a long pause, watching as you grabbed his hand—specifically a finger and dragging it through one line of his cum and gathered it on his finger, bringing it to your mouth with your tongue presented out, licking the digit clean, “oh, fuck—”

He laughs so hard it makes him cough.

“Fuck, I’m sorry—I didn’t even get to…while we…” Eddie begins, but is quickly silenced by your palm over his mouth, shaking your head insistently.

“I’ll survive,” you tell him, “seriously.”

Eddie laughs again, mostly out of disbelief.

“And here I was, thinking I’d be taking advantage of you.”

You smirked, leaning until you were a hair's breadth away from Eddie’s face, taunting, “Not a chance.”

[luveline]

i saw your ask for marauders requests so could i pls request some soft giggly and maybe mildly suggestive remus pls ?? i am foaming at the mouth for remus recently

cw suggestive content mdni

A knock on the door. “You okay?” 

“Stop.” 

“I’m just asking if you’re okay.” 

“I’m drowning. Come in and save me.” You sink further into the tub, water climbing your arms and warming your tummy. “Is that what you want me to say?” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to saving you.” 

You’re washed, you’re done, you’d just wanted to spend some time soaking in the warm bath to alleviate the pinched nerves between your shoulders. It would be nice if Remus were to sit in here with you, but from the sounds of his voice and his perseverance he’s going to want to do more with you, and you’d say yes. It isn’t a problem of wanting him, it’s just —you just got clean again. 

“You can come in if you keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Deal,” he says. 

You cover your dignity with a crossed leg and arm as the door opens. Remus smiles at you, all love, not one to ignore your wants. If you don’t want to be seduced, he won’t do it, but you can’t ignore the long drag of his eyes down your thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. “Beautiful. Can I wash your hair?” 

“I wish you’d offered before, I’ve already done it.” 

He has no qualms kneeling by your side to touch your wet face. You wish there was room for both of you., and he’s on the same wavelength. “When we’re rich, we’ll have a big freestanding tub.” He strokes your cheek, voice softening, “We’ll sit end to end so I can see your face.” 

“How about one of those rainfall showers?” you ask, shifting, the water sloshing around your shoulders and down your chest. 

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, any shower you want. Multiple heads, we can get hosed down.” 

You laugh. It’s remarkable to get to lay there and have him think you’re only beautiful, unposed, the water cooling. He squeezes your cheek with his thumb before brushing over your mouth. 

“Will you be getting out any time soon?” he asks. 

More laughing, “No, I don’t think so. This is making my back feel better.” 

“I can do that.” His hand falls into the water, behind your shoulder, searching for a muscle to soothe. 

Aware that you’re naked and he’s touching you, you laugh, still nervous after more than enough time being in love to think it might ebb. He’s very pretty, and he touches you like you’re precious, sometimes, but more often it’s that he knows every part of you and what you like. He knows how you like your shoulder scrunched, your face held, your hip rubbed in the night under the quilt. 

Remus finds the tensed nerve between your shoulder blades and mumbles sympathetically. “Ouch.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“What’s the matter, anyways?” he asks in a murmur. “You look tired. Are you tired?” 

“A lot.” 

“Yeah?” He lifts up on his knees and leans down to kiss you, softly but wonkily. 

“I need to go to bed.” 

“I’ll carry you, lovely, is that what you want?” 

“You’ll drop me. I’m like a fish.” 

“You’re nothing like a fish,” Remus says. “Want me to get you a warm towel?” 

“Will you?” 

“I put one on the radiator when I heard you getting in.” 

You sit up, bared, water racing down your back and your stomach, not a wisp of steam from the water. “That’s really kind,” you say, though you’d meant to think it. “I love you.” 

I love you in place of ‘thank you’ is commonplace with Remus. 

“I love you, too,” he says, instead of ‘you’re welcome’. 

He gets your towel, and he holds it out. You step into it and let him wrap it around you tightly, let him tuck it into itself near your armpit, before his arms wrap across your front. You tip your head back. If Remus cared about getting wet, he wouldn’t have initiated the hug to begin with. 

Remus doesn’t say anything, just holds you. Water pools at your feet. 

“Love you.” He kisses your ear. “So much. Now you smell amazing.” 

“You’re welcome to use all of it. ‘Cept my hair smoothie.” 

“Not sharing?” 

“Only a little bit left.” 

He’s practically whispering, his breath tickling your neck, to your quiet giggling, “Just tell me what it is and I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“So you can use what’s left?” 

His nose at your shoulder. “You smell so nice.” 

You go lax in his arms. Maybe… maybe you’re not so tired. He’s always gentle. “You think so?” you ask shyly. 

He hears what you’re not saying, his hand resting on your stomach. “Sorry, I’m not keeping my hands to myself. I’m not… I’m just holding you.” 

“Maybe we can break our deal.” 

“Oh?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Do you want to?” 

“It’s not about me, dovey.” 

“It sort of is.” You turn your head to ask for a kiss without talking. “S’about both of us,” you whisper. 

“You want me to break our deal, is that what you want?” 

You shift in his hold to curl an arm behind his neck. He kisses you soundly, his hands holding your towel in place, always a gentleman even when he’s pressing at the seam of your lips with his, kissing you deeper. 

“You’ll have to clean me up when we’re done,” you say under your breath, eyes closed and nose tucked against his cheek.

“Is that the new deal?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“Okay, dove. Deal. Easy deal. I feel like I’m getting much more from this than you are.” 

You laugh in a huff at his subtle flirting. “Then make it fair,” you goad. 

“I will.” His tone lowers. “I promise.” 

His hold on your towel is much less careful after that.

[its-me-your-bicon]

Stray Love - Joaquín Torres x Reader.

Summary: Joaquín brings home a little someone as an act of kindness.

Word count: 1244.

No pronouns used for reader.

Warnings: Pet names in Spanish, I guess?

Author’s notes: I love him <3 not my best work, but the idea was too cute not to write.

Joaquín was late.

Not to the degree of having to call authorities or watch the news in order to see where the hell he was, but late nonetheless.

You weren’t mad about it, but ever since he’s become the Falcon, you’re not sure he fully understands the degree of your worries whenever he gets held back without being able to write you about it.

Weirdly, you hear the ringing of your doorbell, not expecting any visitors and knowing Joaquín has a key to the shared apartment.

You expected the worst.

Looking through the peephole, though… You see the face of your boyfriend poured in the rain from outside, apparently holding something with both arms.

“Joaquín, what the h—?”

Once the door was open, you could see your boyfriend carrying a stray dog with both arms and just as wet as him. Its coat is mid-length and honey-colored, although darkened by the water.

“I know what this looks like…” Joaquín started, “But I couldn’t just leave her in the rain! Sorry I’m late, but she wouldn’t stop running from me, no matter what I did!”

Joaquín always had a soft spot for the little guys in the streets, so it’s not the first time he has brought an animal to your shared apartment, even though it definitely wasn’t allowed by the building. You don’t have it in you to discourage him from it, though it could damage your reputation and contract with the owner.

“Just come in…” you tell him after a sigh.

He smiles that gorgeous smile of his and kisses you on your cheek as he enters your shared home, “I love you so much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah…” you smile a little at the sight of Joaquín putting the little girl down and coaxing her with a towel before addressing his own state. They both must be freezing…

“Let’s give her a warm bath, mi amor… you’re already wet, so it’ll be easier.” You joke and wink at him as he looks up to you.

He does as he’s told, and you both try to get your new guest to follow into the tub by giving her treats along the way. You don’t have any dogs of your own, but you keep treats inside for this exact situation (and to sometimes interact with the dogs in the nearby park).

Once she’s partially fed with treats, she gets in the tub with a little help from Joaquín and some reassurance from the both of you.

You assess from top to bottom to see if she has any injuries that need immediate attention, but you find none, so you proceed with the warm water. Occasionally spraying Joaquín with the shower hose.

“Hey!” He protests when it becomes obvious you’re doing it on purpose, “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” He says as he gets shampoo on your shirt as revenge.

You two just laugh the situation away and keep washing the dog until she’s done for drying.

“I’ll do it, Joaquín. Just get in the shower and change your clothes.” You needed a change yourself, but he’s in dire need considering how he initially entered.

He agrees and gets to it, just as you bring a towel and a few more treats to handle her easier into it.

She’s a kind dog, and you can tell friendly too, but she's just scared. You leave her to food and water by herself to give her some space, just as Joaquín gets out of the washroom in a towel and goes to your shared room for clothes.

“What do you think of the name “Delta”?” He asks, a little muffled by being in different rooms, but you hear him clear enough.

“Joaquín, no.” You tell him as you walk to the bedroom “You know it gets more difficult to let them go once they get a name…”

“But baby! She totally deserves a name. Don’t you sweet girl?” As if on cue, ‘Delta’ barks twice at Joaquín. “See?” He says totally pleased with the outcome. You roll your eyes.

“Come on, Angel.” He gets close to you and puts his hands on your shoulders “I’ll get her a family soon enough. I always do.”

That he does. Delta is not the first, nor will she be the last, stray to pass through that door, but somehow Joaquín always finds someone who can take care of them in one way or another. Both your jobs don’t allow you much time to be home, thus it's not ideal.

Even so, Delta ended up six more days with you. Joaquín would get her in and out through the back door and hack the building’s cameras to play the same image of an empty corridor every time he went for a morning run with her.

As you suspected, Delta was a sweet girl who warmed up to the two of you fairly quickly, but goodbyes were in store as Joaquín got in touch with one of many host families he has collected over the years.

“Joaquín, are you crying?” You ask in bed with him the day before you have to give her up. He was lying down with Delta on his chest as he hugged her.

“I’m not!” He laughs with clearly wet eyes “I’ll just miss her, y’know?”

“I know, baby… Me too” You give both of them a kiss on the forehead. Delta gets closer to Joaquín’s neck at the action with a displeased expression, perhaps jealous of the attention you give to your boyfriend. Both you and Joaquín laugh at the action.

It’s not a secret that animals usually get closer to Joaquín while living under your roof. You accepted it long ago. He just has that kind of energy about him.

“Girl! That’s my boyfriend, you hear me?” You give her a scratch on the head, hard enough for some of her hair to lie disheveled.

Joaquín grabs your hand before you retrieve it completely.

“Thanks, mi vida… For sticking around for all this craziness.” He gives a shy smile as he says so.

“It’s not crazy to care for others, Joaquín… That’s your biggest strength, and I adore you for it.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Needless to say, goodbyes the next day were bittersweet. But after having taken care of her, checking up everything was alright at the vet, and given her sweet nature, you had no doubt she would find her forever home soon enough.

Joaquín insisted on receiving updates from her temporary hosts, and after much reassurance from them, you finally get to return hand in hand to your own home.

“I’m proud of you, baby bird. You handled this one very well.” You give him a congratulatory kiss on the side of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah… You won’t tell Sam about the crying part, will you?” He wears his best pleading face as he says so. You two stop walking at that.

“Maybe… What’s in it for me in exchange for my silence?” You ask as you wrap your arms around his neck to emphasize your request.

“I can think of a few things…” He gives your waist a squeeze with his hands as he reaches for a kiss.

Life may be unpredictable and chaotic for all creatures on earth, but having people like Joaquín on your life gives you hope for the future. Suit or no suit, he tries his best to never give up on others.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Train Station: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @readmetosleep @kierawashere01 @hangmanscoming @goldensunshine91

Companion piece to:

The Vet - Rip comes face to face with a nightmare.

Broken - Travis recieves a phone call from Rip regarding you and Malcom Beck.

You’re leaning against the hood of the truck, the headlights silhouetting your form when Rip returns from rolling both of the Beck’s bodies into the canyon. Despite all the illegal shit the two of you have done together over the past few hours apparently disposal of a body is where he draws the line. It doesn’t matter that you shot Teal Beck in the head after he laughed about the state his brother had left Gina in or that you watched him take Malcolm Beck apart piece by piece. When it comes to getting rid of a corpse Rip Wheeler is practically a gentlemen.

“You doing ok?” He asks as he takes up residence alongside of you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You’ve seen a lot of heavy shit tonight.”

“I’ve seen worse, done worse.” You say quietly, nudging his shoulder. “What about you, you doing ok?”

The fact you are even asking is a testament to your strength and character. Most women would have run for the hills by now but you’re still here, asking after his wellbeing despite the fact you have blood and brain matter splattered across your clothing.

He’s always held a part of himself back from you because he’s never wanted the darkness that resides deep down in his soul to taint what the two of you have. It’s only now that he’s realising there’s a little darkness in you too.

You hadn’t hesitated when you pulled the trigger on Teal Beck, you hadn’t flinched when he pressed the Glock against each of Malcolm Beck’s joints and blown a hole in every single one of them. You’d helped him roll up the bodies in tarp, hose down the inside of the stable, you’d even tried scrubbing the blood out of the floor in the cottage but there are somethings a stain like that just won’t come out of.

It's when you get back to the foreman’s house that he starts the burn barrel. He keeps it around the back in the yard for when he needs to get rid of shit. The train station may supply a certain amount of discretion but Rip isn’t taking any chances, not when it comes to you.

“Take your clothes off.” He orders when the fire is hot enough and you strip down to your underwear under his unrelenting gaze. “Panties and bra too honey. All of it’s got to go.”

You toss the bundle of clothes into the flames and the smoke plumes into the air with a shower of sparks. You look gorgeous in the warm glow, the scars from your time abroad, highlighted on your skin as you raise your eyes to meet his and whisper the words.

“Your turn.”

Everything goes in the barrel save for his hat and boots. He sets them on the wooden lawn chair instead. His gaze is still locked on yours as when approaches you, his fingertips brush stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Do you like what you see?” His asks you, his voice raw as he looks into your eyes.

You know what he’s asking, do you love me, the real me?

The one that was forged in blood, who’ll probably die the same way.

“I do.” You whisper as you raise up on tiptoes and kiss his mouth. “God help me Rip but  do.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thesassypadawan]

Make Them Blue (Burnt Vader x PetReader) *Blurb*

Summary:  It was No Nut November and your master, who never backs down, took on the challenge…by submersing himself in his bacta tank for the whole month.  However the time has gone and passed, and now he seeks you out…to help him empty his aching, burgeoning sack.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all of the lovely smut. Blowjob, some manhandling, lots of jizzing, overgrown balls, suitless/bacta covered dark daddy, mention of cumflation…and Vader’s big, scarred dick.

Notes: Happy No Nut November all you, lovelies! 🤍💙

Goes with Make Them Blue (Unburnt Vader x ApprenticeReader)!

- “On your knees…”  The command was simple, straightforward.  And although Vader’s voice is muffled slightly by the breathing mask, it leaves no room for argument.  Not that you would dare nor want to do so.

- “Ye-yes, my lord…”  Without hesitating you drop to your knees before him.  Hungry gaze glued to his hard, leaking length…to his bulging, burgeoning sack.  Hands trembling, folded in your lap.  Thighs subtly squeezing, rubbing together.  “How can I-I serve you…”

- Golden eyes widen, then narrow.  “Worship me…”  Cold, dark laughter rumbles within his chest.  “Show how much you have missed…”  Robotic fingers cups, pinch your chin hard in their durasteel grip.  “Craved my cum…”

- Leaning back on his throne.  Head tilted, resting on his fist.  Vader utters his next undeniable, unquestionable order.  “Now get to it, pet…”

- Happily you obey.  Lips pressing, showering his shaft in needy…desperate kisses.  Sucking on the veins that snake, spiral around it.  Greedily, hard enough to make them grow more prominent…turn a lovely shade of purple, a stark contrast compared to his pale skin.

- “Good girl…”  His words come out in a low, euphoric hiss.  A small praise that sends a thrill down your spine, straight to your aching core.  Puddle beginning to form and pool beneath your quivering body.  “What a good little whore…” 

- Doubling your efforts, you’re more than eager to please him.  Tongue kitten licking, lavishing, and moisturizing the scared skin in your saliva.  Cooing, practically purring as you lap up the stray salty, sweet…bitter, medicinal beads.  Tiny hands kneading, fondling his overly swollen, slick balls.  Humming at the warmth that radiates from them.

- “But I know you can do better…”  Invisible digits lace through, tangle in your hair.  Tugging you roughly forward, guiding your mouth to his drooling tip.  Rutting it lazily against, painting your face in a shimmering layer of his essence  “Can you not…”

- Parting your lips to reply, immediately you’re silenced by his head shoving between them.  Strangled, subdued squeaks slipping past his fat cock.  While you struggle, try frantically to take in as much of him as you can.

- “That’s right, let me hear all those pretty noises…”  Thrusting, rolling his hips.  Feral, almost animalistic groan spills out from behind his mask.  “The ones that only I can draw out of…”  When he drives himself deeper, further into your warmth.�� Until your nose is flush with his chiseled abdomen, ports prodding and scratching at your forehead.  “Force you to make…”

- Tears sting at your waterline, roll down your cheeks.  Sack slaps heavily at your chin, sound of cum sloshing rings in yours ears.  Can feel him throbbing, twitching against the velvety walls of your throat.  Stomach bloating slightly from the pre that fills it.

- It’s all too much…oh so blissfully much.  You know he’s only moments away from bursting, from transforming you into his own personal cum ballon.  However…

- Abruptly he yanks you off.  Phantom presence pushes you backwards, pries and holds your jaw open.  Keeping you held in place, watching your master, your god pump his dick vigorously.  Twisted, maniacal look shining in his yellow orbs. 

- Letting out guttural moan, he spews forth like a hose.  Thick, milky globs douse and soaking you.  Slopping, washing over in heavy streams…more than what his whole platoon of his men could produce.  Valiantly you try to swallow what you can, nearly choking on the sheer volume.  The remainder drenching, covering you entirely.

- And once he has finally drained, emptied his balls.  Vader relaxes on his throne once more, mechno legs spread wide.  Staring upon, taking in the sight of your cum-soaked form.  Of your juices seeping out from under you, mingling with his own.  A mere drop compared to what is easily the small pound’s worth that now surrounds you.

- “Well done…  However, I advise that you do not challenge me again…  Less you rather drown or, perhaps, pop next time…”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @anakinsbbgirl, @t03soup, , @vaderswifey, @jediavengers, @anakinstwinklebunny, @anisangeldust, @fredswrite, @xhunnybeeex

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[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Favorite Chapter 5

Summary:  Bucky Barnes, the big boss of the crime underworld, is notorious for his unhinged behavior and punishments.  There’s not much that can fully set him off, unless someone messes with his favorite…

Warnings:  violence, blood, gore, language, smut, depravity 

**Picture is A.I., found on Pinterest.  Don’t come for me.**

Previous chapter Next chapter

Hours later Bucky was drenched in blood as the cleaners came into the interrogation room and rounded up the pieces of Nicky before hauling him all out toward one of the cars for transportation.  He walked into the shower station just off the interrogation room, turning it on so multiple hoses started pouring water and a fountain of red dripped down his body.  He stripped out of his clothes and threw them in the hamper to get burned, washing off the gore as best as he could before walking out of the shower.  Steve was waiting for him, holding out a robe for him that Bucky put on and tied before facing Steve.

Steve’s face stayed neutral, and Bucky took a stuttering breath.  “How is she?” he asked.

“Still critical, but stable,” Steve answered.  Bucky nodded, looking away and blinking away his tears.  Steve clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  “She’s a fighter, Buck.  She’ll make it. I know she will.”  Bucky sniffed and nodded again.  Steve stepped forward and hugged him for just a moment, then pulled away and kept his hands on his shoulders.  “We’re ready when you are,” he continued.  “I already sent a group out that surrounded the house and has been taking down his security quietly.  The wife and daughter are there, I just need to know how far you’re wanting to take this before we advance.”

Bucky thought about little Seraphina that he’d met just days before.  He wanted Falcone to hurt.  He’d taken his family, and now his last reason for living was hanging on by a thread.  His jaw ticked as he met Steve’s gaze.  “Make it quick.  One second they’re here and the next they’re not, got it?”

Steve nodded somberly.  “Got it.”

***

Falcone never stood a chance.  The attack came from all sides and was quick, the rhythmic popping from gunshots echoing through the mansion and then all stopping within a matter of minutes.  Steve held Falcone firmly as Bucky walked through the house, inspecting everything as his other men drenched everything they could reach in lighter fluid.  Falcone was trying to twist out of Steve’s grip, grunting and swearing up a storm.

“Fuckers!  Get out of my house!  Trina!  Seraphina!” he screamed, his head trying to whip back at Steve, who dodged it easily.

“Trina?  Seraphina?” Bucky called out, and a few of his men brought in their bodies.  Falcone stared in shock, then started wailing as the men set them down on the floor.  “Such a shame,” Bucky said, sounding bored as he glared at Falcone.  “Uncle Sal couldn’t save his favorite nephew, and then Daddy couldn’t save his precious little family.  She had such potential,” he said, glancing at Seraphina.  “If it’s any consolation, they didn’t even feel it.  Which is more than I can say you did for my family.  I’m nice like that.”

Falcone snarled at him.  “Tit for tat, is that it?”

“You made it personal years ago, Sal,” Bucky snarled back at him and slapped him hard, making Falcone yell.  “I’ve been planning your downfall ever since.  I was playing the long game.  I even considered taking her in, giving her the family she deserved,” he pointed at Seraphina.  “But then you came into my house, and you almost took my favorite person in the whole world from me.  You involved my wife.  MY WIFE!” he screamed in his face.  “And that’s a transgression that I simply cannot condone, Sally.”  He grabbed him by the throat and threw him towards his family’s bodies, then took out his gun and shot his kneecaps.  Falcone howled in pain, tears streaming down his face.  “Now you get to stay right here in the castle you built, and watch it all burn to the ground.  What a fine resting place,” he smiled bitterly at him.  “Tell the devil I say hi,” he sing-songed, then walked toward the front door.  “Light it up!” he shouted, and his men started to light everything on fire.

Bucky ignored Falcone’s screams as he left the house, Steve and Sam on his tail as his other men all poured out of the house and surrounding area.  They all watched the house quickly go up in flames, and even as the rest of them left after a while, Bucky stayed, wanting to make sure that the whole house burned to a crisp.  When the house was finally nothing more than charred embers, he walked back to where Falcone and his family were.  He shoved away fallen wood beams and debris until he found their remains, and picked out the family ring that Falcone had been wearing on his right middle finger.  He scrubbed off the soot and ash, admiring the gold band and the large emerald in the middle with the Falcone crest etched into the sides of the band.  

“You okay, Boss?”  Steve asked, following him into the house.

“Better,” Bucky said.  “How is she?”

“No longer critical,” Steve said.  Bucky hung his head in relief, letting out a huff of breath.  Steve pulled Bucky up and kept an arm around his shoulders.  “Let’s get you back to her,” he said.

[quirrrky]

—03. LEAVE ME LOVING YOU

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

SAMU disguised himself as his brother to save you from embarrassment, but what should be just for a day ended up in more. How long could he keep hiding behind his brother's shadow?

secret admirer, unrequited love? timeskip, mini-series

baby, there's no drug quite like denial

The whistle blared through the gymnasium. It’s Inarizaki’s last game with the neighboring school for the present school year. The third years’ focus was on the game because it would be the last game they’d be playing for the rest of their high school life, but Samu had his mind elsewhere. 

You encountered him and Tsumu together the other day, yet you just played it cool. Your eyes were filled with astonishment and confusion but then you smiled through it saying, “Oh, there’s two Miya-san now.” You excused yourself afterwards and left everything hanging in the air. Earlier during lunch time, you still hung out with him on the rooftop. It was like nothing happened. 

The ball approached his way and he’s quick to toss it right back. The crowd cheered yet Samu didn’t care much less notice. His attention involuntarily shifted to you among the sea of people in the bleachers, and you looked back at him, smiling at a distance. Shyly, he averted his gaze in a snap.  

Have you found out that he’s just disguising as Tsumu all along or do you still think that he’s his twin? 

“Geez, bro. What’re ya bein’ shy for? It’s our last days in school.” Tsumu teased—a big grin was on his face as he saw the ball comin’ for him. “If ya already have the chance...” He leaped and passed the ball directly to his brother. “Ya, better take it!”  

Samu slammed the ball with precise strength and it landed straight on the opponent’s court, earning them their winning point before the time ended.   

Their schoolmates cheered while Tsumu screamed, claiming their final win in Inarizaki.  

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

It’s early in the morning when you headed to the pool. You were the one assigned in your class to clean up as part of your graduation turnover. They said a representative from Class 1 would also be there to help you and you were welcomed with a familiar figure. 

“M-Miya-san?” Your eyes were wide with surprise. He looked right in your direction. “Oh, sorry. I just...I just don’t know which Miya-san it is right now though.” 

Seeing you looking at him like that made him a little flustered. Rubbing the back of his neck, he informed you, “Samu...it’s Samu.” 

A prim smile spread across your face. “Samu...” 

It was as if time stopped while his heart drummed against his ear when he finally heard his name from your lips. 

“What do we have here?’ you asked, shifting your weight on your feet back and forth.  

“I’m almost done. We just have to rinse the soap,” he pointed to the pool’s surface, while prepping up the water hose. “I got this. Ya can go ahead.” 

“No, I’ll help you,” you took the water hose from him, your hand slightly touching his. He was feeling extra nervous now that he’s being just himself, but he didn't want to be anyone else around you. “Let’s do this together.”  

He turned the faucet on, and the water instantly blasted on you. “Y/N!” Samu immediately twisted it off. You were doused from head to toe. Both looking at each other, you turned the faucet on again, now completely soaking him too in retaliation.  

You both burst into laughter until Samu tried snatching the hose from you, but you’re never letting him get his way. You ran around the side of the pool, attempting to steal the water hose from each other which drenched the both of you even more instead. 

Your little moment of fun was interrupted by the roaring thunder. Sharing a glance, you both chortled until the skies showered. With the hose in one hand, Samu held yours in another as you ran through the rain towards the changing area. His grip on your hand was firm, careful not to let you slip.  

Finally getting under a shaded area, you picked up on your breathing. Remembering that you still had your phone in your pocket, you took it out and flipped it open. It’s dead.  

Samu snickered. Uncannily, his laughter sounded so soft and comforting in your ear. His eyes rested on your bewildered gaze, holding it for a while. His expression was filled with tenderness you couldn’t fathom but it made you happy. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes turned a little half-lidded. He was inching close to you, and you felt your toes tipping towards him. You could almost feel his breath with how near he was. Your eyelids were triggering to close, until a sneeze came through you.  

“Are ya alright? Do ya have a spare shirt?” 

The coldness of the rain got you shivering. With your arms around your frame, easing the freeze out, you shook your head dismissively.  

“Hold on,” Samu quickly went inside the boys’ changing room and came out with a spare shirt. You looked at him querulously. “I have extra. Go ahead, change. I’ll take it from here,” he reassured, and you heeded his advice, taking the black shirt from his hand.  

The rain soon subsided, and you emerged from the girls’ changing room wearing his Inarizaki jersey. You turned to him with a beautiful smile, and at that moment, he realized that you probably had the power to stop time, his lungs and his heart all at the same time. 

Samu gulped, dryly.  

It was a little big on you, but you looked in it. His number printed on it made it seem like you were made to carry every bit of him. It was made for you. He was made for you. He shook the thought away, or at least, he tried.  

“Thank you, Miya-san.” You tapped your head as if you committed a mistake. “S-Samu! Samu!” You blushed. What’s with his name that was making you so anxious and fidgety? “M-Miya S-Samu-san-" You sneezed and he lightly chuckled.  

“Y/N!” A classmate called out to you. “It’s time for our next class already.” 

“Oh!” you hastily bowed before him, a little nervous to show your face, scared that you’d embarrass yourself even more.” 

Samu watched as you left.  

If you already have the chance, you better take it. Tsumu’s words echoed through him.  

Eventhough you were calling him by his name just now, he still couldn’t differentiate where Miya-san ends and where does Samu begin. 

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

With a bento in tow, Samu quietly entered the clinic. He asked for the nurse on duty who happily assisted him towards the infirmary. 

He slid open the curtain covering the bed where you were resting. You’re sleeping so soundly but your expression gave away how feverish you were.  

He was supposed to tell you everything clearly, but when he went to the rooftop, there was not a single trace of you there. He stopped by your classroom and one of your classmates informed him that you went to the clinic. 

Seated on the stool beside you, he took out the bento he prepared for your lunch, just as usual, and left it atop the bedside table.  

You looked so peaceful, and cozy all tucked in the blanket. He could watch you like this for hours and hours long. His hand reached out for your face. You felt hot to the touch due to being drenched by the poolside a while ago.  

Warmth fluttered inside his chest as he studied your features. His finger ran through your lashes and skimmed through your fluffy cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.  

Samu kept fighting the feelings arising deep within him. He convinced himself that this would be nothing more, but here he was unable to stop the back of his hand from stroking your soft cheeks lovingly. He thought it was gonna be just for a day yet he always chose to be beside you. He told himself that he’s alright with remaining behind his brother's shadow if it meant extending the time he had with you.  

A scoff escaped from him. How foolish. 

The school bell rang, signifying the end of the lunch period and prompting Samu to stand from his seat. However, you held his hand, stopping him on his tracks and not letting him go just yet. 

“M-Miya-san...” you murmured.  

Samu was tempted to stay, but his reflection in the nearby mirror was eating him up. His stomach twisted, unsatisfyingly. He’s wearing the shirt his twin lent him and while they wore the same size, Tsumu’s number imprinted on the jersey he’s wearing punched a cruel reminder. 

If you already have the chance, you better take it. 

Would you still accept who’s beneath his facade? Would you see past his mask?   

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

Atsumu stretched his arms. His action was paired with a satisfying yawn. “At last, no more wakin’ up early in the mornin’.” He turned to his brother whose mind seemed to be elsewhere. “Hey, hey...don’tcha worry now, ya can still dance with yer girl. We’ll get back in time for the graduation dance.” 

“What?” Samu finally snapped from his musings. 

“Hey! Don’t tell me ya forgot! Ya promised to go with me to the sports camp! It’s our last one ever,” he reminded. “It’s only for a few days then we go back, take her to dance with ya and then we graduate the next.” 

Samu’s eyes widened. That meant he won’t get to see you and he wasn’t even able to let you know about it. 

“Oh...” Tsumu picked it up quite easily. The look on his brother’s was a dead giveaway. “Hmm...ya borrowed my shirt, right?” 

“Already gave it to ya,” Samu replied a little annoyed. 

“Oops...my bad.” Tsumu pressed his palms together. “I think I left it in my locker.” 

They stared at each other as if they were transmitting a special and weird kind of message. 

Tsumu gave him a heads up and Samu hurriedly ran back to school on his way to the lockers as fast as he could.  

After what happened this morning, with you just spending time with each other and him not pretending to be someone else, he just wanted to see you, talk to you, be with you as himself. 

His chest rose and fell as he caught up with his breath. He had arrived at the lockers, but it was empty.  

No one was there.  

You weren’t there.  

His shoulder slumped in dismay while he opened the locker, which he somehow shared with his brother. The shirt wasn't even there and Samu knew it was just Tsumu’s phony excuse to let him off the hook. 

Closing the door, he resigned in defeat. Sighing as if fate was playing him all along. Everytime he wanted to come clean and make things clear, the opportunity was always not in his favor.  

However, a sliver of hope had lit him up as he heard faint footsteps approaching. 

It’s you. 

Suddenly, all the courage he had dissipated, and the anticipation turned him into a frozen mess. Your backs were against each other as you fetched your own stuff from your locker. Though he’s already done with his business, he remained standing there not lifting a finger nor saying a word. 

“I’m all okay now, thanks to you. The bento brought me a lot of comfort,” you initiated, closing your locker. “I know that the school year’s about to end and we might go our separate ways.” Samu took a sharp breath and clenched his fists as you continued, “But I really cherish every single second I’ve spent with you, Miya...”  

Before you could even finish, you suddenly found your back pressed against the locker, a hand over your eyes and his lips crashed against yours. The kiss took away his name from your lips before it could even escape. He couldn’t take the pain if you’d say his brother’s. He couldn’t bear to hear it.  

Right now...when he had you with your eyes closed and his kiss was disarming your very being, it’s just him. Just like each of the moment he shared with you. It’s just him. Samu...Osamu. 

You easily caved into him. His familiar scent, feeling and warmth were making you wish that this won’t end. Even with eyes closed, you knew him and you just melted in his arms, hoping that this very minute would turn into hours.  

His kisses felt like a plea. A desperate plea. Desperately, he was begging you to love him back.  

Love...He parted from you, now waking up from the realization. 

All this time, he’s not fighting his feelings for you...he’s escaping the pain if you don’t feel the same way too. 

Feeling the loss of his touch, you called out to him. His name softly breezed out of your lips, but when you opened your eyes, he was no longer there.  

Your fingers went over your lips, tracing every whisper of his. Your chest tightened--heart all squeezed out. Why did it all feel like goodbye? 

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

super sorry for the delay! I got a little bit under the weather yesterday and though I'm done with the chapter, I can't bring myself to open my laptop. we're getting there! we're getting so close to where things would culminate and fall into place! thanks for sticking with me. updates will be bi-weekly, moving forward!

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡

Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much! 

TAGLIST

@miiyas @sagejin @wyrcan @dailyakira @pixelcafe-network

[belle--ofthebrawl]

Do you remember my skincare mini series? Do you remember how Rain and Lus were kind of mean to Mountain? I felt kind of bad about that.

the day is long enough to turn you into stone

(contains: Gentle sex near the end, 2k words of mountain getting rubbed down and loved on, trans!rain topping, the glory of a naked cumulus, cockwarming and handfeeding. Written in one go so if something's wrong, no it's not. Unless it's really bad. Will throw it on ao3 whenever.)

Mountain’s been on the move long before dawn, boots on the ground with just enough coffee in his system to convince his aching eyes to open and his tired mind to pay attention. It's the last day in a long stretch of many working ones bedding the gardens and orchards down for what promises to be a proper winter season. Coming in late to the harvest season meant he missed the majority of the fun work; picking and canning and jamming and drying. All that was left was the grunt work, of mending fences and chopping wood, testing and feeding the soil to ensure a good healthy ground to plant the saved seeds in next year. Tools needed to be repaired, sheds and barns and coops needed to be cleaned out and inspected. Feedstores checked and then checked again for the constant threat of pests, but that's helped by the mousers, creeping silently along until a hand was held out and they approached with a purr that rivaled any ghouls.

At some point his brain comes online again. The autopilot shutting off when there's no more work to be done. Of course, there's always more work to be done, but as Mountain sits stop a boulder and slowly chews his way through the sandwich someone had handed to him hours and hours and hours ago, he can't think of anything else he’d like to do more than go to sleep for the rest of the year.

(Divider by @forlorn-crows)

Not like this though. He wouldn't sleep well if he was filthy, caked in the day’s worth of sweat and grime and he honestly can't remember the last time he showered but he thinks the garden hose should suffice as he passes it on his way in. His clothes are tossed in a pail to be retrieved at some other point in time for laundry and he relishes the cold burst of water that hits his skin, tracking down through the dirt that might as well be engrained underneath.A cleaning rag from one pocket is taken to scrub what he seems the worst of it off with help of a shrunken and discolored ball of tallow and lye soap taken from another pocket. He reasons that he'll probably dry before he gets to his room and that the sight of a nude ghoul won't surprise anyone at this point. The rules were a bit laxer around this time of year, since novitiates weren't traditionally moved in until the longest and darkest night.

But there's a wrench thrown into his plans, as soon as he opens the door to his room. The motion sends a flurry of rose petals scattering across the floorboards, just a few in a trail that leads to his bathroom door, cracked open to waft out the scent of something decidedly not of his own toiletry collection. There's just enough candlelight in the tiny room for him to see he won't be spending the night alone.

“I'm not cleaning this up.” Is the only thing he can think to say as Rain opens the door wider. He's shockingly clothed but in such a way to suggest he won't be staying so for very long. Loose, flowing fabric, draped easily and easy to pull off. Mountain tries to be interested, really he does, but it's just that he's so damn tired and the bed is right there. His bones ache. His head aches. Rain is very pretty but Mountain is very, very exhausted.

“Don't worry about it.” Rain says dismissively. He beckons with an elegant arm outstretched and like the work-dog he feels he really is, Mountain obeys with a hanging head. “Oh, stop moping. We're doing something different tonight.”

“Not moping.” He says, sounding childish and petulant but the attitude disappears as soon as he sees the tub. His battered old claw foot has been utterly transformed, scrubbed clean and shining in the low light. The water, tepid on the best of days, has been heated so that fragrant steam rises in lazy whirls as Rain leads him to it. He can pick out lavender and chamomile right away, but it's not his own mixture. It's something from the water ghoul’s expensive and luxurious collection, something that came in an elegantly wrought alabaster jar that Rain pours from as Mountain gathers enough braincells to realize the bath is, in fact, for him.

“Go on.” Rain says. “I can't add everything else until you do.”

Words fail him, especially as he tests the water with his fingers and finds it delightfully hot. Slipping his whole body underneath it brings out deep and guttural noise from his chest, near sexual as it envelops him. His eyes are heavy and refuse to remain open.

“Mmrhn?” Is the best he can manage as a lid is twirled open and the gentle hiss of dry herbs hit the water.

“Pain relief mixture.” Rain murmurs, continuing to sprinkle. “Your own.”

A special blend of three salts, eleven herbs, and four oils. He knows them all by name but his brain dips offline again as Rain comes to perch on the lip of the tub by his shoulders. Mountain cracks his eye open in a Herculean effort and is rewarded with the glimpse of a small silver bowl dipping into the water and, most importantly, the sight of Rain’s clothing folded neatly on the counter by the sink.

He's just a Ghoul, after all.

“Close your eyes.” Rain gently admonishes and Mountain does. The water is poured over his hair and face, Rain giving extra attention to his beard to make sure no part of Mountain is left untouched and dry. Cool cream is smeared on the bare skin of his face with a dampened towel wrapped carefully around his head so he can still breath while whatever Rain out on his works it's magic. Something else is combed patiently through his tangled hair and left to soak in as Rain scratches tenderly at his scalp.

He drifts off; into a hazy dreamscape of grey and gardens that never need tending. His feet float above the ground so his body never aches with the weight of carrying itself around all day and somewhere in the mist, he knows someone waits. Just as he's about to find them and take them in his arms, they call out gently a name not his own and he's too tired to startle, but manages an impressive snort as Cumulus chuckles.

“How's he doing?” She whispers and Mountain hopes she's just as naked as he and Rain are.

“He’d fall asleep right here if we let him.” Rain replies. “Did you find the rose lotion? The one in a square bottle?”

“I thought we weren't doing that rose lotion.” Cumulus answers, setting what sounds like a basket down on the countertop. “Remember? It was too waxy and not moisturizing enough.”

“Oh.” Rain says, starting to unwrap the towel from Mountain’s face. His vision is blurred and he can't make out much- just the figure of his beautiful Lus gleaming mother naked in the candlelight as she unpacks her basket, setting each item down with reverence after a thorough inspection. “Right. Look, in my defense, we came up with this idea when we were smoking.”

“Nuh-uh.” Cumulus counters, a smile in her voice so rich he can hear the dimples. “You forgot everything we agreed on as soon as we saw Mountain strip down and hose off.”

“Okay.” Rain says amicably. “And? Like you're any better.”

“Surprised you haven't dove in there with him yet.”

Mountain makes a noise that informs everyone present he would very much enjoy Rain diving in to join him. But that would leave Lus out and he wants his Lus as well, it's not fair to leave her in the candlelight, lovely as she looks in it.

“He agrees with me.”

“He's agreeing with me.”

They're being so nice to him for once. He thinks the bickering has taken a different turn but it's not like there are any real stakes at play here. Rain’s washing his hair now, soaping out the mask he applied earlier and rinsing the suds out as Cumulus sits on his other side and presses something to his mouth. He opens as he's bid and lets her handfeed him some impossibly delicious, crispy bite of food. Savory and meaty in a flaky shell. His own recipe that he can recognize even as the last of his brain drips out of his skull in the heat of the water and the two beside him. His mouth is wiped when he finishes, cool water out to his lips and he drinks. The next course of fruit and cheese begins as Rain fusses with conditioner, snips at his scraggly beard with a little pair of shears and even cleans and files his nails, brushing on yet another oil to the keratin.

“I could watch you pamper our man all day.” Cumulus teases, holding out a cube of cheese on a stick. Rain takes it gracefully, giving her extended and pointed eye contact as he draws back. Mountain wheezes and the noise brings their attention back on him again.

“Your turn.” Rain says.

He's helped out of the water, gone tepid by now and for once his body doesn't complain about the work of moving joints and muscles and his bones don't feel like they’ve been filled with lead. Cumulus dries him with her power, keeping him warm thermals harnessed to keep him from shivering. His skin, dry from the heat and the harshness of his own soap, is coated in a shea butter lotion and he's led from the bathroom to his bed with a fire crackling in the grate.

“Lay down.” She says, and he obeys. On his back at first but she flips him with ease onto his stomach and really, he's got no complaints there. She's easy to underestimate, always seen with a box of sweets and tucked up with a book but only a fool forgets she's a menace from the pit. Being spoiled up top just suits her better and she's got years of experience to draw on as she straddles his back. Hands that once ripped jawbone from skull press tenderly into his muscles and he forgets everything again as she works him, fingers dancing like she's playing her piano. Her body is a comforting weight atop him, easing any lingering anxiety he might have had about things being left undone or not good enough. It's no use to worry without energy to act on it. If things go wrong, he’ll be rested and restored enough to deal with them. Even his tail is lovingly played with, tugged on and rubbed until it settles.

At some point, she slips off and lays next to him with a little plate of chocolates. Rain’s on him now, pouring more oil in a straight line down his back, humming as he dots more here and there. Mountain grumbles until he's fed a candied pecan from Lus’ lips and the kiss distracts him enough so that he doesn't notice Rain shuffling back to sit on his knees as he idly plays in the spills of oil, finger painting that takes his hands lower and lower.

With one hand on each cheek, Rain pulls him apart. Warm oil splatters directly on his hole and he jolts with a whimper that Lus smothers with her chest. Rain dips two fingers inside, easily finding the spot that has his legs shaking in moments. He didn't have the energy for sex, he thought, but what they wanted was vastly different than what he expected. Rain’s fingers steadily pump in and out of his body for ages as he and Lus kiss, the water leaving his own lip prints in the film slowly absorbing into Mountain’s skin.

“You hard, baby?” Lus asks him between breaths and Mountain is embarrassed at the way he whispers out no, chasing the taste of her but she just smiles patiently at him.

“Don't need to be, honey. We’ll take care of you.”

When he's finally deemed ready, he's pushed onto his side, Rain tight to his back while Lus throws a luscious thigh over his hip, going for his neck. He feels the press of Rain's breasts against his shoulder blades, his own hips rocking for purchase until his tentacle eases out of Rain's body and wriggling home into Mountain's. It curls up inside him, heavy and deep and pressed right where he needs it. His cock is gripped in a soft, manicured hand, not to rub and tease but just to hold and comfort. He doesn't know which way to turn to kiss them and their laughter is gentle.

“Just let us take care of you.” Whispers one.

“It's the least we could do in return.” Murmurs the other.

His sleep, after an orgasm milked from his still soft cock, is deep and dreamless. It's a long time before all three of them wake up.

[akindaflora]

Trust is Earned

Series Masterlist / Next

WORD COUNT: 1K

Description: Just another day in life or is it?????

warning: description of gore, description of a car accident, some graphic descriptions and more to come.

paring: Bangchan (non idol) x Female Reader

Prologue

D-DAY

You had a pretty dull life. You woke up at 5 am every morning for your job. You scroll through apps on your phone trying to run the sleep away. You would rush into the shower after, talking yourself into actually going to work. Clock in at 8 am work hard till lunch catch up on YouTube videos. Work till five. Go home and catch up on your shows. Bed rotting your life away. Monday through Friday you did this on repeat. Your only salvation is your weekends and the exciting news of a new show releasing or the small dopamine rushes of your favorite artist releasing music.

It was always the same and you grew jaded with each passing week. Every paycheck didn’t seem worth it but as you did your best to try to find new opportunities nothing came that gave you relief that you could ever escape. You felt trapped in a cycle, not of your own making. Or maybe it was?

-

The morning had been like any other morning but today you just had this unnerving feeling to say fuck going to work and stay home. Maybe it had something to do with your early morning doom scroll you saw nothing but the strangest videos.

The first few post seemed to be thousands of people running from these people in zombie costumes. Apparently from one source, it was probably some new theme park. Another speculated it was PR for a new zombie game. Even if both seemed believable you couldn’t really shake off the feeling that some of these videos looked too real the screams ringed far more than any plain old scream queen. The videos themselves were kinda off.

You only shudder at the last one as one of the “actors” became a human meal the guts pulling out in ways that didn’t seem like special effects. The teeth of the one in “costume” diving in unrelenting bite after bite until the actors body stilled. Then as if the zombie was bored it rushed to its next victim. The camera zooming in to the still body as blood rushed from every gaping hole left by the zombie. And suddenly the body began to twitch. Violently. Almost like the person was having a seizure a survivor coming forward with a paramedic uniform rushed to stop the bleeding. Ignoring the cries of the guy behind the camera to get away. The medic only shaking his head yelling back it’s his duty but once the medic held his hands to one of the pouring wounds the body stilled again. The medic lowered his head to hear the heart but before he could pronounce him dead. The body launched forward ripping the tendons from the medic neck.

You quickly closed the app and shut your phone, deciding you saw too much you simply turn on some music before heading to the shower. Anything to push the screams away. Hoping the warm water will rinse the unease and motivate you to work. The bills don't pay themselves.

Since you had a bit of extra time to get ready you decided to make breakfast for work.

Meat wasn’t really the move so you made some cereal. Eating quickly, rushing to grab a few snacks for the between hours and your headphones. You sprinted out to your car, but as you got in you couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was. Usually, you’d run into the neighborhood kids waiting for the bus. Or even your neighbor Robbie who made it an effort to water his plants first thing in the morning. The only thing visible is a running hose of water in the same neighbor's yard but no Robbie in sight. Maybe he left something on you thought to yourself.

You only shrugged at the lack of people and pulled out of your driveway. Even with your favorite band on you couldn’t help but still feel that uneasiness. Something was incredibly off and you couldn’t figure out why. At first, you thought maybe it was the usual anxiety but no this was the kind of feeling you get whenever you felt like someone was following you on your way home at night. Or the feeling of uneasiness whenever you thought you'd lost your keys or worse your wallet. The sinking feeling of you forgot something maybe it was time for a internet detox. Thinking that those videos this morning definitely had you freaking out for no reason.

Looking around you noticed a few people but they were just standing there, almost looking like the things in the videos you saw this morning. You slightly shuddered.

Strange you thought your town wasn’t particularly big. Yeah it was more so on the outskirts of the big city not close enough to commute. Usually projects like these would stay in the city. You only kept driving. At the sudden sound of noise, they began to follow your car. You watched them in the rear view mirror how they dragged their bags that awkwardly hung around their arms. The life burned from their eyes. Almost as if they were blind. As you looked closer one of them looked like little sweet Joshua. He’s the kid who mows your lawns on Saturday to pay for his game addiction. Sweet kid he even planted flowers in your yard because he said it was too dull and you let him. He was right after all.

You thought back to his mom kind but fairly strict on his ways of making money. She actually was the one who came to you about his job offer tired of him draining her for another $60 bucks on a video game. You know she wouldn’t let him do something like this much less drag his brand new bag he got for his birthday.

But before you could look any closer you heard a loud stretching of a car. As you quickly looked you luckily hit the brakes before it could even smash into you. Quickly pulling over you took out your phone to call the ambulance.

No response but an automatic voice chiming in saying the line was busy.

Strange you thought in all your life you had never heard of the national helpline being busy. So you called the police and the same automatic response came. So then you googled the firefighter's number with the same response. Every emergency number you could think of had either gone busy or didn’t pick up.

But as you looked up from the safety of your car seat you saw something even stranger. The driver came out through the busted window. Bloody from the glass sticking out one arm slowly ripping himself from the car then suddenly the arm ripped from his shoulder not putting much a fight. He didn’t scream he didn’t cry out for help just crawled from the car. His blood dripping out with a deep black color. You slightly opened the door looking around if anyone saw what happened but the empty streets remained the two "actors" you saw were far too down the street to catch up. No urgency either just this slow disgruntled walk as they swayed in the early summer heat.

“Are you okay?” you called out obviously knowing whatever the man had been through would far be from anything okay. But at the sound of your voice the man? If you could even call him that anymore only howled like a rabid beast quickening his speed of a crawl toward you as if the sound of your voice was his salvation ready to attack at any movement.

Second thinking about giving this guy any help especially when you weren’t a professional and the professional were busy you decided to get back in your car and keep driving. Maybe if you went further up the road you’d see some normal life. Anything normal you had hoped. This is just a crazy promotion for a movie or a sick joke everyone in the town was playing leaving you out of it. Thinking of anything to calm your nerves.

But little did you know that nothing would ever be normal again. Far from it.

TAGLIST (1/50) : @idiotmaterial

Series Masterlist / Next

After writing notes: AHHHH I'm so excited for this to be posted! Fun fact I've obsessed over the idea of a zombie apocalypse since I saw Zombieland and while I had this in the works for a while now. After seeing Bang Chan in that mullet I just knew I had to post this story. I don't know quite yet how many chapters there will be but I hope you'll stay for the journey. Let see if Y/N will survive the uncertainty compared to their usually mundane life.

★ YaYa

[cottonlemonade]

hello there!! I was wondering if you could do menu A with chocolate milk, purin and mochi??? I will be sitting next to Ennoshita!! Thank you!! 😊😊

Part-Timing At The Same Job

word count: 663 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: Ennoshita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

warnings: none

request: fluffy, part-timing at the same job with boyfriend Ennoshita

“It could be worse.”

“How?”

“Uhm…”, Chikara rubbed thoughtfully at the back of his neck.

After a few moments he seemed to have found a point to make, “You’d have to do everything one by one with a really leaky watering can.”

You opened your mouth to argue but closed it begrudgingly. Wearing the scowl of a lifetime, you let your eyes wander over the many rows of long metal folding tables, the surfaces hardly visible beneath all the leaves and blossoms.

A few hours ago, when your boss came up to you, phone to her ear and a no-nonsense kind of look in her eyes and had asked you and your boyfriend to stay late and take over watering in the garden center, you were quick to agree. How long could it take to water some plants?

Yet somehow you seemed to have severely underestimated the task. Without the many customers walking along the tightly packed rows of green and blocking a lot of your view, the sheer amount of plants was overwhelming. And all you wanted to do was spend a relaxing movie night with your boyfriend.

Said boyfriend rolled up his sleeves and clapped his hands twice, making you involuntarily stand to attention.

“Alright. I’ll take these, you take the bonsai and orchids. If we hurry, we can still grab some take-out on the way to your house.”

With a salute you hurried away to prepare a couple buckets with water to sink the plants into.

It was dull work and you were very glad you didn’t have to do it in the pressing summer heat of the afternoon. But although the air wasn’t as soupy as it was earlier, you still felt beads of sweat rolling down your brow, neck and arms as you dunked, pushed down and then lifted the newly watered plants out of the buckets back onto their respective tables.

Your shoulders started to protest under the repeated unfamiliar strain but you kept focussing on the goal.

You had started the part-time job to afford a new bicycle so you wouldn’t have to keep using the rickety old thing your brother so graciously let you borrow - for a price, of course. It was rusty and hard to peddle and held together by duct tape and good thoughts if nothing else. With your own new bike you could not only get to school without having to rely on the rather unreliable bus but (mainly) you could go on romantic rides with Chikara, have a picnic maybe and cloud gaze without getting constantly interrupted by your brother making kissing noises or his mom who kept poking her head through his bedroom door and asked if you had enough snacks.

Using the last bit of shirt that wasn’t completely drenched to wipe your brow you headed for the bigger section where Chikara was struggling with the hose having caught on one the table legs.

“Almost done.”, he announced when you came closer, “Just one more flower.”

“Hm?”, you were too exhausted to catch his playful grin and it was too late when he already pointed the hose at you.

“No!”, you yelled and ran away but as if you could ever outrun a volleyball player.

His arm quickly wrapped around your chubby middle and pulled you back into him, giving him the opportunity to give your face a little spritz of water. Still giggling you turned to him and interlaced your fingers behind his neck.

“That was actually really nice.“, you admitted with a surprised frown, “This heat is ridiculous. - We should go to the lake this weekend.“

Chikara nodded happily and leaned down for a kiss.

So lost in utter contentment of his lips on yours you didn‘t notice how he raised the hose again, spraying it into the air above you two for a light refreshing shower.

He held you tightly at the waist so you couldn‘t get away and silenced any pouty protests with more kisses.

a/n: thank you so much for this cute request! Thinking about him working at a garden center is so soft ☺️ please enjoy!

[mraprilfools]

Word Count: 8.9k

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Vox/Angel Dust

CW/TW: Mention of Non-Con

Summary:

After Angel Dust manages to break free from Valentino's leash, he discovers he doesn't know the person he used to be before Valentino put him under his leash. In an effort to rediscover his identity he ends up lashing out as the trauma of those long years makes him a stranger to the people around him. In the middle of a self-destructive bender, Vox finds himself sympathizing with his plight. Once having gone through it himself long ago.

He guides Angel Dust to vent the frustration of his lost identity and feeling of Valentino's claws still in him posthumously, eventually leading to some... sensual catharsis.

Preview below the cut.

Everything had been so wonderful. But it should have been perfect!

Everything should have been all suns and roses after Valentino died. The first three months free of his leash had even been perfect. More than perfect! With nothing to hold Angel Dust back, he even pursued Husk without fear of being rejected for his profession. To his surprise, the man even felt the same way! Husk was sweet. He held him, loved him, and made him feel like there was something in him worth loving when he spent so long feeling like he was unworthy. He was so sweet he wanted to cry some nights because it didn’t feel real. He made real, good progress making all of the redemptive activities with Charlie and built a more sisterly bond with the host of the hotel too.

But then…

Then he’d feel a touch on his back or his shoulder. And he’d remember the way Valentino’s hands would brush over his body.

When Husk whispered sweet nothings he’d recall the sickly pink tongue wet and hot against his neck. And how his body loved it. It should be Husk. It should have loved the way he held onto his waist and kissed his neck. But it didn’t give him half the excitement when he was simply a tool, an object to be used and tossed aside. Angel felt broken and soiled. Unworthy.

So he started pushing Husk away. Husk tried to reach him, but the stronger he tried to fix him and be there for him the worse Angel felt. Husk was too good to him, way too good. He deserved far better, so Angel broke up with him after a mere couple of months. Why?

Because he was terrified that there was nothing left of the man he was anymore.

He was empty. Broken, and worthless. Valentino’s claws were still deep in him long after his death. Certain words would revive the memories in horrifying clarity. Hit him harder than ever before now that he was no longer numb.

So Angel threw himself into drugs. Into parties. Into every man who fuck him senseless. It was liberating because he CHOSE to be destroyed. He chose it when he was left in the street bruised and covered in so many fluids.

And he liked it.

And he liked it because it made his decision to break up with Husk feel like the right choice. He didn’t deserve him, he didn’t deserve happiness. He deserved this hell. Valentino had ruined everything good about him.

After one bad night with so many guys, he couldn’t count? Forget the shower! He stole some chump hose! Who could stop him? Valentino sure couldn’t! The princess may try, but he wasn’t ANYONE’S bitch now! He was free! The bitter cold spray of the hose left him shivering and hardly got him clean. It only made him feel less sticky.

These minor acts of defiance without rhyme or reason uplifted his spirits. They were also crushing them. The contradictions didn’t make sense, and he drank so he wouldn’t have to think about it too much.

Before Angel knew it, he found himself collapsed on the side of a road in front of some old abandoned factory on the edge of the Doomsday District. He had no memory of how he got there. He had taken every drug he could name, and some he couldn’t, he wasn’t even sure if it was the same week anymore.

The lights of the city meant Pentagram City never slept. Flickering neon lights of pink, green, red, flashing and glittering on the puddles left by the recent acid rain. The gravel against his cheek pricked at his cheek. A strange heaviness was falling over his eyes, one that said it’d be nice to simply fall asleep right then and there. Some guy might mug him, rape him, stab him. He couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. He wanted to return to the numbness.

The rare car passed through this street, and Angel paid them no mind. Sometimes an old customer would try to reach out and try to buy him for a night. He liked those nights because he could flip them off and tell them to eat his ass.

So when an old BMW-styled car parked itself near Angel, he squared his shoulders and pulled his face off the concrete. Put on a cocky grin ready to tell another sleaze to fuck off. If for some reason a coked-out ho who hadn’t showered in days was somehow appealing. But the window never opened. The car door opened and a long leg stretched out to the road.

Even if he shed the usual blue pinstripe blazer for a modest brown jacket; it would be impossible to mistake the multimedia icon that stepped out of the car with his unique flatscreen head. His face was but another joining artificial light in the darkness.

Vox. (Due to the explicit content, click the link above to read the rest of the story!)

[starshifter]

notes for chp 5. come listen to me ramble

-

Blade is such a fucking mess in this chapter. No one emulate this self-destructive idiot.

Blade take a shower challenge. That’s fucking gross, dude. (Walking around with blood still on him is taken from in-game, actually. Bailu made that comment about him smelling like blood when he visited her, but not seeming injured, and that’s majorly colored how I see him interacting with his injuries. He can’t be bothered to take care of them all, because they just happen so much and he doesn't have the energy. Relatable, I guess. Still a biohazard.)

Why didn’t Blade call Welt directly? Honestly, I forgot he could do that lol. My terrible depression brain can’t remember anything. So clearly, Blade also forgot because he also has that. He’s been through a lot, forgetting things is normal. He also probably just wanted something familiar and comforting at that time, so he called Silver Wolf. She would have the answer, wouldn’t demand payment (looking at you, kafka), and would still be awake (firefly deserves what sleep she can get).

I fully believe that Silver Wolf is a disgusting goblin because she is a hardcore gamer. I don’t care how “gamer fantasy” she dresses. She’s a little gremlin who touches her gum and then puts her spitty little hands all over things. Disgusting. Someone spray her with a hose.

So I made the incorrect assumption that the Express had facilities for guests onboard. Since, you know, it’s a train that had passengers cycling on and off it in the past. Hell, in the present as well, based on the guests we picked up on Penacony. Where the hell are they staying??? Are they sleeping on the couches and borrowing the Trailblazer’s bathroom?? We just don’t know. Maybe there is a guest section, but that wasn’t good enough for a Nameless. Idk man. Nothing makes sense around here I’d honestly originally assumed that sleeping cars with additional rooms for passengers appeared and disappeared by the power of the Trailblaze depending on how many people were staying on the train. This was wrong. I also assumed they had public bathrooms since I didn’t see any attached to the archive’s or March’s room. Also wrong. Go figure. What the actual fuck was Himeko thinking? She deadass just looked at the half rebuilt train and was, like, three rooms is enough, right? And then she launched the Express into space without waiting for anyone to respond.

Yes, that was Himeko’s very polite version of a shovel talk. She does not have to resort to direct threats of violence to get her willingness to tear people apart across. Her power is just that great. I fucking love her, honestly. Her desire to tear Shush into scrap metal with her bare hands and impressive restraint fully justified my characterization in this scene.

They’re like…weirdly co-dependent despite being estranged for like 700 years?? Which is way longer than they’ve spent together. What’s up with that?

Also, there was a very fun gossip session held between the Trailblaze trio about DH’s crush on Blade that involved him sort of admitting that he did like Blade. He did try to stay silent and admit nothing, but eventually they started saying such outrageous things that he spoke up just to make them stop being so wrong.

The Trailblazer trio definitely all bully each other. Dan Heng gets bullied the least though, so he’s earned this. Let the girls repay his many sarcastic remarks 2k24. ….wait what’s the amber era in star rail again? Let’s try this again: let the girls bully Dan Heng back 2k157

I don’t know anything about archival work. However, I have two friends who work in archives. I still don’t really understand metadata (like, it’s shit like the day something was created. Useful and all, but I’m sure there’s more too), but they seem to think it’s a big deal. So Dan Heng cares about proper metadata maintenance. (I could have just asked them what they do, I suppose, but then I have to confess the existence of this fic and these are, like, college friends. Not fandom friends. I might combust on the spot if they asked to see the fic)

It also amuses me greatly that Jing Yuan is low-key haunting the narrative. Smuggled Blade off the Xianzhou… Sent DH those books to help him reconnect with his past… He’s out here playing 5D chess to help his friends while everyone else is still playing checkers.

DH did not decide his bed was lacking. At least not for the reason Blade thought. He doesn’t really care about having a big fancy bed, in fact he thinks it might make sleeping more difficult, he just wants to leech Blade’s warmth lmao

OK, so the suicide attempt was added on the edits, but I also debated adding an additional scene with Pom-Pom confronting Blade about it because they sensed the death happening on their train. Ultimately, I decided Pom-Pom was the wrong choice for this scene. Blade would not deal well with the Conductor lecturing him in that scenario. And! It was an excuse for more Firefly! I didn’t feel like I had enough of her in these last chapters and that annoyed me. So, more Stellaron Hunter feels, the whole fucking reason I started writing this damn fic before Blade hijacked it with his Dan Heng obsession smh

Seriously, this was supposed to be just Blade and Firefly going on an adventure together, and then I realized that they would both like to see their respective Trailblazers, so I added them, and then it spun completely out of control. As these things go…

Kafka’s bad romance choices were also added on the edits. I have a LOT of headcanons about Kafka and her disaster of a love life. Almost all of them are highly concerning. Oops. Kafhime might actually be more fucked up than Renheng the way that I would write it. That’s tragic. ….if I knew more about Kafka’s backstory, please know that I would ABSOLUTELY be writing kafhime right now. I crave my toxic lesbians, but I currently feel like I would have to make up way too much backstory with no supporting evidence and I don’t like doing that. ….maybe I could make an AU? No, bad, Des. Stop right fucking there. ….except… pirates……? NO. FUCK

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I love all your stories so much!!! Can I please request Vampdrew this week?

WIP Wednesday (5/22)| Vampire Andrew AU (Part 133)

If he were some sort of disgusting pervert, Andrew could use his powers for evil. He could listen to exactly what Kevin’s thinking and doing and store it in his memory for later. Or he could jump into Kevin’s head for a front row seat. But he’s not. He’s a… sort of decent person.

So he tries his best to ignore it. Until he hears a choked off version of his name that he can’t ignore. It makes his own blood— or the squirrels’ blood, he supposes— rush through his veins to heat his face. And thank fuck no one can hear his thoughts.

“— I could hose you off in the yard.” Aaron offers suddenly, making Andrew’s head snap towards him. What the fuck was that? Twin telepathy?

“Pardon?” Andrew asks, raising a brow. He knows Aaron can’t hear what he’s thinking. And he knows he didn’t react, visibly at least so what…

Aaron gives him a strange look. “I said if Kevin is going to take six weeks in the shower, I can rinse you off outside. It was just a joke, calm down.”

“Oh. That won’t be necessary,” Andrew says. Kevin is… done. And his shower is about to be. Andrew waits for the water to cut off, for the sound of a towel rustling over wet skin, then he heads for the bathroom.

He knocks once, then through the door says, “Hey. Get out.”

Kevin’s thoughts freeze, mirroring the way all his muscles just locked up. And he swallows before saying, “Andrew?”

“I need to use the shower, if you don’t mind. This is my house, after all,” Andrew reminds him. After a beat, the lock clicks and Kevin opens the door wrapped in a towel with his clean clothes held against his chest.

“I’ll… Get dressed out here, I guess,” He says, his face reddened. Whether by embarrassment or the hot water, Andrew can’t tell. ‘Oh my God. Did you— Um. I thought you would be gone longer. I didn’t—’

“Hear what?” Andrew asks, feigning ignorance and holding up bloodied hands. “I just got back. I need to take care of this.”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin lets out a breath of relief and steps to the side, letting Andrew pass him. Fuck, he smells good. His natural scent mixes well with his shower gel and the post-orgasm endorphins add a little something Andrew wants to taste. But he can’t do that right now. He shuts the door between them and strips himself, dumping his shirt into the garbage can to deal with later. Then he steps into the shower and finds himself half hard.