#house to deliver them and made my neighbors put them in their fridge for me until i got back

[roses-and-elixir]

[tsukishumai]

50 from the general list + Matsukawa

Ty so much for the request, anon!

send me a prompt with your fav character here :)

50. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Synopsis: You were just a few minutes away from closing when Matsukawa Issei comes into your flower shop asking for a big favor

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: aged up characters, mentions of death

The amount of symbolism that could be found in nature was something that you always thought to be intriguing. Lush green shrubbery and foliage would have one thinking of life and vitality, mountain ranges represent strength and foundation; hundreds of messages that the earth could teach if only one was willing to listen.

And perhaps it was this thought that drawn you to flowers in the first place. Flowers, by definition, are simply just the seed-bearing part of a plant. Even so, each variation of its petals, each different color, different shape, all hold their own special meaning.

A red rose may symbolize love and romance, yet a yellow rose symbolizes friendship. A white carnation wishes someone luck, but a pink carnation will show someone gratitude.

You could spend your whole life studying flowers; their origins, biology, cultural significance, and you will always discover something new.

It was this very idea that drove you to open up your very own flower shop. Your days were spent practicing different arrangements, nitpicking different flowers and herbs to convey different message.

Red roses, red chrysanthemums, white clover ; I love you, I hope you’re thinking of me

White hyacinth, sweet basil, bells of ireland ; I’m sending you prayers and strength

Standing behind your counter, you were starting to close up your shop and reading through your orders for the following day when you heard the bell above your door ring, signaling the arrival of a customer.

In quickly walks a tall man with messy black hair and thick eyebrows, fairly big in build, and sporting a slightly panicked expression as he approached your counter.

“W-welcome,” you stuttered out, “how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Matsukawa Issei, I’m the director at the funeral home across the street,” he introduced himself, and slowly his face began to spark some recognition.

“Ah yes, Matsukawa-san,” you greeted, setting down the floral tape and scissors you were holding, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”

He slowly rubbed the back of his neck, fidgeting nervously in his spot before he spoke. “I’m sorry, I know you’re about to close but I didn’t know where else to go. My usual contractor flaked on me last minute and I was hoping to pick up some flower arrangements for a funeral.”

You wiped your hands on your apron, pulling out a notepad and pen from your pocket. “When did you need these by?”

Matsukawa visibly grimaced. “Tomorrow morning.”

Your hands stilled, looking up to give him a pointed look.

He quickly raised up his hands. “Look, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just really important to me that this family gets a proper arrangement,” he sighed out, running a tired hand through his hair, “I’ll pay double.”

You crossed your arms, tapping a finger against your elbow as you scrutinized the funeral director. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, shirt wrinkled and shoulders tensed.

“I’m desperate,” he pleaded with his eyes, setting two hands down on your counter and meeting your gaze.

“Alright,” you slowly conceded, “I’ll do my best, but you’ll have to make do with whatever flowers I have in-house.”

You didn’t miss the little fist pump of victory he did at your agreement, but you turn your attention back to the notepad laying on the counter.

“Can you tell me more about the deceased?”

You were shocked at the level of detail Matsukawa was able to tell you about the dearly departed. He was an old man who finally passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. He had three children, and seven grandchildren who spent every Sunday having dinner together with him and his wife. He often liked to fish and his biggest catch was an eighty-pound albacore tuna. He was a serious man who appreciated anyone that was able to make him laugh with a good pun.

“Did you know this family personally, Matsukawa-san?” You asked, jotting down the last bit of information.

“No,” he answered, smiling sadly, “But I always like to meet with the families beforehand. You know, offer counsel and give them a chance to tell stories about their loved ones.”

You felt a pang in your heart at the thought. “That’s actually very thoughtful, Matsukawa-san.”

“Just call me Issei, miss...?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N-san,” he reiterated, “And I can’t thank you enough. I really appreciate you doing this for me. You sure your boss won’t mind you keeping the shop open late?”

“I don’t think so,” you replied, walking over to the fridge to check on your supply of Lilies, “Considering I’m the owner of the shop.”

Matsukawa raised one thick eyebrow. “Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. You just seem a bit young to own your own flower shop.”

You laughed, shrugging a little as you replied, “I know, I get that that a lot.”

“So do I,” he chuckled lowly, taking his hands off the counter and putting them in his pocket.

“True, you don’t see many fit young men choose to be in your profession,” you commented, mentally slapping yourself for calling him fit. The smirk on his face tells you he didn’t mind it, so you continue, “What made you choose this career?”

His expression softened, looking off to the side as if he were wondering the answer to the question himself. Still, he replied, “I just want to make sure that every family that walks into my funeral home is able to have one last, proper goodbye to their loved ones.”

His answer made you smile, the simplistic nature of it making you slightly admire the messy-haired young man.

“How about you?” He asked, “It’s not very often a fit young woman like yourself would choose to be in this profession.”

You blushed at his repetition of your words, choosing to ignore it and maintain some semblance of dignity.

“Flowers have the ability to deliver messages that some people are unable to say out loud,” you try to explain, “They’re like a physical manifestation of our feelings. You could spend all day and night playing with different flowers and herbs and colors and species, and come up with a different message every time. Each bouquet is personal, whether they’re given or received. I just want to spend my days helping people express themselves in ways they can’t on their own...”

You looked up after your tangent to Matsukawa’s mouth hanging slightly agape, giving you a curious look and you’re left worried that you might have said too much.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to blabber on like that, I just -“

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, offering you a soft smile, “I think that’s beautiful, y/n-san.”

You blushed, gathering up a bundle of Gladiolus for remembrance, “Thank you, Issei-san.”

A silent beat passes between the two of you, Matsukawa looking as if he wanted to say something.

“Thank you, again,” he finally said, though something tells you that’s not what was on his mind, “You’re a lifesaver.”

You offered him a smile. “The arrangements will be ready tomorrow morning.”

He nodded, offering a small wave goodbye as he made his way out the store. The smile didn’t leave your face the rest of the night, your encounter with Matsukawa Issei replaying over and over as you gingerly reached for the bundle of thyme, hoping it will give the mourning family strength.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

(Issei comes to pick up the arrangements, exchanging the grand bouquet with a lavender Rose.

Love at first sight.

A knowing smile spread across your lips, teasingly remarking, “Buying from my competitors?”

He smirks and shakes his head, “No, I plucked it from my neighbor’s garden.”)

[luulapants]

Stories We Tell

When I was eight years old, my parents split up, and my dad, as divorced dads are wont to do, got a shitty apartment in a weird neighborhood.

The building was two stories with sixteen units. There was an in-ground pool out back, unheated in the shade, so the temperature hovered just above arctic. Half the time, instead of swimming, you ended up fishing a dead squirrel out and changing your mind. The laundry room in the basement flooded every time it rained. The appliances were junk, constantly breaking. The doors and locks, too. The landlord never fixed anything.

I didn’t give much thought to the neighbors until I was fourteen, when my dad got full custody. Someone broke into our ground floor apartment around the same time (and by “broke in,” I mean waltzed through a door with a broken lock) so we moved to the second floor, where it was a little safer. Our new balcony looked out over the rodent graveyard pool.

Over the next few years, I developed a colorful picture of our neighbors:

--

Across the hall was Doris, a madam and a raging alcoholic. She was in her fifties or sixties, but there were always astoundingly attractive young women coming and going from her apartment. She threw parties where she was the oldest woman by about three decades.

On quieter nights, Doris would sit on her balcony and get wine-drunk. If my friends and I were walking past, she would lean over the railing and shout super appropriate things at us like, “Izzat yer boyfriend, honey? R’you two using protection?!”

One time, my dad did some legal work for Doris. She paid him with two cases of wine.

(My dad doesn’t drink wine, but somehow, it was still gone by the end of the summer. I dunno, Dad, it’s a mystery to me. Couldn’t tell ya.)

--

Next to Doris was a big old dude that used to stand on his balcony in whitey tighties and watch me and the other kids while we waited for the bus. I never learned much about him, except he was creepy with a capital “Eeeugh.”

--

Across the hall from Captain Underpants were the Five to Eight Guys. So called because there were at least five of them living in that two-bedroom apartment, but no more than eight. They all looked vaguely the same: twenty-something stoners with a lot of tattoos and piercings and a fashion sense that hovered somewhere between Hot Topic and PacSun, while somehow managing to be worse than either.

I don’t think all of them were drug dealers. But at least some of them were. Absolutely. People would go into the apartment and re-emerge thirty minutes later in a veritable cloud of smoke. Our coat closet shared a wall with them, and my coats always reeked of pot. I mostly started smoking because people assumed anyway.

The summer after my Freshman year, they hung blankets up around their balcony to create an extra room. I told my dad, “That’s smart – there’s so many of them living in there, so they made an extra bedroom.”

My dad looked up at the tell-tale red glow of a grow lamp peeking out through the cracks of the blankets and told me, “Kiddo, I don’t think it’s a bedroom.”

--

Below the Five to Eight Guys were two elderly nuns.

Yes, really.

They never had a mean word for anyone: not the madam, not the drug dealers, not the creepy old man standing outside in his briefs. That wasn’t to say they had a kind word for them. Their go-to was smiling and minding their own fucking business.

I liked to think of them as our building security. Because, sure, we had no real security to speak of. The doors were always propped open, and I don’t think there was a functional smoke alarm in the entire building.

But surely God wasn’t going to let anything too bad happen to a building with nuns living in it, right?

--

Next door to the nuns was the strangest of the whole lot: Crazy Cat Man. He was Russian, in his seventies, and had lived in the building since before the landlord added the ‘no pets’ rule to the lease. And I’m pretty sure Crazy Cat Man was reasons A through Z for that rule.

I never got a real count on the cats, but it was somewhere in the ballpark of ten. But ten cats wasn’t enough to sate Crazy Cat Man’s love for animals. Oh, no.

One winter, he decided to feed the geese, and hangry geese laid siege to the building for weeks.

Another time, I heard the landlord’s voice downstairs. He was screaming, “What the fuck is the matter with you!”

And Crazy Cat Man was yelling back, “I no let squirrel in the apartment! I never!”

He had. He had spent weeks feeding the squirrels, getting friendly with them. Then he started cracking the patio door to lure them inside.

Crazy Cat Man was married. His wife had albinism and was photo-sensitive, so I only ever saw her outside once.

See, once a year, Crazy Cat man delivered phone books. It was his only job. He spent the rest of the year trying to fix his van up so it would run well enough to deliver the phone books. He was constantly working on it. Every part he put in, the van attacked and destroyed like a body rejecting a donor organ.

One day, he hadn’t pulled the van quite far enough into his garage, so when he lowered the garage door, it hit the back bumper and got stuck. That day, I learned that his wife’s absolute favorite thing in the world was watching her husband be incompetent, because she came out of the apartment for once. He couldn’t get the door back up, so he had to try to crawl under it to get inside the garage, and she was standing there shouting, “My husband is an idiot! My husband is an idiot!”

My dad and I stopped to watch this seventy year old man crawl under a mechanically compromised garage door. My dad said to her, “If he’s not careful, he’s going to be a dead idiot.”

The albino wife turned to him and hissed, “I should be so lucky.”

--

My senior year of high school, the recession hit, and my dad’s law practice went under, and my older brother died of a brain aneurysm. A week after I graduated, my dad told me we were going to be evicted, and I’d have to find somewhere else to stay until I went to college.

We moved everything out of the apartment, so nothing would be trashed when they evicted us. My dad ran off to the mountains to contemplate suicide (as one does), and, for about a month, I had this big, empty apartment to myself. My friends and I threw parties, got drunk. Hot boxed the bathroom.

And I slept in a sleeping bag on the floor in the living room, because it felt too weird to sleep in my old room with none of my things in it.

Late one of those nights, alone in my empty apartment, I heard screaming outside. I went on the balcony. All the neighbors were coming outside to see what the noise was.

On the property behind ours, across from the squirrel-killing pool, there was a huge cottonwood tree, maybe fifty feet tall. On the end of this long branch near the top, there was a raccoon. Closer to the trunk were two more. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a raccoon scream, but it’s almost human sounding.

One of the two at the trunk rushed at the third, and forced it farther to the end of the branch. Then the two raccoons started bouncing the branch. The one at the end screamed.

I think we all realized what was happening at the same time, because I heard someone downstairs say, “What the fuck,” at the same time I thought it.

It took a long time. Pushing the raccoon back, then bouncing the branch, then pushing it back again. By the end, the one raccoon was hanging from the end of the branch, which was pointing straight down. It was screaming continuously.

When it finally fell, you could hear the thud.

I heard the same person say, “What the fuck,” and I had no idea who it was.

--

If found out years later that the rumor in the complex about my dad was that he’d been a lawyer for the mob, and he got on someone’s shit list, and that’s how he ended up so broke. And it’s why he had to disappear so suddenly.

The truth was, my dad was a good lawyer, but a terrible businessman. His clients were mostly small businesses and everyday people. When they didn’t pay him, he assumed it was because they didn’t have the money, and he didn’t want to rub it in by asking.

When I heard that theory, it occurred to me that I had created characters out of our neighbors with no real regard for what was true or logical, only what was interesting. I think that night with the raccoons was the closest I ever got to any of them, as real people. Standing in the dark, faceless, watching something horrible that we had no control over.

I’m not sure what the rumors about me were, but here’s the truth: by all logic, I should have been a pretty miserable kid. My dad had untreated depression, and sometimes he stayed in bed for days. When there was no food in the fridge, I assumed it was because we didn’t have the money, and I didn’t want to rub it in by asking. I went to friends’ houses to eat. That guy that broke into our apartment when I was fourteen? He had a brain tumor, and he thought I was his girlfriend. And I should have been scared shitless that a forty-something year old man had tried to get in bed with me before my dad woke up and beat the bajezus out of him in front of me.

But instead, I started making these stories about the weirdos we lived with. I loved them. I was obsessed with them. I talked about them all the time.

“Say, Julia, how are things at home?”

“Well, you’ll never guess what the Five to Eight Guys were up to yesterday, let me tell you!”

--

I saw Crazy Cat Man two years ago. He’s still delivering phone books, and he looks nothing like I remember him.

[demivampirew]

Birthday party

Captain Syverson x Reader - SMUT one-shot

Triggers: Smut (oral sex, penetration, talking about body fluids, unprotected sex); drinking; family issues (talking about custody battle).

You can find more of my writings in the Masterlist

Tag list: @lunedelorient​​ @henrythickcavill​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @mary-ann84​ @desperate-and-broken​ @peakygroupie​ @summersong69​ @ivvitm1109​ @madbaddic7ed​ @iloveyouyen​ @the-soot-sprite @hell1129-blog​

"Come in, Sir," your mother said inviting the man inside your house. He immediately caught your attention. He was tall, broad back, muscular; his head was shaven and he had a bushy beard. "Captain!" your brother exclaimed as soon as he saw him and stood up from the table full of food and approached the guest giving him a big bro-hug. Your brother's superior handled him a gift bag, which contained an expensive bottle of whiskey. It was the third alcohol item your bother got as a birthday present, but this was the most expensive of all of them by far, "what is it with men that the only gift they can come with is alcohol?" you wondered and rolled your eyes. "Hey y/n, go grab a beer for Sy" your sibling ordered you and you smiled and did as he told you. Before going to pick up the beverage, you noticed that he observed you as your brother gave you a task and you could see that his eyes were blue as the ocean and the way he stared at you, there was something there you could quite decode.

Your soft skin accidentally stroke the Captain's hand as you delivered the beer and you felt chills running through your back. You went to sit with your parents, uncles and aunts on the other side of the room, leaving the table full of military men laughing and cheering.

You sighed after the eleventh time that your brother commanded you to grab something from the kitchen, but you stood up and went anyway. As you did, your mother gave you a sympathetic look and asked you if you wanted her to do it but you told her it was ok. This time he wanted you to bring more food. You were filling a bowl with chips and other with nachos as you wanted for the cheddar cheese to melt. As you were grabbing other things from the fridge, "Sy", as your sibling called him, had entered the room.

- Sorry, it wasn't my intention to scared you.- he apologized after he surprised you when you were closing the fridge's door.

- Oh, don't worry, it's ok.- you assured him with a smile. - Can I help you with something?-you questioned.

- I came for a beer.- he explained with a smile.

- Oh, you could have asked me for it so you wouldn't have to come.- you told him as you opened the refrigerator again and picked up the drink.

- It's ok, I didn't want to bother you.- he said smiling.- Do you need help? I can carry some of these for you- he offered.

- It's ok, I can do it.- you replied.

- Your brother is always like this to you?- he asked curiously- If you want I can have a talk with him and point out that he should be more polite to you.- he suggested and you chuckled.

- He's actually quite nice. That's the only reason I keep doing what he asks me without question. I think he's acting like an asshole because he wants to impress you. I know how you guys are all though and manly men and the manlier you're, the better. I think he wants to be respected, more now that he's becoming a Sergeant. What, am I wrong?- you asked after he gave you a playful smile.

- No, I guess you're right.- he admitted- I'm glad to know he's a good kiddo.

- Yes. And don't worry, tomorrow after his hangover is gone I'm going to kick his ass for being so bossy today.- you assured him and he laughed again. - By the way, how old are you? You called him kiddo and he's in his twenties.

- I'm close to being forty. How about you?- he questioned raising an eyebrow.

- Close to be thirty.- you answered.

- So you're the older sibling.

- Yep. I'm older than him. And, to be honest, probably the reason he got in the military.

- Really?- he asked curiously.

- Yes, probably he wanted a good reason for me to stop kicking his ass and fighting in wars it was the best way for him to do it.- you replied laughing and he did the same.

"Y/N where is the food?!" your brother shouted from the other room, "Bring us more beers as well" he added. You rolled your eyes and Sy chuckled. He grabbed more drinks and brought them to the table as you delivered the food.

This time, you sat at the table opposite to the Captain. He kept his eyes on you, peeking from time to time to the others to make sure nobody noticed that he was looking at you. You grabbed your hair and pulled it back pretending to it bothered you when in reality you wanted him to put attention to your breasts.

You drink a soda slowly, purposely letting a few drops on your lips for you to lick them.

After two hours, you excused yourself, explaining that you had a lot of things to do in the morning, so you had to leave. Before going outside, you gave Syverson a look, expecting him to understand your secret message. It was a dark summer night. You waited outside for a while waiting for him to go out but nothing happened. When you realized that he wasn't going to come out, you sighed and started to walk. You cursed yourself for being a total idiot and not bringing your car and instead of letting your aunt and uncle to pick you up. Of course, you planned to stay in your parent's house for the night, but you needed an excuse to leave to have a moment with your brother's hot superior without nobody finding out and you didn't think that he wouldn't come out and going back wasn't an option.

After two blocks, a silver Range Rover 4x4 stopped by your side and the sound of the vehicle's horn caught your attention. You looked at it was him, Syverson, opening the passenger side's door for you to get in. You smiled and accepted the ride.

- I thought you might have not caught the sign.- you told him looking at the road.

- I did. But, just as you left, one of the guys suggested making a toast for your brother in honor of his birthday and promotion and everyone looked at me for a little speech. I ran out of there as soon as I could, but when I was outside you weren't there. Then, I started to drive and I saw you walking from a block distance and my heart started to pump like an excited teenager.- he admitted chucking. You did the same. - Your place or mine?- he asked.- Yours.- was your answer. You were dying to know how was the place of he lived in.

When you parked outside his house, you shared a moment in which you looked at each other. Your mouths were shouted for your eyes were doing the talking. No words were said but hundreds of emotions were shared through the mutual staring.

It was you the one to make the first move. You moved, putting yourself on top of him, with both legs bend on each side of him. Your short flowery princess cut skirt allowed you to move freely. You grabbed his face and started to kiss him with a burning passion. One of his arms grabbed your waist and the other was placed on top your back while his hand was on the back of your head. You've never liked men with beards, but in this case, excited you even more. Minutes after, you felt the touch of his hand on your thigh and you couldn't even begin to explain the marvelous feeling of the contact of his skin on top of yours. When you felt his erection grown, he stopped you, pressing his forehead against yours and grabbing your chin with his hand he asked you to wait until you were inside. You nodded and opened the driver's door and got off the car. After making sure the vehicle was correctly closed, he walked you to the house. When you were inside, he explained that he had to be careful his neighbors didn't see him doing anything that could be considered inappropriate because he was on a legal battle with his ex-wife for the custody of his daughter. He explained to you that she had anger issues and treated his kid badly and was fighting to get full custody of his little girl, but it was complicated because her father was a respected lawyer and good at his job and made matter difficult for him. You felt sad for him because you felt his pain. "I ruined the moment, didn't I?" he asked you and continued by telling you that it was ok if you wanted him to drive you home. You walked closer to him, placing your hand on his face to caress it. He closed his eyes, fully taking in the pleasant feeling of the touch of your silky skin. You started to plant kisses on his other cheek until you reached his mouth and continued with the hot make-out session. Honestly, you weren't sure if the desperation with which he grabbed you was because he felt something special for you or because it has been a while since he touched a woman. For what he told you, probably going to meet ladies wasn't something that frequently occurred.

"Where's your room?" you asked and he pointed out to the one at the end of the hallway. You grabbed his hand and walked back towards the room as he came closer to kiss you.

You laid on the middle of the bed, with your head pointing at one of the sides of the bed and your legs bend over the bed placing your feet on the edge of the mattress. He took your panties off and went straight to business. All the kissing, from the car to the bed, had you wet enough for action. You felt his tongue explore you. He seemed to enjoy the taste of your body fluids. While he sucked your clit, his hands caressed your thighs, sliding up and down.

How could be possible that you felt almost out of breath by just he giving you oral? You sat down when he got up and moved yourself to the edge of the bed. After he took off his shirt, you explored his chest with your hands. You've been with both hairy and hairless man, but no one like him. He had plenty of hair and his upper side and a bit in the lower region, but in his was extremely flattering.

You kissed his stomach as you unzip his pants and took them off. The same thing happened with his briefs. He hard but his erection wasn't full yet. It surprised you the girth of his member. Your hand surrounded it and you started to lick the top slowly as you locked eyes with him. When he closed his eyes to better enjoy the sensation of your tongue dancing around his cock, you started to pick up the pace. Making sure he felt your soft lips all around the head of it, you sucked with more pressure and speed as your hands played with the base of his manhood. You took it deeply, feeling it reach the limits of your throat and after a moment you took it out, kissing it on its entirety. He bent over and kissed you. "I want you so badly," he said as he placed his forehead against yours.

You stood out and made him laid on the bed and you topped him. You put him inside of you and started to ride him. You stopped momentarily to take off your skirt and the blacktop you had on. He'd cup your breasts with his hands and then put them inside his mouth.

Your fingers were entwined with his. You took his hand closer to your mouth and kissed it. That seemed to cause and strange reaction on him and soon enough he had you on your back with him being on top, kissing you desperately.

He pounded you harder and harder, kissing your neck, grunting and moaning as he felt the tightness of your insides and your nails scratch his back. After a while he came, leaving his body fluids on the outside of your pussy.

After some kissing, you went to the bathroom to clean out and came back. He was lying on the bed, with both hands on the back of his head, enjoying the beautiful view of your naked body with a huge smile on his face. You asked him if he wanted you to stay or leave and he looked at you confused as if you asked him a silly question as how much is two plus two. You climbed into the bed and laid there with your head on his chest. He started to play with your hair and tenderly stroking your shoulder and arm. "You asked me if I wanted you to stay or leave," he said after a long silence "Aham" you replied and then looked up to meet his eyes; "I feel like I'll never want you to leave" he finished. You smiled and he kissed you.

[asinnersalibi]

You know what my deepest fear is? The thought that my child won't hear "I'm proud of you" or "I love you" enough and subsequently feel like I don't love them. I recently learned that my love language is acts of service, so I will show you that I love you before I tell you, and I fear that, at some point, my child will feel like I don't love them, and you know what that's terrifying. A little backstory, I like writing, so my brain is constantly going, and I started thinking of a story idea in the dark of my room at the restless 5 am hour, and it went a little like this:

"What is your deepest fear?"

"Heights."

"Incorrect." and it just took me aback, like what the fuck do you mean incorrect? You're a figment of my imagination. Fuck off. But it made me think, what is my deepest fear? And it occurred to me that sometimes, I don't think my caregiver thinks I love them, and it reflected on current, then future relationships. Saying "I love you" on its own is a privilege because it's something people have to earn from me, but I can say I love you and it feel like a lie. I want to mean it, so I'll show it. Whether it is indulging in your favorite show because I know how much you love to talk about it and come up with your own headcanons but never having anyone to come up with headcanons with because talking to new people is hard and social anxiety is a bitch to making the ever-standing promise to buy you a car; I mean these things wholeheartedly. This probably developed from an environment of hypocrisy and emotional manipulation, and that's a post for another day. It took me this long to be able to trust people again and the last thing I ever want is for the few people I have let into my life and do hold very dear to my heart to think I don't love them.

Now that I've left my heart out in the godless lands of Tumblr, we're going over some ways to show you love someone.

Long-Distance Relationships

Indulge in their interests. Show them you're interested in what makes them happy, find your own joy in it. Don't force yourself to like something just because your partner does, find common interests, let them find you.

Respect boundaries, some people are camera shy, hate their voice, don't like talking. Telling them their beautiful, their voice is lovely, and soothing doesn't change the personal boundaries that have been set, it pushes them. You may not like texting 24/7, calling after 19:00 (7 pm), or turning your camera on, and it is the responsibility of your loved one to respect those boundaries as well.

Compromise. Instead of your 19:00, especially for different time zones, try their 19:00, which perhaps is an hour after yours. If you live 13 hours apart, set overlapping times where you can talk and you're both comfortable, even if it's not the times you specifically set for yourself.

Buy them food. Technology has advanced so far that you can order your loved one's favorite meal and have it delivered even if you're all the way across the world.

Make exceptions (that are to be reciprocated!!). Sometimes, your loved one is having a really shitty day and they just want to talk to you at midnight, it doesn't happen often and it's not an obligation but making exceptions is not the end of the world (when they are reciprocated!!) Reciprocated does not mean making your loved one uncomfortable by forcing them out of their comfort zone because you made an exception for them. You can say no, you can compromise. Love is a learning process and you must learn to love each other or learn to make peace on your own.

Family Dynamics

Paternal Figures

Now some of these may be some of your chores, but just for consideration.

Make dinner. As breadwinners, they work to (hopefully) put food on the table. Coming home stressed out and hungry because they got caught up in work because Justin decided to clock out at noon leaving them to cover and not having the time to properly eat lunch results in an often unhappy environment. You'd be surprised how relaxing it is to come home and dinner is already on the table. (Or ready to be consumed because if you're anything like my family, we don't eat at the table.)

Clean after yourself. Parents are a pain in the ass sometimes and they will bitch about anything dirty, misplaced, or miskept, so try to, at the very least keep yourself and your spaces clean. Then, if you can, fold the laundry, clean the fridge, make them lunch.

Compromise! Look, sometimes parents were raised in environments where the adults were adults and could do whatever they wanted while children had to just deal with it. Screaming at them for outdated parenting is unnecessary stress on the entirety of the situation. Talk to them. Tell them this is overwhelming, or you're having a hard time doing this and this, and maybe you could do this and that? Don't tell them they're wrong, you don't want to be told your wrong, don't yell at them. They're trying too. Compromise.

Remind them of things. Remind them of things they were supposed to remember, remember this sibling has orchersta practice on Thursday, buy lightbulbs, the check engine light came on a couple of days ago, don't forget to check that. You know your parents best and know what they have a hard time remembering, it is helpful.

Give them breaks, too. That doesn't always have to be doing anything but just leaving them alone. Keeping your siblings (if you have any) occupied while they take a nap, get some work done, or just relax. Parenting is hard and they might not be the best parents, but they are still your parents.

Siblings aren't much different, tell them you love them, do little things for them whether it be folding their laundry, completing a chore they forgot to do or helping them with homework. Most are appreciative, others will think you've mapped out their murder. Both are good.

Cordials (Neighbors, coworkers, workers)

Watching their house, child, or pet while they run to the store. This isn't for every neighbor but for the ones who you run into every day and you've built that trust.

"Can I borrow a cup of sugar", if you are in a well enough position to provide for yourself, try to provide for others.

Cover your coworkers, within reason. If that one coworker just always takes the busiest week off, don't feel obligated to torture yourself because someone asked. If a coworker's kid just threw up and they need to pick them up from school, that's different. It's all in perspective, to me, family takes priority, to you, it may be different. Know your boundaries, know when you push them, don't let people step all over them.

Let things slide. People make mistakes, waiters mess up orders, all yelling does is make people feel worthless. Reassure them that it's okay, mistakes happen, and they can be fixed.

Children are going to play in streets, oblivious to their surroundings, if you know they're there try to be cautious. That's love to a community.

Call your family members, tell them you love them. Remind them that you know they are there. Especially as you get older.

Tip your waiters, babysitters, and nurses.

Be honest.

Know how to love people. Learn.

Show kindness, don't wonder why your life is so shitty when you treat everyone like shit. Karma's a bitch.

Learn how to smile. You don't have to love yourself, but know when it's best to love yourself by loving others.

Love. Don't hate. There's enough hate.

Remember, people love in different ways, if you, like myself, love with acts of services and your partner is a verbal lover, coexist. Your words mean the world to them and acting upon them means the world for you. That's okay, love comes in many shapes, sizes, colors, and concepts, it's finding your love, and growing with it.

That is not to say love is one-sided, loving someone is a two-way street, and you, as a lover must understand when someone is figuring out how to love you, and when they don't love you at all. The rose-tinted glasses become so comfortable to wear you forget to see the red flags and that is a distinction that takes time, patience, and experience. Don't be taken advantage of, don't let people walk all over you or cross boundaries under the concept of love, that's not love, it's manipulation. Stay safe, people, stay humble and love each other.

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 4

November 21st - Part 1

DeeDee stretched out her arms, hitting another warm body. Startled, she jumped up and almost fell out of the bed. She looked over to see Phyllis and Beverly laid askew on her bed still in their club clothes. She glanced down and saw that she was smart enough to take her jeans off. Rubbing her eyes, she headed to the bathroom to clean up. 

When she came out, neither one of them had moved. Just dead to the world, she shook her head. DeeDee really loved her girls, but remembered that this is why she rarely went out with them anymore. More often than not, she never remembered what happened, her body hurt the next day, or both. She threw on a tank top and some sweats, then pulled her long curls up into a messy bun.

She walked into her living room and decided to make some tea. As the water boiled, she stepped out of the small kitchen to do a few stretches and release the tension in her body. DeeDee stood with her legs shoulder width apart, then leaned over and just let her body hang down with the tips of her fingers brushing the floor. She swayed side-to-side before slowly rolling back up as soon as the kettle whistled.

DeeDee chose her favorite ginger and lavender loose leaf tea, added the tea ball to her mug, then poured the water over it. Since she was working on autopilot, she recited her morning affirmations. With her cup of tea prepared, she went out onto her patio and set it down. She popped back inside to grab her laptop from her desk. 

After her temporary work space was set up, DeeDee sat back on her wooden chaise lounger, then grabbed her mug and inhaled the calming aroma. She booted up her laptop and sipped on her tea. The blinking email icon drew her attention. 

DeeDee opened the application and saw a few emails regarding her inquiries into other tenure-track positions. When she saw the latest email to arrive, she inhaled too deeply and started to choke as the hot tea coated her throat. She set the mug down on the small table and waved her hands as she tried to catch her breath and allow cool air into her mouth. Once settled, DeeDee looked into her apartment to see if she woke Phyllis and Beverly and whether they were nearby. 

“Oh my god, he wrote back.” She whispered out and pulled the computer into her lap. 

DeeDee clicked on the link, took a deep breath and read his email. 

“Awww, so he remembers what he wrote all those years ago -- that’s so sweet. Wait, what!?! He wishes that kind of love for me?” DeeDee smiled and closed her eyes at that. “Oooop, okay why did he just say what Phyll said?” She chuckled at the thought.

“Who said what I did?” Phyllis slowly made her way over to DeeDee, who immediately slammed the laptop close. 

“No one. I was just reading a story.” She grabbed her tea to occupy her hands.

“Liar, what you hiding?” Beverly walked around and grabbed the computer from DeeDee’s lap. 

She sat at the end of the chaise and opened the laptop. Beverly waved Phyllis over and patted the area to the left of her. Phyllis looked over at DeeDee and smirked.

“He really wrote you back?” 

“Now that is a story.” Phyllis laughed, “Oh, he thought he sounded like a lame little virgin, too? Good to know.

“So, what are you writing back?” Beverly asked.

DeeDee sipped her tea, “Ummm --” 

“You may want to ask about him skipping over the biggest part of your original email.” Phyllis interjected. 

“I missed that. Do you think maybe he’s married?” Bev looked between the both of them.

“Hey, can I just answer the man’s question first before asking about his personal relationships?” DeeDee put her tea back on the table.

“Fine, what are you gonna say?” 

“Phyll, just stop.” DeeDee leaned forward and snatched the laptop. “I don’t know yet. Why are you so worried about it?”

Phyllis put her hands up, “Okay, my bad. Sorry.” She turned to Beverly, “I got work in a few hours. Do you need a ride home?”

“Yeah, let me grab my stuff.” Beverly ran back into the apartment. 

“Be careful, Dee. You know nothing about this man, and he could tell you anything.”

“I know, Phylly Phyll. It’s harmless, so I’ll be fine.” DeeDee shrugged at her. “I promise. I can handle it.”

Beverly came back out, “Gimme love. We gotta go.”

DeeDee stood up, gave out hugs and walked them to the door.

When they left, she walked back onto her patio and stood at the end of the chaise. She  knew Phyllis was right to warn her. But DeeDee figured if he did not acknowledge finding his parents’ love, then he already had it. Knowing that, there was nothing for her to be worried about, especially since she was never gonna meet him. She was gonna send him a response and call the whole thing done. 

DeeDee paced around her chaise while she thought over how to answer his question. When it finally came to her, she sat down and picked up the computer and started to type. 

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’ 

Hi Dr. Stevens,

To answer your question --  I am kind of nosey. After finding the note, I was curious about the kind of person who would write about finding a love like that. I just never expected to find out that the note predated my arrival to Southern. GO JAGUARS!!!  

Anyways, I guess I could ask you the same question -- why would you respond to some random stranger sending you an email about a long-forgotten note? 

Thank you. I hope you enjoy your weekend as well.

DeeDee

---

Erik usually ran 3 miles in the mornings before the sun rose, but decided to enjoy a lazy morning. It was Saturday and for once, he was not expected in the office. When he finally got up at 9, he changed into a compression tank and some workout shorts. He decided to go to the park up the block and run a few laps around the track since he knew it would be open by now. 

As Erik passed by the basketball courts, he saw a group of teenagers chilling on the benches.

“Yo, Mr. E!” A voice called out. 

He recognized most of them from the Center, when he actually ran some of the afterschool programs. Erik slowed up his pace and headed towards the courts. A couple of them looked up as he came over. He dapped them all up. 

“What up, Jax?”

“You want to play some ball?” The tallest kid in the group spoke up again.

Erik looked at his watch, “Yeah, I got some time to run a few games.”

It was early afternoon when Erik parted ways with the neighborhood boys, who all promised to drop by the Center. As he made his way back onto his street, he jogged backwards and waved towards his neighbors as he made his way back to the house. 

Erik went to the kitchen to grab some water. While he was drinking, the chime on his tablet went off. He walked to where it laid on his counter and then remembered that Marquis was supposed to send him the details for the Retirement party. He could look at it later, so he went upstairs to wash up.

After coming back downstairs in a hoodie and some sweats, Erik went to his fridge to figure out what to eat for lunch. He pulled out some chicken breasts, zucchini, squash, carrots and some red bell peppers. He went to his cabinets to get some penne. Roasted Pasta Primavera was calling his name. 

Erik started boiling the pasta and set everything else on the counter. He then turned on his favorite Spotify list before he chopped up and seasoned all the chicken and vegetables. He hummed along to Meshell Ndegeocello, and pulled out both a saute and sheet pan. Erik dropped the chicken into the hot pan, threw the vegetables in the oven and checked on the pasta when the music was interrupted by a text message coming through. 

Quis: Check your email. I just sent you the details.

Erik picked up the tablet and noticed he had 15 unread emails. Marquis’ email was on top, just sent within the last 10 minutes. He sat down at the counter, and noticed most were from work. He would look at those later. Before Erik set the tablet back down, he saw the now familiar subject line from DeeDee. He opened it to see how she responded to his question.

Erik smiled when she owned up to her nosiness. But he couldn’t blame her, it was the same reason he sent her a response. That and loneliness, but it’s not like he has to share that part.

“Oh, that’s cute.” He chuckled when she cheered for Southern. “And she got me.” 

He stared at the last part of her email and then set the tablet down. Erik needed a moment to figure out how to address the question she asked. He turned around to continue cooking.

Erik checked on the pasta, chicken, and vegetables. He flipped the chicken and took the pasta off the burner to drain. He grabbed a big bowl and added the pasta to it. The veggies needed a few more minutes, so he pulled out butter to build the sauce. 

With the chicken done, Erik added the butter, some fresh parsley and basil into the saute pan. He mixed everything together with the chicken and vegetables, and then added it to the pasta. He left everything to settle in the bowl.

Erik returned to where the tablet was on his island and began typing out his response. Happy with what he wrote, he sent the email and went to make a plate.

---

DeeDee just finished folding up her laundry when she heard a familiar chime. She went to her desk to see which device had an alert. She was waiting for her pizza to be delivered since didn’t feel like cooking. Nothing appeared on her phone, so she looked over at her computer. 

“Well, that was quick.” She smiled and brought the laptop to the couch. She sat down and read Erik’s latest email.

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Good afternoon DeeDee, 

Well, it can’t possibly be a long-forgotten note if I remember it and where I left it, right? 

But to answer your question - I was just as curious about the person who found my note and actually deciphered the key phrases I had randomly placed on the page. It says a lot about you.

Something tells me that besides tricking others into thinking that you read one of my articles, you must be a Chemistry or Biochemistry major. 

And now that you know who I am. If you actually ever need some help, I am a great resource.

E

Oh, and please call me Erik. I haven’t been called Dr. Stevens in years.

Just as DeeDee finished reading the email, her doorbell rang. She put the computer down and jumped up to answer the door. She put the pizza on her coffee table and went to the kitchen. She grabbed a glass and a chilled bottle of wine. 

She popped the cork and poured her first glass. DeeDee took a sip before she looked back at the email. 

“Call you Erik, huh?” Taking another sip, she set the glass down and picked up her laptop. “Well, Erik, it’s nice to meet you.” She giggled and tapped out her response.

SUBJECT: RE: ‘MgYHeArTaNdSOULa’

Good evening Erik, 

You have a point. We would not be chatting now if you didn’t know what I was talking about. 

And you are correct. I am actually a doctoral student focusing on Environmental Toxicology. So, I know why I needed the book, but what about you? That seems a little advanced for a Computer Science major.

Actually, there is something that you can help me with. Why did you leave the note in the book? And you never did say whether you found what you were looking for?

Sincerely, 

Curious DeeDee  

DeeDee read it over and hit ‘send.’ She opened up the pizza and pulled a piece out. She took a big bite and moaned around it. Her night is off to a great start.

Taglist: @teakturn @ghostfacekill-monger @shaekingshitup @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @woahitslucyylu @ladymac82 @bugngiz @eyeknowmywrites​ @ajspencer1892​ @arafatih​ @issimplyaamazinggg​ @tchallasbabymama​

[cherry3point14]

What Does The Fox Say?

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Crack. Orgy. Sex Party. Don’t let your nethers tingle, it’s barely flirting. SYNONYMS. Word Count: 2,300ish.   Summary/Prompt: There’s a case. Witches or something, and they’re killing people, specifically furries, maybe. As such one Dean Winchester goes to a furry sex party to look for clues... A/N: Written for @kalesrebellion​ “Bring On the Giggles” challenge. I think hope my synonyms for this challenge will be fairly obvious. Also, shoutout to @winchesters-meaty-feast​ who entertained my panic as this deadline loomed and pretty much talked me into birthing this ~thing. Sidenote - no disrespect to the furries who walk among us. It’s all exaggerated crack!fic. Peace and love. Yiffy on friends.

From the outside, it looks like any other two-story townhouse. There’s a car parked out front, normal mailbox, the works. Regular suburban home. The first clue that something out of the ordinary is happening inside—where the ordinary is mom, dad, and two-point four ankle-biters having dinner—is the windows. They’re all covered, curtains or blinds, it doesn’t matter. This is what it looks like when humans try to cover their tracks. Monsters choose places that are already deserted and forgotten. Humans hide in plain sight and end up sticking out like a sore thumb. Plus Dean has spent all day talking to furries about this house. Yeah, that’s the biggest clue, not the damn curtains. He’s had multiple lectures, not only from Sam but the furries, people, themselves. It’s not all about porn. They’d told him adamantly. Showed him drawings and all these things they’d made each other, and pictures from their conventions. We’re not all perverts! They could say it until they were blue in the face (they had), but Dean’s standing here looking at this house, knowing what’s inside, and it’s hard to believe the furries-are-innocent propaganda. It’s even harder to believe he’s walking in there of his own free will. The things he’ll do to save lives. Sam told him to change because “Freeze, FBI” might not go down well at this particular house party. What’s he supposed to change into? A Halloween costume? That suggestion earned him yet another talk about respecting people’s interests. Whatever. He gets it, they don’t all have full fursuit things and even the ones that do, don’t generally fuck in them, and really? Is it really fucking necessary that he knows this much about furries? At least he can put on a plain black tee and some jeans and Sam only half presses his lips together in disapproval. What is his brother expecting him to wear to a furry sex party? Cat ears? (Dean is offended by the implication even if Sam didn't say it out loud). Eventually, shuffling his feet, he makes it to the door and knocks. He doesn’t want to be here but Sam’s working another lead on the other side of town at a D&D meet up. All jokes about dungeons aside, Dean would have given up his music privileges all the way back to Kansas to switch places. Once again, scissors bit him in the ass. The door opens a few inches, enough to see, hand to god, a guy in white rabbit-ish body paint. He raises his eyebrows in Dean’s direction like he’s asking for something without saying the words. The guy definitely doesn’t twitch his nose and it definitely doesn’t remind Dean of that bunny from Bambi. Oh shit. The password. Right, because that was how you made a gathering like this more legit and less embarrassing. Dean’s throat tightens like the words don’t want to come out, or like he doesn’t want them to exist, “Yiffy Ki Yay.” Furry sons of bitches have even ruined Die Hard. The guy nods and pulls the door open enough to let Dean slide in, but not reveal too much of the clandestine activities to the outside world. Not that anyone on Maple Avenue is looking into this particular door. Either the neighbors know better or they don’t care. Although now that he’s inside Dean can see his nameless host is also wearing tall, white ears and furry cuffs on his ankles and wrists. The first of what, Dean assumes, will be many red flags that he should leave. Not that he heeds the warning. “First time?” The rabbit asks while Dean attempts to scan as much as he can see without a slack jaw. “Yeah,” he breathes out. Dean has been around the block. He’s seen the inside of more than just strip clubs. His number one use of the Internet is porn, his second? More porn. This is something else. He’s not judging, well, he's trying not to judge and failing miserably. These people aren’t hurting anyone though. In fact, someone might be trying to hurt them. Or the D&D players. They were still on the fence about how the groups were linked beside the weird deaths. Granted some of this party seems very vanilla from what he can see. He catches a glimpse of the dining room, which has been cleared of most of its furniture, and there’s your everyday orgy of mangled limbs. Those limbs happen to be a little furrier than normal is all. Thankfully not everyone is dressed as an animal. Not that anybody will be telling Sam that he was right. Some people are dotted around watching, or drinking like the sex isn’t happening, and some of the people getting involved are in plain clothes. Or, naked but not wearing any sort of animal accessory. At first glance, there’s a part of Dean that thinks he can appreciate the hedonism of it, without being bogged down by the fact that they're all cosplaying as goddamn animals. Animal enthusiasts, he corrects in his head before Sam telepathically delivers a bitch face from across town. And then he’s walking through the kitchen and there are two people nuzzling each other. People might not be the right word because they’re dressed as cats. Holding each other and stretching and bending their limbs. All feline movements and what he thinks is a purring noise, but he can’t confirm or deny because of the music coming from the cheap speakers on the counter. It might be sweet if it wasn’t in the middle of a sex party. Yeah, this is still going to take some getting used to. The rabbit is yammering, mentioning ground rules that Dean is only half listening to while he tries not to stare at the cats. He’s listening enough to follow the rules but actually, he can’t bring himself to look away from the most PC thing happening in the joint. “Did you get that because I heard the door…?” This time Floppy speaks with enough urgency that Dean snaps his focus back to the white rabbit. “Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll-” he wants to say ‘mingle’ like it’s a seventies swingers party and his biggest concern is where his car keys are. He licks his dry lips and they still feel like sandpaper, “-look around.” He does need to look around, talk to people, do his job. That’s why he’s here feeling like the spare dick at a fucking contest. Dean knows his limits though and before he investigates he's gonna need a beer.  Once he’s got a bottle in his hand, which he got from the fridge because he doesn’t trust anything that was sitting on any surface, even unopened, he starts climbing the stairs. The tinny music, the sound of bodies slapping against each other, and the low din of people talking like normal adults all fade with each step until he’s at the top. Practically not at a furry orgy anymore. Except it’s a new horrific game now. What’s behind door number one? Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers Whiskers going on about the rules of the rooms. Lock up if you want privacy. Unlocked and shut means viewers welcome. Open doors are an invitation to play. That’s the word Thumper had used, play. The first door is locked. He skips the second because he can hear what's going on inside and even if he was in the mood to creep (he’s not), you don't walk in on the money shot. The third room is a bathroom, a stark reminder he's in a house that people live in. The fourth door he tries is blissfully empty. It looks like a guest room. Walls that are basic beige and nothing identifying. Then he sits on the bed and presses his back into the wall. He realizes this bed has probably been used for the activities he’s already seen tonight. Out of sight, out of mind. Dean takes out his phone and stares, annoyed, at the screen. Sam hasn’t messaged him, so the case isn’t solved and he doesn’t have an excuse to leave. He takes a swig of his beer and types with his free hand, trying to make an excuse. Find anything yet? Another long drag while he waits, forcing the drink down his throat in the hopes of some small semblance of dutch courage. Or in the hopes that everything is solved, so he can go back to the motel and beat his meat to hentai like a normal person. No, but this is actually really interesting. You? Dean’s fingers twitch wanting nothing more than to throw the phone against a wall. If he wasn’t obligated to text back to illustrate that he’s still alive then he might leave Sam high and dry. As it is his reply is short and simple. Nothing. He feels no need to mention that he hasn’t actually looked yet. Dean puts his phone away and throws his head back against the wall at the exact moment the door opens. She stumbles in with the ghost of a giggle on her lips. He’s expecting there to be someone following her considering the party he’s attending. Two people blundering into a room looking for a place to get some privacy. Except she’s alone and she’s not concerned to find him alone either. Her eyes widen a little but her smile is soft, “sorry, you’re not waiting on someone are you?��� “Me?” He asks, concerned that he has picked up some paraphernalia along the way. Anything that might suggest he’s a part of this. She continues to wait for an answer to her question instead of answering his. “No, Nah. Just taking a breather.” “Thank god, me too.” She blows out a relieved puff of air before shutting the door behind her. In doing so she flashes him her tail. She’s a fox. Or some version of a fox. She hasn’t gone as far as body paint. Her outfit almost seems costumey rather than serious. It’s this orange mini dress—if it could be called a dress for how little it leaves to his imagination—with a bushy, foxtail attached. He hadn’t noticed her ears immediately, but now he’s seen them, there they are. Ginger and pointed on top of her head, and when she turns back to him he finally notices the little, black nose she has painted on. She sits down next to him, scoots herself on top of the sheets making them bunch under her. She doesn’t seem to care about him having dibs over the bed or room and it only takes a few seconds for him to not care either. In this close proximity, inches apart, he doesn’t see a fox, even if she is definitely dressed up as a fox. He sees bare legs crossed at the ankle, her dress fighting to contain her cleavage and the sheen of her skin from dancing. She’s holding a red solo cup, he assumes half full of alcohol considering the pink flushing her cheeks. “I’m going to take a guess,” she leans until her shoulder is pressed against his arm, “you’re either a first-timer or you’re lost.” Dean laughs because he feels lost even if his cover is supposed to be the former. “First time, that obvious, huh? Thanks for pointing it out. Real considerate of you.” She bites her lip enough to get him looking at her mouth. Thinking about her mouth. “Wolf?” “What?” “I get it, first-timers are still trying to be normal, but the dark colors and the brooding loner thing you have going on in here. A wolf missing his pack?” She brings her knees up and bends her legs under herself while she guesses. Twists her body in his direction. He can’t tell if she’s joking. It sounds half ridiculous and makes him think of the kind of wolves he hunts. Dean lies anyway, “ding ding. Tell the woman what she’s won. Or do you prefer..?” Dean waves a hand to her everything fox related as if he might seriously start using ‘fox’ instead of ‘woman’. His gesturing hand lands on her waist while the other takes another swig from his brown bottle. “‘S fine. We’re all still people underneath. I’ve got a job and everything.” She rolls her shoulders like she’s showing off for being employed, which shuffles her whole body half an inch closer to his until her knees are touching his thigh. She’s facing him, his arm still lazily, half wrapped around her as she raises her cup to her lips. “Oh yeah, what do you do, sweetheart?” He lets the syrup fall from his mouth because foxes like honey.

She laughs, the sound tinkles in the space between them. “I’m a diner chef. Nothing exciting unless you like to eat?” His tongue peeks out between his teeth, his lips smirking suggestively. “I’ve been known to enjoy a-,” Dean's eyes flick down her body to where her dress is stretching over her thighs, and then back to her face, “fur burger.” Nowhere else on the fucking planet would he get away with saying that. Only at a furry sex party. She doesn’t just smile at his line though, she hums, pleased he’s playing along, and slides a hand along the outer hem of his jeans. Fingers slowly crawling up his leg and tracing the denim.

One blink and the air is thicker, heavier, and Dean doesn’t give a shit when it happened.

Her eyes flash playfully as she finishes her drink. “Mmm, the only way to make sure a burger is done is a good thrust of a meat thermometer.” 

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​ @jesseswartzwelder​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles​ @akshi8278​ @erins-culinary-service​ @bloodydaydreamer​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @ellewritesfix05​

[hockeylvr59]

Be My Valentine || Tyson Jost

Requested: [x] yes [ ] no

Authors Note: So uh...this was supposed to be a blurb...and well it turned into not a blurb...enjoy. 

Warnings: fluff, fluff, and more fluff. And maybe like one curse word. 

Word Count: 1,963

You’d first met Tyson when he moved into the apartment across the hall from you. His rambunctious personality and the fact that there were constantly people in and out of his apartment meant that he was the only neighbor whose name you even knew or who you’d honestly even seen in passing before though. It had been a few months after he had moved in that he’d come knocking on your door almost shy but at the same time anxiety filling his expression. He’d explained that his mom’s Christmas present was delayed in shipping and now he was supposed to be out of town when it was delivered. He’d added that it wasn’t something he wanted sitting around and his ramble ended with him pleading with you to collect the package for him and to deliver it into his apartment so that he didn’t have to worry about it. 

You’d agreed without hesitation because it was an easy ask. Since then, he’d asked you to collect other packages/mail for him and to water the plant he’d been trying to keep alive while he was away. He’d explained dramatically that he couldn’t let the plant die because he needed to prove a point to his captain who’d bet him that the plant wouldn’t last the season. On the occasions that you talked when he was leaving town or had arrived home and was checking in, you enjoyed the tales he told about his teams’ adventures and antics. His stories alone told you that there was never a dull day for the Colorado Avalanche and you looked forward to bumping into him in the elevator or parking garage because he never failed to cause you to leave smiling even if your day had been crappy otherwise. 

It had been a rough week by the time Friday arrived, so rough in fact that though you’d mourned spending another Valentine’s day alone earlier in the week, by the time the hallmark holiday arrived you’d completely forgotten that today was Valentine’s day. By the time your day was over and you’d returned home with plans to change into PJs and curl up on the couch with a movie, takeout dinner, and wine, you were shocked to find a bouquet of flowers sitting outside your door with a card tucked into them. Adjusting your bag on your shoulder you bent to pick them up, a soft smile gracing your face as you caught a whiff of their sweet scent. 

Flowers in hand, you unlocked your door and headed inside, setting the flowers on the counter while you put your bag away and slipped off your coat and shoes. It was only then that you reached for the card, pulling it out of the envelope. The front of the card had a cartoonish image of a wedge of cheese on it and read “sorry about the cheesy card” and once you opened it you couldn’t help but laugh at the scratchy writing inside in what you recognized was Tyson’s handwriting though he hadn’t signed it. 

“...but since we’re both provolone on Valentine’s day will you have dinner with brie?” The card was so cheesy (no pun intended on your part) that you weren’t sure if this was a friend’s thing or whether it implied something more. So setting the card aside you quickly worked to get the flowers into a rarely used vase before pulling out your phone from your bag and pulling up your text conversation with Tyson. 

So…someone left me a beautiful bouquet of flowers and inquired about dinner...know anything about that?? 

Standing in your kitchen waiting for a response you couldn’t help but feel your heart thud in your chest in a way that it hadn’t before. Still, you chastised yourself that he probably was just talking about a friendly dinner...even if that wasn’t something he’d ever done before and it likely didn’t mean anything more. When your phone finally buzzed on the counter you felt yourself jump in surprise before you reached for it, blush growing on your face. 

I might know something about it. 

Change into something comfy and come over?? I have pizza and wine…

Be over in 5. 

After changing into a pair of sweats and a too-large sweatshirt you grabbed your phone and apartment key before making your way across the hall. In response to your knock, Tyson called out that it was open and the moment you stepped through the door, you froze in shock. The entire living space of the apartment was dimmed and lit only by candles and while there was a bottle of wine and a pizza box on the coffee table in front of the couch, you were immediately distracted by the fact that Tyson was sprawled out on the floor in sweats and a t-shirt with a half dozen tiny kittens crawling all over him. 

“What is going on here?” You found yourself asking and when Tyson glanced up at you after settling the kittens onto the floor his smile grew. 

“So uh...I think you accidentally called me the other night and before I realized it was an unintentional call I heard you whining about Valentine’s day…” The moment the words left his mouth you thought back to the other night and suddenly an apology was spilling from your lips. 

“Oh god...I’m so sorry you had to witness my pity party...I absolutely did not mean for that to happen.” You explained. Tyson was now standing in front of you and he shrugged his shoulders for a moment. 

“I know. But anyway...it got me thinking about how much you’ve done for me and how I haven’t really properly thanked you...so I thought maybe since we’re both single we could spend the evening together making fun of hallmark movies or something. 

You started to say that he didn’t need to do anything to thank you because you doing little things for him wasn’t a big deal but he stopped you before you could even start. 

“Okay. Fine. This sounds nice.” You agreed, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to Tyson’s cheek. “Thank you.” The fact that his cheeks had gone rosy sent your mind reeling but that thought pattern was stopped when you heard a soft meow at your feet. “Okay...so explain the kittens...because you do not have time for one cat let alone six Tys…” 

Chuckling, Tyson bent down to pick up the kitten that had wandered over to you, cradling it in his hands and petting it gently. 

“You mentioned a while back how much you missed your family’s cats so...I may have made a call to the humane society…” That still didn’t explain anything and when you raised your eyebrow at him Tyson continued. “They had a litter of kittens that isn’t quite old enough to be adopted yet, but they agreed to let me borrow them for the day as part of their house training. I thought maybe cuddling and playing with them might make you smile…” As he spoke the last sentence his voice dropped to a whisper and then suddenly he was tugging your hand pulling you over to where the rest of the kittens were rolling around on the floor. “Come play with them! They’re so fucking cute.” He exclaimed, picking a little grey furball up to hand it to you.

The small creature wiggled in your grasp and you immediately felt yourself relax at the feeling of soft fur under your fingers. You had certainly thought about getting a kitten, but the rent increase and going home for the holidays had prevented you from doing so. Looking over at Tyson wrangling two of the other kittens you couldn’t help but acknowledge the aching feeling in your chest that had appeared tonight for the first time. The fact that Tyson even remembered you saying you missed your cats when it had been an offhand conversation was mind-blowing and the ‘friends’ lens of your vision was quickly becoming blurred. 

After a few moments of play with the furballs, Tyson settled the quickly tiring kittens into a soft bed at the corner of the couch. Once all of the kittens were settled in for a bit of a nap, he moved to the table to pour two glasses of wine, handing you one of them along with a plate to eat the pizza off of. 

Snuggled onto his couch with pizza and wine and Tyson on the other end, he started the first of tonight’s movie selections. Within five minutes he was chirping the movie and how ridiculous it was causing you to laugh. By the end he was questioning why women even watch these things when they’re so predictable and you couldn’t help but shrug.

“Maybe because it’s nice to think that maybe something could just be that good even if it’s not realistic. Sometimes it’s nice to think that there are good guys out there that aren’t afraid to admit what they want.” 

You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your glass of wine, leaning forward to set it back down on the table. Silence spread through the room for a minute before suddenly Tyson was shifting and his thumb was brushing against your cheek as his lips pressed gently into yours. It took a moment for your brain to process what was happening but when it did you kissed him back causing him to smile against you before pulling away. 

“How’s that for an admission?” He questioned softly, his thumb still brushing against your skin. Basking in his touch for a moment more you eventually spoke. 

“I mean it could use a little clarity…but it’s a good start.” You murmured, your gaze focused on him. “Because I just don’t want to read more into this than it is.” You added, your hand brushing over his knee gently. Kissing you gently once more, Tyson pried himself up from the couch, moving to his kitchen for a moment before returning with a box which he handed you with a sheepish smile on his face. 

“So I was hopeful but didn’t want to presume so I left these in the fridge…” He mumbled. Opening the box you flushed not at the chocolate covered strawberries but at the chocolate bark with ‘be my valentine?’  written in elegant script on it in white chocolate. 

“Tyson…” You breathed only to be cut off by Tyson insisting that it was fine if you didn’t feel the same. “Tyson...are you serious?” You found yourself asking and when he replied that of course, he was you jumped up off the couch to kiss him once more. 

“Does this mean you’ll go on a date with me?” He inquired when you finally broke the kiss to breathe. Your affirmative nod in response caused him to let out a whoop of excitement which caused you to laugh once more. 

With plans pending for an official date, you settled back onto the couch, this time curled into Tyson’s side as he started another movie. By the time it ended, the two of you had kittens snuggled all around purring happily. 

Considering how shitty your week had started, the fact that it was ending like this was incredible. In a matter of hours, you’d gone from spending another Valentine’s day alone, to being the Valentine of a man who made you laugh more than anyone else and who listened and remembered the things you talked about, a feat which spoke volumes. 

Thinking about it, your story seemed like one that could feature in a hallmark movie. It was cheesy for sure. But it was also absolutely perfect and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[anteroom-of-death]

Life, For Dummies p6

a/n: so the words just flew out and boy. much thanks to all who read and commented and reblogged/liked! im sorry ahead of time! it will get uptempo again.optimism, babes.

You stood in the console room in wait, you had no clue the punishment that lay waiting. You didn’t know what was going to happen and that was worse than knowing. There had to be worse consequences for a consummate freak out that bordered on betrayal. 

For a snap you thought of just reverting back to being her companion just to smooth things over. To stop all the madness that was bound to ensue. But you didn’t. You held your ground, despite having to run away. 

You shivered involuntarily. You felt like a freezer that happened to be left open all night. You let yourself be crippled by everything. Seeing them left you blindsided, if you were a quarterback it’d have been a sack at the tenth yard line. 

Did that make the Master the coach?

You ended up stripping off your blazer and leaning over the console, mildly hyperventilating. Your arms glistening with sweat in the ambient lights. 

The door swung open and you hunched up. Jaw clenched your ringing in your ear came back, drowning all else out. 

You swore he was speaking but your mind was so swirled with thoughts and crackles and the persistent ring you ended up trying, “Get on with it, punish me. Kill me. You know I’m no good to you now.” but it came out garbled, as if you suffered a stroke. 

Maybe you did. 

You started a brief list of stroke symptoms but decided, was no use. If he was going to do what you thought, he’d probably use your own laser screwdriver against you. 

You suddenly remembered ages ago yourself in a similar situation. You disrespected him. You’d’ve done it three times now. 

If going by the sudden need for sports metaphors you were currently riding, third strike- you’re out. 

He wasn’t doing anything and that drove you absolutely insane. Clutching your sides, you spun around and met his eyes. Those eyes, so large and so beautiful and emotive were virtually unreadable. Your vision was getting blurry and your eyes started stinging. You were aghast with the day. It was a simple scheme. How could it go so wrong. You had heartburn. The acid was rising in your stomach and you tried to not hurl. The anticipation was getting to you on all levels. 

You elected to allow yourself to black out. You were headed that way, so you just gave into it without a fight. 

When you came to, you found yourself at your house, on your couch. Your favorite mug with your favorite tea blend was waiting for you and across the room leaning on your wall was him.

The Master. Your Master.

“Nice touch, passing out. Noble even.” His eyes yet again unreadable voids. 

Your head pounded and the back of your skull was a dull pain. 

You did notice and take appreciation from the pillows cupping you and your feet up.

“We need to talk.” His voice was just as unreadable as his eyes. The sentence flooded your throat and dropped into your stomach. You clenched your eyes and relaxed your jaw as you brought yourself up and cupped the mug gingerly. 

“Thank you.” You gave him a meager smile in genuine thanks. 

“Don’t think of it.” He waved it off.

He was uncharacteristically devoid of emotion or passion. Stoic. 

You took a few sips, letting the warmth and the taste give you strength and some comfort. You had lots of experience where this was going. Why fight it? He was an ageless alien and you were a human. The fact that he gave you all you got was phenomenal. 

You could feel your heart stop when you put it down. The silence was starting to get to you.

“I need some time.” He murmured, voice silky. 

“How long?” You hoarsely whispered. 

“No clue. I just need to process this.” 

What was processing time? Feasibly for him? You could be just here for a few moments and he could have taken centuries. Or he could have taken a day or 36 hours and you could already be dead. 

Maybe he was just telling you this to shake you off and stop more damage. 

You wanted to fight him on it. But how? Your jaw unlocked and lay slack. 

“You have a concussion. I’ve dealt with the necessary care. I put some pills that’ll take a week to heal you up properly.” He pointed towards the vicinity of your bathroom before pushing off your wall and headed towards a curio cabinet you really didn’t notice until now. 

Obviously, more than a week.

“Text me?” You said.

“Maybe.” He looked at you, his eyes were big and seemed filled with nothing but agony and resolve. 

You swore you saw his mouth move and a whisper of something you couldn’t make out. A different language.

He stepped in and the curio cabinet vanished from your living room. 

You leaned back, the Fam mentioned that your place was dusty, but obviously he must have broken out the dust buster. That was sweet of him to take care of the place before you were unceremoniously dumped on your ass. You went for your neck. The collar that you usually stroked in times of stress was gone, along with him. 

What was the date? You had no clue. Days passed, flooding into weeks. This agony of not knowing outweighed anything. You vaguely remembered the Covid-19 “shelter at home” but that was truly another life entirely. 

Twenty-twenty passed on and you had to get a new job, but nothing seemed to take for you. You’d either get fired for lackadaise or not showing up or quit out of the blue because you felt deep down you deserved better. Dozens of civilizations across the stars probably still spoke of you in hushed tones as a haughty goddess, or Queen sent by the divine. 

The nights were the roughest. A few times the cops were called because you were wailing in your sleep. They soon just stopped coming, unless your neighbors just accepted it as the new normal. 

If you could joke, and if you were in a joking mood, you’d probably remark how this was just like Bella Swan in New Moon “sksksksksk jksk lol!” But you weren’t anymore. You weren’t in a joking mood no matter what at the time. 

Life, without the Master, simply wasn’t worth living.

How could you go back? After all those stars seen? People met? And emotions felt. 

You felt your heart harden and break. 

You half thought of trying to push through the pain and see if you could somehow contact him. At least see if he was okay. Especially since you overheard the news at a metal bar you started working at that some strange lights followed by a subsonic explosion happened in a small city far away and there were confusing footages being leaked on social media of Daleks and death. It went away in a day, but still. You swore you heard a TARDIS in a few of the Facebook Lives people did as they died.  People thought it was a hoax. People were so dumb.

It made you ache. 

Maybe it was the Doctor, or the Master convincing them to go destroy somewhere more important. 

It was more likely her. 

You didn’t know which one would be worse, just in case more footage was released and you saw a flash of a face. 

You broke again, dropping the heavy drink laden tray on the ground and locking yourself in the walk-in fridge. Rackus sobbing came out of your chest like a snarling animal. You had to get yourself together before you lost the only job you made good tips at. You knew it was purely because the uniform was trampy, and not your sparkling personality or wit. You placed your head between your thighs and screamed through it, trying to see if that would stop you from your tears. It was literally more time that had passed than you had actually ran away with him at this point. 

You should have moved on. If not moved on, repress it enough to worry any mental health specialist. This wasn’t like you.

So you tried therapy. 

The big mistake there was dumbing it down and humanizing the Master and the Doctor so you didn’t sound like you needed inpatient care or to go on some watchlist somewhere in the universe. Let alone your planet. 

Some people somewhere might want to abduct you and harvest your organs for the residual artron energy. That could be valuable on certain markets. 

Or your brainwaves. Some planets would pay rogue Time Agents to harvest them and the knowledge you knew and technology you learned.

You became more skittish when walking at night. You had gotten so used to just blasting anyone who’d try to wrong you with your screwdriver. It was a crutch you missed. Every moving shadow scared you.

You also had to consider someone, somewhere might be angry enough with him enough and see that his little human whore was no longer velcroed to his side and go look for you. Penance for his actions, delivered unto you.

Not like he would care, obviously he was far gone and far away.

Your manager came in and gave a quick look at the sight before him.

“Why are you in here? People at table 6 were complaining. Had to give them vouchers and comp their bill.”

You wiped your eyes and got out from your hutched state, “The news. So much death.” You snorted up the snot threatening to leak out. 

Strange cognitive dissonance coming from someone who aided in toppling empires and had a past of executing people.

It wasn’t that, but my goodness, you had to sell it. It was a human thing to say.

“Oh, wow. I’ll give you a minute, then get back to work.” He closed the door gently and let you be. 

You paced and paced and thought, “What would he do?” But all the answers involved space tech you didn’t have in a five by eight cooler. Or loud theatrics and sass. 

You had none of those. 

For the first time in a while, you went to your neck and rubbed at it, wishing you still belonged to him, and you knew what to do. Anger flooded through you and honestly, you didn’t know who it was directed at. The anger felt good. A blistering difference to the waves of agony and silence in you.

You bratted off and knocked down a row of premade salsas and stomped out before heading to table 6. 

“Oh, so you didn’t fancy me dropping the drinks? Or whatever? You were complaining about the shape of the wings earlier? Anything else, your highnesses,“ You false curtsied before straightening out and untying your apron and tossing it on the ground, “Anything?” You spat.

They recoiled. 

The paunchy middle aged man asked, “What the fucks your problem? Like, what do you want? Cause you’re definitely not getting a tip now?”

An idea shot into your brain, “What do I want?” You jabbed a finger at yourself, “I want you to kneel!” You pointed at him and made a vague “get down” gesture with your index finger. 

“Kneel?”

“Kneel!” You ordered, all the chutzpah of a former self radiating through. You tossed a glass at that man’s head. It was no laser to the stomach but would do the trick. “I said, kneel for me, love.” 

The blood streaming from his head as he obeyed you, his fatty neck blubbering in pain and tears streaming down his face filled you with nostalgia. It felt good to be in this position again. Someone obeying you, the fear in their eyes, the sense of power it gave you knowing that you held the keys to their fate in your hands. A small pool of wetness nearly started between your thighs. Power was just so good, and feeling the fear come to him? Icing on a perverse cake.

Him kneeling was almost as natural as it felt for you to kneel ages ago. A labored, pleased breath escaped your lungs as you smiled and let off a laugh.

You turned to your manager and gave a grimace, “I quit, I just can’t take the pressure, dock my pay for the damages. Bye.”

You grabbed your stuff from behind the bar and ran out again from yet another job. 

At the back of your brain, you knew that possibly you’d go to prison for this. You assaulted a man. Out here in the real world, not the magic little world of madness, assault meant fines, sharing a prison cell with someone called Big Irma, ugly orange jumpsuits and a permanent record. Something that would prevent you from life.

Not that you had a life anymore. 

You arrived home and finally allowed yourself to let out all the true amount of tears you felt. You fell asleep on the linoleum of your entrance hall waiting for the cops to show up and take you away.

You were out for over a day, you woke up so sore and dehydrated. 

But the brunt of your emotions, you felt were over. 

You knew you had to consolidate who you were, who you had been, and where you were now. Make yourself one person, not a section of phases altered by the presence of Time Lords. 

But who were you before you’d met the Doctor and been the Master’s? 

That was the hard part.

Jogging that memory up.

You massaged your temples and went over to chug water directly from the kitchen faucet.

A normal human just couldn’t force people to follow their every whim. Or flit from here or there. 

Well, unless they were a politician or born to extreme wealth. 

You needed to be able to hold down a job, you needed to move on. He wasn’t coming for you. You finally and truly got it through your thick, pathetic human skull…

You wiped the water off your face with your bare hands and ripped off the bar’s uniform. You hunched over in your kitchen and cursed the day you ever met either Time Lord. Cupping your face in your hand you let out another massive groan and shook yourself free.

Those topics were not to be verboten. 

You had a traitorous thought, unless you worked for a government organization or paramilitary that dealt with the extraterrestrial. The job prospects for that seemed slim. You were formally in league with them. People might argue a conflict of interests or claim you were a double or triple agent. There was no true way to prove to a stupid ape that, you, another stupid ape weren’t giving off trade Earth secrets to known enemies of the planet. The list of aliens on watchlists was getting larger in the 21st century by the day. The Master definitely had to be on at least most of them. If not all. Though, the money would be quite good…

It was thought.

You were Earth-bound and just had to reintegrate. There had to be some books you could read. Life, For Dummies? Men are from Gallifrey, Women are from Earth? Something, even an obnoxious celebrity and an ill-trained life coach making a podcast on how to cope with a break up. Something.There 

Easier said than done.

It had to be done, however how hard.

What a pity, what a sham.

To paraphrase a comic, you were young, shiney and dumb. Easy to fool. 

You felt yourself utter, “If I ever see you again, first I’m going to kiss you, then I’m going to kick your ass.”

You pulled yourself back from those unhealthy words and bit your tongue.

This was bound to be hard.

But not impossible...

[where-is-francis]

Boys Don’t Cry

Steve Harrington x Male Reader

Request:

Prompt: “I came by your house late at night for advice and you’re dancing in your bedroom to The Cure and, not gonna lie, it’s pretty amusing.”

A/N: And the slowest writer ever award goes to: me. But ok Boys Don’t Cry is one of my favorite songs to dance to in an over-dramatic fashion while I’m alone in my bedroom. And I figured like. Why not.

TW: underage drinking, Guys Bein’ Dudes™️, slight language, you dated Nancy but the sexuality is never specified.

Cliques were always dangerous. You never really fit in with any specific group. Fellow peers at Hawkins had just kind of dubbed you a wanderer. And for as much as the teachers liked you, you found yourself in detention quite a bit. Not because you actually started fights, but pissing off Steve Harrington was one of your favorite hobbies. And when Billy Hargrove moved to town, your focus simply shifted to tormenting him instead.

Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the attention. For whatever reason, aggravating each other was the main basis of your friendship.

It was about third period and you’d come in to school late. The secretary noticed you weren’t at roll call for algebra or science, so she called your house. And before you could get to the phone your mother picked up and began screaming at you, whom she just assumed had already left, prompting you to get ready and leave.

The hallways were empty and it was fairly quiet, save for the noises of one of the gym classes going on. Your locker, unfortunately, was in the hall right beside the gym. Squeaks from sneakers and thuds from a dribbling basketball came from behind closed doors. Every time that damned ball hit your head throbbed more, still recovering from the party last night.

Tossing your Walkman inside, you began to grab out one of the books you’d need. English had been boring, but not as laggy as math and science. For a kid who was good with numbers you were surprisingly bad at the two subjects.

A sudden break in your thoughts came when a familiar face spotted yours and began to walk over. You could sense the uneasiness in the way he walked, normally he’d be trying to scare you. With everything in your hands, you nudged the door to your locker closed and waited for him to say something snarky as a greeting.

But he never did.

(E/c) orbs met dark brown ones. The light behind them was gone, now replaced with a sorrowful expression.

“You good?”

“Not really,” he sighed defensively.

“What’s got you—?”

Memories of the party from the night before came back in a blurred montage. Drinking, dancing, smoking, laughing, making out, repeat. You didn’t remember much, but at one point Nancy spilled her drink and went to the bathroom. What seemed like five hours later, Steve was pissed and ended up leaving.

“Oh, shit.” You visibly cringed.

“Look, I’m going to go talk to her.”

“It’s a wasted effort, man.” You reasoned. “Coming from somebody who’s been with her, just trust me.”

He always went to you for advice when it came to her. Nancy Wheeler was a very complex person, but you two dated for a while, and you kind of knew everything. A breakup came after about ten short months when you grew apart, but after a bit of a chat you two decided to stay friends.

The brunette shook his head slightly and glared. Reaching a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose, he muttered something about just getting it over with. You opened your mouth to speak just when the secretary stepped out, a less than pleased look on her face.

“(L/n), you better get to class before you end up with another detention. You too, Harrington.”

A small smirk crossed your features. “Aww, that’d be such a shame, huh?”

Steve quickly sauntered off, presumably to talk to Nancy, and you were left with the secretary. The look in her tired eyes that reached your own pleaded for you to just shut up and go to class.

“They aren’t paying me enough for this,” she groaned.

The smirk on your face morphed into a full shit-eating grin, then prompting you to make your way down the hall and into your English class. Just another average day would follow, nothing out of the ordinary.

Later that evening as you got home, you decided it would be best to unwind and listen to music. Nobody else was home, your parents both at work, so that meant you could do pretty much whatever you wanted. Reaching your beat up door, you began to tug your denim jacket off and toss it onto the chair in the corner.

Everything about the room was overdone; posters adorned the off-white walls, the pictures overlapping at times, and stickers thrown onto the closet door. Two large bookshelves were filled to the brim with your music collection, some sketchbooks, and whatever other junk you had that couldn’t be left on the floor.

Nancy always hated your room but that was to be expected. It didn’t bother you much, you’d rather be at her house anyways.

You shut the door and began to change into something a bit more comfortable, wondering what you’d do with yourself for the remainder of the night. Ordering a pizza sounded pretty good, considering nobody was home and you didn’t want to cook. Most nights alone you’d end up watching TV, playing video games, and then crash at about 2 AM. A vicious cycle, one you never grew tired of.

Without thinking, you reached over and grabbed your phone from the receiver and dialed Steve’s number. It seemed like a good idea at the time, the two of you could hang out for a bit without getting yelled at.

Last time he was over, your parents came home earlier than anticipated and found the two of you sat on the couch, drunk, reading through the phone book (for whatever reason), only to just lose your shit whenever you saw a name that sounded even mildly amusing.

The phone rang a few times before eventually being picked up.

A sigh could be heard. “What?”

“Hey, loverboy. I’m ordering pizza tonight. You wanna come over and hang out?”

“Are we going to get our asses ripped this time?” The brunette retorted.

A fake laugh came from you. “That was one time, so are you coming or not?”

There was a minute long pause between you two. No matter how much you annoyed each other, you were one of his weaknesses. And pizza was something that he couldn’t say no to.

“Fine, but—”

“Great! See you in a few.” You chirped and practically smashed your phone back onto the base.

Steve lived only a couple streets down from you. You met back at the beginning of elementary school, both of you riding the same bus. Neither you, nor him, could really remember when you started to consider the other a ‘friend’. But it mainly had something to do with him and Nancy being a couple.

Since she and you dated before and were still close friends, somehow you ended up becoming the marriage counselor along the way.

But hey, the more the merrier, right?

Your mind couldn’t help but drift sometimes. Steve was pretty cute in your eyes, even with his weird hair. Generally the same taste in music, shows, movies, and obviously the same taste in girls. And although he was stupid (sometimes), he was a good dude.

It wouldn’t take long for him to reach the house. In the meantime you decided it would be best to put in the order for the pizzas. A quick call to the nearest shop, and they’d deliver it as soon as it was done.

After scanning through some music, you finally settled on one: a mixtape of your favorite songs from The Cure. You popped it in with no hesitation and set your player to max volume. The intro to Siamese Twins rang out in your bedroom, the beat eventually making all of the furniture thud in perfect time. Glass window panes shook as well, you’d probably have the neighbors complaining in the morning.

Your feet guided you around the house aimlessly as you searched for something to drink, the sound of music becoming more muffled as you entered the kitchen. It reminded you of the party a few nights ago, but far less stuffy. And with better music.

“I chose an eternity of this; like fallen angels, the world disappeared,” you sang slightly to yourself as you rummaged through the cabinets.

Nothing.

Onto the fridge, stocked full of Coke and other stuff you didn’t much care for. Nobody

Meanwhile, down the street, Steve could hear loud music coming from your street. Which was odd, if there was a party he would’ve known about it. Upon further inspection he realized it was coming from your house. The sun was already starting to set behind said abode, nestling itself deeper and deeper into the rows of houses that occupied the area.

The Harrington boy stepped a bit closer and took in the view; your house covered in orange and red tinted leaves, the living room and kitchen lights shining through their respective windows. Your silhouette moved about inside, gracefully, to the beat. Almost like a shadow with perfectly fluid movements.

His focus shifted to the porch lights, then the door, the doorbell, and back again. He only assumed your parents weren’t home but he wasn’t sure, although with as loud as the music was, ringing the doorbell or knocking wouldn’t have done any good anyways. It took him a bit to move, then walking around to the darkened backyard where he counted the windows.

The first one was your parents’ room (he learned the hard way), the second belonged to the bathroom, and finally, the third was the entrance to your bedroom. He glanced down, careful not to step on the flowers, then maneuvered his way around to find a spot where he could see through the gap blinds. What he got was something out of a renaissance painting.

You with your mom’s pearl necklace and matching earrings draped carelessly, your shirt all the way unbuttoned, and a wine glass in your hand. To top it all off, your hair was a mess, but complemented the askew lipstick that painted your lips. Your hips swayed back and forth in a graceful yet drunken manner. Inside, Boys Don’t Cry came on the stereo.

Each step you took was calculated to sync with the beat, the only thing that could’ve made it more amusing was if you would’ve been wearing heels.

“What is that moron doing?”

“I would say I’m sorry

If I thought that it would change your mind

But I know that this time I have said too much,

Been too unkind,”

You sang along, a slurred version not being heard by the other male as he watched from the window. Brown eyes were fixated on your form as you leapt up onto the bed, forcing a bit of a stumble from yourself. After almost toppling over, you continued on.

“I tried to laugh about it, cover it all up with lies

I tried to laugh about it, hiding the tears in my eyes cause—”

“Boys… don’t cry.” Steve finished.

In the midst of the dancing spree you turned and locked eyes with said boy. The room was swaying about and took a minute to stop, your vision focusing on him. Each step you took closer to the window made your knees feel weaker, but somehow you managed to pull the screen up to let the other boy in.

The room was almost like a time capsule; nothing really moved or touched since the last time he’d been there, the only difference being the clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Sudden weight on the bed caused it to dip behind him. When he turned, your body was draped gracefully across the dark (color) sheets. Almost something out of an erotic painting, the clash of textures and colors alike.

Originally, the plan had been to come to wallow in self pity and ask for advice about Nancy. Now all he could think about was you, tipsy, singing along to music so loud it would rival an actual concert.

“You—you want a sip?” You shouted over the lyrics, somewhat slurred.

Steve thought about it for a minute, taking glances at your extended hand every so often. A slight sigh escaped him, then taking the glass and downing whatever was left. He started coughing and gagging as a result of the cheap liquor hitting, but didn’t care too much to do anything besides wipe his mouth off.

Everything in that moment was fuzzy, and loud, and warm. Time was stopped for you two. Nothing really mattered except the exact moment you were living in. Not some dumb party, not some spoiled suburban girl, and most certainly not being sober.

Steve’s hands fell to his hips. The newfound anxiety on his face made you wonder, but still too afraid to ask.

“Is there more to drink?”

“Yeah, in the kitchen… come on.”

Everything that happened afterwards became a blur of colors and muffled noises. Almost like going under anesthesia in the hospital, you couldn’t really remember what went on until something triggered it. And from then on you’d spend your time wondering if it was real or not, trying so hard to distinguish a vivid dream from a drugged reality.

One thing happened to stand out. The single thing you could remember.

Not so many hours later, bottles of liquor had been spread across the floor and the lights turned off. The music that once blared and annoyed the neighbors was turned down now, a much softer volume. Melodic hums came from your lips as Steve ranted about Nancy. The party, it was all because of the stupid party.

“— and, I mean, I apologized. Me. Steve fucking Harrington.”

After what seemed like four rounds too many, his speech was slurred.

Steve buried his face in his hands.“I don’t know what I did wrong…”

“You didn’t do any-anything wrong, man. Nancy just... has a stick up her ass, nothing new.” You assured him with a soft shove to the shoulder.

Your eyes met for a brief moment, his hands sliding down the sides of his face. A pitiful laugh found its way from his throat, soon after turning into something far more maniacal. Something about the situation was funny to you as well.

But not what you had said about Nancy, no. What made you laugh was the look on this idiot’s face, perfectly illuminated by the neighbor’s porch lights. How he slid down deeper onto your floor, ribs aching from giggling too hard. Though he was drunk, the smile plastered on his face was genuine.

Two separate roars were only extinguished after a few minutes, but at the time it felt like hours. You attempted to regain your composure but it was hard when his face was right next to yours. Once perfect brown hair was now askew, the result of the perfect night in. Eyes in the color to match brimmed with tears from laughing, something he felt like he hadn’t done in a while. Nearly perfect skin and perfect lips almost begging for some action; it was too amazing.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you wanted to make out with me…”

It took a minute for his words to sink in. Even in the dark he could see the red flush rise to your cheeks. You swallowed a bit, hand rising to comb through (h/c) locks anxiously. Harsh shadows covered your (s/c) face but even then Steve could still tell you were biting your lip.

It seemed he had his answer.

“Oh,”

“Yeah, oh,” you mirrored.

Everything happened what felt like hours later, but at the same time, all at once. Your bodies had been forced together, the taste of long forgotten cheap wine playing on your tongues. His hands reached up to tangle gently in your hair, all while yours gripped desperately at the lapels of his denim jacket.

The kiss was soft and messy, but whether it was the alcohol’s fault or the fact he was nervous was anybody’s guess. For whatever reason, Steve expected it to feel different but it didn’t. The kiss was just that; a kiss. Not a kiss with a boy, just a kiss.

Clumsily, he straddled your lap to get a better angle. It still felt the same. The time had come to an end, your lungs begging for air, forcing the two of you to pull back. His shoulders heaved, the room only being filled now with the slight sound of you both panting.

(E/c) hues opened to take in the view. Steve Harrington straddling your lap, breathless, disheveled, only being lit by the light that came through the window. The grip you had on his jacket slowly loosened, only to be stopped by his hand on yours. Red lipstick that once adorned your lips was now shared. The Cure that played in the background had finally come to a complete stop. But the gaze Steve had on your lips didn’t, especially when he began to lean in again.

“Don’t tell Nancy,”

[scatter-the-stars]

Hey! Could you write something telling what would Kurt and Blaine be doing during quarantine, please? Thank youu

Lockdown

The news of the lockdown breaks on the nightly news.  Kurt sits curled into Blaine; head resting on his shoulder.  The comfort he just lost at what he heard slowly being regained with the soothing motion of Blaine’s fingers in his hair.  Nerves and fear take hold of him like a hand around his throat that tightens its grip with each passing second.  Some part of him is unable to comprehend that this is the world he is living in.  That what was normal only a few weeks ago has been shattered into a reality that is hard to understand and truly grasp.

Blaine turns and presses a kiss to his forehead.  “It’ll be okay,” he softly whispers.

Kurt has always trusted his husband.  And he does so now.  Finds comfort and peace in his words.  He lifts his head and looks at him.  “At least I’m stuck with you.”

“Ditto. I wouldn’t have it any other way.  We can have some fun with this.”

Kurt snorts when Blaine grins and waggles his eyebrows, immediately knowing where his husband’s thoughts just went.  “Are you really thinking about sex right now?”

“I’m just trying to distract you.”  Blaine pulls Kurt into his lap.  “Is it working?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Day Five:

Five days into their lockdown and Kurt is certain he’s already beginning to go stir crazy.  He paces the small living room of his apartment.  Mentally berates himself for not going for the apartment with a terrace that he could go out on.  Because some kind of exposure to the outside world would be welcome that isn’t sticking his head out the window every few hours.

This is not how he lives.  He loves being outside.  Can’t stand to be cooped up inside for prolonged periods of time.  And five days stuck inside is making him antsy.

“Stop pacing, babe,” Blaine says from his corner of the room where his “office” is as he works.

“I think I’m getting cabin fever.”

Blaine chuckles.  “I’m sure you’re not getting cabin fever.  Especially after only five days.”

Kurt continues to pace.  Nervously bites his nails, a bad habit he hasn’t done in years.

“Okay,” Blaine shuts his laptop and stands, “I’ve had enough of this.”  He walks over to Kurt and grabs him to stop him from his pacing.  He guides him over to the couch and pushes him to sit down.  “Stay.  I’ll be back in a moment.”

Although Kurt wants to stand back up and pace once more, he stays where Blaine sat him down.  His knee bounces as he listens to any clue as to what Blaine might be doing.  But he hears nothing.  Only silence.

It’s not for another few minutes that Blaine rejoins him.  In his hands he holds a stack of boxes.  Kurt instantly recognizes them as the puzzles they impulsively bought a few years ago and never got around to.  He isn’t even sure where they’ve been these past few years.

“Puzzles?” he questions.

“Yes.”  Blaine sets the boxes down on their coffee table.  “You need something to preoccupy your mind.  So, pick one.”

Kurt looks at his options.  There’s a few puzzles of landscapes and food to pick from.  But it’s the Disney one that he picks.  Blaine opens the box and dumps the pieces out onto the tapletop.

“Let’s get started.”

“You have work,” he points out, not wanting to keep Blaine from something potentially important.

Blaine waves him off.  “It’s fine.  I texted the guys to tell them I needed to help calm my stir-crazy husband.”

Kurt playfully glares at his husband.  “That better not have been your exact wording.”

Blaine chuckles.  “I promise it wasn’t.  Now,” he begins to flip over pieces, “can we get started?”

Day Fourteen:

By the time he’s on his third glass of wine, Kurt has a good buzz going that leaves him loose and carefree.  It’s one of the few times these past two weeks that he’s managed to feel that.

He softly sways to the music he has playing in the living room.  Eyes closed, he hums to the song.  Hands resting on hips he sways he rests his head back on Blaine’s shoulder.  “You’re back.”

“I am,” Blaine whispers.

Blaine left to check on an elderly neighbor they know and sometimes run into.  He wanted to make sure they were okay, and if they needed anything.

“How’s Rose?”

“She’s good.  She sends her thanks for the cookies.”

Kurt opens his eyes and turns to face his husband.  He watches as Blaine takes the glass of wine from his hold and takes a drink before setting it down on the table.  He eyes him curiously; cocks his head when Blaine runs his hands over his back and down to his ass.  “Did you wash your hands, Mister?”

“Of course I did.”  Blaine gives a good, hard squeeze to his ass with one hand.  “I would never do anything to put you in harm’s way.”

“Good.  Because I have plans to spend a lifetime with you, and I don’t want to risk said plans.”

“You must be getting drunk.  Because only sappy Kurt comes out when you are drunk.”

Kurt leans in and brushes his lips over Blaine’s ear.  Whispers, “So does horny Kurt.”

The sound of Blaine’s low groan has his cock giving a hard jerk in his sweats.

If there’s one bright spot in all this madness, it’s that Blaine’s and his’ sex life has greatly improved from what it was.  This actually opened his eyes to the fact that their sex life had started to venture into boring and complacent.  They’ve managed to make their sex life hot and fun and interesting again.

He steps back and pulls his shirt over his head.  “So, are you going to fuck your husband?”

“Fuck!”  Blaine palms at the bulge in his jeans.

“I take that as a yes.”

Kurt lets out a surprised scream and giggles when Blaine lifts him up and throws him over his shoulder fireman style.  “Where are you taking me?  I wanted you to bend me over the couch and fuck me.”

“I need a shower.”  Blaine smacks Kurt’s ass.  “So, I’m killing two birds with one stone.”

In the bathroom, they strip and step into the shower.

For as horny as he gets when he’s drunk, he gets just as loud when he has sex.  And he’s loud as Blaine fucks him in the steaming shower.  Then two hours later when he bends him over the couch like he wanted the first time.

Day Seventeen:

“Yeah, Dad, we’re good.  We still have enough supplies for a couple of weeks,” Kurt tells his concerned dad.  “How are you?”

That was the main reason for this call.  He wanted to make sure that his dad is doing good.  With his dad’s past health, he knows he is at a higher risk of this affecting him more severely than anyone he knows.

“I’m doing great, kiddo.  I’m staying home.  Haven’t left in weeks.  I want to thank you for having my groceries delivered to me.  You know I don’t know anything about all of that.”  His dad chuckles.

He smiles at the sound.  Relieved he still gets to hear it.  “Of course, Dad.  I want to make sure you don’t leave the house at all.”

After he hangs up with is dad a few minutes later, he walks to the kitchen where Blaine is cooking their dinner for the night.

“How is he?”  Blaine pours a glass of wine and hands it to him

“Good.”  Kurt takes the glass.  “How are your parents?”

“Good.  They told me to tell you hi.”

To know that their parents are doing good eases Kurt’s worried heart considerably.

He walks up beside Blaine and helps him with dinner.

Day Twenty-Two:

Kurt has fretted over what to do for the past couple of days.  Whenever he tried to sit and think of any ideas, none would come.  It wasn’t until a few hours ago that one struck him.  So, he scoured around and found a sheets of paper, colors, scissors, and glue and locked himself away in the bedroom.

Scraps of paper sit in front of him as he colors what he created.  A sense of pride filling him when he finishes.  It’s nothing grand.  Not like what he’s done in the past.  But he’s sure Blaine won’t mind that.  He’s sure he’ll love it even more because it’s personal.

He opens the bedroom door.  “Close your eyes!” he screams out.

“Okay.”

“Your eyes better be closed,” he says as he walks out of the bedroom and down the hall and to the kitchen.  He finds Blaine sitting at their small dining table with his eyes closed.  What he made is set down on the table in front of Blaine as he goes to the fridge and grabs the small chocolate cake he baked that morning for this very moment.  A single candle set in the middle, he lights the wick and sets the cake down in front of Blaine.  “Happy birthday!”  He whispers into his husband’s ear.

It’s not the most ideal way to celebrate a birthday: stuck inside your home.  Kurt hates that Blaine has to celebrate his birthday this year.  But he won’t complain, because he knows it could be worse.

Blaine turns his head and captures his mouth in a appreciative and loving kiss. “Thank you so much, Kurt.  I love you.”

“I love you, too.”  He takes another kiss from Blaine before sitting down adjacent to him.  “Make a wish.”

Blaine closes his eyes and blows out the candle.

Kurt begins to cut slices of cake.  “That’s your present.”  He nods his head at the gift he spent the past couple of hours making.

Blaine grabs the card and reads the front before opening it.  A laugh falls from his lips when he sees the coupons set inside.  “One free “Get out of an argument” coupon.”  He grabs another.  “One free “Blow job anytime you want” coupon.”  He grabs for the last one.  “One free “Fuck your husband crazy” coupon.”

Homemade coupons promising to do anything that is written on them are a childish concept.  But Kurt thought the idea was perfect considering he worked with what he had.

Blaine holds up the “Fuck your husband crazy” coupon.  “Can I use this one tonight?”

Kurt licks icing off his thumb.  “It’s your birthday.  No coupon needed for that.”

Blaine grins.  “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you,” Kurt says, already anticipating what happens after they finish their cake if the look in Blaine’s eyes is anything to go by.

Day Twenty-Five:

He lies in bed with Blaine.  Slowly traces the features of his face with his fingertip.  Blaine skims a hand up and down his naked back.  “These past few weeks have been easier because of you.”

“I can say the same.”

Kurt is quiet for a moment.  Then he says, “We’ll get through this, right?”

“Yes, Kurt, we’ll get through this.  Life will go back to as normal as can be, and this will all be a horrible memory.”

Kurt believes Blaine with all his heart.  

[multific]

Delivery

Jaskier x Reader

Modern! AU

Request: I love your Modern!AU Geralt series!! Could I please request an adorable Modern!Jaskier series or oneshot? Thanks so much!!! 💕

 Jaskier was a well-known performer, his song were known all across the world, and even thought this was all he even wanted, he still felt empty.

This emptiness inside him only grew as time went on. He thought he had everything, money, fame, fans, friends and a girlfriend.

However all this collapsed when he caught his girlfriend with one of his “friends”.

It made Jaskier bitter and he slowly lost his cheerful personality. He became cold and he stopped making music. Jaskier did what he never should have, he broke down because of a woman who never loved him truly. He turned to alcohol and wasted all his money on meaningless possessions.

Jaskier was alone. And for him, that was good, he decided that alone would never hurt his feelings that his empty bed and heart will offer him all he can ever want, even if deep down, he knew it wasn’t true.

He pushed it down, he pushed his instinct of being a complete extrovert and going out. He stayed home, defeated and alone.

He never left his property, only a man came to fill his fridge and then he left as soon as possible. Jaskier didn’t even bother to remember the man’s name.

Some days, Jaskier felt pathetic, useless a waste of space. And even if he knew that all this hassle wasn’t worth any woman, he slowly realized, that he not only lost his girlfriend, who he though loved him, but his whole life. Friends were no longer existent in his life.

Little did he know his life would change for better in the next few days.

You came into his life like a light of hope, like an angel who was sent to save him.

In reality you came to his house because your boss was the man who stocked his fridge. You were told to go there fill his food supplies and that’s all, and since you weren’t given any instructions, you did what you always did. You got your customer friendly smile on and knocked on his door. And called out.

“Delivery!”

When Jaskier opened the door, he was speechless. You just stood there with a smile on your face telling him you have his new supply of food for the week. He saw the most angelic looking woman he has ever seen.

“G-Get in.” he said as you gathered your bags and went into his home.

“You have a nice home Mr….?”

“Call me Jaskier, why are you the one delivering food for me, it’s usually a man.”

“Yes, he’s very busy at the shop now so he sent me. I have only started working there not even a week ago.” Jaskier watched as you had the same smile while you put his stuff away, he grabbed his wallet and gave you a tip for bringing his stuff in.

Jaskier couldn’t wait for the next time you’d come over.

***

Jaskier did the one logical thing to make you come over more frequently, and that was to order more from your boss’ shop and ask him to let you do the delivery.

And to his absolute satisfaction, it was always you. Jaskier tried to talk with you, have small conversations, but he always failed since you had to return to your job as soon as possible or it would come off of your pay check. But you did enjoy spending time with Jaskier, he was funny and despite how your boss painted him when you first when to his place, he was a rather kind and handsome individual. Your boss told you that Jaskier moved to your humble village because he ran away from fame. You imagined him either to be a total creep or an old dude, but that’s not who Jaskier was, at all.

Despite what logic and past experience told him, he couldn’t avoid you, he didn’t want to avoid you. To him, you were the one flower left in his huge demolished garden, the only light for him.

You also very much enjoyed his company. Sometimes you went over to his place to hang out, watch movies or just to chat while drinking some tea. You really began to like Jaskier.

He often talked to you about his career as a performer, and you always found them interesting. His stories were filled with famous people and situations that to you, a simple town girl, were not normal.

You often asked him why did he leave it behind, but every time you did, his face dropped and eyes got sad, so you always decided to talk about something else. However that didn’t satisfy your interest in his story. So, you went on the internet.

You didn’t want to look up Jaskier on the internet, but you had no other way of finding out.

You found an article from the year Jaskier moved into town. It told you everything about Jaskier, from his ex to his childhood. You learned that he has no family and what his ex did to him, was probably the last straw.

The nest day, you went over to his place for dinner, but this one was a date, he specifically asked you to dress up nicely and like you went on a date. So, that’s what you did.

You found his place lit up by candles, soft music playing in the background as there was a table set for two people in his dining room.

“Did you cook?” you asked as you sat down, he went to the kitchen to get the dinner.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did.” he placed a plate in front of you, it was rather hard to tell what it actually was. “I know it looks bad, but it should taste just fine.”

You trusted him and put your fork into it. You had to be honest, it wasn’t the best thing you ever ate, but it was edible. You ate your food while he asked about your day. He kept on complimenting you, about your dress, hair, make up, everything, over and over.

“For dessert, I ordered some cake, I wasn’t sure what you like, so you can choose.” you ended up choosing your favourite. After dinner, Jaskier went to put the plates away as you made your way to the garden. You were always jealous because of his garden. It was huge and had so much room for improvement and you had so many ideas on what to put in and where. As a sudden cold breeze passed, you got a bit cold. You tried to make yourself warmer by rubbing your hands on your arms, but it didn’t really help.

You felt cold until a blanket was put around your shoulders. You turned to see Jasker behind you.

“Thank you.” you said to which he smiled at. It was one of the rare moments when Jaskier wasn’t talking. He read the situation and decided that silence sometimes told more than words. So, instead he got behind you and hugged you to his chest. His head came to rest on your shoulder as he took a deep breath. If Jaskier had to be honest with himself he was afraid, afraid that he would fall in love and it will destroy him once again, he wasn’t sure if he could survive it again. But you were different from her, so much different. She was materialistic, rude and a bitch, while you were kind, helpful and selfless. And his feelings for you were completely different, you had him wrapped around your pinkie from the moment you stepped into his home.

“Can you stay?” he asked, his voice so low, you barely heard it. Instead of answering, you turned around in his arms as kissed him. Your lips became one as he kissed you back, only pulling away to get some air into your lungs.

You soon found yourself in his bedroom on his bed.

The hours you spent with him were hard to remember due to the adrenaline and pleasure your body went through. But you do remember waking up in his arms, in the early mornings, you didn’t want to leave, his body was so warm against yours and you found yourself being in love.

***

A few years later, Jaskier found himself a friend, a friend named Geralt.

Geralt and his new wife just bought the land next to Jaskier’s. Jaskier was a friend of Geralt and his wife way before they got married and moved to be your neighbors.

Jaskier made you very happy, even if he told you to quit your job at the store, you never did. Sure, living in a mansion with a rich man like Jaskier was too good to be true, you still wanted to make your own money and don’t feel useless.

And you made Jaskier very happy as well. You just being there for him meant the world to him. He was depressed, sad, he felt used, and now, with you, he was himself again. He felt like he couldn’t be happier.

That is until you told him about the baby that you had under your heart. A child, yours and Jaskier’s. You not only made him the happiest man alive but the happiest father alive. Even if you had to argue with him, since he wanted at least six children and you weren’t willing to go thought that much pain. So, you settled with three.

Three beautiful children.

Jaskier truly became the happiest man alive.

Who could have thought that a simple delivery would end up like this.

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[sinsiriuslyemo]

Finals week was always the most stressful for everyone, but if you'd asked Jackson Neill, he would swear that the professors had it worse than the students. At least all they needed to worry about was being prepared for the finals, while he and his other colleagues still had to make themselves available after classes and well into the early evening to be sure students had all the help and guidance they needed. Their futures depended on their passing grades, after all. On top of that, they were responsible for ensuring all of the final assignments were graded as well. He genuinely enjoyed his job, but if he had to sit through one more appointment with a female student offering him sexual favors in exchange for a passing grade, he would throw himself off of a bridge. The young ladies in his classes had always been flirtatious with him, even when he was still married, but after his divorce last year it seemed to have gotten ten times worse. 

   Today it had been just three appointments, only one of which consisted of actual academic discussion. Tomorrow he had five appointments, all with female students and one in particular who had shown no reservation in making her interests known. He sighed heavily as he opened his front door with one hand, loosening his tie with the other and dropped his messenger bag on the floor, keys on the small table beside the door as he walked past the foyer. He vaguely heard the click of the door shutting behind him as he kicked off his shoes.

   What he needed most in the world now was a hot shower and some takeout. But first, beer. A cold beer after a particularly grueling day always helped take the edge off.

   As he shuffled into his kitchen, he stretched his arms over his head and reached with one hand for the fridge door, pulling it open and sticking his head inside. It was then, in the midst of his search for a cold one, that he heard the muffled music coming from next door. Rolling his eyes as he spotted a Bud Light near the back of the fridge, Jackson peered over the top of the refrigerator door and looked through the window above the sink to his neighbor's window.

   He'd never met the woman in the year and a half that he had lived in the neighborhood, but had often seen her moving about her own kitchen, usually baking or cooking. He supposed she must've been a pastry chef of some kind with as much time as she seemed to spend in the kitchen. 

   At that moment she was using a long, dark wooden spoon to stir something in a mixing bowl, hips swaying to the music. He couldn't hear it very clearly but it sounded like reggae, maybe? Half of her long dreadlocks were tied into a knot at the top of her head while the bottom half reached past her elbows, hiding the majority of her tattooed sleeve. He couldn't make out what she was wearing beneath her apron but saw a brief flash of denim shorts every so often when her dance took on a more pronounced state and a brown spaghetti strap continuously fell off her shoulder, even when she would pull it back to her shoulder.

   As she danced out of sight, Jackson took the opportunity to reach back into the fridge--which was now beeping at him to close the damn door--and pulled the lone bottle of beer from the back. He twisted the cap off and tossed it into the garbage, looking up just in time to see the reggae-dancing, bowl-mixing neighbor bopping back into view, her slender arms reaching behind her to take off her apron. His eyes took in her athletic frame and curved hips. Denim shorts indeed; cut-offs to be exact that stopped just a few inches below her ass. Her breasts were modest, he could tell that she was clearly not wearing a bra judging by the fact that he could see the outline of her nipples on the front of her shirt. Had he not been so annoyed with the fact that she almost always had music blaring from her household, he might've noticed how attractive she was before then. 

   For a moment he stood there, watching her sway her hips along with the muffled melody he could hear coming from her place. Licking his lips, he let his eyes roam her frame one more time before shuffling over to the couch in his living room. 

   Dating after the divorce had always been somewhat of a struggle for him, not so much in that he couldn't find anyone who was interested, but he because he rarely associated with anyone outside of school. The only exception was the sushi place down the street from the school, where he frequented on especially hard days. Or whenever his children would spend the weekend at his house. Time had been part of the reason he and his wife had separated to begin with--she wanted more it and he had none to spare.

   As he sank into the couch, Jackson reached for the small pile of menus on the coffee table, looking over them one at a time to decide what to have for dinner. He'd had pizza last night. Italian was too heavy. Chinese sounded good or Thai, he was quite fond of Thai, especially after a long day. Still, Chinese always reheated better. Deciding on Chinese, he ordered his food, then turned on the TV to wait for it to be delivered.

   It had only been about ten minutes into the twenty-five the restaurant had quoted him when a car pulled up out front. Glancing at the white pickup, he took a pull from his beer and set it on the coffee table as he stood and began to walk to the front door. As he opened it and looked out at the person who had gotten out of the truck, he saw one of his male students--sans takeout bag--walking towards his neighbor's house. At first he was slightly embarrassed and stood there awkwardly as the student knocked on the reggae dancer's door.

   Of course she would be dating a college student. She had in fact looked to be younger than him, maybe her late twenties, and anyone with tattoos and dreadlocks wouldn't likely be interested in a forty-year-old, divorced college professor with two kids. Not that he would've thought to ever go next door and find out.

   Not a moment before he was about to go back inside and resume his wait on the couch for his takeout did the student come back out of the neighbor's house, holding a plastic bag filled with cookies. Furrowing his brows, Jackson took a step onto his porch. "Nick!"

   The student turned at the sound of his name, and had it not been for the sudden look of panic in his eyes, Jackson might've simply waved. But that look was one of being caught, a look that Jackson knew all too well, and he began to walk towards the college kid, hands in his pockets.

   "Professor Neill...what are you doing here?"

   "I live here, what's your excuse?" Jackson quipped, coming to stand at the end of his path on the sidewalk.

   "Oh, I was just...visiting a friend," Nick answered, still clutching the bag of cookies.

    "Short visit," Jackson said, eyes lowering to the clear, plastic bag. "What's with the cookies?"

   Nick instinctively put the bag behind his back, mouth falling open and eyes widening as he, no doubt, tried to come up with an answer. Jackson sighed, holding out a hand.

   "Alright, hand them over."

   The student's face fell as he hesitated for a moment, echoing Jackson's sigh as he shoved the bag or cookies into the professors hand. "I just use them to relax during finals week, Professor. It's really not that big a deal."

   "Not that big a deal, huh?" Jackson repeated as he looked down at the bag, examining it briefly before he brought it up to his nose and sniffed. "Are these pot cookies?"

   Nick bit his lip, his eyes trained on the bag in Jackson's hand. "Yeah, but it's medicinal."

   "Medicinal? Okay, let me see your card," Jackson challenged.

   Nick rolled his eyes and sighed again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Come on, Professor, you know how stressful finals week is."

   "Are you trying to get sympathy from me?" Jackson asked with an arched brow. "Get out of here, Nick."

   "What about my stuff?"

   "What about it? You're lucky if I don't tell the dean about this," Jackson answered. "Now, go on home."

   "Are you kidding?!"

   "Nope." He was most certainly far from kidding, especially since he could see the Chinese delivery man in a marked car at the stop sign down the street, no doubt with his long awaited takeout order.

   Groaning and rolling his eyes, Nick turned and headed back to his car, pulling out seconds before the delivery man pulled up along the curb and got out the car. After paying for his food, Jackson brought it inside and looked down at the bag of chocolate chip cookies in his hand. Walking back to the front door, he crossed the grass that separated his house from the pot-baker's and climbed the steps to her porch, knocking firmly on the front door. It didn't take long at all for her to answer and Jackson was met with a deep, blue stare.

   "Hi?" she said, leaning against the opened door. "Can I help you?"

   "Actually, yes. You could stop selling pot to my students to start," he replied, holding up the plastic bag. "And while I have you, I would appreciate it if you wouldn't blast your music loud enough to hear from the next block."

   The amused smile on her face as she looked him over made him angry, his growling stomach made him angrier. Holding out the bag to her, he fought to keep his eyes from roaming her figure.

   "You stole this from him?" she asked with an arched brow.

   "I confiscated it."

   "Yeah, that's what I said; you stole them from him. He's over eighteen and also paid for them. You, on the other hand, did not pay for them and therefore you stole them," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "That's not cool, man."

   "I'll tell you what's not cool, man, is me having to listen to that…" He waved his hand wildly in the general direction of her living room. "...noise after a long day dealing with rowdy college kids, half of which seemed to have not paid attention to a word you've said all semester!"

   "Sounds like someone had a bad day," she replied, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. 

   "Is this funny?"

   "Hilarious," she answered. "You sure you don't wanna just keep the cookies? I mean, since you stole them, you probably want to get rid of the evidence." The smirk grew into a full blown grin as she looked him over again, slowly this time. If he wasn't so damn annoyed with her he might've found her smile charming...maybe even cute.

   "I don't need your pot cookies." He held them out to her again.

   She hummed, tilting her head and clicking her tongue on her teeth. "I'd say that's debatable." Reaching with one hand, she brushed her fingers against his as she took the bag. 

   Jackson inhaled sharply through his nose, ignoring the shiver that had danced over his arms in response. His eyes, apparently having a mind of their own, looked her over as she had done him, darting back up when he reached her still perfectly outlined nipples beneath her tank top.

   She bit her bottom lip. "But I can hang on to your hot cookies for awhile."

   "Not all of us are criminals, you know." 

   "Ooooh...touchy," she whispered, still grinning at him.

   Jackson rolled his eyes and turned to leave, walking back to his house. As he reached his front door, he glanced back to find her watching him, that stupid, cute smile still planted on her face. Opening the door to his house, he went back inside and kicked his shoes off. He sat on the couch and opened his takeout, spreading it on the coffee table and taking out the chopsticks that had come with order. 

   As much as he tried to get the interaction with his neighbor out of his mind, he couldn't help but think about her eyes, two striking spheres outlined in a darker shade that looked like a kaleidoscope of light and medium blues. Her tattooed sleeve, he'd notice ran all the way from her shoulder to the middle of her forearm and included an array of pinks and purples, oranges and reds, contrasting her dark brown dreadlocks, which reached to her waist. He found himself wondering how long it had taken for her to grow them out and what they would feel like wrapped around his fingers.

   Wait. What? Wasn't he just annoyed with her not even ten minutes ago? And now he was thinking about her hair between his fingers?

   Biting into an eggroll, he focused his attention on the TV, trying to get that adorable smile out of his mind, but it was a losing battle. As irritated as he'd been to have to play responsible professor after hours, he would've done it ten times over if he knew he would get to see that smile up close again. And the way she bit her lip had been the most exquisite thing he'd seen in a very long time. It had made him want to taste those lips, feel them on his skin, see them wrapped around his--

   Well that certainly took a turn rather quickly, he thought with a sigh, blinking several times as if attempting to reboot himself. 

   Taking one last bite from his noodles, he put the lid back on and took it, along with his last remaining eggroll, to the kitchen and set it in the fridge. He was about to go upstairs to shower when he caught a movement from his peripheral vision. Glancing out the window, he saw the woman with the steely blues picking up the kitchen, setting mixing bowls into the sink and wiping the countertops. He swallowed as he watched the muscles in her slender arms flex and relax with her movements. As she bent forward to wipe the back of the counter, he was given a glimpse down the front of her shirt and another shiver fell over him, this time settling in his groin.

   He hadn't meant to stare, and when she looked up and met his eyes, his own widened in horror. Moving away from the window, he ran a hand through his hair and headed down the hall to the bathroom for that shower. Looking at his reflection, he idly shook his head at being caught gawking like a pubescent teenager and began to take off his clothes. 

   He turned on the water and checked the temperature just as a knock sounded at his front door. Jesus Christ, what now?

   Was she coming to his door to make fun of him? Or maybe she was coming to tell him off. Either way, at least he would be getting another look at her eyes. He opted for a towel, which he wrapped around his waist as he padded to the front door. 

   For a moment he stood with one hand on the knob, taking a deep breath and opening it to see the neighbor standing there with that smirk of hers. Her eyes immediately feel to his bare upper half.

   "Well, at least I get to see yours," she said, leisurely bringing her eyes back up to his.

   "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare at you," he replied with a smirk of his own, holding up a hand as he shook his head.

   "Was it me you were staring at, or was it just that you couldn't get those cookies off your mind and were hoping to see them again?" she teased.

   He almost lied and said it was the cookies, but he found himself saying, "No, I was staring at you," in a small voice, eyes taking in her frame again.

   He could've sworn he saw a pink hue grace her cheeks and grinned as he licked his lips. "I was just about to take a shower."

   She arched a brow, smiling back at him. "The towel kind of gave that away."

   "Right," he answered.

   "I'm Willow, by the way."

   "Jackson," he replied. "Did you wanna come in?"

   She seemed surprised at his question. "Are you gonna be in a towel the entire time?"

   It was his turn to blush, apparently having forgotten that he was naked and only covered by the terrycloth. 

   "How about I come back in, like, ten minutes?" she offered as her gaze lowered to his bare skin once more before meeting his eyes again.

   "Ten minutes it is," he replied, about to shut the door before he added, "Oh and Willow…"

   She looked at him over her shoulder and Jackson took the opportunity to glance at her posterior. Licking his lips, he brought his stare back to hers.

   "Bring the cookies."

   Ten minutes later, he was pulling on a pair of sweats, deciding to go without underwear and a black, fitted t shirt. Checking himself over in the mirror, he eyed his cologne on the nightstand for a moment, but ultimately settled on just smelling clean. She seemed like the type to point it out if he appeared to try too hard. Going back into the living room, he scanned the area, throwing away any trash and making the place look presentable. He had just finished wiping the traces of Chinese takeout off of the coffee table when he heard a knock at the door and he quickly tossed the used paper towel and went to answer.

   She looked just as striking now as she had the first time he’d seen her up close, a playful smirk on her lips as she shook the bag of chocolate chip cookies and stepped inside. Her chest feathered against his as she bit down on her lip. “Since these are technically paid for, I won’t be charging you this time.”

   “What makes you think I’ll be a returning customer after tonight?” he asked with a smirk.

   “I think once you’ve had a taste of my cookies, you won’t be able to get enough of them,” she purred. The heavy insinuation fell over him like a ton of bricks, causing a tug in his groin. 

   “I think you’re being pretty presumptuous,” he mumbled.

   “Really?” she inquired with an arched brow. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at my ass from your windows.” She looked him over, seeming to undress him with her eyes. “I like you better in the towel.”

   He didn’t move away as he closed the door and watched curiously as she took two steps back, pressing her back against the now closed front door. Holding up the bag, she beckoned him close with a crooked finger. Jackson swallowed and closed the space between them as she reached into the bag and pulled out a cookie, holding it to his lips. Opening his mouth, his eyes stayed locked on hers as she tucked the cookie between his lips and watched him chew, reaching into the bag again and taking a cookie for herself.

   “We should start to feel these in about forty-five minutes, give or take,” she said. “So while we wait, why don’t I introduce you properly to that noise you love so much.”

   “You cannot be serious,” he answered, placing a hand on the door beside her head as he stepped just the slightest bit closer.

   “I may be making myself clear, but I’m not an easy lay,” she said, tilting her head up to his. “You’ll still have to work a little for it. Besides...you’ve never fucked until you’ve fucked high on pot.”

   “Is that so?” 

   “Mhm,” she replied in a sigh, hand coming to smooth over his chest. “So, why don’t you relax, professor. I hear it’s finals week.” With a smile, she slinked past him, walking to the stereo beside the TV and turning it on. She fumbled with the dials, finding the station she wanted and turning the volume down so that they could easily talk while still being able to hear the music.

   “Please, make yourself at home,” he mumbled, watching as she turned in place with a grin. 

   “Thanks,” she answered, taking a few steps to sit on the couch and kicking her flip flops off. “You got a nice place.” she said, stretching her arms above her head.

   “Thank you,” he answered, moving around to sit on the opposite end of the couch. “So, how long have you been a drug dealer?” There was a smirk on his face that came with his light-hearted question.

   “I’m not a drug dealer. I’m a personal chef that works with medicinal marijuana. It’s not a terribly lucrative job, but I’m helping people. That makes it worth it.”

   “A personal chef, huh?”

   She tilted her head, smile still firmly planted on her lips. “Mhm. Why? Tired of take out? You wanna hire me?”

   “Not if you’re going to be lacing my food with marijuana,” he replied, earning a giggle from her as she laid her head back on the cushions of the couch.

   “I wouldn’t unless you asked me to,” she answered, adding in a whisper, “ Besides, you would need to have a medical card.”

   “Nick doesn’t have one,” he challenged with an arched brow.

   “I’ve known Nick for a long time. His granddad is a client of mine.”

   “Ah, that makes more sense to me,” he answered. 

   “How long you been a wound up professor?” she teased. 

   He arched a brow. “I am not wound up.”

   “Liar,” she whispered.

   He rolled his eyes and grinned as a heavy sigh passed through his lips. “About six years at the university.”

   “What do you teach?”

   “Comparative Religion.”

   Her eyes widened. “Really? Interesting.”

   “Is it?”

   “Oh sure. I bet you’ve found that most religions focus on the exact same story, they just tell different versions of it,” she answered.

   “Not always,” he replied as he began to feel slightly light-headed. “I’m not going to pass out from this cookie, am I?”

   “If you weren't so hot, I would take offense to that,” she replied with a smile. “But no, I take my measurements very seriously. This is an indica dominant hybrid. You’ll feel relaxed, but perfectly awake and aware.”

   “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you,” he answered as a gentle tingling sensation began to manifest in his head, spreading slowly throughout the rest of his body. “How long have you been...a personal chef?”

   “Eight years. I’m a professional,” she replied with a wink. “So what do you think of the music? Doesn’t it make you feel like you’re on an island somewhere, hot sun beaming down on your skin,” she brought her foot up to glide over his knee and up his thigh, “breeze blowing through your hair?”

   “The upstate New York weather somehow ruins that illusion,” he answered, eyes on her delicate foot as it traveled further up. The sensations it was creating in that area were somewhat indescribable. It was relaxing and arousing all in the same instance.

   “I think you just need to use your imagination,” she whispered.

   His eyes came up to meet hers as one hand gently grasped her foot, earning a gasp from her. Jackson licked his lips as his fingers slid over her long, smooth calf. The feel of her skin against his was electrifying and he could already feel himself stirring beneath his cotton sweats. He was hyper aware of her foot, creeping closer to his center and lifted his hips subconsciously against her touch.

   “You feeling that cookie yet?” she asked as her eyes slipped closed, apparently enjoying his touch just as much as he was hers. “Touching feels good, doesn’t it?”

   “Different. Like the contact is all consuming while still being restrained,” he answered, turning to move closer to her. He licked his lips as she hummed and lifted her leg over and settled it behind him on the couch, leaving a space between them. Her eyes opened, staring into his own as she sat up and reached to grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer. Their faces inches apart, she brushed her nose against his, humming contently at the contact.

   Everywhere he touched and was being touched, a tickle danced, not prominent enough to provoke a laugh, but just enough to make him want more. His cock stirred again at the thought of having those tickles along his shaft as one hand went to her waist, their lips pressing together. He hummed against her mouth, leaning forward until he was lying on top of her, hips flush against hers. Tilting his head, he licked against her pout, silently asking for entrance, which she obliged with a smile against his lips. 

   Her legs wrapped around him, holding him against her center as she rolled against him, stimulating herself and him while her hands drifted over his back. Their tongues did a slow, deliberate dance, teasing the other while hands explored every reachable human surface. The tickle in her pussy burned when she felt him hardening against her, and Willow slipped her hands under his shirt to rake her nails over his skin. He groaned against her pout, moving his lips to her neck and leaving wet kisses over her pulse point, earning a gasp from her.

   “Take this off,” she whispered, tugging on his shirt and all but ripping it over his head when he sat up enough to give her the space to do so. Her hand dropped his shirt before she pulled her own off, exposing her bare chest to him. She reached for him, but he resisted her pull to take in her perky breasts, capped with two gorgeous, dark nipples that were hardened against the cool air.

   Another throb in his shaft at the sight of her pulled a groan from the depths of his throat and he settled on top of her again, one hand going to massage a globe while he dipped his head again to suck on her pulse point. Willow shuddered, nails dragging along his sides while she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against his erection.

   “Fuck, you feel big,” she whispered through a smile.

   “Wait till it’s inside you,” he whispered back, smirking against her cheek, completely overwhelmed with all the sensations he was feeling. She gave a breathy chuckle as her nails marked his back. Her hot breath against his ear, the feel of her breast in his palm and her heat grinding against the hardest part of him were driving him to the brink of insanity. 

   Longing for a new excitement, he shifted himself down enough to take her nipple between his lips while his fingers danced over her torso, making a path down until he reached her shorts. Tracing a line with a single digit down the zipper, he rubbed over the seam in the center of the soft denim, earning a soft cry from her as her own fingers sunk into his hair, holding him to her chest.

   “That feels good,” she moaned in a shudder, her body arching and rocking, apparently just as desperate to feel every touch as he was. She could feel the wetness of her panties seeping through the denim of her shorts and whimpered as his touch became more demanding. The burning in her core was intense, sparking more tickles over every inch of her. Reaching between them, she gripped him through his cotton pants, moaning again as a smile spread over her face.

   Jackson growled under his breath and with nimble fingers, he unbuttoned and unzipped her bottoms, sliding his hand down the front to slide his digit over her seam. “You’re so wet and I’ve barely touched you,” he purred, honing some of her essence on her clit and drawing circles over the swollen bud.

   “I’ve been thinking about this since I saw you in that towel,” she answered, moving her hand to slip under his sweats and wrapping her fingers around his heavy sex. “Oh my God, I can’t wait for you to fuck me.”

   He groaned loudly, biting down on the nipple that had gone un-stimulated as he carefully pushed a finger inside her, beginning a sawing motion and looking up to her face. Her eyes were hooded, mouth hanging open as she panted and rocked against his hand. His vision was laser focused on how beautiful she looked in the throes of passion, eyes hooded and mouth hanging open to allow the shallow breaths to escape as she rolled her hips in tandem with his thrusting finger. Adding a second finger as she palmed his weeping tip, using his precum to ease the way for her hand to stroke his shaft in time with his hand, Jackson gently stretched her further, lips coming down to press against hers again. 

   Willow moaned against him, sweat beginning to slide over her brow and down her neck as she swiped some more droplets of precum from the eye of his cock and again smeared it on his organ. In her stoned state, his fingers tickling the most sensitive part of her had her body trembling as she whined against his mouth. “I’m ready, please fuck me.”

   Groaning under his breath, Jackson slowly pulled his fingers out of her soaked channel, bringing them up to her lips and watching as she sucked them clean. Her hands pushed his sweats down past his ass as the fingers not in her mouth nimbly unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. Sitting back, he pulled them off of her and tossed them aside, pushing his pants down the rest of the way and reaching into the pocket for the condom he’d slipped in there. 

   Willow arched a brow, and Jackson could feel his cheeks heating up even more. “It was just in case--”

   “--Uhhuh, I’ll give you shit about it later, just fuck me,” she answered, watching him roll the condom on with her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her legs subconsciously opened wider for him. Her fingers played with her slit as her eyes came up to find him watching her hand.

   “Fuck,” he whispered.

   “Yes,” she moaned, moving her hand to pull him by the hip between her thighs. She gasped when she felt his head at her entrance, bucking her hips against him. The emptiness inside her was unbearable and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips, pulling him closer. Reaching down with one hand, she took him and aligned him with her opening, eyes widening as he pushed into her. “Oh fuck!” she cried, throwing her head back as he filled her completely.

   He growled against her salty skin, lips dropping kisses along her jawline as he gave her a moment to adjust to his girth. When he felt her walls clamp around him, he began to move with a moan, slowly at first then increasing the pace as the burning in his loins became stronger. Her heat was all consuming and coupled with the way her hands continued to stroke over his bare back, tips curling to leave half-moon marks, he was soon sent into a tailspin of sensitivity. Every breath that fanned over his lips, every scratch that dragged over his sweaty skin, every hug her insides gave to his thrusting cock were all that existed in that moment. Everything else, even the music he’d found so incredibly annoying just hours earlier that now accompanied their sounds of rapture and the impending finals that had stressed him all week were simply absent from his mind. The only thing that existed in the world was her, her hands, her pussy gripping him so perfectly, clamping when he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her.

   Willow curled a fist in his hair, using the grip to pull his head up before she pushed off the cushion, urging him up. Keeping one arm tightly around his neck, she pushed them up with the other until he was sitting on the couch with her in his lap. “Oh fuck, yes!” she whined, beginning to rock against him, grinding her clit on the pubic hair above his package. 

   Groaning, Jackson gripped her hips, helping her move on top of him as he took her nipple into his mouth again, biting playfully and soothing the sting of his nips with his tongue. His heart was throbbing in his throat and chest, body on fire as a spark flickered on his shaft, like a machete striking a piece of flint. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she let her head fall back, the ends of her dreads dragging over his skin. With a growl, he reached up with one hand and gathered a handful of her dreadlocks, keeping her head tilted back with his grip as his lips smeared wet kisses along her neck, biting hard enough to leave his mark on her otherwise unblemished skin.

   He could feel every single part of his body and hers, and the heightened stimulation and friction they were creating between them became so overwhelming that he thought of nothing else but igniting that spark that still flickered with every thrust of her hips against his. It was a primal, animalistic kind of sex that he hadn’t had since he was much younger, certainly more intense than even his first time inside a woman. Her heat was all consuming and mingled with his until his hair was wet again, the sweat now dripping over their bodies and stinging his closed eyes. He could feel his orgasm quickly approaching, the burning tickles from their couple spreading over every inch of his body, and he thought he could even feel it in his mind, on a molecular level, as though every neuron were being coaxed by the movements of their bodies. A pressure built until he felt as though his head would explode, when she bucked her hips and cried out her release, still rocking insistently against him until, with a loud moan, his own orgasm burst from him. 

   His limbs felt almost numb as he was sent into a blissfully heightened state of orgasmic euphoria. His arms and legs trembled, hips still moving against hers as they gradually began to come down. Panting against her shoulder, his arms held her flush against him, hands stroking over her skin, mirroring her arms hands on him, which only seemed to prolong their orgasms. It was as though they come with their entire bodies, the energy surging through them like a livewire. 

   “Holy shit,” he groaned in a shudder as he felt himself float back down to Earth. “That was so intense,” he whispered.

   She hummed her agreement, biting her bottom lip and looking down at him. “I told you.” Kissing him one more time, Willow slid from off of his lap and curled up beside him, her legs draped over his thighs. “Bet you’re glad you ate one of those cookies after all, huh?”

   “To say the least,” he replied, licking his dry lips and realizing that the inside of his mouth was parched as well. “You want some water?” he asked, looking down at her.

   “Yes, please, but be careful getting up,” she answered. “You might feel a little light-headed when you stand.”

   He chuckled softly and carefully stood, steadying himself before he went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of water bottles, depositing the used condom into the trash on his way back to the couch. He handed her one and once again sat on the couch beside her and opened his bottle, drinking half the water. He could still feel the effects of the cookie and set his bottle down to move until they were laying down on the couch, arms wrapped around each other.

   “Give me a few minutes and then I can go again if you’re up to it,” she said, fingers playing with his hair. 

   He hummed around a smile and nodded. “As long as we do it in a bed this time.”

   “Took the words right out of my mouth,” she replied in a chuckle, pausing for a moment before she tugged on his hair. “So let’s talk about this condom in the pocket thing.”

[ancientbrit]

Natter #3 24th June 2020

So, on  Saturday morning, I took part of my breakfast (yogurt) from our backup  fridge in the garage, but when I put the first spoonful in my mouth I noticed that it was warm. Strange that. So I checked the fridge and found that everything in it was warm. The freezer contents - weren't.This was a disaster as I had been to QFC a couple of days previously buying frozen and fresh foods including four half gallons of milk. Jean had been out the day after for the first time in 12 weeks and part of her haul was more milk and ice cream.I imagine that the excitement of being out again at last and back to her old stamping grounds overcame memory. So here we were rushing around trying to save what we could by rearranging everything in the kitchen fridge and then trying to close the door.The old fridge was possibly down on refrigerant and I was a bit annoyed for a brief moment until I remembered when we bought it. It was when we lived at the 'old house' way back in 1970 and it was already a year old when we got it! My word - 50 years old. I should have remembered as it's color is 'Harvest Gold' which hasn't been seen on store shelves in donkeys ages. I tend not to date things by color though, as modern colors mean little to me - 'Taupe' for instance means less than nothing. My lexicon runs in terms of the spectrum. But forgetting it's date made me think back to those 'Old House days' and what we were about then. Those days and other old days that preceded that time.  My memory of 'then' is perfectly clear  - it seems just like it was yesterday even though I know how long ago it actually was. So many friends and relatives who are no longer around to share those times with, One of the things that have remained constant is our phone number. Of course, then we had an exchange name -  Adams 2, which has now been transmuted to numbers - 232, and I think doing this has lost the feeling of romance that it seemed to have for me. When I was a kid many of our dairy and grocery items were delivered to the door by horse-drawn carts - very few people or businesses had a sufficiently high priority during the war to have a petrol ration. Mum had joined the "Co-op" for convenience and of course, there was the benefit of a bonus payout at year's end. I loved these horses and would meet them outside and feed them apples, carrots and whatever else I had to hand. Still firmly in my mind is the Co-op number I had to recite to the driver when we had milk or groceries delivered - 157376.Being horses they would leave proof of their passage along the road and my Dad would pay me a shilling per bucket full of 'Golden Apples' as my Dad referred to this natural function It seemed like it was too demeaning a job for a full-grown adult  and using his term was sort of distancing himself from the unpleasantness.It used to embarrass me a bit too, but you couldn't argue with the reward. it was all grist to the mill, and it did do the roses a power of good. In 1956, I had been out of the RAF for a year and had also just recently returned home from a  very long sojourn in hospital, and my Dad was persuaded, against his will, to have a phone installed. Phones were not then usual to find in most houses and my Dad's reluctance was based on the very real belief that his company could too easily find him at inconvenient times. I told him that it was an absolute necessity in that day and age and so at last it was installed. Our phone number was Fairlands 4725 and as I said, I remember the old exchanges with affection. Others in our neighborhood were Derwent and Vigilant and my favorite Aunt had the best I always felt - Silverthorn - lovely. The Fairlands exchange was essential to me as when I was discharged from the hospital I had left behind a lovely German nurse with whom I had developed special feelings.When I had become sufficiently fit to allow me to leave the hospital and walk around the grounds, I used to collect any outgoing mail from other patients who were still confined to bed and take it some distance up the road, through the snow to a mailbox. Just to make sure I would be okay, Irmgard, for such was her name, would accompany me and we would find a need to indulge in long hugs and exchange lip locks - just to keep the cold at bay you understand? Shared bodily warmth is a great way to defeat the weather! Later, returning to the hospital, which had been a big old private house standing in its own grounds, we would split up at the circular drive with a last goodnight kiss. Irmgard would go round to the kitchen door and I would go the other way to the front door. Knowing that our companion runs were our secret, I was surprised to find the youngish Matron just inside the door. With a twinkle in her eye, she asked if it was cold out and I acknowledged that it was. She told me that I should be careful that I didn't get chapped lips, but then added that lipstick was a sovereign remedy - and departed with a grin. So much for secrecy! Irmgard's phone exchange name at the hospital was Coombe Wood - not exactly what might be termed 'romantic' but association made it so. Our association was quite intense and a forthcoming proposal, whilst welcomed, was at that time impossible for Irmgard to accept. Her sister was soon to marry, another Englishman and they would be returning to England to live after their honeymoon. She would not leave her parents alone just like that. She had been sent to England for a couple of years to improve her English and was soon to return home to Bad Canstatt, just outside Stuttgart. As I was about to return to my studies we were parted and unlikely to meet again any time soon. So our contacts were limited to letters and very rare and expensive phone calls and so the Canstatt exchange also lives brightly in my memory. Unfortunately, long-distance relations tend to strain circumstances and over time our contacts became less and less,     Sometime later I reached a point where I was able to take a trip to the Continent. I wrote to Irmgard to tell her that at last I was able to come over to see her, not being really sure of my reception as I hadn't written for ages.Within days I had a reply and although she was totally delighted that I was coming she told me that she had become engaged. I couldn't really blame her as I had been very lax, but she wanted me to come and meet her family when I arrived. She was really very good and took me all over the city and ended at her parents' home in the evening to a party for her sister and new husband, just returned from their honeymoon on Lake Constance. It was a really nice evening and I got on very well with her parents, but of course, I didn't like her fiance at all! After all this, although I had been given her brother-in-law's name and address back home I was never able to contact him. I would love to have kept up to know how her life proceeded. I still have her framed portrait photograph she sent me when she had first returned home, inscribed "Zur stehten Erinnerung" Deine Irmgard. I have been occupying some of my evenings on the computer lately sorting and printing out the Natters that Jo & Tom and Janet have been good enough to get to me. As they all seem to have been listed well out of order I am busy trying to see what I have and what might yet still be missing. The job has been compounded by the difficulty I have experienced in opening the Flash Drive. Sometimes it allows me to zip along, opening files, but then will stop and nothing will work. Next day I try again and I am off to the races again. But I am getting there slowly and tonight (Monday) I completed taking off hardcopies, Now I can sort through, putting them in chronological order and see what I shall see. Much more later, but there seems to be nothing before 2012 so I guess that was when I started. As I mentioned last Natter I have been attacking Lily of the Valley and I am almost finished - at least with what was visible. Along the way, I have also removed Sword ferns, Cedar seedlings five feet high and Jasmine. The Jasmine was an insignificant rooted cutting, from where I have no recollection. It had been placed in a pot on the ground and had been overgrown by all sorts of stuff and over the last year had gone nuts. It was to be used at the Plant Sale and now there are five separate plants threatening to strangle you on the approach to the greenhouse so of course, they have to go. The final gap in my deer-proof fencing was completed a week ago but I forgot to mention it to the deer and my hostas have now been browsed off on three separate occasions. As soon as it looks like there might be leaves on Empress Wu that might be reaching terminal size, they disappear and I am beginning to think that I will have to curtail totally growing the items they obviously consider their personal snack bar. 'Doesn't really leave much selection but at least, so far, my cardiocrinums don't feature on their menu. 'Have to be grateful for small mercies I suppose. One good thing has come out of this. My neighbor (ex MG Jill) who has allowed me to use three raised beds to grow veg, has been getting worried that I might fall from the area where the raised beds live - on a raised part of the garden with a six-foot-high rock wall as it's western boundary. She sees me stepping back to admire my work and then bailing out over the edge. So she is having a large bed prepared at the bottom of the wall, which will be enclosed by a deer-proof cage. It will also benefit from the heat held by the rock wall - all sorts of interesting possibilities there. She is a good friend. So next year we might actually be able to eat something we have grown. 'Haven't been able to do that for the last four years now, except for Onions and Garlic! Got started on removing existing plants today and I think it was the hardest day's work I have done for ages.I had to have a nap in the afternoon, but I couldn't tell whether that was because I had two early start days or the sheer grind of lifting heavy plants.You have likely realised that I am just stumbling along here so I will finish and get to bed.

Your fearless and weary leader.Gordon

[piracytheorist]

My Notes on Rewatching “Call Girl”

I amuse myself by thinking that watching this film is an important rite of passage for anyone who’s an all-in Colin fan, as in, one who’ll watch anything and everything he’s in, no matter the content, theme or quality.

I actually used to think that this was a pretty bad movie... but, as you might have seen from my last few posts, I recently realized this isn’t the case. Sure, it is not your average short film, but breaking it down you realize it’s doing most things right from a filmmaking point. I mean, you don’t have to love it, but it does a great job overall.

And I mean, it’s got Colin in it. How bad can it be? ;)

Beware of spoilers, if you haven’t seen the film. And if you do wanna see it, here it is :D

~

I'm still surprised that... this is it. That's Colin freaking O'Donoghue right there. The pirate. The cowboy. The astronaut. The man the myth the legend.

Ah, early 00's.

Wait. Ok let's make a breakdown of the decoration here. There's: 1) a heart anatomy poster 2) a frame with an undiscernible picture 3) IS THAT AN ASTRONAUT FIGURE? dun_dun_dun.mp3 4) a small penguin (?) plushie with a nautical (?) hat on it 5) are those... mantis figurines stuck on the sides of the screen????

Oooooh boy you sure have some very specific decorations on your desk.

The music stops abruptly when Brendan's mother calls out to him to not close the door because she wants to see him studying. That's interesting. Also how old is Brennan supposed to be? Is he supposed to be in high school, or an adult in college? What was the age of consent in Ireland in 2003?

This vibe, though. White perfect shirt and dark vest...

The look of "I'm gonna look at hot girls with my bedroom's door open while my parents argue across the hall" ALSO YES THAT'S A MANTIS

This just makes me laugh so much. Can you imagine sweet innocent (mostly) virgin Brendan typing it and his heartbeat skyrocketing?

Seriously though, that "Welcome back Brendan" thing. With one small addition you add a whole point in his backstory about him trying to deal with his urges.

Jesus I have forgotten so much. As soon as Brendan hears his mother coming, he immediately clicks "Dump her" on the "Virtual Babe" and it just... explodes. 

With a full low-quality boom sound effect to boot. Like seriously if you were trying to hide why the f have your speakers on. You had one job, Brendan.

A rare glimpse into Brendan's room, and I'm trying to understand what the pattern on his sheets are. Maybe I'm just confused by the astronaut figurine, but it looks... vaguely... about space? Like, if you squint, the circular thing on the top left looks like Saturn's rings. No?

Also, Brendan's mom being obsessed with disinfection. That was 2003.

"I don't want filth getting into my house while I'm gone." And two hours later, her son has sex on her bed.

Oh wait, his father says "The only contact [Brendan] has with the outside world is through that bloody computer of his," in a... weird, tone? Like he's trying to placate the mother's fears of any rave party suddenly taking place in the house, but also with his tone (and maybe by using the word "bloody"? idk I'm no native speaker but it piques my interest) it doesn't seem like he's very... understanding and/or supportive of his probably very shy and/or socially awkward son.

Mom: That reminds me, block off the internet, will you? Dad: *scoffs* Why not lock him in a tower while you're at it?

He is sassy though!

Lookit him though! So sad he won't be able to create and look at Virtual BabesTM while his parents are gone.

The parent's accents strike me more towards a British one and I got confused for a bit, but then I remembered that we see Brendan use euros later, lol.

*hatching the plan to search in his father's briefcase for any cards for escort services*

This is where I started feeling that this movie is better than I’d remembered. Like, it does the job of delivering Brendan's guilt over "tresspassing" into his parents room and disobeying his mother, as well as his fear of being discovered, even though he watched his parents drive away, so he'd hear the car if they came back, in a pretty well-done and clear way.

I love how he immediately knows exactly where to look. His father's such an organized fella. Also those pills that he seems to not need immediately (thus leaving them behind for the weekend) are... something. They're put there for a reason and I wonder what that could have been.

There's not even a moment of hesitation, once he opens the briefcase. He doesn't put the card back in, he only looks briefly at his parents' photo but then he's like "Yeah. I'm doing it."

That smile as he sees the card though, lol. 

Casual reminder to have safe sex, lads.

And then the phone operator is like, full business mode. Brendan stutters for one (1) second and she's immediately like, "You want a girl?" She's like, I've had tons of people like you, lad, can't waste my time waiting until you find the courage to ask. You wanna hire or not?

OH MY GOD I JUST REALIZED The operator asks for the address, Brendan gives it, then asks how much does it cost. Then the operator says "Same as usual." BRUH she knew the address from how often his father used the service!

And then poor Brendan checks his savings and his "Uh..." says it all about how he wishes he could hire someone for longer than an hour. Bro, calm down. It's your first time.

And then he's like, waiting all anxiously by the door. I've never hired an escort service but I feel ya dude.

And of course Barbara the nosy neighbor, here to bring us to the edge of our seats, lol.

Look at how organized their fridge is. Why is that chick suddenly so eager to cook something for him? There looks to be so much food already prepared in there.

And dude. This movie has set-ups. Barbara tries to open a cupboard to like pick up ingredients to cook something, and Brendan, with a sudden "No!" rushes in and closes it. It only makes sense later, when we see that that's where he hid the money for the call girl.

Yikes she booped his nose as she left... what is he, ten? I mean even if he's supposed to be a teen here it's still... like... he's not a little boy to fucking boop his nose. No wonder her mother seems to trust her with taking care of him, with how both treat him like he's a child.

Hi there! You're gonna die :D

Shit I just noticed the portrait on the wall. Is that a... is that a fucking ruff collar his mother is wearing???? (btw I had to search to find that term with "shakespeare collar" XD)

I mean... you can't help falling for it. At first you're like, she seems too... simple for a call girl. But then you're like, who else could it be who also knows his name?

I wonder what would've happened if she hadn't asked to use the bathroom, which prompted her to look at his parents' bedroom and him to... initiate contact. Would he have mustered the courage to actually ask her about it or would he have been so flustered until she'd say something? What would she say? "You know, your mother said you would [something]" and he would FREAK THE FUCK OUT because how does his mother know? Would they have stayed there in awkward silence long enough for his mother to call, him to pick up and find out what she was really there for?

I mean, look at that! I'm speculacting the "what-ifs"! Good fucking movie!

That look, though. You suddenly go from "Aw you cute" to "WTF I know you're thirsty for it but that's... creepy"

Look at that smile, though! She is pretty nosy!

I just... I love everything about this. The way she's smiling at nosing in in her boss' bedroom. Him creeping behind her like the future killer that he is, actually scaring her. The way he says "This is my mother's room," so shy and collected. The fucking music, too. How it slowly builds up from the moment she spots the bedroom and it starts developing when Brendan kisses her.

And that kiss. So chaste and shy and yet she's like, wow yeah let's have sex now.

"You're not as shy as you look." LOL

For the pre-sex scene I just wanna link y'all to @killian-whump 's post about it, since it says it all.

Also dude the voicemail is set up from that moment too, but we've yet to hear what it includes, aside from his mother being bossy about the smallest things. "I hope you haven't gone back to bed." IF ONLY YOU KNEW. Not only what bed he's gone to, but also what he's doing on said bed.

"You don't waste much time, do you?" Lol if only you knew. And again his first response is to apologize if he did anything wrong.

And you know what? Plot twists are a hell of a lot of fun and well made when they make you go back and see things with the new perspective. Like, how chill and simple she was, why she said the last line I mentioned, the newly-known reasons why she said it was kinky to have sex in his mother's bedroom... *slams hand on table* That's a great way to do a plot twist! A fucking plus!

Like seriously, this convo: B: Have you met my father? M: No, but a lot of the other girls have though.

Pre-plot twist viewer: Wow whAT how do you say it like that Post-plot twist viewer: Yeah makes sense

M: I think he gets sympathy from them, like, you know, cause his wife's such an old witch... *realizes* Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that! *more failed excuses and then THAT face*

And like, that's a bit inappropriate in any case but pre-plot twist you're like WTAF. And then you're like eh makes sense for frustrated employees to pity their bitchy boss' seemingly calm husband...

And there's that set-up from before. Job well done, film.

And then their argument about the money. Brendan being confused about the amount, Mandy saying she'll come back and speak to his mother about it...

Seriously though what if he'd found out the voicemail after he'd had sex and before the "confrontation"? Would he like, have sent her on her merry way with all the money and then had more sex with the actual call girl?

And then his instinct, to try and make sure his mother won't find out, is to fucking threaten the woman with a knife. Wow, a little too much, Brendan. And then his first instinct, when they're fighting, is to search and grab the knife and fucking stab her. Lbr though that's just baby Colin finding his call for playing messed-up characters.

Also how did she die so quickly. Guess I found one weakness in the plot XD

And now you're like Jesus he just murdered her but when Barbara comes a-knocking and he looks at her and exasperatedly calls her name, you're like... same, bro.

And the stupid bastard didn't even wash the blood off his arm. Like seriously, Brendan, either do a murder correctly or don't do it at all. At least you can't say he wasn't dedicated, bro sliced his own arm open. *pats head* you'll learn, my little murderous bean, you'll learn.

Brendan: I was doing the dishes. Barbara: Did your parents leave them for you to do? They must have left in a rush this morning.

Yes, Barbara, he can do the dishes, he's in an undetermined age between late teens and-

Barbara: They didn't even make their bed.

Wtf you nosy bitch.

See what I'm saying? Full character development for a character with like, two minutes of screentime.

And then the voicemail drops like an anvil. My first thought when his mother said that Mandy is nothing but trouble I was like "Yo look who's talking" but then I thought that... yeah she did creep in her boss' bedroom, actually had sex with her son in it, then pretty much talked dirt to him about her... I mean she definitely didn't deserve to die, but maybe his mother was a good judge of character for one (1) moment.

And then Lorraine appears.

And Brendan's like "Now I have money for like, three hours with her. Maybe I'll even convince her to help me hide the body too."

“OR MAYBE I’LL JUST KILL HER TOO.”

In conlusion, yup, I’m pretty glad I spent a good hour and a bit watching, analyzing, writing this review and screencapping this film. 10/10 would rewatch and review again.

[kyle-writes]

The Neighborhood: Part 1

[And yet, despite all odds, I continue to create. Read on. Thanks in advance. ]

It all began with a few missing pets, outside cats mostly. Then all the pets were gone, even the ones that lived in tiny cages. We weren’t called in until the first child disappeared from their bed in the middle of the night. There were no signs of a break-in, or even of a struggle. The boy’s bed looked slept in but the blankets were still pulled up the way the mother insisted she had left them when she put him in it. Our forensics guys couldn’t find one hint of an intruder, which of course brought the parents to the light as suspects. I mean, it was only natural after all. Let me stop there before I get ahead of myself.

 I was leaning back at my desk reading the various reports from the scene when I heard my phone vibrate on my desk. I dropped my feet to the floor and swept it up in the same motion as I put the papers down.

“Detective Grace,” I spat out in my ‘all business’ voice, it was a habit I’d picked up after eight years in homicide. Most phone calls I got during work hours never had any real good news to deliver.

“Milly, it’s Gil,” said the voice on the other end, as if I could ever mistake the wavering, nervous pitch of our director of forensics. “I---,”

I sat up in my chair fully now, on high alert. “You found something with the Larson case?” My heart felt light in my chest, excitement already building---slowly, but surely.

There was silence, then, “Ahm…yes, and no. We have a problem out here on site.” I could hear several other voices furtively whispering. “We moved to the basement and --- will you two shut up?!--- And found some foreign substances oozing up from some cracks in the concrete floor near the southwest corner.” I was about to ask him what he meant by ‘foreign’ and ‘oozing’ but he continued after clearing his throat with one of his patented dry coughs. “We went upstairs after bagging some samples and the house was empty.”

Any positive feelings I had been having at that point were washed away in an instant. “What…what do you mean empty?”

“I mean Mr. and Mrs. Larson were gone, and so was Big Boy.”

Big Boy was Sergeant Louis Phillips, my senior in the department. The nickname wasn’t some cute thing, Louis was a 6’10” black man made out of 300 pounds of muscle. He moved, and hit, like a freight train. There was no way two middle-aged office workers could overpower him. No way in hell.  

“Milly? Mildred?” Gil’s use of my full name pulled me back into reality.

“Stay there,” I said stiffly, “I’m calling in the cavalry. Don’t touch anything else.” I hung up and got to work.

 The good folks of Washington Street were out on their lawns in force on that dreary Saturday afternoon as flashing lights flooded their neighborhood, focused all around the Larson house. K9 units combed the area for signs of our missing parents and beloved sergeant, but I had the uneasy feeling in the back of my head that they weren’t having any luck. Chief Albrecht had even contacted the county sheriff and highway patrol to get in on the action.

The whole thing was on a level of chaos I hadn’t ever experienced before. A knot had wormed its way into my guts and I felt myself teetering on a precipice between anger and panic. Gil stood next to me with a couple of his techs blabbering about something, but it was all just a low drone in my ears. My focus was out on the gathering crowd, a few of which I recognized as neighbors of the Larsons that we’d interviewed barely twenty-four hours ago. I took in the staring faces carefully, trying to see if any looked strange or out of place.

The knot in my stomach quivered. I stepped away from Gil and moved to find Alphonse Ruiz, another homicide detective. I found him inside the house, standing in the kitchen at the top of the basement stairs, looking down into the brightly lit area as folks worked at breaking apart the concrete flooring.

“Yo,” he said, turning fully to greet me with one hand raised.

“The family across the street, the ones you interviewed yesterday, have you seen them wandering around gawking with the rest of the civilians?” The back of my head itched, I had to force myself to ignore it. It was my tell.

Al blinked at me, and it made me want to hit him. “Er, the O’Neils? No, seen just about everyone else though.”

“Right, that’s what’s bugging me. This place is a goddamn circus, and they aren’t out here with the rest of ‘em. And all the lights in their nice little two-story are all black.” There was a subtle panic growing in my gut, the kind I had learned long ago not to ignore. I lead Al back outside and pointed across the street. “Cars are still out in the driveway too.”

Al had his phone out, he swiped his finger across the screen and after a few taps brought it up to his ear. I heard it ring twice before going to voicemail. He hung up, and tried again, with the same result. “Hrm, phone must be off. I told them not to go anywhere without leaving a contact number. Just in case.”

We headed across the street, many eyes following us, and stepped onto the O’Neil’s porch. I rang the doorbell, and heard its low, musical chime go off inside. Nothing. No movement inside. I pressed the button again, this time calling out my name and affiliation with the police homicide squad.

Al, who was standing shoulder to shoulder with me, knocked hard on the door. On his second strike, the door jiggled just enough to open slightly. We exchanged glances and he pushed ahead of me, calling out to anyone who might be in the house. I had my hand on my gun as we entered the dark place.

 Immediately I felt something bad in the air that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Al couldn’t hide his unease either, crouching slightly as we inched into the completely silent O’Neil house. We passed through a small hallway lined with family photos---Mr. and Mrs. O’Neil looked to be around the same age as the Larsons, with two almost-grown kids and one that I would guess was a surprise. There had to have been at least a ten year difference between the middle and the youngest. The place must have been like a zoo in even its calmest moments.

We stopped when two paths opened to us, one to the left and right. Al signaled he would go right, I nodded, and we separated. I ended up in the den. Next to the large bay window that looked out over the street was an equally big flat-screen plasma television sitting on a cabinet filled with open shelves and at least a dozen different kind of electronics. A cushy looking couch and leather recliner looked undisturbed, the pillows and blankets on them still neatly piled, and the TV remote on the recliner’s left armrest. I saw a half-finished glass of tea sitting on a small end table next to the chair. No ice, if there had been it was long melted.

A single sharp whistle snapped my attention from the glass back to where Al had gone. I rushed to him to find him standing in a doorway between the dining room and kitchen, a determined look on his face. He had his gun drawn in his right hand and waved for me to come next to him with his left. I undid the bindings on my holster and slid up next to him.

Sitting in the middle of the tiled kitchen floor was an upturned tray of uneaten biscuits and a shattered porcelain bowl stuck in a mess of half-dry gravy. The fridge was wide open and near the bottom was a dropped quart sized container of orange juice. Al and I exchanged glances. He stepped back around the corner and brought his radio up to his mouth and I heard him mumble into it as I stepped into the kitchen.

Around the corner where the oven was stood an open door that without a doubt lead into some kind of basement. All the houses in the neighborhood had a similar design, being built all around the same time back in the late 80s. Having been down in the Larson basement, I could picture what this one looked like.

Out came my pocket flashlight, I shook it and clicked it on. A golden beam of light pierced the pitch blackness of the basement and illuminated a long, wooden staircase. Upon the staircase, from the next-to top stair all the way to the bottom was a trail of thick, gooey black ichor. Eerily similar to the kind Gil had shown me in the evidence bag not ten minutes ago.