#i got the single of Old Brown Show today

[b3ach-bunn7]

READ YOUR MIND

You're roommate and her boyfriend are incredibly loud, so you decide to spend the night at your hot friend Jason's house.

fluff, college!au, confessions, one bed trope

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It takes about twenty minutes of internal conflict before you find yourself outside Jason’s dorm room. 

You feel stupid. It’s not like you haven’t been in Jason’s room before. You guys were friends. He’d slept on your couch after a movie night gone too long, you’d stayed up for hours writing essays together on his bedroom floor. This was nothing weird, nothing new. 

But for whatever reason, today it feels different. 

It might be the fact that you’re seeing him differently. You’re not sure when, but the line between friend and something else has started to blur. You don’t know how you didn’t notice the strong slope of his jaw, the fact that he was probably strong and muscular enough to throw you over his shoulder. How funny he was, how kind he was. The fact he studied English, how smart he was at it. It’s really no one's fault but his own. You’re surprised you’d lasted this long without crushing on him, anyway. And maybe the way his eyes lingered a little too long on your own. Innocent touches felt like something else, a hand holding your hips as he stepped behind you, a thigh against your own as you sat in impossibly tight lecture halls.

Whatever. There’s no point looking at it like that. You love your friendship with him too much to let a little crush ruin it. 

If you were in any other situation, you wouldn’t be here. But it’s late and you know of all your friends Jason’s the most likely to be awake. You don’t want to bother him but you can't spend another night third-wheeling with your roommate and her boyfriend. That, and the fact that it gets particularly loud whenever you come to sleep. 

After a deep breath to steel yourself, you knock on the door. It takes only a few seconds before it swings wide open. 

And God, you take back everything you just said. Because he's wearing a pair of grey sweats, and an old band shirt that is showing off his delicious arms, and you don’t know if you can blame the fact it’s nearly midnight on the thoughts running through your head. His movements are slow, sleepy, as he blinks at you confused.

He pushes his glasses up his head, tufts of brown hair falling over his face. “Oh. Hey. Is- Are you okay?”

“Oh god, did I wake you?”

“Nah, you’re good.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

It takes a second before the words come out of your mouth. “I- Lily. She has- She has her boyfriend round, and I don’t sleep very well when he’s there.” You laugh awkwardly, scratching your arm.

You hold up the books and paper you brought with you. “You mind if I crash here tonight? I bought stuff to keep me busy, so I’ll be out of your hair.”

Jason smiles easily, pushing the door open further. “Of course, yeah.” 

You step in, thanking him as he grabs the stuff out of your hand and puts them on his front table. His dorm is so boyish. Him and his roommate, an eccentric boy everybody called Gar, were not the best at interior design. Their couches are dark grey with red pillows, jarring against the white carpet you’d bought them as a housewarming gift. The kitchen was an amalgamation of whatever plates and mugs they’d found at thrift stores, their fridge filled with pictures from Gar’s old polaroid camera. It was cute and very them, and a warm place to sleep that wasn’t accompanied by the sound of your roommate and her boyfriend doing whatever the hell they got up to alone.

“Thanks again. I can’t stand another night with those two.”

Jason snorts a laugh, sitting down on the couch. “It can’t be that bad. They’re nice people.”

“Yeah, sure. But all they do is remind me of how painfully single I am.” You huff, sitting beside him.

He’s close enough that you can smell the expensive cologne he wears. He’s shown you it once, a fancy glass bottle. He’s spritzed it on your wrist and the smell lasted all day. He nods at your words, and you turn your head towards the TV to avoid his gaze.

“That guy you saw last week didn’t work out?” 

Your eyebrows furrow. Honestly, the date had been crap, and you’d forgotten about him the second you’d gone home. You’re surprised he remembers. You tell Jason about all of your romantic adventures, hoping it will have some effect on your feelings for him. It hasn't been very successful so far. And while Jason looks disinterested as he asks you, eyes focused on the movie on screen, his leg taps up and down, and he looks a little restless. You think about lying for a split second, but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

You scoff. “I haven’t spoken to him since. He was boring. And stupid.”

Jason laughs, his eyes crinkling. “That’s rude!”

“He couldn’t hold one conversation with me! Like, I asked him what his favourite book was and he said Diary of a Wimpy Kid. We are nineteen years old!” You whine, hands covering your face as Jason cackles next to you.

“So that’s all women want. A man who reads?” There's a teasing lilt to his voice and you roll your eyes.

“Well, duh. I am studying English after all. I’d like to be able to hold a conversation with him about what I do.”

“That’s a fair dealbreaker, I'll be honest.” Jason hums, resting his arm on the back of the couch, brushing your back slightly. “Is that all you’re looking for in a man?”

The TV blares quietly in the background. Some random show on the food network where the contestant currently on screen looks like they're about to drop the tiered cake in their hands. His question rings out in the room, and you know you only have a few seconds before your silence is considered awkward. But you can’t help but think his question is so suggestive. Does he want to know why out of innocent curiosity? Or does he want to know out of something else?

“Well. Obviously not.” You finally say, bringing your knees up to your chest. “But English comprehension would be nice.”

Jason snorts a laugh. “That being said. He has to be funny. And tall, at least taller than me. And he needs to be smart. And fit. Like, physically.”

Jason watches you with a small smile on his face, nodding, like he knows you're just trying to describe him in a roundabout way. You laugh, a little nervous under his gaze. You reach across the couch and grab the remote.Your arm brushes against his leg and the contact is fleeting but it makes your skin burn.

“And all these guys at uni, and you haven’t found one who fits?” 

His voice is lower when he speaks again, and when you look at him he’s looking at you so intensely. And it’s then you notice that the two of you are sitting quite close on the couch, considering it's one big enough to fit about four people. 

“Well. Yes. I- Maybe.”

He just nods again. You take a quick breath in, quickly grabbing your book from the table. “Did you finish the essay for next week?” 

Jason groans, leaning his head back on the couch. “Fuck. No. I completely forgot.”

You wave your own essay in the air. “Well. I was gonna ask you to read over mine, but. Nevermind then.” You sigh dramatically.

“Shut up. Lemme read.” He takes it out of your hand, slipping his glasses back on his face. They’re thick rimmed lenses that make him look older than he is and you love them.

You watch him as he reads, fingers playing with his bottom lip as his eyes skim over your work. Some part of you feels the tiniest bit self-conscious, because he is a hundred times smarter than you, but you know he’d never make it feel that way. Jason suddenly looks up and his eyes meet yours. You smile, face heating, as he raises an eyebrow.

“Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

You tap the edge of your paper. “Good?”

“Great. Can you write mine too?”

You snort. “You wish.” Jason pouts and drops your paper back on the table.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it tomorrow. Right now I’m hungry.”

You sit up immediately at that. “Yes. Let’s order food.”

Jason looks back at his kitchen. “I shouldn’t. I’ve eaten takeaway every night this week, I think. It’s also,” he quickly glances at his watch, “barely half twelve. What’s even open right now?”

You groan, shaking his shoulder. “Jason, don’t be responsible! I’m here, this is like a sleepover. We need to eat something junk-foody.”

Jason just frowns. You flick the centre of his glasses and he tuts. “Hey.”

“I’ll even pay! It’s on me.” You nod and pull out your phone. You’re opening UberEats before he can protest again.

“See. Burger King is open. We love Burger King!”

“We do?”

“Yes. What do you want?”

“A whopper.”

You spend the next ten minutes deciding and then the next thirty waiting anxiously for your food. The thing with Jason, and probably the reason you like him the most, is that you can talk to him about anything. Tonight, it’s his brother Dick’s birthday party. He leans in to show you the picture on his phone, and you try not to laugh at how unhappy he looks to be photographed.

When the doorbell rings Jason runs to grab the food, before bringing it back to the two of you. It takes another twenty minutes for the two of you to finish eating, old episodes of Friends humming in the background. Sleep circles your limbs and you yawn, sipping on blue slushy that had come with your order. It’s entirely too sweet and stains your tongue blue but you keep drinking it anyway.

“I don’t know. Bruce is always asking me to come over, but. Things are still weird.”

You nod. “Yeah, I get it. But it’s good you’re trying. I-“

You're cut off suddenly by Jason yelling and pointing at your arm. You screech, dropping your slush and shooting off the couch.

“What! Oh my god, what is it?” You yell, hands rubbing at your sleeves.

“You-“ Jason tries to speak but his words are cut off by a laugh. “It was just a little bug.” 

“Jason. That is not funny! You freaked me out, look!” You whine, pointing at the now spilt slushy all over your hoodie.

“Ah, shit. Sorry, sorry.” 

He gets up and grabs some tissues and you furiously dab at your hoodie. The couch is also now blue, and you frown. “There goes my bed, too. Guess I’m sleeping on your bedroom floor today.” 

Jason perks up where he’s blotting the couch. He frowns, thinking for a moment. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, what? Take my bed.”

Your hands drop to your sides. “Well what about you?” 

“I’ll take the floor. It’s my fault you split this, anyway.” 

“It’s your bed. I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

“Well, it’s my dorm so. I think I’ll have the final say, sweetheart.” He teases. 

You bite your bottom lip, thinking, and toss the used tissues on the table. “Why don’t we just sleep together?”

The tips of Jason’s ears turn a dark red and he looks a little shell-shocked at your words, before it’s replaced by a smirk. Your face flushes too, and you quickly shake your head.

“I- Not like that, I meant- Stop laughing.” You snap. But the sight of him laughing behind his hand makes you giggle a little too.

“I just mean, like. I don’t mind sleeping in the bed with you. I just- I don’t think there’s any point in one of us sleeping on the floor, if there’s a perfectly good bed that can fit us both, you know?”

You’re well aware that you’re rambling, and the way he tilts his head and smiles at you is not helping. He gives the couch one last wipe and stands.

“Alright. That’s cool with me if it’s cool with you.  I can also get you something else to wear.” He gestures at your now blue hoodie and you smile gratefully.

You’ve been in Jason’s room once or twice, to grab something or take a call. But this time it’s different, because you’re looking at his bed and you’re going to be in it in about five minutes. You ignore the band posters plastered on his walls, the messy stacks of books all over his floor. You sit gingerly on the edge of the mattress and wait. He comes in only a moment later. He starts rummaging through his drawers and you just watch. He glances at you over his shoulder and shakes his head, huffing a laugh.

“Stop staring. You’re making me nervous.” He whispers.

“Man up.”

He throws a hoodie at you and you catch it. “You know where the bathroom is.”

You walk into the toilet and quickly get changed. You leave your old hoodie in the hamper. Jason’s one is bigger and smells like him, and you don’t see yourself giving this back anytime soon. You give yourself a quick once over in the mirror, fixing your hair and wiping mascara from under your eyes, before you head back to Jason’s room.

When you come back, Jason’s already in bed, doing something on his phone. You linger in the doorway and he looks up.

“You want a formal invitation?”

You roll your eyes and shuffle your way over. You gingerly lift up the sheets and climb in. You are so painfully aware of how close he is, your shoulders brushing as he puts his phone to the side and lays down properly. The room is silent other than the two of you breathing. Just when you're about to speak, he beats you to it.

“Night.” He whispers.

“Goodnight.”

You’re not crazy, right? This is weird. Maybe if it was Victor’s room. A boy friend who was completely platonic, it wouldn't mean anything. But you’ve felt the tension between you and Jason, the subtle flirting, the lingering touches. You know that whatever is happening between you guys is not just friendship. And you have no idea if it's just you, because Jason is breathing so evenly you think he’s fallen asleep already. 

You shuffle a little in the sheets, uncomfortable. They smell like Jason and it’s not helping to calm your thoughts down. You turn around to lay on your side, and when you do, you’re met with a face right in front of you, looking back. 

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to adjust to the darkness and this close, you can make out the spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose, the grey hairs he’s growing at 20 that he always complains about. His eyelashes are so long, and you smile sleepily.

“Hi.” 

He smiles too. “Hi.”

“I can’t sleep.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut. “Those burgers woke me up.”

Silence. You don't get a reply. You open your eyes again and Jason is just staring.

“Is there another bug on my face?” You joke. But he doesn't laugh.

“No. You just look so pretty right now.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Jason looks like he’s telling you the time of day, so casual. He lifts up his hand slightly, and brushes a strand of your hair from out your face.

“I- Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything again. You don’t know what to say. A silence settles over the room again. The two of you just look at each other. And just when you’re about to break it, he sits up so fast it makes you jump.

“Jason, what-”

“I can’t do this, I-”

You eyebrows furrow and you sit up, watching Jason flick on the lamp on his bedside table. The room is enveloped in a soft warm light, and his hair is tousled a little, his shirt wrinkled from how quickly he got up.

“What is going on right now?” “Did you know Gar isn’t home?” He says.

You say yes, because the fact you can’t hear him yelling at COD or something else, and the fcat he didn’t come say hi, is enough clue that he’s not home. 

“Right, so. When I made you spill your slushy, which was an accident by the way, I could’ve easily just let you stay in there. He wouldn’t care.”

“Okay.” You say slowly.

“And. I didn’t. Because I knew that you wouldn’t let me sleep on the floor and i wouldn’t either, and then we’d be in this position, and I’d finally get the chance to fucking tell you how i feel.”

“How- How you feel?”

“Yes. And then I pussied out and I just said goodnight, and. And then you looked at me, and, fuck. I can’t take it anymore.”

And then Jason turns to look at you, and he looks so desperate as he grabs your hands, his skin calloused as he tightens his grip. 

“I like you. A lot. And, you know, I’d like to think I'm pretty smart, but I know I am horrible when it comes to people, at feelings. So I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that.”

This is a dream. There’s no way this is real, that the Jason Todd, biceps and all, is confessing to you on his bed. You want to pinch yourself because the way his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand is making your heart squeeze in your chest.

You watch those pretty brown eyes furrow slightly at your silence. 

“I- If you don’t feel the same way, I-”

You don’t think before you reach forward, palms grabbing his jaw and pulling him forward so you can press a kiss to his lips. And he barely waits a second before his eyes flutter closed, hands tangling in your hair to pull you impossibly closer. Your arms slide down to curve around his neck and you toy with the hair on the nape of his neck, and he groans. You finally let go and he leans his forehead on yours, kissing your nose, your cheek.

“I like you too, by the way. If the kiss wasn’t tell enough.”

He grins, boyish and handsome, and you want to kiss him again.

He sighs happily, hands slipping up the edge of his hoodie, eyes waiting for your nod of approval. When he gets it, he smiles again, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“God, thank fuck for Lily and her boyfriend

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nia try not to write a college au mission impossible... I LOVEE JASON TODD! In my head any alternate universe hes not emo so i write him nice and cute.

thanks to all who voted in the poll! im gonna make my way through all the guys on that list so look out for it! next up will be shinsou because of a very nice commenter ;P i hope u all enjoy this, leave any fic ideas in my ask box!

[rinawantstosleep]

𖹭༉‧°𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪

bf satoru x fem single mom reader

wc: 1.1k

— a pair of troublemakers residing in your house; both of whom are (unintentionally!) dead-set on making themselves the death of you.

"I don't like your stupid, white hair." 

"And I don't like your boring, brown hair, buddy."

"W-well... well, I don't like your ugly, doo-doo face!"

"Your mama does." 

The two could go bickering like this for hours on end if you let them. What may seem to be a mutually digressive arrangement is actually an oddly adorable bonding in disguise. Satoru and your son put on a front of being annoyed at the other's presence, but you've never seen them apart for longer than a few minutes at a time. They've grown on each other; much like how moss grows on a statue that's been lingering out in the open. An indispensable cycle of life that's truly inevitable. 

"No, she doesn't! She doesn't! She likes... sof- sofis... sofistogated guys."

"You mean sophisticated?"

"Shut up!" 

You'd been terrified that your little one wouldn't have a father-figure to rely on anymore after you divorced your husband. However, it was something you had to do for his sake. The child deserved to live in an environment that wasn't always reeking of alcohol, where he wasn't subjected to the constant, drunk yelling of a pathetic excuse of a father who couldn't get his shit together and lazed around at home all day while you did all the work. If that meant that you'd have to raise him on his own, then so be it. At least he'd be raised properly. Signing those papers was, by far, the easiest decision you'd ever made. 

"I'm not shutting up because a kid in clothes too big for him is telling me to."

"You... you're the one always wearing tight clothes around the house to impress my mama."

"No, that's because I'm ripped. Gotta show off what I've got. And your mama loves that." 

"Oh, yeah? That means you show off your... your - um... ugly, doo-doo face!"

Would you regard it a miracle that Satoru just so happened to stumble into your life around that very time? Well, relatively. Meeting him wasn't something you'd planned, nor anticipated. The kind stranger who offered to pay for your order at a café a year ago has somehow, thanks to quite a romantic sequence of events, turned into your boyfriend; a rock to lean on for when you need the support. And, also, someone that your little one can look up to (with the fun, bonus benefit of the pair getting into silly, childish quarrels nine times out of ten). What is Satoru if not a three-hundred-and-thirty-six-month-old toddler, too? Puts your five-year-old to utter shame with the way he acts. 

"Enough. Baby, we've been over this before. Behave."

"But, mama, he's being a meanie!" "But, babe, he's acting all pretentious." 

The responses come simultaneously: one is high pitched and whiny, and the other is your son. Sometimes, you have to pause and ask yourself how you haven't gone insane yet. It's the love that keeps you from falling apart. How could you ever harbor any other feeling for these two, except for wanting to cherish them? You just... need to work on a pet name that doesn't apply to the both of them at once.  

"I don't want to hear it. Sweetie, finish your lunch. And, Satoru?" 

"Yes, honey-who-loves-me-and-my-'ugly, doo-doo'-face?" He's smirking, snickering, while saying this, the sly bastard. When will the pair ever relent on trying to one-up the other? 

"Why have you got one of my hair ties on your wris- never mind. Don't forget to change the sheets in our room. I'd do it myself if not for the meeting I need to get to in an hour." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Cue a tiny gasp. 

"But, mama..." The voice of your little one breaks the peaceful silence at the dining table once again. His legs start kicking back and forth - a sign that he's growing restless - from the chair they're dangling off of. He's got a protest already forming up in that head of his. "Toru said he'd take me to the skate park today. And he promised to get ice cream after."

Toru, huh? That's new. You can't help the smile that paints itself on your lips. The two have been getting along pretty well, it seems, contrary to all the bickering they do. That's always nice to know. It's amusing to see the dynamic they've built. One second, they're riling each other up to no end, the next, they've already formed a secret alliance to go out and have fun together. How cute. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! So that means we need to leave riiight after I finish my lunch. Don't get mad, okay?" 

It's the small things like these that warm your heart. Some sacrifices can be made if it's in regards to this adorable (step, even though you haven't married Satoru yet)father-son moment. The sheets are insignificant right now. "Awwh. Of course I won't get mad, baby. It's good for you to want to spend more time with Satoru. Isn't he a fun guy?"

"... maybe." 

. . . 

"Just make sure he's safe out there. Helmet and gear on at all times, no big ramps. And don't let him eat too much sugar. He'll get hyper. Once the rush dies down, he'll get cranky -"

Satoru's arm wraps around your waist before you can finish your sentence, pulling you overwhelmingly close to his frame. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck, just the way Satoru likes it. Oh, how he wants to just throw everything else out the window and drag you to the nearest room with a lock in place.

"You -" A quick peck to your lips, followed by a nibble on your bottom lip. "- worry -" Another peck. "- too -" Another. "- much." Then, an unexpected bite on the shell of your right ear. "I'd never allow myself to let that little demon get hurt; or hyper."

Large hands wander across the curve of your back, resting firm on your butt. Satoru doesn't want to expose your son to the way he's squeezing your plush flesh with his long digits, so he shifts to have your back pressed against the wall. A perfect opportunity to kiss you - which the man can't help but seize. What else is a smitten boyfriend to do while waiting for your son to get ready and come down from his room upstairs? Lips against lips until one of you pulls away for air. "He's safe with me, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Atta girl. Now, you go to that meeting of yours. And, tonight, after we both get back- oww."

"Groooss! Don't kiss my mama, or you'll make her ugly! Like youuu!"

"Baby, no. Don't kick Satoru's ankles-"

"I'm saving you, mama."

with 𖹭, rina !!

[thechanelmuse]

Jackie Ormes, the first Black American woman cartoonist

When the 14-year-old Black American boy Emmett Till was lynched in 1955, one cartoonist responded in a single-panel comic. It showed one Black girl telling another: "I don't want to seem touchy on the subject... but that new little white tea-kettle just whistled at me!"

It may not seem radical today, but penning such a political cartoon was a bold and brave statement for its time — especially for the artist who was behind it. This cartoon was drawn by Jackie Ormes, the first syndicated Black American woman cartoonist to be published in a newspaper. Ormes, who grew up in Pittsburgh, got her first break as cartoonist as a teenager. She started working for the Pittsburgh Courier as a sports reporter, then editor, then cartoonist who penned her first comic, Torchy Brown in Dixie to Harlem, in 1937. It followed a Mississippi teen who becomes a famous singer at the famed Harlem jazz club, The Cotton Club.

In 1942, Ormes moved to Chicago, where she drew her most popular cartoon, Patty-Jo 'n' Ginger, which followed two sisters who made sharp political commentary on Black American life. 

In 1947, Ormes created the Patty-Jo doll, the first Black doll that wasn't a mammy doll or a Topsy-Turvy doll. In production for a decade, it was a role model for young black girls. "The doll was a fashionable, beautiful character," says Daniel Schulman, who curated one of the dolls into a recent Chicago exhibition. "It had an extraordinary presence and power — they're collected today and have important place in American doll-making in the U.S."

In 1950, Ormes drew her final strip, Torchy in Heartbeats, which followed an independent, stylish black woman on the quest for love — who commented on racism in the South. "Torchy was adventurous, we never saw that with an Black American female figure," says Beauchamp-Byrd. "And remember, this is the 1950s." Ormes was the first to portray black women as intellectual and socially-aware in a time when they were depicted in a derogatory way.

One common mistake that erased Ormes from history is mis-crediting Barbara Brandon-Croft as the first nationally syndicated Black American female cartoonist. "I'm just the first mainstream cartoonist, I'm not the first at all," says Brandon-Croft, who published her cartoons in the Detroit Free Press in the 1990s. "So much of Black history has been ignored, it's a reminder that Black history shouldn't just be celebrated in February."

Source

[katethetank]

Too Hot to Handle

Teacher!Eddie x Firefighter!Steve

Masterlist - Ao3

Rating: 18+, minors gtfo

Plot: Eddie takes his third grade class on a field trip to the fire station. Everything is going great until he's swept off his feet by Fireman Steve. CW: Oops, I wrote porn again! Brief mention of drugs, but in reference to physique not actually doing drugs, anal fingering, protected p in a sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, lots of switching positions Word Count: 7.7k

“Single file, friends! Everyone line up on the driveway, just like we practiced!”

Field trips are always a welcomed way to break up the normal school days, but sometimes getting a bunch of third graders to cooperate and behave can be more than a little stressful. Thankfully Eddie’s class this year are fucking angels and have no problem following his instructions. Which is great, because the field trip he managed to score is an important one. As a less than angelic child, he was no stranger to accidentally starting a couple fires here and there, so if anyone knows the importance of children’s fire safety, it’s him. 

The kids all line up along the driveway of the fire station and more than a few are bouncing on their toes with excitement. He walks up the line and quickly does a headcount, making sure there are the same amount of students as when they left, and is greeted by the fire chief waiting at the open garage doors.

“Chief Hopper. You must be Mr. Munson. Glad to have you all here today.”

Eddie’s hand is engulfed in this guy's bear paw as he reaches out to shake it. “Thanks for having us, Chief. They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

“Well let’s not make them wait any longer. Come on, kids! Who wants to check out a fire engine?”

The squeals are nearly deafening as the fire station is invaded by 8 and 9 year olds. Chief Hopper gives them a tour of the space, showing off all the equipment and explaining what their uses are before directing them to the shiny red vehicle that a third of the kids haven’t been able to take their eyes off of. They get to climb into the cab two at a time and honk the horn or flip on the lights and sirens, making Eddie wish he brought some earplugs along with him. 

Soon they’re joined by two other firefighters and given demonstrations on how to work the hose. Fireman Lucas holds it steady while Eddie’s class lines up to all have a chance at spraying water down the driveway, and Fireman Mike lets all the kids gently pet their Dalmatian, Charcoal. 

Once everyone gets a chance to honk, spray, and pet, the real education begins. Charcoal is taken back into the fire house, much to the children’s dismay, but once he’s gone something even cuter takes his place. 

“Hi everyone, I’m Fireman Steve, and we’re gonna learn about fire safety today! Now who can tell me…”

Whatever he’s talking about goes right into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other. There’s just vacant space in between where his brain has melted away. This guy is hot. Like Australian Firefighter Calendar Centerfold level hot. Eddie’s always been a sucker for a man in uniform, but good god. He’s got this swoopy brown hair that Eddie wants to run his fingers through. His eyes sparkle as he talks and his smile is so fucking pretty it’s unfair. He’s got stubble indicating that he hasn’t shaved in maybe a few days and Eddie wants to rub his face all over it. The navy t-shirt he’s wearing shouldn’t be anything special, but the way it stretches over his defined pecks and bulging biceps has Eddie going a little weak in the knees. The suspenders are absolutely doing it for him, and Eddie wants to pull them off those broad shoulders with his fucking teeth. The standard firefighter pants are bulky and worn, and he’d give his right eye to dive in there and see what they’re hiding. 

Jesus Christ, he’s gotta reign this in. He’s a teacher on a field trip with children for Christ’s sake. 

“So show of hands, how many of you know what a fireman’s carry is?”

Eddie looks over his little sea of third graders and a few of them have their hands up in a silent answer to Fireman Steve’s question.

“Not many, I see! Well, sometimes in an emergency firefighters have to carry someone out of a burning building. It takes a lot of strength, and we have to be quick so we can get them to safety, so there’s a special way we do this. Who wants to see?”

Eddie chuckles to himself as every hand shoots up as high as they can reach. His laughter is cut short when suddenly his wrist is grabbed in a firm hold, a flash of navy blue passes him, a frankly huge arm dips between his legs (oh god) and his world is tilted on its axis as he’s lifted from the ground. He just hopes his students didn’t hear the high pitched squeak he let out. They probably can’t over their shouts of surprise and delighted peals of laughter, so thank god for that.

“See how easy it looks? Now please, please, don’t try doing this with your friends, ok? It takes a lot of practice and a lot of training to be able to pick someone up like this safely.”

This fucking guy is just casually talking while Eddie is draped over his shoulders like he weighs nothing. It’s taking everything in him to ignore how firm those shoulders are and how his back muscles seem to ripple under his t-shirt against Eddie’s stomach. If he gets a boner while Fireman Steve is wearing him like a cape in front of his class he’s going to have to leave the country or die of embarrassment. 

The demonstration is over, and Eddie thinks that he’ll be set down and able to scamper into the corner to hide his blushing face, but Fireman Steve seems to have no desire to let him go. He and Chief Hopper talk to the kids about smoke detectors, and fire exits, and home evacuation plans, and the whole time Eddie is just…dangling there. He feels like an idiot, but he also can’t help but think how this guy could toss him around like a rag doll if he wanted. 

Again, he needs to reign this in. 

Finally, fucking finally, this part of the field trip is done as Fireman Steve encourages everyone to give Eddie a round of applause for his participation. Eddie’s feet touch the ground, and he feels a bit wobbly as the blood rushes back into his limbs. Fireman Steve steadies him with an arm around his waist, and gives him a blinding smile. “Easy there, Teach. I know I swept you off your feet, but I don’t need you falling for me and hurting yourself.”

And the fucker winks.

Eddie can feel his eyes bug out and he glances over the man’s shoulder to see that his class is fully distracted by the Chief handing out fire department t-shirts and fire safety activity books. He looks back at Fireman Steve and he’s smiling like he just won the fucking lottery. “Did…are you hitting on me right now?”

Ugh, his laugh is even hot somehow. “Sorry, I don’t normally do that. Not a lot of teachers that come in here are as cute as you. I uh…” He subtly flicks the rainbow pin on Eddie’s jean jacket. “Thought I’d shoot my shot.”

Eddie’s laugh is a little unhinged, definitely bordering on crazy, but he’s got to be losing his mind if he thinks this is actually happening. “Did I fall and hit my head or something? Is this a coma? Because there’s no way a hot firefighter is flirting with me on a school field trip.”

Fireman Steve grins and slowly drags his arm away from Eddie’s waist, just barely grazing the top of his ass as he does it. “Not a coma. Just a guy hoping to get a chance with the cute teacher. What’s your name, honey?”

Honey, oh god, Eddie’s in trouble.

“Mr. Munson! Look at the cool shirts we got! This was the best field trip ever!”

And the moment is broken by an excited 8 year old. Eddie musters up all the fake enthusiasm he can as he turns to his student and plasters on a big smile. “That is so cool Ella! I’m glad you had fun.” He looks around the room and sees that all the students are set with their shirts and books and sadly, that their time here is at an end. Time to rally the troops and get them back on the bus.

Eddie claps his hands three times and shouts “Mac and cheese!”

His students all stop in their tracks and shout back, “Everybody freeze!”

“Hocus Pocus!”

“Time to focus!”

“Yakety Yak?”

“Don’t talk back!”

“Awesome job, friends! It’s time to get back on the bus, so everybody find your bus buddy, and can we give a big Thank You to our firefighter friends?”

All the kids shout their thank you’s and Eddie glances over at Fireman Steve to see him absolutely beaming back at him. It’s too fucking much. He has to look away.

“Okay everybody! Ready to rock?”

“Ready to roll!”

“Yeah you are! Line up with your buddies and get your keisters on the bus!”

His class dutifully follows his instructions and he does his mental head count as they file down the driveway. Thank god, nobody’s missing. He turns back to Fireman Steve and gives him a small smile. “Thanks so much, they really had a great time.”

“So did I. But I still didn’t get your name.”

Eddie can feel the stupid blush creeping up his cheeks and he can’t believe this guy is so…forward. He holds out a hand and tries not to get lost in those hazel eyes. “It’s Eddie.”

The handshake is slow and…somehow sensual?! “It was really nice to meet you Eddie. I’m Steve.”

Yeah, like he could fucking forget the name of the firefighter who wore him around his shoulders for the better part of a safety lecture. “Yeah…you too. I uh…” He thumbs over his shoulder to the waiting bus and winces. “Gotta go. So. This has been fun! Bye Steve.”

He spins on his heel and tries to walk down the driveway at a pace that doesn’t give away how fucking mortified he is by that idiotic fumbling of words, and just prays that his house never catches fire so the scorching hot firefighter doesn’t show up and carry him out like a damsel in distress. He’s almost in the clear, just a few short paces to the open door, when he hears boots hitting the pavement and Steve’s voice calling out to him. 

“Eddie! Wait a second!”

He stops dead in his tracks and turns back around to see Steve jogging towards him. Fuck, he looks good.

“Just wanted to give you this. We’re having a bake sale tonight to raise funds for the department. All the kids got one tucked in their books, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss out. And uh…sorry if I came on a little strong. If you’re not feeling it, that’s totally fine. But you should come by if you can. I hear the brownies are to die for.”

Eddie takes the flier and just blinks his big, stupid eyes at this guy. Fully aware that at least half the kids are plastered to the windows watching them, he has to make sure to keep his cool and not just throw himself at the man. “No uh…no apologies necessary. I’ll be there.” He hasn’t even looked at the flier to see what time it’s at, or checked his calendar to figure out if he’s even available, but there’s no way he won’t be drawn back here later like a moth to a flame.

“Harrington!”

The Chief’s barking voice interrupts their moony staring contest, and Steve calls back over his shoulder, “Yeah, Hop, I’m coming!” Turning back to Eddie he gives him a cocky little grin and wink. “I’ll see you later, Teach.”

And with that, Steve jogs back up the driveway, taking Eddie’s sanity with him.

“I can’t believe you fucked up our date night for a bake sale.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at his best friend and gives her a withering look. “Chris, our regularly scheduled taco nights where we both complain about being chronically single is not a date night.”

“It’s not just tacos! What about our movie snuggles? How is that not prime date night behavior?”

He raises an eyebrow and looks over at her from the driver’s seat. “Because we’re both gay, and neither of us have the parts that make that work for each other.”

Chrissy huffs and crosses her arms. “If you were a woman we’d be perfect for each other.”

“Probably. And if you were a man there’s no way your tiny little frame could throw me around.” He can’t help the dreamy smile that spreads on his face at the thought of Steve lifting him off the ground so easily.

“Ew, put your boner smile away. There’s no way this guy is as hot as you said he is.”

“Oh ye of little faith. I’m perfectly capable of snagging muscled up hunks, thank you.”

Chrissy’s snort is downright offensive. “Sure you are, hot shot. Your track record would prove otherwise.”

Ok, so she’s not exactly wrong, but she doesn’t have to point it out like that. His love life has been abysmal at best, and as he closes in on his thirties, he’s just not as into the club scene as he once was. Grindr and Tinder are a fucking nightmare, and he just prefers to meet people organically. But it’s hard to do that when all he has the energy for after a week of wrangling third graders is cuddling up with his best friend, watching terrible movies, and falling asleep on the couch together.

What can he say, he’s more homebody than a fuckboy these days. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to let Mr. Hot Firefighter use him like a fleshlight if he wants to. And if he spent a little extra time prepping in the shower after work just in case, that’s his own business.

He pulls up to the firehouse, finding a parking spot about halfway down the block, and mentally gives himself a pep talk on the walk over. He can do this. Steve was flirting with him. He’s got a shot. Chrissy must sense his nerves and loops her arm around his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Breathe, dummy. If he was giving you fuck-me-eyes on a goddamn field trip, you’ve got this in the bag.”

She definitely has a point. They stroll up to the firehouse, and the driveway and garage are filled with people and tables of what look like home baked desserts. Not ready to scan the crowd just yet for a particular muscled hunk, Eddie scans the tables instead in search of the brownies he was told about. He finds them and drags Chrissy over to Fireman Lucas, purchasing one for each of them. He drops a twenty in the boot they have on the table for extra donations and starts to mill around the space as he tells her about the Steve-free parts of the field trip. 

When he takes his first bite of the brownie, he moans like a slut. “Oh my god, these are so good.”

“Thanks, they’re my grandma’s recipe.”

Eddie nearly chokes on the fudgy dessert as Steve appears out of nowhere with that goddamn cocky grin. And fuck he looks good. He’s still got the navy t-shirt on, but instead of the bulky flame retardant pants, he’s wearing some perfectly worn Levi’s. He’s never seen anyone fill out a pair of jeans like that. Good god. 

“Steve! Hi! Uh…shit, you made these?”

Eloquent. Nicely done, Eddie.

He steps forward and brushes a crumb off the corner of Eddie’s lips with his thumb and fucking sticks it in his mouth. “Mhm…I did. By that sound you made, I’d say you’re enjoying them. Wonder what other sounds I can get out of you.”

Fucking Christ, who the hell is this guy?! 

“Jesus Eddie, you weren’t kidding.” Both men turn their attention to the tiny blonde on his right. She’s got a shit eating grin on her face as she looks back and forth between them. 

Eddie fumbles his way through an introduction and Chrissy tells him she’s going to look around for lemon squares, giving him a very pointed look as if to say go get him, Tiger! Don’t fuck this up!

Now a little lost without the anchoring presence of his best friend, Eddie feels a little adrift, not knowing what to say to this insanely gorgeous man who seemingly has no problem openly flirting with him. Thankfully Steve breaks the awkward silence.

“I’m glad you made it. I was hoping I didn’t scare you off earlier today. Sometimes I can be kind of…intense when I see something I want.” He looks Eddie up and down, from his leather jacket and cropped Sabbath shirt, down the length of his ripped black skinny jeans, to his beat up old Chucks, and trails those beautiful eyes back up slowly taking everything in. Eddie feels like he’s being examined under a microscope, but in the best way. “You’re definitely something I want.”

Eddie wonders if there’s a defibrillator nearby, because they may need it to jumpstart his fucking heart. He has to clear his throat in a poor attempt at getting it beating again. “Intense is an understatement, sweetheart. You’re like a flirtatious bulldozer. I honestly can’t believe someone like you would even give me the time of day.”

Steve furrows his brow at the comment and it honestly shouldn’t be so endearing. “Why would you say that? You seem like a catch, Eddie. You’re sweet and funny. You were so good with those kids. Not to mention gorgeous. Any guy would be lucky to have a chance with you.”

The compliments are way more than what he was expecting. And thank god they’re finally giving him a shred of confidence to try flirting back. “Well…lucky for you, flattery works with me. So do these brownies. Any other desserts you can win me over with around here?”

They walk around to the different tables, Steve guiding him to each one with a hand on his lower back, which Eddie is being totally normal about, and he’s given a run-down on the best desserts to try. Eddie grabs a peanut butter rice crispy treat, a blondie, and a couple chocolate chip cookies before Steve guides him back into the firehouse and they perch themselves on one of the counters.

“So. How did you become a teacher?”

Eddie swallows his bite of the cookie, which is fucking delicious, and licks his lips before answering. He’s pretty sure Steve’s eyes darted down to his mouth when he did, and he’s also being totally normal about that too thank you. “Well…I actually had a really hard time with school when I was a kid. I was a menace, don’t me wrong, but a lot of the teachers I ended up with had zero tolerance for me. When I was struggling, they just wrote it off as misbehavior or not wanting to do the work. None of them seemed to notice I had ADHD, and I wasn’t diagnosed until way later. So. I guess I wanted to kind of prove them wrong and be better than they were. Be the teacher that they should have been.”

He breaks off part of the cookie and hands it to Steve. “That’s really cool. Your students seem to love you, so you must be doing it right. What grade were they? Fourth?”

“Third. It’s the sweet spot. Younger kids are too noisy, too sticky. Older kids usually smell and the hormones are just too much for me to deal with. Third graders? They’re perfect. Just old enough to really get how school works and what’s expected of them, but also young enough that social hierarchies and shit don’t really mean anything to them. They’re pretty awesome.”

Steve breaks the rice crispy treat in half and hands him the bigger piece. “They seemed awesome. And the little call and response thing you did was fucking adorable.”

Eddie’s not sure if he means the kids were adorable, or if he was. He blushes regardless and deflects. “So how did you become a firefighter?”

“Trauma mostly. I was stuck in a mall fire when I was a teenager. Me and my best friend Robin who is…” He cranes his neck and points across the room. “Over there with Chrissy, hopelessly fumbling through what she would call flirting.”

Eddie spots them and can’t help but snort when he sees a girl with short hair wearing suspenders and flailing her arms around while talking to Chrissy, who is very clearly eating it up if her oh my god please sit on my face expression is anything to go by. “Oh good for them!”

“Right?! So anyway. Rob and I worked together at the mall, there was some crazy electrical fire, and we got trapped in a bathroom. A couple firefighters busted the door down and got us out just in time, and I guess it left an impression on me. Being in that kind of situation is fucking terrifying, and I wanted to be the guy who can pull people out of danger and get them to safety.”

Eddie takes a big breath and lets it all go in a dramatic whoosh. “So you’re hot, a good baker, and heroic as fuck. Goddamnit.”

Steve lifts an eyebrow and his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a grin. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna come home with me after this?”

“Obviously.”

There’s some logistics they have to figure out, where Eddie drove Chrissy, and Steve drove Robin, and Steve doesn’t trust Robin to drive his truck, so Eddie can’t take him in his own car, and he ends up giving his keys to Chrissy so she can drive Robin, and he gets into Steve’s truck with a loose plan to figure out how to get his car back and everyone to their rightful homes in the morning.

It doesn’t even occur to him until Steve is pulling away from the station that they just could have taken Ubers and avoided all of this. Whatever. Once a gay disaster, always a gay disaster.

He’s not even thinking anymore as Steve unlocks his apartment and shoves Eddie inside. The door barely finishes closing and Steve’s hands are on him, grabbing his hips and backing him into the wall. 

“You want this, right?”

What a stupid fucking question, but Eddie gets it. Consent and all. “Of course I do.”

Steve sighs and moves a little closer. “Thank god. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you since I saw you this afternoon.”

Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and slides them up the firm muscles until he’s cupping the back of his neck. “Just your hands?”

“No.”

Steve leans in and Eddie is fully expecting it to be hard and fast and dirty. But the first touch of their lips is…tender? He can’t think of another word for it. Steve kisses him like he’s trying to savor him and memorize how they feel together. It’s slow and indulgent, like they have all the time in the world. When Eddie parts his lips, Steve does the same, and he moans at the lingering sweetness he tastes on his tongue from the desserts they shared earlier. 

Either the sounds coming out of Eddie, or the wet heat of their mouths seems to light a fire in Steve as he kisses Eddie deeper and harder, pressing him against the wall. Steve’s big hands squeeze his hips before sliding down and hooking behind Eddie’s thighs. It seems to take no effort at all for Steve to lift him right off the ground and wrap Eddie’s legs around his waist. And fuck if that isn’t hot as hell.

A whimper leaves his throat and he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck so he can hang on for dear life. In the back of his mind, he knows he doesn’t really need to. Steve’s got muscles for days and the way he threw Eddie over his shoulders earlier today is proof that he can handle his weight easily. God, Eddie wants to be fucking ruined by this man.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve pulls away from the wall, and sure as shit, carries Eddie off to his bedroom with zero effort at all. A small oof leaves his lips when he gets tossed onto the bed and bounces a few times on the soft mattress. Yeah, he better get absolutely manhandled by this guy tonight. 

Steve kicks off his shoes and it’s at this moment that Eddie realizes they haven’t removed a single item of clothing yet. He scrambles to get his Chucks off and hastily tears off his leather jacket, tossing it to the floor. 

“Easy, honey. There’s no rush.” 

Eddie locks eyes with Steve and he looks positively delighted to see Eddie in such a hurry to strip down. “With all due respect, Steve…if you don’t take your clothes off and toss me around like a rag doll soon, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

Steve throws his head back and laughs, and Eddie spies several moles he needs to chew on as soon as he has access to them. “Sorry to keep you waiting!” 

All of Eddie’s brain cells disintegrate when Steve reaches back, grabs the collar of his shirt, and pulls it off in one swift motion. 

Muscles. 

Hair. 

Hair and muscles and moles and tan skin and Jesus Christ he’s gonna cum in his pants just looking at this guy. 

“Holy fuck you’re hot.”

Steve grins at him, all confident and self assured. “Don’t sell yourself short. C’mon. Shirt off.”

Eddie has a moment. Just a brief moment where he wants to refuse, because there’s no way he can compete with all of that. But Steve looks like he’s about to eat him alive and no way in hell is he going to miss the opportunity. He draws it out. Slowly peels the cropped shirt off of his body and drops it to the floor. He’s not jacked like a fucking firefighter, but he does ok. He’s like…skinny hot. Like that heroin chic look from the 90’s but without the drugs and emaciation. Lithe. Little bit of definition from hauling band equipment and chasing after kids. 

He’s pale, but in that alabaster way, where his black tattoos stand out even more than they should. The demon and spider on his left peck, and bats, wyvern, and puppetmaster on his arm are his oldest. Since he got those in high school, he’s added to the collection. A dragon on his left bicep with its tail wrapping around his forearm. Elvish script on his ribs. A kraken on his right shoulder with its tentacles swirling around his peck and down his side. And if Steve flips him over, he’ll see Aragorn’s sword, Anduril, inked down the length of his spine. 

All the time, all the pain, all the money it took to get all of this on his body is worth it for the way Steve drinks him in and the quiet fuck that escapes his lips. 

“Goddamn Eddie…” Steve palms the frankly obscene bulge in his pants and stalks closer like a lion waiting to pounce. “Take your fucking pants off.”

Say less, good lord.

Eddie unfastens his belt, pops the button on his jeans, and slides the zipper down. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, he pulls everything off in one go and leans back of his elbows, spreading his legs as they dangle off the edge of the bed. His dick is hard enough to cut a fucking diamond at this point, and rests thick and heavy on his stomach. The rest of him might be skinny, but his cock sure isn’t. 

Steve bites his lip and steps between Eddie’s thighs. “God, look at you. I don’t even know where to start.”

Eddie spreads his legs further and lifts his feet, planting them on the mattress. “Do you want to open me up, or watch me finger myself?”

“Fuck. Can I?”

He wishes he could think of something smooth to say, but Eddie Munson is not a smooth man. “Steve, let me be as clear as I can. You could hit me with your fucking truck and I’d thank you for it. You have my full and enthusiastic consent to do whatever you want to me.”

Steve ducks his head as he snorts out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re ridiculous. Heard you loud and clear. If anything changes though, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Eddie nods once and Steve reaches over to his night stand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a gold foil packet with black font. He fucking knew it. He didn’t even have to see Steve out of those bulky firefighter pants to know he was hiding a fucking hog in there.

He lubes up his fingers and braces himself on the bed with a hand next to Eddie’s bicep. Leaning down until their noses are almost touching, a few locks of hair fall over his eyes. He looks at Eddie intensely for a moment before closing the distance and plunges his tongue into Eddie’s mouth just as a slick finger slides in. Eddie’s hands find their way into Steve’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He moans and writhes beneath this unfairly beautiful man as his body opens up willingly for him.

Steve is three fingers deep and just barely teasing his prostate when Eddie can’t take it anymore. He pulls away from that delicious mouth with a gasp. “Steve, for the love of all that is holy, get your fucking pants off now!”

Eddie makes a truly pathetic sound when those thick fingers ease their way out. Steve stands and hastily undoes his jeans and Eddie clenches around nothing when he sees how the denim is stretched to its limits. He loses sight of it when Steve bends to push the material down to his ankles and rids himself of his pants, boxer briefs, and socks. He straightens up and Eddie makes some kind of noise between a scoff and moan when he gets a full view of Steve’s dick.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” It’s fucking gorgeous. Long, thick, veins spreading up the flushed shaft, and beautifully uncut. Steve gives himself a few strokes and Eddie salivates at the view of the dark red head peeking out. He wants it in his mouth.

“Next time. I need to fuck you now or I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Shit, he said that out loud didn’t he? Doesn’t matter. The promise of next time lights him up like the 4th of July.

Steve grabs the foil packet off the bed and tears it open with his teeth, which is admittedly, very fucking hot. He rolls the condom down the length of the veritable fire hose he had hiding in his Levi’s and slicks himself up with a little more lube.

Eddie is so excited he’s shaking.

The bed is at the perfect height where Steve can stay right where he is, and he grabs Eddie’s hips and yanks him forward. Oh fuck, this is gonna be great. Steve keeps his grip with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Eddie’s stretched out ass. As he starts to ease the tip inside, Eddie’s eyes roll back and he lets out a desperate whine. Steve is going slow and letting him adjust as he pushes into Eddie’s body, but he’s so fucking ready for this that he just wants him to plow his ass as fast as possible.

Steve finally bottoms out and Eddie feels so full he can barely breathe. God, he needed this. Steve stills for a few beats, gently soothing his hands up and down Eddie’s thighs. It’s soft and sweet, and while he appreciates it and how it makes him feel kind of…cared for, he really needs this guy to hurry up and rail him.

“Tell me when you’re ready, honey.”

Eddie looks up at him and realizes he’s been panting like a dog. He nods vigorously and tells Steve, “I’m ready. Let me have it.”

The first thrust is hard and fast, and immediately knocks the breath out of him. And it doesn’t stop. Right out of the gate, his pace is unrelenting and Eddie could die happy just like this. He’s so fucking deep it doesn’t seem like it should even be possible. The entire bed is shaking with Steve’s efforts as he pounds away. He grabs Eddie’s thighs and pushes them up, and yeah that’s the spot. A horribly slutty moan leaves his throat as his prostate is nailed head-on with each snap of Steve’s hips. 

“Goddamn look how well you take it. You’re so tight, honey. Fuck you feel good.”

Yes, I do, keep going, never stop, you feel so fucking good too, don’t ever take your dick out of me.

Thoughts spin around Eddie’s head but all that comes out of his mouth is, “Ah, ah, ah!” 

Without warning, Steve pulls out and Eddie could fucking scream he’s so mad. But then those big hands are flipping him over and his face is buried in the comforter as Steve lifts his hips and the mattress dips behind him. Just as fast as it was taken away, Steve’s cock slides right back in where it belongs and Eddie screams into the sheets. Steve doesn’t miss a beat, and Eddie’s holding on for dear life as his ass gets absolutely pounded. In such a contrasting feeling to Steve’s brutal thrusts, Eddie feels fingers gently glide down his spine. 

“Jesus Christ, Eddie. These tattoos. So fucking hot.”

Again, Eddie can’t form words, and just groans and drools onto the bed. He’s never been fucked this well in his life. He knows his dick has got to be a dripping mess as Steve ruts into him, but he’s got a white knuckle grip on the comforter and can’t bear letting go to find out. 

Eddie’s quickly losing his control and feels himself rocketing towards what he knows is going to be a crazy orgasm. But just as he feels like he might be right there, Steve changes it up again. He doesn’t pull out this time, thank Christ, but he stills his hips and grinds himself as deep as he can. Which is pretty fucking deep, the guy is hung. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s chest and stomach and pulls him up from the mattress. Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to try processing what’s going on. Suddenly he’s being lifted from the bed, with Steve’s dick still buried inside him, spun around, and seated on the man’s lap as he perches on the edge of the bed.

Eddie’s weight settles and he’s given a moment to catch his breath before Steve starts bucking up into him. He feels spread open and put on display like this, and it’s hands down the sexiest he’s ever felt. His thighs are spread wide over Steve’s thick legs, his back is arched, head tipped back on his shoulder and arms stretched behind him to grip onto any part of Steve he can reach. His cock bobs up and down with every thrust and he’s right on that edge of release again.

Steve’s hand drifts down his stomach and gets a hold of Eddie’s dick, giving it a little squeeze before it starts moving. His lips trail up and down Eddie’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Steve…fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“Let go, honey. Wanna feel you grip my dick.” 

Steve bites at his neck, and Eddie shouts as it feels like his whole body is exploding. White ropes of cum shoot out over Steve’s fist, landing on his stomach, his thigh, Steve’s thigh, the fucking floor. It’s everywhere and feels like it’s never going to stop. Steve is groaning into his shoulder and his thrusts start to slow down as Eddie struggles to catch his breath. His ears are ringing. His heart is racing. And Steve is still moving.

“Is it too much? You want me to stop?”

Eddie isn’t exactly fully online at the moment, but he thought by the sounds coming from Steve that they came at the same time. By the feeling of the still rock hard cock slowly moving inside him, Steve’s not done yet. And like hell is Eddie going to tell him to stop. 

“No. Keep going. Want you to fuck me till you cum.”

Steve is the one to whine this time and he starts to pick his pace back up again, holding Eddie tight to his chest. He’s definitely moving into overstimulation territory, but he’s no stranger to it. He’s had plenty of solo sessions with his dildos trying to see how many times he could make himself cum in one night. He can handle this.

“Gonna move you again, honey. Been too long since I kissed you.” 

Eddie is lifted once again and Steve turns them around, depositing him face down on the mattress and pulling out. He isn’t empty for long. Steve effortlessly flips him onto his back, crawls over him, wraps Eddie’s legs around his waist and slips his cock back in. The moan that tries to escape Eddie’s lips is swallowed up by Steve as he seals their mouths together in a filthy kiss. He grips onto Steve’s back and can really feels those muscles ripple as he fucks Eddie hard and fast. 

The fantasy of him being tossed around and used like a cocksleeve is nothing compared to the reality of it. It’s so so fucking good. This gorgeous man is kissing him and fucking him so well that Eddie is in danger of falling in love with him before the night is over. His cock has filled out again already and that pleasure pain is so exquisite he doesn’t want it to end. 

Steve breaks their heated kisses and moves Eddie’s legs from around his waist, then hooks his arms under them behind Eddie’s knees. ���Wrap your arms around my neck. Need you to hold on tight, ok?”

Eddie nods like a bobblehead and does what he’s told. He’s completely unprepared for what happens next.

In a show of Steve’s strength, he stands from the bed, his cock still thick and hard in Eddie’s ass. Eddie yelps and holds on tight. And Steve just…starts thrusting. Standing there in the middle of his bedroom, bouncing Eddie on his cock as he hangs off of the guy’s neck. 

Fuck the fireman carry, this is insane.

“Jesus Christ Steve! This is so fucking hot! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

He grunts as he picks up his pace, driving himself hard and fast into Eddie’s slick hole. “Not gonna stop. Not till you cum again. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yeah,” Eddie pants. “Yeah, I’m close. Fuck, Steve! Your cock is so big! Can feel you in my throat!”

Steve grins and Eddie wants to lick the sweat beading on his face. “You were made to take it, honey. Wanna feel you cum again. Come on, baby. Make a mess. I’m right there with you.”

Eddie resists holding anything back and practically sobs as his second orgasm rips through him. He clenches down on Steve’s cock, and that’s all the man seemed to be waiting for. Steve rabbits his hips, pinches his eyes shut, and his mouth drops open with a long, low groan as his dick pulses inside Eddie, filling the condom that he wishes wasn’t there.

Finally, Steve slows to a stop and just holds Eddie up, gasping and licking his dry lips. When he opens his eyes, Eddie uses his grasp around Steve’s neck to pull himself closer and lick into his mouth.

He’s trembling and feels half out of his mind when the world tips and he's gently laid back down on the bed. Steve lets go of his legs and cups his face, kissing him deep and dirty while settling his weight down on Eddie’s spent body. The kisses slow until they’re just tender pecks on his lips.

“Eddie…oh my god. That was insane.”

His entire body is buzzing and words are a little difficult at the moment. All he can do is nod and squeak out a little uh huh. He basks in the afterglow as his heart rate comes back down to normal and kisses are placed all over his neck and jaw and cheeks. He’s not even remotely bothered by the cum that’s cooling between them. If it ends up gluing them together, he has no complaints. 

Eventually, Steve moves to get off the bed and Eddie must make some kind of pathetic sound, because Steve is shushing him and telling him he’ll be right back. His soft cock slips out and Eddie’s never felt so hollow in his life. He doesn’t know how much time passes, it could be a minute, it could be a day, but at some point Steve returns and a warm washcloth is wiping him down. There’s a rustling and Eddie’s eyes pop open when he’s being lifted again and Steve is moving him to lay his head on a pillow. It’s so fucking sweet Eddie feels his teeth ache.

Steve gets in bed beside him and pulls the covers up over them. He’s manhandled again until Steve is curled against his back as the big spoon. Eddie definitely wasn’t expecting cuddles with this big, muscular firefighter, but he is fucking delighted by it. He hums with contentment and lets out a long sigh.

“You feeling ok, honey?”

He can’t help grinning at the little pet name. “I feel amazing. That was hands down the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m gonna be feeling you for days sweetheart.”

More kisses are peppered on his shoulder and neck. “Good. Would hate to have you forget me.”

“Steve. Seriously? How could I possibly forget that? Besides you uh…said next time so…I was kind of hoping I’d see you again.”

The big arms wrapped around him squeeze tighter and his dick twitches as the thought of how fucking strong this guy is. “Of course I want to see you again. Throw you around and wring some more of those pretty sounds out of you.” There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type of hesitancy in his tone and thankfully Steve doesn’t leave him wondering about it for too long. “So I don’t want to make this awkward, since we’re naked in my bed and all, but um…I’m not really a hookup kind of guy. Not in the habit of bringing home cute teachers just to get laid…”

Eddie can tell this is going somewhere and there’s no denying the excitement he feels as he waits for Steve to find the words he needs. “I’m not really good at…casual. Sort of all or nothing. If that’s not your thing, that’s totally fine. I just wanted to be upfront I guess.”

This is exactly what he was hoping to hear. Eddie’s kind of in the same boat. He hasn’t really been into the gay hookup culture for a while and his little domestic nights in would be infinitely better if he had someone to share them with. No shade to Chrissy and their date nights, but it’s just not the same as having a man to hold him…and kiss him…and maybe throw him around a bit. The last thing he could have ever expected to get out of a field trip with his students was the potential of a new boyfriend.

He turns around in Steve’s arms so they’re nose to nose, tangles their legs together, and brushes his hair out of his eyes. “It’s absolutely my thing. I don’t do casual either. Haven't for a long time. So if you want to give this a shot…I’m ready to rock.”

Steve grins back and kisses him. "Ready to roll."

One year later…

“Mac and cheese!”

“Everybody freeze!”

“Hocus Pocus!”

“Time to focus!”

“Yakety Yak?”

“Don’t talk back!”

“Nice job, friends! I need you all to put your pencils and notebooks away and line up for music class.”

A knock at his classroom door draws his attention, along with 26 sets of little eyes. His face breaks out into a big dopey smile at the sight of his boyfriend leaning against the doorway in his navy t-shirt and Levi’s. Eddie crosses the room and has to stifle a giggle when some of the students wave with their whole arms and shout, “Hi Fireman Steve!”

“What are you doing here, sweetheart? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Steve lifts his hand and presents Eddie with his insulated bag. “You forgot your lunch again. I’m starting to think you do it on purpose just so you can see me during the day.”

He doesn’t, sometimes his brain just wanders and he forgets stuff, but maybe he should start doing that if it means he can steal a kiss in the hallway from time to time. He takes the bag from Steve’s hand and glances over his shoulder. His students are occupied following his instructions and putting their shit away, so he pushes Steve back a couple feet out of the doorway. 

“Thanks baby. Got a kiss for me before you go?”

“Always.”

Eddie leans in and presses his lips to Steve’s, maybe lingering a little too long because fuck it, his boyfriend is gorgeous and he’ll take any chance he can to kiss him.

“OOOooooOOOOoohhhh!”

A chorus of giggling oohing third graders interrupts them and he leans back into the doorway and snaps his fingers. “Line up for music class, my little monsters!” He watches just long enough to make sure they do as they say, and turns back to Steve. “Fajitas for dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, I should be home by 7, unless there’s any emergencies.”

Eddie sneaks one more quick kiss. “Ok. Be safe, baby. I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.” He pokes his head through the door and waves at the class. “Bye guys! Be bad!”

His class erupts into laughter and shouts back, “Bye Fireman Steve!”

Eddie shakes his head as he watches his boyfriend strut down the hallway. He’s so glad he took his class to the fire station last year. It really was the best field trip ever.

Thank you for reading! Liking, commenting, and reblogging makes writers do a happy dance!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @micheledawn1975 @airen256 @micheledawn1975

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: platonic yandere content, implied child neglect, reader's parents are bad

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day twenty eight: Running away from home

"Hi, little one!" You say to the tiny fairy. The sound of bells left her mouth and as usual you don't understand what she say, as humans can't really speak fairy language but you are used to it and smile at her anyway.

"Lilia said that if I ever needed, I could ask you to take me to him. So, can you show me the way, please?"

She made a face, pretending to think, while your heart was beating loudly as the seconds go by. She made another sound and then held your pinky with her whole tiny hand, making you walk quickly to follow her lead, as her little wings worked harder and faster.

Around you, the forest stretched out before you like a green and mysterious blanket, birds flying and chirping around you, along with squirrels who sometimes crossed your path to offer you some fruits and nuts.

Other people could only dream of getting to know the forest like you did, of discovering its most curious secrets and the best corners for picnics and playing hide and seek.

The winds welcomed you, gently caressing your face with its invisible fingers as you ran along a muddy path, your yellow galoshes stained brown. You had explored that forest since you were pretty younger, you had cried and laughed with your fae friends - especially Lilia. The older fae pretty much raised you when your parents were too busy fighting each other.

The almost setting sunlight hit the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Your fae friends, magical creatures you had known since you were a child, seemed to be hiding much deeper into the forest today.

This forest was like your second house and you were happy to be back each and every time. And this time, you would not go back. Things got too bad to bear. You couldn't handle it anymore.

You couldn't handle the screaming and crying, and the fights. You couldn't handle being ignored.

And sometimes, they hid themselves to tire you out and convince you to stay the night. They would never have to do this again, for you didn't plan to ever return "home" now.

Sometimes, they used to do that just to play games or take a nap without being disturbed by human presence - lazy faes, you used to thought, they could just cast some spell or something but they almost never did it. They liked teasing and scaring humans too much.

You stopped running when the little fairy did. She waved you goodbye as she flew away, the sound of bells echoing in the silent forest, a thin bead of sweat running down your forehead as you took a deep breath.

And Lilia really liked to spoil you to the point of being suffocating. You suppose it was because you were a human, a mortal and ephemeral being in his eyes.

And yet, a member of his little family.

Sometimes you would hear playful laughter or the sound of branches breaking, but when you turned around there was no one there. Lilia was definitely in the mood to tease you today and it didn't seem like Silver or Malleus were around to stop him from continuing. A soft smile appeared on your lips. For someone so old and wise as he claimed to be, Lilia could be so silly.

They looked like they hadn't aged a single day in the past five years. And you remembered the time when you were a young child lost in those forests, confused and afraid, and crying inconsolably about how no one would find you. You remembered Lilia's gentle touch on your head and his gentle smile as he wiped your tears with his fingers or the way he held your hand as he led you out of the forest.

In the distance, a soft glow caught your attention. Running in that direction, you emerged into a dark clearing. The sun had set very quickly or perhaps it was Malleus's powers acting to conceal their presence, the forest you were in, despite being beautiful, had a reputation for being haunted by dangerous and treacherous fae.

The same fae in front of you.

The same fae who taught you how to dance, how to escape making a deal with a fae. Who treated you so gently, like you were made of glass.

The next day you returned. After telling the story to your parents, they didn't believe it and said you were dreaming. But you knew it wasn't. You walked purposefully through the forest, trying your best to retrace your steps as you also forced yourself to remember the way back home.

That day, you met Malleus, tall and stern, and dressed in black and green, and you asked if you could touch his horns. He laughed so hard he cried. But in the end, he let you touch his horns while he listened to you chatter about his father, making a comment or two sometimes.

Somehow, you felt like he looked more fae than human, sometimes the necklace he wore around his neck glowed and he had such a gentle, comfortable aura. Instead of sharing the sweets with Lilia, Malleus and Silver, you ended up falling asleep with the platinum boy under a willow tree. When you woke up that day, you were at the entrance to the forest, covered with palm leaves serving as a blanket.

In the days that followed, you brought them sweets. Your mother had told you that if you made a friend, you should share food with them so you wanted to do so, you brought so many sweets that they kept falling out of your pockets and you had to bend down to pick them up. This time, the one who came to your aid was Silver, he was also a human, but he told you that his biological parents had abandoned him in that forest and then a fae decided to take care of him.

Humans can be worse than fae, he told you. And his tone was full of pain as if he was older than he actually looked like.

Sebek, you met after running away from home for the first time. Your parents were fighting for some stupid reason again and it made you so stressed. You kicked every stone you found on the way and grimaced every time the sun touched your face with its rays. Everything in the world seemed boring and cruel that day. You, however, took your mind off it as you were captured in a trap, steel wires binding your legs together and pulling you up until you were suspended in the air.

But the sweets were gone. That night, you dreamed of big red eyes watching you sleep in the dark, but they were gentle and protective eyes, as if they wanted to guard your sleep.

To thank you for the sweets, for making friends with Silver and Malleus.

To this day you don't remember what Sebek was hunting or trying to do, but the story still made you laugh, especially because he was more panicked than you, screaming and shaking. And when Lilia came to his aid, he was also laughing at the situation.

Five years later and it still feels like nothing has changed. Silver had in his hands an ancient and delicate lyre, his fingers plucking his strings in a peaceful rhythm as if inviting his listener to relax and let go of their worries. He once tried to teach you how to play, but you didn't have much talent for it, preferring to listen rather than play.

And it was always a beautiful sight to watch him play, he was ethereal in those moments, as if he was playing a secret song that the world has forgotten, a song that made your heart inside your chest spin.

That called you. That made you feel welcome.

Malleus and Sebek, however, had no such concern and danced arm in arm and spinning in circles. It was a silly and fun dance, and at that moment, you wished you had your cell phone with you so you could register it forever, but you had quickly left the house and forgotten it.

The music was addictive, your body almost moving to the beat. But you stopped yourself in time, knowing that Lilia would offer you to dance with him, he always did because he knew you couldn't accept it. Dancing with a fae is like a drug, one that you don't have a medicine for and that once you try it nothing else in the world makes sense.

And whenever you would agree to dance with him, he'd go on and on without ever stopping.

Well, you'd have to commit this entire precious moment to your memory then, you suppose.

They noticed his presence almost immediately and Silver nodded his head in greeting as he played the last notes of his song.

After finishing their dance, Malleus came to you and, as he always did, wrapped you in a warm hug that instantly makes you melt. Your face sinking into his chest as he stole any and all worries you might have been harboring within yourself to him. A long sigh left your lips and you looked at him fondly.

"Any news to tell us, Yuu?" He asked.

So many things. More things than you could think of at that moment. School, new friends, new changes, everything was new and completely terrifying, and you were abandoning everything. Because it wasn't worth it.

There in that hug that ended very quickly, with those beings that everyone had an irrational fear against, you were at home. You were free to be who you were without any fear of possible rejection from them.

"Too much to say, not enough time for everything." You replied, a little laugh present in your voice. You held onto his shirt, silently asking for another hug and giving him your best puppy eyes, and Malleus, laughing, enveloped you into another of his warm hugs.

"But... I ran from home, this time for good." Your voice was muffled against Malleus shirt.

Sebek was beside you in a moment, and your ears hurt from anticipation. "What do you mean by that, little human?"

You winced, your lips wobbling as you tried not to cry. You failed in getting your voice steadier. "Mom and dad were fighting again... They were screaming, and there was crying, and at some point, they were breaking stuff. And they blamed me for everything, even if i didn't have any fault at all."

Malleus’s eyes widened, and his hands tightened over your shoulders, not out of anger, but out of a fierce, protective desperation. His sharp eyes softened as he saw the tears brimming in yours, the way you were trying so hard to hold them back, to not show any sign of weakness.

You fell into silence, too afraid to cry to continue speaking. When you cried while your parents were fighting, they used to belittle and mock you.

Your mom used to say that her life would be better without you in it.

But to him, there was nothing weak about your tears. It made his chest ache to see you so small and fragile, curling into yourself like you wanted to disappear. He tightened his hug over your figure.

“They blamed you?” Sebek repeated, his voice low and dangerous, as if he could scarcely believe it. “How dare they? Those insolent—” He stopped himself, his fangs bared for a moment before he managed to calm down. He could feel his rage bubbling, but he knew that anger would not help you right now.

“You are not at fault, little human. You never were.” He said softly, through gritting teeth.

You glanced up at him, trying to find comfort in his words, but the hurt you ignored for so long ran too deep. “But they said—”

“They were wrong!” Sebek’s voice boomed, making you flinch, but he immediately softened, realizing he was scaring you. He lowered his voice, though it still held a fierce intensity. “You should never have to bear such cruelty. Your worth does not depend on their words, and I won’t let you believe it does.”

“You don’t have to go back to them,” Sebek said, and there was a finality in his tone, a vow that left no room for argument. “You can stay here, on the woods, where no one can hurt you.”

The forest was quiet, save for the sound of your shaky breathing, and you felt the weight of their gaze on you, unwavering and heavy with emotion. Sebek didn’t always understand humans, but he understood enough to know that you needed protection, and he would do anything to provide it, as would Melleus and Simver.

Anything to make you feel safe, even if it meant guarding you from the very people who were supposed to love you.

You blinked at him, surprised by how quickly he made the decision for you, but a part of you felt relieved, a part of you were afraid they would send you away. “But… I won't be a burden?”

From behind Sebek, you saw a shadowy figure approaching fast, and in the blink of the eye, you realized who it was. Lilia was walking faster, his presence filling the space, his eyes glowing softly in the dim light. He had heard everything, and there was a sadness there, but also a determination that made your heart skip a beat.

Silver's eyes flashed with something unreadable, almost offended by the mere suggestion. “A burden?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising again before he caught himself, this time gentler but no less insistent.

“You could never be a burden. We—” he paused, his words catching in his throat before he continued, “we care for you. Do you not see that? If you are in pain, we will be there to carry it for you. If you are in need, we will help you. You belong with us.”

“What Sebek and Silver says is true,” He spoke, his voice was commanding, as if every word was a decree. “You are no longer alone, darling. The forest now welcomes you as your home now, as I welcome you into my family and we will not let you face any more of that suffering.”

You instantly melt; the tension leaving your shoulders. Part of you wanted to tell them that you didn’t want to impose, that you didn’t want to drag them into your problems, but another part — a much smaller, quieter part — felt relieved, like you could finally breathe. Like you didn’t have to keep fighting alone.

Lilia appeared beside Malleus, a soft, knowing smile on his lips. “You poor thing,” he said, his voice as light as a lullaby, yet with a hint of sadness. “You’ve been carrying so much weight by yourself, haven’t you? It must have been exhausting. But you don’t have to anymore. We’re here for you.”

Silver's usually sleepy eyes were now wide open and he was fully awake. “If your family can’t see how precious you are, then they don’t deserve you. We’ll take care of you, and you won’t have to worry about going back.”

You felt the weight of their words, the way they seemed so sure, so unyielding in their determination to keep you safe. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled down your cheeks, hot and unbidden, and before you could even try to wipe them away, Sebek took you from Malleus’s arms and into his.

His arms were firm and steady around you. “There, there, little human,” he murmured, his voice gentler than you’d ever heard it. “Cry if you must, but know this: you are not alone anymore. Not now, not ever.”

Malleus stepped closer, placing a hand on your head, his cool fingers brushing against your hair. “We will keep you safe,” he said softly, his tone carrying a promise that echoed through the room. “And if anyone dares to hurt you again, they will face our wrath. As the fae king, I promise you this.”

It was a strange feeling... To be surrounded by so much protectiveness. They were intense, determined. And you had been aching for something like this for so long — to be wanted, to not be a burden.

You leaned into Sebek’s embrace, your sobs slowly subsiding as the warmth of their presence surrounded you. Maybe it was wrong to feel comforted by this, but right now, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to believe that, for once, you could let go and be cared for, without fear or hesitation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but they heard it. And in that moment, you felt the unspoken promise between you and them solidify, a bond that was as fierce as it was unbreakable.

For better or worse, you were theirs now, and nothing in this world — or any other — would change that.

[concretejunglefm]

Hi! Do you write dad!noah? If so, could I request a oneshot of noah with his son in the studio or at one of his shows please :)

Not a full one-shot, but here’s a little blurb for a fic I’ve been working on <3

“I thought you said you weren’t busy today?” you ask Noah, feeling the fingers of your four-year-old slipping from your sweaty palm. “Levi, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already making a beeline for Davis—his favourite uncle—completely bypassing the rest of the guys standing around the studio, resulting in a chorus of offended sounds and playful remarks.

“I’m not,” Noah shrugs, but you just give him a look that says ‘yeah, right’, and he chuckles. “I’ve got a couple of things to finish up here for the next record, and I thought maybe Levi could see what his daddy gets up to.” Noah pauses, and you freeze. “…If that’s okay with you.”

You know he’s not just talking about having Levi here in the studio. He’s talking about the word daddy. It’s still early days, and you haven’t fully decided how you feel about Noah referring to himself that way—especially when you’ve raised Levi single handedly until now. Granted, it wasn’t Noah’s fault, he didn’t know Levi existed, but you’ve been clinging to the idea that you didn’t want to confuse Levi—not while he’s still so young.

Though, truthfully, maybe you didn’t want to confuse yourself.

You weren’t a family. Noah was Levi’s father, and that was it. And yet, the way he included you in every suggestion, every plan involving Levi—it made it harder to believe that was all he wanted. It felt like he was pushing for something more. Something you were afraid he didn’t really mean.

“Yeah…” You let out a breath you don’t realize you’ve been holding and slowly nod. “Okay then.” You’re not sure what you’re agreeing to, but the tightness in your chest and twist in your stomach makes you wonder if it’s a bad idea. Watching Noah in dad mode makes the reality of everything hit harder—especially now.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the sound of a high-pitched squeal, and then you see Noah lift your son—his son—into the air, slinging him over his shoulder before heading into the recording area. The door shuts behind them, muting Levi’s giggles, but through the glass, you can still see him laughing, squirming on Noah’s broad shoulder as his hands tickle his sides. He’s a miniature version of him—even down to the long limbs and dark hair flopping over his soft brown eyes. It’s like looking at a masterpiece of artwork, then at the blank canvas you have both created. A little boy with all the potential in the world.

“He really cares about him, you know.” Davis’ voice pulls you from your thoughts.

You shake your head slightly as his shoulder bumps gently against yours. “I know…” You’re not mad at him anymore. Not really. If it hadn’t been for Davis, Noah wouldn’t have known about Levi. You wouldn’t be witnessing this moment—or any of the others you’ve seen since—Noah desperately trying to bond, to make up for the four years he missed.

On the other side of the glass, Noah sets Levi down, steadying him with both hands on his small shoulders. They face Folio, who’s still seated at the drums.

“Do you wanna have a go, little man?”

“Can I?” Levi’s face lights up, and it’s enough to make Noah’s chest swell with warmth. He quickly moves to help him up onto Folio’s lap, both men guiding his hands as they wrap around the drumsticks and begin to show him how to play.

From your spot behind the glass, you watch with a twinge of guilt pulling at your chest. You kept Noah in the dark for so long. There were reasons then, reasons that made sense at the time, but watching him now, with Levi, makes you wonder if you’d made a mistake.

If maybe, just maybe, you’d been wrong for not telling him.

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. winter, the first time. the start of the year, the start of it all. minors dni, nsfw warnings under the cut. 7k words part two part three part four part five

18+ because: brat taming, fingering, oral (f receiving), name calling, spit, unprotected sex, overstimulation, booty call!, masturbation (f receiving), voyeurism, mad sass, fucking porn without plot basically.

There’s nothing special about the club scene in Monte Carlo. If you’ve been to a club in any major city, anywhere in the world, you’ve been to a club in Monaco. It’s all neon lights and kaleidoscope colors and poorly lit dance floors and mid-tier DJs who think they’re the next coming of Jesus. 

Tonight is no exception. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of floral perfume and alcohol, the entire room shaking with the pulsating beat of the bass, reverberating off every single corner and shaking the liquor in your glass. Bodies move—yours included—half in sync with the music, half in step with their drunken stupor. Perched in the safety of Charles’s section, away from the swaying forms of laughter and shouting and screaming, your entire body thumps alone to the beat from the DJ booth a couple meters away. 

Across the section, Charles sits stoic on a couch, taking up a seat and a half and frozen like some magnetic force. His eyes are stuck on you in a way that pulls goosebumps from your skin, makes you irrational angry at him. You’re feeling particularly bratty today, egged on by the tequila and his visible annoyance. 

You’re on your way to interject into his pity party when your sister catches your arm, pulls you by your bicep to dance with her. Her palms are sweaty and cold and you hope that it’s the condensation from her cold glass that’s got her all clammy. The two of you have always been quite a sight after a few drinks. You get your tolerance from your mother, are both disastrous lightweights, feel the need to give any and everyone around you a show. 

The two of you twirl to the music with little effort, laughing like you’re seven and the hazard littered floor under your feet is the old brown carpet from the family room you grew up hosting dance parties in. It’s all hair and giggles and hands in the air like you just don’t care. Everytime your glance catches his, he’s staring back, nursing his drink and half participating in a conversation with your brother-in-law and Jo. 

“What’s his fucking problem?” you ask, leaning over to shout into your sister’s ear.

“He can’t dance,” she slurs. You snort. He can dance.

You whistle, loud and commanding and cat-call-ish even though he’s already watching you. “Charles! Get out here and dance, you fucking buzzkill!”

Your sister joins in on the fun, playfully swaying her hips to the music, tossing out an imaginary fishing line to her husband and reeling him over, calling along teasingly to Charles. “Yeah, show us what you’ve got, Il Predestinato!”

Charles rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “I don’t dance,” he calls back with a soft chuckle. He tries to play it cool, like always, but everyone in the room knows you’re pushing his buttons. You always are. The reason he keeps you around is the same reason you stay around; your families’ relationship predates any animosity between the two of you. That, and the friend group was founded before you loathed each other and it would be too much work to try and split it up now. You’d probably never see Joris again. 

You dance closer to him, putting on a dramatic show and a poor fight against the urge to continue challenging him. “Come on,” you tug on his arm, just out your bottom lip into a pretty little pout. “Live a little.”

He’s never been able to turn down one of your challenges, however thinly veiled they might be. It’s his own personal sore spot, the one that you poke and prod as often as you can. Competition has always been the foundation of your mutual annoyance, it’s not going to suddenly change after some eighteen years of consistency. Finally, he relents, lets you think you’re pulling him to his feet, dragging him to dance with you and your sister. 

His moves are stiff and awkward, almost hard to watch. You laugh, because he’s wound up so fucking tight in two weeks you’d have a diamond. “See!?” your sister laughs, the contagion of it spreading to even the brunt of the joke. “I told you!” she continues, slinking her arm around her husband’s neck sloppily. His arm grips her side to hold her steady. It makes you feel sick. 

A smirk tugs on his lips, and for a brief moment, there’s a hint of something more in his eyes. Not annoyance or frustration. Something seven, something innocent and childish. It’s fleeting, and you take a deep breath because the music feels quieter now. You down what’s left of  your cocktail to clear your head, to calm the sudden flutter of nerves. 

The more he drinks and the longer he’s forced to dance, the lighter and more magnetic he becomes. “You know, Charles, I never thought I’d see the day,” you tease. He’s been in a near constant state of pity-party for weeks now, ever since his dumb ass got dumped by another girl wildly out of his league. 

He rolls his eyes, but his tone is as amused as it is drunk. “Don’t get too excited. It’s the liquor,” he retorts, a piss poor attempt at downplaying how much fun he’s having. He wouldn’t dare to give you the satisfaction. You lean in closer, brush your body against his, fueled by the noise and the alcohol. 

“The liquor doing the touching, too?” you ask. 

He’s always been a touchy drunk. Since before you and your friends were allowed to drink, he’s been hands-on. And maybe it’s because this is the first time he’s grabbing your hips, the first time his broad hand is flat over your stomach, but you’d never noticed him as this touchy with his girlfriends or his girls that appear when he’s around. Whatever it is, the more he drinks, the more comfortable he is with his hands on you, and the less you find the nerve to care. 

It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, though. Every touch burns your skin. It’s a sick little game you two play. Sick and twisted and so, so unlike the two of you. 

Watch yourself—he warns, hand on the small of your back. You play with fire. Well established and well documented, though; you never back down either. No, the thrill of annoying him is enough to dive head-first, to push his buttons until they stick. “Am I?” you ask, as innocently as the tequila can muster, taking hold of his wrist and moving it so his arm is wrapped around your midsection, fighting to settle in the space between your waistband and shirt hem. 

You respond to every one of his careful touches, ever lingering finger on your arm and your waist and your back. When you close your eyes, you imagine the nonsense patterns he draws on your skin like it’s on canvas in a museum, hung front and center just for you. Your inhibitions are slipping too, and you let yourself trail wandering fingertips over his body, too.

This isn’t the Charles you’re used to, the one you go head-to-head with every fifteen minutes. This is something entirely new, so far into uncharted territory you’re not even sure which way is north. There’s something particularly intriguing about the nerves bouncing around your gut. 

Everything fades away into the dark and crowded club. You don’t know if your sister and brother-in-law are still standing there, if any of your friends are. All you know if the electric charge of this, of every teasing remark and touch that draws you closer, forces you to test the waters of the newfound layer of tension. 

Everything is building, it feels like, to some grand crescendo of emotion and desire. Before there’s room to explore it, though, to dive deeper into the unspoken shift, the moment is interrupted by the return of the friends you didn’t notice leaving. 

The night drags on, the lines between annoyance and attraction blurring into some chaotic muddle of intoxication. Nothing is clear, nothing except the sobering and unignorable pull. It lingers in the air above you, in the space between like a secret just begging to be unraveled. 

You’ve got another drink now, because you can only think of one decision that would be worse than more tequila. In due time, you’re worried you’re a lost cause when it comes to that choice as well. His eyes stay on you, even from a distance, and you revel in the glory of his attention. Embolden by it all, you continue fucking with him. “Having fun yet, Charles?” you ask, knowing smile, voice dripping in subtle suggestion. 

He raises a brow, the corners of his lips quirking up. You don’t think you’ve ever spent much time looking at them, the soft shade of pink and the softer skin. “I suppose I can tolerate it,” he replies with teasing eyes. He’s irritated by your laugh, by your proximity, by your lips brushing against his ear when you whisper; you’re not the only one here trying to have fun. His jaw tightens but he doesn’t take your bait. Instead, he pulls you closer, sways in rhythm with you and replies, “I’m here to enjoy myself, not entertain you.”

He sends your brattiness running full-tilt. Forces you to carefully consider every movement, every ounce of playfulness that you allow to seep into your demeanor and the proactive sway of your hips. You grin at him every chance you get, sly and calculated, daring him to resist.  

You lean in close, brush against his ear and can blame it on practicality, on the bass and the music and the DJ if anyone were to question your actions. You rest a hand on his chest. “I know you love my attention.”

His breath hitches at your audacity, heart racing so quick you can feel it in your palm. He pulls you closer, dangerously close to your lips and says, “you talk too much. Maybe it’s time someone shuts you up.”

You scoff, low and teasing. “I’d like to see you try.”

[18 minutes later]

You step into the well-lit lobby less than a pace behind him. Your hands are interlocked, have been for every block of the darkened streets—since he grabbed yours and pulled you out of the club. “Admit it,” you giggle. “You love having me push your buttons.”

He remains stoic, jaw set as he pushes the button on the elevator. The tension is at a boiling point. You’re either about to kill each other, to be on the news for some grand double murder, or something so, so much worse is going to unfold. 

He leads you to the apartment without a word, but as soon as the door closes behind him, all is lost. Your head is bumping into the drywall before you even realize what’s happening, his lips harsh against yours, the pent up frustration and desire snapping like a dried twig. 

It’s fierce and passionate and while you never, not for a single moment in your life, imagined what he would taste like, you somehow knew it would be like this, cool and fresh and drunk. He licks into your mouth, messy and intense, teeth clacking and both of you fighting for some nonexistent upper hand. 

Fireworks are going off outside. They shake the windows with explosive gravitas as you’re blindly led by his backwards steps down the hallway. You realize that in an entire lifetime of knowing each other, this is the first time you’ve been in his place. It’s not what you expected, from what you can gather—all clutter and red cars and a boy who never had to drop his dream. “They’re going to look for us,” you say between sloppy, open mouthed kisses. 

He mumbles against your skin, strong hands on either side of your jaw. “Let them look.”

You walk through a doorway, into a bedroom clad with clutter and blue sheets. He would have blue sheets. There’s another firework, loud and booming, it makes you jump. You check your watch over his shoulder, pretend your hand doesn’t shake. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Okay.” Your knees bump into his and he sits on the edge of the bed.

You laugh, climb onto his lap, your arms strewn around his shoulders, broad and strong and you laugh again–this time into his mouth. What the fuck is going on. Seriously, what the fuck is this? “Happy New Year.”

He sighs, pulls his mouth from yours long enough to roll his eyes, to speak annoyedly into the hot air between your lips. “Yeah, whatever. Happy New Year.”

“Charles,” you mutter, hand on his chest. You think he’s going to regret this more than you will. People have always told you he’s the best kind of person. You’re not held in the same regard, and you know it. Some people are made to regret and others are made to be the regret. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughs, but it’s curt and passive. Annoyed, as always, even when he palms at your ass, traces his hands along the bottom of your hiked up dress and pulls you down against him with a bruising grip. “Shut the fuck up.” You tug at the hem of his shirt, pull it off over his head in a swift movement. 

“You’re doing a piss-poor job at making me.”

He moves you like you’re a fucking doll, like it’s lightwork, tossing you down against the mattress and swapping your positions in a swift movement. The strength and agility of it makes your head spin. He’s not supposed to make your head spin, he’s supposed to make it ache. 

But no, no. You do ache for him. All of you aches for him, for his calloused hands and the roughness of his jeans against your thighs and the soft contrast of his lips against everything else. It’s embarrassing. You can’t believe he’s got you like this, hands pinned above your head while he buries his tongue in your mouth, grinds his hips against yours. The coarse denim is almost painful on your sensitive skin, but the growing bulge pulling the fabric tight is more intoxicating than any cocktail. 

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he says, bites a bruise against the skin just above your clavicle. “Spoiled little shit.”

He sinks to his knees, big blue or green or whatever fucking color his eyes are today watching you intently, boring into you with blown, hungry pupils.  His fingers trail along your underwear, pulling the thin, lacey fabric to the side, and then removes them all together. He gloats when he runs his thumb through your folds. “So fucking wet.”

“It’s not for you,” you goad. 

“Oh?” He nods slowly, spreading your slick with the steady digit, watching you carefully for reaction. “For who then?”

Your eyes flutter shut when the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, circles it slowly, teases you. He’s unfocused, his mind lapsing and giving you a much needed in, a clear shot to piss him off. “Your teammate.”

“Fuck off.” You first. 

“You’re right, Charles,” you speak slowly, careful to control your breathing, to hide every tell you might have. “Someone should shut me up. Do you know anyone?” Without warning, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curls them like someone had given him a diagram of your body. You gasp at the suddenness of it all. Yeah, he mutters, utterly delighted with himself. Yeah, I think I know someone.

You roll your eyes, push his head down, down, mouth onto your core. There, in the midst of licking a long stripe through your cunt, he fucking laughs, shakes his head with a subtlety you’d never perceive if it wasn’t for the tip of his nose bumping your clit when he does it. At least he can follow basic fucking instructions. 

His dick must hurt pretty damn bad, all hard and swollen in his pants, because he’s unbuttoning his jeans and freeing himself from the constraints of the fabric while lapping at you, the other hand still fucking into you with steady pace and hazy curl. You can’t see it, view obstructed by the mattress and limbs and hair, but you can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s trying to get himself off at the same time he works on you. 

You’re not going to make his job that easy. You require all of his attention, pure and undivided and hopefully just as infuriated as you are. You reach down to the apex of your legs, pull his head up by his chin. “Just fuck me, already, you prick.”

He rises to his feet, shakes his head, “you’re a needy little thing,” he remarks. Needy? You haven’t fucking seen needy. 

He guides the head of his cock through your folds, spreading slick and spit and smacking himself against your cunt. 

Your lips purse into a sharp line. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why not?” He taunts, “you’ve been teasing for hours.”

“It’s different,” you grumble. 

“How?” You could strangle him, him and all his questions. What’s a person have to do to get fucked properly around here? You already sacrified your morals by pulling tight against the navy blue sheets.  A woman can only make so many sacrifices. 

You groan, heavy and exasperated. He’s such a pest. “It just–oh, fuck you–” without warning, he plunges into you, buries himself in your cunt until he bottoms out, skin on skin and the sore sting of him stretching you. Your fingers bruise into his arms, nails scraping over his shoulder blades with a gasp. He gives you no time to adjust to him, rutting into you with deep, measured thrusts. What was that, he prodes. Somehow, you find the poise to stabilize yourself, to reply smugly. “it just is.”

His objective isn’t your pleasure, no. That would be his prerogative, a side privilege, a requirement in his quest to get you to close your mouth and stop pestering for once. Making you come is just another box to check. 

You don’t fuck someone if you’re not going to finish, though. Sleeping with Charles might be a lapse in judgment, but being someone’s play toy, letting him reap without sowing, that’s a complete disregard of your dignity

Your fingers find your clit, circle it in just the right sequence, combining with the curve of his cock to push you closer, closer, closer to the edge of the fucking world. Your entire body burns, everywhere, all over, all at once you sweat. Tell me–he insists, voice short and breathy. Tell me when you’re going to come. “I thought you were trying to shut me up?”

“Just, fuck, just tell me.” He palms over your breasts, still covered by your bra and the fabric of your dress, however thin. “So many fucking clothes,” he grumbled, stalling inside you, hands slipping under your back, between you at the mattress to pull you off the bed. You hastily pull the dress over your head, toss it somewhere onto the clothing cluttered floor. Better? You ask. “Better,” he nods, bites your bottom lip roughly, licking against your teeth. One of the hands that explore the skin of your back make quick work of the clasp on your bra, dropping the straps from your shoulders and your back is against the sheets again, his hands groping at you, pinching your nipple between his middle and ring finger, working over it until you’re humming profanities and huffing into his mouth. 

Hate and desire is such a fine, blurry line. Anyone who tells you differently is a liar. 

“M’gonna,” you choke on your words. “I’m–shit–I’m coming.”

“Yeah,” He picks up his pace, maintains a steady, toe-curling rhythm. “Come for me,” his voice heavy and growled. “Come on my dick.”

You do. You come for him, hard and long, wrapping a leg around his hip in a failed attempt to still him, to just be full of him and nothing more. He’s stronger, though, and fucks you through the whole thing, faster, harder, big hands braced on your hips for leverage. You explore the idea that a person really could be fucked in half, forced right open. 

“Good try,” you sputter, shaky and broken words leaving your lips before you’ve found a gravity that isn’t him. You lean up to kiss him, wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him to meet you halfway. Your fingers tickle the short hair at the nape of his neck, raise goosebumps to his skin. “Maybe next time,” you hum into his open mouth. 

He spits a long string of saliva into your mouth when you move to close the gap. You laugh around it, down it in a single gulp and lick your lips, sticking out your tongue to showcase your empty mouth, big innocent doe-eyes watching his reaction, his eye roll and devilish smirk.

“Like I said–” you start, but he’s flipping you over, tossing you around like a ragdoll.  You giggle, high on the teasing and the taunting and then he’s fucking your face into the mattress. He’s got your hair gathered up into a ratty ponytail, uses it like a handle, forcing your back into an arch, your ass to perk up into the air. 

God, he’s so fucking deep, turning you into a mess of bruises and sweat stricken skin. Your hips bounce back against him, angle in any imaginable way in an attempt to feel him deeper, to feel him in your stomach and your chest and your head. To feel him everywhere that counts. 

“Putain, taking me so good, baby” he groans, lets the praise and the pet name slipping past his lips in a moment that goes unnoticed by neither of you. He smacks your ass with a firm hand, trying to mask his words after they’ve already been spoken. Your eyes roll back into your head and you come again, without warning. You decide before you get to think about it that it was the stinging imprint of his hand that pushed you tumbling over the edge. Whatever the real reason, you’re up two-nothing, or, depending how you look at it, he’s the one winning. 

That’s all any of this is, one big game. A power struggle. You’re always fighting to win, and this is not different. If there’s a way to lose at a game where everyone is supposed to win, one of you is going to fucking find it and force it on the other. 

You’re the one doing the flipping, now. The pushing and the shoving so he’s on his back. You straddle him and he gives you this look like he’s fully pussy-drunk, sick and euphoric and floating somewhere far from here. You’re so winning at this. “Jesus Christ,” you poke, “wipe your fucking drool.”

His entire face contorts when you sink down onto him. Everytime you think you’ve reached a limit, he finds a way to hit a spot impossibly deeper than the last. His hips lift up off the bed to meet you halfway, rutting into pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had, hand moving to your cunt, thumbing lazily at your clit, leaving you fuzzy and drunk in a mess of mumbled moans above him. 

When you come for the third time, messy and sweaty, nothing that leaves your lips is distinguishable, a mess of French and English and curses and nonsensical mewls. “Fuck you,” he moans, breath shaky when he pulls himself out of you. Your body clenches around air, aches for him to return. 

He does, after he moves you back into the position it all started in. “So close,” he tells you, sinking slowly into you, his sigh hot and alcoholic on your shoulder. His pace is slow, then fast, then slow again. He’s as rapid as his breath is irregular. You better pull out–you groan, every muscle in your body strung out and exhausted and you’re coming again. It’s blinding white behind your closed lids, ears ringing and muscles flexing involuntarily. He’s wrecked you, finally, left you a mumbling mess. 

He pulls out almost in sync with your orgasm, jerks himself no more than twice between your legs before he’s coating your stomach in hot stripes of cum, loud, guttural moans leaving his lips in a way that looks and sounds practically pained. “Christ,” he heaves, watches on as your fingers dance through his orgasm, spreading it over your skin and coating your fingers. You don’t break eye contact when you stick two of them into your mouth, swirl your tongue around them tauntingly, sucking them clean and pulling them from your mouth with a pop. You hold the clean hand up for him to see, palm facing him. When you turn it, you pull down all but your middle finger, flip him off cockily. 

He swats you hand away, “Never fucking again,” he tells you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” you scoff. “I never want to see the inside of this apartment again.”

“Why are you here, then?” He remarks, turning the corner into what you assume is the bathroom, tossing a towel to you from across the room. You clean yourself up before anything dries, before coming up with a quick rebuttal. 

You don’t come up with one, mind as tired as the rest of you. This game has been exhausting. “We’re never talking about this,” you say, pulling your dress over your head, stuffing your bra into your handbag because you aren’t sure you have the strength to clasp it closed. “Ever.”

“No shit,” he says, tosses your underwear in the general direction of you. 

You bend over to pick them up, step into them with the snap of the elastic. “Promise me.” You have no idea where your shoes are, but he’s already ushering you out of the room, herding you down the long hall with wide, swooping waves of his arms. 

“I promise.”

“Pinky,” you say, spot your shoes haphazardly stepped out of in the entryway. You don’t have any memory of them ever being on.

“Absolutely not.”

“Charles,” you lean against the wall to slip your heels on, hook up at him with a sober glare. He closes his eyes like you won’t be able to see them roll behind his lids, pinches the bridge of his nose and squints before dropping a heavy breath, holding out a pinky to you. You interlock it with yours. “Thank you.”

He pulls his hand from yours, turns the lock on his front door and swings it open, fingers wrapped around the edge, other hand gesturing out into the hallway. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“With pleasure,” you say, stepping past him and into the well-lit hallway of sprawling marble floors. You stop in front of the elevator, press the button and wait for his inevitable comment. 

“The whole brat-schtick you’ve got going on isn’t as believable when your leg shakes underneath you,” he calls down the hall. You don’t turn your head to face him, just extend your arm in his direction and flip him off. You hear his chuckle as he latches the door shut behind you. 

Everything about today has been dreary–from the near constant mist that falls over the city, to the chilly temperatures, to the poor excuses for men that grace the screen of your dating app. This is not how Fridays in your twenties are meant to be spent, sulking in the dark of your bedroom after a miserable day at work. 

You’re supposed to be out, partying with friends and making drunken decisions that have you waking up in a stranger’s bed after a good night you hardly remember. 

God, you need to get fucked. It’s been months. Two months and ten days–not that you’re counting. Because you’re not. Counting. You aren’t. 

You’re just restless, basking in the loneliness of the night, unable to shake the weight of your thoughts, of two months and ten days ago. Of Charles and how infuriatingly good he’d made you feel. The complexities of your relationship, the shift in the very DNA of what you know, it makes your heart race–a messy muddle of annoyance and desire that yearns to be untangled. 

You give up on the dating apps, know that even if you do match with someone, there’s nothing that can be done to solve your problem tonight. You opt instead to scroll through social media aimlessly, searching for any distraction from the ache in your gut. Your hand unconsciously slips under the hem of your shirt, cups your breast while you scroll and scroll and scroll. It does little to quell your struggles. In fact, the game is over the moment you become conscious of your hand’s placement, the moment you start to massage your breast, to run your fingers over your nipple until it’s hard and perky. 

You switch to the other breast, fingers gently tracing over the skin, sending chills up your arms, pinpointing the ache in your core. Your hand slides down your stomach, dips below the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear. You’re so worked up–pent up, reaching a boiling point. 

Your middle finger glides through your folds, grazes over your clit, teases the slick at your entrance before dipping in, collecting enough to spread it around. Your clit is swollen, needy like the rest of you, and the pad of your fingers do little to relieve the pressure. Your fingers move clockwise, then counter. Vertical and horizontal and every combination of every direction and even though you can’t remember the last time you were this horny, this desperate to come, you can’t. 

You slip in a finger, and then another, try to find the right curl and the right spot–to no avail. Now, you’re thinking about his fingers, about how much bigger his hands are, how his nimble fingers pumped in and out of you with sheet-gripping, whimper-inducing pace. 

Your phone taunts you, his contact behind the locked screen just waiting to be messaged. 

You try to resist. You hate him. He hates you. God, he knows how to fuck you, though; veiny hands and thick cock leaving you a writhing mess. Fuck. Fuck, why can’t your fingers move the way his did?

You cave, reaching over to grab your phone and text him. Hey. What are you up to tonight? It’s a mistake, you know that it is. He’s so damn annoying, there’s nothing about him that doesn’t drive you up a wall. Frustration makes the heart go fonder, you suppose, or maybe the cunt ache harder. 

Within moments, your phone is buzzing against your palm with his reply. Chilling at home. You coming over?

You roll your eyes. No.

Ok.

You bite your bottom lip so hard you think you might accidentally draw blood. It’s phantom, almost, the way you can so perfectly imagine the sting of him stretching you out, the soreness of his bruising kisses, the swollen, wet head of his dick slapping against your clit. Come over.

You couldn’t pay me.

Door’s unlocked.

Give me 20.

You’re in the bedroom when he knocks. Three times, you wonder why he isn’t just walking in. You ignore the banging, let the universe decide for you if he’s meant to turn back and walk his happy ass out of your building. The universe decides he won’t be doing that, though, because he knocks again. Louder this time. 

You pull yourself out of bed, feet creaking on the hardwood floors as you move to pull the door open. “I told you it was unlocked,” you grumble. 

“Eh,” he shrugs, dumb fucking grin on his face. “Wasn’t up for your games.”

You internally debate just how bad you need him here, if it’s worth all the trouble that is him. It’s not, almost certainly it isn’t. You invite him in anyway. 

“So, what’s the deal? Can’t get yourself off, so you call me?” He teases. Your frustrated blush gives you away before a witty comeback can slap the smirk off his face. “Oh my god,” he chuckles. “I was fucking around, but really?”

There’s no point in trying to lie now, not when your face has already betrayed your trust and revealed the truth. “Calm down,” you groused. “The last thing this world needs if your head to get any fucking bigger.”

He continues laughing like this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him. You want to smack the smile off his face, dimples and all. “The last thing this world needs is for this–” he gestures between the two of you, “–to become a thing.”

You mock his movements, the dumb look on his face. “This is not a thing. It’s just two friends–”

“–We aren’t friends.”

You sigh through gritted teeth. “Two not friends helping each other out.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, chews on the inside of his cheek while his eyes trace your finger, head to toe and back to head again. “You do know how ridiculous you sound, right?”

You breathe out in resignation, heading down the hall towards your room. “Can we just get on with it?”

“No.”

You stop in your tracks, turn on your heels. What the fuck is he here for, then? “No?” You close the gap between the two of you, plant your hands firmly on either side of his jaw and kiss him, all tongue and spit and rough lips. You knock him off balance, falling out of step when he kisses you back with a matching intensity, hands hovering over your hips. He doesn’t rest them there, you can feel the warmth in the space between your skin and his, the force that pulls you together. 

When he does settle his hands, it’s not to deepen the kiss, to swallow any more frustration. It’s to put distance between your mouths. “I want you to–”

You nibble on his earlobe, cut him off with your hushed words. “I don’t give a fuck what you want, I want–”

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he commands, voice failing to waiver to your hushed level, an air of snugness to him.

“Charles,” your voice cracks with his name, a hint of your under the surface insecurity peeking through, putting themselves on display for him. Here! Here! Look at me! 

“Show me, or I’m leaving,” he says, and it’s all throaty and husky. 

(Eleven minutes later)

Legs spread for him, two fingers moving busily against your core, circling your clit, teasing your hole. 

He stares at you like he can see your fucking soul, watches from his spot across the room, leant against the old wooden dresser, arms folded and ankles crossed. You stare back–harder, maybe–like if you win the little contest your cheeks won’t burn so bright, you won’t feel so exposed, so vulnerable, so embarrassed. 

Those feelings fade, they do, with each flick of your wrist. With every glance of his hungry eyes to your fingers, to your cunt, tracing their way up and down your body, you feel calmer and calmer. And when he runs his hand over his mouth, along the stubble of his jaw and off his chin, you’re closer and closer. 

It pulls whimpers, soft and slow and sweet, from your lips. There’s a sick thrill to it, to him seeing her like this, all needy and open and sensitive. It’s empowering, almost. 

He breaks no more than twice, watches every brow quirk, lid flutter, and lip twitch with raw, intimate eyes. He’s less interested in what you do to yourself, the curve of your fingers or the noises they create, than he is in the way you react to the movements. 

“You’re not even fucking watching,” you say, the letter sounds falling to your breath, hitching as your fingers angle just right. 

“Watching what matters.”

“Oh? And, uh–” you huff. “What’s that?”

He laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks. You’ve always thought they made his smile so childish, like you can’t take anything seriously when it comes from someone with primary-school dimples and giddy eyes. You don’t struggle to take it seriously, now. “You’re thinking about me.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a soft sigh parting your lips. “Says who?”

He pushes himself off the dresser, saunters over with heavy feet, stopping at the foot of the bed. “What are you thinking about?” He humors. 

Your eyes roll. You’re thinking about a lot of things. Half a dozen, atleast. About your fingers, the way they move against your swollen cunt, sticky with creamy slick, and how his fingers are that much longer than yours. About how loud he walks, how his heavy feet stand at the end of your bed, crossed arms that pull his t-shirt tight across his chest. About the fact that you’re not sure you locked the door behind him because you were so distracted by the way his sweatpants hung from his waist. About how he doesn’t bother to adjust or hide the protruding bulge under the fabric right now. About the curve of his cock, about how pathetic and full it makes you, utterly unable to spend time thinking about anything but how well he stretches you out. About his hair, flat and straight and wholly unstyled, how your hands would mess it up so nicely, tug and twist until he has something smart to say. Beyond frustratingly, he’s right. As you quickly approach a high, breath quickened and movements desperate, all you’re thinking about is him. “Things.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, ever the rake, unsatisfied with your response. 

You add a third finger, steady pace and a held stare. The muscles in your leg twitch. You’re so fucking close. “What are you thinking about?”

He sways, rocks his weight from his left foot to the right, runs his tongue over his teeth. “Things.”

A coy smile upturns the corner of your lips. “Mmhmm,” you mock. 

He moves around the bed, trails his fingers over your skin; from your ankle, along the bone of your shin, a bruise on your knee. They stall on your thigh, trace small, soft circles on the inside of your leg. “You really want to know?” 

He’s such a tease, keeps moving up, up, up, over your stomach and through the valley of your breast. “I–ah– I,” you stutter through your words, fingers working tirelessly to push you over the edge. Restless, further irritated by his delicate touch, his fingers up to your jaw now, slotting themselves there, you nod. “Yes.” 

He leans over you, your lips inches apart, open and hot breathed. “Too bad,” he whispers into the space between, closing the gap and kissing you with an insatiable kind of fervor. Your fingers still, your other hand reaching to grip the back of his neck, to pull him deeper into the kiss. It’s a kiss that’s half as good as the sex, the breaking of the unbearable tension that’s filled the room while he’s watched, the promise of what’s to come. A lustful implication. His hand leaves your jaw when you pull apart for air, moving over your stilled hand. “Let me?” He asks, and it doesn’t feel like much of a question, the way he’s already slipping his fingers under yours before you can even squeak out an answer. 

There’s something entirely different about his fingers, like the way that you can’t tickle yourself. You can’t predict his moves, every movement of every ridge of his fingerprints is something entirely surprising. “Yeah, fuck, you make, ah, make yourself…” You give up on the sentence, your body failing your mind in its ability to spit out a comeback. Yeah, you wish you could tell him. Yeah, make yourself fucking useful.  

He laughs, slides his long middle finger inside you, pumps it twice and slips in another. You gasp at his sudden movement. “You’re embarrassing yourself, baby.”

Your back arches off the sheets. “Don’t call me that,” you seethe. 

“But,” he curls his fingers against the spot you’ve been trying to reach all night. A moan tumbles from your mouth and he smirks. “It makes my job so easy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I was going to let you come first, but,” he chuckles. He’s so proud of himself it makes you ill. “If you insist.” 

His hand stills, threatens to pull out of you entirely, but you’re covering it with your own, holding him there when you look up, hips instinctively grinding against him. “I’ll kill you. I will.” 

You’re pushing him out of your apartment by the end of night, locking the door behind him. Your leg shakes when you slide down the door onto the floor. This is the last time, it has to be. Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence. Thrice. Thrice would be a pattern. You won’t let it become a pattern. 

You wake up at seven-thirty and your hair is still in knots, your body still aching from him. You find a new bruise every time you look in the mirror. You can’t shake the image of his messy hair, of the feeling of the brown locks between your fingers and the sound he’d make when you’d tug on them. 

It won’t be happening again.

[bad-omens-blog]

Dad's Day Out -- Dad! Noah Sebastian

Warnings: All the cute, fluffy feelings. Concert interruptions, but in the cutest way possible.

Summary: Noah's wife cannot take their daughter for the day, so it was bring your daughter to work day. Girl Dad Noah for the win, even if he's dressed all in black.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Noah barely had three seconds to open his eyes before his daughter jumped on him, knocking the air from his lungs, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Fuck. . ." He gasped, rasping out, "Morning baby." He blinked awake to see the same brown eyes as his, "Sleep good?"

"Bestest." She nodded, "Pancakes for breakfast?"

Noah squinted at the clock. 8 am. Right on time for his little girl, "Yeah. Dad needs coffee anyway." He rolled out of bed, noting his daughter's pink strawberry-printed pajamas.

She ran ahead of him, knocking loudly at Jolly's door, "Wake up, Uncle Jolly! Wake up! The sun is awake!"

Noah met Jesse in the kitchen, who looked like hell froze over, "She got to you first?" Noah snorted, pouring a cup of coffee.

"No one should radiate that level of joy at eight in the morning, yet your child somehow pulls it off effortlessly..." He cradled Noah's face in his hands, his voice low and almost fierce as he continued, "Every single day, without fail. She’s fortunate to have that adorable face to back her up."

“I got Uncle Jolly up!” Scarlett declared triumphantly as they descended the staircase, the man effortlessly carrying her in his sturdy arms. His hair resembled a disheveled bird’s nest, wild and untamed, and Scarlett, ever the perfectionist, diligently attempted to smooth it down with her tiny hands. Scarlet Marie Davis was undoubtedly her mother’s daughter—exuding an air of entitlement and an unyielding desire for everything to be just right, all while basking in the lavish spoiling that came her way.

She was spoiled because Noah spoiled her. That was it. Noah smiled as he popped the frozen pancakes into the toaster. The four-year-old was his pride and joy.

"When I say I want a cute girl to wake me up, that's not what I meant," Jolly muttered as he sat at the bar stool; Scarlet was still trying to fix his hair but gave up with a huff.

"Alright, little miss." Noah's fake military voice made her look at him, "What are we wearing today?"

"My pink fluffy dress, Mommy, got me."

Noah hung his head in defeat. He had to dress her in white patent leather flats with lace socks and do her hair. Noah hummed, "Are we sure about this?"

Scarlet nodded, looking at him like he was crazy. Of course, she wanted to wear the pinkest, frilliest dress she owned to a rock show with Dad. "Mommy laid it out for me!"

#

Clad in sleek black attire that contrasted sharply with the vibrant surroundings, Noah carried Scarlet in his arms. She twinkled like a gem in her delicate pink dress, which billowed softly around her as they made their way to the venue.

"Oh my god! Look at you, prettiest girl in the world wide world!" Nick yelled as soon as he saw Scarlet.

Scarlet smiled, "Daddy even let me wear Mommy's perfume."

Nick excitedly ran up to her, burying his nose in her neck like an overly eager puppy, "You do! You smell so pretty." Nick snatched the giggling girl from Noah's arms.

"Do not get her dirty," Noah warned him. Nick gave him a look that said, No, Duh. Noah pointed at him, "I fucking mean it."

Noah went to Matt and grabbed his mic and earpiece. He was talking over the set when Scarlet found him again, saying, "Hey, baby."

"Daddy, lots of people here!" she said, her wide brown eyes clinging to his leg. "They here for you?"

"For me and your uncles." Noah told her, kneeling to her height, "How about you come out with me for V.A.N?" Matt started to say something, but Noah waved him off.

Scarlet nodded excitedly since that was her favorite song, and she loved to watch Poppy on stage.

#

Noah was hot and sweaty when he donned the famous ski mask.

"I would like your help in extending a warm welcome to a very special friend," Poppy announced to the assembled crowd, her voice filled with excitement. "We need to be exceptionally quiet so we don’t startle them." The anticipation in the air was palpable as everyone leaned in closer, eager to join in this enchanting greeting.

Fortunately, this unexpected delay offered Noah a precious opportunity to help Scarlet acclimate to the spotlight. "You'll be sitting on my lap the entire time," he reassured her, a comforting smile on his face. He gestured towards the drum set in the center of the stage, its glossy surface shining under the stage lights. "Look over there—Uncle Nick will be playing. And you'll get to see Uncle Jolly and Nik-Nik, too." As he spoke, he could see the curiosity spark in Scarlet's eyes, and he knew that soon she'd feel right at home in this vibrant world of music.

"Can I bring bun-bun?" She clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest.

"Yeah! Bun Bun wants to see it, too!" Noah smiled, "Ready? I'll even let you do your favorite part."

"Promise?" She asked, suddenly excited.

"I promise, sweetheart. Ready?" She nodded, and Noah scooped her up in his arms. He handed her his sunglasses for the lights.

"Stinky Daddy." She wrinkled her nose, making Noah laugh. He settled down next to the drumset with Scarlet securely in his lap. Then the song started.

The crowd erupted in wild cheers and ecstatic shouts as they caught sight of Scarlet perched playfully on his lap, her vibrancy adding to the electric atmosphere. His arm wrapped protectively around her waist, creating a sense of safety as he effortlessly provided backup for Poppy. Poppy waved to Scarlet excitedly.

Noah observed as Scarlet inhaled deeply, her eyes sparkling with anticipation for the moment she cherished most. With a gentle smile, he raised the microphone towards her, positioning it perfectly to capture the excitement in her voice. The air was thick with the expectation of a wildly known part of the song.

"Picture perfect image, more powerful every minute, baby. I am everything that you're not."

"ROOOR!" Scarlet growled, and the crowd went into a frenzy.

As the song's driving beat surged and the heavier lyrics kicked in, Noah gracefully slid from the high rise, his movements fluid and confident. He deftly balanced Scarlet on his hip, her laughter mingling with the rhythm as he twirled her around. With a joyful smile, he joined Poppy in a lively dance, their bodies moving in sync with the pulsating melody as they sang together with abandon.

Everything had gone splendidly, and Scarlet soaked in the thrill of her performance. As she made her way backstage, her excitement bubbled over, and she let out a jubilant scream that resonated louder than her fiercest growl, "MOMMY!" The sound echoed off the walls, filled with the warmth of her joy and the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

His stunningly beautiful wife stood nearby, conversing with Matt, whose expression suggested he was being gently reprimanded. The light from the stage cast a warm glow on her features, highlighting her frown. Her gaze fell on her daughter as she turned, and her face instantly brightened. "Hello, sweetheart!" she called out, her voice infused with warmth and affection.

"Did you see me? Did you see it? I'm a rockstar like Daddy!"

"I did see! You did so good! I am so proud of you."

Noah stepped back, his heart pounding as he surveyed the scene before him. The vibrant flicker of party lights cast an array of colors across the room, but the look in his wife's eyes truly grabbed his attention. A mixture of amusement and mischief danced within them, sending a chill of realization down his spine. He gulped, fully aware that he was in deep trouble. Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she recalled the night's antics, and he braced himself for the inevitable. "She had fun!" he said, a mix of dread and admiration swirling in his chest as he prepared to face the consequences of their wild evening.

"And you are so incredibly fortunate that I love you," his wife murmured softly, her voice laced with affection as she pressed her lips against his with warmth and tenderness.

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Sixteen: Aaron Hotchner + Dirty Dancing

The shoes and clothes are stuffed away in a box in the garage. Your life is diffierent now, there's no need for the six-inch heels or the lace like outfits when you're now a mom of two beuatiful kids.

Every now and again you think about your past, how Aaron had met you. The lap dance that had turned into your talking more about your past, and where you wanted your future to go.

It was nice then just as it is now to talk to Aaron about the things that make it hard to go to bed at night. The kids are off at school, Aarons off at work, and well you're a stay at mom.

You tidy up, keep the house warm and light all, make dinners (Which Aaron tells you that you don't have to do). Tonight you're thinking of following his words. You pull the box down from the top of the shelf in the garage. Slipping the garage door close as you breath in.

The walk up to your bedroom is quiet. The alexa in the kitchen isn't loud enough to make it upstiars and into your bedroom. The box isn't heavy by any means, but the weight that it holds is immense. The black heels and the sparkly clothes is what catch your eye first.

Among other clothes. Like a red lacy set of bra and panites, mesh tights that you remember leaving imprints on your skin. It all comes flooding back, that night you met Aaron is so burned into your memories that it's hard not to want to recreate it again.

A plan is set and you can't help but grow excited. The afternoon you go pick up your kids from school, asking them all sorts of questions about what they learned and how they liked what you packed them for lunch. A few hours later your darling husband comes home.

Drops his bag by the door, and comes over to you first. Kissing your cheek sweetly before giving each kid a hug. Your heart beats faster as the night goes on. all through dinner which was take out by a good mexican resturant not far from you.

A good movie on the tv that has your two children giggling and then falling asleep without a single peep.

Aaron takes your son, lifting him up and into his arms. "I got her baby." He says sweetly to you as you go to lift your daughter up into your arms. You hum, and nod. Before following him up the stairs.

You press a sweet kiss to your sons head, before rushing into your room while Aaron gets your daughter up to bed. The rush to get into the bra, and panites with matching garter belt as you feeling a few years younger.

You don't except Aaron to come to bed just yet, he's got work and always leaves that for after you, and your children go to bed at night. So you quielty walk to his office. The light on the desk is on, giving the room an earthy mood. A perfect mood you might add, you as crawl on all fours to the side of Aarons desk.

When he turns to look at you, his jaw draps and thers something behind those pretty brown eyes. "What are you doing?" He asks leaning back into the leather desk chair. "I found some old things in the garage today." You answer.

"Hmm I can see." He swallows hard, his adam bobs in his throat and his bottom lips turns a little red between his teeth. "What are you looking for, sir?" You say in sultry voice, a smirk planted on that beautiful face of yours.

A quick quirk of Aarons brow and he pushes the chair back even further. "How about you come up here into my lap and show me what you go babygirl!" You don't remember it going this way the first time, but the way your body grows with heat inbetween your legs and your heart beats a bit louder, and a bit faster in your chest as you loving every fucking minute of walking into the garage this morning.

"There are rules here." You say to your husband as you sit in his lap. "Hmm like what darling?" He asks playing along with you. "Theres no touching the merchandise." You giggle a little inwardly of course, but the groan of frustatrion is so gratifiting that leaves Aarons mouth.

"Do I get to fuck the merchandise at least?" He asks, maybe after two kids you think he'd look at your differently, but he doesn't. You hum, and think about it for a second grinding yourself into his tight slacks.

"I think that can be arranged for the right price of course." You mutter when you press your lips into his. Sealing whatever game you've started.

Completed on: 10/19/24

Posted on: 10/20/24

Kinktober 24'-

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Part V

Word count: 3000+

Warnings: none

Autumn themed divider by tsunami-of-tears

Part IV | Part VI

You woke up carefully tucked under warm covers in the bed even though you were certain you fell asleep on your usual spot. Soft light of the early morning filtered through the open curtains, changing every glass surface into kaleidoscope of colours. Maids drew curtains every evening, but you liked to watch the night sky and count stars, so after maids left for night, you always opened them again. Seeing those blinking lights, you didn't feel so lonely.

When your eyes got used to brightness, a clear blue sky without a single cloud greeted you, accompanied by colourful leaves dancing in a gentle breeze. For a while you just lay there and watched the show. It was comforting. Your thoughts were wandering until they stopped at a certain one.

Sighing heavily you rolled to the other side. You didn't want to get up. Maybe if you said that you didn't feel well, they would let you be. Just imagining that you would have to go to the garden today as well, made you feel sick. You were sure that you were supposed to take a walk and not to train for marathon. The other day you had to run for hours after the maids, so as not to get lost in this great labyrinth of corridors and winding paths. You didn't even have a chance to look around or stop to catch a breath. In the evening you were so tired that you fell asleep as soon as maids were gone.

With a groan you sat up, your entire body protested in pain. Whether you wanted or not, you had to get up. It was your husband's order. You couldn't ignore it, if you wanted him to notice you more in the future.

As soon as you limped to the vanity and with hiss took a seat, someone knocked. The doors opened and two maids walked in.

"Good morning, my Lady. How did you sleep?"

Astonished you looked up. Those were clearly not the maids who had been taking care of you until now. They were always very reserved and talked with you only when it was necessary.

"We are new here, madame. I'm Ellen."

"And I'm Irene. We are so happy to be able to serve you."

They bowed with wide smiles. You gaped at them, eyes wide. You weren't sure how to respond to such friendly greeting.

"I-.. It's nice to meet you," you blushed.

Their smiles only grow wider and they immediately got to work.

"You are so pale, madame. Are you sure you feel well? Should we send for healer?" Ellen asked as she carefully combed your tangled hair.

"That won't be necessary. I think I'm fine," you answered shyly.

Irene emerged from the closet with comfortably looking shoes that matched with the dress that they helped you to get in. "Hopefully the walk on fresh air will make you feel better, madame," she smiled kindly. "The weather is really nice today, it certainly will be a warm day."

It was hardly thirty minutes since they appeared, yet you already felt so good in their company that you dared to do a small talk with them. You were sure that the thing you were about to suggest, wasn't common and at home you would be severally punished for even thinking about it, but you felt uneasy every time these two lovely girls called you madame. There was also a chance that they would laughed you out. Nonetheless, you wanted to give it a try. You gathered courage, took a deep breath and let the words out before you could change your mind.

"You can call me Y/N," you whispered almost inaudibly.

Their eyes widened so much that they threatened to fall to the floor and roll away. "Are you sure we can, madame? Won't you mind it?"

You shook your head and they squealed happily in unison. They started chirping merrily about anything that came to their minds, trying to engage you in conversation even more than before. You, on the other hand, peeked at them curiously whenever you had an opportunity.

They both looked young, around your age, but they could be already century or two old. Ellen had dark brown hair that in waves fell to her shoulders and heart shaped face with soft green eyes. Irene was a bit taller than her friend, with light reddish brown hair combed into a ponytail, big brown eyes and a few freckles on her nose. They both were real beauties and seemed to be kind-hearted and cheerful.

Unlike the previous maids, they weren't in hurry once you left the chambers and made sure you get to know your surroundings and learn way back to your bedroom. Slowly walking down the hallways, they pointed out in different directions, naming and showing you the rooms and ballrooms that you passed by. It helped a great deal and you didn't feel so lost in this enormous castle anymore, even though you doubted you would remember it all on the first try.

As the huge glass double doors to the garden came to view, soldiers guarding there, friendly winked at girls, moved from their stances and opened them wide for you. The brisk air filled your lungs and cooled down your hot faces. Inside of the castle was nicely warm, but as you were walking around it became too hot and you almost started sweating. However now, you were grateful for the extra layer in form of cardigan that maids found for you.

"What a beautiful day," Ellen chirped with arms spread wide. "It's so nice to be outside and not have to worry that someone gets mad at me for that."

"And the smell," Irene sighed taking a deep breath. They seemed to be happy that they could get out of the castle. "I have aunt in Spring. Air there is sweet and full of scents of all kinds of flowers that bloom there, but nothing beats the smell of Autumn."

Imitating Irene you stopped and inhaled deeply. You didn't have time to notice it before, but the air was really fresh here, the earthy scent with pinch of sweetness calling you out. Maybe it wasn't a punishment after all.

"Hmm," Ellen pouted. "You are so lucky that you can travel to other courts. I'd love to see the world, too."

Stepping onto a narrow path between the flower beds, loose strands of your hair danced in the gentle breeze that brought a familiar scent of apples. With a hope you looked around finding nothing just flowers, trees and bushes, and your two maids discussing which Court they would like to visit and why. Shaking head at your naivity you looked up at the windows of the castle with a sad smile.

'Which one could be his,' you wondered. It'd been weeks since you saw him for the last time. If he didn't carry you to the bed every night, you would think that he even wasn't here.

You turned back to your companions who patiently waited for you with knowing smiles. You didn't even notice that they stopped talking. Caught in the act, you blushed fiercely, but they didn't tease you, only gave you a sympathetic look.

Irene and Ellen weren't in hurry like the other maids. They matched their steps with yours, letting you look around as long as you wanted, often stopping you to show you something they found.

"Y/N, look here," Ellen called you and pushed away the twigs of the bush. There was a bunch of delicate flowers blooming on long leafless stems in shades of pink and white. They were so lovely, sparkling as if dusted with glitter powder. Irene came closer, too.

"I didn't know that we have some nerines here, too. They are blooming mainly in southern garden."

"I discovered them by chance last week. I was looking for my favourite hair clip that I dropped somewhere around here. I haven't found it though," Ellen pouted sadly.

"Nerines?" you asked, studying the flowers and committing them to your memory.

"Yes. Do you have them in your Court, too?" Ellen was curious.

"I'm not sure," you flushed. "I wasn't allowed to go out."

"Oh," they both said in unison and looked at each other with raised brows. You tried to ignore their reaction. It was already quite embarrassing to admit your lack of knowledge about.. well, everything. They nodded as if they had just agreed on something even though they didn't say a single word. With kind smiles they turned back to you.

"They are also known as cliff lilies," Irene said and caressed one petal with a finger. "Every flower has some meaning. These, for example, symbolise connection, joy, freedom and security."

"And the affection," Ellen added with laugh. "The flowers are beautiful, but otherwise useless. It's pity."

"Useless? Why?"

"You know. Some plants or their parts can be used in medicine or cooking. However, this one is good only for decoration."

"I see," you bit your lower lip.

Useless.

Good only as a decoration.

You were called useless your entire life. And the worst was that it was true. You knew nothing about the world, you were lucky to at least be able to read. You were taught how to behave, how to serve to male, not how to live or actually do something useful. Your father raised you to be a decoration of a husband, a porcelain doll with nice face to be showed off and then destroyed behind the closed door. In a way you were alike. Only difference was that you could never be as beautiful and magical as this flower.

You smiled to yourself and stood up, leaving the beautiful nerines behind. Maybe your reasons weren't right, but it became your favourite flower. A tiny florets with layers of delicate, ruffled petals and radiant colours immediately caught your eye.

"What are these called?" you pointed at them.

"Those are marigolds," Irene answered in an enthusiastic voice. "My favourite."

"They are your favourite only because they remind you of a male you like. Even his hair colour is similar to these," Ellen teased her laughing and Irene stuck her tongue out at her, but she laughed, too. You watched them amused.

"Well, what if even so? I like them mainly because they represent power, strength and light inside of a person," Irene countered.

Ellen giggled. "Are you describing him or the flower? And don't forget about feeling of despaired love," she sang. "He is too important to notice you."

"Hush," Irene blushed. "I know he will never think of me in a romantic way, but girl can dream."

That day you learned a lot of new things and had so much fun. Your maids who you already liked dearly, taught you names, meanings and uses of flowers that bloomed in the garden and in the end you spent entire morning outside. When you returned for lunch, you were tired, but in a good way and not because you had to run.

The following morning you woke up with a bright smile and it grew even bigger when you found a pink nerine on a pillow next to you.

Joy and security.

That's what you had been experiencing since coming here. And you felt that all only thanks to your husband, Eris. You couldn't be more grateful. You'd never thought that marriage could give you this much of a freedom and allow you to experience new and especially nice things. You used to think that it would be just another horrible prison for you, one you would have to suffer in for the rest of your life. Just like your mother.

Your heart flipped as you remembered that this fairy-like flower symbolised also affection. You wondered whether Eris had left it here for you because of what it symbolised or just because he heard that you liked the flower. Whatever was the reason behind this surprising present, now you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him even more.

You carefully picked up the flower and nuzzled it to you chest right over the heart, tears stinging your eyes. This gesture however insignificant for others, meant a world to you. Now you missed only one thing - the person who gave it to you - and you would be completely happy.

Maids beamed when they found you playing with the flower later that morning and immediately knew exactly where it came from. Ellen gently picked on you with kind smile while Irene disappeared for a moment and returned with a small crystal vase for your treasure. You placed it on a coffee table between ottomans where you could keep an eye on it.

The delicate petals sparkled in the golden rays of sun as if they were enchanted by magic. It was such an spectacle that the three of you just sat there in complete silence watching it for a good hour.

After another interesting and very instructive walk, you were excited when servants appeared with the lunch on silver trays. You were so hungry that you ate more than ever before.

After the meal was over, Ellen had to leave to take care of something, so you were left alone with Irene. She was trying to teach you how to embroider some simple pattern when a knock sounded on the doors. Irene peeked out and blushing, backed back to the room. On the threshold stood Killian with wide grin and a package tucked under his arm.

Small flames danced in his amber eyes as he watched Irene to shyly smile at him, holding the doors opened.

"Hey, dove," he cooed as he walked past her and winked at her flirtatiously.

Irene flushed even more fiercely. It looked like she was about to pass out any moment now.

"Hey, sweet sister. How do you do these days? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he greeted you merrily and bent down to hug you and peck your cheek. You almost fell off your feet in surprise.

"I'm fine," you stuttered. "Thank you for asking. And you?"

"Your husband keeps me busy, you know, but it could be worse," he laughed and gestured to you to sit down. Then he took a seat next to you, his knee touching yours. You slightly jumped up, shocked. Unaccustomed to such closeness, you sat a little further, making a gap between you. He smiled at you apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"So," he dragged out the word, "what are your little strolls like? Do you enjoy it?"

"I have to admit I like it very much. The garden is full of interesting flowers," your gaze flew to Irene who couldn't take her eyes off of Killian with dreamy expression plastered to her face. You couldn't suppress it and had to chuckle. Now it was clear who she was in love with.

Killian's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Good to know you are enjoying it. I'm sure all the flowers are green with envy when they see such beauties like you two," he winked at Irene and she giggled like a little girl.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbled to the surface and tried to stifle it with a hand. Your brother-in-law raised brows at you, but then he joined you. Hearing that rich, contagious sound, you started to laugh even more. His expression softened.

"I'm very pleased to see that your new company has a good influence on you and you are finally opening up," he leaned closer to whisper to you, his hand brushed over yours. "Your smile is the best reward for all my hard work."

"I guess that now, when you have seen at least a bit of your new home, you are fascinated with its beauty," he joked, but he couldn't be more accurate.

There was something about Killian and his easygoing, good nature that made you feel at ease and so you dared to tease him back a bit.

"You are right. I'm absolutely captivated."

He gaped at you, mouth slightly opened. It took him a few seconds to collect himself and then his trademark smile was back. "Well.. Was that a joke just now? Dove, did you hear it too? She joked with me! Mother's tits, I can't believe my ears! Eris won't believe me either when I tell him you joked with me." His eyes filled with pride.

You blushed but smiled nonetheless.

"Now that you are finally peeking out of that damn shell, I'd even more love to stay longer and chat with you, but unfortunately, I can't. Eris will kill me for real if I'm again late for meeting. I was supposed to only drop by to deliver you this and return. It's from him," he winked, handed you a parcel that he brought and he was already at doors.

Before he left, Killian quickly whispered something to Irene. She giggled and nodded. At threshold he turned for a second to wave you with a beaming smile and he was gone.

Even though the parcel was small it was quite heavy. Your fingers trembled as you untied the bow and carefully opened the paper. You'd never received a present.

Inside was a new looking book bound in leather. You took it out and read the title. Almanac of Plants of Autumn Court. You flipped through it frantically, noticing all the beautiful, detailed drawings on every page.

You gasped in surprise, your eyes lined with silver. With trembling hands you took the book and pressed it to your chest, allowing the tears to roll down your cheeks. How did he know that you would like to learn more about the flowers in the garden? How could he know you so well? Your heart squeezed painfully, its sound louder than any other one and even than your own thoughts. If you knew where to look for him, you would immediately run there to thank him.

At that moment you decided that you would stay up no matter what and wait for him to come to check on you that night. You wanted to see him more than anything else.

[ratridingaskateboard]

Always See Your Face

Chapter Two

Link to Chapter One here

Summary: Eddie is beginning to find solace in an unfamiliar face.

Warnings: Sexual innuendos, mentions of drugs, Y/N is described!

Tag list: @daisyridleyyyy @silky-luxe @bl00d-puppy @ttsbaby01 @kennedy-brooke @sadbitchfangirl @abzzz3 @josephquinnschesthair @aislinnclifton

A/N: OMG I was not expecting the amount of feedback I got from Chapter 1 thank you so so much!! Like in Chapter 1, different character perspectives will be marked with: --. I know y'all will like this chapter since Eddie's pov is in it :)

--

The days have seemed to be dragging out longer these past weeks for Eddie. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t jerk off, couldn’t play his guitar. Even the campaign had several hiccups because he couldn’t focus. He would think about possible reasons for this feeling: repeating senior year, not having a girlfriend, and not being able to secure a job. Out of all the reasons he had conjured in his head he seemed to find that the best definition for this feeling was loneliness. His parents were not in the picture and his uncle Wayne wasn’t exactly the best company. Don’t get him wrong he was a great guy and a better man than Eddie’s father ever was but Eddie wouldn’t consider him close to Wayne by any means.

‘86 was supposed to be Eddie’s year and he had begun to lose hope. 

Today was no different than any other day. Eddie had found himself stuck in trying to figure out tricks for his Hellfire campaign that would be able to mess up friends. His mind still couldn’t focus and he noticed himself repeating familiar tactics that he had done in the past. He rubbed his palms against his face, trying to drown out the laughter and conversation of his friends around him. 

“You okay, Eddie?” Dustin asked.

Suddenly, there was silence. Eddie placed his hands down and looked over at Dustin until a voice rang out.

“Hey, I know you showed me around and I might be asking for too much but is it alright if I sit with you?”

It was such a sweet voice. Not an inkling of insincerity, pity, or ill intent. It seemed so warm. He had been wanting to hear a voice like that for a long time. 

He looked up to see her. Was he in a dream? Had he been looking at that picture of Demi Moore in the swimsuit he had cut out and pasted in his makeshift porn mag for too long? She looked so similar to her yet she adorned the clothes Eddie would wear except for the skirt, of course. Her hair was a dark brown, long and straight which went down to her mid-back. Her bangs were whispy and thinner than many of the other girls who had teased theirs beyond recognition. Her big brown eyes stared so kindly at Dustin as if she was seeing an old friend again. 

Eddie went stiff. His friends around him looked to her then back at Eddie then back at her. They were amazed to see their lord and savior Eddie Munson be so frigid around a girl. Normally, he was as boisterous as usual with a touch of chivalry for the ladies. But he was never noticeably nervous like he was now. 

Eddie wondered to himself; Was some divine being sending him this girl so he could get through his last senior year? Was she an angel? He needed to take advantage of her sitting at their table before she left. This could be his only chance to speak to his dream girl.

She had looked over at Eddie and he gulped. Her lips were so plump and red they were practically begging him to kiss her. Stop it, Eddie! Fuck, He needed to get laid. She seemed to be analyzing his face and he let her. He would let her do anything as long as he got to keep staring at those eyes. Her eyes quickly shifted over to Mike once he entered the table. He felt his body relax once her gaze had changed.

"Jesus, that line was long!"

Mike's exclamation had broken the silence and Hellfire erupted into an uproar of questions.

"What's your name?"

"So where are you from originally?"

"How are you liking it here?"

"Are you single?"

Eddie was silent, watching her like a hawk to see what information his friends could attain from her. But she didn't answer any of the questions, she just started to laugh.

"I'm sorry! I laugh when I'm overwhelmed." She smiled. "All of you are so sweet for wondering about me."

Well, Eddie wasn't expecting that response but he had a feeling she would continue to surprise him. Dustin's once bewildered face began to soften as everyone spoke. He still seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet but at ease nonetheless. Eddie could tell he was plotting something since Dustin was not one to stay silent at the lunch table.

"Oh!" Gareth seemed to remember something as he reached into his bag. He pulled out a Geometry textbook and began to flip through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

"Do any of you guys- Oh, sorry, I mean guys and lady- understand how to do this? I can't figure any of this out and if I fail another test, I'll fail the class."

"Hey man, I don't know anything about Geometry. I barely passed Geometry when I took it."

"Yeah dude, no one at this table would be the right person to ask."

"Can I see?"

Gareth stared wide-eyed at Y/N as she began to walk over to him, leaning over his shoulder to look at the question. Eddie had sat right beside Gareth and he couldn't be happier with their current seating arrangements.

She was so close to Gareth and he could tell that Gareth had stopped breathing the second he felt her warmth. They could both smell her; She smelled like clove cigarettes and vanilla. Suddenly, Eddie started to care about Geometry.

"Alright, lemme see here..." She leaned further into Gareth, her breasts accidentally touching his shoulder. Gareth's face began to turn bright red. Eddie swiftly moved the book over to his side of the table.

"Oh Gareth, this is super easy!" Eddie exclaimed. "All you have to do is- uh... umm..." Eddie flipped through the pages trying to understand the math his mind was beginning to read as a foreign language. His friends began to laugh at his confusion.

She put her hand on Eddie's shoulder and he felt a bolt of lightning crawl down his spine.

"Hey, you guys didn't know how to do it either." She scolded. Eddie's hands still rested on the book and she put one of her hands over his left hand. Her other hand she used to flip through the pages.

Eddie had to stop every muscle in his body from kissing her at that moment. He barely knew this girl, yet, he felt as if she was doing these things to get a rise out of him. Whether innocent or guilty of this, it was working. He imagined turning her face with his hand on her chin to face him. Tucking the piece of hair out of her face and feeling the softness of her lips. What did she taste like? Vanilla like her perfume? Clove like her cigarettes? Whatever it was he wanted to taste her, every inch of her.

He silently adjusted himself in his pants, trying to make sure no one had noticed. Thankfully, no one had. Eddie's presence had been upstaged by the girl, bending over the table to look at Gareth's Geometry book.

"Fuck baby, why don't you tutor me after school?"

A football player's voice rang out as he passed behind her. Before Eddie had the chance to get up and teach this douchebag a lesson, he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned to see her standing above said football player, Eddie couldn't give two shits about remembering the guy's name, her knuckles bruised and a red imprint forming on his face.

"What the fuck, bitch!"

She surprised him again.

--

A/N: sorry this was kinda short but I felt like this was a good place to end. Please lemme know if you have any suggestions and I will keep you guys updated on new chapters :)

[sunnynwanda]

Something Blue

Warnings: I assume none, but if you notice something, let me know! Light angst romance, basically. Heavily based on/ inspired by VOILÀ - Something blue.

The wind is harsh against Villain’s face, prickling his skin with each cold blow. The crisp air bites into his lungs, filling them alongside the deep-settled tightness. When Villain reaches the central square, the sun is high in the sky, but the air lacks the warmth expected from a spring day. She hates it when the noons are this chilly.

The square is already full to the brim, a good half of the city there to witness Hero’s wedding. She’s always been a crowd favourite, and the groom being the mayor’s son only brought more publicity to the event. And Villain… Villain would never be good enough. He hisses at the annoying voice in the back of his head to quiet. The same voice that prompted him to leave before she could, to let her go before he got hurt. He takes in the grandeur of the cathedral, its enormous oak doors decorated with flower arrangements. It looks magnificent. She hates big weddings and magnolias.  

It doesn’t take much time to round the square and sneak into the cathedral through a back door. The reality of it all seems to hit Villain much harder once he steps inside. Coming here today was a bad idea. Villain’s fingers curl into fists, his breathing coming out in frantic huffs as he climbs the stairs. A part of him considers turning around right this instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to. Not today. He won’t be a coward again. 

He walks past several ajar doors before coming to a halt in front of the only closed one. With a deep breath, Villain pushes it open. Hero is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and she looks stunning. His breath hitches in his throat, every single thought leaving his mind the second his eyes lock onto her form. She doesn’t seem to notice him yet, so he shuts the door behind his back, careful not to make any noise as he steps closer. She keeps fidgeting with the hair framing her face in soft brown waves. She hates having her hair up.

Villain stops behind her, his mind racing. He rakes a hand through his hair, brushing the dark strands back from his forehead, and before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing, his arm wraps around her middle, pulling her back against his chest. 

“You look beautiful,” his voice murmurs against her ear. Hero shudders, her eyes flying up to meet his gaze through the mirror. Her lips press into a thin line. Don’t do this to me. Villain’s arm tightens around her. “Absolutely ravishing.”

“Don’t lie,” Hero leans back into him, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. “White was never my colour. Good thing I don’t own this dress.” She shrugs, her tone a tad too impassive for his liking. 

Villain lets out a light chuckle, yet his sharp eyes remain pained. He wouldn’t give a damn what she wore if only it was him with her. “It’s something borrowed then?” 

“What?” Hero tilts her head to look at him, still wrapped in his arms. Her eyebrow raises quizzically, when he doesn’t loosen his hold. She hates the way his body fits against hers so well.   

“You know how that thing goes? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Villain lists, not registering when his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into her forearm. 

She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her hazy brown eyes. Villain’s chest tightens as he watches her expression. He loved how her eyes would shine, and her nose would scrunch when she laughed with her full heart. How she laughed with him.

“I'm the old, and he's the new,” he explains, pausing to swallow the lump of emotions in his throat. “And since he gave you the borrowed dress, I figured it should be me that gives you something blue.”

Hero’s heart slams against her ribcage with a savage force. She wants to push him away, to yell at him, to demand for him to leave and never show his face again after how he abandoned her for idiotic reasons. Instead, her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek. “Oh?”

“Remember the time when I bought you a locket in the flea market?” Villain recalls, watching her breathing pattern go from frenzied to still. Hero goes rigid in his arms, her irises blown wide, not daring to take a breath in for fear of losing it entirely. “Where did it go?”

“I- I must have lost it,” her voice is small, words tumbling off her lips almost unconsciously. 

“Feels symbolic, don’t you think?” Villain’s hands leave her body as he pulls the locket with a blue stone embedded in its ornaments out of his pocket. He moves her hair to the side and fastens the clasp, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck in a tender touch. He gulps, his darkened eyes locking onto the reflection of her watering ones. “Like losing your love and having to watch it.”

He can’t stop himself as his head dips into the crook of her neck, eyebrows furrowing when his lips leave a lingering kiss against her bare shoulder, sending a chill of goosebumps along her spine. 

Hero lets out a shaky exhale, averting her eyes from the mirror. She hates that he is here. She hates that he’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt. She hates that he looks dashing, too. She hates how perfect they look together. She hates how he could… “It’s cold for a wedding, isn’t it?” 

Villain withdraws despite his reluctance, his fingers twitching to take hold of her again until he wraps his arm around her waist. “Are your feet getting cold?” He attempts to sound lighthearted, but the quiver of his voice gives it all away. 

Hero shakes her head, her dejected expression wrenching Villain’s heart in a way he didn’t think possible before. “They were never warm in the first place.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that. He doesn’t know how to take any of this anymore. It feels like the sky is shattering over his head, burying him alive.

“There's something I must confess,” Hero whispers as if saying it louder would mar the sanctity of the cathedral walls. She disentangles from Villain’s arms, stepping towards the door as Canon in D begins playing. “I wish it was you instead.”

She offers him one last glance before stepping out the door, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth to keep the sobs raking through her body from escaping. 

Her words echo in Villain’s mind like a tocsin as he rushes through the doors, only to catch a glimpse of her as she begins walking down the aisle. He walks in, remaining at the doors as she reaches the altar. He knows he should wait on the priest to give him the time to speak, but his stomach is in knots, adrenaline rushing through his blood like a fire ready to burn the damn church down.  

Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today…

“To watch a big mistake,” Villain’s voice booms through the nave of the cathedral, reflecting off of the vault and spilling down onto the guests’ heads, which snap to stare at him as he steps forward. 

“I'm not gonna hold my peace,” Villain meets Hero’s tormented gaze, her throat closing in as she sees his face contorted in a mixture of pain and desperation. “I’m not gonna…” He pauses, his breath hitching when the flames reach his chest, burning a hole through his lungs. “What I mean to say is, my feelings haven't changed.” 

Hero’s blood runs cold. She’s frozen in place, watching him approach her with an unreadable expression while her groom growls something in her ear with a displeased expression. For better or for worse, Villain can’t hear what he’s saying to her. 

He knows coming here today was a bad idea. Watching Hero today was supposed to desecrate whatever was left of his heart, to wreck the shrine of her in his chest, to utterly and wholly rip him apart.

But...

But then she takes his hand, meeting his pleading gaze as tears brim her eyes. Villain brings her hand up, pressing it to his lips before pulling her towards him as they sprint down the aisle. He leads her out through the same back door he came through and along narrow sidestreets away from the crowded square. By the time her groom stops throwing a fit, Hero is in Villain’s car as he drives them out of the city, his hand still clutching hers tightly. He brings it up to his lips again, turning to look at Hero, cast in the afternoon sun. She looks otherworldly with her hair down, playing in the wind.

“White is absolutely your colour,” he mutters softly, his eyes darting down to his shirt on her, her dress left somewhere along the road.

Hero snorts, shaking her head as she shifts closer, leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand in his tight hold. He still can’t wrap his head around the events of the day, but he can lace his fingers through hers. He can kiss the tip of her nose and make her scrunch it as she giggles. He can kiss her smiling lips over and over again. He can pull her into his chest and hold her close to his heart.

Villain will be damned if he lets go again.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

[americangaia]

Today (December 14th, 2024) was your birthday, you would have been 5 yrs old today. It has been half a decade since God welcomed you into Heaven and made a special place there just for YOU, my sweet baby boy….and someday I hope you will be showing it all to me with nothing but excitement and joy, as I join you and all our loved ones in that special place. When the time is right I can’t wait to get there, wherever it is, simply bc it means I will finally get to meet you, little one. You are my first born son, the only child of mine that I’ve ever held in my arms and the only soul I’ve ever met that I’ve ever loved so much, even before I got to hold you. And saying goodbye (for now) was the single most difficult life experience I’ve ever, ever had. It was so devastating to lose you, to finally get to see you but knowing your gorgeous little eyes would never get to open and see me. It’s been 5 yrs and I still think about you every single day, son….i wonder about the little man you would be growing up to be, & dream of what your future on earth could have held in store for you. I know in my heart you would be making me so very proud, and would have lived your life to the fullest, & loved with all you had in your great big heart…and the world would have loved you so much. I know because I love you so much, more love than I’ve ever felt for anyone before, and my love for you is so strong and runs so deeply through me that I know I will love you with my whole heart for the rest of my entire life (and even after that, always and forever). I know that God made a special spot for you, and I am so proud to know without a doubt that my son is sitting right there beside Him and helping Him in any way he can. I know your heart, because I made it, & helped it grow, beat by beat, right here next to mine. I know how much love you have to offer the world, and I know you are using that love and intense passion to help others, even from the other side. I know you are making me so proud and helping others find happiness as much as you can bc it is what you would have loved to do. You have a heart of gold and are so blessed to be in the presence of God and all of his Grace, fulfilling your noble purpose right there amongst all of the angels. I miss you so much, every single day. Losing you left such a huge wake of emptiness and sorrow in my life. Everything would be so different if you were still here, my sweet boy. I hope you had the best 5th birthday today in Heaven that any little boy has ever known. I hope you are happy, and I hope you are looking forward to the day when we will finally be reunited as much as I am looking forward to it. I am so proud to be your Mom, and I love you with all my heart. Happy Birthday, Beau Maverick, my sweet little angel in Heaven. Take good care of Brown Doggie and Miss Gaia, and Rosie the snake. Love them with all your heart, and care for them as best you would care for any of God’s creatures, and they will love you immensely right back, and someday we can all be together again. I’ll be here waiting for that day.

[artificial-transmutations]

Transformation Letter: Noah

Hello. My name is Noah and I would love transforming into anything or anyone. I'm an single 20 years old bisexual, who is annoyed by long work days as a german nurse. I would most likely describe me as the boring white boy with brown hair, brown eyes and nothing special. Would love to get out of germany.

It is way after ten in the evening after a long day of work. You are sitting in Ilkan's flat and enjoy a beer with your Turkish friend when he suddenly announces that he will have to return to Turkey soon because of family matters and there's a good chance he won't be able to get back for at least a few years.

For the last years, Ilkan has been a close friend to you, and a welcome opportunity to complain about work - the news is devastating. You even have a bit of a crush on the burly Turk, but since he is straight you kept that a secret. Of course, you can hardly say anything against him leaving, so, you just say "Tja."

You continue to sit there, sipping beer when suddenly, Ilkan appears to remember something.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I got this really strange letter today, do you know what's up with that?"

He fetches a letter from a company named "Artificial Transmutations" and shows it to you. It's just a QR code and a single line of text below it: "If you want to accept Noah's request, please install the app above."

Of course, you recognize the company - there had been an online ad and you decided to write a letter to them. Apparently, there was some kind of a raffle for a cruise or something, you didn't have a closer look at the ad back then.

"I think it's some kind of competition or draw or something where you can win a trip." You reply.

Ilkan nods and just as you are about to go on about data privacy, he has already scanned the code and started the download. Ilkan is refreshingly carefree with all of that.

The app installs quickly, and you are both looking at Ilkan's phone. Besides the logo, there is just a single green button labelled "Claim".

"So, does this mean you have won?" Ilkan asks.

"I don't know. Go on and press the button!" You answer, wondering why Ilkan has gotten the reply letter and not you. You are pretty sure you didn't mention your friend in your letter.

As soon as Ilkan taps the button, you feel very strange all of a sudden. Your dick grows stiff and strains against your jeans, flooding your system with arousal. You absolutely cannot think straight as you look at Ilkan, who is sitting next to you on the couch, legs spread slightly as usual.

Without further comment, you reach over and undo Ilkan's fly and greedily pull down his boxer shorts to expose his ample, but soft cock.

Ilkan is way too surprised of your sudden action to react and just starts to say: "Noah, what ahhhh..."

You interrupt him by closing your mouth around his soft cock, breathing in the sweaty groin and tasting the flavor of his unwashed dick, with all the traces of piss, sweat and dirt that have gathered during the day.

Almost immediately, you feel his hand at the back of your head, but to your big surprise, Ilkan doesn't pull you from his groin. Instead, he pushes you further in, with quite some force actually. Your nose is being pressed into his untrimmed bush of pubic hair, intensifying the manly smell even more as his hairs tickle your face. You cannot see anything since your face is in Ilkan’s groin, but you feel two things: First, Ilkan's cock is slowly raising and second, Ilkan stands up while still having his hand on the back of your head and positions himself right in front of you.

Your arms explore his big hairy legs that are spread widely in front of you, and you pull down his jeans and boxers for good. There is a slight movement as Ilkan steps out of them, all the while your tongue is busy teasing his cock.

Ilkan increases the pressure once more, and for a moment, your nose almost hurts since it is pressed into his groin with so much force. That passes quickly however, and you feel your face jumping forward a few centimeters more. It is like your nose has been flattened against his groin, but you didn't feel pain or hear a noise that would indicate it being broken.

Your mouth is full with Ilkan's increasingly erect cock now and he is bucking his hips lightly into your mouth. You hug his hips with your arm in order to press yourself even further to Ilkan, who now uses the hand on your head to face-fuck you, slamming your face into his sweaty privates with more and more force.

You don't even use your tongue even more - Your mouth is more like a pouch now, a place for his dick to be in, as your head becomes thinner and thinner - and more fabric like with every thrust. Your hands have fused behind his back and turned to an elastic rubber band, fixing yourself to his waist.

Suddenly, Ilkan closes his hand and warps your face - or what's left of it, around his erection. He grips his cock through your fabric face and begins to jerk himself off, warping your pouch that seems to be almost all that is left of you in the shape of his ample erection.

Finally, he cums a thick load of cum into you, which you absorb quietly as the jockstrap that you are now.

"Phew. I didn't know that was what you wanted Noah...". He pauses for a moment before continuing. "Although I suppose I shouldn't call you that any longer. You're just a jockstrap after all, and I'm gonna treat you like the thing you are, my possession."

You feel a warm feeling of agreement as your owner acknowledges your inferiority. Soon you're going to leave Germany wrapped around your best friends junk. You don't have to worry about your job anymore and you couldn't be happier.

Don't forget: If you, too want to send a transformation letter and want to be transformed, consider joining my riot page today!

[keeping-writing-frosty]

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp

Chapter One

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Startled Cara out of her dozing daze, she existed in that state between full-on slumber and being aware of everything around her. A sound much like deflating bellows, a huff and a sigh, escaped the girl as she got up and padded over to the window for a quick peek behind the curtain. There stood in his corduroy slacks and a white undershirt, stained with only what Cara could guess at, Mr. Jakub Kaczmarek. He peered at her with his bright blue eyes, which forced her to give a small wave.

She opened the door and cocked a hand on her hip. “Hey, Mr. Kaczmarek. How are you doing?”

“Ah, little Cora. Hello to you,” he uttered in his thick Polish accent. “Are ya busy, little one? I just need to borrow ya for a few moments. Well, more precisely your balancing ability.”

“It’s Cara.” Cara scrunched her nose, regarding the man for a moment. “For what?”

“I need ya help to get my little Mruczek down from the rafters,”

“Um, what’s Mruczek?” Cara questioned the man, head tilted to the side.

“Ah, Mruczek is my star kotek,” as he spoke, his broad chest puffed up with pride. “He will be the star of the show. Has that je ne sais quoi, unlike his brothers and sisters.”

“Oh, that’s right! You are training your cats for a show or an act, right?” Cara’s face lit up with such a brightness its radiance could challenge the sun at its zenith.

Yet today the sun wouldn’t show its face as rain pelted the wooden awning above both of them in a somewhat melodic rhythm. That it had been raining the past few days, mother had lessened the restrictions on Cara going outside. Even if she wasn’t allowed past the porch. Since Mr. Kaczmarek lived upstairs, she figured it would be okay to go with him.

“I’ll never say no to a kitty in need,” Cara expressed, rocking back on her heels.

The porch was wrapped around the house halfway, and its construction was quite newer, as it led to an opened metal gate that led up some black-painted metal stairs, of which the rain had slicked just to make each step upwards a tiny, concerning adventure. Through unwavering confidence, Cara climbed up the stairs where Mr. Kaczmarek used some strength to push open the wooden door which scraped along the floor.

Before Cara could even step inside, her nose picked up on one of the more tantalizing aromas she had ever smelled. It seemed to permeate the entire room; an acrid, tangy scent of whatever boiled in the wide pot on the antique cast-iron stove top, which sat center in the spacious attic. Beside this pot sat a frying pan, still dirty from its recent usage, and a metal bowl filled with fried golden-brown crescent moon-shaped dumplings packed full of whatever was inside. Cara’s stomach growled, and she temporarily forgot why she was there.

“Pierogies, Cora,” he grunted with the entirety of his chest, which caused the girl to have a little start. “Have at ‘em! I always make far too many. Cheese, potatoes, onions, just like my babunia used to make. Homemade sauerkraut in the pot, as well. Once ya get my little Mruczek, I’ll give ya as much as you want!”

“It’s Cara.”

Despite those little pockets of dough that looked so good. From their crusty edges cooked to a perfect golden, delicious, to the plump filling that somehow didn’t ooze out, yet one could smell regardless of its doughy prison. Cara had a job to do first.

Where in the far corner, on a rafter stained a dark brown, sat a black-and-white tuxedo cat whose blue-green eyes stared daggers at Cara. Situated over a cracked and hastily mended clawfoot bathtub, with an old shower curtain frayed at the edges and threadbare, pushed all the way to the side. All the while seven other cats had gathered around the strange, new girl, of which Mr. Kaczmarek, with the politeness of a trained diplomat, introduced each one as: Puszek, Kociurwa, Philemon, Kicia, Hank, and Gruby, which was a fat gray-blue cat that didn’t seem to have a single care, or brain cell, in the world.

“Besides my pride and joy. You got Kicia who can put on a performance when needed. The rest are just backup acts, I say.” An almost haughty sneer crossed his face while he gazed at the felines. “They won’t hurt ya none. Maybe a brief hiss. Perhaps an arched back. Philemon is a bit of a wee coward, so don’t mind her. Now what I want you to do is climb up this here ladder and grab Mruczek. I can’t do much on the ladder anymore in my physical state,” Mr. Kaczmarek announced, clapping his hands together.

Just under the obstinate cat was a well-used and splinter-filled wooden ladder propped up against the wall. So, fortified with the thought of a delicious, gooey dumpling in her stomach, she climbed up a step on the ladder. Mruczek took a half step backwards and resettled herself. Then Cara took another step up and another, until she teetered-tottered on the second to the highest rung. Despite having short arms, legs, and just in general even for her age, Cora reached as far as she could. All the while the cat scooted as far back as possible. Which left her just out of reach.

Without a hiss, spit, or growl, Mruczek sat there and watched Cara, if it could be bemused it would, but instead it sat rather indifferently. Though it might be judgmental, no one could tell. That’s when Cara reached out again, a brief fear fluttered in the back of her mind. That’s when, as quick as a flash, an event flashed before her mind’s eye. Of her falling headfirst into the tub, cat latched onto her with all its claws in fear, and a fall that ended up with her crumbled up like a balled-up napkin. So when it didn’t happen, Cara thanked what gods were out there.

When she reached up with both hands, legs stiffened as Cara tried to keep her balance, took hold of Mruczek, who mewed in response. Her fur felt quite soft and more fluffier than expected. Nails like little needles, poked pinpricks onto her right arm, which forced her face to scrunch up. Yet before Cara lost her balance, the cat jumped off and bounced away as Mr. Kaczmarek broke down in tears and rapidly spoken Polish.

An indignant look crossed the cat’s face, who pried itself from the man’s affectionate embrace before she took off toward a tiny bed off across the attic in a darkened corner where it spent the next several minutes cleaning her fur.

“Cora!” He came up to Cara with a sweeping, grandiose movement of his arms.

“It’s Cara,” she groaned as Mr. Kaczmarek pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you very much, Cara! I know it seems like such a wee thing, but it is the small things that mean, and matter, the most.”

There was something about the man that made him grandiose and dramatic. That when he begged Cara to sit at the wooden table, barely big enough to fit a plate upon it. When he placed a bowl filled with dumplings on top of a small helping of sauerkraut. Cara found herself in doughy, delicious heaven.

As she ate her impromptu lunch, Mr. Kaczmarek regaled her with stories from the old country. Legends and myths, but what Cara enjoyed the most were the simple stories. From the farm his family used to have, how his father taught him to hunt, fish, tend to the crops, while his grandmother taught him the delicate art of flowers and shrubbery, as well as the proper cookery of his native land.

Cara finished, her belly full and nearly swollen, she thanked the man and gave a wave to the uncaring cats. The rain had picked up, not lessened as expected, and on the stairs gave her a clear view of the neighbors with Rowan on her porch, face buried into a book. Her orange hair pulled back into a curly ponytail. Until she heard mother’s voice, and Cara rushed down the stairs regardless of how sketchy they were.

With her chores done, Cara looked outside where the rain had finally stopped. The sun had peeked its rays through the darkened clouds and already headed toward the horizon. Still, it cast its rays across the land as it did so, creating long finger-like shadows across the wet landscape. A gentle breeze blew into the open window and carried with it the exquisite fragrance of flowers, grass, and trees that mingled in such a natural harmony with the salty tang of the ocean.

. Cara moved to her usual perch on the front porch railings, her legs dangled off swaying back and forth as she watched a group of kids playing on that narrow back road the edged the property. They seemed to be playing a game of tag, moving out of the way as the random car and pick-up truck rumbled down the way.

As if on some kind of cue, Rowan stepped out of her home with an old, worn soccer ball tucker under her arm. She ignored the world around her and propelled the ball into the crisp late afternoon air, setting off a symphony of rhythmic thuds and soft bounces. The tall girl lost in her own skillful routine as Cara watched in both awe and admiration as the ball bounced against her knees, feet, and chest, each and every touch a testament to her determination and unwavering focus.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Rowan spun and kicked the ball towards Cara. “You just going to watch, or do you want to join?” She questioned with a playful grin.

With only a few hours left in the day, Cara joined Rowan as the two played and giggled and talked. All the while Cara learned the basics of how to play soccer, dribbling and passing more than anything else. More important that that, she got to spend some more time with her new best friend, and that was how both girls felt. As they passed the ball back and forth, the talked about everything and all things, about life here on Mount Desert Island, and the weird stories and modern urban legends.

Cara ears perked up as Rowan’s words and stories weaved into her imagination. More precisely the brutal murder at an old antique store in Haven Bay intrigued her, even if it was more legend than fact. When Rowan, however, mentioned occult symbols painted in the victims’ blood that adorned every surface—the walls, ceiling, floors, all over the merchandise—something crawled up Cara’s spine and planted itself in her mind, there came a sense that this was closer to the truth than most would think.

“Goddamn,” Cara uttered as she passed the ball back to Rowan.

With a bit of natural flourish, Rowan kicked up the ball and caught it. “The killer was never found, ya know? The only thing known was it was a woman not from here. She could still be around. Which is just creepy.”

Mother called out from the porch time for Cara to come inside for dinner. Which before she left, Rowan pulled Cara into a tight hug and wished her friend a goodbye with a promise to message her later. Which Cara smiled in reply but said nothing else. Gave a little wave before she scampered off back home.

Even though the rain stopped, Cara peered through her bedroom window which showed the dark landscape through a sheen of water drops that clung to its surface. Through it, she watched the forest at the edge of the property that seemed to stretch on forever into an endless void of darkness. Unlike back home in Oregon, where so many lights would drown out true darkness. Now, for seemingly the first time, she could actually see the night.

A gentle rapping came from her bedroom door, followed by the creaking of the old hinges as it swung open. In the dim like, mother stood as a silhouette with the light behind her. Wrapped in a plush, dark blue bathrobe, it seemed so warm and invitingly soft. What danced across her face was a wide, toothy smile, with that small glimmer of warmth in her brown eyes. The closest Cara could ever recall getting a hug or a good word from her.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” Mother questioned with a wine class clutched between two fingers, half-filled with a rich, burgundy-colored wine.

“Yes, mom.”

Even when she tried, Mother still never sounded interested or cared. “Did you have a fun time playing soccer with your new friend? What’s her name?”

“Rowan.”

“Yeah, Rowan,” her tone seemed more disinterested than ever, “is she your age? She’s rather tall and athletic-looking. I don’t want you spending time with anyone too old.”

The young girl sighed and rolled her eyes before she turned to look at her mother. “She’s only a couple months older than I am. I did have lots of fun. She’s teaching me how to play soccer, and I just like spending time with her.”

“Well, good,” Mother’s half-smile seemed a bit more boozy than it did actually happy. “I’m happy you found a friend so quickly. Her mother’s kind of fucking weird, but Rowan, well, seems sweet. Since it is summer I’ll let you stay up an extra hour tonight, okay? Have a goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too, mom. Thank you.”

Once mother was gone, Cara stood up and closed the door. Turned off the overhead light with only the tiny My Little Pony lamp she has had since before she could remember lighting the room. Climbing under the cozy quilt that her great-grandmother made back when mother was born. Despite never meeting her, the quilt had a certain quality about it. From when Cara was a babe and inherited, nothing else had, or could have, brought more comfort to her. In her hands, The Hero and the Crown by Robin McKinley, a book Rowan was quick to offer her and one that Cara adored from the opening passage.

Whenever she found her nose buried deep in a book, time seemed to fly by at an accelerated rate. That, when her father came around to remind her of the set bedtime, Cara peered over the top of her book to notice that it had long since passed her bedtime. Yet she hopped out of bed to give the tall man a tight hug and wished him a goodnight. Where he closed the door behind, and she finally turned off the bedside lamp.

As the room was cloaked in a rather comforting darkness, only punctuated by the ethereal moonlight which cast its rays through the curtains. Its silvery glow danced upon her antique store dresser, that had travelled with the family as Cara could never give it up. Then flickered to and fro across her desk and laptop, rarely used. The ambiance had a soothing quality to it.

Despite Cara not being tired, it seemed her mind held some type of hatred for sleep and fought against it at every turn. At least tonight, it seemed as much. From her viewpoint on the bed, Cara could see the dark forest through the window, it stretched on and on. Yet amidst the darkness, and through the wet, rustling leaves, a soft blue light emitted through the trees. It cast a gentle glow, an aura that moved back and forth, up and down. Cara found herself mesmerized, even though she thought her eyes played tricks on her. No matter how many times she blinked and rubbed them, nothing changed. Then it vanished as quickly as it came.

Weird she pondered to herself.

Cara kept her wide eyes on the tree line for many moments longer, just hoping to catch another glimpse of the light again. But it never came back. That was until a shadow seemed to scurry across the floor in the form of a little mouse. It ran figure-eights on the wooden floor, almost in a playful manner as it zipped from here to there. Then it ran towards, and somehow through, her bedroom door.

Having to summon all her sneaky-sneak skills and quietly slipped out of bed. With cat-like grace and dexterity, Cara moved as silently as she could and tiptoed towards the door; her steps avoided squeaking floorboards. Knowing how loud her door was, she stilled herself as the door broke the silence with a loud creyeak! That seemed much louder than ever before.

Long shadows stretched across the hallway as the only source of light came from a dim nightlight in the bathroom whose door stood ajar. Which partially hid the shadowy shape just a few steps away at the top of the staircase, fully in defiance of any type of logic. Though it looked like a mouse, it sounded like one as well, Cara had never before seen through a mouse. Then it seemed to morph before her eyes, to a different form, almost a hideous one before it changed back to a mouse in the blink of an eye. Before it darted down the steps in a remarkable blur.

At once, she followed behind it, wincing when the floors would protest with a chorus of tiny squeaks and loud groans. Each step she took echoed through the old house, but she didn’t care right now. The living room was dimly-lit, and it seemed that shadows moved ever so slightly yet nothing moved at all. Other than that weird mouse shape.

She strained her ears, listening to hear any of the telltale signs that her parents were fast asleep. Father’s deep snoring, a thunderous symphony one could here from anywhere in the house, that acted as the background music that somehow comforted her. While her mother would mumble in her sleep, unknown conversations, emboldening Cara to finish her trek downwards.

Once at the bottom landing, the shadow-shape sat in front of that ancient wooden door, nestled beneath the stairs. It cleaned its snout in a pantomime of a mouse until it spotted Cara with eyes of uncommon intelligence. Then it disappeared through the hatch. Unlike moving day, this time the door slowly with a barely audible creaking hiss, opened just large enough for her to squeeze herself through.

Kneeling down on the cold floor, her hand quivered as she cautiously grasped the door handle. Breath caught in her throat, there came a faint melody from within the depths of the darkness. The kind of song from an antique music box, so much like the one her grandmother had on top of the mantle. Even the song sounded the same, but it was just a little different.

Then this mouse-shaped thing slowly transformed into that same grotesque, hideous shape which changed into a vague-outline of her grandmother’s face. Who watched Cara so many times as her parents were away working, it was still the same caring, loving face.

“Nana?” Cara choked back tears as she reached out. Then she stopped, something deep in the pit of her stomach yelled at her, Cara pulled back her hand just as quickly as she started.

“Cara Amelia Quin! What in the hell are you doing out of bed down here?” Her mother’s voice cut through the house which forced Cara back and the door shut heavily in front of her. “I don’t know how you opened that damn door.”

With a sharp slap to the back of Cara’s head, it caused her to rub the back of her head. Whining as she scampered back upstairs and into her room as mother cursed and spit. Cara clambered back under the quilt and sheets, where mother stomped back upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Cara didn’t get a lot of sleep that night.

*****

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Four

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way? 

Authors Note: IT'S TAKEN A WHILE BUT IT'S HAPPENING, MATTY AND MOUSE ARE SO CLOSE. Hi:) Hope you enjoy this part, finally throwing them into the same building!! Lot's happening in this one!

Warnings: Mentions of rehab, struggles around body image

Masterlist

🐭 @/petitesouris 13m Early start, hoping it's a good session today!

The next week rolled around slowly and it had been one of the most agonising waits of my life. 

I’d constantly been emailing with the Primary Talent Team for the last few days, back and forth, just trying to work out which date and time would best fit both our schedules. It’d been gruelling. And the entire exchange would have gone a whole lot easier if it hadn't been for the fact that it had all been centred around them and based on their terms and conditions. Not forgetting the mile long list of Do’s and Don'ts they had also attached to their most recent email, which had been oh so fucking thrilling.

To be honest, I might not have minded it if my whole life had only revolved around the radio show. But as proud of it as I was, and as incredibly hard as both Adi and I constantly worked, I had other priorities that took precedence. I loved the show with all my heart but it could never be my entire life. Not with Teddy waiting for me back home at the end of each day, relying on me alone to raise and feed and clothe him.

Not that Healy’s management could comprehend that, or the fact that I had a schedule and a set routine. They didn't know when to stop and pushed and pushed to get what they wanted. And I could only fight back so much. Which meant that I’d ended up dropping Teddy off at Finn’s place a whole two hours earlier than usual just so that Adi and I could prep for the dated interview.

So, with that in mind, it was safe to say that I wasn't in the perkiest of moods when Adi bounded breathlessly into the studio that morning, a lot later than expected.

"I know, I know, I'm late!" Adi immediately squawked as she hurried on over, the door behind her slamming shut in her wake. "But I have good reason! I hardly slept last night, too excited for all of this!" She added as she threw her knitted tote bag down in its customary corner, the one I’d brought her the birthday last, and tossed her phone and throng of keys down with a clatter onto her paper-filled desk.

I rolled my eyes, but was unable to negotiate with the amused smile that pulled at the corners of my mouth. “Still had time to post a quick photo though. Don't think I didn't see it, Adeline- you tagged the show."

Adi’s smile was blinding when she spun around to meet me, brown eyes wild and full of mirth.

“Figured since you still haven't a clue about how Instagram works that you just wouldn't see it, my love!" She retorted whilst throwing herself down into my desk chair and kicking her Doc clad feet up onto the table. She shot me a smug smirk. 

“Cow. And oi, I’ll have you know I’ve caught on since Circa ‘18!” I defended, but relented upon seeing Adi’s arched brow. “Fine, I had Finn explain it all to me one night after a bottle of wine. But the point still stands.”

Adi’s raucous laughter bounced around the loft and I could only roll my eyes once more before huffing. 2018 had been a rough year for many, but mostly me, seeing as I’d accidentally posted a quick shot of me in the tub for the group chat to my story, exposing a little more than I’d like to our show’s following.

Adi stared back at me in disbelief, loosening the bun of unruly curls that had been strung together by a silk bandana, which also seemed to match the colour of the very short shorts she was wearing.

"He'd had to have been a saint in another life to have dealt with an indisposed you for that long."

I scoffed at that, but couldn't help my own trickle of laughter. “I sent Teddy round to his the next day with a box of chocolates- you know, those fancy ones he’s always banging on about?” Adi hummed her assent. “Felt proper bad about it all. Took him ages to teach me how to stop going Live.”

We both laughed.

“Waste of time that was, should’ve just brought the chocolates here! Knowing Finn, he only helped ‘cause he found the entire sodding thing hilarious.” Adi supplied, pulling a pack of chewing gum free from her jacket pocket.

Snorting faintly, I denied her offering of a piece with a wave of my hand, and went back to fidgeting with my phone, distracting myself again from my plume of thoughts. I spun the device round and round, slowly enough so that each edge made contact with the wooden desktop. 

“You alright there, babe?” Adi queried after a while, and I glanced over to see her eyes now trailing the movement. “Ted doing alright?” 

I stilled and then hummed, watching as she turned and went about fumbling her way through an array of wires that sat on my desk, most of which were already hooked up to the monitors. It was a task Adi did most mornings, even when I’d already ticked it off the list, ever the perfectionist, wanting to double check that nothing would go wrong with the day's show.

“Oh yeah, all’s fine. Teds is already obsessing over Halloween, ranting about what costume he wants to get this year. But August has only just passed, Ads.” I groaned, thinking back to the previous evening when Teddy had spent a good portion of his bath time rambling on about what every other kid in his class was going to be.

Adi peered back at me, the extremity of the grin she wore wrinkling the corners of her eyes. “Just kids, ain't it? We were the same, you'll miss it in a couple of years.”

I supposed she was right, but only because I didn’t have much of an experience to look back on. Halloween had just been me and mum in the woods up by the creek, collecting flowers and eucalyptus for the wreaths we’d make, then reading old stories by the fire.

“Don't remind me, please. I don't want him getting any bigger!” I sighed all too dramatically before standing to head on over towards the printer, picking up everything I’d sent off earlier from out the tray.

“It's the way of life, babe. So, when do you reckon Teds will end up towering over you?”

Adi simply chuckled when I stuck a finger up at her from over my shoulder, not even wanting to pay that idea any thought at all. Teddy was my baby, I couldn’t picture him all grown up.

“I should mention that I saw your tweet, by the way. Guessing you're nervous for today?” Adi added after, her tone a little softer than normal, catching me off guard enough that I actually stilled in place before I turned to face her.

“And you’re not?"

Adi’s mouth quirked upwards when she shook her head, dark ringlets moving with it.

“Why would I be? This is fucking huge for us, M! The exposure that we'll receive alone could really give us the big break we've been searching for- I honestly can't even begin to believe it.”

I gnawed on my bottom lip as I lingered over her words, then pushed back the thought of me having been the one to deal with the stress that was Healy’s management team to the back of my mind. Adi didn’t deserve that, I’d always been the one to deal with all the crap happening behind the scenes, and besides, Adi had a right to be excited. I only wished that I had the ability to join in on it.

“I just don't want to start up any more unnecessary drama, Ads.”

Drama was the very last thing I wanted, knowing that this whole thing with Healy could easily blow up in our faces if we didn’t go about it the right way. And if shit actually does end up hitting the metaphorical fan, then… I wasn't sure I'd be fit enough to handle it. Handle the backlash that would surely follow and affect the show, the only source of income I had. And without it, both Teddy and I would be royally fucked.

Apparently my lack of response had Adi rolling her eyes, adding an extra flare of dramatics to it by flicking my ear as she passed me by. “Don’t be such a worrier, babe. It’ll all work out, always does with us, don’t it? Besides, how can it not when I have a face as gorgeous as this?”

She winked, flashing me her famous grin.

“Tart.”

“Slag.” Adi easily countered.

A breathy chuckle escaped me and I shook my head before returning to the wad of papers I’d been rifling through. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s the radio, babe. No one will be seeing that gorgeous face of yours, or the way your arse is currently hanging out of those shorts.”

Adi cut her eyes at me from across the room, but they gleamed under the studio’s lights. “Don’t be jealous. We both know you love it.”

“Jealous? I’m a mum!”

“A fit one.”

A laugh bubbled up out of my throat at that and I couldn't find the energy to deny it, so I just shook my head.

“Anyway, you’re wrong.” And at my confused look, Adi continued on, grinning wickedly as she waved around one of the large devices she’d since picked up and cradled in her hand. “We are working with the camera’s today. Sort of why I'm here setting them all up. See?”

“Wait, we’re filming?” I gawked, and my eyes felt like they were just about ready to bulge out of my head as I sat up further to shake my head at her. Mouth already dry. “Non. No, Adi. No one ever mentioned that! I can’t.”

“They called yesterday demanding it. Just as you left to pick up Teds- it must've slipped my mind. I'm so sorry, hun.” Adi revealed sheepishly, her face scrunched up in an apologetic wince as the camera rig dropped to her hip. “But don't worry, yeah? I promise it'll all be sound and then we'll be well on our way to becoming the UK's biggest radio show!”

I reverted back to worrying at my bottom lip, chewing on it as though I hadn't eaten for days whilst I tapped an anxious rhythm into the arm of my chair. I couldn’t do the cameras, not today at least.

“Trust me, Mouse. It’ll be alright. You’ve done it before and you can do it again. No one will say a thing.”

I wished I could fucking believe her.

***

The Sun @/Thesun 16m Matty Healy spotted out in London today! The singer has been relatively quiet for the past few days- somewhat strange for the wayward frontman- but will this all change now that he's been seen? (Link) H @/user1 18m um, what? he’s where?? Adi @/AdelineWells_ 19m Long day ahead but we're very excited for today's show! Big surprises in store for you lot, so who's looking forward to it?? @/petitesouris @/Mouseonamic Indie @/user2 21m @/AdelineWells_ AHHH hope it's another Adi's All-Knowing segment!! Urmymedicine @/user3 23m Did anyone else see Jamie’s ig post?? He says to keep an eye out- AN EYE OUT FOR WHAT?? Talk! @/user4 11m I feel like I've been hit by an unnecessary amount of information

***

Matty’s bleary stare made an attempt to focus on the blurring buildings that passed them by as the car cut through the paved streets of London. Grey just melting into another varied shade of grey.

It was still far too bright for the beginning of September, the remaining weeks of summer only just tittering away now, and Matty couldn't help the scowl that had long since settled into his hollow features. 

One of the very few things he liked about the city was the fact that it was almost sure to be gloomy during the colder months. But it seemed as though the sun was shining a little brighter today, much to his chagrin.

A dull pain throbbed at either side of his temples, it’d been there since he’d been forced awake, and so he'd had to wind the window all the way down as soon as they'd set off to keep the nausea at bay. He silently regretted not turning in early last night, but it couldn't have been helped. It was hard to stay asleep without his usual nightcap, and even then, it was harder to dismiss the memories that plagued his mind without downing half a bottle of something or other.

A frigid wash of air wound its way down his throat as he took a long breath, his mind slowing a tad as the afternoon breeze trickled across his skin. But soon enough Matty’s calm was broken and his attention was then caught by Jamie, who sounded just as thwart as he felt.

“You even listening to me, mate?”

Jamie’s undeterred voice filtered through the back of the car, a short lived sigh following in its wake.

Matty merely rolled his eyes from behind his darkened sunglasses and proceeded to slump further in his seat, lolling his head to the side so that his focus was now within the car instead of on the distractions of the outside world.

His gaze trailed its way across the dark leather seats and blacked out windows before it finally ended up landing on his manager, who was kitted up in one of his many sharp shirts and a pair of formal fitting trousers. A right snazzy twat.

Matty could appreciate their pattern though, Jamie hardly ever ventured too far into the world of fashion, so the burgundy tartan was a sight to behold.

He soon fixed Jamie with an apathetic stare from across the backseat, fingers already itching for a fag, or maybe something stronger. He couldn’t be arsed with the mindless bother he’d been sent to complete today, really didn’t want to be dealing with a roomful of people that were there to assault him with an extensive range of hard-hitting questions, or have any more unwanted cameras shoved in his face in truth. 

But here he was, doing it.

Following orders because that was what it took to be a puppet. He was too tired to be tugging on any strings today though, simply wanted to get the afternoon over and done with, hopefully without any repercussions, so that he could fall back into bed.

“Matty, mate.” Jamie huffed, his face having fallen into a pitiful expression that Matty didn’t quite like looking at, but couldn’t seem to look away from. 

For a while, he'd been fearful that he'd pushed his luck all too far with Jamie, as well as the rest of the band too he supposed. But it seemed as though the guy had a thing for redemption, because he was trying his fucking hardest to annoy Matty into growing the fuck up.

“Look. I know you don't like this anymore than I do, but it's your job, mate. You ain’t got much of a choice here. But think of it this way, right. It's better you being here, doing this, than drowning away in your own fucking sorrows- thought you'd given up drinking since rehab, anyway.”

Matty’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the reminder. Rehab. What was it with everyone and always bringing it up? He’d been too fucking gone on painkillers to have given a second thought to the little amount of alcohol that particular shit show had provided. Could hardly call it a rehabilitation centre either, not when you were constantly surrounded by other abusers who were practically there on a getaway, just finding other means to entertain themselves with.

Jamie broke the silence just as Matty’s mind began to spiral, and Matty couldn’t help but be rather thankful for it.

“You just gonna sit there then?” Jamie snorted, obviously trying to fill the tense quiet now, “Normally you’d have told me to piss off by now.”

“Piss off.” Matty murmured, turning his focus back to the window.

The car seemed to be slowing down now and Matty furrowed his brow when they came to a gentle halt outside a block of buildings.

“Where are we?”

“Outskirts of Islington, I think. Not too far from the studio.”

Matty didn't get much of a chance to reply- not that he'd had one, Islington never did manage to bring up the most fondest of memories with him- because Jamie had all but jumped at the chance to exit the vehicle, opening up the sliding backdoor to escape into the stream of daylight.

With a tired sigh, Matty ran a hand through his mussed hair before he made a move to join his manager, clicking his neck slightly as the bottoms of his leather, heeled boots clacked against the cobbled pavement.

There was the usual musty scent that lingered throughout the city as he took a breath, but the smell of petrol was somewhat stronger here. Hardly anyone was wandering down the backstreet they had pulled into though, and those that did didn't linger too long on either him or the extravagant hired car that he'd been sanctioned with since having been struck with yet another driving ban.

Craning his head up, Matty could tell that there wasn't much to the building they were standing outside of. A commercial unit, three stories or so. Its brick exterior worn and dotted with timber sash windows. It was quaint enough, but not what he was used to when it came to things like this.

"Alright. A quick debrief before we go in." Jamie started, already fixing the faint creases in his otherwise pristine shirt, caused from where he’d been sat working in the backseat. “This is the same show that you had a bit of a spat with earlier this week, alright? So you'll be meeting the same girl that spoke out about your, um… Well, your image and publicity, and all that crap, generally speaking."

Jamie’s eyes flitted around them before he was back to typing away on his phone again. Fucking thing was practically attached to his hand, made Matty wonder how the hell he managed a wank.

But then he caught onto that last bit of his sentence and furrowed his brows, throwing Jamie another quick glance, not quite comprehending.

“Why we even here then? Thought your lot had a right mare dealing with all that.”

Jamie had the decency to look a tad bit sheepish as he started to lead them over towards one of the heavy-duty doors that adorned each of the surrounding units.

“They think that by doing this, it will clear up any allegations. They just want you to right your wrongs, I ‘spose. Make it known that what went down was just a 'misunderstanding' of sorts.”

“Right my? For fucks sake, Jamie! I was shitfaced! And if I remember fucking rightly, this supposed presenter spoke some actual truth. How the fuck am I meant to deny that and clear this whole fucking mess up?"

Matty was quite close to fuming now. It was always the same thing, again and again. The lies were never ending. So much so that he could hardly even recognise them from the truth anymore, everything had seemed to mould into one.

Jamie had since paused, his hand resting on the door's brass handle whilst he gave Matty the best smile he could possibly muster up. "Matty, mate, I'm sorry. Listen, I thought I could-"

Matty cut him off with a throaty scoff.

"Don't make out you're sorry. Not when you're just here ‘to do your job’. The only thing you're sorry for is the fact that you've got to be here at all, to suffer through all this shit with me and put up with the added drama. Just do me a fucking favour and keep your half-arsed apologies to yourself, mate."

Jamie looked genuinely taken back by his vicious rant for once, and somewhat hurt too, but Matty paid it no mind. He knew where to hit where it hurt, and he often didn’t stop until he tasted blood. The band knew that better than most.

"You act like you're here for me, when all you really care about is goin’ by the book and following the rules. Fucking grow a pair and apologise to me when there's an actual ounce of sympathy behind it." He spat back, teeth grinding as he clenched his jaw, glowering at the man standing before him. 

Matty shoved past his startled manager before he could linger on his words and pushed his way through the door. Fisted hands already making their way into his pockets as his nails dug crescent shaped moons into his palms in a desperate attempt to take the edge off of his vibrating anger.

"Ah, good, you're already here then! Thought we'd heard voices!" A cheerful lilt called out just as Matty rounded the short hallway, Jamie hot on his tail, and came face to face with a girl, who was leaning heavily against the metal rail lining the steep stairwell. 

Matty winced at the brashness of her greeting, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses at the very force of her presence. She had a mane of thick curls bundled atop her head, lips lined red and lashes winged with a heavy liner. She was definitely younger than him, but not by much, and he could only guess as he approached her, that she stood at a similar height to him too when she wasn't prancing about on metal staircases. 

His fingertips trailed across the paperboard carton he had stowed away in his jacket pocket as Jamie hurried on over to meet the woman- a beaming smile now replacing his previously dejected look. Matty bit into his cheek at the sight of it.

"Yeah, sorry if we're late! Hey, it's great to meet you, I'm Jamie and this is obviously Matty." Jamie greeted with an incessant smile Matty couldn't bring himself to look at, before his manager was gesturing towards him- the disgruntled singer he was always stuck babysitting- and then reaching out a hand.

"Adeline, but my mates call me Adi." The girl, Adi, chirped as she took Jamie’s palm in her own, her eyes flitting towards Matty long enough to get a good once over. A gesture Matty returned. "It's great to have you both here."

She wore a grin so large it practically surpassed the honey brown eyes that brightened her face. Her teeth were white, if not a little crooked, and the force of her smile showed off the metal piercing that sat against her front teeth.

"We're honestly really excited to have you on the show! We'll have a proper laugh and just chill, so there's no pressure or anything. Mouse is upstairs, by the way. Still have to set up the final bits and bobs." Adi added, her enthusiasm somehow never faltering. "You'll love her! She's the main man round here, the one who started up the show and all that. You'll be speaking to her once we begin, but depending on how everything goes I'm hoping to join the two of you at some point."

Matty merely hummed in reply, which earned him a slight jab to the ribs from Jamie, one he tried not to lash out at. And Adi’s eyes slitted a tad as she followed the gesture, though Matty noted she gathered herself rather quickly.

"So, is that all of you then? No one else to meet?" Jamie wondered politely and Adi chuckled in retort as she began to lead them up the shifting staircase, giving them both an eyeful of her long legs.

"Nah, you're in the clear. It's just the two of us running things around here."

Matty worked his jaw at her response, whilst the sound of his boots hitting each metal stair reverberated around them.

"And that works?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.

Adi's head snapped back to find him, eyes peering over her shoulder as she rounded the first small landing and started on the next set of stairs.

"Mouse was on her own for a long while before I came along. We cope fine on our own though. We might not be as big as some other radio shows at the moment, but we've got a good relationship that works well within this industry. She can be stubborn, whilst I can be pushy, and even when we butt heads over things, we're able to make up in the end for the sake of the show. I don't know how it would work, throwing someone else into the mix."

Matty gave her a curt nod.

"So, Mouse?" Jamie questioned just as they bypassed the second floor, continuing up the staircase. Matty could hear the curiosity that lined his voice.

Adi flashed them another grin. "Mouse. It's what she goes by."

"Oh?" Jamie prodded, prompting her even further. He had a right thing for nicknames, loved hearing the stories behind them or something. 

"Don't know how it came about, in all honesty. You'll have to ask. But it's been her pseudonym ever since she started as a kid."

Matty’s ears perked up upon hearing that, but it was Jamie who quizzed her.

"She's been doing this since she was a kid?"

"Technically. But no, it started out as a Twitter account, just her venting her thoughts and opinions on the music she loved. And trust me, teenage Mouse was just as cut throat and sarcastic as she is now- maybe even more so- but people loved it, still do. The idea for the radio show came about a couple years later, and that was that."

Adi stopped talking just as they reached the very top. The staircase had led them straight into an open plan room, where a large leather sofa separated the sitting area from the tiny kitchenette in the far back corner, and where half of the living space had been overtaken by a recording booth.

Matty blinked. It wasn't at all what he had been expecting.

"God, this is insane." Jamie suddenly crowed from beside him and Matty followed his manager’s wide eyed gaze to where a skylight had been fitted overhead, giving them a clear view of the bright blue skies they'd just escaped from.

"I know." Adi spoke through a breathy exhale, her eyes twinkling as she grinned up at the oversized window. "It was what sold us on the place, honestly. That, and the access we have to the roof."

She gestured over towards the closest window to the stairs then and Matty found a fire exit hatch sat just on the outside of it.

"Don't think the other tenants renting out the spaces below even know about it. Well that, or we've just been lucky enough to never to catch one another up there." She chuckled and Jamie joined her. 

Matty’s hand tightened around his pack of cigarettes, eyes lingering on the hatch. But before he could ask if he could get a quick look at it, Adi was waltzing her way across the room and over towards the kitchen. 

She waved them closer and gestured towards two sofas and a vintage looking armchair that should have looked somewhat out of place, if it hadn't been for the rest of the mismatched furniture that littered the space. From the mint green fridge shelving a chaotic range of mugs, to the wearing Victorian coffee table, which was hilariously similar to the one Matty’s grandmother had preened over whenever guests had gone to visit.

"Tea, coffee?" Adi asked and Matty dipped his head as he took a perch on the edge of an armchair facing the tele box. It looked well over two decades old and he questioned the last time he'd seen one that'd had a DVD player built into it.

"Coffee. Black."

Adi raised an amused brow but didn't comment, looking towards Jamie. "And you, Glasses?"

Jamie only chuckled at the name referring to the thick rimmed frames he often wore. "Tea, please. Milk, two sugars."

"Be with you in just a sec!" Adi winked in reply and pulled four mugs down from the fridge.

"Cheers." Jamie thanked her, smiling all the while, before a look of remembrance crossed his face. "So where's this famous Mouse of yours then?"

And as though someone had answered him, Matty looked up to find the door to the recording booth opening and watched as someone stepped out to join them.