#i had kind of a shit day so sorry if it's off!

[rafesangelita]

rafe + predator/prey with bambi?

warnings: dark!rafe (he’s nice at first), bratty behavior, dom/sub themes, slight arguing, shouting, manhandling, fear play, rafe chases you around tanneyhill, hide and seek, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, slapping, impact play (?), asphyxiation, lots of dirty talk, squirting, size kink, breeding kink, baby trapping threats, degradation

link: read more of bambi!reader here <3

w/c: 2.2k

rafe knew the second you slammed the door shut in his face that you had forgotten your place. all the soft, sappy sex you two had been indulging in had officially altered your brain chemistry into thinking you could lock him out of his room in his own house. “open this door, y/n.” rafe hadn’t raised his voice at you in a long time, and while he didn’t want to, it wasn’t long before he felt his patience running thin as you continued to ignore him and give him the silent treatment. you stood on the other side of the door, a pout gracing your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“i’m trying to sort this out with you, baby, but you’re making that really hard for me right now..” rafe spoke gently, his fists balling up at his sides. “you know.. the last thing i wanna come home to when i’ve had a rough day is an attitude and a temper tantrum.” he attempted to twist the door knob, your heart beating in your ears when it started rattling against the hardwood. “i’ve been so good with you, i think you’ve forgotten just how fast things can change, bambi.” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

of course you didn’t want to be on his bad side, but something about the way his voice dropped a few octaves as if he was giving you a warning made you step closer to the door. “open it or i’ll do it myself.” for a moment there, you almost did as he said, your hand reaching down for the door knob before you heard him whisper something underneath his breath. “fuckin’ brat.” you froze just as your fingers grazed the cold metal. he wasn’t going to like what you did next. taking a step back, you shuddered as you watched the shadow of his feet. “n-no.” you whimpered, your heart beating in your chest.

rafe laughed, his jaw ticking as he felt anger boiling underneath his skin. “what was that? what did you say?” surely he wasn’t hearing right. “i said no, rafe!” you yelled back, running to the corner of his room that was furthest from the door. that did it. rafe said goodbye to any kind of restraint he had left, deciding you were going to learn your lesson about saying that little two-lettered word to him. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rafe let out a breath before backing away. “are you near the door?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. “no—”

before you could say anything else, rafe barged in, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges as your hands shot up to cover your ears. you stared at him doe eyed and terrified, his eyes finding yours as he rolled his shoulders back. “i didn’t want to do that..” he stalked over to you, wrapping a hand around your throat before pressing you against the wall, “why do you have to make me be the bad guy, huh?” you gasped, clasping a palm around his wrist. “please— i’m sorry!” rafe stared you down, his eyes nothing but two black holes as his grip around your throat tightened.

“are you? it seemed like you just wanted to piss me off back there,” he dragged you towards his bed, throwing you down before pinning your elbows to the mattress and slotting himself between your thighs, “that goddamn silent treatment, you know i can’t stand that shit.” his face was centimeters away, his breath fanning your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. “you know what i have to do now, right?” you shook your head, fear bubbling in your chest as you remembered the last time he had to ‘punish’ you. “please! i’ll be good, rafe! ‘don’t want to make you mad anymore..”

closing the distance between you two, rafe kissed you softly, wiping away the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek. “i’m gonna give you a ten second head start to run, and if you decide to hide instead, you better make sure i don’t fuckin’ find you,” he whispered against your lips, “now, get the fuck outta here.” rafe moved aside, your chest rising and falling as you slipped out of the room, your feet skittering across the floor as you started running away from him. you swore your heart was beating a million times per second, the fear of being caught making your blood run cold.

you had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before you looked up and saw rafe making his way out of the room. he was far too fast for you to outrun him, panic setting in as you started scouring through the halls of tanneyhill. coincidentally, all of the rooms were locked. rafe must’ve did that when you first mouthed off to him, having known how this night would end. “please, please, please!” you struggled trying to open the door to each room only to fall short when the knobs didn’t even budge. “come on..” you whined, rounding the corner of the hallway.

“you look so pretty when you’re scared.” you spun around on your heels, a half scream leaving your lips as rafe started jogging down the long hallway. running across the kitchen, and into the living room, rafe’s laughter echoed throughout the house as he chased you around the couch. “you’re gonna fuckin’ get it.” as a last resort attempt to throw him off, you grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and threw it at him so you could run up the stairs. just as he caught it, he tripped over his own feet before you made your way into his study, crawling underneath his desk.

clamping a hand over your mouth, you panted softly through your nose as rafe’s footsteps sounded up the staircase. “so you decided to hide after all, huh?” your heart was slamming against your ribcage as he got closer. “i was really hoping you didn’t do that.” he almost sounded apologetic as he stepped into the room next door. you removed your hand from your mouth, fiddling with the ‘R’ pendant on your necklace. “if i get my hands on you.. god, you might just hate me.” just as it sounded like he walked past the room you were in, your heart dropped to your stomach when the door suddenly opened.

rafe walked around, stopping right in front the desk. “one of my favorite things about you is your perfume. it’s so sweet, it’s almost like you leave a trail behind you everywhere you go..” you didn’t even get to react before he was pulling you out by your feet, your screams echoing in his ears. “you make it so easy, baby, it’s like you wanted to be caught.” he pulled you up by your arms, dragging you out of the study and back to his bedroom. he forced you down on your knees, grabbing ahold of your chin as he fumbled with his belt.

“wanna talk back when i’m being nice to you? fine. i’ll just put your mouth to better use.” he said through gritted teeth. clasping your hands behind your back, you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. “listen to me when i say this, yeah?” he slipped his thumb between your lips, “right now you’re not my pretty little girlfriend, alright? you’re a slut.” your skirt rode up your thighs as you spread your legs, sitting back on your heels while you waited for rafe to stuff your throat full. upon his cock springing out of his pants, you whimpered pathetically at the butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

he stroked himself, a groan leaving his lips as he tapped his hardened cock against your tongue. “open that mouth, baby, you know how i like it.” you licked the tip, wrapping your lips around the throbbing head as he threaded his fingers in your hair. “i work all day, deal with my dad’s shit, fuck— all just to come home to that bratty behavior of yours..” he cursed under his breath as you took him deeper into your mouth. “ungrateful sluts like you deserve to be used like this.” you moaned around his length, your eyes widening when he hit the back of your throat.

“oh, my god,” rafe’s jaw went slack, his head tilting to the side as he watched you take him in and out of those pretty lips of yours. “look at me, give me those eyes.” you pulled away for a moment, gasping for air as you flashed your teary orbs at him. rafe didn’t know the logic behind it, but seeing you cry, so drunk off of his cock, he swore it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “holy, fuck!” he smiled down at you, his hips stuttering as you took him inch by glorious inch. “my greedy little cock whore, ‘doing so good for me.” you batted your eyes innocently, the action making him hiss.

“i wish you were good all the time, now i have to hurt you, bambi.” he pulled you up, lifting you off of the ground before slamming you down on the bed. you gasped at the impact, your boyfriend sliding your bottoms off before giving you a light smack across your cheek. “you’re so wet down here, baby. shit, you’re just glistening.” rafe tore your thighs apart, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off as you ran a foot down his toned stomach. he pinned your thighs to your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees. “you want this?” he ran his cock between your folds.

your eyes fluttered shut, his tip grazing your needy clit. “please give it to me. ‘wanna be good for you again!” you cried, a sob ripping itself from your throat as he thrusted into you without warning. “fuck!” rafe covered your mouth, ripping your top off so he could watch your tits bounce underneath him. the slick sound of your cunt filled the space of rafe’s room, your cheeks heating as you listened to yourself make a mess on his cock. “so fuckin’ tight, you’re pulling me back in,” he groaned, “i might just fill you up, ‘trap you with my baby..” you moaned, unintentionally clenching around him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he pulled your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two were connected. you moaned, your lips parting as you watched him pull out and slowly slide back in. “this cock looks like it’s splitting you wide open,” he brought a hand down and started rubbing hard circles on your clit, “my pretty little thing.” you cried out, your back arching off of the mattress when you felt the familiar tension building in your core. his hand was damn near the size of your head, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust. “gonna.. oh, my god!”

rafe groaned when your orgasm hit you, a piercing scream leaving your lips as a stream of wetness soaked his lower abdomen. you laid there shaking, your nails raking down rafe’s chest as you sucked him in impossibly tighter. taking his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe didn’t slow down the work on your sensitive bundle of nerves, overstimulation setting in when you started taking the pleasure with the pain. “no more!” you gasped, your thighs closing around his waist as you attempted to squirm away from his touch. he slapped you across your cheek, forcing you to keep your eyes open.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. this is what you wanted when you decided to act the way you were acting earlier, huh? shut the fuck up and take this cock.” he shoved your head into the pillows, the entirety of his palm covering your face as he chased his own high, ignoring your screams and cries. rafe watched the tears flow down your cheeks, his fingers becoming wet as he groaned at the sight. “keep crying for me and i’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt— ah fuckkk!” rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your neck before his hips stuttered, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“fuckin’ hell!” he uncovered your face, admiring the pretty curve of your lips while he came, those gorgeous eyes just twinkling up at him while he filled you to the brim with his seed. rafe nestled himself deep inside of you, stilling his movements as you two reveled in the feeling of his cum painting the softness of your walls. looking into his eyes, you could see the exact moment he switched into being your boyfriend again, his gaze softening as he cupped your face, his cock still twitching inside of you. pulling out with a curse, rafe was quick to pull you against his chest.

“you okay, bambi?” he pecked your cheek, rubbing a hand against your side as you blinked, still unable to form thoughts as your body occasionally jolted with the aftershocks of your orgasm. you didn’t answer, instead you snuggled into his skin, your eyes shutting as sleep pulled at your lids. you were going to be so sore tomorrow, your muscles already aching as rafe pulled the comforter over the two of you.

[katsu28]

comfort

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: bad days are inevitable. luckily, you've got george to come home to, who always knows just what to do to make those days a little bit better. (2k)

warnings: george is the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist, an ungodly amount of fluff. literally just pure fluff. i think i got a cavity writing this actually!

a/n: this one's for the lovely @postracehair, who has successfully converted me into a george girl <3

You should’ve known the kind of day you’d have when you slept right through your alarm this morning. 

From then on, the hits just kept on coming. No time for breakfast, morning rush hour traffic adding forty five minutes to your usual twenty minute commute, upcoming deadlines at work with projects nowhere near done and coworkers who can’t tell apples from oranges. 

By the time you manage to clock out of work and head home, you’re dead on your feet.

You drive home in complete silence, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. All you need to do is make it home in one piece, and then you can break down, if that’s what it’ll take to put the horrors of today behind you. 

The first thing you notice as you push open the front door when you finally get home is a pair of shoes tucked off to the side in the entryway, a set of keys in the bowl on the little table.

George is home early. 

Relief washes over you at the realization. After the shit day you’ve had, seeing George sooner than you thought you’d get to is your saving grace. 

You trudge further into the flat, towards the living room where you can hear something on TV.

Your boyfriend is sprawled out across the couch watching a rerun of some old football match, but pauses it to focus his attention on you as soon as he hears you moving around behind him. You toss your bag onto the floor, your phone on top of that, rounding the couch slowly. 

“Hey, you’re home!” He exclaims, smiling warmly. “I was just thinking of starting dinner, what d’you think of—” You flop on top of him before he can finish his sentence, face planting directly into his chest without a word. “Oh! Hello there.” 

Despite his surprise, George’s arms wrap around you without hesitation, cocooning you nicely in his warmth. 

He smells like the fancy fabric softener you keep on the top shelf of the laundry room, and body wash you think might be yours rather than his, fresh and clean and so achingly familiar it brings you some much needed comfort right now. You inhale deeply, letting yourself melt against George’s sturdy frame. 

“Bad day?” He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

You huff out a humorless chuckle. “The worst.” 

“Sorry to hear that, my love,” He murmurs. “What can I do to help?” 

“Build a time machine?” 

George’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t do. But what I can do is make dinner while you wash up and change into something comfier. Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect,” You mutter with a sigh. “In five minutes.” 

He laughs again and you scoot yourself a little higher up, finding that perfect cozy spot between the hard plane of his shoulder and the side of his neck for your chin to nestle in. George curls an ankle around yours, patting around for the remote to resume the match he has on. 

He’ll do his thing while you soak in his presence, that’s usually how things go on nights when you’re both home. 

Five minutes ends up turning into a lot longer, because by the time you manage to muster the energy to even think about getting up, the match is long over and the TV is off. George still lies perfectly content underneath you, long fingers stroking down your spine gently. 

“I stink,” You say bluntly. George snorts. 

“Do you? I didn’t even notice,” He muses, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s such a lie.” 

He has the audacity to look completely and overdramatically bewildered. “What? I would never lie to you. You smell wonderful.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m going to go shower now.” On your way up off him, you dot a kiss to his lips that takes him by surprise and makes him follow after you, chasing to keep that contact until you push him back down onto the couch with a gentle hand. Even then, he wraps his fingers around your wrist loosely to stop you leaving. “Try not to miss me too much?” 

“Darling, you’re asking the impossible of me,” He chides, letting his head tilt to the side. He looks up at you through his lashes, ocean eyes twinkling in a very enticing invitation for you to stay. 

As appealing as having another cuddle with your boyfriend sounds, a hot shower calls your name even more. You kiss his cheek this time. “Do your best, darling.” 

You don’t catch whatever George grumbles after you on your way to the bathroom, but knowing him, it isn’t anything outrageous. 

George’s self care collection sits meticulously organized on one side of the sink in the bathroom, a total juxtaposition to the mess of yours over on the other. In a way, you suppose it does well to describe the way you both are in real life. 

The stream of nearly scalding water does a wonderful job at starting to soothe the ache in your tense shoulders the moment you step under it, raining down on you like something heaven sent. You could stay in here forever if you wanted to. 

The bathroom door swings open while you’re washing the conditioner out of your hair, then you hear George’s voice. “Not looking! Not peeping in on you, just wanted to drop off a fresh towel.” 

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” You say from behind the wall of hot steam fogging up the glass doors. Through it, you can vaguely make out him with a hand over his eyes, blindly navigating where to put the towel with the other hand. It makes you laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!” 

George lets out something between an approving hum and a click of his tongue. Finally, his searching hand finds the bar of the door, carefully draping the fluffy material over it. “I popped it in the dryer for a bit. Should still be warm when you finish.” 

Something warm thrums in your chest at the thought of George taking enough care to go that one step further and make sure you have a warm, fresh towel waiting for you. 

“Love you!” You say gratefully. You can almost picture the happy little smile on his face at your words. 

“Love you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.” He’s gone soon after that, but still lingers in your mind as you finish up. George is always on your mind. 

Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped in the toasty towel, you wander to find some clothes, beelining straight for George’s side of the closet to find your favorite jumper of his, the soft one he usually wears on long flights. It still smells like him when you put it on. 

You pull the sleeves over your hands on your way out to join him in the kitchen. Soft music pours from the speaker next to his phone, filling the flat with his easy listening playlist. He likes to play that one on flights too, sometimes so often that you’ve come to associate the songs with him. 

George hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the opportunity to just watch him do his thing. 

He has that ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron you’d gotten him as a joke a few years ago tied around his waist, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder as he scoops whatever food he’s made into two bowls. His shoulders do a little shimmy along to the beat of the song like an absolute fool, and it makes you smile, because he’s your fool. 

You get to love him and all the things he does—big and small. Doing the most to make you feel better after a terrible day, and dancing terribly in the kitchen when nobody is watching. Both describe loving George Russell perfectly. 

It isn’t until he does a half turn for his big finish at the end of the song that he spots you leaned up against the wall and nearly jumps a foot into the air in surprise. 

“Blimey!” He exclaims, pressing a hand over his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“I wasn’t sneaking! You just didn’t see me.” 

“I ought to put a bell on you one of these days.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Eh, food for thought.” George shrugs, shedding his apron. “Speaking of food, dinner’s ready.” He pushes one of the bowls towards you.

At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Then, slowly, realization dawns on you. 

He’s made your favorite meal from your childhood, the dish your mum used to make every time you needed that extra bit of comfort after a not so great day. 

There’s that feeling in your chest again, that gooey warmth spreading from behind your ribcage up your neck and to your cheeks at the thought of just how much George cares. About you, about the little things he can do to make you feel better.

He always takes care of you, even if you don't ask. You don't need to ask. George knows what you need without you even having to say a word. 

“Georgie, how…” You trail off, at a loss for words. “How’d you know?” 

“I got the recipe from your mum the last time we had dinner with your parents,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She said it was your favorite. That it always made you feel better when you were a kid. I thought it might come in handy for days like these.” 

“You asked my mum how to make my favorite meal.” It isn’t a question so much as a statement that confirms what’s already been said. It takes a second time for it to really sink in. 

“I did, yeah. It might not be exactly the way she makes it, but I gave it my best go. Give it a try, maybe? Tell me if I did good?” 

He watches you carefully as you take a bite, smiling hopefully as you chew. It tastes exactly the same as you remember, and for some reason, it draws up a lump in your throat.

“It’s perfect,” You say softly. 

George beams, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “Thought maybe we could eat and watch the sunset. I know how much you love the pretty ones.” He juts his chin over towards where your dining room table overlooks the Monte Carlo cityscape, and you follow his line of sight to see it already set up with place settings and candles. 

The sun is just starting to go down, blues and pinks and oranges all swirling together into a beautiful view over the water. George is right. You’re a total sucker for a good sunset, and this one is absolutely gorgeous. 

You don’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until George does. 

“Oh goodness! Are you crying?” He asks, borderline frantic. He’s quick to fold you into another hug just in case he’s upset you, when in reality the opposite is true. These are happy tears, grateful tears, what did I ever do to deserve you tears. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” 

“No. No, it’s perfect,” You say again, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “George Russell, you are such a cheesy romantic.” 

George laughs, something clear and bright, your favorite sound in the world. “What can I say? You just bring it out in me.” 

“I love you,” You murmur, voice muffled into the fabric of his sweater. His lips press into your hairline to drop a kiss there. “Thank you for all this.” 

“It’s the least I could do to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.” 

“What, this old thing?” You joke, beaming up at him. You’re not looking for a kiss, but he gives you one anyway, and hey—who are you to deny either of yourselves the pleasure? 

“Prettiest face I’ve ever had the privilege of making smile again.” 

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[jujuscrolled]

I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus?!

satoru, toji, kento and suguru decide to surprise their kids with a visit from Santa - unfortunately for said kids, it seems their dad’s have lost their spouses to the jolly, old, adulterous man.

Suggestive content, not proof read, fluff and just crack lol , gn! reader (i’m pretty sure but if i messed up pls lmk know !!)

a/n: ah! this is my first attempt at this kind of writing - pls be kind to me :,)

Satoru

“It’s itchy.” He muttered, tugging at the fake beard he’d voluntarily put on. You giggled at him as you adjusted it, reaching over to fix the Santa hat that had shifted when he moved his beard.

“Toru, you have to be quiet - you’ll wake the twins.” You whispered when he had moved to quickly causing the bells on the black boots he wore to jingle loudly.

“Sorry, yknow this thing is awfully uncomfortable. There’s no way he’s wearing this thing the entire night as shimmying through chimneys.” He scoffed in a hushed whisper.

You bit back a laugh, adjusting his shirt over the ridiculous fake belly he had put on. (“it’ll really sell it!” he’d justified) “Well, his belly and beard are real so I doubt it’d be that uncomfortable for h-ouch! Toru!” You hissed as he accidentally shoved your back into the counter.

“Sorry! Sorry! It’s been a while since something has gotten in my way when I try to kiss you.” He huffed, adjusting the fake belly to the side so he could kiss your nose. “We should get you a matching outfit. Have a real special visit from the Clauses.” He winked before placing a kiss to your lips.

“Ugh! The beard feels so gross, babe.” You said pushing his face back slightly. “I told you!” He hissed, pulling it down and rubbing the tender skin under it.

“Well thank you for your efforts Santa.” You grinned leaning over to place a kiss onto his now bare mouth.

“Mmmm, what a nice thank you.” He winked causing you to laugh, immediately placing your hand over your mouth as you looked over towards your children’s rooms - the door still closed.

“Hurry up and get your suit on right so I can get the pictures of you eating the cookies.” You said patting his chest so he’d back away from you.

“Cookies you say?” He asked as he fixed himself up. “Mmmhmm, kids made ‘em for you.” You said, grabbing your camera.

“How sweet.”

After taking some pictures, Satoru walked over to you placing his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer to him. “Now that that’s done, I think I have a craving for another cookie. One with extra frosting.” He grinned causing you to snort and pushing his face away from you. “You’re sick, Mr. Claus. I’m married, you know?” You teased causing him to arch a brow at you. “Married, you say?” You nodded and gasped when he dipped you sideways and placed a kiss to your lips again.

“Mm, tasty.” He whispered before kissing you again and again, both to lost in each other to notice that your children were staring completely horrorstruck as Santa kissed you.

Toji

“Toji can you be still for a sec?” You huffed as you tried to button his shirt.

“D’ya get this from the kids section? Things cutting off my circulation.” He grumbled causing you to roll your eyes, “it’s Shiu’s actually. He did this for his kids the other day.”

“Told ya to stop spending time with that loser. Now I have to deal with the consequences.” He said, pinching your hip and earning a smack to his hand.

“It’s for the kids, Toji, I even had em make you some cookies!” You grinned, placing a soft kiss to his collarbone.

“What kind?” He asked, arching a brow and looking behind you at the cute plate filled with the cookies that the kids had decorated.

“Chocolate chip.” You nodded, turning around to hand him the hideous fake beard.

“I’m not putting that shit on, doll.” He said, grabbing it from you and tossing it behind him. “Hey! That’s kinda an important part, y’know?” You huffed starting to make your way to it but being stopped by the large mass that was your husband.

His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you close to him before he placed a kiss to your mouth. “Who cares? Kids ain’t even gonna see me in this thing.” He muttered into the kiss, hands snaking down to your ass. You smacked his hand away, “I want to take pictures.” You explained making him roll his eyes.

“No way. Bet you the brats don’t even believe in this guy anymore. Especially that Megumi, little brat said he knew the Easter bunny wasn’t real because his shinkigami couldn’t help him carry anything so there’s no way a random rabbit could hide eggs.”

“Well, maybe they’ll believe in Santa if you let me take a picture of you!” You bargained, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“You jus’ want the picture for yourself, don’t you?” He asked, eyes narrowing as you grinned up at him.

“Please?” You begged causing him to huff before he sent you a wolfish grin, “it’ll cost ya, you know?” He said, lifting you up and sitting you on the counter.

“Mm, that’s why we made you some cookies.” You offered, reaching over and grabbing on for him.

“Oh, i’m eating those too but I was thinking something a lil sweeter.” His lips found yours in a surprisingly soft kiss, hands resting on the dip of your waist before giving you a soft squeeze.

“Good enough?” You asked, smiling down at him as he licked his lips before he shook his head, “One more kiss and i’ll think about it.”

“Kiss?!” A voice yelled from behind Toji causing you to jump and for him to squeeze your side.

“Megs!” You gasped.

Kento

After putting the kids to bed you found yourself downstairs setting up the plate of cookies that your daughter had left for Santa.

“My love, will you come help me with something real quick?” Your husband asked, peeking into the kitchen.

You nodded and made your way over only to cover your mouth to conceal a laugh at the sight before you. Kento was wearing a ridiculously oversized red shirt and matching pants. Large black boots lined with white fur and red hat completing the look.

“Oh? Mr. Claus, you’re here quite early.” You mused, almost cooing at the soft blush that adorned your husband’s cheeks.

“Please don’t tease, my love. I thought it would be a nice idea but the collar on this thing is giving me some trouble.”

You nodded, reaching over to adjust the furry lapels for him. “It is a nice idea, dear. Just a bit caught me off guard is all.” You grinned at him, placing a hand on his warm cheek.

“I just have to get the beard on and then if you would be so kind as to take some pictures of me eating the cookies she made?” You nodded at his request, your eyes practically forming into hearts as you melted.

“I’d do anything for you, this is light work.” You said, placing a kiss to his cheek.

His hands found your waist as he leaned closer to you to place a kiss to your lips. “And I, for you.”

“You know, you doing this for our babygirl is making me want to give you another child.” You whispered, pulling him closer by the lapels of his Santa suit.

“Yeah?” He asked, hazel eyes widening slightly as he looked at you - searching for any sign of insincerity.

“I mean we’ve been talking about it, haven’t we?” You said, tracing a finger down from his cheek to his lips before smiling.

“I love you.” He murmured leaning in for a kiss, one that you returned with fervor. His hands squeezed your waist gently, pulling you closer to him as the two of you completely missed the soft gasp your daughter let out as she watched you kiss Santa instead of your devoted husband.

Suguru

“Be honest. Do I look stupid?” Suguru asked as he gave you a little spin in his Santa outfit.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, “you look real handsome.” You giggled softly, causing him to groan.

“So I do look stupid.”

“No… Well, maybe a little bit? But it’s definitely not you. I don’t think anyone could pull this outfit off.” You said, breathing out a laugh as you reached for him. He let you wrap your arms around his neck, arching a brow as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“This is real cute, Sugu.” You said, glancing up at him through your lashes. He had come home extremely excited, raving about how Suguru had had the genius idea of surprising his kids with a visit from Santa. Now that he had the outfit on, his confidence had been reduced significantly.

“Really? Cause I feel more silly than cute right now.” He laughed, leaning in to place a soft kiss to your nose.

“Silly but very cute. So cute you might even earn yourself a nice treat.” You nodded to yourself, eyes closed and lips pursed coaxing a laugh out of him.

“Oh yeah? And what kind of treat am I looking at?” He asked, amusement lining his features.

“Homemade cookies, decorated by two of the cutest twins ever.” You said matter-of-factly.

“Tempting. Really tempting, but I was thinking of something else that would really make this worth the embarrassment.” He hummed, pulling you closer to him.

“Oh? What were you thinking then, Mr. Claus?” You asked, playing into his little game.

“A kiss, under the mistletoe, and if you throw in my favorite cookie, i’ll even throw in a song and dance for ya.” He grinned causing you to laugh.

“Deal. I’ll pay half right now and the rest after you visit the girls.” You said, walking backwards and leading him under the mistletoe you’d hung up the other day as a joke.

You shivered as he moved his hand up from your waist to the nape your neck, pulling you close so he could place a passionate kiss to your lips. You melted into his embrace as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing your bottom lip, but before you could grant him entrance two soft gasps made you break apart quickly.

Nanako and Mimiko stared at the two of you, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Uhm… Ho… Ho… Ho?” Suguru said awkwardly in attempts to ease the tension.

“I’m telling dad Santa kissed you!” Nanako yelled before running past the two of you, dragging her sister by the hand to your bedroom.

“Crap.”

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 6- Undeniable

Summary: when your car breaks down, you’re forced to ask Frankie for help. You’re not sure what you hate more- that you have to ask him for help, or that there’s a part of you that maybe can tolerate him

Word count: 6.2k

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Angst, tension (in a good way??!!), yearning (AHHH), teenage Frankie (and current day Frankie, for that matter) are down so bad, Santi and Benny play Dr. Phil

A/N: okay I said there would be smut this chapter, but I am a liar, and I am sorry 🤥 I flip flopped some scenes around and it ended up making more sense for some ✨things✨ to happen next chapter instead 🤷🏼‍♀️ I seriously love these two more and more every chapter, and this may have been my favorite one to write so far!! Thank you SO much for all the kind things you’ve had to say about this story- it really means more to me than you know 🥺💛 (sorry for any errors, I didn't have time to edit this chapter as well as I should have!)

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Age 18, Summer of 2007

“Jesus Christ, Morales, you got bricks for feet, or what?”

The Garcia’s newly installed basketball hoop had been a welcome addition to the neighborhood rotation of afterschool hangouts. Santi knows just as well as Frankie and Benny that it’s really nothing but a ploy to keep the boys occupied and out their parent’s hair, but the three have gladly accepted the olive branch Santi’s parents have extended to them, regardless of motive.

Now that the heat of late May has begun to sear off the pavement of Everett Street and the dwindling motivation of senior year is in full force, basketball has quickly taken over as the new after school activity.

Benny and Santi love it because it gives them a chance to get out the competitive angst they’ve had locked away since football season has come to a close.

Frankie loves it because it gives him something to keep him occupied until you come home from soccer practice.

Even then, he still finds himself anxiously counting down the minutes until your car pulls into the driveway, stepping out of the driver’s seat to give him that same goofy wave of approval that frees him from his friends’ constant bickering about where the three point line lays on the cement.

Ever since he told you he was leaving, there’s a part of him that debates forgoing basketball all together, just so he can make it to your house that much quicker when you get home. Now more than ever, he’s hyper aware of every second he has left with you, the internal countdown constantly nagging in the back of his mind before it’s four hundred miles that separate the two of you, not four houses.

Because now, not only does he have 74 days left to figure out how to say goodbye to his best friend, he has 74 days left to figure out how to tell her that he’s head over heels in love with her.

That’s what’s on Frankie’s mind as the pass Santi’s thrown at him rolls right past his shoes and down the driveway.

No shit, he’s got bricks for feet.

“Helloooooo? Earth to Frankie? You gonna get the fuckin’ ball, or what?” Santi shouts, wildly waving his arms, trying to snap his friend out of whatever weird daydream he’s stuck in.

“Oh, y-yeah. Yeah, sorry.” Frankie stammers, half jogging for the bouncing ball, tossing it back to Benny, also barely paying attention enough to keep the rubber from smacking him upside the head.

“Fuck, dude, you tryin’ to kill me, or somethin’? A heads up would be nice next time!” Benny scoffs, trying to downplay the fact he’s nearly just shit his pants from the ball that came out of nowhere and almost took him out.

“S-sorry. My bad.” Frankie grimaces, sheepishly running his hand through his thick, messy curls before rubbing the back of his neck.

Santi and Benny exchange confused glances with each other before turning their attention back to their clearly pre-occupied friend.

“Hey, you good, man?” Santi asks, scrunching his brow at Frankie’s tortured scowl.

“Yeah dude, you’ve been like, super out of it the past couple of days. Everything okay?” Benny adds. He tries to discreetly nudge Santi, givinging him a look that’s meant to ask if there’s something he’s missing. The best Santi can give him back is an ambivalent shrug, just as lost as his friend as to why Frankie’s mentally residing on another planet.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m fine.”

Sure, Santi and Benny aren’t as emotionally mature as their friend, but they also aren’t stupid. It’s obvious there’s something he’s keeping from them, and they’re far too relentless to let it go until they find out.

“Dude… C’mon.” Santi prods, taking a step towards Frankie to poke him on the shoulder.

“Yeah, spill the fuckin’ beans, Frank. What the hell’s goin’ on?” Benny chimes in, following Santi’s lead with another forceful poke.

“It’s nothing! Jesus, will you drop it?”

Santi smirks at how agitated Frankie’s become, spending enough years with his friend to know there’s one thing, and one thing only that’s got him this worked up.

“Is this about Kenz?”

Frankie��s eyes dart rapidly between his friends, the sky and his feet, too afraid to settle in one place as he’s consumed by his own silence, crossing his arms over his chest as he braces himself to defend against the onslaught he’s about to be faced with.

He could lie, say no, keep arguing with Santi and Benny until he’s blue in the face, but he knows it’s no use. Deep down, he has a feeling they already know what he’s going to say. He also has a feeling he’ll never go a day for the rest of his life where they won’t give him ten pounds of shit for it, but Frankie’s desperate. If he doesn’t figure out what to do, there’s a good chance he just may explode.

“You have to swear you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” Frankie sternly sighs, eyeing down his friends with a deathly glare, “Swear you won’t.”

“We swear, man.”

“Yeah, we swear.”

Benny and Santi nod in agreement, too shocked at his agreement to tell them anything rather than asking them to fuck off and leave him alone. They wait in patient silence as Frankie takes a long, shaky deep breath in.

“I um- fuck. Fuck.” He stammers, terrified to hear himself admit what he’s had locked away in his brain for years out loud for the first time, “I’m uh- I think I’m in love with MacKezie. I think I’m in love with her and I don’t know what to do.”

Frankie’s mortified by the silence from his friends in the seconds that follow. He’s even more mortified by their howling laughter that comes after that.

“That’s it? Oh, thank God!” Santi cackles, him and Benny clutching their chests to try and keep themselves standing, “Dude, I thought you were gonna say something fucking crazy. You looked like you were gonna fucking throw up.”

“W-what? Santi, did you not just hear what I fucking said? I literally just told you-”

“That you’re in love with MacKenzie? News flash, Morales, we’ve known you’ve been in love with her since like, the eighth grade. Holy shit, I can’t believe you finally fucking admitted it!”

Frankie’s face grows hotter by the second, his cheeks ablaze with bright reds and pinks, not sure if he’s more embarrassed by what he’s admitted, or the fact that he’s worked himself up for weeks to finally tell his friends something they’ve already known for years and Frankie was too blind to realize it.

“Well, okay- I just- what am I- what am I gonna do?” Frankie stutters, throwing his hands up to the sky, very aware that the admittance of his love for you is only a small part to his greater problem.

“Whatta you mean, what are you gonna do?” Benny questions, he and Santi still giggling over how frantic and flustered Frankie still was.

“It’s not fuckin’ rocket science, Frank.” Santi smirks, giving him a playful nudge, “Just tell her that you love her.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Santi?! I can’t just tell her I love her, that’s- fuck, that’s crazy!” Frankie’s all but shouting at his friend for what feels like the most outrageous idea he’s ever heard, crazily pacing up and down the driveway, as if he’s asking his friends for advice on where to hide the body he’s just killed.

“And that would be crazy because….?” Santi teases, anxiously awaiting whatever ridiculous answer Frankie has to finish off the rest of his sentence.

“Because?!” Frankie asks, storming so fast up and down the driveway, he’s about to make fresh cracks in the concrete, “Because, b-because- fuck, Santi, what if I tell her that I love her and she doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship forever and then I get my fuckin’ heart broken and lose my best friend? Jesus Christ, that’s why.”

“You wanna tell him or should I?” Benny proposes, shrugging at Santi.

In a silent agreement, Santi gives Benny a nod, taking a step towards Frankie to grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand still enough to capture his full attention.

“Frankie, lemme ask you this.” Santi pauses, bringing Frankie’s gaze from his feet up to his friend, thinking for once in his life, he may actually be willing to give him some serious advice.

“Yeah?”

“Are you blind, or are you stupid? ‘Cause I think you may be both.”

“What the fuck, dude?!” Frankie scoffs over Santi and Benny’s snickering, outstretching his arms to push Santi off of him.

“Damn, maybe he is.” Benny grimaces overdramatically, playing into Santi’s theatrics.

“Fuck off, Benny!” Frankie frowns, starting to regret asking his friends for help.

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I really have to spell this out for you.” Santi sighs, squeezing his temples between his thumb and index finger.

“What!?” Frankie presses, nearly fed up with his antics.

“Shit, you’re right Benny, he may be dumber than we thought.” Santi snorts before quickly turning his attention back to Frankie, “Frankie… You do realize MacKenzie’s in love with you too, right?”

Frankie feels his heart stop. He’s partly convinced it’s flatlined indefinitely. The only thing that’s keeping him alive is even the tiniest chance that what Santi has to say is actually true.

That maybe, just maybe, you love him, too.

“Santi, c’mon. Be- be fucking serious. There’s no way.”

Frankie won’t let himself believe anything yet, no matter how badly he wants to. Knowing Santi, he wouldn’t be shocked if he’s trying to pull him in to some sick sort of joke, but the looks on his, and Benny’s faces is all the earth shattering reassurance Frankie needs to know that Santi’s telling the truth.

“He’s being serious, I swear.” Benny chimes in, trying to aid in convincing Frankie.

“Think about it, Frank. The two of you spend every fucking second together. You’re basically already dating without actually dating. And not even just because of the fact you like, pretty much go on dates to the movies or ice cream, or whatever. Didn’t you say she cried for like, an hour when you told her you were leaving?”

“I- I mean, y- yeah, I guess.”

“Or the fact that she’s never dated anyone else and has had you locked in as her prom date since last year.” Benny adds.

“Don't even get me started on the fact you two cuddle every time we watch a movie together, because God forbid you’re not touching each other for an hour and a half.”

“I- I- I- don’t know. I mean, sure, yeah, but just because she does that doesn’t mean she’s in love with me!”

Frankie can feel his insides churn, like someone’s put them in a blender and cranked it on high. He’s not sure what’s more terrifying- that you do all those things but you’re not in love with him, or that you do all of them because you are.

He quickly comes to determine the second is much scarier than the first. Mostly because there’s a part of him that believes maybe you’re just as in love with him as he is with you.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna throw up.”

Frankie’s knees wobble as he sinks to the ground, bottom hitting the pavement with a thud.

“Well shit, don’t do it on the driveway, my mom’s gonna kill me. If you gotta yak, at least do it on the grass.”

Santi and Benny settle in on either side of Frankie, the trio of boys squatting at the edge of the driveway. Frankie buries his head in his hands, scrunching his face so hard into his sweaty palms that maybe, some sort of reasonable idea will pop into his brain if he squeezes hard enough.

“You guys really think she likes me? Like, actually?” Frankie asks, peeking his head up to look back and forth between Santi and Benny.

“Uh, yeah.” The pair agree in unison, each giving their friend a pat on the back, trying to keep their all-knowing laughter at bay to soothe Frankie through his distress.

“Fuck. Holy shit. So- So what do I do? Just- Do I just tell her?”

“I mean, I’m no love guru, but you like, may wanna be a little more subtle than that.” Benny snickers, giving Frankie a little nudge, “I mean, do you wanna tell her?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Fuck, I wanna tell her so bad.” It spills out of Frankie’s mouth without any hesitation. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he is.

“Like, you’re already going with her to prom and stuff. You could do it then?” Santi suggests with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“Damn, alright, Mr. Romance over here with the advice.”

“Shut up, Benny. You got any better advice? At least I’ve fuckin’ had a girlfriend before, you dingus, have you? Didn’t think so.”

Frankie’s completely blocked out their bickering, lost in his own train of thought, where all he can picture is you- Your smile, the little strand of hair that you tuck behind your ear when it falls in your face, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, the little curl in your lips you get when you smirk at him when he tells a stupid joke.

How badly he wishes his lips could meet yours to feel that smirk pressed against his face.

“Do… Do you- Do you think I should kiss her?”

“Jesus Christ, Frankie, what are we, twelve?” Yeah, man, fuckin’ kiss her.” Santi snorts, Benny joining in with muffled laughter in his throat at the innocence of his question, “God, with how nervous you sounded, I thought you were gonna ask if you should like, have sex with her, or somethin’.”

It’s then his brain truly short circuits, his heart about to fall out of his ass and lump in his throat the size of a softball.

He has enough balls to admit he’s thought plenty of times about kissing you.

But right now, he certainly doesn’t have enough balls to confess to his friends, (or even to himself, for that matter) he’s spent just as much time thinking about doing a lot more than just kissing you.

He’s spent even more time thinking about just how badly he wants to.

One step at a time, Morales.

You, Present

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Turning over your ignition to the sound of empty rattles once wasn’t anything to worry about.

Turning it over twice to the sound of silence you could chalk up to bad luck.

But after six different attempts to start your car to no avail, you were fairly certain your issue wasn’t based solely on user error.

“Fuck…” You huff to yourself, yanking out your keys and slamming the driver’s side door behind you as you storm back into the house, now in a race against the clock to get your car not only started, but driveable enough to get you to work on time.

It’s the stupid things like this you haven’t mentally prepared yourself for when it comes to your father’s impending death- Not having a built in mechanic at your disposal to help solve your car issues when something goes awry. It seems selfish to take from the few precious moments you have left with him to pester your dad about your car troubles, but you know for a fact, your dying father has a better chance of diagnosing your issue from his bed than you do hands deep in the engine.

“Hey, Dad.” You grimace, gently rousing him from his half-awake state in front of the TV, “Dad, can I ask you something, or are you too busy dying?”

Your joke is enough to crack a sleepy smile in the corner of his lips, grunting as he turns his head over to see you hunched over the edge of his bed.

“Depends. Is it worth my time, or should I go back to decaying?” He fights with everything in him to let out the softest laugh, a sputtering cough following as his chest rises and falls, trying his best to not let his final days prevent him from being the helpful dad you’d always known.

“My car won’t start. Do you have any idea of what it could be?”

“You gonna wheel me out to the driveway to have me figure it out?”

You both know it’s ridiculous, what you’re asking him to do. You’re not sure what compelled you to think that he’d be able to help solve your problem, but your yearning for the normalcy that’s been absent in your life for so long seems to outweigh any logic.

“I think we could probably crank the bed high enough for you to look under the hood.” You shrug with a sad type of sarcasm, anxiously fiddling with your fingers to try and brainstorm a solution to your time-sensitive issue.

“You know there’s someone four houses down who is very capable of solving your problem who isn’t dying.”

For as hard as your dad fought for his half huffed laugher, he fights even harder for the smug smirk pinching the corner of his cheeks.

“Dad…” You let out a deep breath, trying to not let your eyes roll to the back of your skull from even pondering the idea of admitting to Frankie Morales that you need his help.

“Mackenzie Grace?” He questions back, pretending to be blissfully unaware of your reason for dramatic pause.

“Dad, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, actually. Dead serious. And right now, I’m at a point in my life where that statement can’t be any closer to the truth.”

Unfortunately, that’s an argument you can’t fight.

You sigh again, chewing at your lip to see if your brain can muster any other plausible solution before you admit defeat, but you know it’s no use. Your dad is kind enough to accept your silence as a white flag, sparing you the embarrassment of admitting he’s right. What he’s not kind enough to do, is to let you off without making sure he gets the last word.

“You can’t stay mad at him forever, honey.”

“I can, actually.”

Right now, your dad better thank his lucky stars he’s dying, because any other circumstance, and you would have already been halfway out the door before you put yourself through this conversation again.

“MacKenzie,” He pauses, the frail and wrinkled ends of his fingertips reaching out just enough to rest on the hand you have wrapped around the bar of his bed guard rails, “if I give you some dying words of wisdom, do you promise to listen, actually listen to what I have to say?”

You know he’s about to tell you something you have no intention of wanting to hear. You want so badly to lie, to say “yes”, just to appease him without really meaning it. But the guilty conscious eating you alive in the pit of your stomach won’t let you get off that easily.

“Yeah, I promise.”

It’s soft enough for only you and him, just quiet enough to keep the world out of your shared secret.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either. I’d be willing to bet he’s still holding one against you, too. There’s two sides to every story, MacKenzie Grace, and you can’t keep blaming him like you didn’t have a part in what happened, too. He’s already accepted he’s in the wrong for what he did. God bless the fact you ended up just as stubborn as your old man, but at some point, you have to get off your high horse and do the same.”

It’s unsettling, the feeling that washes over you- it makes every inch of your body twinge and wince in a strange sort of self-inflicted pain you can’t shake, the indescribable discomfort that makes you want to crawl out of your skin and evaporate into thin air. The tormented sensation stirring in your gut makes you want to scream and cry and run away, all at the same time.

Because it’s not the truth of your dad’s words alone that make you feel this way- you’ve come face to face with this truth more times than you’d like to count.

It’s the fact that for the first time, you’ve come face to face with the truth, and there’s a part of you that can accept it.

You stand there for another moment at the edge of his bed, eyes peeled to the ground, trying to find the words you’re too scared to admit. Maybe your silence is a loud enough confession.

“I’ll see you when I get back from work, okay?” You lean down and kiss his head, giving your dad’s hand a final, gentle squeeze before you’re halfway out the door, car keys in hand.

“I thought your car wasn’t working?”

Your dad has never been one for “I told you so’s” . The stifled smile and playful glisten in his tired eyes will do just fine.

“Bye, Dad.”

Your dad’s words echo in your brain as you begin your journey down the driveway, terrified by the tiniest amount of weight it’s lifted off your shoulders.

“Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.”

Maybe he’s got a point. But that’s easy to say when you’re only dealing with the idea of Frankie you’ve built up in your head, not when you’re about to come face to face with him in real time.

There’s a part of you that debates just walking to work. Hell, the hour walk it would take you to get to work would probably be easier than the thirty second walk you’re about to take four houses down.

You’ll be lucky if you don’t gnaw off your entire thumbnail by the time you make it to the Morales’s doorstep, trying to clench your fists as tight as possible with every step you take towards their house to attempt to keep your nerves (and nails) intact.

You’re not sure you’ve ever walked this slow to his house. There was once a time that you couldn’t sprint there fast enough, legs leaping over cracks in the sidewalk to meet Frankie at his front door. Now, it feels like you might as well be crawling with the time you’re trying to waste before you ring his doorbell.

You practically tip toe up the steps to the porch, like it’s some sort of crime to be at his house and you’re terrified of being caught. Your finger hovers over the doorbell, outstretched and ready to press, too frozen in fear to move the extra inch it will take to press the rounded button.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” You curse under your breath, furrowing your brow at your inability to face his front door. You ball your free hand up to a fist, slamming your knuckles against your forehead with a sigh so heavy, you’d probably give that wolf from The Three Little Pigs a run for his money, “‘C’mon, MacKenzie, just ring the damn doorbell.”

Your heart stops as the tip of your index finger finally pushes hard enough to force the high pitched chime, forcing yourself to keep your feet planted on the doormat below you instead of booking it half way across town.

“One sec!”

The bellow of his voice from behind the door is enough to jumpstart the stand still of your heartbeat, so much so that in an instant, it’s gone from flatlining to nearly beating out of your chest.

At this point, even if you wanted to run, you’re not sure your body would let you.

As the knob turns and draws back towards the house, Frankie’s broad body fills the doorframe. He looks almost as frozen as you, so stunned by your presence, his tongue darts between his lips as a placeholder for the words he lacks.

“H-hey?” He asks it so cautiously, eyebrows scrunching in confusion while he looks you up and down, too scared to say anything else until he figures out why you’ve shown up at his front door.

“My um- My car won’t- I have to go to work and I can’t get my car to start.”

You don’t dare phrase it as anything other than a statement of fact. You’ll die before the words “Frankie, will you help me?” escape from your lips.

“O-oh. Shit.” He cocks his head, the pinch of his face immediately easing along with the rest of his body, standing up a little straighter as he leans against the doorframe.

“Sorry, i-if you’re busy or whatever, don’t feel like you-”

“No- No, I mean, yeah, no, I don’t- shit-” He stutters, pausing as he shakes his head with a little laugh at the ground, trying to compose himself before he trips over his words again, “Yes, I um- Yeah, I can help.”

“O-okay. Thank- Thanks.” You try to fight the tug you feel in your lips creeping towards the corner of your cheeks that mirrors the grin Frankie’s trying so desperately to hide on his face.

The two of you stand there for a moment, feet wriggling in the tips of your shoes and fingers twiddling in your pockets, using every ounce of strength you have to ignore the heat flushing through your cheeks that makes you want to hate him just a little bit less.

It’s hard to suppress when Frankie’s trying to keep up his facade with the world’s worst poker face as he’s beaming ear to ear.

“Let me just uh- Lemme grab some stuff and I’ll meet you over there?” He asks, tiptoeing around what seems too good to be true.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, sounds good.”

You give each other a little nod before he disappears behind his door. You tilt your head to the sky, eyes closed as the deepest sigh of relief you can take escapes your body. It feels like the first gasp you take when you peak above the surface after holding your breath underwater, remembering what it feels like to finally breathe again.

It takes everything in you to pretend you don’t feel the strange pang in your chest as you watch Frankie walk to your house after you’ve made it back to your driveway, his gray shirt clinging to his biceps as he carries over his bucket of tools and brown curls spilling out from under the worn, Standard Oil hat he’s obviously still refused to throw away.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed over your chest, trying your best to seem ambivalent about the whole ordeal.

If you were nominated for an Oscar in the “Pretending to be aloof in front of Frankie Morales while he fixes your car” category, you most surely wouldn’t be winning.

“Hey, again.” He grins as he sets his tools down, mirroring your stance to cross his arms over his chest.

“Hey, again.” You parrot.

“So, uh… Your car?” Frankie asks, nodding over to the vehicle you’re leaning on.

“Yeah, uh- yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I tried starting it like, five different times and it doesn’t do anything. I’ve never had this happen to me before and of course it’s when I’m trying to leave for work.” You shrug, trying to play into the fact you at least tried to do something before coming to find him.

“Huh. Alright, well, lemme see what I can do, okay?” He nods again, leaving your fingers to play with your sleeves to keep yourself occupied, instead of staring at him, mesmerized by the way you can still hear the gears turning in his brain as he processes. “Can I uh- is it okay if I have the keys?”

You fumble through your pockets, digging out your keys to place them in the palm of Frankie’s outstretched hand, the linger of your touch on his skin just long enough to make you subtly jerk your arm back in embarrassment.

You step back to let Frankie slide past you, watching him try to squeeze himself into the driver’s seat to start your car, half his body still hanging out the open door.

“Are you- are you not teaching anymore?”

“Wh- huh?” His question catches you off guard, the scowl of confusion painted across your face making him quickly elaborate before drawing his attention back to your car.

“You just uh- sorry, you said you were going to work. It’s 5 P.M. on a Thursday in June, so, ya know, figured you probably weren’t going to school.”

He gives the key one more turn before sliding out of the car, carefully passing your keys back off to you before making his way to open the hood. You cautiously follow behind him, arms still crossed against your chest as he props the front of the car up to reveal the engine.

“Oh. Uh- no, yeah. No, I’m uh- I’m still teaching. Normally I do summer school to make some extra money, but because of my dad and everything and not being home, it just, ya know, I just couldn’t. I still wanted something to do to make money and keep me busy, so um, Katie’s Dad still owns The Parrot’s Nest on 14th, so I asked him if I could just do some part time waitressing and bartending and stuff. It’s nice ‘cause he’s been really flexible with everything going on.”

Your eyes dart to the ground as Frankie shifts his view from the inside of the car back to you. The air fills with a heavy pause, like neither of you are really sure how to react to the fact you’re managing a semi-civil conversation that’s more than just one word responses.

Frankie lets out a quiet huff, trying to hide the soft smile curling in the corner of his scruff covered cheeks before turning back to the car, silently tinkering for a few moments before mustering up the courage to speak again.

“That’s nice of him. Didn’t even know that place was still around.” There’s a little grunt as he leans deeper into the car, reaching around to search for some sort of part he wants to check, “I’m uh- I’m glad you’re still teaching, though. That’s um, that’s good.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Your hands have shifted from folded across your chest to in your pockets, a subconscious move you’ve made as a brick from the wall you’ve built between yourself and Frankie Morales seems to crumble without you realizing.

You let him work for a few more moments before he’s diagnosed your issue, carefully closing the hood and wiping the engine grime on the towel from the tool bucket he’s brought with him.

“So uh- good news is, you just need a new battery. Easy fix. Bad news is, your battery’s dead, and your car’s not gonna start without a new one.” Frankie shrugs, hoping he’s not pushing his luck with the little laugh he gives himself at his joke.

“Fuck. Okay, uh- shit, okay.” You mutter, not necessarily upset with Frankie for delivering the news of his discovery, but angry at the fact you need to buy a new car battery and have no way to get to work. “Um, sorry, give me a second, I’m gonna call Jim and let him know that I can’t make it in today.”

“I- I can drive you.”

You’re sure Frankie’s just as surprised as you when the offer comes out of his mouth, freezing your thumb over your boss’s contact you’re about to dial. Frankie clearly interprets the look on your face as one of skepticism about his idea, quickly trying to backpedal before he preemptively digs his own grave.

“No, I mean, um- if you want. I can- I can drop you off. So you, uh- that way you don’t have to miss work.”

“No, Frankie, it’s fine, you- you already helped figure out what’s wrong with my car, it’s not a big deal, don’t wo-”

“I want to.”

You don’t mean for your sigh to be as audible as it is. It only seems fair, considering there was no world in which you ever considered having to contemplate not only asking Frankie for help, but also spending a fifteen minute car ride together so he can drop you off at work. You chew at your bottom lip as you contemplate the lesser of two evils- be stuck in Frankie’s metal death trap of a car, forced within a 3 foot proximity of him for the entire ride, or miss out on the most hours you’ve been scheduled in the past two weeks for money you really do need.

Swallowing your pride is the toughest pill you’ve had to swallow in quite a long time.

“Fine.”

It’s not even your answer you think shocks him the most. It’s how little he had to argue with you to agree.

You want to roll your eyes at the little smirk of satisfaction he gives himself, knowing you’ve gone 0-2 on your hardened stance of despising Frankie’s guts since talking with your dad. It only stings more that you’re sure Frankie is getting endless amounts of satisfaction that you’ve given into him so quickly.

But fuck, if you didn’t miss that stupid, goofy grin of his when he knows he’s beaten you at your own game.

“Only if your car isn’t gonna kill us first before we get there.” You groan, eyeing down Frankie’s beater truck he’s been driving since he got his license. It was in questionable shape over a decade ago, you’re not sure what kind of deal Frankie made with the devil to keep the hunk of junk up and running.

“She’s fine. Haven’t managed to kill you in her yet, have I?” Frankie rebuttals, grabbing his tools as you follow behind him towards his car.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” You sigh, shaking your head in annoyance that Frankie’s still driving this damn thing on principle alone, “How the fuck is this thing even still running?”

“‘Cause you don’t give her enough credit. Got me here from North Carolina just fine.” Frankie scoffs, the two of you settling into your perspective seats inside his truck.

His comment makes you frown at your lap as you buckle your seatbelt, not because of the sass he’s inflicted, but because it reminds you that he’s moved himself states away just to further the distance between you two.

“S-sorry, it was meant to be a joke.” Frankie mutters, looking over at you as he drives and noticing the way you’ve gone quiet, eyes peeled to the ground.

“No, I know.” You reply back, anxiously digging under your nails with your stare still locked on your feet. “How’s um- how’s North Carolina?”

“Oh. Um, It’s uh- It’s fine, I guess.”

It’s then you notice Frankie’s realized the reason for your silence, uncomfortably fidgeting in his seat and grip tightening around the steering wheel as he processes your disappointment.

It’s hard to decipher what he means by “fine.” Fine, like he’s more than fine and doesn't want to rub it in your face how well he’s doing? Fine, like actually a normal amount of fine and he just has nothing of interest to report? Fine, like he’s not fine at all, but doesn’t have the balls to admit it to you?

With the way he can’t bring himself to look at you, it has to be the first or third option. You’re not sure which one is worse.

You’re also not sure why you feel so compelled to find out.

“You still uh- doing um, mechanic stuff for the Army?” You ask, glancing over just enough to watch Frankie’s fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“Yeah. Helicopter maintenance, mostly.”

It’s still not enough to give you the definitive answer you’re looking for. You’re too stubborn for your own good to just quit while you’re ahead. Because of all the questions you could have asked him, the one you ask him next is like voluntarily putting a gun to your head and asking him to shoot.

“Are you, uh- you um, seeing anyone? Samantha, or whatever her name was?”

It’s the first time he locks eyes with you since you’ve gotten in the car. Frankie looks you up and down, tongue running across the top of his teeth under his lips and raising his brows just enough to let you know you’ve got his attention.

Every second of silence that lingers before his answer only leads you to believe he’s trying to let you down slowly before he has to pull the trigger. You brace yourself for the bullet.

“No. I uh, shit- I- Sarah and I broke up a while ago. After um, after Santi’s wedding, actually. No, I um, I’m not seeing anyone. Haven’t really been since then, I guess.”

Your body stays tense, still bracing yourself for the inevitable blow, but it never comes. Not only has Frankie taken his finger off the trigger, he’s put away the gun all together. You’re so stunned you’ve made it out of the question alive, you aren’t quite sure how to react.

“O-oh. I uh- I didn’t know.”

“Are- are you? S-seeing anyone?” He stutters, the words heavy in his throat as he gulps.

“No. After how things ended with Liam, I just- I haven’t either.”

It’s uncomfortable, the silence that fills the car and seeps between you. Not quite awkward, not quite upset, not quite relieved, either. It’s heavy, like a backpack full of bricks you’ve had strapped to your shoulders that you refuse to put down- you’d rather keep burdening yourself with the weight than just take it off, too used to the ache it spreads to every inch of your body.

Maybe, the silence is so uncomfortable because you’re starting to realize how stupid it is to let these types of things keep weighing you down.

Holding a grudge won’t make you any happier. It won’t change what happened, either.

You’ve been so lost in your own head, you’d barely even realized the car had come to a stop, the soft orange and pink glow of The Parrot’s Nest sign illuminating the inside of Frankie’s truck with muted neon snapping you back to reality.

Your hand wraps around the door handle, ready to break free into the parking lot before Frankie’s voice stops you.

“What time are you done?”

You look back over your shoulder, taken aback.

“Why?”

“So I can pick you up.”

It’s so matter of fact, like he had never contemplated any other option from the moment he’d offer to drive you, his soft, brown eyes sinking as you shake your head at him.

“Frankie, it’s fine. I can have someone else drive me ho-”

“Please?”

Your head wants to say no. It wants to push open the door with a half hearted “thanks for the ride” and pretend like the past 15 minutes had simply never existed, wiping the strange pang in your chest and swirling in your stomach from its memory.

Apparently, your heart’s decided it has other plans.

“I’m done at ten.”

“Then I promise to be back here at ten.”

Frankie Morales is a man who’s broken many things.

Your heart, your trust, your friendship.

But out of all the things Frankie has broken, he’s never broken a promise.

And that’s how you know at ten o’clock sharp, you’ll find his beat up Chevy in the parking lot of The Parrot’s Nest, waiting for you.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I hope you had a great time seeing them in Germany! What do you think about reader seeing the boys live for the first time? ❤️

I really ran with this…

Vessel

He was shitting his pants. There were always some nerves before the show. That was inevitable when you genuinely cared about what you did. But suddenly he felt that he was more than fine to go in front of thousands of people. Even messes a line in his song. But knowing that you were there. That his team had secured you the best spot in the pit. That suddenly made him overthink every little thing.

Not to mention that you were there. In a sea of people. What if someone knocked you out while moshing? What if you fell? Did someone rob you? Punched you? No, he was flying off the hook. He had security there. There were a couple of people from the team who were there alongside you. You weren’t alone. He had nothing to worry about. No one knew you two were together. No one had a reason to target you. Yet he cared too much to not feel panic over it.

It all shifted when Vessel had finally made his way to the catwalk. For a moment he had forgotten that you were there. Too lost in the music. Too used to your schedule clashing with concert dates. But when his eyes met yours. The smile on your face could have sent him straight to his knees. You told him every day how proud you were of him. But there was something else about seeing it yourself. The glisten in your eyes. The way you shook your head almost in disbelief. That smile. Fuck him the smile that he had fallen for months ago. Without really thinking about it Vessel pointed at you. Making the crowd fall into fits of screams. Just they didn’t know that was for you and you only. You laughed softly shaking your head. He spent as much time as he could there at the end of the catwalk. Looking at you the whole time, thankful that his mask didn’t let others see that.

Pumped up with adrenaline after the show he could barely stand in one place as he waited for his team to bring you backstage once more. Crew passing by kept on congratulating, tapping his shoulder but he didn’t hear much of it. All his attention was on the little metal door that stood between you and him now. “Sir, could I get an autograph?”, a tap on his back made him do a 180 so quickly Vessel nearly lost his balance. And here you were. The same glistening eyes looked up at him. He simply smiled, hands reaching for your hips as he pulled you closer to him. Making you step on your tippy toes to kiss his lips softly.

“And?”, Vessel muttered after pulling away. “You were unbelievable!”, your hands clasped his biceps as you attempted and the key word here was attempted to shake all 6’3 of him. “I mean my god…”, you grunted throwing your head back, “I knew you were amazing but that”, you gestured back towards the stage. Vessel could feel his cheeks heating up. He knew that he always cared about what everyone thought but there was something special about knowing that people you loved, shared the love for something so special to you as well.

“Vess you were fucking amazing”, you beamed, cupping his still paint-covered cheeks. “You are too kind”, he muttered leaning closer. Brushing his nose against yours, before giving it a little kiss. “No i see you and that was life-changing”, your tone turned a lot more serious now, “that’s why people love you so much, baby”, you mused softly.

“I only had my eyes on you”, Vessel pointed out making you chuckle. “You better, I saw them girls with their titts out”, you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. Vessel let out a soft chuckle, “saw no titts only your eyes”, he muttered, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face. “Thank you for inviting me”, you whispered, stepping closer, and pressing your palms against his chest. “Thank you for being here”, Vessel smiled, leaning in once more, brushing his soft lips over yours. “Sorry you have paint…”, he grunted, reaching out to brush his thumb over the smudge on your cheek. “No, don’t brush it off - want to have my fangirl moment”, you pull back, grinning like a devil, making Vessel chuckle once more.

iii

Everyone knew a month prior that you would join them for one of the home shows they were doing. There wasn’t a soul left in the crew who hadn’t heard the whole “my girlfriend this”, and “my girlfriend that”, story. He was a proud boyfriend okay. Besides this band, you were the best thing that had happened to him and he wasn’t about to be quiet about it. So the whole morning he has a grin on his face because he’s in his car, going to the venue and you’re right beside him. His hand on your thigh as he grins.

Everyone else is being the sweetest, greeting you as if you are one of the team. Your hand is in his as iii slowly walks you through the whole setup. Showing you where all of his guitars are. “Hold on”, he muses, reaching for his black and red bass before putting it over your shoulders. “Jesus, you look tiny”, he chuckled at how huge it looked in your arms. “Wait, pose”, he’s laughing, taking shit tonnes of pictures of you with his bass. And you best bet that’s his new lock-screen.

When it comes to the show it’s, you also choose to watch it from the pit. Craving that rush of energy from the crowd plus it’s the best spot to see him from in all his glory. You’re grinning up at him the whole show. Singing the lyrics that by now are a part of your soul as well. Not being able to keep your tears at bay at some parts. “You cried”, is the first thing he says as you two reunite, “That bad?”. “That good”, you mutter back, wrapping your arms around his neck. iii stand up fully, making your legs dangle in the air as he sways you from side to side. “Next time stay backstage”, he muses against your neck, “want to come back between songs and give you a kiss”. You chuckle softly, “You wanted to do that on stage tonight didn’t you?”, because you could swear that man was teetering the line of falling off stage more than once. “What gave me away?”, iii chuckles. “I love you, you little crazy dude”, you shake your head, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

ii

Yeah, you are in the pit. His side of the stage end of the story. He had told you once that there were shows where he felt forgotten. That people were there for everyone but not him. He was more than aware that he couldn’t go zooming through the stage with his drums but that didn’t mean that he didn’t feel left out at times. So the moment you knew that you were going, you had taken it upon yourself to make a sign. A sign that said: I’m only here for the drummer. All covered in pink glitter and bows because you knew that that would make him roll his eyes.

And you knew that you made the right choice once the girl barricading next to you muttered, “Cool sign”, you chuckled softly, “Thanks, got to show the love”. She simply nodded, asking if she could take a picture of you with it. “I love ii as well, he deserves to know that we see him too”, she smiled, making you smile alongside her. “Let me take a pic of you as well”, you motioned for her to hand her phone over. Falling into a soft conversation after.

You could tell the exact moment ii saw it too. He had halted. Only making you scream louder. Then did his infamous disappointed head tilt before shaking his head no doubt in laughter. ii had stopped and took a moment to get down, throwing some of his drumsticks for the crowd. Shaking a warning finger your way before throwing you one as well. You caught it with ease and almost instantly turned to the girl standing next to you.

“Here, have it”, you pointed the drumstick at her. Her eyes grew big, “No you caught it…”, she shook her head, yet you could see the suppressed excitement there. “Nah”, you waved her off, “trust me. Take this, I already have one at home”, you threw her a wink. Give her a quick hug before turning to find the crew waiting to bring you backstage.

ii was leaning against some of the gearboxes, arms crossed. His serious face morphed into a grin when he saw you skipping towards him as you waved your sign around. “Only, here for the drummer”, he muttered, right as you jumped into his arms. Giggling as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, sorry”, you shook your head, pulling back from him slightly, “everyone else is not up to my taste”. ii chuckled softly, arms moving to cup your ass as he moved your legs to wrap around his torso. “So how was the drummer?”, he asked raising one eyebrow at you. You tapped your chin a couple of times as if pretending to think. “Extremely sexy”, you wiggled your eyebrows making ii let out a laugh, “Played not bad too”, you shrugged, grinning, only to be met by ii fingers tickling your side as you squirmed in his arms. “Not bad, huh”, he muttered against your neck, making you giggle even more. “might have to come a couple more times to make sure he’s good”, you chuckled, leaning your forehead against his. “Well, that could be arranged”, ii nodded, leaning in to kiss you.

Ivy

Ivy had never taken anyone backstage. There has never been anyone in the crowd for him. Just fully for him. So when he’s telling the team that he’s bringing someone with him for the next show he can’t escape the wiggling eyebrows and woops that follow him. So he’s a nervous wreck stopping you right before you enter the green rooms.

“They are insane please don’t run away until the very end”, he whines, eyes pleading as he looks down at you. “Ivy, I’m here for you”, you cup his face, brushing his thumbs over his face. “I know just…”, iv shakes his head. It’s so weird for him to have someone he trusts so unconditionally. Someone he wants to make a part of every single thing in his life. “There could be a giraffe there and still all I care about is seeing you up there tonight”, you shrug trying to lighten his anxiety. “Sorry to disappoint we do not have a giraffe, that’s the venue next to this”, he sighed, yet there it was his infamous grin you had fallen victim to. “Bummer”, you scrunch up your nose before leaning in to chase a couple of fleeting kisses.

You watch him from the pit as well. I mean, that would be an opportunity wasted. He’s grooving the whole show. Pulling all sorts of stunts. Even Vessel joins in pointing towards you before yanking Ivy’s head back for a kiss. Fans scream around but all you can do is laugh at the death glare Ivy shoots at Vessel, who’s laughing to himself as he runs to the other side of the stage.

You’re lounging in one of his jackets when he finally comes backstage. Paint still smudged all over his face. “You look like a raccoon”, you chuckled, standing up to greet him. His arms are around you in an instant, bending you back slightly as he kisses you. “Okay, rockstar, knocking me out of my boots”, you blow a breath out, making him laugh.

“How was it? Tell me I looked hot?”, he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “How you submitted to Vessel? Yeah, that was sexy”, you smirked back at him, “You recon he would give me tips on how…”, but you don’t get to finish before Ivy’s lips are back on yours, kissing you senseless.

[grlsbstshot]

NEON LIGHTS

Pairing (Original Characters): Jameson Lucas (Aaron Pierre) x Imani St. Cirie (Megan thee Stallion)

Story Synopsis: 

R&B singer/songwriter, Jameson Lucas, is well known as a charming playboy. The latest in his line of ‘loved em and left em’ behavior? Imani St. Cirie, an emotive singer/songwriter herself. As common sense pulls them in opposite directions – friendships are tested, old flames resurface, and new opportunities threaten to tear them apart for good. In this industry, dreams can make or break you – but what happens when love becomes the gamble of a lifetime? Chapter I // Chapter II // Special Edition // Chapter III // Special Edition Pt. 2

Chapter Synopsis: Jameson flies to Italy to repair his relationship with Imani, while Genie gets closer to Ellington.

Warnings: smut (18+), toxic relationship, possessiveness, profanity, usage of the n-word (if you’re white and read it, you owe us $20), rough sex, p in v (naturally), oral (female receiving), squirting, creampie, aftercare – if we missed anything, let us know!

Word Count: 5.5k // Divider Template: @cafekitsune

Notes: The following characters are original creations. Their voice claims are Usher / Lucky Daye (Jameson) & Summer Walker / SZA (Imani). We have no affiliation to any of those artists.

There will be alternating POVs between our leads.

CHAPTER IV: Insane / Wasted

she couldn't help but look at the images again. jameson had the kind of smile that lit up his whole face -- that was when he was truly happy. and he was smiling hard as fuck in the pictures. her eyes flitted to sloane's form, the hand against jameson's arm and the way it curved around his waist. she would never admit it to another soul...but they looked nice together. there was no love lost between she and sloane but imani didn't hate her until this exact moment.

"stop looking." genie told her and immediately immediately shoved her phone under the pillow.

"i wasn't." she lied. "fuck jameson and that bitch."

it had been genie who told her about the pictures -- warning her before she did something stupid like text jameson and tell him that she missed him. it was small but she was grateful that her best friend hadn't tried to talk her into anything. she listened to her rant, agreed not to answer the phone for jameson, and immediately set about distracting her.

despite being in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, her mind had nothing but images of jameson. she'd had a spark of hope in her heart that they would possibly figure shit out this time around but it was so damn hard expecting him to do the right thing. listening to his excuses and reasons why it was everyone else's fault but his got exhausting and imani didn't want to hear that shit. she focused on the outfits that she and genie were pulling together for her italian promo tour.

jameson had even gone silent for damn near a day. no calls, no texts. even that pissed her the fuck off. almost as if the thought of him summoned the man, imani felt the phone under her pillow began to vibrate. somehow or another, she knew it was him. she and genie both knew and they ignored the vibrating echoing throughout the room.

a minute passed then genie's phone rang out loud, her gaze darted to imani's before she cleared her throat. "don't answer him, genie." imani said sternly, sitting up in bed. sure enough, she watched as genie swiped her finger across the screen and the phone went silent. for a minute or two, there was total silence between them...before the phone in the suite began to ring.

it felt like a scene out of a horror movie. he just wouldn't leave her alone and imani had had enough. she climbed from the bed and stomped her way through the suite. by the time she made it to the phone, she was practically breathing fire. "hello?!" she answered tersely, ready to curse jameson's ass out but she was greeted with the sound of a friendly front desk clerk.

"buonasera, signorina. i am most sorry to trouble you this evening but i am afraid we have a situation." the voice said, the english heavily accented with italian.

"oh. oh, i'm sorry." imani immediately apologized, guilt pushing her to say more but she was cut off.

"my manager would like to call la polizia but the signore asked for you personally and i thought we should be sure before we did so." the voice continued -- a woman from what imani could tell.

"i don't understand what you saying. call the police? for what?" confusion was written all over her face as imani brought her gaze up from the phone. genie came flying down the hall, phone against her ear and imani got distracted by her. she caught the words "you make my ass hurt!" from genie before the other girl was stomping past her and towards the front door.

"signorina?" "i'm sorry. what did you say?" "signore lucas says that you are expecting him but he cannot remember your room number. if he is inconveniencing you, we will have no problem calling la polizia." "call the cops on signore lucas. do what y’all need to do. i don’t care. thank you!”

imani hung the phone up, hands on her hip as she walked around the empty space. she had no idea where genie had gone but it was probably to save jameson from an italian jail. “that dumb ass nigga really flew his ass to rome.” she muttered to herself. washing her hands of jameson always seemed so complicated but as she decided to take a bath, it felt pretty damn easy.

the only reason genie answered the phone was because imani left the room. it was a betrayal of her best friend, sure, but she wanted to hear an explanation from jameson. probably more than imani did. there was love lost between she and sloane. jameson was practically her brother and she wanted to know what the fuck he was doing with the enemy -- even if he didn't know she was the enemy.

"imani doesn't want to--" "what floor?" "huh?" "what. floor. are. you. on?" jameson asked. "jamie, tell me you didn't come here." "you not gone tell me?" "no!" "okay. that's fine."

he went quiet for a moment before genie heard a knock on the other end of the phone. she heard him introduce himself to a stranger and then ask "is imani in there? she gasped out loud. "jameson, stop that! stop it! you're going to get in trouble."

he didn't say a word to her and she heard him continue to move from one door to the next, asking anybody who opened it the very same question: "is imani in there?"

"stop it!" "are you going to tell me?" "what floor are you on? i'll come get you, damn it." "fifth. i know she likes a view." "oh now you're interested in what she likes?" "i lost her once, genie. i'm not about to lose her again. especially over some shit that's a misunderstanding." "so you weren't on a date with sloane?" "of course not. c'mon. you know sloane! you know she--" "i do. i know her better than you do, jamie. it hurt imani to see those pictures. you weren't doing anything but you have to understand...she's in a very difficult situation with you. she wants to believe you but she's scared. and you don't make the shit any easier." "that's not what i'm trying to do. i--"

"excuse me, sir? are you a guest here?"

genie knew that was no good. she jumped up from her seat, moving through the suite. imani may not want to see him but something had to give before he caused a damn international incident. genie hustled past imani, not even realizing she was still on the phone or what the conversation was. her slippers practically hissed against the floor as she left the suite, took the elevator to the fifth floor, and got there just in time to see security grasping jameson's jacket. a concierge was with them and he seemed flustered by the situation.

jameson's phone was still at his ear but he wasn't talking to genie -- he was cursing. "you need to let my fucking jacket go. wrinkling my shit." he and imani were two peas in a damn pod. "i'm sorry. he's with me." genie did her best not to shout, getting a grasp of jameson's jacket herself. she pulled him in her direction, pleased to see that he stumbled toward her somewhat.

"we've had many complaints, signora." genie nodded her head, yanking jameson in her direction once again. security didn't let go and he didn't stumble this time. instead, jameson pulled his jacket from the other man's hand with the meanest mug on his face. genie knew he was about to say something stupid so she pinched his side before he could. "i understand." genie reassured the two men. "but he's with me. he's my brother. he's just...stupid."

the concierge and security guard glanced at each other -- almost as if they were trying to see if she was right about him. genie prayed jameson would stay quiet. she could feel his stare on the side of her face but kept her gaze on the guard. relief hit her hard with they nodded, a signal that she and jameson could leave. "thank you! thank you so much." genie said graciously, giving both men a smile. jameson let her lead him to the elevators -- her jacket still in his grasp until she pushed the button for the third floor.

finally, genie turned and met his gaze as the elevator doors closed. "hey, stupid."

the past twenty hours had been bullshit. that was the best way to sum it up: bullshit. he was sleep deprived, anxious, and annoyed as fuck but it was finally time to get this shit with imani settled. genie reluctantly lead him to their suite. when she swiped the keycard and pushed the door open, jameson didn't waste time stepping inside.

"hey." jameson turned to see that genie didn't follow him inside. "please get it right this time. i love you both. but i won't forgive you if you break her heart again." before jameson could reassure her, she shut the door and he was left alone with her words.

the suite was quiet, almost eerily so. maybe it was exhaustion settling in his bones but jameson was so damn tired of this shit. he was determined to get shit straight right then. jameson shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it across the back of a couch as he slowly made his way through the space.

his mouth opened to to call out for her but the way she was feeling meant that she might not answer. it wasn't until jameson heard water that he realized she was in the bathroom. he took a deep breath -- and then twisted the knob, surprised that it was unlocked. the further he moved into the room, the hotter it got.

then...there she was. soaking in warm water, covered in bubbles. her head rested against the rim of the tub. she turned her head, opened her eyes, and gave a little scream when she saw him standing there. for a moment, they simply stared at one another. her gaze swept his face, moving up to his hair -- or lack there of. he watched her eyes go wide before she pressed her lips together.

his gaze swept what he could see. her hair pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head. her hands and shoulders were clear of soapy bubbles but everything else was hidden. a wave of desire swept over him but jameson pushed it down -- ignored it and continued to move into the bathroom.

finally, they both found their voices at the exact same time.

"get out!" "i missed you."

imani blinked up at him before he saw the anger take over again. she opened her mouth to say something else but jameson spoke faster. "you got me on a plane halfway around the world, jetlagged as fucked. go ahead and yell. once you get it all out, we can talk about it." jameson took a seat on the floor next to the tub, leaning against the wall.

"i ain't got shit to say to you." "no? you don't want to call me a lying ass, cheating ass nigga? piece of shit? nothing?" "i don't expect you to do right. you never do." "i'm doing right now, imani. nothing happened with her." "i don't give a fuck." "yes you do. you love the fuck out of me. and i love the fuck out of you." "you--" "which is why...i would never fuck up like that again. i was in new york for an interview. sloane called. asked me to come by while she was working some deal. i did. we were there for all of ten minutes. i did nothing but talk about you. then we had lunch. then i left her at her hotel." "i don't care." "you do." "you can't tell me what the fuck i feel." "i can. because i know you."

her frustration built as he calmly refuted each retort. jameson could see it in her face. she was mad as fuck. she sat up straight, pressing her hands to the side of the tub and to get up and he stopped her by placing his hand on top of hers. "don't. finish your bath."

imani glared at him and pulled her hand away -- the movement was slow but full of resentment. it didn't matter that he had flown around the world with nothing in his hands. what mattered was that she was scared. she was angry. and it was his fault. for once, he was at a loss as to what to say to imani. she rose from the water anyway, stepping out of the tub and ignoring him as she wrapped herself in a robe.

jameson watched her silently before taking a deep breath. he got up from the floor and followed her out of the bathroom -- ready for round two.

"good...evening. it is evening in italy, right? the sun is still shining here."

ej answered the phone with a grin, pleased to hear from genie so soon even though he knew why she was calling. it was the first time he'd heard her voice over the phone and it made him smile to know that genie adesanya had called him.

"you tricked me." she said shortly, making him smile.

"no idea what you're talking about, baby. but since you called me -- i take it jamie made it safely." "this isn't about jamie! and stop calling me baby." "yes, ms. adesanya. if this isn't about jamie, what is it about?" "you! you tricked me. you made me tell you what hotel we were at." "jamie already knew! he told me." "liar. he didn't even know what floor we were on. he knocked on random people's doors asking for imani!"

she sounded as if she were pouting and the image of her doing so made ej grin. his best friend's shenanigans were only the cherry on top of the sundae. ej muted the phone, not wanting her to hear him laugh. the last thing he wanted was a lecture.

"okay. fine. i admit it. i tricked you. but i told you...that's my boy." "he almost ended up in an italian jail." "it's nothing. i got money. i coulda got my nigga out." "you're no help. you encourage his worse tendencies." "listen, i don't want him over there. i want him here. finishing his album. but he's stuck on mani. obsessed with the idea of getting it right with her. do i think it's possible? no. i think those two are too alike. something's gonna go wrong. but he's my best friend and i want to support him."

genie was silent for a moment before he heard her softly ask a question. "...you don't think they'll make it?"

ej winced, wishing he hadn't told her that. he didn't want to rain on her optimism. he liked how she seemed to see the best in everything and everybody. "i don't know, g. i hope so but i won't hold my breath over it."

"i think you're wrong." she said, her voice stronger than it had been before. "i think when you love like that -- truly and deeply -- there's nothing you wouldn't do to make it last. i believe him. he wants her back. and he's going to get her because she loves him too."

ej nodded even though she couldn't see him. "i want you to be right, baby." ej heard her snort before she spoke again. "i told you not to call me baby."

a grin spread across his lips as he nodded once again. "yes, ms. adesanya. now where are you? did our best friends kick you out of your room?"

she was flustered and annoyed with him but mostly with herself. having a reaction to jameson was never good. she tried so hard not to show him even a smidgen of feelings and failed every single time. fuck him! this was irritating. imani hadn't expected jameson to be in Italy, much less have the balls to come to her room. she came out of the bathroom looking for the genie and found the other woman gone. she couldn't help but feel somewhat betrayed.

"mani."

jameson followed behind her and imani redirected from the bedroom to the living room. the last thing they needed was to be in a room with a bed while she was naked. "i don't want to hear it, jamie." she said, suddenly exhausted. "we keep trying to make this work but maybe this isn't meant to be."

all they seemed to do was talk in circles, gas each other up, and then boom. reality came crashing down into their optimistic plans. she wasn't going to compete with a woman for jamie again. sloane could have him if she wanted him that damn bad.

"it's like you're not listening to me." jameson replied and imani realized it was true. she didn't want to hear it. she didn't want him to get her hopes up again. "i'm gonna make this shit work because all i've ever wanted is you. i got stupid and let my ego take over before. then i lost you. and i swear the past year has been so hard. i get my life from you, mani. this is where i want to be. don't shut me out. let me prove it."

she stood with her arms folded, glaring at him as he spoke. part of her melted -- just like she had before. she wanted him to fight for her. to prove that what she saw in him before their breakup had been real. but another part of her was sick of the rollercoaster. she wanted to get off it, would kill to be able to feel nothing when she saw him. there was so much she wanted to say but also nothing she could say at the same time.

"it can't be this easy all the time, jamie." she said softly, annoyed at the fact that he seemed to be able to unlock something in her. "you can't give me some bum ass speech every time and think everything is going to be okay because you love me. love isn't always enough and i'm tired of hearing it from you."

jameson moved closer to her, lifting his hands to show her that he was harmless -- as if that were fucking true. "i understand. so tell me. tell me what you need from me. what you need me to show you, baby? i'll do it. anything."

imani looked at him with distrust and confusion. he didn't touch her, he just...stood there with her. his hands were still up, making him appear as if he was trying to calm a scared, wounded animal. "put your hands down." she told him -- and was surprised by how quickly he did it. he didn't argue, he didn't make a joke. he just...did what she told him to. that was interesting. "tell me you're sorry. you said everything except that."

jameson's gaze softened as he nodded his head, realizing that he hadn't apologized for the misunderstanding or invading her privacy. "i'm sorry, baby. i'm so sorry. i shouldn't be here. i should have waited for you to come home. i should have been more considerate about how those pictures would make you feel. i'm sorry."

despite telling him that speeches wouldn't be enough -- imani knew she would relent. she didn't know if she was overreacting or not when it came to sloane. but even if she was...it felt good to hear him validate it. to tell her he was sorry for how he made her feel. instead of thanking him, imani let her gaze linger over his face. "you cut your hair."

jameson looked at her with surprise -- as if he hadn't expected her to acknowledge it right then. "yeah. i did."

"why?" imani asked him, fiddling with the tie that kept her robe closed tightly.

"i'm doing a movie. why do you ask? you like it?" "i guess. makes your ears look bigger." jameson laughed out loud, tsking softly. "okay, i deserved that."

imani gave a small smile, proud of herself for that the joke landed. she hadn't fully forgiven him but she could feel some of her agitation ease. whether that was a good thing or not -- she didn't know but of course, time would tell with jameson.

"...i'm still mad." imani told him, placing her hands against her hips. "don't think i'm not. or that you can just fly to me in the middle of the night and think i'll forgive you."

"i don't think that at all" jameson said softly as he took a step closer to her. imani didn't move away. instead, she dropped her hands, watching as he lifted his hand to press to her hip. "say you're sorry again." she demanded. he repeated the apology, leaning in to seal it with a kiss to her lips -- and imani allowed it. all of a sudden, she got an idea and knew he'd go along with it.

jameson breathed a sigh of relief when she let him kiss him. imani never did anything she didn't want to do. she couldn't be bullied or tricked -- she stood on shit. so jameson knew if she ever fully made up her mind to get rid of him? he was good as gone. he had spent a year trying to get back next to her. he wasn't going to lose that shot.

"eat my pussy"

imani spoke lowly but with conviction. jameson's gaze shot up to meet hers, wondering if he imagined she said the words. but he hadn't. she looked at him, brow raised as if she thought he'd have something to say in response. but he didn't. this is what she needed from him right then. she needed his devotion and his obedience. it wasn't like anything they had done before. usually, jameson was in control -- they both liked it that way. but he kind of liked this too.

jameson reached for the fuzzy tie keeping her robe closed. with one sharp tug, it fell open and exposed her body to him. he could hear his heart beat pounding in his ears as he took her in. her skin was smooth and soft. he could still smell the lavender of her bubble bath. pretty titties sat high with nipples already pointed. he hadn't even touched her yet and she was ready. it wasn't like he hadn't seen her undressed before. he'd had her spread open and calling his name a week ago but every time he got his hands on this girl, he lost his mind.

without hesitation, jameson fell to his knees and began to kiss at her thighs. by the time he lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, her hands had his ears in a tight grip. he leaned in, mouth open and ready to taste before he felt her jerk his head backward. she almost lost her footing but remained stable as she stopped him from tasting her. "beg me for it."

he didn't waste his time arguing about it. he did what she asked -- and begged. "mani, please. i need you. i sat on a plane for seventeen hours. i don't have shit to wear but what i have on...and i don't give a fuck about any of that. i just want you to cum on my face. i'll make it good for you, baby." he didn't know it worked until she carefully pushed his head forward and wordlessly gave him the go-ahead.

jameson ran his tongue along her lips and up, parting her already wet folds with his tongue. the first touch of his tongue made her let jolt against his shoulder but she didn't stop him. not even when he began to lick, spread, and slurp at what she let rain down into his mouth. jameson hummed softly and happily, his hands finally lifting to grasp her ass. she tasted like water to a man who had been dying of thirst. he wanted to touch her everywhere. imani used his ears, dragging his head back and forth when his tongue swiped against her clit. she whimpered, slumping forward as she ground her hips against his mouth. "g-go back. right there. y-yeah..." she stuttered. his gaze lifted to her face, watching as she nodded her head in time to the way he sucked at her clit. jameson's hands moved down her legs, pushing her to lean further against his face.

eager hands caressed her thigh as his tongue lapped at her juices eagerly. the sound of her heavy breathing mingled with moans filled the room. she arched her back to give him better access while stroking his ears lovingly.

he forgot that they were in the living room of a suite she shared with a woman they considered family. he forgot that she'd had him stressed him for almost twenty-four hours. he even forgot that the genie was coming back to the room soon. all he could see and think about was imani.

jameson wedged his tongue into her, angling it so that it thrust inside her pussy like his fingers would and was rewarded with a long moan from her. imani squirmed, the leg that kept her standing trembling and jameson braced it, taking enough control to angle the woman towards the couch. he did it without taking his tongue from her and was damn proud of himself.

his mouth closed around her clit as she fell to the couch and jameson didn't stop her as she lifted her other leg to his shoulder -- getting a better chance to ride his face. both her legs trembled as he finally pulled his hands from her legs and thrust his index and middle finger into her, twisting and squelching inside her wetness.

imani pulled at his ears so hard that jameson grunted against her, feeling the heat rising -- but he couldn't quite bring himself to give a shit. when she came, it was with a shout of his name and her thick thighs closing around his head. if she had killed him, he would have died happily.

he stroked her down from her release, kissing and petting at the wetness that she left between her thighs and against his face. imani let him, legs going weak as they fell open. for a moment, jameson just watched her try to catch her breath. he didn't get up, he didn't shove his dick in her mouth the way she liked him to. he just...waited. patience was a virtue and he felt like a fucking saint because it took her forever to come back to earth. he kissed her thighs, doing his best to take care of her. and then she spoke again -- her voice slurred with pleasure.

"take your clothes off."

once again, he followed the command with ease. he got up from the floor, kicking off his shoes as he dragged his tongue across his lips. his pants and boxer briefs followed. by the time he'd whipped his shirt over his head, she seemed to come to her senses.

"let me ride you."

she was still giving the commands but jameson noticed her tone go soft. he stood naked in front of her and her eyes were trained on his dick. the attention pleased him and made his length bob. "stop looking at me like that. my dick is already hard enough." he muttered, as she smiled brazenly. he fell to the couch next to her and watched as she climbed onto his lap...reverse cowgirl. she knew he never lasted long that way.

jameson snatched the robe from her body, tossing it across the room. he didn't want any distractions or anything hiding her from him.

her entire body still felt like electricity was running through it. jameson could talk a lot of shit but he always backed it up. that tongue of his was a killer and it never missed when he put it between her legs. if his dick hadn't looked so damn perfect when she told him to strip, she probably would have left him with blue balls. but why fight it? it was pleasure for them both. imani leaned forward, using the fancy coffee table in front of the couch as leverage. with one hand against the expensive oak table and the other around her body -- fingers wrapped around his dick, imani guided him to the right spot. as expected, jameson's groan was louder than her moan.

he slipped into her with ease, her shaking hands didn't have to do too much work. imani worked herself up and down his length, her head dropping to watch their bodies rock against one another. despite the tension between jameson's strong hands pressed to her hips, and circled her hips. he was slowly siphoning control from her and imani didn't want that.

she pushed against the coffee table, sending her body to press to his. the move worked. her back pressed to his chest and jameson immediately brought his hands from her hips to her breasts. imani rocked on his hips, ignoring the way he panted against her ear. his fingertips pinched and pulled at her nipples, his other hand moving to brush against her clit. imani slapped his hand away, turning her head to meet his gaze. "tell me this dick is mine."

he didn't hesitate. he repeated after her, hissing when she lifted her hips and then sent them back down again. his gaze went from her face to down their bodies, watching as he slipped in and out of her. "fuck, baby...it's yours. this your dick." he mumbled, "let me play with my pussy. please." jameson never begged. not usually. but she loved to hear the word 'please' falling from his mouth.

she increased her pace by planting her feet on the ground next to his. with her hands against his thighs, imani began to bounce on his lap. jameson lost sight of her breasts as she lifted up but his fingertips didn't lose muscle memory. they pulled and squeezed as she ride him recklessly. imani tightened over him, her draw dropping from how full she felt. from how good he felt hitting every single sensitive part inside her.

his hips met hers and their syncronized rocking turned into clashing. imani whimpered as jameson dropped his hand from her chest and pulled her leg higher. "fuck me hard." she panted, suddenly just as desperate as he was. their skin was hot against one another, friction in more ways than one. jameson grunted as he went deep -- she took all of him in with a sharp exhale. "fuck yes!" he cried out, feeling her walls squeeze around him. his forehead rested against the back of her neck as imani rode him. she could feel his heated pants against her skin and was shocked that she heard a whimper from the back of his throat.

"don't." she said harshly, shaking her head as she fought the release she felt building. "don't cum until i tell you to." this brought a growl from jameson's mouth. he let her leg go and tugged her back by her hair. imani cried out as he kept her stationary. the hand between her legs moved quickly, strumming at her clit until she squirmed and panted -- fighting off the release. imani shook her head, refusing to let go. jameson knew decided to play dirty.

he pinched her clit, satisfied when she yelped and tightened over his dick. he felt a rush of wet hit and gave a long moan of his own. she gushed around his length, squirting so quickly that neither of them knew what hit them. he kept fucking her, thrusting in and out as she yelled his name and came all over him...and herself...and the couch. she was breathless, disoriented as jameson released her hair. "say it." he muttered.

his hands were at her waist then, bending her forward and bouncing her hard. her eyes crossed and rolled before jameson slapped his hand against her thigh. "say it!" he grunted. imani finally remembered...he was waiting for her. she smiled, proud of herself that he got to suffer a little bit before she placed her hands over his own and used every last bit of energy she had to fuck his release from him. "you can cum, daddy. cum in me."

it took only a second for him to follow through. he reached up to cup her breast. her pussy clenched even tighter around him because of that. his fingers dug into her hips while he thrust harder into her warmth until finally...his entire body tensed. jameson kept her planted on his lap, rocking her back and forth as he finally came inside her with a strangled cry. for a few moments, they were both panting and moaning, lost in the pleasure that had consumed them. imani fell back against him as jameson's hands caressed her sides tenderly. they both started to come down from their high. imani reached for his hands, wrapping them around her body and jameson took the hint. he cuddled against her, stroking and soothing she relaxed more in his arms. the two didn't exchange words but imani knew the truth -- she was back on that rollercoaster ride with him.

she could hear him snoring. genie stared down at her phone with a grin. all she could see was ellington's chin. he had fallen asleep on facetime with her -- something he swore he wouldn't do but he did. he had made her promise not to go back to her shared suite with imani and he made sense. everybody knew how those two were. they'd probably be back in love for breakfast and then on the outs again by lunch but genie wanted them to have space to figure it out.

when she left the hotel bar, she went to the front desk and got her own room. it was much smaller than the suite but not short on comfort. so began her night with ellington. from ten pm (Italian time) until six am -- she had shared her time with ellington dupree. they talked about everything. music, her fashion career, their hobbies. not once did imani and jameson come up. not once did her father come up. it was a miracle.

ellington had never really been in her life. he was jamie's friend. she knew they were close. their bond was unmatched. but she had never gone out of her way to be ellington's friend. watching him doze on his couch while she ordered breakfast for herself indicated that they were...at least becoming friendly. he had a wicked sense of humor and genie was sure that she liked that.

suddenly, her smile dropped and she leaned away from the phone. she liked it. not him. right? she didn't like him. if he was jamie's friend -- practically like a brother -- then that meant they were a lot alike, right? she couldn't deal with a man like jameson. even if they weren't alike, dating within the friend group was messy. she had seen it first hand and didn't want to be apart of it. it took her a minute but she managed to force herself to hang up the phone.

so what she spent almost eight hours on the phone with a man. that didn't mean anything. it did not mean she had a crush on him.

[honeygr-ls]

The Shadows And The Light - Chapter One

In the chaotic streets of Zaun, you run a small clinic, offering help to anyone who needs it. When Sevika, Silco's notorious right hand, shows up wounded, an unlikely bond forms between you. As she struggles with her violent life and feelings of unworthiness, you challenge her to see herself, and the people of Zaun, differently. Through shared danger and quiet moments, your connection begins to grow and flourishes into something beautiful

The clinic reeked of antiseptic and blood, the metallic tang hanging in the humid air of Zaun. You tightened the straps of your apron over your shoulders, wiping sweat that threatened to trickle down your brow. You were exhausted, tending to injuries and sickness throughout the whole day and night. Another gang fight, another line of broken and injured people stumbling through the door of the clinic.

The clinic had belonged to your late mother, left to you after her untimely and tragic death. You had taken her place as the clinic's head doctor, treating and taking care of Zaunites for around three years already.

You had just about finished cleaning up the last of the bloodied tables in the back when you heard a faint rattle at the front door of the building. Curiosity led you to the front door (not before grabbing a sharp scalpel for protection, of course), and you startled back when the rattling got even more frantic. Your eyes widened, and your heart leapt to your throat, but you steeled yourself and cracked the door open.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Silco's right hand, Sevika, towering over you as she clutched her side. Her face was pale and slick with sweat. You could notice her grey shirt was seeping with crimson blood. Her mechanical arm rested up against the door's frame, the faint whirring of its gears filling the silence.

“Well? You gonna let me bleed out here?” She barked out, her voice laced with a pained strain.

“Shit, right, come in.” You rushed out, widening the door and ushering her inside.

She stumbled in without so much as a thank you and swayed back and forth before she collapsed on your worn-out (and freshly washed) examination table with a low grunt.

You got to work, thoroughly cleansing your hands in alcohol to disinfect them, as well as grabbing your sterilised tools and bringing them over to the steel table next to where Sevika lay. Tension hung in the air as you started to survey her state and injury wound.

Sevika had always been larger than life - commanding, cold the kind of person who hardly ever asked for help. You've seen her around Zaun multiple times and often heard of her through whispers of your clients, But this is the first time she has ever come to your clinic, which caused confusion to swirl through your brain. You never got why she hadn't come before as you knew how much of a ruthless fighter she was, which was bound to end in injuries. Your help was free of charge aswell, the clinic running on donors and loans from a numerous amount of different people.

Snapping back to the task at hand, you pressed down gently around the wound (which you confirmed to have been caused By a bullet), surveying Sevika's reaction. She groaned and twitched on the table, spewing out a string of curses and glaring at you with fury in her eyes.

“Sorry,” you looked up at her with a guilty expression on your face. “I'll have to cut open your top so I can properly disinfect the wound and remove the bullet.” You said briskly to mask your unease.

Sevika puffed out a breath, glancing at you as a faint, pained smirk tugged at her lips.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.” She groaned out, shifting slightly on the table.

“I cannot believe you're joking right now.” You replied through clenched teeth, turning around to grab scissors to try and mask your blush. You took a deep breath and turned around, starting to cut her top open.

You inspected the wound more closely once her top was off.

“Mm…this is deep, how long has it been bleeding?” You asked as you slipped on a fresh pair of gloves.

She let out another pained huff and your eyes flitted up to her face, sweat beginning to drip down her brow.

“Couple hours. Got attacked on my way back from a meeting. Didn't think I'd need stitches.” She gritted out, squeezing her eyes shut.

You hummed and pressed a clean cloth to her wound, causing her to jolt and hiss in pain. “Clearly you were wrong.”

Sevikas glare burned into your skull, but you didn't falter. “Stay still.” You ordered, reaching over to your tray of tools and grabbing a syringe of anaesthetic. “This is going to hurt if you don't.”

“Probably hurts less than most of the shit that goes on down here.” She huffed but complied with your instructions anyway, leaning her head back with a soft thud against the cool steel of the table.

The words hung between you, an understanding surrounding the two of you as you cleaned up her wound more thoroughly.

“You keep up saying shit like that, and I'll start to think you're into poetry or something.” You murmured, breaking the tension between the both of you.

“Nah, poetry isn't really my style.” She chuckled weakly.

“Hm, you don't say?” You quipped, Beginning to thread the needle, getting everything ready for when you put her under with anaesthetic. You cast a glance her way and faltered when you seen her expression. You wondered to yourself how this was the Sevika that most of the undercity feared - A ruthless fighter proud and unyielding. Yet when you looked at her now, all you could see was a tired woman who was in pain.

“Why do you do this?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Your hands faltered at her question. “Do what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely around the room, “Helping people, you don't even bring in any profit from it. What's the point?”

“I don't care about profit. I care About helping the people of Zaun to the best of my abilities Because, for fuck sake, no one else will.” You gritted out, anger overcoming your senses as you pictured all the homeless, starved, broken down and abused Zaunites in your head. You had never thought about making A profit out of what You had done; it just wasn't in your nature. All you wanted to do was make even the slightest of differences for the people suffering down here due to Topside’s negligence.

Sevika stared at you, her grey eyes roaming over your frame. “That's naïve.”

You sighed. “Maybe…but I would rather try than cast a blind eye to it.”

You grabbed the anaesthetic needle and lined it up to her skin. Giving her no warning before pushing it in. After a few seconds, blackness swarmed her vision, and she slacked against the table, out like a light.

[dreamwatch]

Part 1 Part 2 AO3

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."

Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.

Word Count: Pt3 - 4954 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - please let me know if you think I've missed any.

Part 3

For the first time in years they get lucky; Wayne gets Christmas off. He says it’s because he worked Thanksgiving, but Eddie overheard phone calls that maybe he shouldn’t have been listening to, and he has a suspicion it’s more to do with the fact that for a while there Wayne was facing all his future Christmas’s alone and this one’s kind of special.

They’re watching the TV, eating too much, and sipping on beers. It’s normal. Just regular Christmas Eve in the Munson home, but the weight of it, the what ifs, hang in the air. It’s not oppressive, or sad, it’s just … there. It should be a sign, probably, that he and Wayne need to have a good talk, maybe work through a few things. But Wayne isn’t a talker, doesn’t understand why anyone would go to a shrink, he buries his shit deep. When Eddie thinks of his father, he was much the same. It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone, then, that Eddie likes to keep things locked away, hidden from public view.

He sips on his beer and he eats his cookies, and he smiles at Wayne and Wayne smiles back. They know what they have. It’s enough.

They don’t get visitors often and he can’t think of a single Christmas where they’ve had one that wasn’t a cop, so when they hear the knock at the door they both look at each other like deer in the headlights. The bad knocks, the ones that end up with shit on the doorstep, or notes on the door telling him to move away if he knows what’s good for him, they don’t come as often as they used to. The last one was around Halloween, which in some regards he kind of expected; every town has a boogeyman and sadly he’s it for Hawkins. They keep a baseball bat behind the door where most people store their umbrellas. 

Wayne answers the door, fist twitching, but then Steve is wandering into his home, flakes of snow on his eyelashes and in his hair. 

“Hey sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to give you these.”

He hands over two badly wrapped gifts, something bottle shaped for Wayne who seems a little shellshocked at getting anything, and a small navy blue package for Eddie, with way too much tape holding it together. And he knows gifts aren’t a quid pro quo kind of situation, but he’s honestly been back to back with appointments and just life in general, and he doesn’t get out as much as he would like, seeing as he still can’t drive, so his heart sinks a little at it.

“Shit, I didn’t— sorry, I was just so caught up—”

“It’s nothing. Honestly, it’s just something I saw that reminded me of you.” 

His voice peters out as he says it, and Eddie feels that little kick, the little squeeze in his core, but he just can’t help it. Reminded me of you. Like he’s important enough for Steve to think about. And isn’t that something?

Reminded me of you.

It’s a little fan, breathing life onto a flame that he just can’t afford to have lit any further. Tamping it down is getting harder and harder.

They talk for a few minutes, but it doesn’t matter how many cookies or beers or sodas Wayne offers him, he declines them all with a sorry, got to get back. He gets up to leave and Eddie walks him to the door.

“What are you doing on Friday?” Steve asks.

“Hmm, I’ll have to check with my secretary, my diary gets booked up so far in advance these days.”

“He ain’t doin’ nothin’!” Wayne shouts. “And close the goddamn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Jesus Christ, old man, keep it down. No fucking privacy here. Well, as you heard, I ain’t doin’ nothin’ apparently.”

It’s a pretty accurate impression, which he knows Wayne heard and he’ll be paying for that for a while. But he made Steve laugh, so it’s entirely worth it.

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at four, be dressed and ready to go.” Steve hops down the porch steps back to the car. 

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out on Friday. Get inside before you freeze to death, Munson. Merry Christmas!”

“I’m going, I’m going, why is everyone such a nag? Merry Christmas, Steve!”

He should wait until tomorrow, but the little blue package in his hand feels like it’s burning him. He sits on his bed and tries his best to peel each piece of tape carefully, but the fucking thing is covered in it so he ends up ripping the paper off anyway. 

The guitar strap is neatly folded, blue embroidery singing against the black leather. Guitar picks slip onto the floor at his feet. 

His breath falters, trapped in his throat, and it’s several long seconds before he takes a deep breath again.

His guitars were some of the only things saved from the old trailer. Wayne told him how lucky he was to be at the back, how most of his precious possessions survived. He even hung the Warlock on the wall of his new bedroom. It felt like he was being watched, like an eye following him around the room. It felt like a living thing in a way that scared him. 

And it wasn’t just the thing of it, the object that got carried into battle - even if that one was a version from another world - it was the way it sounded in his hands now. He tried to play it just once, and once was enough to know it would never happen again. The shake in his hand was frightening, the lack of control, the dissonant noises that rang from it. He chalked it up to some weird phobia, a reaction to what the guitar meant now. But then he picked up his old Fender knock off and it wasn’t any better, and it hit him that it was gone, everything he had practiced, everything he worked for, it was gone just like that. Now he had a shaky left hand and no grip strength and moving his fingers along the fretboard was an effort not an instinct.

It was over. And he never wanted to see that fucking guitar again.

But now he’s sitting here with a beautiful guitar strap in his lap and guitar picks all over the floor, things that Steve chose for him, because they reminded me of you, and it’s painful in a different way, in a way that he can’t examine right now because he just doesn’t have the strength for it in the middle of a Christmas he was never meant to see. He wraps them both back up in the crumpled blue paper and puts them in the bottom drawer of his dresser, pulling a pair of sweats over the top.

Christmas is… emotional. But like in that quiet ‘we’re not gonna talk about it’ way that he and Wayne have perfected over the years. There are pats on the head, hair ruffles, side ways glances when Wayne thinks he’s not looking. Weighty, but not unpleasant. It’s a lot to know you’re loved so deeply, a lot to know how difficult this would have been for Wayne if Eddie hadn’t been here.

(There’s things about that day, about the decisions he made, that he tries to keep hidden from everyone, himself included when he can manage it. They haunt him at night when he’s alone in the house by himself and has time to dwell on them, but when Wayne rests a calloused hand on his head, it’s almost like forgiveness. He hopes Wayne doesn’t know. He hopes none of them know.)

When Friday swings around he feels entirely too much like a kid in a candy store, and if Wayne notices his slightly hyper demeanour when Steve pulls up outside, he at least has the grace not to mention it. 

Steve doesn’t open the car door for him. Anyone looking on, watching Eddie potter down his steps unevenly, crutch in hand, would read that as rude. Eddie reads it as trust, as being listened to, and most importantly being heard. Other people struggled with that, so many of his friends, fuck, even Wayne, wanting to step in whenever they thought he needed a hand, but never really hearing him when he said he was fine. And look, he’s a stubborn fuck, he knows this, and he hasn’t made this easy on people, he could have - should have - asked for help at times, but having one person in his corner that listened to him made him feel less powerless. That it was Steve made his heart sing.

Steve still won’t tell him where he’s going, so they do what they usually do, argue over the radio while Eddie tosses tapes around in the glove compartment. Eddie doesn’t get out often, mostly of his own choosing, so these moments mean a lot to him. Painfully normal. 

Painfully normal with Steve by his side.

He starts to nod off to the sound of Cyndi Lauper coming through the speakers, but he catches sight of the sign to Indy and it wakes him up with a start. He glances at Steve who definitely knows he’s being stared at because the little smirk on his face grows. Something in Eddie grows with it.

Twenty minutes later they’re pulling up outside Sandy’s.

“Holy shit,” he says, almost under his breath. “I haven’t been here since… fuck, last year I think? How did you find this place?”

Steve unbuckles his seat belt, that smirk firmly still  in place. “Friend of a friend.”

And then, because Eddie’s world hasn’t spun out from beneath him enough this year —

Steve Harrington winks at him.

And it’s not a wink like, sports and jocks and rough-housing with the kids wink, it’s a wink. It’s loaded. It takes up space in the car. It passes between them, a little bird Steve set off into the air for Eddie to catch with careful hands.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, but it feels like it will collapse around him if he asks, his little tower of cards that just got to the second level will flutter to the ground. So he laughs it off, calls him a dork and then gets out of the car.

They take a booth at the back, sliding in, face to face. 

“Have you eaten here before?” Eddie asks.

“Just the once.” And there’s that smile again, and that little thing in him that keeps so deeply hidden continues to unfurl.

The waitress approaches to take their order, and Steve gets in before Eddie can.

“Two chilli dogs with extra onions, two sides of cheese fries, and two peanut butter malts, please.”

He didn’t even look at the menu.

The moment she walks away, Eddie leans forward.

“How do you know my order?” He’s a little rude with it, though he doesn’t mean to be, and for the first time Steve looks unsure.

“I told you, a friend of a friend.”

“Gareth. You can say Gareth, Steve. I’m not stupid.”

Steve picks up the salt shaker, rolling it idly between his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice, for Christmas, you know? Is that so bad?”

“You did something nice for Thanksgiving.”

“Uh, no, I tried to do something nice. Consider this a do-over.”

Eddie does his best, tries not to read too much into the fact that Steve knew his order, or that he asked Gareth for help, or that he ordered the same thing, or that he spends the entire time practically moaning as he slots the hotdog into his mouth in a way that honestly looks filthy as fuck, but he can’t possibly know what he’s doing, or what he’s doing to Eddie specifically.

He does his best. But a boy can dream. 

Steve pays, which just makes it all so much worse. Is this how they feel? All those girls from Hawkins High? Is this what it means to be wooed by the Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?

They get back to the car, and Steve starts her up, the cool air from the vents turning warmer as they sit there. 

“That was… that was really cool, actually.” 

“Yeah, those hot dogs were awesome. Seriously we need a place like that in Hawkins.”

Eddie shakes his head. “No I mean… you bringing me here. It’s my favourite place to eat. It was a really nice thing to do. Thank you.”

Steve looks delighted. “Good, I’m glad you liked it. And hey, it wasn’t burnt this time, right?” 

Steve laughs and Eddie tries to but he can’t, is the thing. It’s all kind of caught up in him, like a tangle. He’s confused, and warm, and happy and a little sad, actually. He surrounds himself with things he wants and can’t have. Sometimes he can live with that, but sometimes it hurts.

“Thank you. Like, honestly,” and he let’s a puff of air out of him, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. Blowing the sting from them. “I haven’t been there since my birthday last year. It was kind of a tradition, you know? I didn’t get to go this year, so… yeah, thanks.” And he means it. Truly and honestly means it.

Steve taps the steering room, out of rhythm to the song on the radio, a nervous little tick Eddie’s noticed before.

“So, there’s one more thing. Uh, one more place I want to take you. If that’s okay?”

He looks so earnestly at Eddie, like he’s honestly scared Eddie will say no to him when right now Eddie doesn’t think he would deny him a fucking thing.

“Yeah, of course. Lead the way, sire.”

They don’t drive far, but they move into the suburbs on the other side of town and into a little neighbourhood Eddie recognises, before pulling up somewhere Eddie knows very well indeed. 

Wayne was the first one to bring him to Rudy’s Music Shop back on his twelfth birthday, when he got that old Fender knock-off from Gary at the plant. It needed strings, and it buzzed like crazy and Rudy’s was cheaper than the big store in the middle of the city, so they visited and Rudy fixed it up for him, almost as good as new. And when he was finally ready for his first serious guitar, something metal that he would take the world by storm with, it was Rudy’s that he went to. He couldn’t afford a lot, but the Warlock was a trade in, barely used but with a couple of big chips in the paintwork. Rudy cut him a deal, and Eddie spent three bucks on red nail polish and you could never tell they were there unless you knew where to look.

“Steve… ?”

“I um… Wayne told me about this place. I thought it would be nice to visit. It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers.

Steve taps him across the chest. “Come on.”

This time he does let Steve help him out of the car, the long journey and the cold starting to wear him down. They walk over to the window, the red neon sign glowing bright into the dark street, the guitars stand like soldiers under it, and he feels the pang of want. It feels like the twist of a knife.

“You wanna go in?”

Eddie’s not sure where it comes from. But something in him stirs, something that feels like bravery, and he finds himself wanting just that. But…

“It’s closed,” he says, trying his best to keep the disappointment from his voice. “But thanks for bringing me here, it was a really lovely thought, you know.” 

Steve walks right past him to the door and knocks three times, and in a moment Rudy is there, unlocking the door and ushering them in.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” says Rudy.

“Uh— shit.” He starts laughing, it bubbles up from nowhere and he feels a little delirious with it. “It’s good to see you too. Sorry, it’s just a lot, being here.” He gestures around the store at the walls of instruments.

Rudy laughs softly, “Yeah, I bet.” Then he looks at Steve and says “You got half an hour then I got to lock up. You want the, uh—” he gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Uh, give us ten minutes?”

Rudy nods before heading out back, pulling the office door closed behind him. Then it’s just them, and Eddie’s head is spinning like a fucking top.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Promise not to get mad?”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why would I get mad?”

“I thought maybe it was time to get that new guitar.”

Eddie tips his head back, looking up at the ceiling painted with famous musicians. He stares B.B. King straight in the eye. B.B. Stares right back at him.

“Steve, I just… I can’t.” He blows out a huge puff of air, and it feels like he’s emptying his heart as much as he’s emptying his lungs.

“I know you sold the Warlock. And I get why.”

“No, you don’t!”

“Okay, so explain it to me.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You can’t run from everything, man.”

It’s like a slap and Eddie turns on him. “Oh fuck you!”

All of it’s falling to shit, all the good, summer, the trips to the drive through, the summer spent in the Harrington’s pool. Cold nights tucked up against each other watching horror movies. A burnt Thanksgiving dinner. 

A guitar strap.

Steve reaches out to him, squeezing his wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just. You’re so fucking talented, Eddie, and I hate that you lost the thing you loved the most. You deserve better than that.”

Eddie scoffs. “How do you know I was talented? You’ve never heard me play.”

Steve smiles softly and digs into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a cassette before waving it gently in the air. 

“Borrowed it from Wayne. Blues, huh?” And there’s that smirk again, like he’s won something, and fuck it. He has.

“Fucker.”

“Me or Wayne?”

“Both of you.”

There’s a pause, Steve opening and closing his mouth like he's working out what to say next.

“Why did you lie? Why did you sell it?”

It’s not an accusation, just an honest question. If it were anyone else Eddie would fob them off. But it’s Steve, and he deserves so much more than that.

“Because it wasn’t the same, Steve. I couldn’t look at that fucking guitar, I didn’t want it anywhere near me, man. It just didn’t sound the same anymore. I didn’t sound the same. And it just reminded me of everything, every time I looked at it, Chrissy, and Patrick, and the bats--” He heaves in a breath. “Do you know what it’s like when your dreams are stolen? For them to just disappear overnight?”

Steve’s eyes drop to the floor, but he replies with a nod.

“I had a basketball scholarship lined up. Until Billy smashed a plate into my head, anyway. It’s not the same, I know, but I do get it.”

Billy was a bastard, and Eddie never liked him, and it’s awful but all he can think right at this moment is that he’s glad he’s dead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says softly.

Steve shrugs. “Shit happens. It’s what you do after that matters. Come on,” Steve takes him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and Eddie’s breath slams to a stop as Steve leads him to a stool and amp. “Rudy said you can play whatever you want. Just point and I’ll grab them. But there is one, I kind of put aside for you. If you want to try it?”

Alternate dimensions haven’t got a thing on what ever the fuck is going on here today. He barely nods before Steve runs off like an excited puppy. He returns a moment later, carefully holding a guitar. 

“So, I know this isn't like, metal, or whatever. But Rudy said it’s got a really nice tone? And it’s a lot lighter than your Warlock, so I thought… “ He coughs, suddenly sounds embarrassed, “I just thought it would be easier for you.”

He recognises it immediately; a Gibson ES-335. But not sunburst or cherry red, like everyone knows it for, but in a washed out sky blue. It’s scratched, the paintwork chipped in places, but it’s clean and otherwise clearly well looked after.

“It’s beautiful.”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Tentatively, Eddie reaches out for it and Steve hands it over almost reverently. It is lighter than the Warlock, though it’s bigger. But the rounded cut outs make it fit him better, it rests comfortably on his thigh. He runs his fingers up the neck, feels the comforting grab of the frets under his finger. The loss of it all hits him so suddenly he feels himself fall back, like a gust of wind carrying his grief slammed into him. 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, but his throat is closed tight and theres no way Steve doesn’t hear it. 

Steve kneels in front of him, places his hands on Eddie’s knees and a spark fires through him.

“Play me something.”

“What?”

Steve beams at him. “Anything you want.”

He feels a tear slip over his lashes, and he watches as Steve traces it down his cheek, wiping it away before it falls from his chin.

“No tears on the guitar,” Steve whispers. “Not good for the paint.”

“Fucker,” Eddie laughs wetly. “Plug me in.”

Steve sets him up, with a little direction, then sits on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, like a toddler at story time, his attention undivided.

It’s rough, the first chords are chunky and stilted, he doesn’t have the strength or the dexterity that he once had, certainly not the speed. But as his hands warm up, as he falls into it, the rhythm, the vibration of the strings under his fingers, the callouses softened from all these months without steel underneath them. His eyes slip closed and he plays by feel again, and without thinking he starts striking chords, the D, into the F sharp, G into the A. He smiles to himself, before opening his eyes, and he and Steve lock eyes, sitting in the dark in Rudy’s, just the neon red lighting them up. 

You’re the one I’ve waited for

He sings it openly, part challenge, part declaration. 

I need your love more and more

His breath is knocked from him as Steve rushes forward, hands on Eddie’s cheeks pulling him in, his lips pressed deeply into Eddie’s. Eddie grips the guitar in one hand, covering Steve’s hand with the other, holding it there. When the shock passes, he kisses back just as fiercely, lips finding one another in the red glow.

Steve breaks apart first, breathless with giggles before leaning in for another quick peck. And then another. And then he takes the guitar from Eddie, gently places it on a stand before standing in between his legs, his hands on Eddie’s face, tipping him back, before leaning down to kiss him again, slower this time, more softly.

“I’ve thought about this for so fucking long.”

A sound escapes Eddie, air rushing out after a punch to the solar plexus, to a place deep within him.

“You have no idea, man,” is all Eddie can manage in response.

There’s a cough from behind them and they split apart as fast as they came together.

“So, uh, we taking that guitar, boys?”

“Yes,” answers Steve, at the same time Eddie says “I don’t know.”

“Do you like the guitar?” Steve asks.

“I love it.”

“Good. Then we’re taking it.”

Rudy carefully places it into a case and hands it over before letting them out onto the street, and wishing Eddie well.

“But I haven’t paid—”

“He’s all paid for kid. All yours.”

Eddie is dazed when he makes it back to the car. He looks at the little store front in the dark, the neon fighting the orange glow of the street lamps for the honour of lighting the sidewalk. It was a minute ago but it seems like a dream already, like a spell was broken the moment they walked back onto the street, and he’s not sure it happened. It’s too ridiculous to imagine that it happened.

Steve climbs in beside him, looking every bit the King of Hawkins High, smug bastard.

“What just happened?” Eddie says to no one.

He catches movement beside him, Steve pushing his fingers through his hair, checking himself out in the rearview mirror before repositioning it.

“Well, I took you to dinner, then I brought you to your favourite guitar store, bought you a beautiful guitar and basically took you out on the best date you’ve ever had.”

Eddie nods absently. “Oh, is that what happened?”

Steve looks like he’s actually thinking about. “Yeah, pretty much,” and he winks again, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to Eddie now. 

They drive back to Hawkins, Steve stretching his hand out to hold Eddie’s every time they come to a stop light, Eddie squeezing it tightly like it might disappear, like it might be the last time he gets the chance.

They pull up outside Eddie’s little house, just as snow starts to flutter to the ground again. Steve leaves the car running, the heat blowing out onto their faces. Eddie feels a little flushed. He’s not entirely sure its the heater though.

“So…” he starts.

Steve throws his arm across the back of Eddie’s seat. “So.”

“Did that really happen? Because, I was dead for about five minutes back in March and they said there could be lasting consequences from the oxygen deprivation and—”

Steve shuts him up with a kiss and not for the first time Eddie’s pleased they moved to a private little house where they can’t be seen from the street.

“Firstly,” Steve says when he let’s go, “Don’t ever joke about that.” Steve’s cradles his jaw, thumb stroking at the raised pink of the scar that sits there. “But yes, it happened. All of it. Maybe I was a little slow off the blocks. Let’s just give thanks for me getting there sooner rather than later, huh?”

Eddie can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Oh, I am giving thanks, trust me, big boy.”

Steve’s eyes narrow as he leans in for another kiss.

“Oh we are totally circling back to that,” Eddie says gleefully.

“Shut up.”

They lean in again, and this time he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck, pulling him close, his lips parting ready to kiss, until a loud knock knock knock on the window has them flying apart.

Wayne peers in at the two of them as Eddie rolls the window down.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of us.”

“This strikes me as something you might want to do inside.”

Steve combs his hands through his hair, nodding. “Yep, absolutely. We will definitely do that.”

“Not tonight though,” Wayne adds, and honestly, Eddie loves this guy, he does, but fuck does he pick his moments to get parental. “Goodnight Steve.” And then, because Eddie’s suffering is his greatest pleasure, he smirks and says. “Hope it all went well.”

“Would you just leave, please, now. Thank you.”

They both watch Wayne walk back up the porch steps, a sly smile on his face.

“Fucker.” Eddie sighs into one more kiss, Steve meeting him across the console. “I should go.”

Steve hops out to grab the guitar - his guitar, and that’s going to take a while to get his head around - and carries it up to the porch for him.

“Call you tomorrow?” 

“Please,” Eddie says, feeling for all the world like a fucking schoolgirl with a crush. So, this is what it’s like?

Steve gives him that stupid little wave and smiles at him, but as he’s about to get in the car he calls back.

“Hey, what was that song you were singing?”

Eddie laughs. 

“Oh, uh, Love Hungry Man. AC/DC.”

“Holy shit,” Steve laughs. “Don’t hold back, Munson.”

He shrugs, delighted. “What can I say? Speak your truth, right?”

Eddie stands in the cold as he watches Steve drive off into the night. Flakes of snow begin to fall again, shimmering in the amber street lighting. He sticks his tongue out to catch them. He feels giddy, kind of light headed and for a second he thinks he’s over done it today, he should get in, get his pills and sleep. 

It takes a moment for it all to filter through, for his brain and his body to catch up with one another, but eventually it hits him; he’s happy. He’s never let himself want before, not big things, not things he can’t buy. He’s spent years hiding big parts of who he is, even from his closest friends, with only the dream of moving to a city to give him real hope for a connection with someone. For love.

And then Steve Harrington, brave, smart, wonderful Steve Harrington, knocks the wind right out of him, turns his world upside down, the good kind this time, and now not only does Eddie get to want, he gets to have. 

He sticks his tongue out again to catch a last, fat flake of snow, and then carries his guitar inside. 

He has a lot of practicing to do.

****

Holy shit. Full disclosure, I wrote most of this today and I'm sleep deprived and I can't bear to think how many typos and errors there are in this, but I'm trying to hit a deadline. Feel free to let me know what I fucked up. 😂

[chaithetics]

maybe you could do one around toms bachelor party where stewy has to leave bc his gf is having a panic attack? you could make that super fluffy

An Addams Kind of Love

Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x fem reader (reader has anxiety). Word count: 1.6K Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, there are no physical descriptions of reader- it's you bestie! Reader is just called Stewy's girlfriend so you can read her however you like :) Fluff/comfort fic! A/N: Thank you for this request! I'm so sorry how late this is! I hope you all enjoy this Succession Sunday treat, we are so back! This is the first fic for my Sickcember event! You can read more Stewy fics here and more. Reblogs and comments are appreciated! I'd love to hear from you!

It didn’t take much, it never really did and you hated it. Sometimes you were completely fine, you could be having the time of your life with friends and then a thought would enter your head like a dark cloud and ruin it. Or you’d feel anxious critters nestle into your brain as you laid in bed, after you’d finally caught some sleep you’d wake up and the day would start with anxiety haunting you from the get go. 

You’d spent the whole evening at the Rhomboid party with a superficial smile plastered onto your face and a feeling of dread festering in your stomach. The anxiety had made you feel too nauseous to try and distract yourself with any of the perfectly arranged nibbles. But you did have a drink you’d been able to occasionally sip on, your fingers were clutching onto the glass so tightly it was a miracle it hadn’t shattered yet.

The sounds in the underground venue just echoed louder in your head, the conversations, music, even the sound of your shoes was just overwhelming you and your anxiety more. The fabric around your chest and torso was feeling too tight and you couldn’t breath, all you were inhaling was shallow. Your body started to pace away from everyone, desperate to lock yourself in some room and try to calm down before all the perverts claimed them. 

Your eyes were wide and darting around as you tried to quietly excuse yourself, Alex tried to check in with you but you just felt hyper-aware of your dysregulated breathing and knew that your forehead and pits were starting to get damp. Words didn’t feel so easy right now. 

“Panic attack?” He asked, familiar with your anxiety. You nodded and walked off, finding one of the small empty rooms to sit in and try to ground yourself. Alex waited to see which room you went into before getting Stewy. 

Alex walked over to Stewy and whispered in his ear while he talked to Sandy and Kendall, they were too invested in the corporate bomb that had been dropped to notice Stewy’s attention conveniently evaporating. 

“So apparently my girlfriend’s having a panic attack. I’m going to let you two just catch up now. Cool?” He says as he puts a hand on Kendall’s shoulder in an effort to be friendly and reassuring. He looks at Kendall before walking off, well aware of the shit he’s being in this situation to his oldest friend. 

But money talks, even when you’re with your oldest chum, money and winning gets to speak first if you’re like Stewy. Ken would do the same though, Stewy knew he wasn’t anywhere near the point of being self aware to clock it though, he was still wrapped up in despair like the damaging blanket it was. 

You were also a bigger priority, Stewy would still think that way, even if your anxiety didn’t give him a convenient exit to uncomfortable conversations, he adored you and just being in your presence made him fully understand what Gomez Addams was high on. 

Stewy walks off through the maze of people and conversations ranging from pleasure to business as you sit in a room with your fingers digging into your legs, if only they were a little longer you’re sure they’d draw blood, struggling to breathe. 

He steps into the dark room softly opening and closing the door, he thinks it feels too cold for a party as sleazily vibrant as the one on the other side of the door. But he recognises that the slightly cooler temperature is for the best. Stewy steps closer to you, his big brown doe eyes taking in your huddled up, anxious form and the way that he can see tears glistening on your perfect cheeks as you look up at him. 

“Hey… Hey, baby… What’s going on, huh?” He asks as he steps closer and puts a hand out to gently rub your shoulder, he touches you in a soft circular pattern as his eyes move across your face analysing you for any tells. Any signs of what’s wrong or what he can do to make it better. 

You felt awful. It had started with feeling like your thoughts were getting louder, too loud and that there were too many of them fighting and bouncing around your head and then the lights and music felt like too much. Everything was too fucking loud and too much. Before you knew it, you couldn’t breathe, you kept trying to inhale but your body was refusing to suck in the air and no matter how many deep breaths you tried it felt like the oxygen was stuck, that it couldn’t properly reach your lungs. And you definitely couldn’t feel it in your stomach like one of those guided meditations would tell you to do right now.

You try to suppress a cry and speak but it comes out as a choked sob and you just wave your hand and then start rubbing your eye and you blink your eyes shut tightly. You can’t describe it. You don’t know where to start. Stewy quickly sits down and wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you closer to him with your back to his chest. 

He keeps his arms around you just like the security blanket that he’s become and lifts a hand slightly up, encouraging you to hold it. You look at his golden hands, they’re warm but not clammy like yours are right now. 

Your eyes follow each of the small lines you can on his palm, visually tracing them as you run your fingers over his hand before holding it and squeezing it. He doesn’t complain, he never would in a moment like this. And his complaints were always arrogant, never over things like this. 

“I’m not judging… You’re safe here.” He whispers slowly as he continues to rub your arm. “It’s going to pass soon, I promise.” 

He’s so tender as you feel him against you, your breathing is still shallow and too quick but you try to focus on the feeling of his warm hand against yours, how it’s soft and tender. It’s soothing. 

“Just breathe and we’ll sit through this, I’m here.” Stewy speaks softly and you tilt your head, closing your eyes as you feel him rubbing your arms and every muscle he can reach with his free hand while holding you. You can feel him press his lips against your neck and the back of your head, they’re gentle and light. 

And slowly, very slowly it starts to become a bit easier. 

You keep your eyes closed and focus on the soft feeling of the pads of his fingers rubbing a comforting circle on your arm and the anxiety slowly starts to ebb out. Like he said, it eventually passes and your breathing becomes a bit more stable and doesn’t feel so difficult. 

The tight feeling in your chest stops and you take a shaky but deep breath and tilt your head. You blink back and move a hand to rub your eyes gently. 

“Feeling a bit better, babe?” He asks softly, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“Y-yeah.” You reply and nod. 

You lean back into him. 

You lean back into Stewy and take an easier deep breath and relax into his touch, he’s a comfortable constant. He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head as you stay cuddled into him and in his lap. He loves holding you and wrapping his arms around you, he’d spend his life always with at least one hand on you if he could. He’ll have to think about the logistics for that now, he can do that later though. Now he’s just enjoying you. 

After a moment Stewy starts to  nibble on your ear, you take in a quivering breath and tilt your head away before letting out a shaky laugh. Stewy lets out a small chuckle and rubs your hip, his smile growing at that sound and how your body shakes with a small laugh and not a tremor of worry. 

He goes to nibble your earlobe again and you laugh more. “You’re a weirdo.” You whisper and rub your eyes with your arm, your forearm picks up the teary residue from your cheeks. 

“And you’re my anxious weirdo. A hot one though.” He bites your ear again and wraps his arms around you more. He buries his head into the side of your neck. “Like a really hot one.” 

You sigh and close your eyes, you can feel his warm breath against your skin and it’s what you try to focus on in the moment. 

“So, you feel like leaving now? We can go before a Roy comes and tries to bite my fucking head off.” Stewy says before pressing a couple more kisses to your neck, you chuckle and nod. Spending the night out of there sounds pretty great and you can cuddle Stewy with a weighted blanket at home. 

“Yeah, that’s- that sounds good.” You nod. Stewy smiles and affectionately but playfully gives you kisses from your neck to along your shoulder. He continues with his kisses before he finally pulls himself away from you long enough for you both to get up and leave so he can spend the rest of the night showering you in affection and care.

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[treviso-nights]

two crows, one dagger -- datv rook/lucanis oneshot

rating: T word count: 819 summary: lucanis gifts rook with a dagger, only to later find out the heartfelt meaning behind its name :)

read on AO3

“here,” lucanis says. his full lips crack into a smirk. “for you.” 

rook glances down at the dagger in his fist. it’s elegant—a depthless black, spanning three-quarters of the length of her forearm. when he lifts it in an offering and she takes it, breath leaves her in a rush and she almost stumbles back again from the surprise. 

she gasps, both two-toned eyes flashing wide with disbelief. “is that…?”

lucanis merely shrugs. his smirk blooms into a smile that crinkles the skin at the corner of his eyes, and he waits for her to finish the thought. he waits for the full glory of realization to rip through her like an arrow–the joy, when it does show, becomes a pulse beating inside his chest.

“how did you get this?” rook asks, each cheek dimpled and flushed. “there were only supposed to be ten onyxtail daggers ever made because the dragon slain for its scales was so—”

“small,” lucanis finishes this time. he winks, folding his arms across his chest. “kind of like you, amor. shall we make it a nickname?”

rook only bites the inside of her cheek. “bastard.” she starts toward him, the large fish tank blinking turquoise across her strange gold and silver eyes. she’s only a dagger’s length away before he inclines his head, still smiling, though the curved angles of his jaw clench in warning.

“just name it something nice,” he says. “otherwise i’m going to have to take it back from you when we train.”

and then he’s out the door, shoulder blades stiff and upright. just like a blade.

several days later.

“mierda, you’re lazy today.”

lucanis circles rook like a vulture, eyes appraising as she stalks counter-clockwise in the rivaini cave they use as a training ground—a favorite of theirs, offered by the lords of fortune after spite gave them a show during one of their most prestigious rounds in the fighting arena. the cave, passable beneath a waterfall, provides plenty of privacy for the crows to spar, though its watery, gleaming splendor is not what lucanis allows himself to appraise next.

“my, my,” rook teases, watching as his eyes dip and scrutinize the brightly-dyed “breastplate”—as if it can be called anything other than a glorified brassiere—also gifted by the lords of fortune. “but aren’t you feeling lecherous?”

lucanis, hair damp with sweat and tied back, flashes an uncharacteristic, mischievous grin. 

“forgive me, my little onyxtail. if i seem more libidinous than usual, it must be because you’re giving me the opportunity.” he lunges at rook, testing her defenses with a shortsword before leaping back. 

“make that opportunities. i nearly had you that time.”

rook’s hair, crimson red, is a flame while she fends off another attack, parrying and whirling away. meanwhile, the onyxtail blade seems to suck the light from both the cave and her tresses itself like a contained ocean of night. 

“you shouldn’t jest, old man. shit like that may be bad for your health!”

she swipes low, aiming for his hip, but lucanis sidesteps the strike and quickly—but gently—fists a hand in her long braid. 

“the only thing that may be bad for my health is you wearing that sorry excuse for a top,” he growls, yanking her close.

lucanis then kicks hard and swift, his foot landing against the back of rook’s knee, causing her to stumble. shifting, he next brings his fist down onto her forearm, knocking her off-hand blade to the floor, and grabs her waist with both hands.

“keep loose,” he whispers, grinning again, and they both tumble to the ground, rook landing precariously on top of lucanis in the cave’s gritty sand.

“hey!” rook whines, narrowed eyes peering into the other crows’. 

lucanis expression crumbles into confusion. “what? i won that round, no?”

“no, that’s not what i mean,” she hisses. with a glance, rook motions towards the cave wall, where the onyxtail dagger lay tossed beside it. she meets lucanis’ gaze again.

“you almost made me scrape della!”

for a moment, lucanis says nothing, nor does he notice his fingers absentmindedly tightening on the bare skin of rook’s lower back. “…della?” 

“della. my dagger. i finally named it.”

something akin to wonder flares in lucanis’ face, like the heavens breaking free of a midnight hour. he cocks his head, slowly, peering into rook’s face with astonishment.

“you named the dagger… after me?”

a sigh escapes from rook, and she harrumps, touching a calloused hand to his cheek. “of course i did. who else was i going to name it after?”

“rook…”

she thinks she sees lucanis shake his head, but then he’s rolling them over, pressing her harder into the sand with his body weight. when his mouth finally, finally, crashes into hers, he tastes like morning coffee and flight, and not even the thought of a brand-new blade being scratched can stop rook from crashing right back into him.

[blushy-tigerrr]

vent in tags sorry

cw: mention of loss

[perenlop]

pokeani moments that exist purely to make Me miserable:

the line where they call ash's oshawott a throwaway pokemon in the unova league so they're just flat out saying they think it's a worthless pokemon

to thine own pokemon be true (extra angst points for me bc ambipom was my second favorite on the team at the time)

the granddaughter of the guy who trains gliscor calling gliscor pathetic and weak to her face despite gliscor being an extremely sensitive pokemon

pretty much everything about that gible

blue episode (favorite color but they made it a fetish somehow and also dewott and brionne and meowstic are all there and its so bad)

boxing heracross immediately. also that battle frontier episode where it's literally the only returning ash mon (barring torkoal i think but i dont count it bc its native to AG) to get humiliated onscreen

pidgeot returning but gliscor didn't even show up in the miniseries despite being an Actual Character

[chiosblog]

Told ya they (for some reason) made, back in 1998, a whole rollercoaster based on 'Blue Tornado' the film with Dirk in it because of course lmao

Pls the font is the fucking same (kinda), the plane is the fucking exact SAME ajdndnsksbs

oh my god what were they thinking?? (thank you so much whoever had this idea in 1998)

[orcelito]

Honestly tho it's the "I don't love you" and "every time I said it was just automatic impulse" that's got me the most messed up. Like u couldn't even let me down softly by saying it just wasn't working out? You had to essentially tell me the whole thing was a lie??? After I TOLD you I had trust issues and felt like everyone is just going to leave me in the end???

Way to make me feel unlovable lol

[phagodyke]

ykw actually I am angry + disappointed w them. I've been pushing how I feel aside and trying to make it my own fault so it's all contained but I think theyve just been mean. and they really should know me better ik I try to pretend I don't expect more from them so I feel less hurt when they do things that upset me but we've been friends for years by this point. like come on.

[johndonneswife]

still thinking abt this pani puri we had three days ago