#i haven't listened to it in probably a few months and it just knocked me off my feet

[ibrokeeverything]

Completely unoriginal take, but the moulin rouge soundtrack goes SO HARD

[s1m0nth3swag]

Francis Mosses x GN!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE; Haven't written in a while, but thanks to Arlo, a friend (Hi Arlo, I know you're reading this), Inspiration about Francis Mosses struck (he bought me That's not my neighbor and then continued to freak out about Francis with me) so I wrote this. I have so many thoughts about Francis, so... tell me if you want more because i will deliver ngl. Enjoy (or don't, I don't dictate your feelings)

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO; Porn with little to no plot, Submissive Francis, a little non-consensual at the start (but not in a super weird way, imo?), Gender neutral reader (no pronouns used, tried to write as GN as possible with the compliments and thoughts about Readers appearance), not proofread nor have I thought about this much, more a drabble than an actual thoughtful story (not apologising because I had such a long break from writing anything and obviously it's gonna suck a little when I come back)

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

The first time Francis had realised that he hadn't gotten any touch from another human being was when someone brushed up against him on his way home from work. He had felt like a creep afterwards because he hadn't stopped thinking about what could've happened if the person hadn't moved away and had just stayed pressed against him. That was a week before you started your job as a doorman.

The second time Francis had noticed was when a friend of his had spoken to him on the phone, talking about his new girlfriend. Said friend gave too much intel on their sex life. Francis had wondered if he could have someone the way his friend explained - he quickly brushed the thought off. That was two days before you started working as a doorman.

The third time, he noticed when you had smiled at him. It was your first day, and he was tired from work. You had repeated his name after reading it off of his ID, and he had looked at you for the first time since his eyes kept falling closed, and you smiled so brightly. You had told him his name was nice, and you said it again. Francis swore that the way his name rolled off your tongue was the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. Not even an angel could sound more wonderful. Suddenly, he was a lot more energised. Totally not thanks to the fact that he had immediately grown hard the second he had seen your smile. He had gone to his apartment that night and had jerked off for the first time in probably months. He had always been too tired to previously, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how you'd sound moaning his name. Maybe you were more of a groaner, or you'd whimper and whine. He came as he imagined how you'd look sucking his dick.

Since then, Francis has always looked forward to entry checks. What had normally kept him away from his bed and a good night's sleep was now the best experience of his day. He loved the way you spoke to him even though he was too nervous to respond. Sometimes, he deliberately didn't show his ID at first, just so you'd ask about it, and he could listen to you talk a little more. He felt guilty about it. He knew you had never agreed to feed into this weird little obsession of his. It was awful of him to do this - have you talk to him enough to give him more scenarios to think about that night.

A few weeks after all this had started, Francis had built up the courage to finally ask you out. Just something simple, dinner at his place. He had to cook for himself all the time. Cooking for you as well wouldn't be too different, right?

Francis was wrong. He was anxious that the food wouldn't taste good and kept tasting it just so he could make sure it hadn't mysteriously switched tastes in the last 20 seconds. When you knocked on his door, he took a minute to make sure he didn't look like a mess - though you wouldn't mind either way since he always looked like a mess when he came through during your shifts.

You looked so good when he opened the door. Your hair fell perfectly, your lips looked a little too kissable, and Francis had to stop his train of thought just so he wouldn't embarrass himself by having yet another boner caused by just the way you looked. You were a little shorter than him, smiling up as he let you inside.

"You look good." He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. He seriously had to lay off thinking like a high-schooler. His nervousness and awkwardness were getting really annoying - to him, at least. You grinned, chuckling softly as you took off your shoes. "Thank you. You do as well." His heart for sure burst at that - he knew something else would burst as well if he didn't stop thinking right this second.

Throughout the evening, ignoring his thoughts came easier and easier. The two of you had eaten, you had told him he was a good cook, he had almost excused himself to the bathroom because of it. Now you were sitting on the couch, drinking wine and talking casually.

"You know, when you first walked through, I swore I would die." You giggled, looking at him with a mischievous look. Francis was confused by that statement. "How come?" He asked, tilting his head at you in question. "I was sure you were a doppelganger. You looked too handsome to be real." You cheekily answered, cheeks slightly flushed as you downed your wine. Francis blushed heavily, looked away from you, and thought about your words for a moment. The silence was loud as he wondered what to answer. "..you think I'm handsome?" He questioned while looking at the floor. If he had looked at you, he'd have seen the way you stared at him, your own cheeks coloured a deep red. "Extremely." You muttered. It took him a minute before he could look at you, but when he did, his lips pressed against yours in a desperate kiss.

When you reciprocated, Francis groaned and pulled you closer until you sat on his lap. He was just a tiny bit embarrassed when you gasped and felt his dick press against you. In all honesty, he had held back the entire night, and he was allowed a little selfishness. "Sorry. Can't help it." He muttered between kisses. You just grinned against his lips before grinding against him. A whimper fell from his lips - that was the moment he was actually embarrassed. "That's cute.." You had mumbled, a cheeky grin on your face as you started placing kisses against his jaw and neck. One of your hands trailed down his body to rest right over his crotch, Francis unconsciously bucked his hips up against your hand, whining. He didn't notice anything else as you caught the skin of his neck with your teeth carefully, leaving the softest bite mark on him. He shuddered at the feeling and gasped before realising that you had meanwhile unzipped his pants. A groan slipped from his lips as you ran a finger over his dick, still hidden from sight by his boxers, but god knows he would cum the second you'd touch it without. "Is this okay?" You asked him, and he nodded faster than he even knew he could. "Yes. God, yes. Please, please continue.." he muttered, his breathing heavy as he watched you slide off his lap, settling in front of him and between his legs. His dick twitched at the sight, and he let out a heavy sigh. Minutes later, his pants and boxers were discarded, and the way you looked up at him, his dick so close to your face, made Francis feel the way his orgasm was approaching way too quick. The second you wrapped your hand around him he whined pathetically, bucked up into your hand and knew that he'd definitely cum too soon. Your hand was so soft, cool against his hot flesh, and you worked his dick so good he almost thought you were a professional. He looked down at you through lidded eyes, watched the way you bit your lip, and grinned knowingly. "Such a pretty boy, huh?" You chuckled, and that definitely sealed the deal for Francis. He came, probably ruining his shirt as he dirtied both it and your hand. His heart stopped for a second when you licked your hand while looking up at him. "You didn't give me enough time to taste you properly. Don't look at me like that." You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. "You should probably take off your shirt so you can clean it later." You then winked. He swiftly shed the piece of clothing, entranced by your voice and the way you looked. "Sorry, didn't mean to cum that fast.." he mutters, his voice out of breath. "Jus'.. unused to... this.." he added, clearing his throat awkwardly. You laughed and shook your head. "Don't worry about it. We have all the time in the world to make you last longer. I'm gonna give you a real reason to be tired tomorrow." You winked.

Francis didn't even mind that he was in for a long night.

Your honour I am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

[daceydeath]

I Want to Watch

Pairing: Wooyoung x Reader x San Word Count: 2.5K Genre: Pure Smut 🔞 Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Explicit Activities

AN: This idea came from writing a short one shot called 4:15 pm so it mentions the events of that but is not strictly related.

Wooyoung has had a brilliant idea but he is yet to actually mention it to anyone other than San.

 Wooyoung had teased you relentlessly about it for almost three weeks before you had lost your cool and snapped at him that he should just ask San to join you then if it was that important to him to watch his best friend fuck you. Funnily enough that seemed to work and he dropped the subject all together for another full month until he began to invite you round for dates when the others were home or when they were likely to be coming home. Teasing you about how he could just leave the door unlocked and call Hongjoong in to let him watch or that he bet you would look so hot with Jongho's cock in your mouth while he fucked you, each time getting you more receptive to his idea of his friends watching you, it started to actually turn you on. He knew you had a tiny bit of an exhibition kink, you never minded if they overheard you, but he never actually let the members see you or even hear you before the time San had discovered you and you had responded to him purposely toying with San more than he had anticipated.

"Woo what movie did you want to watch?" you called from the couch flipping through the streaming service to find something neither of you had watched. You could hear him muttering from the kitchen but you couldn't make out anything he said.

"Woo? Are you even listening to me?" You raised your eyebrows at him and watched him pace another length of the kitchen, phone in his hand "What's wrong?". He stopped to look at you, opening and closing his mouth a few times before huffing and walking over to sit beside you and pull you closer to him, his lips on your temple kissing you lightly.

"I may have done something that you may get mad about but I'm not sure yet, but in my defense it is a brilliant thing" he admitted letting you see how nervous he actually was.

"What have you done?" you asked, dryly knowing it could be anything from buying you a stupidly oversized plushie, a designer bag or ordering pizza. His ability to answer was cut off by a knock on the apartment door making you quickly assume it was probably closer to take out than anything more incorrigible. He let go of you to go answer and came back with a slightly flushed looking San which just confused you.

"Hey Sannie" you smiled furrowing your eyebrows "How are you?"

"I'm good" San nodded looking between you and Wooyoung "Am I early? You said come by at 9 Woo".

"So the thing is..." Wooyoung started his cheeks turning dark pink as he struggled to get the words out making you even more confused "You remember how you.... No um. Give me a second" he turned back to San pushing him into the entrance alcove and out of your line of sight. Although you could hear hushed but slightly frantic whispered bickering between the two of them.

"Man if you haven't asked her we can just make it another time, I'm not going to make her feel like she's being pushed" San muttered sounding worried.

"She will hear you moron" Wooyoung hissed "Also if you're here or not I'm not forcing her you dickhead".

"I didn't say you were I just don't want her feeling pressured that would be shitty" San sighed annoyed.

"Or you could both just talk like normal people since I can hear you both and am so confused right now" You interrupted loudly making them both sheepishly peer around to corner to look at you. "What is going on? Is this some kind of intervention that you two are trying to pull?".

"No, absolutely not" San shook his head innocently even though you were pretty sure he was far from innocent in this whole debacle.

"Then what is going on you're really starting to piss me off" you frowned looking between them and wondering when someone would explain the cryptic shit they were bickering about.

"Shit, baby it's nothing bad I promise" Wooyoung panicked coming back over to the couch with San hot on his heels "You remember when we were at that video shoot and you and I snuck off and..."

"and everyone was looking for you while you were too horny to keep your hands off me and just had to fuck me in an empty office? Yeah I remember I was there" you smirked watching both of their ears turn red and San look up at the ceiling to avoid your gaze.

"Yeah, do you remember that San found us and what I said?" he continued looking a little braver as you pieced together what he was saying.

"You want to have a threesome" you guessed, stopping him from dragging it out further, a wave of heat rushing straight to your core.

"Well I actually wanted to start off with him but eventually invite the others in too" he smirked watching your eyes widen "not all at once though".

"You want me to have sex with all of your members? all 7 of them?" you swallowed hard your embarrassment now showing as you felt your own cheeks burning at the reaction you were having to the idea of it.

"Yeah maybe? I wanted them to watch me fuck you then I wanted to watch them fuck you" he continued getting bolder with each word his grin getting larger as he saw how well you were responding to the idea.

"So you want to watch me with San?" you repeated, pressing your thighs together slightly to relieve the throb that was beginning to spread from your core. Biting your lip you tore your eyes from your boyfriends to look as his best friend who was trying to remain looking as neutral as possible. "Is that what you want, San?".

"Absolutely" San uttered without thinking, only to slap his hand over his mouth cutely after realizing what he had done, making you smile shyly at him.

"You going to keep being shy or are you going to kiss her?" Wooyoung teased his friend, his eyes already turning darker as he looked at  you as if you were a meal and he was starving to death.

"She hasn't agreed yet, Woo calm down" San smacked him on the shoulder before moving to sit beside you on the couch "Is this what you want princess?" he asked huskily, his voice getting so much lower than you had ever heard it, it was making your brain short circuit. You licked your lips looking at him for a moment trying to clear the fog that was already in your brain before nodding.

"I need words princess" he smirked, lifting your chin to stare into your eyes looking at you as intensely as Wooyoung had been making you feel a little shy at how wet he was making you without him even touching you.

"Please Sannie" you whispered breathily before San crashed his lips into yours. Kissing San was completely different to kissing Woo. You were so used to Wooyoung's deep, messy and needy kisses that San's sensual lingering ones made you gasp his plush lips were gentle against yours almost tentative as he let you initiate any increase in intensity only taking back control when you let a quiet moan pass into his mouth driving him to pull you into his lap to straddle his hard thighs.

"Didn't expect you to be so desperate to fuck San baby" Woo rasped his voice tight as he watched to make out with his best friend. You whined pressing yourself against the bulge that was growing in San's sweatpants enjoying the pressure against your pussy. “Look how needy you are, like I never take care of you huh?”.

San let his hands map your curves, eventually coming to rest on your arse squeezing it firmly as he encouraged you to grind on him a little bit. You were already feeling more aroused than you had any right to be, making out with your boyfriend's best friend should not get you as impossibly wet as you were but you couldn’t stop the needy gasps and moans leaving your mouth. San planted his feet harder against the floor gripping you tighter as he lifted you, walking you to Wooyoung’s bedroom where he carefully placed you on the bed on your back pressing soft kisses to your jaw and neck before peeling down your sweats to get better access to you.

“Shit” San groaned, his eyes locked on the wetness that had seeped into your underwear staining the white lace and making it virtually see through. Not being able to help yourself you felt yourself preen under the intensity of his stare biting your lip to get him to move back to you. His large hands ghosted up the skin of your thighs passing your hips and continuing up your sides so he could help you out of your shirt before connecting his lips back to yours

“Fuck baby” Woo groaned, smirking at the scene from the door “a few kisses and you turn into a complete whore”.

You opened your mouth to say something but your retort died in your throat and was replaced by a moan and San locked his lips around one of your nippled scraping the lace against your sensitive bud with his teeth, one of your hands flying out to steady yourself and the other grabbing hold of his hair.

“Sannie” you gasped feeling him smile against your breast, he continued covering your body with lingering kisses working his way down to your core, making you sigh and groan while he explored. “Shit Sannie”.

Stopping his mapping of your body he stood to quickly strip himself of his clothes leaving him in boxers that left little to the imagination, his thick cock straining against the fabric making your mouth water.

“Don’t torture the poor slut man” Woo ordered his voice thick with arousal as he sat at the bottom of the bed his eyes locked on you.

“Yes Sir” San grinned, pulling off his boxers and manhandling you back into his lap, tearing the lace that was left covering you from your hips with one harsh tug.

“Fuck off San I liked that set” Woo grumbled halfheartedly while San stoked his fingers between your folds making you mewl and arch into him searching for more, you couldn’t see your boyfriends face but from the mischievous grin that crossed San’s face and the sound of annoyance that left Wooyoung’s lips San was not meant to be toying with you this much. Sliding two fingers inside you making you whine, San couldn’t help the moan that rumbled through his chest into yours, his finger sliding in so easily that you should have been embarrassed.

“Such a wet little pussy” he whispered kissing your lips again while you fucked yourself on his fingers with an air of desperation, his low chuckled making you want more as he pulled his fingers back out of you with and obscene squelch before shoving them in his mouth.

“Hey!” Woo protested but you couldn’t concentrate on his words you just needed something, anything “We talk about this”

“Sannie, please, need your cock” you murmured weakly, your body burning for him in a way you had never felt.

“Course princess” he smirked, grabbing his length to line himself up with your entrance before letting you sink down on him.

“Such a desperate little whore begging for another man’s cock, you need that much cock that just mine isn’t enough?” Wooyoung grunted making you whimper as you felt your walls stretching around San’s dick until your hips met his. Rolling your hips experimentally you felt like you were being split in half by how much thicker he was than what you were used to, your head fell forward against his shoulder as you let yourself adjust.

“Give the pathetic slut what she wants, San” Woo continued, his voice more strained the longer he watched. Resting his hands on your hips almost gently San helped you begin to grind against him his breathing getting heavier as your confidence grew until you began bouncing on him your tits brushing against his chest with each movement.

“Fuck don’t want to be rough with you” San choked out as he tried to not snap his hips up to meet your pace.

“Please Sannie, I need it, please fuck me, please” you begged your eyes glassy as you met his eyes.

“Begging like a needy whore huh? Is San’s cock that good?” Wooyoung mocked harshly.

“I got you princess” San muttered gently before grabbing your hips bruisingly and snapping his hips up into you sharply making you cry out your head falling back and your mouth open letting him use you like you needed so intensely. San’s lips moved you your neck kissing and nibbling your sensitive skin as he pounded you into a pleasurable oblivion

“Aww is my little baby drunk on cock?” Wooyoung asked sweetly moving to claim your lips after not touching you for so long, lolling your head to the side you could see he hadn’t been able to control himself his cock out of his pants as his tugged at it in time with San’s thrusts and he fucked you. “Let him fuck you full yeah baby? You gonna let another man fill you with his cum? Let him breed you in front of me?”. The moan that fell from your lips was pornographic as another wave of arousal began soaking San’s length and practically dripping onto his balls.

“Fuck Woo she loved that” San grunted feeling your walls begin to flutter around him as your orgasm drew nearer.

“You going to let San claim you baby? Gonna let him knock you up like a little needy whore” Wooyoung knew you were close from the little gasps that you let out between your moans, each one getting shorter until you would explode.

“Ah…ngh…Sannie” you cried as you came so hard you could barely keep yourself upright, San moving one hand to hold you against him as he continued to fuck you through your orgasim and into the start of your next one.

“Fuck princess” he grunted roughly his cock stiffening inside you before painting your walls with thick ropes of his seed. His hips slowed until you were both still you resting against his bare chest both panting for air.

That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen” Wooyoung swallowed hard while San moved you so you could at least see your boyfriend who had managed to finish all on his own “Never cum untouched before”. You could feel San breathlessly chuckle as you realized that you were still connected, his dick softening inside your walls.

“That was....fuck” San mumbled, still not attempting to move you off of him.

“We are doing this again” Woo grinned, moving so he could watch San’s seed drip from your stretched entrance before eventually helping to move you onto the bed so they could clean you up.

AN: Thank you for reading my lovelies. I adore you so much and your likes, reblogs and comments warm my half dead little heart xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar @tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie , @krishastumblernow , @mrsseals16 , @fawnpeaks @leeknowinggg @uno7 @tanzen-ist-gold

[not-rigel]

I'm listening

Rating: M

Warning: description of depression, depressive spiral, self loathing, soft sevika, sevika comforts you, sevikas love language is gift giving, words of affirmation is a very close second, I wrote this to cope with my emotions I hope that serves as a BIG WARNING, literally didnt sleep because I was writing this.

WC: 1.4

Darkness embraces you, literally and mentally, while you sit in your room. It's the dead of the night, the worst time for thoughts like the ones crowding your mind to exist. Each horrible thought stacked one atop the other, increasing in cruelty. 

A knock comes at your door and you're ready to pretend you're not home but you hear a familiar voice calling your name. 

“Open up. I got your fancy knife you asked for,” Sevika says on the other side of the door. 

You remember you mentioned wanting a specific knife, and Sevika offered to find it for you. But you didn't expect her to show up at your door in the middle of the night and you certainly didn't want her visit to occur in the middle of a spiral. You'd ask her to leave it by the door but you don't want any of your neighbors to help themselves to your new weapon. 

Shelving your self hatred, you make the exhausting walk to your door and open it for her. Sevika hears your footsteps approach and has the knife held out for you to take. She couldn't wait to give it to you, excited to see your reaction. 

But when you open the door and glance down at the knife in her hand, you don't look delighted. Instead you're indifferent. Sevika suddenly questions if she somehow misremembered which knife she was supposed to get you. 

“Did I get the wrong one?” She turns it over in her hand, checking the engraving on the hilt. She confirms it's the one you wanted. 

“Nothing like that. It's beautiful. I'm just too tired to appreciate it. Haven't been able to sleep tonight,” you half-lie. You gingerly take it from her hand and try to close the door but she holds it open. 

“Wait, I got you something else too,” she digs into her back pocket and pulls out a lighter. “For your candles,” she explains. Months ago she noticed you kept a candle lit inside your home so she brings you a new one whenever she can. A nice lighter felt like a long overdue addition. 

Still, you don't react and it worries Sevika. This can't just be because you're tired. She's been around you enough to know what you're like when you're sleep deprived and this wasn't it. She knows better than to outright ask if you're okay so she tries a different approach. 

“Is there something going on that I don't know about? I can tell you're not just tired,” she pries. 

“Personal shit. Nothing to worry about. Thanks for the knife and lighter. I really do appreciate it.” 

“Can you talk to me about it?” 

“I don't know. You probably won't understand.” You're trying to reject her support but Sevika won't stand for it. 

“Try me,” she urges and for a reason you cannot decipher, you pull your door wider so she can step in, shutting and locking it behind her. She's been in your home several times, walking over to your couch and taking a seat like it's her own. You timidly sit next to her, picking your cuticles and holding a staring contest with the floor. It takes a while for your words to find you. 

“I uh… Just keep having bad thoughts. It starts out small like… I'm not going to get enough sleep in time for work tomorrow then it becomes I'm not good enough at my job because I can't get enough sleep at night and it makes me perform badly. Then it's just… I'm not good enough period because no matter what I do, I'll mess up in some way and I'm just running around aimless. Trying one thing after another like it'll ever work out. All I could think before you showed up was I'm a failure,” you unload a few of your thoughts to Sevika and she listens intently. 

You're a bit caught by surprise when her strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. She gently pulls you across the couch and into her chest. Her right hand cups the back of your neck. 

When she speaks there's only softness in her voice, “I understand. I can't stop you from having those thoughts but I understand. Tell me more,” she soothes, determined to help you through this. She's never heard you speak like this, never heard such harsh words from your mouth. And it killed her inside that they were about yourself. 

You pull back to look up at her. Sevika was usually so stony, expression steeled into a scowl. But all of that roughness was gone. It's too intense and you look back to the floor. 

“I feel ridiculous and repulsive and stupid and worthless and hopeless and empty and like there's no fix for it. It's like I'm remembering every bad memory at once.”

Her hand moved to your chin, tilting your head upwards gently so she could look at you properly.

“I'm going to tell you something, but I need you to look me in the eyes okay?” she asks you, knowing she's asking for a lot at the moment. Even if it's a gesture as small as eye contact. You frown as you fight to pull your gaze from the floor. Sevika watches the struggle heartbroken but she knows you can do it. Eventually, your eyes meet hers and she sighs in relief. 

Her fingers move from your chin to your cheek, holding you to keep your gaze on her, “Listen closely, okay? I need you to not look away. Can you do that? For me?” 

“I'm listening,” you promise, now that you're looking at her you're not able to break from her hypnotic stare. She takes a moment to think of what to say. 

“You’re a good person. Not just a good person, a great person. You don't deserve the blame you give yourself,” she affirms and you listen to every word. You face twitches, lips trying to pull into a frown and brows trying to pinch into a furrow. The words aren't enough to get past the wall but they weaken the foundation. 

“You still listening?” She checks in, making sure you won't shut down. She knows she would try to tune out every word to avoid feeling their weight. 

You nod, eyes welling with tears and sniffling up the snot that drips from your nose. 

“Good. Keep listening,” she continued to hold eye contact with you, “You're smart, you're resourceful, you're good at what you do, you're appreciated, and you're loved.” 

You can't stop the tears now. Sevika avoids lying, feeling like people only lie when they have something to gain and there's nothing she wants from most people. If anything, Sevika felt using the truth is what earns the most. With your tears streaming down your cheeks and falling onto her thumb, she earned the sight of seeing you vulnerable. Sevika has never held something so fragile before. You were so frail, looking up at her with glassy eyes that made her afraid if she moved a finger you would shatter. But when she wiped the tears from your cheek, you remained intact. 

“I- I'm loved?” you heave between cries. Love is a strong word and it's rarely uttered in the Undercity so it's hard to know who really cares about you. You felt guilty for doubting Sevika's words, knowing she's trying her best to comfort you. 

“You're loved by me,” her confession is groundbreaking. Her thumb moved to feel the stream of tears, not wiping them away but allowing them to exist. 

“I never said it but I love you. And I have so many reasons to. Because you're more capable than you believe yourself to be. Because you're resilient. Because you mean the world to me. But mostly because you need love and I need to be the one who gives it to you.” 

Sevika needs to give you everything you need, needs to be the one to hold your face like this every time you cry. Needs to be the one to tell you how beautiful and wonderful you are. She needs to be the one you seek. Be the one to bring you gifts because she can't help but think about you.

“I love you too, Sevika. I'm sorry but … I wish I knew the person you're describing,” you sobbed. 

“No, don't apologize. You are that person, you might not see it that way but you are the person I'm describing. You'll see it one day. I promise. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, convince you that you're any other than the person I'm describing. Are you listening to me?” 

“Yes, I'm listening.” 

[junedenim]

knackered converse

a tea & a donut

warnings: fluff monster, smut, piv, fingering, blowjob, the works

word count: 10.1k

His Converses stick against the beer-soaked wooden floors. His plastic cup of his own beer has run to the bottom leading him back to the kitchen-turned bar to fill it up to the brim. The place has already been fairly trashed and he's just thankful he doesn't have to clean it up, even if that means he has to avoid the packet of smashed Jaffa Cakes all over the tiled floors and the bottom of his shoes will be left with a beer residue for the next month.

A guy he doesn't know fills up his cup. This place is filled with people Alex doesn't know, which is mainly the reason he came. It's the whole "making friends" part of university. He has a few mates here helping him not feel completely gangly and awkwardly alone but still he's gangly and awkward and currently alone, even if he's being smushed up against the refrigerator.

He shimmies his way out without spilling any liquor and manages to make it over to the open window for some fresh air. The place feels like a furnace and he's been charged with keeping it burning. He knocks his fingers against the plastic of his cup, listening to the rhythmic beats, memorizing them, and the strange way it makes things feel a little quieter.

The creeping autumn breeze brushes on his back in a gift of relief that prevents a giant sweat patch on the back of his shirt. His shoulders curve forward as he gives into his bad posture in favour of some comfort. He knows that in order to meet people he actually has to talk to them and seem approachable. Right now he probably gives off the appearance of a hunchback with his night off from the bell tower.

He gazes outward to the crowd of people as he tries to find someone to latch onto. There has to be another weirdo here. A person who doesn't knock his insides and intimidate him with their steroidal muscles or caked-on make-up. Honestly, he's just insecure and he knows it. He's still trying to figure out how to live within his skin and meanwhile, it feels like everyone else has.

Alex looks down at his shoes. The front of the left one is about to split open and his mum told him to get new ones before school started but he didn't. He should listen to her more often.

"Did you go to the kitchen?"

"Huh?" His eyes snap up to see where the contributing voice came from. He thinks there's a mere possibility he made it up when his eyes find you standing before him. You have your own plastic cup in hand and a smile that he would definitely deem "approachable." The kind that people gravitate toward.

You giggle at him, probably finding him goofy with his bug eyes and the way his ears stick out with his new haircut. "I stepped on the Jaffa Cakes in the kitchen. Messed up my shoes."

You stick out one of the orange-chocolate-covered messes. You're wearing Converses too, the same kind as his, and he thinks that makes me a bit cooler just by association. They're just as knackered as his pair. Graffiti-covered by friendly scrawl and shoelaces that are missing their aglets.

The bottom cuffs of your jeans have denim threads ripping out of them. You wear a black leather belt that seems to be the only thing that oozes luxury off of you. Your shirt advertises Great Heights Space Camp with a tiny astronaut sitting on top of your left breast.

"Oh." He chuckles with you and lifts his shoe with the slow sound of stickiness. "I've only got beer on mine."

"Yours?" You take a step closer to him, refreshing yourself with a sip of beer.

Alex scoots over as an invitation for you to sit beside him. He watches as you lower yourself. With your face now right beside him, he grows nervous of you seeing him up close and personal. He can't stop thinking of the pimple on his flaming cheeks. "No, I haven't been that clumsy yet."

"I once fell down the stairs when I was drunk. I think I've still got a bruise from it." You spread your knees and sit the same way his dad does when he watches football. You turn your foot out and knock the rubber lining of your shoe with his. It's clearly intentional, enough to make his cheeks flush from the recognition.

"I rarely have control over my body," he tells you. It makes you laugh and his stomach contorts itself at the thought that you found him funny. "And that's not even when I'm drunk." You laugh harder and it's one of those contagious laughters that grabs everyone in the room and makes them want to laugh too.

"I like your shirt." He points to the little spaceman before sipping his drink to hide the embarrassment of having just pointed at your boob.

You gaze down on it and shake your head in shame. "Thanks. I've had it for years. When I was younger I thought I might be an astronaut or a pilot."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm terrified of heights."

He shares a laugh with you. He feels infected. You've contaminated him from here on out. "I've always liked space. Looking out at the stars with me dad. So close yet so far." It's the way he feels with you now. How easy it could be for him to reach out and touch you but what a terrifying idea.

"We're looking at them and they could already be gone, bursting into a supernova." He doesn't want you to go. Please don't go.

*

Outside the Eastman building, there's a coffee shop where Alex sits and reads—attempts to read. He often gets off-course. Sometimes with more productive things like writing, sometimes with less productive things like doodling. It helps kill time between classes. They also have good donuts but that's neither here nor there.

The most important thing is that on Thursday after the party, you walk over to him. He's doodling by that point with the closed copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man sitting across from him. His head is down so intently paying attention to his pen drawing across the page that he doesn't see or hear you approaching.

"Are you taking that Joyce class?" Once again your voice snaps his head up. You're dressed the same except for the light hoodie you wear unzipped and the backpack hanging off one of your shoulders. Your fingers quickly flick through the book's pages.

He closes his notebook full of nonsense and devotes himself to you. "Yeah, yeah, but I'm kind of regretting it now."

"I almost took it but I went with the Virginia Woolf class instead." You drink out of your cup and warm both your hands on the cardboard. He imagines a world where you two share a class. You'd sit by one another and Joyce wouldn't seem so boring anymore. You could liven up any discussion and you'd make fun of the way the professor spat every time he tried to say Künstlerroman.

"How's that going?" He asks.

You shrug. "Considering I finished Mrs. Dalloway last night and you're here ignoring Joyce, I think I made the right choice."

"Do you want to help me ignore him some more?" He reaches across and clears Joyce away from the table, dropping it into the deep end of his bag.

You accept the seat, placing your cup where the book once sat. "What else are you doing?"

"Just killing time before the Joyce class," he explains. "I forgot about the fact that I would actually have to do work at uni."

"Yeah, they never tell you that," you joke, leaning your head on your hand.

He laughs embarrassingly. "I don't mind it for the most part but I'm terrible at time management."

"I'm the opposite. I hate being late, especially to class. I feel like everybody watches you when you walk and you're the loudest person ever. It makes my skin crawl."

"You would hate me then."

"I doubt it," you reassure with a smile.

You do these things to him. Things that make him feel all funny inside and question what he was thinking and what he was doing before you sat down in front of him. He felt that way at the party too. And after, when you had left with your group of friends and he questioned why he didn't ask for your number. But then you cropped up here. You fell into his lap. He can't help but think that means something.

"I've got a planner and everything but, I don't know, my internal clock is off or something."

"Hm. Mine is perfectly aligned. Biological and the moon and all that."

"You mean like your period?" He read about that once. How women's menstrual cycles are connected with the moon or tides or something.

You laugh into the palm of your hand. "Yeah. I guess so." Your face is red. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one on edge. "I didn't mean to get on that subject."

"That's fine. I'm not afraid of blood or anything."

You double over, completely shielding yourself from his view. "Don't worry. I won't free bleed on you." You lean back with pink cheeks. "Is this the modern equivalent of Joyce writing about shitting for 20 pages in Ulysses?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't know. I never read it."

"Neither did I."

He smiles without a care for how wide it looks. "What else are you reading?"

"I'm taking this Shakespeare class. My group has been assigned to put on a production of Hamlet. Since I'm the only girl I'm both Ophelia and Hamlet's mother."

"Sounds like Hamlet has a complex."

"Yeah, we're going to lean into that whole Oedipus thing. I'm just hoping that I don't butcher the whole thing. I'm not very good at memorising things. Do you like Shakespeare?"

"I love the guy," he fibs. Alex hasn't ever bothered with Shakespeare. Not even in school. "I'm sure you'll be great in it. You'll at least be there on time." He's about to be late for James Joyce. It would be worth it too. But this teacher has already scolded him twice and Alex can't give him any more reasons to hate him. "I have to go to class but if you'd like to give me your number."

"Yeah." You're smiling, which is a good sign. You grab a pen out of your bag and snatch a napkin. "I have to go to this student production of Romeo & Juliet if you'd like to go."

"With you?"

"Yeah. If that's alright. It's Saturday at 7. We can meet outside Neumann."

"That'd be perfect." Alex stands up nervously, swinging his bag over his shoulders.

You stuff the phone-number-covered napkin into his hand. "Good luck with Joyce, Alex."

*

Shakespeare is funny, at least this production is. It lies somewhere between an attempt to retell Romeo & Juliet as a comedy and tragically awful and that's without the whole death part. He tried to keep his laughter under wraps because you seemed engrossed in it but then you let out a snort in the middle of the nightingale and lark scene. Or he should just say sex scene with the way the two actors maul each other.

Alex and you give the production a standing ovation because A for effort. You start whooping cheers just to make him laugh, which he joins in on. Every other attendant gave questionable looks but the cast members looked pleased as they gave their final bows.

"Do you think we encouraged those poor kids too much?" You ask as you leave the theatre. You swing your purse around your finger. You've dressed far too nicely for a production so poor. Your dress falls just above your knees with flowy fabric adorned on it that only the last few days of warm weather will allow. "They're going to go home and think they're the next Laurence Oliviers."

Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. He wore a dark pair of khakis because they are the only trousers he owns that don't have holes in them. "They won't make it far. We gave them one night of glory."

You flash him a smile. It charms him, shooting arrows through him, endearing him to Cupid's uncontrollable spell. "Thank you for coming with me," you tell him. "Sorry that it was so bad."

He shakes his head. "No, no. I had fun." 

"Good then you can come with me when they do Macbeth," you joke. "No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll let you pick what we do next time."

"That's a lot of pressure."

"It can't be much worse than what we just watched. What do you like to do for fun?" 

You're staring at him with eager eyes like he's expected to say something like skydiving but for the life of him, he feels like the most boring person alive. "I don't know," he says with a weak chuckle.

You take your eyes away with a nod. "Okay. I'll let you think on that. This is me." You point to the building behind you, inching away, out of his reach. "Thanks again for coming. Text me if you think of anything. See you 'round, Alex."

"Bye." He feels dull and foolish. You looked like you were trying to escape his grunts and indecision. He supposes that it's his fault for feeling so nervous for no reason. He needs to be put at ease. He sighs and walks back home.

*

On Monday he spots you reading To the Lighthouse in the corner of the cafe. You look up and wave with no hesitation. He walks over with his donut and copy of Dubliners. "I've got something for you," he says. "If you'd like."

You stare up at him with a smile. It’s like lightning with the way it leaves him feeling singed and searing and hollowed out. "Is it a gift?"

"Maybe. It's an invitation." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out two pieces of paper. "I don't know if you like them but Nick Cave is coming in on Wednesday and I was looking for someone to go with and, well, this is what I do for fun."

"I love Nick Cave."

*

You're in the swell of the crowd, pressed up against one another and about 2,000 other people. The music is good but all he can concentrate on is the vicinity of your body to his body. Half his chest touches half your back, which means half his crotch touches half your ass. He shouldn't be expected to pay attention to whatever the fuck Nick Cave is singing about when that's occurring.

"Can you see alright?" You turn around and ask.

"What? Yeah, yeah. Can you?" He can't see for shit but he could give less of a fuck right now.

"Uh, kind of. It sounds good. I guess that's all that matters."

You're moving, you're shimming, you're beating on his bones, knocking on his soul, inviting yourself in. Sure, there's a tall, smelly guy pushing up against his ass but that only pushes him closer to you and you're not inching away. There's no attempt to escape. You lean back into his chest and smile like this was all part of your plan.

He reaches for your hand when the show ends. It's under the excuse of not wanting to lose you in the crowd but you're two blocks away from the venue and still holding hands. "Did you have fun?" He asks. "I thought they were great."

The street is clear but you lean close to him and knock your shoulder into his with only pleasure on your face. "It was wonderful. Thanks for taking me."

"Thanks for coming with me." He looks over at you and feels like he's been knocked off his feet. He's not letting things slip through his fingers again. "Do you want to get a drink or something? Are you hungry?"

You pull from your soda by the straw without lifting the cup to drink, leaning forward with your burger still in your grip. Alex finds it, quite honestly, adorable. He is irrevocably fond of this girl. It's hard for him to believe that he got you here, sitting across from him in a tacky red booth at some shitty 24-hour diner.

"So, Alex, how often do you go to concerts?" You ask before taking a bite out of your burger.

"Depends," he replies. "I've got friends who've knocked about in bands and I go to their shitty little gigs sometimes. Doesn't cost much and makes for some fun nights."

You've already vowed to pay for the meal since he paid for the tickets, though he might insist on paying for his half of the receipt because it's the gentleman thing to do and his mother told him to always be a gentleman. 

"Do you work?" You ask.

"I had a job back home, but I haven't found anything here. I'd like to. What about you?"

"I work in the school's mailroom."

"Oh, so you're the one who's been stealing all my mail."

You laugh into a napkin, trying to prevent spitting your food out. "I've done no such thing. Half of the mail is junk anyway. I'm saving you from all the adverts."

"I like the little adverts. Seriously," he says when you pull a face. "I like the bad slogans they have and sometimes they come with a coupon."

You squint at him all playful, elbows on the table, not even close to prim and proper. You are messy, in the way you move, in the way you speak, in the way you eat, and he loves it. "I'll be sure to stuff your mailbox full of them next time."

He wonders if you've noticed how close you've gotten, how you're both leaning across the table. He can see directly into your eyes—into your soul. They are earnest, all intrigue, bright and reflecting light the way the moon does. He thinks he could stare forever and never get tired of the sight. Cars streak past, the city bustles, and he is oblivious to it all. It’s just this, just you. 

*

The next time he opens his mailbox it's flooded with adverts, most not even addressed to him. In the middle of the mess is a postcard of the Virginia Woolf quote "I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful." Written on the back of it in beautiful cursive penmanship is "Do you really go through all the adverts? Next donut on me if so."

*

He slides the postcard across the table to you on Monday morning. He crosses his arms with a smirk as you pick up the card. You roll your eyes and slide the card back over to him before standing to purchase him his signature glazed donut.

"I think you're single handedly keeping this place in business," you say as you drop the donut in front of him.

He unwraps it with a shit-eating grin. The glaze melts in his mouth. "They're good. Here. Have some." He breaks off a piece and hands it to you.

You try to refuse but he pushes it closer and closer to your mouth until the sugar flakes are brushing against your lip. You finally oblige, taking the piece into your mouth, the tip of his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. It feels like he's touched the forbidden fruit. 

Alex plays it as cool as possible and focuses back on the donut before him. You hum, "Okay, it's good."

"I have good taste. Is that hard to believe?"

"Maybe," you hold your thumb and index finger a hair apart from one another, "just a little."

"You're the one who took me to that shitty Shakespeare production."

"Hey, that was for a class and Shakespeare is classic no matter the form he is done in." It's cute how you get all wound up over this as if it's anything more than a joke. It's in the same vein as you drinking that scalding hot tea with no care for your tongue. All these perplexities about you that he finds deeply entrancing. If there is an end to this fascination, he hasn't found it yet.

"Do you know what classes you're taking next term?" You ask, licking your lips clean of the glaze. The pink shine of them smacks against one another. They are staring him dead in the eyes with no remorse. "'Cause there's this British literature class I was thinking about. I thought, maybe, it would be cool if you took it too."

You look nervous. He's never seen that before. You hug your arms around yourself, leaning on your elbows, and staring down at the black tabletop. "I'm not very good at reading," he says like a dope. Like he's five years old and you're teaching him the alphabet.

You anxiously giggle. "Then you can cheat off of me."

"Sounds like a good plan."

*

Friday nights Alex tends to end up drinking with his mates. It's sloppy and informal, stuck in someone's dorm with a pack of beers snuck past security. Sometimes someone rolls a joint. Other times they stink up the room with cigarette smoke. One day they'll probably get caught but it hasn't happened yet.

Matt's room tends to be the best. He's got the most chairs and this bean bag chair that the guys fight over who gets to sit in and, with the lifelong advantage of knowing Matt, Alex tends to win the claim over it.

He slouches down in it with a beer can wetting a circle into his jean-clad thigh. The guys are having some pissing contest that he can't follow but laughs along with anyway. Matt spins around in his chair and faces him. "Alex has got a bird," he says. "Don't ya?"

"What?" He chuckles with faux obliviousness. 

"Oh, come off it. We've all seen her. The way you ogle."

"I do not ogle. We're just friends for now." He toys with the beer can and doesn't dare make eye contact with Matt. 

"For now?" Matt questions with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Al." They back off after that. Thankfully.

*

On a December morning, there are ringlets in your hair. Tight ones that he wants to pull at and watch bounce. You're zeroed in on a stack of papers, one hand fiddling with one of the corners, the other clutching your cup of tea.

"Hey there, Ophelia," Alex says while sitting down with his donut and a hot chocolate. (What can he say? He's feeling festive).

"Shush," you loudly sound off. Your eyes laser in on the paper as if you're trying to scan it with your eyes.

"Shall I get thy to a nunnery?"

You look up with a death glare. "If you're not going to be quiet, you have to leave."

He's amused, a smile crossing his face, which he's sure isn't pleasing you one bit. He reaches across and tugs at your pages. "Come on, let me help you. I'll play Hamlet."

You hum. "You'd be a good Hamlet." You give in and let him take the pages.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You chuckle at his offense. "You know, you're all brooding and melancholic."

"Wow, thanks."

"You can't deny it if that's how you come off."

"Well, you're certainly no Ophelia."

"Thanks, I don't plan on drowning myself anytime soon."

"'Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love,'" he recites.

Your face flashes with surprise. "You know Hamlet?"

He shrugs. "Some." Yeah, he totally looked up quotes the night before and memorized them in the hopes of impressing you.

"You're a total Hamlet."

He pushes his eyes away from your gaze and stares down at the script. "Okay, come on, you only have thirty minutes until you have to perform this."

You groan. "Why did I ever take this class? I don't want to act. I don't even give a shit about Shakespeare."

"Alright, Ophelia, quit your whining. 'Let the doors be shut upon him that he may play the fool nowhere but in ’s own house...'"

*

He doesn't see you again until the barren cold of January in the frigid Felton Hall for British Literature. You're there on time, of course, and you've saved him a seat. With a wide smile and a wave, you summon him over to you. 

"Good, I was thinking you wouldn't show." You pat the chair beside you and it's hard for him to wrap his mind around the excitement you show. So endlessly pleased to see him and he wonders why he's ever questioned your sweetness toward him. (He wonders why he won't just suck it up and make a move).

"Now, why would I do that?" He questions as he takes the seat beside you, taking the winter coat off his shoulders.

"'Cause you're a cruel man. But then I remembered you're always late. In fact, I'm shocked you showed up before class started."

He wonders if you know it's because of you. This isn't a regular thing to arrive early. It's for these spare minutes that he can sneak a conversation with you. "What can I say? I'm improving."

"New Year's resolution?"

"Something like that." He smiles.

The professor starts speaking some boring gibberish about the theme of the class and the supplies you'll need. Alex isn't focused on that. You'll give the rundown anyway with all of your note-taking. God. You're taking notes. What a nerd. He's gonna marry you.

Alex spares you one last glance, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s looking at you this time. The sweater you're wearing is really working for you, fuzzy blue angora that doesn’t quite reach your waist, riding up to expose the small of your back and dipping in a sharp V at your clavicle. He knows you know he’s looking, teeth around his pen, and the thing is… the thing is, you look back. With dark eyes, no care for the way it makes him feel in the middle of Charles Dickens and the Brontës.

Your eyes meet. His lip quirks up. Yours does too. You both look away. What the hell is he doing?

*

Alex takes you to one of his friend's concerts. It's at this shitty bar that you marvel at the whole time like it's the Taj Mahal. You come back from the bathrooms that smell like vomit and talk about the stickers plastered on the door for fifteen minutes. He loves it. Loves that you love all this little detail. How you won't shut up about the PJ Harvey poster hanging behind the bar and how much you'd kill to see PJ Harvey live in concert.

You sip your rum & Coke in tiny segments and you giggle after you burp with a quiet "'Xcuse me." And he's in love. He's deeply entrapped in the prison of you and there's no need to escape. It's quite a lovely thing. He thought it would scare him for the longest time. He always found love to be daunting and the idea of giving it away to someone felt like this massive overwhelming thing but now he feels it with no hesitation. There are no attempts to fight it off. It's the cozy thing. It's not a steaming fire. It's a fuzzy blanket on a snowy day. It's easy. That's the biggest relief of all.

"I always thought these kind of places would be louder!" You shout into his ear over the banging music.

"This isn't loud enough for you!" He yells back. 

You shrug. "I thought my ears would be bleeding."

"And you wanted that to happen?"

"It'd be a cool story." You're so close, your breath right up against his ear. He turns his head and stares at you. "What?" Like you're oblivious. As if he isn't obvious in his longing stares or in the way he casts his eyes down to your lips. Like he hasn't been waiting for this moment, for this chance since you approached him with Jaffa-Cake-smeared shoes. "What?"

He moves in. He finds you and he keeps you for himself. His chapped lips land on yours, those smooth glossy pink things that have been staring at him for months. He's careful with it. He doesn't want to come off as forceful. He wants to take this with grace. He wants to lock it in and show you he can take care of you.

You pull back, mildly stunned. He's worried he's misread this whole thing until you let out a little giggle. "I like that."

"Do you now?" He chuckles back.

You nod fervently before pulling him back to you. He wants to take you apart with his teeth. He feels in control now with no worries of rejection. It’s a rough thing, a raw thing. You fall into it, into him, your mouth tastes like cherries and rum and moves against his own with the same ease he feels. He holds your face in his hands and you tug at his lower lip and it’s fireworks in his chest, its sparks flying and embers glowing. It runs like an electric current down the rungs of his spine, felt from the soles of his feet all the way to his scalp. Warm.

*

You don't wait around because he's been waiting for this for months and he gets the feeling you have been too. So, when it's time to go home, you don't resist when he holds your hand and pulls you in the direction of his dorm. 

He feels like something within him has been awakened. There's no need to quiet the feeling down, he can just let it flourish. You slot your head on his shoulder while you wait for the elevator and it's crazy how this morning he woke up from a dream about this and now he's here with you beside him in the flesh.

Inside the elevator, you're the one to act first. It makes him take three steps back, his body forced against the metal walls, the leaning bar pressing into his back. He can't help but smile into it, his teeth skimming yours. 

When the elevator doors open, you pull away from him like you've been zapped. It makes him chuckle and then he's tugging you down the hall with a skip in his step that is so rushed it makes you laugh. "Eager much?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "I'm beat. Can't wait to go to bed." He leans against his door with an exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.

You pull him off the door. "Very funny. I'll just head home then." He's got a hold of your hand before you're even able to take a step. He pulls you to him, knocking your hips against one another. He digs his keys out with one hand and keeps his touch on you with the other.

It's a crash from there. A race to his bed. A tsunami plummeting its way to shore. Your hands tug on the hem of his shirt and his unbutton your jeans. Your touch cascades over his torso and it's a balm to the skin. It feels like no one has ever touched him there before and no one ever will again. That this feeling will only ever exist at this moment with his body up against yours and his lips kissing under your ear, making you squirm.

You pull away to kick your jeans off the rest of the way and he takes the opportunity to do the same. Your blouse flies somewhere over to his desk and then it's just him in his underwear and you in your bra and underwear and he just wants to take this moment to look and not touch. He takes it in and looks so long that you start to shrink under his gaze, covering yourself up with your hands.

"No," he promises, "I just wanted to look."

"You're allowed to touch. If that's alright with you?"

He nods and takes a step forward, one that reconnects, and soon you're back in the swing of things, wrapped up in one another, twisting around one another in some desperate example of making love.

He unclips your bra and it falls to the floor and then you fall onto the bed with you on your back and him hovering above, his hand slipping down, thumbing the hem of your underwear until he slips under and allows himself to touch.

He kisses at your bare chest and you tug at his hair. You raise your hips when he mouths at your breasts, your face tucked away in his neck, his hands on your ribcage. You reach down to rub him over his underwear and, god, he’s hard. You stroke him over the cloth and he moans a little, which makes you grin. 

You rid yourselves of the rest of the cloth between you and from there, it’s a sweaty haze. He fills you all up, it makes him feel whole, and you're intoxicating with the way you look at him—all blown pupils and messed-up hair, alternating between rabid and rapt, pulling your hair back to kiss your neck.

It's just right and he hopes it's just right for you too. He tries his hardest. Flicks his hips just right in the way that has you fighting back, tugging on him, digging crescent shapes into his back. You pull him closer and you're moaning in his ear so he thinks he's doing it right.

You utter a tiny "Fuck" and he can't help but come then. He dumps his head onto your collarbone and you moan and tighten around him, arching up and letting go.

"You okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms under your back, holding you close. He kisses your temple, something divine.

"So okay."

You ask to spend the night like there’s even a possibility he’d turn you away. And whether because you don't want to sleep naked or in your underwear or maybe you just want to wear his clothes, you ask, “Do you by any chance have something I could sleep in?”

And so, after a quick rifle of his drawers, he produces a ratty David Bowie t-shirt that’s long enough to cover everything and a pair of boxers.

"I can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long and I’ve never seen your room before," you say. "I was expecting clothes everywhere and posters of half-naked girls. Is it always this freakishly organised?”

He clears his throat. “Helps me think.” He lays back on his bed as he watches you walk around his room, inspecting every corner.

“But you can't show up to class on time?” 

He shrugs. His hand lay on his bare stomach and he tries to think of something funny to say but you're too distracting. "What's your room like? Are you messy?"

You snort and point at yourself. “You think I'm messy?”

"I don't know. I thought maybe we'd be the opposite of one another."

"No such luck, mister. I'm too anal. Frustratingly so." You're plucking through his CDs. He wonders if you'll comb through each one, giving them each a rating.

"You're perfect. That's what you are," he says.

You turn around and shake your head. "Don't put that on me. I'd only let you down."

"Doubt it." He stands up and shakes the stiffness out of his limbs. "I'll be back." He heads to the bathroom, half because he needs to use it and half because he wonders what you'll do while he's gone. 

When he returns to the room, he finds you sitting on his bed like something that belongs there, like it’s the place you retire to every night. He leans against the doorjamb. “Hi.”

You look up from the book you're skimming. The side of your mouth quirks. “Hi,” you whisper back. “Come here.”

And it’s so easy to listen to. He doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, after all. He joins you on the mattress and you curl up to accommodate him, but he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

You turn to him and start saying, "You write little—"

"Your nose is bleeding." 

A little red stream escapes out of the left nostril and your hands rush up clutching it. "Fuck. Sorry."

"It's okay," he reassures. He reaches across his bed and grabs a tissue. You clutch it to your nose, pinching the bridge with a giggle erupting from you. "What's so funny?"

“Nothing, just noting the conveniently placed Kleenex box and,” you check over your shoulder, “oh, look at that, a bottle of lotion. Wow, you really are just like every other boy.”

He snorts a laugh and says, “Shut the fuck up, you’re making your nose bleed more." He reaches out and holds your hand to your nose pressing the tissue to it.

“Do you keep glam mags under your bed?”

“No.”

“Computer porn then?”

“None of your business,” he says shortly. “I've already exposed enough of meself to you tonight.”

“Alright,” you say. “I just like thinking about you that way.”

“Stop." He falls on his back and stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of anything else imaginable. Dirt bikes. The Strokes. Shit. Trees turning into paper. "Don't say shit like that."

Your eyes are bright. “Why?” You toss your tissue away and lay down beside him.

"'Cause I'll never be able to go to bed again."

You shrug, all amused. You lay down beside him. “I wouldn't mind." You reach out, tracing his jawline. “I had fun.”

“Me too.” 

You reach over him to yank on the lamp chain and stay there after the darkness floods in with your head on his chest, your leg hooked over his hip. He pulls the covers over you and just holds you.

*

Everything you do is the same, except with a kiss. Coffee and tea at the cafe but your feet are entangled the whole time. Class but he sits with his arm around you. Concerts but you rub up against him with no shame. Partying but you leave early to fuck.

He loves it all. He loves how you seep into every inch of his life. He actually starts paying attention in class because you make him. You sit down and read together. Sometimes Alex or you read aloud, sometimes he reads over your shoulder, sometimes you read on separate ends of the couch. But you love coming together and talking about it. You speak with such passion that he wants to get to the end of a chapter just to hear what you have to say about it. And sometimes the end of the chapter never comes because he distracts you with, you know, other things. He likes that best.

Dates happen. He's not sure what qualifies as one and what doesn't—like do all those cafe visits count?—but he knows for sure that the one where he took you out to dinner and you wore that low-cut dress definitely does. And he knows this party that you're at now definitely isn't.

It's a rowdy one where everyone has gathered in the living room to watch two guys arm wrestle on the coffee table. You're sitting on the arm of the couch with your arms wrapped around his waist, cuddling him to you like one of your teddy bears.

When one of the guys pins the other's arm down, you shout out, "I bet I could beat Al in an arm wrestling competition."

And everyone is oohing and awing and Alex is standing bug-eyed and afraid. He taps your arm with a nervous, "I'm sure you could, honey."

"No, no, no." You're so drunk. He's never seen you like this. Part of him is amused and finds it beyond adorable. You scrunch up your nose like a little bunny and he just wants to kiss you all over. He's also terrified of you. You flex your arms out like you're the Hulk and all he can think about is his little noodle arms and Matt shouting, "Oh, come on, Al."

So, you're kneeling on the ground with your arms propped up on the coffee table with a look of determination in your arms. "You have to let me win," you slur your words.

"Why's that?"

"I lose, no kiss for you." You wag your finger and seal your lips.

"No kiss for the winner?"

"Only if I'm the winner."

He goes limp and allows you to instantly push him down. "I win!" You shout.

Alex picks you up off the ground with you cheering behind him. "We're going home now," Alex tells a laughing Matt. It's fun. Going home together. Even if it's his shitty dorm.

*

One night in his room while you're sitting on his bed criss-cross flipping through your flashcards on the Enlightenment and he's trying to focus on his psychology homework but he's more occupied by you, he says it. He kind of can't help himself. It just rolls out. "I love you." It's massive and too soon and for a long time he probably would have shrieked, covered his mouth, and ran out of the room, but he doesn't care. It's more relief than panic. Like it's out and not buried in his ribcage anymore.

You look up, your hands with your flashcards dropping into your lap. Your lips part at first before breaking into a small smile that so softly plays on your lips. "I love you too." It's there. It's funny how so much emotion can be stuck in with so few words. Still, he feels it all. Cupid's arrow and everything.

*

Right when spring begins to crack through the bitter winter chill, the realization of spending a summer apart hits. He used to find people who complained about that to be dramatic. It's only a few months not years but the term break feels dull when all he's returning to is Sheffield without you around.

You've promised to visit, maybe sometime in July, but it won't be long and it won't be the whole summer. The separation aches at him and he feels like such a loser until one night you curl up beside him and say, "I don't know how to function without you anymore."

You're the Sun. Everything revolves around you, at least it feels that way. Maybe it's being young and in love but the idea of going from every day together to nothing at all pulls him. He's a sap, he knows.

For now, you both avoid it—that inevitable terrifying passage of time. You read Wuthering Heights for British Literature and the whole time he does his best Kate Bush impression in your ear. 

He starts finding post-its around his room and crumbled-up in his pockets after you hang out. They're covered in quotes from the book like "If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day" and "Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"

And no matter how many romantic quotes you write down from the book, you both agree you hate everyone and it's not a love story. His favourite post-it is the one he finds stuck to his alarm clock reading, "I love you as much as I hate Heathcliff." It's dorky and makes him laugh so he leaves it there, swearing to get it framed.

It's the first day where it's bearable to go outside without a huge winter coat, so you suggest taking your tea and his donut out onto the grass. You remark how you wish that you could have a picnic with a blanket and a basket instead of risking grass stains on your jeans but nonetheless, you sit against a tree and he sits in front of you, leaning on your crossed knees, and you talk about last hurrahs. 

"We could go somewhere," he suggests. "Maybe take the train somewhere?"

"In the middle of finals?"

"We could go to a theme park."

"I'm scared of roller coasters."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'm scared of heights," you remind him. "You know that."

Alex nods. "Right. Right. But that could make it a lot more fun. You could cling to me the whole time."

"I'll pass. We could go strawberry picking."

"And pay to do manual labour?"

You sigh. "Or we could just hang out with each other. How lame."

Alex leans closer. His nose brushes against yours. "I know." He puckers out and plants a kiss on your lips. He wraps his arm around you, pulling himself into you. "How lame."

You let out a heavy sigh. "And with nothing to occupy us."

"We could always just barricade ourselves and fuck until break is over." He moves closer, almost straddling you like he's about to take you right here on the grass.

You laugh. "You'd like it that way."

"Yeah." He smirks. "And I have a feeling you would too."

*

You don't quite barricade yourselves. But you get pretty close. 

With final exams looming, Alex is able to reason that sex is the perfect kind of stress relief. You're sitting in his lap with his hands running up the back of your thighs to cup your ass over your jeans, and you give a hint of a grin, sitting up. "You're going to have to study at some point."

He hooks his finger through the belt loops, yanking you closer. "I am. I'm studying for anatomy."

You roll your eyes. "You don't take anatomy."

He ducks his head closer and places his forehead against yours. He talks in a soft voice, one that shakes your insides. "I'm getting a head start." He closes the remaining gap, locking lips, and reeling you in completely. You don't refuse then because there's no way to refuse this and how good it feels.

You move your ass just enough to have him groaning into your mouth. He has to do something with his hands. He can't keep trying to feel you up, he has to commit action. He fiddles with the button of your jeans, snaking his hand through, not even bothering to push them off. He has to fight back.

He gets you moaning with the mere touch of his fingertips to your clit. You curl your arms around his neck and duck your head into his neck, whimpering against his neck. Chills run down his spine as you say his name into his skin.

He moves his hand lower, slightly pulling your jeans down to be able to enter. He enters two fingers. Your grip tightens in response. He's confident now. He's done this enough times to know what works. He knows how to please you but this feeling—clutching, moaning, begging—never gets old.

Alex holds your body to him as you squirm. He works quicker, pumping his fingers in and out, flicking his thumb against your clit. You mutter, "Fuck," and he whispers back, "I know, I know" like he can feel it too because he does. He feels like you're conjoined in this pleasure. That making you come is a far greater feeling than his own pleasure (well, almost, you have a very talented hand...and mouth...and pussy).

You buck your hips into him. The open zipper of your jeans grinds into his boner and he’s cursing too just like you are as your orgasm crashes. Your breathing is heavy and you've placed permanent wrinkles in his shirt with how hard you've been clutching it. 

"Good?" He checks.

You nod against his skin as you try to figure out how to properly breathe. "You certainly know where the clit is."

"See. I'm guaranteed at least a passing grade for that."

You sit up and look him in the eye. You still looked dazed with flyaways and an unbeatable smile. "I don't think they teach you that in school."

"I'm a prodigy then."

Now is when you would usually tell him to not be so full of himself but your lungs are heavy and he considers that to be a 100% if you're unable to scold him for being pompous. 

He lifts up one of your flashcards. "The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason without—"

You smack the cards down. "Shut up," you laugh.

"Come on," he says, lifting them back up. "You're going to regret not going over..." He checks because, of course, he doesn't know the answer. "Deism with me when you get it wrong on the exam."

You straddle his hips. "I'm sure I won't forget it now." You snatch the cards out of his hands, flipping through a few until you ask him, "What are the common features of the Romantic Period?"

"Wordsworth and stuff," he answers."

You slap his chest. "Alex, you can not write 'Wordsworth and stuff' on the exam. Come on this is easy. Give me two more."

He falls back on the pillow with a groan. "An appreciation of nature."

"Okay. Good. And?" 

He shrugs.

You scowl at him. "You act like this sometimes," you hint.

"Stop that. I am not a Byronic hero."

"Well, it'll help you remember," you reason. "Now, what are some works within the Romantic period?"

He groans. "I don't want to do this."

"Would you like to fail the class then?"

"I'm not going to fail. I'll wing it and be fine."

"Alex," you whine.

"Let's do something else. Let's go to Matt's or something." He'll try any possible way to get out of this. He's getting a headache from this and he can't pay attention with your boobs in that top.

You cross your arms. "If you do this, I'll give you some incentive." Your brows quirk indicating to him clearly what you mean. Your lips in a tempting smirk.

Yeah, okay. "Lyrical Ballads, Pride & Prejudice, Keats, Byron, Shelley. Do I get my prize now?" He blasts a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but shift down to his thighs and pop the button out of his jeans.

"You'll thank me for this one day," you say as you pull down and free his cock.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll thank you after."

You snort and wrap your hand around him. "I meant studying, idiot."

"I did too!" He lies.

You hum and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. It's ecstasy. This is what humans were made for. Your tongue licks delicately and you move in an infuriatingly slow manner that he knows you're doing just to torture him. He raises his hips to signal more, instead, you move with him never going past the head liking it as if it's an ice cream that will never melt.

"Come on. I've been kind to you."

You pop your mouth off of him and move your hand up and down the shaft of his dick. "I never asked you to do that."

"You weren't complaining." He needs more. He can't handle this. He's just a boy. He doesn't have patience. 

You raise an eyebrow as if to threaten him but you take him into your mouth again. You move slowly still but this time you take one more inch in each time until, eventually, you reach the base of him. He tickles the back of your throat and your nose brushes against his skin. 

You pull off with a string of spit connecting. Taking a deep breath while you pump your hand, you say, "Good enough?"

He's moaning and biting his lip, trying to not give you complete satisfaction of being right that sometimes that torturously slow start does make for better head and he should not be arguing with the expert. He nods. "Yeah, yeah, keep going."

He shuts his eyes, unable to ignore the pleasure. He hears you laugh before your mouth reattaches. Warmth engulfs him, taking him over completely. He thinks he's going to lose it. That this pleasure will kill him. His grave will be marked Death by Blowjob and you'll be convicted for your deadly talent.

Alex clutches the back of your head just to have something to keep him grounded. He feels like he's floating as you take him completely in your mouth again. He mutters curses and lifts his hips, forming an arch, and being taken over. He empties into your mouth, trying to control his movements and not force his dick straight down your throat. He chants, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

You wipe your mouth and laugh at him like he's your little clown, which he's fine with. He'll put on the makeup and the garb if it makes you laugh like that, especially if he's coming like that. "Thank you," he mutters.

You giggle again. "You're welcome." You reach across him to his nightstand. "Now. From what poem is 'Thou still unravished bride of quietness' the first line?"

He groans but he'll say the blowjob was worth it.

*

On the last weekend of the term, he convinces you to leave your studying nest. You've been holed up inside ignoring the beautiful weather in favour of your exams. His studying has still been scattered but he's managed more than in years past because of you and your incentives.

He drags you out of town toward seclusion. Mainly because he wants to be alone with you but also because people online said this place is supposed to be pretty beautiful. He holds your hand as you walk toward the spot. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that. Your warmth wrapped around him, fighting off that cold from within.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" You joke. He wanted to surprise you, something he has been notoriously bad at in the past. He has a blabbermouth when it comes to you. He's spoiled presents and date nights, but he just wants to tell you everything. Nothing feels real until you've heard about it.

He squeezes your hand. "No, that'll be next fall."

"Okay, good. I'm glad you're giving my parents time to say goodbye."

Alex breaks into laughter then, nervous and unable to keep up the bit. "Should we stop here?" He asks. The sun is shining just enough through the trees and little flowers pop up in the grass around you.

You shrug in your adorable overalls and hair woven into two braids. He could stay looking at you like this forever. There's no other need in life. "You're the one with the plans. I don't know where we're supposed to be going. Is this the surprise?"

"Kind of." He's nervously laughing. "It's kind of been with us the whole time."

You smile and your eyes shift down to his side. "You mean in that bag, right?" The one you've been trying to peek into the whole way here. "Is it a dog?"

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a blanket. "I couldn't find the proper basket but I thought we could have a picnic."

You’re staring at him. You have glassy eyes, ones he can't quite read but he thinks is a good sign. "We're having a picnic?"

"Yeah," he says, "if you'd like."

You quickly nod, your lips breaking out into a smile that exposes your teeth. You clutch a hand over your mouth to head the glee. You break eye contact away from him and look around as if to process the whole scene. 

He lays the blanket out and sits down on it. He pulls on your hand for you to sit down next to him. "I can't believe it," you say. 

"I had a good idea for once. Well, I guess it was more your idea."

You shake your head. "You planned it. You listened to me and some stupid comment I made and you made the best last weekend possible."

"I win?"

You kiss him. "You win."

"Wait until after you've had the food. It isn't the best. Just sandwiches and store-bought things."

"I don't care. You could give me anything and I'd love it."

He pulls a container from the bag. "How 'bout strawberries?"

You hug your arms around him and nearly knock them over in the process. "I love you," you whisper in his ear. "Thank you."

"Of course." He holds you back, never tiring of it. "Love you too."

You pull back and pluck a strawberry. You pop it in your mouth and moan. He tried his hardest to find the best English strawberries possible. Ones so sweet they could ruin any other food for you. "I really love you."

*

On the morning before you leave, he sits at your desk chair and watches you finish packing the remainder of your things. He watches as you struggle with the zipper of your suitcase until you exhaustively ask, "Can you sit on it?"

He plops down on top of it with a chuckle. You pull in the zipper and it finally reaches its end destination. You sigh with relief and lean back on your heels. You clap your hands together before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Alex stands up and reaches his hand out to help you up. "Is that the last of it?" He keeps his hand in yours even after you've stood up.

You look around with one last gaze at your room, stripped completely of you. "Yeah, I guess so."

He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your hips to his. "Should we do it on your bed one last time?"

You pull a face and giggle. "Ew, no. Not without any sheets and my parents waiting in the car."

He tilts his head back heavenward. "Ah, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'm leaving it here. Besides, we were never that adventurous to begin with." It's easy to have the plain locale of a bed when the sex is so good.

"Next year, I guess. We'll have to finally do it in the showers."

"Yuck, stop. I know people who've shit in there."

He shakes his head sarcastically. "You're no fun."

"I know." You lean closer, tapping your forehead against his. "I'm lame and boring and I'm gonna miss you."

"Yeah." He can't even say it. The words have consumed him for days, every conversation ending with "Miss you." He's tired of it and it hasn't even begun. If he speaks it now, his voice will crack. He'll crack. He'll break in two and there will be nothing of him left here, except a puddle and you.

So, a kiss will do instead. He wants it to sear into you. Tattoo it onto your skin, imprint, force it onto, mark you, make you remember him. He wants them on him too. He wants to look down and see a lip gloss mark. He wants a freckle to remind him of his picnic. He wants the taste of cherries to be permanently set on his tongue. He wants the stickiness of a glazed donut on his fingers. He wants you.

On the walk to the car, you talk about a trip to the beach you took when you were ten. It's filled with your laughter and your humour and it dulls the throbbing in his bones. He kisses you goodbye once more before you run off with your parents.

"See you in the fall," you say.

He smiles. "See you in the fall." 

*

Before he leaves he finds another Virginia Woolf postcard in his mailbox. This time it's just a portrait but the back reads, "Woolf wrote to her lover Vita, 'It gets worse steadily – your being away. All the sleeping draughts and irritants have worn off, and I’m settling down to wanting you, doggedly, dismally, faithfully – I hope that pleases you. It’s damned unpleasant for me. I can assure you.' I've tried to say my feelings better than that but I can't. I miss you and I love you."

*

a/n: i might do a part two to this. maybe. probably. ignore any errors. i'm lazy. sorry. thanks. bye.

[agaypanic]

The Boyfriend Next Door (Francis Wilkerson X Neighbor!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: A few months after meeting Francis, he’s finally coming back home for spring. He calls you before boarding his plane, and Francis leaves you anxious and excited when he says he has a question to ask when he gets home.

A/N: last francis fic!!! this is part 2 to the boy next door’s brother, so read that first if you haven't yet. I know the first part is written in third person but im writing this in second, idc. Added the SASU thing just for conversational stuff, im not having this fic be in a specific point in the actual series, although in my head it does take place in season 1

***

Francis had made good use of the phone number you had written on his arm the night you met. After landing in Alabama, he called you for a quick chat while he waited for a cab. Then Francis called you at the academy after putting his things in his dorm, telling you the number for the academy phone in case you ever wanted to call him. 

Eventually, he was calling you so much that he had your number memorized before the end of the week.

Francis loved talking to you. And he was right; he liked hearing about your day a lot more from you than from Malcolm. You could talk his ear off, then the other, and he still wouldn’t mind. If anything, the only people who seemed to mind were his fellow cadets waiting for a chance to use the phone.

“Enough about me,” Francis said, wrapping up a story about one of his latest antics involving the Southern Alabama State University’s pool. “What’ve you been up to?”

“Definitely not property damage.” He heard you laugh through the phone, and his pulse quickened a bit. “Nothing but homework, at least that’s what it feels like. Thank God for spring break, otherwise my brain might break.”

“Speaking of spring break…” Francis trailed off, picking at some peeling paint on the pillar the phone was mounted on. “Got any plans?”

You smiled at his tone, like he had a big secret. “Not that I know of. Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason. Just thought I’d ask.”

“Are you staying in Alabama for break?” You tried to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You hadn’t seen Francis since the day you met, which was almost three months ago. It’s not that you absolutely needed to see him. But multiple calls a week, where conversations ranged from your day-to-day to little secrets no one else knew about you, made you want to see him face to face. 

Francis made a non-commital noise, shrugging even though you couldn’t see it. “Depends on if my mom ever finds out about the pool.”

***

Francis was lying, of course. He didn’t want to lie to you, even though there was no ill intention behind it, but he wanted to surprise you. 

But while waiting for his flight to board, he got impatient.

“Y/n?” Francis asked after hearing the phone get picked up.

“Hey, Francis.” You greeted, and he heard some rustling, which was probably you leaving the room to get some privacy. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” He answered, jumping a little when he heard his flight being called.

“Where are you right now?”

“Uhh, doesn’t matter. Listen, I have a question I wanna ask you, Y/n.” While speaking, Francis looked at his ticket and realized he had to get in line for boarding. 

“Okay…” You let out a little chuckle, wondering why he was sounding so frantic. “Go ahead.”

“I’ll have to ask you later, I gotta go. But I’ll, um, I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

“Wait, what-”

“Bye!”

***

You were on edge for the next few hours. You tried calling the academy for Francis, but another cadet picked up, saying he was flying home today. Hearing that made you anxious, in a good and bad way. You were finally seeing Francis after months of only phone calls, but you had no time to prepare for his arrival. His saying he had a question for you right before hanging up didn’t help. 

When there was a frantic knock on the front door, you all but flew out of your seat on the couch, yelling to your parents that you would answer. They just laughed at your excitement before returning to the TV.

Reaching the entryway, you flung the door open, relieved that the person on the other side was who you were hoping for. “Francis!” 

The boy before you dropped his suitcase to catch you as you launched yourself into his arms. “Surprise.” He laughed, caught off guard by the affection. But it was definitely not unwelcome. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, pulling back to look at him. But before he could answer, you waved your hand, a more important question popping into your mind. “Wait! No, no, no, what was your question?”

“My question?” Francis tried to act dumb, but it was a futile attempt, considering you had been thinking about your previous conversation since it happened.

“You said you had a question to ask me, and then you hung up. What’s the question?”

Francis laughed again, but this time more nervously. He had spent the whole flight panicking over what he wanted to ask you and then spent the whole car ride hyping himself up to actually ask it. And now, here he was. “Oh, right…” Francis’ fingers locked together, keeping you in his hold, which you didn’t mind at all. His thumbs drummed against your back, building up the anticipation.

“Francis-”

“Do you wanna go out?” He blurted, and you blinked in surprise. “On a date. With me.”

“Like… now?” You were trying to keep your cool, but you couldn’t stop the giant grin from taking over your face.

Francis took this as a good sign. “We could go now, if you want. Or, or later in the week, maybe. And then, you know, maybe if it goes well, we could go on another date and maybe…”

“Start dating?” You finished, hoping that’s where he was going. “Like, officially?”

He nodded furiously, glad that you were getting the idea that he was trying to get across. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to, obviously. We could take it slow or-” 

You cut off what was about to be a nervous ramble by pressing your lips to Francis’. You were just so caught up in your excitement, you couldn’t help but kiss him. Francis pulled you closer, if that was even possible, deepening the kiss, and you hoped that your parents wouldn’t come to check on the two of you.

The both of you were out of breath when you broke apart, resting your foreheads against each other. After the months of build-up, you didn’t want to take it slow. And judging by the kiss you shared, Francis felt the same way.

“Malcolm’s gonna be so pissed,” Francis murmured, and you felt a ghost of a smile against your lips as he kissed you again.

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

Francis Wilkerson Taglist: @tweedledipshit

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Intro]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: Events take place after episode 8 of the acolyte. You are Qimirs new acolyte after agreeing to train under him. But, first you both must escape to the outer rim and outrun the Jedi who now hunts you. A precarious situation arises when you suddenly owe a debt to the local gunrunner... but it could be just the opportunity you've been hoping for. Warnings: None so far Notes: I plan for this to be a slow burn story between you and Qimir. Future heist plot on canto bight. Haven't officially decided on a permanent title yet. Probably needs more edits lol.

^ Nice ambience for the intro

Master List

She's Mine [Intro]  She's Mine [Part 1] She's Mine [Part 2]

______________________________________________________________

You and Qimir had been on the road for months now. Vernestra couldn’t put out an official warrant on you both—not without raising questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she relied on something more insidious: whispers, rumors, just enough to keep you glancing over your shoulder but never enough to reveal her true intentions.

So now you found yourself sitting in a mossy dive bar waiting on a pilot that could be your last chance to escape republic space. He was 20 minutes late and it had been one hell of a day. Your patience was wearing thin.

You felt someone sit down at the stool next to you. Not giving them any notice ----until they spoke.

"Oi. Ale for me and whatever the lady wants."

You stifled a grunt, eyes remaining fixed on your drink.

"Not interested."

The bartender, unfazed, slid a glass down the bar landing directly into the strangers hand with ease. He took a full three chugs before wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Exhaling he exclaimed. "Not interested?... Handsome fella like me? Sure you are."

"Its been a rough day." You grimaced, still not sparing him a glance.

"Well its about to get a little more difficult."

You could feel him shift beside you. Instinctively, you unholstered your blaster and aimed it directly at his crotch. You were now face to face with Ian Skynyr. Notorious playboy and smuggler.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." You whispered.

He only froze, eyes widening on where your blaster now rested. His shoulders slightly relaxed almost as impressed as he was shocked.

"Easy"

"Like I said its been a long day and I'm not especially forgiving on those. So get lost."

"One of my men is in a bacta tank thanks to you."

You recalled what had transpired a mere few hours ago.

Some thug saw you walking through the bazar. Cloaked, your figure appeared small and unthreatening. He assumed you'd be an easy target. He assumed wrong.

Qimir had found you standing over the aqualish male, his breathing labored, knocked unconscious with far more hidden injuries.

All Qimir had said to you was, lets go. No emotion shown on his striking face.

"If he wanted an easy pocket to pick he shouldn't have cornered me."

"Listen sunshine, you put me in a bit of a bind here."

"Not my problem. I know your line of work and I'm not looking for that kind of heat."

Neither you or Qimir could take that right now.

The stranger didn’t back off. He leaned in, just enough for you to catch the scent of engine grease and blaster residue.

"Oh I think it is, don't think I don't know exactly why you're sitting here."

You suppressed a laugh. Of course.

"So I can assume you intercepted my pilot."

"Theres now a debt to pay. Im here to collect."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Right... Only a certain type of woman wears with an LL-30 blaster pistol strapped to her thigh."

"And it only takes a special kind of idiot to steal from her." You retracted the gun back to under your cloak.

He cracked a smile.

"The job I have lined up that you so gracefully mucked might actually be of some interest to you."

"I highly doubt that."

"You and your friend need to get to the outer rim no? Something about avoiding the order? I can provide that for you both so long as you pay whats now owed."

You couldn’t hide the shock on your face.

So the pilot had a loose mouth. But you knew Qimir would later curse you for your own.

"I don't owe you anything."

"Deny that little fact all you want. What you can't deny is that the republic has been slowly tightening its grip on hyperspace routes. Good luck finding another freighter that can slip past their patrols unnoticed."

You frowned.

He wasn’t wrong. Vernestra wouldn't risk the upper hand she now had on the two of you. It was easy enough to establish stricter checkpoints in the name of peace and safety. Finding another ship capable of making it past their checkpoints undetected and unquestioned would be next to impossible.

You sat there. Silent. Weighing the options in front of you. Even though you had your finger on the trigger and every reason to pull it, you squirmed underneath the predicament he now faced you with.

He watched the gears turning behind your eyes, carefully calculating your next move.

"Well." he sighed "If you're that confident, I guess its easy enough for me to find another replacement."

He slowly stood, nudging the now empty glass towards the edge of the bar.

"Good luck out running the damned Jedi."

What were your chances of another opportunity like this? As damned as the circumstances were.

Before he could step out of the cantina you turned.

"Wait."

Ian inclined his head to you, smile spreading across his stupid face.

Qimir was going to kill you.

_____________________________________________________________

[darkbluekies]

Do we actually know what happens in the basement? Or did I miss it somewhere?It sounds terrfying but I can’t seem to find or remeber what happens in it

I haven't exactly written what goes on in the basement, but from a few oneshots etc, you can piece together that there are probably a lot of isolation, starvation, mental manipulation and physical things. I want/plan to make a one-shot where yn is in the basement after doing something they shouldn't:)

Examples/times the basement is mentioned to get a better understanding of just how bad it can be (with links in case you want to read the stories<3):

Best for you:

You messed up badly. You should not have tried to escape. Look where you ended up — in the darkest corner of his basement with your ankles chained to the stone floor. Reduced to nothing more than a dog.

You're not sure how long you've been down here, but you've been given the opportunity to use the degrading potty four times by now by rough, evil men. Or was it more?

You press yourself closer to the wall, wishing nothing else than to melt into it and disappear. 

"No, no, no, shh, it's okay", he says quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore. Everything is over. I'm here to help."

You doubt that.

His hand comes up to massage your roots. All of these actions are so soft and after being chained up in this cold, hard and unforgiving basement, you can't do anything else but slowly relax.

The witty and uncanny part 1

Resting now might be crucial in case Silas decides to find you again. Otherwise you might be too vulnerable for Silas's harsh manipulation. You won’t survive the basement if you’re not rested up.

Intruder part 2

The chains around your wrists, ankles and throat kep you in place. Like a filthy dog. You start to feel less and less human and more like an animal for every day that passes by. You remind yourself of your name, your background and your family to avoid going insane. But maybe that's what he wants? He wants you dumb and dusted for him so you won't try to escape. Maybe he wants you to be a blank canvas that only he can paint in whatever color and shapes he wants. Maybe he wants to mold your brain into his perfect servant. Someone that does everything he wants at the blink of an eye.

Can't hide from me

Every motion is quiet and terrified. You’re horrified you’ll turn around and see him stand right behind you with his death glare, ready to throw you back into the basement. You’d rather die than end up there again. You don’t think you can take another day, week or month in the basement. To be fair, you never know how long you’re down there. One time you entered when the snow was falling outside and came out when the first flowers bloomed.

“Listen, baby, you have two choices. Either, you come with me like a good little pet and don’t cause trouble. That way, your punishment will be much lighter. Or, you can continue to act like a brat and I’ll knock you unconscious and throw you into the basement until you grow mold. What do you say? Are you going to behave?”

[stormberry-12]

Heyy,I love your writing! May I request a JJ fic inspired by the ‘Work Song’ by Hozier?

time comes around ~ jj maybank x reader

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader (jj pov)

warnings: making out, jj's dad being a dick, mentions of jj's good ol' gun, language. (not very well edited)

notes: thank you so much for the request and I'm so sorry it took soooo long. it gave me so much to work with and it ended up being super long lol, i hope it turned out okay I kinda just went with what the lyrics reminded me of.

you also don't really have to read all of them if you don't want, they're all just blurbs off JJ and Y/n's life together. ❤

(i recommend listening while you read>>>>)

Boys workin' on empty Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? I just think about my baby I'm so full of love I could barely eat

"Jayj!" she giggled, dropping her fork on the table and staring at me.

"What?!?" I laughed in mock offense, crossing my arms and leaning back in my chair.

"You haven't even touched your food," y/n complained, her pretty eyes squinting at me in confusion.

"I-"

"You love food." she interrupted me, a smile playing on her lips, "Probably more than you love anything else in the world, now eat!"

"Not as much as I love you," I whisper, she looks down at her plate with a smile and a blush. "I don't want to eat... I just want to watch you,"

"That sounds creepy when you say it like that, stop!" she choked on her food and I fell into a fit of laughter that squeezed my lungs, making it hard to breathe. She made it hard to breathe.

There's nothing sweeter than my baby I'd never want once from the cherry tree 'Cause my baby's sweet as can be She give me toothaches just from kissin' me

I hummed into her lips, they were sweet, soft, and warm. I tapped her thighs signaling for her to jump up, she wrapped her legs around my waist, hands in my hair.

Her back hit the wall and I slid my hands up her waist. She hummed into my mouth and we broke away panting.

"Missed you too-"

"Shut up." she said and I laughed, leaning my forehead against hers. I was so glad it was finally summer, her family would stay at their beach house for the next few months and we would spend every day together. Love only growing.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Boys, when my baby found me I was three days on a drunken sin I woke with her walls around me Nothin' in her room but an empty crib

I woke up with the sun shining through the curtain, y/n was laying on top of me, her arms and body heavy like they were sheltering me from a storm. In this case, the storm was my dad.

She shifted on top of me, rubbing her eyes from sleep.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Mornin'," I said back, shifting our position and sitting up, pulling her into my lap.

"I'm so sorry," she rubbed patterns into my bicep, "I had no idea... do- do you want to talk about it?"

I looked down at her beautiful face and shrugged my shoulders. She looked up at me and I wrapped my arms around her tighter.

"He has no right to do that-" her fingertips ghosted over the scar on my cheek that she had patched up the night before. After I had come knocking away on her window way past midnight.

I felt a pain in my chest, "I'm sorry I bothered you with this, I'm so sorry-" I buried my face in her neck so she wouldn't see me cry.

"Oh Jayj..."

A sob broke my lips and my shoulders shook, god I was being such a baby.

She turned to face me, still sitting in my lap, holding the sides of my face with her hands. Her eyes were watering as she kissed each tear that fell from my face before wiping it away.

"You could never bother me," she said, voice more stern. I silently thanked her.

God, how did I get so lucky.

And I was burnin' up a fever I didn't care much how long I lived But I swear I thought I dreamed her She never asked me once about the wrong I did

"Y/n-" I said sitting on the couch, running a hand through my hair, "I can't believe I did that, I'm so sorry-"

She just watched me from the other side of the chateau, leaning against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was unreadable, eyes stone cold.

I had just pulled a gun out at the kegger, I was so stupid.

And not only did I put it up against Topper's head at some point but I fired it into the air. I let my anger get the best of me, it could cost me my freedom, my friends, or even y/n.

I hoped she wouldn't- oh god.

"Please don't dump me!" I squeaked out.

"Dump you?" she laughed shaking her head.

"I'm being serious, why are you laughing?!?!" I panicked standing up and bringing my hands to my head.

"Cuz your funny," she walked towards the back door and left the chateau. I followed her out back, she was walking to where the rest of the pogues were eating around a fire.

I sat down beside her and grabbed a hot dog and a roasting stick.

"So, we all sorted out?" Pope asked, raising his eyebrows at our sudden appearance.

"Did she give you shit?"

John B chuckled and I flipped him off, "No, actually..."

"Damn!" Kie said. "Your lucky JJ, not many people can put up with your shenanigans-"

The conversation shifted to something royal merchant related, I ate my hot dog and snuck glances at y/n. She was wiping sticky marshmallows off her finger, but it just kept spreading all over her clothes. I looked down and my plate and smiled.

Kie was right, y/n was the only one that could deal with me. But I was also the only one that could deal with her.

We couldn't live without each other.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

My baby never fret none About what my hands and my body done If the Lord don't forgive me I'd still have my baby and my babe would have me

"Hey, y/n!" Rafe called from across the boneyard, "Your not still seeing that dirty pogue are you?"

"I'm sorry?" she said taking a sip of her beer.

Ward Cameron's evil spawn got closer and eyed me up and down, "Honestly, I can't believe you guys are still hanging on, normally JJ would have moved on to a new bitch by now-"

"Ohhhh shittttt," Kelce and Topper called from behind him.

I stood up lighting fast but y/n grabbed my arm to stop me, "How dare you!" she shamed him.

y/n knew I had a past on the island, I had slept around with a lot of girls. I made a promise to her and myself that I was done with that shit, and it was working out for the best.

y/n tossed the rest of her beer on the back of Rafe's shirt as he walked away, he whirled around fuming.

"Try us, I dare you," John B said, he and Pope were now beside me, and Rafe backed off.

Y/n was still holding my hand, rubbing her thumb over my palm.

Yeah, Rafe, try us, I dare you.

When I was kissing on my baby And she put her love down soft and sweet In the low lamp light I was free Heaven and hell were words to me

The sun from the hot day was setting behind the sky and the soft glow of the street lights began to shine. The breeze was warm and the ocean was crisp.

I dusted the sand off my board, "One more go before dark?" I asked her.

She nodded slowly, pulling her hair up into a ponytail and following me toward the water. "I'm still not so good at this Jayj," she said fidgeting with her fingers.

"No, you're doing great!" I encouraged, pushing the board into her hands, "Go on, I'm right behind you."

We joined the rest of the pogues in the water, I watched as y/n got up on her board and rode a wave all the way down. Pride rushed through me as the pogues broke out in cheers.

"LET'S GO BABY!!"

She laughed and sat down on my board paddling over to me, "I'm so fucking proud of you right now!" I said pulling her off the board and into my arms. She giggled and wrapped her arms around my neck.

"Nice one squirt!" John B ruffled her hair and Kie said something about celebratory french fries on her.

I kissed her sweetly and looked into her eyes, "Your fearless, you know that?"

She just grinned at me, but I only spoke the truth, she was.

Love felt so wonderful.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you y/n," I slurred drunkenly, but it was most definitely true. Drunk words, sobber thoughts.

She giggled and buried her face in my neck.

"I'm serious!" I complained.

"Same." Y/n said, sounding just as deadly serious as I was. We locked eye contact, her gaze reaching mine.

"What if you die before y/n? Like when you're a Grandpa and all your smoking comes to bite you in the ass?" John B countered jokingly.

"Well you know, like when I die, I'll probably get buried and shit-" I felt myself start to ramble, "but then Imma be all badass, and dig my way out!"

"What the fuck?" Y/n cackled, tears brimming her eyes from laughing so hard. Kie choked on her beer and Pope gave her a few good hard slaps on the back.

"Yeah, and then I'll come to find you," I said confidently. "NO GRAVE CAN HOLD ME DOWN!!!"

The pogues broke into laughter and I held Y/n's body tighter, I would never let her go. After all we had been through together, the ups and the downs, I knew at that moment it would always be her.

When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

[dragonshoard]

I've been brainstorming the conditions under which BB!Jinx would meet Vi, and one option I've come across is post-Shurima conflict and Silco's death (still up in the air on how THAT happens). Vi is released as a result of Caitlyn's newest project to burn out the corruption in Piltover's judicial system. Vi comes back to Zaun to try and find Powder, eventually running into Sevika who reveals that Silco killed Powder. As a note, Sevika does NOT know that Powder was revived and genuinely isn't lying to Vi knowingly. Not many Zaunites who knew Powder have actually seen Jinx's face at this point other than a few individuals.

Vi crashes out. Hard. Going down the drinking and fighting route she did post-Cait break up.

I've mentioned before that Vi is also spirit-blessed in this AU. She's tempered iron and bedrock, an untapped potential forged to serve as a reliable foundation; someone capable of carrying the world on her shoulders even on the worst days.

(Some of this is pretty literal: her bones are very difficult to break and she's very good at taking hits.)

This connection to the arcane draws Jinx to her, who is somewhat disappointed at the state she finds her spirit-sister (ha). Jinx takes to patching her up when Vi gets especially banged up.

Here's a snippet of one of their interactions. Tis a work in progress.

Why is Jinx wearing a veil in addition to her feather cloak? Haven't figured that out quite yet - probably something along the lines of it not being entirely safe for her face to be out there at the moment or a religious trial of some sort. Either way, I realized it was way too easy for the hood of her cloak to be knocked down so I had to add an extra layer of security.

--x--

“Ya know, this is the fourth time I’ve had to drag you to the church in a month.” 

The arm in her grasp jerked away in an attempt to escape, but Jinx was used to dealing with unruly patients. It was easy to adjust her grip to keep a better hold of the injured limb and continue wrapping it in clean bandages. 

“Stop tensing. You’re going to end up with loose bandages and then where will all of my hard work have gone, huh,” Jinx scolded, pinching the singular uninjured part of the exposed shoulder.

“It’s not like I asked for your help.” The arm tensed again before visibly, forcefully, relaxing. If there was one thing Jinx appreciated her unwilling patient for, it was that despite complaining the brawler actually listened to instructions. 

“Don’t be ungrateful, shithead.”  snip

“I just don’t get why you’re going through all the trouble. You could do your hand-wavey healing magic and I’d be out of your hair in half the time.”

Jinx frowned, tempted to give the cocky bastard another pinch for the audacity but eventually settled for rolling her eyes. The humor was lost, of course, with the thick veil covering everything nose up, but it was the thought that counted! 

“Only people who don’t go around picking fights and making a mess of their pretty faces get a fancy healing session with me.” She slapped the adhesive just a bit harder on the bandage than necessary, feeling a glow of satisfaction at the responding flinch. “You, get to heal the old fashion way. Slowly,” Jinx cackled. 

“And here I thought you religious folk were supposed to be kind and worldly,.”

“Excuse you, I am the kindest person you will ever meet. I could’ve left your scruffy ass where I found it instead of hauling you all the way to my side of town.”

Jinx was careful with the remaining materials, quickly packing away the salvaged remains and sterilizing the needles she had used with a lighter. With a cursory look at her first aid pouch, Jinx realized that she would have to restock soon. 

“Seriously, you don’t have to keep wasting your supplies on me. I’ll get by.” 

Now, that sounded far too depressing for this early in the day. And that was disregarding the blatant day drinking that the older woman took part in. Jinx looked back up to make a joke but stopped short at the look on the other’s face. 

Ah, it was one of those days.

“Vi - “ she began, stopping for a second to try and find the right words.

She wasn’t - good at talking; had never picked up the talent despite how often she’d needed it - too cutting, too sarcastic, and entirely lacking in patience. She’d gotten better over the years, but it didn’t change that in times like these Jinx just wasn’t the best person to turn to, especially when dealing with jobs that went beyond the body. 

[aureliaporter]

not so secret secret identity

summary: your best friend needs to tell you something. too bad you're oblivious.

a/n: literally me bc i never watch any news or anything. also first time doing x reader!! lmk if there's anything y'all wanna see, and i'll do my best :)

cw: fluff, gn!reader, slightly oblivious!reader, exasperated peter parker (mcu!!), intended lowercase!

PETER HAD SOMETHING to tell you, based off of his texts. or rather, something he wasn't telling you that you were very intent on figuring out.

you knocked the door to his apartment, an old tune from elementary school band that you somehow still remembered to this day. after a few beats, aunt may opened the door, offering a small smile and nodding down the hall.

"he's in his room."

you nodded, slightly embarrassed that your intentions were so clear on your face, and slipped past her - making sure to leave your shoes by the door.

you leaned against peter's doorframe, watching his hunched-over form with an amused smile. he was probably tinkering with something again, or trying to figure out his english homework. you pushed off the doorframe, wrapping your arms around him from behind. "miss me?"

after a rather undignified shriek and a few exchanged words, peter was sitting on the edge of his bed as you laid down, legs propped up. you both waited for each other to speak

"so-"

"i was-"

the two of you stared at each other before looking away, slightly embarrassed. "can i..?" peter asked, glancing at you. you nodded, stretching your arms as you waited for him to speak.

"so, you're- you're probably here cause i quit everything, right?" he asked, fiddling with his fingers. you hummed, bobbing your head side to side.

"maybe."

he looked up at you, confused. "maybe? then- why're you here-?"

"it's kind of obvious you're going through a thing," you said, cutting him off. "aunt may says it's puberty, but either way i'm sure you'd prefer to be around someone instead of by yourself. kind of what support groups are for," you added, referring to the name of their group chat with mj and ned.

he let out an odd noise, a sort of exasperated chuckle. "it's not puberty."

"didn't say it was."

"you just did."

"no, i said aunt may said it was puberty. learn to listen, young padawan," you said, flicking his forehead.

"that's not even-! you can't use star wars quotes if you haven't watched the movies."

"i can, and it's called the first amendment."

"so if i misquote that weird crow kid from your book series?"

"hey," you said, sitting up and poking his chest. "nobody disgraces kaz brekker like that. the bastard of the barrel deserves better."

the two of you stared at each other before breaking into laughter, soft giggles and muffled snorts. as you laid back on the bed, feeling a bit lighter than before, you noticed a flash of red and blue from peter's closet.

"yo, pete?" you asked, nodding to the suit. "isn't halloween not for another few months? what's with the outfit?"

you watched as peter's face morphed through three different emotions within the span of a few seconds. he paled, lunging for the suit and kicking it back into his closet, then slamming the door. he turned back around, offering a sheepish smile. "uh.. costume party?"

you raised an eyebrow, an amused huff escaping you. "want to try again?"

he stared at you for a second before slumping, a depressed look on his face. he tossed himself onto the bed beside you, nearly hitting you in the face. you didn't say anything, though, giving him a minute to get his thoughts together.

after a few minutes, you heard his voice again. "promise me you won't tell anyone."

you blinked, cocking your head at him curiously. he wasn't looking at you, face still planted in his sheets. biting back a smart remark, you nodded. "i promise."

you heard a sigh escape him, and then he was sitting up, staring at you hard. and then,

"i'm spiderman."

silence blanketed the pair of you for a few seconds, soon turning into a minute. you merely blinked, confused. "who?"

he seemed confused, too. "what do you mean, who? spiderman! you know, the- the dude in red and blue? with a mask? who protects the city?"

you looked sheepish, lips moving soundlessly as you tried to think of a way to respond. "pete, i- we both know i like, never leave my house," you said. "i-i didn't even know this guy existed."

peter stared blankly at you, his confused expression slowly turning to disbelief as a laugh escaped him, then another, and then he was laughing completely, small tears escaping him.

"y-you! i was- i was so scared of telling you! and you- you don't even know who he is!" he laughed, trying to muffle himself and ultimately failing.

after a moment or two, you started to laugh as well, the pair of you chortling at your own oblivion. aunt may smiled to herself in the other room, glad that, even as he was going through puberty not, he still had friends like you to help him through it.

and yes, peter eventually did explain spiderman to you in detail - a powerpoint presentation, complete with ironman memes and snacks - and yes, you did end up whacking him with a pillow when you learned of all the times he nearly died, but peter didn't mind at all.

he didn't mind because the feeling that echoed in him as he tucked you into his bed, exhausted from a pillow fight and an overdose of sour gummies, was warm and fuzzy and precious and made him smile a little too wide for his liking.

and, he thought to himself as he looked up at you from his makeshift bed on the floor, if you could handle this confession so well, then you should be able to handle another.

here with another one! i think i'm liking the casual romance thing, it's so nice to experiment with :3 i've always loved this spiderman trope too lmao, it's so cute and such a mood. anyway, happy days to you all <3

[jenniquinn]

Joseph Quinn X Reader

Joe was away filming and your heart aches missing him. He would send you messages telling you he missed you and how much he loved you. It had already been a month since you've seen your boyfriend so you decided since you were off this week from work you'd fly to where he was filming.

You pack your bag then make sure you've gotten everything before locking the door and getting in your Uber. He tried calling you even FaceTime but you told him you were shutting your phone off. He was worried because you only did that when you were upset.

You make it to la where he's at and take another Uber to the hotel. You knew his room number from when you had to call the room one time. You knock on the door and he opens it, peaking out. Once he notices you he flings himself to you.

You embrace as he kisses all over your face. Giggling he looks at you "I missed you and I couldn't wait another month to see you" you tell him smiling. "Fuck sweets you don't know how crazy I've been going without you".

You start crying and he grabs your face while wiping your tears. "Oh baby please don't cry" he pulls you into the room and grabs your bag. You sit on his bed "I'm sorry" you start and wipe your nose. "I just missed your kiss so much it hurts". He tsks and sits next to you pulling you close.

"I'm here now" you lean your head listening to his heartbeat something that calmed you. He lifts your head "there's my pretty girl" he leans down and kisses you. "So how long are you here until" he asks and you look at him. "A week" he nods. "So tomorrow I'm calling in sick. There is no way we are leaving this room" he grins pulling into a deep kiss before laying you down.

He moans as your hands grab his hair. "Can't believe I haven't touched you in a month" he mumbles. You lean up to his ear " then touch me" he nods. He removes your jacket then reaches for your shirt while you kick off your shoes.

His hand roams your stomach before his lips touch your lips, his fingers lightly rub your nipples. You moan, his hand moves lower. His hand moves under your shorts and he gives a light rub while you lift your hips taking them off.

His hand finds your clit as his mouth is leaving kisses on your neck. A finger slides inside you and you moan. Then another is added and you are all but lifting off the bed. His thumb finds your clit. Your head falls back, eyes rolling at the pleasure. He moves lower before licking your clit. "Fuck Joe I missed you" you say and he moves still eating you out.

Once your legs begin to shake he pulls his mouth away and you whine. He stands and undresses. You stand pushing him on the bed. You fall to your knees and come face to face with his cock you missed so much. You grab it and give it a few tucks before slipping him in your mouth.

You moan as his hands push your head down. You gag as drool falls from the side of your mouth. Your makeup was already before but now you feel the tears hit, loving the moment. You feel him twitch before he pulls out.

He stands and moves you back to the bed. He lifts your legs, one on each shoulder as he enters you. Fuck you missed how he fills you up. He waits for you to adjust since it's been awhile then he begins fucking you. You let out a scream as your legs begin to shake again. "Fuck I've missed your dick" you yell and he moans. "Fuck I've missed this" he pants. "Fuck I'm so close" you scream. "The cum with me baby" he tells you and you both do.

Once your orgasm fades he pulls out of you and lays next to you. "I do not know how I'm ever gonna let you leave me" he says and your head hits his chest. "I don't know either" you look up at him. He kisses you. You deepen the kiss before straddling him. "Round two already" he asks smiling as you nod. You grab his dick and move it so he can enter you once again.

A week goes by and it's probably the hardest thing he had to do, watch you walk away. It nearly broke him. But he knew he would see you in a few weeks. But that didn't hurt any less.

[tlbodine]

Overthinking Goosebumps

It's been a long, ugly year for me. So I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that I've be craving some intense comfort and nostalgia this fall. Which is, I think, why I found myself gripped by a sudden and intense desire to re-read the the Goosebumps books.

Like every horror-loving Millennial, I cut my teeth on R.L. Stine books. The Haunted Mask was the first chapter book I remember reading, checking it out from the library on a whim. I was 7 years old and completely enthralled.

I spent my weekly $5 allowance on Goosebumps as often as I could and read them from libraries all over the country as we traveled. I didn't have a complete set -- my interest waned by the end of the run, as I'd shifted over to Animorphs -- but I did have a couple dozen of them that I foolishly donated. I haven't touched one of these books in 20 years.

So when the craving hit, replacing my copies felt expensive and daunting. They're collector's items that are worth more than the $3.99 I paid for them in the first place. So I tried to quell my craving by watching videos of people who had done a "read every Goosebumps book challenge," except that just made me want to read them more.

Then I found a bunch of them in audio. They just so happen to be the perfect length to knock out in a day or two of commuting - 2-3 hours per book. A perfect indulgence. I started listening and discovered that not only was I enjoying myself, but that I even had some big thoughts! So, hell, why not blog it?

No promises that I'll blog about every one that I read, and no telling how far I'll make it into the series before my enthusiasm wears off, but for now...I'm overthinking Goosebumps.

So follow along at the "#overthinking goosebumps" tag and come tell me about YOUR experience with these books!

Some General Notes

There are a few things that are kind of a given for every Goosebumps book, which I'll acknowledge here so I don't have to re-tread the same ground over and over in future reviews:

Every chapter ends on a cliffhanger. A lot of those cliffhangers are fake "gotchas" and a lot of the stories rely heavily on practical joker characters in order to add some conflict. Sometimes this is more annoying than others, but I can't really fault Stine for doing it. These were pulpy books for young reluctant readers. When you're 7 years old, this kind of stuff keeps you engaged.

Every book has a twist. At least, most of them do. Some of these twists are better than others. I'll probably talk about a lot of them, but just...you have to go into this anticipating that a lot of these books are shaggy dog stories.

Adults are useless. That's just middle-grade fiction for you. Kids don't want to read about parents solving problems. They want to read about kids having cool adventures.

Oh yeah - I also may mention the TV show from time to time, but I was not much of a fan of the show. I know a lot of other people are nostalgic about it, but I didn't like it as a kid and it certainly hasn't aged well. The effects look cheap, the acting is uniformly terrible, and the episodes generally aren't well-adapted from the books. So sorry if I piss on your parade when I bring up episodes in relation to the books. The theme song is a banger though.

The average Goosebumps book is around 20-25k in length. Stine released a new one every month for the entirety of its 62-book run. He was writing these in a couple weeks. EDIT: Apparently he did employ some ghostwriters, which is news to me and makes me sad, but I still respect him anyway. His background in magazine and TV writing really shows through with these, both in terms of speed, process, and humor.

(I admire the hell out of R.L. Stine. I got to very briefly meet him at NYCC and thank him for his influence. It was great.)

Ok. Fangirl flexing over.

Looking forward to re-visiting these books and giving some of the ol' classic T.L. Bodine deep-dive treatment to them ;)

[betweenthings2]

gatty “we are so lucky to have you” would be so perfect

Thank you for the ask!! The prompt list is here if anyone else would like to see it =) I know my promised one month turn around on prompts has truly fallen apart, but I do love them and I have so much fun writing them and I very much appreciate you guys sending them to me.

Words of affirmation- "We are so lucky to have you."

The sound of the clock is the only thing George can focus on. It's too loud, too much, especially in the small, quiet room. His desk is under a big window that overlooks their back yard and he can see Matty, smiling and playing fetch with Mayhem, pausing periodically to scratch the dog behind his ears and push curls out of his own face. George wishes he were down there, too, but he'd agreed with Matty on an ambitious timeline and now nothing is going like he wants it. Things had been better earlier in the day, when Matty was here, too, sitting on the floor with a guitar and listening, but he, and Mayhem, got restless and George sent them both outside.

He regrets that now and the clock is still too fucking loud. George is half tempted to take it down and just throw it at the wall, anything to get it to shut up, but he doesn't. Instead, he gets it down and takes the batteries out, leaving everything sitting on the edge of the desk. The ticking sound seems to echo for a few moments, then it's blissfully quiet. Still when he sits back down to keep working, nothing really works right and his gaze keeps wandering out the window to Matty and Mayhem. They look happy.

Despite knowing Matty had promised to come back when he'd left, George can't help but jump slightly when Matty knocks on the doorframe to announce his return. He stays there until George pauses what he's working on and turns to  invite him in. Matty's been making an effort about respecting George's space when he's working. George has mixed feelings about that--on one hand it's nice to have the space and time to focus, but on the other, he likes having Matty around, even if he is quick to get bored or restless.

"What'd the clock ever do to you?" Matty asks, crossing the room.

George shrugs. "Saw you guys outside," he offers.

Matty smiles. "Was probably for the best that you got tired of us."

"I didn't get tired of you," George protests. "You got bored and Mayhem wanted to go out."

"Whatever you say," Matty agrees. "I thought about making dinner, but then I remembered the last time I tried to cook, so I've brought tea," he raises the mug slightly, "and I've ordered takeaway from that Indian place. Mayhem and I are gonna walk down as get it. How's it goin'?"

"I'm just making it worse at this point," George mutters, glancing at his laptop then back to Matty.

Matty frowns sets the mug he's carrying on the desk and reaches out to cradle Georges jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "That's not true, love. I'm pretty sure you'd have to work to make something worse," he says. "Lemme hear?"

"Yeah, ok," George agrees. He pulls up the track that he'd been working on and plays in from the beginning, studying Matty for any kind of reaction while he listens. When it's over he says, "Dunno what's wrong with it, 's just not doing what it's supposed to."

Matty nods. "You haven't made it worse," is what he starts with, "but I see what you mean. Let me think on it?"

"Think on it all you want, but it's all like that." George sighs. "We should have someone else do this. I don't know why we thought I was the person to do this."

"First of all," Matty starts, "we are so lucky to have you. So, so lucky. Second of all, I'm absolutely certain that you are the best person to do this. You wanna come pick up the takeaway with us?"

George shakes his head. "We're on a deadline."

"The deadline is bullshit. I came up with the deadline and every time I come up with a deadline we end up pushing it back, and there's no point in you sitting here and making yourself miserable. Come for a walk. You'll feel better. You can go back to being miserable after if you want."

"Do you think that maybe that's why we end up pushing things back?" George asks. "Because you don't take your own deadlines seriously?"

Matty shrugs, but he says, "That sounds like something my therapist would say which is a little bit weird for me, so no more saying wise things, just get up and come with me."

"Alright," George agrees, letting Matty urge him to his feet and lead him out of the room and downstairs. Much to his chagrin, he feels better just getting up and moving a little bit, and he says, "Are you gonna be insufferable if I say you were right?"

"Insufferable, probably not," Matty answers. "A little obnoxious, probably."

George can't help but laugh and he pauses before pulling his shoes on to pull Matty close and say, "Thank you."

Matty tugs him down for a kiss then says, "Always."

[val-writesstuff]

Dear Diary

Prologue

Summary: Your brother and his best friend that you're secretly in love with, go missing. Peggy thinks somehow you’ll be able to find them. Will you find them, or will you lose yourself in the process?

wc:1.1k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

a/n: Am I starting a new series to procrastinate from my other one? Maybe. My brain doesn't listen when I tell it to focus on one thing, so here ya go.

Italics are writing

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Dear Diary

It's been a month since Steve disappeared. With him gone, nothing feels real. It feels like I'm drifting through life. I haven't felt like this since our mom died, Steve and Bucky were the only ones who could bring me back and now they're both gone.

Gone, not dead. Neither of my boys came home, neither had bodies. I think that might be worse, the not knowing. They could be stranded somewhere, freezing, and injured. I wish I could help them, wherever they are.

It’s weird being in this house alone. I don't go out anymore. I spend most of my days wrapped in my bed. I’ve been too scared to enter his room or move his stuff, what if he comes home and everything he knew is gone?

Peggy keeps coming by the house. She brings groceries, she cooks for me. Sometimes we sit and have tea together. She used to try to make small talk, but the past few days she just looked nervous around me. I know she feels bad about what happened but I can't help but blame her a little.

Our lives used to be relatively normal. Then Steve somehow gets into the army which, I know was his dream but it was crazy. I hoped they’d give him something easier like being a medic or something but he sends me a letter saying he's going to be experimented on. I didn't hear from him for a long time after that. Then ‘Captain America’ starts going around doing shows. I guess he was busy entertaining the masses. The next letter i got, he said something had happened to bucky and he was going to rescue him.

Then I got a knock on the door. Peggy herself was standing on my doorstep. I had never met her before but from the look on her face, I knew something had happened. Diary, I’m not proud of what happened next. There was a lot of screaming and crying, mostly from me. I know you'll say it's not very ladylike, but when have I cared about that before?

I still hate her a little, even if she's not the reason he joined. She got him involved in the stuff that got him killed. Got bucky killed too. I don't know if I’ll ever forgive her.

When I hear the knocking on the door I know it's her. I close up my diary and shove it back on the shelf before I open the door. Her smile wavers a little and I take a step back to let her in the apartment. I close the door behind her and busy myself with making tea so I don’t have to look at her.

I hear her sit at the table and take a deep breath before she finally says something. “Listen, I know I keep showing up and I'm probably the last person you want to see right now-” I scoff as I set the tea on the table and sit across from her. “But this time I'm here to suggest something and it's going to sound a little crazy, so please don't kick me out yet.”

From what I knew of her, Peggy’s version of crazy could be ‘come out and have a drink with me and some of the guys your brother knew’ or ‘Come get injected with an untested serum so you can fight bad guys.” Neither option sounds great right about now. 

“Your brother told me about you. He told me about the things you can do, and how you're special in ways others aren't.” 

“I don't know what he said but you have to believe me when I say it's not true.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Stevie has always had a very active imagination.” I tried to muster up a chuckle as I rambled about my brother. “It's probably from all his time locked inside. You know he used to get sick easily? So, mom, wouldn't let him go play with the other kids. He’d spend all his time reading fairytales or drawing them and-”

She leaned in close and whispered as if somebody might overhear her. “He told me because he thought you could help us. He knew if anybody could get you in, it’d be me. He told me how you always used to take care of him, he wanted to take care of you.” 

I cross my arms and glare at her. “He had no right to tell you that. You shouldn't know about that.”

“You might be right, but I'm glad he told me. I want you to do a job for me. My little team wants to search for them, Barnes and Steve. I convinced them you're the right person for the job.” Now I knew why she had looked so nervous recently, she was offering me a small ray of hope in the darkness.

“That sounds great and all but I don't have any experience with this kind of thing. My abilities wouldn't be of any help to you.” I didn't like the idea of anybody knowing what I could do, but if it helped find Bucky or Steve I’d do whatever I could.

“Dear diary…” I mutter as I pull my coat tighter around me as the wind blows snow in my face. “Today I get to explore the middle of nowhere because my stupid brother's insane girlfriend thought it would be wise to send me out here after a month of training. Truly a match made in heaven, those two.”

“I know it seems impossible but you're their only hope.” Peggy's voice crackled out of the portable radio I was clutching in my hand. “Howard's equipment picked up activity out there and we have high hopes it's him.” 

“Peggy I admire your optimism, I do.” I sighed as I paused and looked around. All I could see was whirling snow and rocky cliffs. “But it's been months… He fell off a train for god's sake. On the off chance he is alive, he would've had to survive with probably very serious injuries and no rations. If he found a way to do that…I don't think he’d still be himself.”

“Please, you have to find him.” I could hear her voice crack even through the static of the radio. I knew she wanted me to do this so she’d have a justifiable reason to send me after Steve, that's what she wanted. 

In the distance, I saw something silver glint in the sun and I took off running toward it. I fell to my knees as I pulled a pair of dog tags on a chain out of the snow. “Peggy I found-” my body couldn't decide if I wanted to sob or laugh. He was somewhere out here and he had survived the fall.

I was so distracted by what I found I never noticed the man creeping up behind me. Didn't realize I wasn’t alone until I felt the sharp pain of a needle in my neck.

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Tagging people i think might be interested (unless you ask/fill the taglist form, i will not tag you in future posts): @wakandabiitch2 @james-bucky-barnes-bitch @piperstofu101 @holyhumorliteraturelight @moonlissworld @matchat3a @vicmc624 @hw-shorty @juliapowers @jobean12-blog @jamesbuchananbarnesslut @buckyownsmylife @cjand10

[foster-the-world]

Why do I get my hopes up

Remember how I thought they found a special ed provider? Well I was wrong. I signed the authorization form but now there is no start date. Lots of emails, phone calls, no response except "I emailed and haven't heard from them."

Now I have to do the due process hearing tomorrow. I'm glad I had the foresight not to cancel. But I would have prepared a great deal more. Dreading every second of it. Taking unpaid leave off work since I haven't earned leave, yet. Which adds insult to injury.

Also, baby boy had a big outburst yesterday. Knocking over chairs, not listening, etc. He's high energy but this is not normal. He's been doing well in school. Had his parent teacher conference last week- nothing like that mentioned at all. All good reports on his benchmarks - letters, etc. Teacher said "she loved him." A week back she told my husband intelligence wise he's "#1 in the class." Probably not appropriate to say but not bad to hear. Last night we made a big deal out of his bad behavior. Not much we can do but talk to him but we talked a lot. Today we got our first call home about the same bad behavior. He was climbing on the book shelf, running out of the class, threw a milk bottle down. He hasn't done this all year. Nothing at all has changed at home. It's daylight savings time but he still got his normal 12 hours of sleep last night. At a loss for what to do. I told the teacher I could come get him but I'm afraid it would make him do it again. He likes school but his preference is always to be with me. She said they didn't want that. Tonight we tried not mentioning the bad behavior at all. We are wondering if making a big deal out of it somehow perversely makes him do it again. Talking about it certainly didn't help. Not saying its a good idea we just don't know what else to do. He was an angel at home and the playground. Sharing his toys, making new friends, etc, etc.

Emailed the school assistant principal, counselor, teacher, etc. Said we would love to work together to come up with a solution. Cc'd the special ed lady who is supposed to find him providers. Explained in the email they haven't found him providers and hoped that she would provide insight. No response so far. Blah.

If he keeps acting like that at school we will have to pull him out. Its a public school so they can't kick him out (or at least not easily) but we aren't going to let him make his teachers/classmates miserable. They deserve a safe, calm classroom. I guess we would try to find a daytime sitter. We have a few options.

Before that we are thinking we will pay the crazy, insane amount of money for a special ed provider out of pocket if the hearing does not go our way tomorrow. Ten hours per week will cost roughly the same as my take home pay as a full-time nurse. We had talked about paying for four hours - which was more manageable in our budget. But with this kind of behavior that won't be enough. In theory, it will only be for three months.

If I had a really stressful job I would be considering giving it up, if this behavior continues. It seems like a full time job trying to get these services and he could stay home with me until we figure it out. Financially, we could afford for me to stay home another yearish based off the money we made selling our home. However, this job will eventually be a really good job as a parent. There will always be time for me to do some family logistic stuff during the day. At some point I can work from home two days a week. Once sick leave/PTO kicks in I'll have a lot. FMLA benefits are generous. I have a union. In the long run I'm sure I could negotiate time off to figure out his needs if it so requires. Its just a shitty time for all of this to be going down because I only started six weeks ago. Not to mention I want to work. I went to nursing school for a reason. So far, I really like the work. I started trying to get him services last May. How in the world does he still only have a half hour out of the 13 hours he is assigned? Its all so depressing.