#i think i might need to pretend like i'm writing a school assignment and set a word limit next time

[toomanytookas]

Some day, I promise, I will be normal about what you write...

GIF by masterelrond

The care and love for one another that you have given these characters is astonishingly beautiful.

Like, to start off with, taking this line as a reference to not just the house but potentially their relationship is killer on its own: “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” But it’s made all the more special in the way you thread that notion through so many different elements of what we learn about them in this piece.

Frankie and the reader's levels of insecurity and self loathing and self doubt and self sacrifice hit me so hard. Seeing how they both make such an immense but also understated effort to bolster each other, to be that complementary other half that fills those aching, insecure, unbalanced gaps and help make it less of an individual burden to bear… there’s so much understanding there, so much gentleness.

Speaking of filling gaps, I could write an entire essay on your use of kintsugi as a metaphor. It's gorgeous. I'm obsessed with how you call back to the imagery of a gilded repair after introducing it. This nearly ended me:

“I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.  

There is something so wonderful about being sure. About being able to say with confidence what will come next—being able to plan for a future that that will be better, but better because it will mean even more time together in a less cramped and penny pinching era, not because anything has to change for things to be good.

For two people who—at least from my reading—probably always felt like the future was something that would haunt them once they got to it and so they might as well leave thinking about it until later, I can imagine it must feel so healing to be able to look forward to the future knowing they'll be in it, married, together.

On a mostly related note, I'm fucking obsessed with this line: In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

To return to kintsugi for a second (lol I told you I could write an essay), I think my favourite detail of the craft itself that has high allegorical potential is that the lacquer that is used to make the repairs, urushi, is highly irritating for human skin (the plant is related to poison oak/ivy). You have to be very careful when applying it to avoid getting a pretty awful rash. However, as it hardens, it loses this property, leaving just the very strongly bonded repair behind.

I think there's a lot in this fic that celebrates a similar thing— the love that comes from a person who sees you, all of your damaged bits, and will happily work through discomfort and discord (and, to refer to your wording, maybe a bit of dislike even while being in love) with patience and attention in order to build an immensely strong relationship that embraces and incorporates the once jagged edges.

One more kintsugi-themed line that I really wanted to applaud you for and then I'll move on (because believe it or not there's another theme I wanted to address before shutting up):

He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.   Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Jeeeeeeeesus fucking christ. 🥵

That actually does tie in quite well to the other thing I wanted to yell (fondly) at you about, which is all of the metaphors of possession and consumption and destruction that I swear are the hottest, most beautiful fucking* things. (*ha literally!)

I'm not going to highlight all of them—you wrote the thing, you know where they are—but I did want to give these two a special shout out:

It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it

... you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

It’s such aggressive, passionate language, but it somehow all feels so reverent and warm and loving at the same time. I adore the fact that it's a reciprocal thought, that they are both so obsessed and in love and encountering this feeling of wanting to swallow each other whole (and even that might not be enough).

I’m bad at ending these so I will just say: Thanks!The end!! Finally!!! 💕 🙈

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed 

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled. 

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder. 

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.” 

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.” 

Partner. 

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. 

And then he met you and the definition changed again. 

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why. 

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days. 

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions. 

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts. 

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed. 

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here. 

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all. 

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.” 

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime. 

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath. 

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee. 

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold. 

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.” 

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee. 

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets. 

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night. 

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids. 

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it. 

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since. 

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks. 

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair. 

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation. 

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay. 

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold. 

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love. 

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants. 

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare. 

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him. 

“Baby–,” 

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this 

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall. 

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer. 

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in. 

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut. 

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars. 

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day. 

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is. 

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head. 

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful. 

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you. 

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you. 

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees. 

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now. 

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it. 

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch. 

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart. 

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips. 

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs. 

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes. 

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it. 

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford. 

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair. 

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.” 

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole. 

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair. 

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh. 

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty. 

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible. 

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean. 

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face. 

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine. 

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point. 

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now. 

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls. 

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest. 

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table. 

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock. 

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?” 

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich. 

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.” 

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.” 

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork. 

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist. 

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.  

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain. 

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.  

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.” 

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” 

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it. 

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done. 

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.” 

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow. 

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy. 

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire. 

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust. 

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again. 

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm. 

“B-baby, please–,” 

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer. 

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.” 

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.” 

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. 

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name. 

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep. 

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again. 

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst. 

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs. 

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet. 

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor. 

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull. 

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face. 

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.” 

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest. 

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.” 

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips. 

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all. 

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed. 

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you. 

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.” 

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach. 

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.” 

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

[thewayitalknj]

The Song That Follows

Modern!Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary-A love song from one of your favorite movies seems to follow you wherever you go and starts to play into your real life ; Prom is just around the corner as well. Word Count-6.7k Warnings-Friends to lovers ; A mention of sleeping together but none is written ; Takes place in 2023.

Quick Notes-Well holy crap, here I am writing for the first time since 2011 probably? I'm a bit rusty, but I hope you enjoy! Just a funny side note, Mrs. K is based off of a real life teacher I had in high school. She did come to my prom drunk (LOL). She also did ask my friends and I to help for the extra credit for a school event but we kindly declined. :) (also I'm insanely obsessed with this song, I hope you love it as well!)

You - Hey! I’m in need of your assistance for the next Photoshop Challenge for Photography, can you meet me in the computer lab after school?

Jonathan - sure, no problem. I’ll see you then!

As the final bell of the day rang you made you way to the computer lab to meet Jonathan, grateful he was willing to help considering you hated asking your own teachers questions yourself. You knew senior year wasn’t going to be easy but as the end of the year started getting closer and closer you couldn’t believe that you and your friends were off to college. Soon there would be one more lunch together, one more after school meet up and one more meeting in the computer lab.

“Hey you finally beat me.” You say walking up to Jonathan who’s waiting for you outside the door.

“Last class was right around the corner, you ready to tackle this assignment?”

“Let’s do it.” 

Time passed as you and Jonathan worked on your homework together. Your objective was to take a photo but add in a random object, then having to take said random object out of the photo with editing. You both were concentrating so hard you didn’t even notice your Sociology teacher, Mrs. K, walking up between you two.

“Good afternoon!”

“Hey Mrs. K, how are you?” You ask smiling. Mrs. K was one of your favorite teachers. She was defiantly a little off but was still the life of the party during class.

“I’m doing well missy thank you for asking. I’m so glad I found you both together, I need to ask you a possible favor.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’m head of the prom committee this year and in need of more volunteers. Just a few students to help out with small things for the night.”

“Ah, and what’s in it for us?” Jonathan asks, smirking.

She laughs and shakes her head. “You know me too well Mr. Byers. Extra credit. I’ll let you know a few weeks before what your jobs will be and it will go towards your final grade of the year. I’ll even knock off some final questions.”

“That’s really nice of you to ask us for help Mrs. K but I already have plans on prom night.” You answer with a pretend sad look on your face. You knew you never wanted to go to prom. You hated getting dressed up, wearing makeup, hell doing your own routine in the morning was frustrating enough.

“Plans already? Prom is another month away how do you already have plans?”

“They just happened to fall on prom night. Look, can we talk it over and get back to you?”

“Sure, I’ll be at the front desk working. Thank you both for your consideration.” With a huge pat on the back to the both of you, she walks away.

“I’m just as confused, how do you have plans already set in stone?” Jonathan raises an eyebrow.

“Like I said, they just happen to fall on the same night as prom. I wasn’t planning on going anyway.”

“Well, let’s think this over real quick. Save your file.” You quickly save your edited work and turn to Jonathan. “This is easy extra credit. Who cares if we have to listen to terrible pop music and dress up for one night. We could even ask Nancy, Eddie and Robin to help too. We can all go as a group. It might be worth it.”

“Nancy and Robin would be on board, Eddie is another story.”

“Why?”

“I know him, okay? Prom is not his style or the place he wants to be.”

“But it’s extra credit. Like I said, easy extra credit. I’m in. How about you?” You thought about it for a moment. He was right, it IS super easy extra credit. Your grade could use a pick me up, and it would be a fun night with friends regardless.

“Okay, you convinced me. Let’s go tell Mrs. K when we’re done editing.” Once you heard the announcement of the computer lab closing you both approached Mrs. K and told her you were in. She was very delighted and thanked you a million times and gave lots of hugs. 

Now the difficult part is coming up, canceling your plans to volunteer on prom night. I’m sure the news will be taken lightly considering the situation, what could possibly go wrong? Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, right?

Your locker slams shut. “YOU WHAT?”

“Don’t raise your voice on me Munson.” You turn around and begin to head down the hallway towards the lunchroom.

“Come on, we’ve had these plans for months. We made a vow-”

“Yes yes I know we did.”

“And you want to fall to the broken conformity that is…fucking prom?!” You stop and turn around again this time facing him yourself.

“Look Eddie I’m sorry but this is the easiest extra credit you can receive. You have Mrs. K too why don’t you sign up as well. I’m sure you of all people need the exert credit.”

“Wow, ouch.” This time he takes the lead in walking.

“Well it’s too late, I’ll be there. I still think you should go. Our whole group is going to be there so it won’t be like you're alone.”

“That’s not really the point-”

“Then can you please for one night not be the kid who thinks he’s too cool for school?”

“Still not the point but I’m ending this conversation now.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You both enter the lunchroom and find Nancy, Robin and Jonathan at your usual table.

“Whoa, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Robin asks Eddie.

“This one,” Eddie points to you, “has canceled plans with me.”

“Oh, whoa is me.” Robin has always been the one for dramatics and you softly laugh to yourself while getting your lunch out.

“Did these plans happen to fall on prom night?” Jonathan then asks.

Eddie rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed even at the word. “Yes they did. Why? Are you to blame for this?” 

“Blame for what? Is this about Mrs. K’s extra credit volunteering?” Nancy interjects.

“I am to blame for this then. Yes, Mrs. K asked us yesterday in the computer lab and we accepted.”

“She asked Robin and I in class today. We signed up too, figured it would be fun.”

“Nancy, you have an A already you don’t need the extra credit.” 

“Yes that’s true but after she told us you two were helping we thought we could go as a group to stick together.”

“My thoughts exactly. See?” Jonathan smiles at you and the girls. Eddie slumps in his chair and sighs.

“I’ll just be alone, in my room, with my guitar and uncle in the other room as he watches reruns of Wheel of Fortune all night.”

“Come on Eddie, can’t you suck it up for one night?” Robin shakes his arm and pouts as she speaks. “It will be a lot of fun. And we can all hang out afterword.”

“I don’t know guys I really don’t want to.”

“Just give it a thought okay? I bet you could use the extra credit as well.” Nancy says.

“Jesus Christ…”

Hey I still feel bad about changing our plans, can I please make it up to you?

1 New Notification 

Eddie - what do you have in mind??

Well I was going to ask if I can join in on Hellfire for the rest of the month but considering I almost killed our whole party in one of our last sessions I don’t think I’m ever welcomed back.

…yeah Dustin and Lucas are still mad about that…can we just have our movie night some other time?

Absolutely! What works for you?

Next Friday?

Perfect, see you then! :)

Movie night was an essential part of your friendship with Eddie. Every other Friday you would get together and watch one of your favorite films. This time it was Eddie’s trailer with you bringing the snacks and choosing the film. And after another long boring day of school you were exited about spending the night with your best friend.

After knocking three times Eddie rushed to the door to let you in. “About time, what was taking so long?”

“I over bought, get ready for your freezer to be full again.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. Wayne will be happy about it too.” He steps aside to let you in, putting all your bags on the counter.

“Speaking of, where is my favorite long lost uncle?”

“Working per usual but he says hello.” You and Eddie spend the next few minutes getting everything set up. Snacks on the coffee table while the oven baked your favorite appetizers. “Alight so it’s your choice tonight. What streaming service are we using?”

“Amazon Prime.” You answer, grabbing the remote and loading up the app on his TV.

“Hm, different.”

“Eddie Munson, get ready to watch one of the best film of the 80’s. Personally, one of my favorite’s. Not only is it one of my favorite’s but the soundtrack is perfect is every single way.”

“Okay, so what’s it called?”

“Streets of Fire. A rock and roll fable.”

“If it’s one of the best movies of the 80’s why have I never heard of it?”

“Have I also mentioned it is very underrated?”

“Well now you have. Okay, press play.”

“With pleasure.” You press play and the movie begins.

An hour and half seem to pass like it’s nothing. You knew you were going to enjoy the movie but was curious to how Eddie would react. Every so often you would steal some glances at him, and his eyes never left the screen. Hell he never even got up to go to the bathroom or to get more food. “Well…what do you think?”

“That was…wow.”

“Wow good or wow bad? You’re killing me.”

“You weren’t kidding. I loved it. Why isn’t it more well known?”

“Beats me. My Dad showed it to me a few years ago.”

“Why didn’t you show me sooner?”

“Dunno, just came to mind one day and I figured it would be perfect for a movie night and well, here we are. Plus like I said the soundtrack is one of my favorites, I listen to is constantly.”

“Good choice, good choice.” He nods his head in approval and you smile. “Come on, let’s get this place cleaned up.” As you both continue to tidy up you can’t help but think of how Eddie won’t be joining you and your friends for prom.

“Hey.” He looks at you. “Are you sure you don’t want to come to prom with us? It really is going to be fun.” He just laughs and shakes his head. “Eddie…”

“I’m not going hun. I’m sorry, I just don’t want too. None of you can convince me otherwise.” You accept defeat. As much as you want him to join you you know it’s going to be difficult to talk him into going. It’ll take a miracle to get him there. So you figured from that point on you shouldn’t waste your time. 

The end of the night arrived and it was time for you to head back home. You give him a quick hug and he watches you walk back to your car. When you safely enter he closes the trailer door. As your phone connects to car, I Can Dream About You by Dan Hartman pops up as your first shuffled song. “Huh, that’s funny.” You sing along to your favorite song from Streets of Fire and drive on home.

2 New Notification 

Nancy - I’m sorry but Robin is about to text you about dress shopping, just wanted to warn you.

Robin-HEYYYY WE’RE GOING DRESS SHOPPING TODAY AND YOU CAN’T TELL US NO SEE YOU LATER OKAY BYEEEEEEEEE.

“I can’t believe you pulled me out on a Saturday to go dress shopping.” You, Robin and Nancy are standing outside your local mall.

“Ladies,” Robin turns to you both, “I’m what you would call a fashionista.”

“You most certainly are not-” “Far from it actually-” You and Nancy answer at the same time.

“Okay okay, I get it. But you will thank me later when I help pick out your dresses. Now, let’s go girls.” She struts herself into the mall. You and Nancy (again at the same time) roll your eyes and follow right behind her, passing all the local shops until you reach the dress shop.

“This is my own personal nightmare.” You whisper to yourself.

“Heard that, and trust me. Don’t you trust me?” Robin asks.

“NO.” Again, you and Nancy speak in unison.

“Please stop doing that, it’s freaking me out. Now, leave me to my duties. I shall be back in a jiffy.” Nancy takes a seat at the front of the store while you lean against the glass wall.

“Do you really trust her with this shit?” You look over at Nancy who’s scrolling through her phone.

“Honestly no, but we had no choice but to be here or we wouldn’t hear the end of it. So let her have her fun. Who knows, maybe she’ll find us some good choices.”

Turns out Robin was good with fashion if she put her mind to it. She picked out a few dresses for Nancy which she tried on, settling on the third choice. Once it was your turn, Robin led you to your dressing room, closing the curtain. “Um, Robin there’s only one dress in here.”

“I know, try it on. I have my reasons.” You look over the dress, touching it with ease. You admire how pretty it really is and thought you would pick it out yourself if you saw it on the rack. You quickly change out of your clothes into the dress, only to find your having trouble with the zipper. 

“Hey, need help with the zipper. Can’t seem to reach.” You open the curtain and Robin quickly helps, then taking a step back.

“Whoa.” This time, it’s her and Nancy speaking at the same time.

“Whoa good or whoa bad?”

“Whoa good. Look at yourself.” You turn around towards the mirror and step onto the pedestal. You were never for dressing up but this dress was just, perfect.

“Damn Robin, you out did yourself.” You complaint her work, turning around and admiring how the dress fits you perfectly.

“I told you, I have my reasons.”

“And those reasons were?” 

A familiar song starts playing in the store.

“Well for one, the dress is just you. And two-”

“Wait, wait sorry. Hold on.” You point your finger to the speaker and smile. “Sorry, I just love this song.”

“Okay, random.”

“What song is it?” Nancy seemed curious.

“It’s called I Can Dream About You. It’s from the 80’s, it’s actually from one of my favorite soundtracks.”

“What movie?”

“Streets of Fire? Why are you questioning me so much?”

“Because I knew this sounded familiar. Mike was listening to it in his room. When I asked him about the song he said Eddie told him to listen to it.”

“He, he did?”

“Yeah, he said they all started talking about movies and Eddie brought it up. He said he watched it with you-”

“WHICH leads me to reason number two,” Robin interrupts, “this dress will knock Eddie off his feet.” 

“Very funny Robin.” You step down and cross your arms.

“I mean Robin isn’t wrong, Eddie would love this on you.” Nancy agrees, looking you up and down.

“When did this fantasy about Eddie and I start?”

“Oh please, we’ve all known since we were like 15. You belong together, and we all think it.”

“And we all is…?”

“Everyone in our group, even Eddie. But of course he won’t admit it himself because he’s stubborn and men never admit their feelings.”

“Robin-”

“Hush,” she covers your mouth “it is my mission to get you both together by the end of senior year. Also,” she uncovers your mouth, “this song is clearly a sign.”

“Okay Robin you’re loosing it-”

“Oh come on! Don’t you think it’s coincidental that you hear this song while shopping and then learn how Mike was listening to it after you just happen to show Eddie this movie a few weeks ago?” She perks her head to the side, she once again, wasn’t wrong.

“Well-”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not. And after Eddie and I watched it, it was the first song to pop up on my shuffle.” Robin raises her arms to the sky.

“See?! It’s fate. It’s going to happen I can guarantee it. I will work my magic. Now, let’s go pay for these beauties.” She once again struts her way this time to the cashier.

“And do you have a say in all of this?” You ask Nancy.

“Well, the dress is gorgeous. And I also think you and Eddie belong together. That’s all.” 

“Awesome, great thanks. Can you please unzip me?” Nancy helps as you make your way back in and get dressed back into your normal attire. 

Senior Week had finally arrived, which meant prom was on Friday. Today was a half day for the senior class. It was also the day you found out your special jobs. Thankfully being the wonderful teacher she is, Mrs. K kept you and your friends together and assigned you to help decorate apart of the gym the morning of. Your last event of the day was lunch. “So, what’s this big news you have to share Jonathan?”

“Wait until Eddie comes and I’ll let you all know.” After a few minutes, Eddie sits himself next to you taking out his headphones.

“Sorry, got held up in the library working on an assignment. What’s your big news?”

“I have a surprise for you guys.”

“And what would that be?” Nancy asks.

“Argyle is flying in from California to go to prom with us.”

“No way?!” “That’s awesome!” “Sweet!” Everyone seemed super excited about Argyle flying in, except for Eddie.

“Well, I’m sure you all will have fun together.”

“Come on Munson, you seriously don’t want to come?” Robin sticks out her lip.

“No no and fuck no. You can keep trying but nothing is going to convince me to go.”

“You suck, you know that?”

“Nothing new.” He states.

Jonathan jumps back into the conversation to change the subject. “Yeah, he’s really excited about coming. He can’t wait to see you all.”

“We’re excited to see him too, it’s been so long. FaceTime and Zoom can only do so much.” You say.

“True. So, how was shopping for your dresses?”

“It actually went pretty well. Turns out Robin has an eye for fashion when she puts her mind to it.” Nancy answers.

“What do the dresses look like?”

You begin to answer, “Well mine is-”

“NOPE. Keep your mouth shut!” Robin yells.

“The heck is up with you?” Eddie asks.

“It’s all a surprise. You’ll have to wait until Friday to see how we look.”

“But I’m not even going.”

“Then you’re missing out.” Robin says matter-of-faculty. You knew what she was doing and you hated it, but you also wanted to see what the outcome would be.

“Whatever, you guys have fun. I’ll be home if you change your mind.” He says to you, picking up his stuff and leaving. When he was getting up he unlocked his phone and pressed play on a song popping in his headphones, you caught a quick glimpse of it and your eyes went wide. After he took a few steps away, they all look at you confused.

“What?” You ask.

“Why did it look like your eyes were going to budge out of your sockets?” Jonathan asks, concerned if anything.

“Oh, nothing. I’m fine.”

“You look like you saw a ghost just now. What gives?”

“I said it’s nothing-”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, thank you though.”

Robin smirks. 

Prom Night approached a lot quicker then you expected. Senior Week flew by so quick you now found yourself at Nancy’s house with Robin getting ready. Peter Gabriel’s Your Eyes playing through the speakers in her room. You spent most of the morning at school getting your extra credit in with Mrs. K and other classmates. When 2pm hit the clock she dismissed and thanked you all for your hard work. Jonathan agreed to pick everyone up along with Argyle.

“I’m so tired from earlier I don’t think I’m going to make it through the night.” You say.

“Oh you’ll be fine. Once we all get there your energy will pick up.” Nancy says. You nod your head and continue working on your makeup.

“And that was Peter Gabriel’s Your Eyes on 102.7, hits from yesterday and today. I’m Michelle, your DJ for the next few hours. The all request zone is coming up, so call in or shoot us a text to get your fav songs on the air! I’ll be back after these messages.”

“Hm, that sounds fun. I’ll be right back.” Robin says as she exits the room.

“What does she mean?” Nancy asks.

“Beats me, maybe she’s going to the bathroom.” A few moments pass as Robin enters back into the room with a smile on her face, a few minutes pass until the DJ begins talking on the radio again.

“Alight everyone and we’re back. We had a few calls and texts coming in. I want to kick off our request zone with a message from a young lady named Robin! She called in for a message for a friend, quote ‘Please change your mind, you won’t regret it. She’s going to look stunning and gorgeous and you know you’re going to kick yourself for it.’ And with that, here’s her request ‘I Can Dream About You’ by Dan Hartman!” The song starts playing

“ROBIN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” You scream, dropping your eyeliner.

“Hey, you never know, Eddie could be listening. Plus, let’s flashback to yesterday shall we? You know damn well what you saw on his phone. He was listening to this song when he got up and you saw it on his lock screen, wasn’t he?” You stare at her. “Well?”

“Wait, is she for real?” Nanny questions putting down her hair supplies  down, now entertained.

“…Yes. He was listening to it.” You admit, looking down at the floor.

“SEE? I knew it. Fate, it’s going to happen. He’s showing up tonight.”

“No, he’s not. I know him better than you, he doesn’t listen to the radio that much. Mainly just his phone. There’s only one good rock station in this town and it’s rare he even listens to that.”

“Well I thought it was worth a shot. I guarantee he’ll come. I can feel it.” You just shake your head and continue with your makeup. “Anyhow, ladies. Let’s get glammed.”

After a few hours cooped up in Nancy’s bedroom, you all found yourselves taking photos in the Wheelers living room.

“You girls look so beautiful, so grown up!” Mrs. Wheeler wipes away a tear while clicking her photo button multiple times.

“Okay Mom, that’s enough.” Nancy states.

“Oh one more please?!” DING DONG.

Nancy whispers a small “thank god” as Mrs. Wheeler gets the door to greet Jonathan and Argyle.

“What up my Hawkins family?!” Argyle enters with arms wide open. You, Nancy and Robin all run to him and engulf him in the biggest hug.

“We’ve missed you! We’re so glad you came for this!” You say.

“I’m glad too! Jonathan gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“Yeah yeah, you all look great by the way.” Jonathan bows to you all as Argyle follows along. Mrs. Wheeler insists on taking more photos together and you all agree because you can see she’s still so emotional.

“Okay, I’ll let you all go. You have fun, stay safe and text me updates please!” You all then give her a hug when you hear honking coming from outside the house.

“What the hell is that?” Ronin questions looking out the window. “Oh, no way.”

“Yeah, I came barring gifts my friends.” Argyle leads to the front door.

“COME ON SENIORS, WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE.” And there you see Steve, leaning up against a car.

“Oh you can’t just stay away from Hawkins even after you graduated can you Harrington?” You yell to him, walking out and meeting him.

“And miss all my friends going to their senior prom? Never, come here.” You give him a hug and look at the car. 

“Whose car?” Robin points to the shiny black car.

“Argyle rented it for you guys for the night, and I will be your chauffeur.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Nancy says to Argyle.

“It’s no problemo, figured it can be my thank you to you all for the invite and for Jonathan letting me crash at his place so I didn’t have to stay at a hotel.”

“Look at the time, let’s get you guys to prom. I’m driving, so I’m playing DJ.” Steve opens the back door for everyone as you pile in and make your way towards Hawkins High.

Approaching the school was overwhelming. There were teachers, parents and cars everywhere. It took awhile for Steve to pull up to the entrance but you finally made it. After parking the car Steve turns around to face you all. “Okay kids, prom ends at midnight and I will be here on the dot to pick you up. No later than that okay?”

“Thanks Dad. See you then.” Robin says rolling her eyes, a specialty of her’s at this point. You all exit the car and make your way into the gymnasium. 

“Place looks great, our hard work paid off.” Jonathan states, looking around.

“You all did this?” Argyle asked in amazement.

“Well some of it yes.” You answer.

“Rad.” 

The night rolls on smoothly. You’re all horribly dancing to terrible TikTok hits and overplayed songs on the radio, but that’s not stopping you from having a good time. Although every time you would greet a fellow classmate, the majority asked where Eddie was. It hurt but you can’t say you didn’t try. You even tried to request a few songs to the DJ but he just looked at you like you had three heads. However when you requested Taylor Swift he was happy to oblige.

“I’m going to go get some water, anyone want any?” You yell over the music.

“No but we’ll meet you over by the tables, we need a break.” Robin says, pointing to where they’re going to be. You give her a thumbs up and head over to the water table, filling your cup and taking a huge gulp. Who knew dancing would take up this much energy.

“Hey there sonny!” Mrs. K comes on over standing next to you.

“Hi Mrs. K! You look beautiful.”

“As do you! How’s your night going?” Mrs. K seemed a little too upbeat and standing a bit too close. Smelling her breath you knew she definitely had a few to drink before arriving.

“It’s going great. We’re having a fun time.”

“Awesome! Hey, I meant to ask you all earlier. Where’s that Munson kid?” She looks around the dance-floor.

“He’s not coming. He had obligations set already.” 

“Ah, shame, I thought for sure he would be your date.” She playfully hit your arm raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah everyone seems to keep telling me that.” You take another sip of your water.

“Shame shame shame…” She begins to dance and sing, …”sHAME SHAME SHAAMEEE…”

“Here Mrs K,” you hand her a cup of water, “I’m going to go find my friends.” You quickly walk away and return to your group.

“What’s up with Mrs. K?” Jonathan asks.

“I think she may have had some drinks before coming in tonight.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Nancy laughs.

“Yeah I thought something was off about that lady. Is she always like that?” Argyle asks.

“YES.” You all answer in unison, laughing even harder. You all notice the DJ slowing the songs down, indicating it was time for some slow dancing to take place. You all look at eachother, shake your heads and sit on down. You start conversations about your senior year, how Argyle’s school year was back in California and small talk when you notice a familiar song starting to play.

 I Can Dream About You starts playing over large speakers.

“Oh my god, you have got to be kidding.” You say, shaking your head and placing it in your arms on the table.

“What?” Jonathan asks.

“Nothing, it’s this song playing.”

“What about the song?”

“Fate…” Robin says, looking behind you.

“What do you mean fate?” Jonathan was very confused.

“Fate for what?” Argyle was also very confused.

“Fate…” Nancy says.

“What is going on?! And how is the DJ playing this song right now?!” Nancy and Robin nod and point towards the opposite side of the room. You turn around to look and there standing across the way in a dark red button up, black pants and boots is Eddie.

“Holy shit…”

“FATE, I KNEW IT. GO GO GO.” Robin pushes you up. You straighten out your dress and begin to walk towards him. He begins to walk towards you and you meet in the middle of the dance-floor.

“Hey.” You speak first.

“Hey.” He answers.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, a little birdie told me you would look stunning and gorgeous and I just couldn’t pass up that opportunity now could I?” He takes your hand and spins you around to get a better look at you.

“Wait, you actually listened to the radio?”

“Glad I did this time.” Smiling he takes your hand, grabs your waist and you both begin swaying together to the music.

“I can assure you I didn’t put her up to it.”

“I believe you, Robin has balls.” You laugh and look back up at him.

“You look handsome by the way, I’m really glad you showed up.”

“Thanks, me too.” He says quietly. You both continue to dance together, soon enough leaning your head against his chest and listening to his heartbeat. You felt like you were on cloud nine, in a dream. Once the song faded out you separate but he pulls you into a hug, leaving a light kiss on the top of your head. You thought you were going to melt but kept it together.

“By the way, how did you get the DJ to play the song? I requested stuff earlier and he looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I may have slipped him a $20.”

“Eddie Munson you are something else.” You say. You grab his hand and lead him over to the table.

“You actually made it!” Robin gets up first pulling him into a hug followed by Nancy and then Jonathan and Argyle. 

“What made you change your mind?”

“Change of heart, that’s all. Plus it’s halfway over.” He shrugs. He wasn’t going to admit he heard the message on the radio, he didn’t want to give Robin the satisfaction.

“Are you surrrre that’s the only reason why? Huh Huh?!” Robin smirks. Now she’s having way too much fun.

“Hey, you guys did a great job by the way. Place looks awesome.” Eddie points around the room trying so hard to change the subject.

“Thanks, I think we did pretty good.” You say looking around as well.

“So, now what?”

“We dance some more. The night is young my friends!” Robin twirls and starts making her way back to the dance-floor.

“Actually it’s 11:15 so it’s almost time to go.” Argyle yells following her, as does Nancy and Jonathan.

“I was actually going to ask if I can steal you for the rest of the night after this is over.” You smile and look down at the floor. Again, cloud nine. Butterflies and all.

“Movie night?”

“Movie night.”

“COME ON LOVEBIRDS A FEW MORE SONGS PLEASE.” Robin yells, you shrug your shoulders grab his arm and pull him into the crowd against his will.

The stroke of midnight soon hit and everyone began to leave. You and your friends exit and find Steve leaning up against his car waiting just like earlier.

“Hey Munson, I didn’t know you were coming.” Steve says, shocked to see him.

“Yeah I didn’t think I was going to make it either but I did.” He says.

“Alright kids, where to? The diner, home, a party?”

“The diner please, I’m starving.” Argyle says.

“You’re always hungry Argyle.” Jonathan laughs getting in the car. Steve makes his way over to the drivers side.

“I’m going with Eddie, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You tell them.

“Okay, drive safe!” Everyone says their final goodbyes as you and Eddie walk over to his van. Ronin leaves you with a wink and pointed finger guns, as you flip her off in the process. 

The ride back was calm, as music quietly played in the background. As you approach the trailer, you see Wayne exiting the front door.

“Hey Mr. Munson.” You say walking up to him.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Wayne?” He laughs pulling you into a hug.

“I can’t it’s too weird.”

“Well would you look at you. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“Did y’all have a good time?”

“Yes, yes we did. Glad it’s over.” Eddie answers walking over to you both.

“I’m glad to hear that. Well I’m off too work. You both have a goodnight, don’t have too much fun now…”

“Wayne come on…” Eddie sighs walking over and unlocking the door.

“It was good to see you Mr. Munson. Have a safe night at work.”

“Thank you sweetheart.” He nods his head and leaves. You follow behind Eddie and enter.

“I’m going to get you a change of clothes.” 

“Great thanks.” You sit on the couch and take off your shoes, thankful you no longer have to wear them any longer. Eddie walks back out with some clothes in his hand.

“Here you go, the bathroom is all yours. I’m going to get changed in my bedroom.”

“Thanks.” You make your way into the bathroom, only to realize you need help with the zipper. “Shit. Hey Eddie?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah I just need help with my zipper.” You meet him outside the door, he comes out in pj pants and no shirt. You immediately turn around to so your eyes don’t wonder. “It’s uh-”

“I see it don’t worry.” You feel him slowly taking the zipper down your side, holding onto the dress so it doesn’t fall in the process. Your breath starts to pick up and you have to talk yourself into slowing down. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times but this feels different. “Okay, you’re good.”

“Thanks again-” You start to walk back into the bathroom when you feel his hand catch your arm.

“Wait.” You turn around looking up at him. And before you could ask what he wanted, your lips crash. You’re shocked, excited and turned on all at the same time. This is something you’ve wanted, craved for a few years now. Constantly suppressing your feelings because you thought you were crazy, but this, you couldn’t even believe it. Without thinking you wrap your arms around his neck and move in closer, you swore time stopped. As you both part slowly, your dress falls to the floor. “Oh shit!” Eddie covers his eyes and turns around. “I promise I didn’t see anything.” You laugh and bring the dress back up covering yourself again.

“It’s okay. Um, I’m going to get changed now.”

“Yeah you do that I’ll find a movie.” You head back into the bathroom, lock the door and take the deep breath you were holding in. Replaying the moment in your head and doing a tiny happy dance in the process. Eddie gave you pair of pj pants as well with an old Iron Maiden shirt. You lay your dress over the tub and find some makeup remover in the cabinet. You knew Eddie sometimes wore a bit of eyeliner when he played his shows with Corroded Coffin, sometimes you even helped him out with his own fear of poking his eye. After taking off your makeup and cleaning yourself up you headed back out to the living room to find Eddie on his couch scrolling through Netflix. 

You slowly approach him. “Eddie?” He looks up at you. “I really don’t want to watch a movie.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” He gets up and practically runs to you once again connecting his lips to yours, quickly picking you up as you wrap your legs around his waist. You part from his and lean your head against his. “What took us so long?”

“Stupid teenager hormones? Peer pressure? Finally realizing your true feelings?” You answer.

“Sounds about right.” He laughs, kissing you again and walking you both back to his bedroom without breaking the kiss.

The morning sun was peaking through the window. You squint your eyes and look over at the clock on the nightstand. 8:25am. You rub your eyes and start to get up when you feel some extra weight on you. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around your waist, not giving you enough movement. You smile to yourself and bring yourself closer to him, only to feel him wiggle.

“What time is it?” He asked in a sleepy voice.

“Almost 8:30.”

“Fuck, that’s so early.” He responds pulling you closer.

“It’s really not.” You reply laughing at how sleepy he is. You reach over to your phone on the nightstand and see some text messages.

Robin-Are you awake yet??

Please tell me you’re awake I know it’s 8am but plz.

HHHEEELLLOOOO?

PLZ ANSWER IM DYING TO HEAR WHAT HAPPENED LAST NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m awake NOW. 

(unsent) Just please don’t call-

Too late, Robin started a FaceTime call.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks.

“Yup. Can I pick up?”

“Might as well. She should be the first to know.”

“Know what?”

“That we’re kinda official now?” You blush and pick up the phone trying to hide Eddie from sight.

“Hey Robin.”

“HOLY SHIT I’M DYING WHAT HAPPENED?”

“Robin calm down it’s still early and-”

“And we’re just waking up together in the same bed. Can we please call you back after we have some coffee?” Eddie comes into frame. Robin has the biggest grin and smile on her face.

“FINALLY! GUYS THEY DID IT. THEY’RE FINALLY-” Eddie reaches over and presses the hang up button.

“Hey-”

“Hey nothing. I want you to myself this morning.” He flips you so you’re facing him and brings you into a kiss. 

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” 

“That we’re official.”

“Well I think the proper way would be to take you on a few dates, then ask you to be my girlfriend then sleep together but considering we went out of order I just kind of figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“No no, not at all.” You laugh bringing him back down for another kiss. “But I will take you up on that coffee.”

“Will do.” He gets up and starts to head out to the kitchen.

“WAIT.”

“What what?”

“Put some clothes on.” You say throwing him his pants from the night before.

“Yeah that would have been awkward when Wayne gets home.” He slips them on. “By the way, my alarm is going to go off at 8:45 so you can just hit the button.”

“Okay.” You get up yourself and find the clothes he gave you on the floor. As you’re getting dressed, Eddie’s alarm goes off with the radio going off. Right when the song begins to play, Eddie runs back into his bedroom and you just stare at the clock.

🎶 I don’t understand it, can’t keep my mind off loving you  🎶 

“You have got to be kidding.” You whisper.

“I uh, I think we have a song.” Eddie says, looking over at you.

“Yeah, yeah I think we do.” 

Thank You again for reading! Tumblr is still very new to me in regards to writing and posting stories so I tried my best to follow formats from my fav authors I've read over the last few months! Hopefully It wasn't too bad of a read! :) ❤️

[pinkkop]

It's been 2 weeks since Love Class 2 ended and I can't stop thinking about it. So I am here to tell you why I liked it soooo much in the hopes that maybe more people will give it a chance.

First off: You don't need to watch the first season before you watch Love Class 2.

The full main cast consists of new characters that weren't in the first season and the main connecting point between the two seasons is the Love Class which is a university course called "Marriage and Family". The class is used in both seasons as a tool to push two characters together and make them spend time together. The way the class works is by pairing the students up and then have them pretend to "date" while writing assignments related to their "dating" (whether this is a real class I am unsure but the same concept is used in the Korean GL "Girlfriend Project Day 1" so it might be a Korean thing *shrugs*). I already really liked how this concept was used in the first season and the second season utilizes it just as well and actually takes a different approach to this so it doesn't feel like the show is just repeating itself.

The basics:

Love Class 2 is a Korean BL with 10 episodes of 30 min-ish each. It has three couples and even if it's short compared to Thai BLs it made good use of the time it was given.

The three couples are all connected but have very different plot lines and dynamics. The couples are as follow:

1. Reunion/mystery past (goes a little dark but no-one gets hurt). Kim An was Lee Hyun's tutor while Lee Hyun was in high school but one day Kim An dissappeared. Two years later they are reunited at university but they've both changed a lot in those two years, Kim An more so. Finally meeting Kim An again, Lee Hyun re-inserts himself in Kim An's life through the Love Class. This turns out to be easier said than done since Kim An's past keeps a tight hold off him.

2. Friends to Lovers /Unrequited Love but not really

Minwoo has liked Maru for so long and has finally resigned himself to his feelings never being returned which makes it so much more frustrating when Maru is always there in his life.

3. Meet-cute / Strangers to Lovers

TA Kim Sungmin and senior student Yoo Joohyuk meet in the most awkward situation (for Sungmin that is 😅). In the aftermath Joohyuk makes it his mission to get Sungmin's attention.

Things I really like about the show:

Great chemistry with all three couples

Interesting plot and good storytelling

Some amazing kisses and believable physical intimacy

Interesting and funny dynamics between the characters, both inside and outside their pairings

Satisfying confessions and resolution for the couples (let's be real, I've watched one of the confession scenes an embarrassing number of times)

The story isn't told 100% chronologically and you aren't told all the facts from the beginning. I'm personally a big fan of this kinda storytelling and I think they do a really good job of unveiling the mystery and developing the relationships.

Final thoughts:

This show manages to both be wholesome, funny, dark, soft and sensual, and with a great ensemble of characters and couples. I really liked all three couples and even if the couples had very different plot lines this still felt like one show.

I've already watched it twice and I think it's definitely a show I'll come back to again which is a testament to how much I like this show.

If you aren't convinces yet here are some GIFS to set the mood!

(also @save-the-data is a God sent gift with all the amazing GIFs of the show. Hope it's okay that I basically plastered my post with your GIFs)

[transias]

honest with me. (I)

pairings: spider-man!miguel diaz x reader

warnings: none!

summary: you've been in love with your best friend, miguel diaz, ever since he moved to queens. after spider-man saves you, you have your suspicions on who the masked hero might be.

note: so funny story, i found this edit on pinterest (i don't know who the original editor of this is im sorryyy) and it just gave me the idea to make this! i will also be writing for jaime reyes/blue beetle. i have an imagine in my drafts!

i will be basing miguel's spider-man on andrew garfield’s but apart from that it’ll be mostly similar to tom holland’s. will also be moving them from california to new york for obvious reasons.

miguel diaz was undoubtedly the most amazing person you ever met. so were your friends hawk and eli. although, there was something that set miguel aside from them.

maybe it was the way he always knew the right thing to say. or maybe that electricity that shocked you whenever you were walking next to each other and accidentally graze your hands together.

you looked up at miguel, his eyes fixed on samantha larusso. you knew he had a crush on her, even openly talking about it in the group during lunch.

it broke you. you weren't as rich as sam, you didn't consider yourself as beautiful as her, and you didn't think you were as smart as she was.

the bell loudly rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. you closed your books and shoved them inside your backpack, walking with miguel to the cafeteria where you both sat down and waited for hawk and demetri.

you took a sip from your chocolate milk, looking up to see miguel staring at you.

"don't tell me i have a milk moustache." you chuckle, raising your fingers to check your upper lip.

miguel chuckled and shook his head, "no, you look fine i was just uhh-" miguel looked past you, "just looking at those pigeons."

you looked back at the pigeons and furrowed your eyebrows, it was definitely strange. he wasn't looking at those pigeons, he was looking right at you.

"yeah, yeah... the pigeons." you nod.

hawk and demetri come at the moment, saving miguel from further embarassment.

hawk rambling about how he got into an argument with the history teacher, mr. arnold, over the assignment.

you weren't paying attention though, and by the looks of it neither was miguel, whose eyes you felt stare at you.

you look back at him and gave him a warm smile, pretending to listen to hawk, who by now was done with his rant. "anyways, i was thinking we could go to moon's party tonight?" hawk added.

"isn't it a school night?" you ask.

"well yeah, but that's how you know it's gonna be the cool people only. all the losers are gonna stay home studying." hawk replied.

demetri, miguel, and you looked at each other and then back at hawk.

"dude... we're all staying home and studying tonight, we have a math test tomorrow." demetri remarked.

"come on guys! we haven't done anything since like a month ago! demetri's always studying, (y/n)'s always working, and miguel is... well i don't know! what is it that you're always so busy with?" hawk asked.

miguel's shoulders went stiff as he looked around and stumbled for the right words, "i uhh- well i'm helping johnny out with his work."

you called bullshit. everytime one of you asked miguel to do something with him after school, he always used johnny as an excuse.

johnny was a nice guy tho. he and carmen had gone out on a disastrous date but by the end of it, she decided to give him another chance. ever since then, they had been absolutely inseparable.

"seriously, i think hawk's right. we need to hang out again! we always see each other in school and text but we should do something awesome together!"

the three boys agreed, "then it's settled, we'll do something this weekend."

miguel was gone before the final bell even rang. demetri, hawk, and you looked everywhere for him but like always he was nowhere to be found.

"screw it. let's just do study group at his house!" demetri exclaimed.

-

miguel's grandmother- or yaya, as he called her- answered the door, allowing the three of you in and offering a huge amount of food for all of you.

you sat down on miguel's bed, smelling strongly of him. you closed your eyes, a memory of the first time you met triggering you.

when miguel had just moved here, you were the first friend he made.

you lived in the building across to his and worked at the small coffee shop near those buildings.

miguel walked into the shop, quickly entranced by your beauty that he didn't notice you asking him what he wanted.

"sorry? oh yeah! i just wanted a donut please." he nervously smiled.

you nodded, "sure. what kind?"

"which do you recommend?" he inquired.

you leaned in closer, "between you and me. these are all stale and sort of disgusting. but the donut holes aren't so bad."

miguel laughed softly, "then i'll take some of those."

you nod, quickly ringing his order up. "alright, that'll be $6.29 please." you gave him a tight lipped smile.

miguel quickly took out a $10 dollar bill. while you handed him his change you looked up at him, "you're new here, aren't you?"

he nodded, his dark curls bouncing along. "yeah, how did you know?"

you shrugged, "it might be a very large city but we all know each other around this community." you retorted, "i'm (y/n), by the way." you offer your hand to shake his.

he looks at it before looking back at you and shaking it, "i'm miguel. nice to meet you, (y/n)."

you wrote down your number on a piece of paper, "i know it can get quite overwhelming around these parts. you know, being new here in such a big place. so if you ever wanna hang with me and my friends, you just give me a call."

a wide smile grew on miguel's lips, "that would be awesome! i'll definitely take you up on that offer. thanks a lot, (y/n)."

you nod, "it's no problem. see you around."

"(Y/N!)" demetri belted, “are you still with us?”

you cleared your throat, “yeah! i was just distracted, thinking about stuff.”

“they’re thinking about how they want to make out with miguel.” hawk butt in. you and demetri just groaned and shook your heads. you gently kicked him and went back to your work.

“oh look! spider-man just stopped a robbery at that convenience store we always go to.” demetri showed us his phone.

you and hawk leaned in, “he’s so cool.” you awed.

“dude, what’s your obsession with spider-man?” hawk asked.

“he saves the city, keeps all of us safe, and he’s got cool superpowers!” demetri replied defensively.

“seriously? anyone can do that. shit, i could do that!” hawk scoffed.

you shrugged, “i don’t know, dude. you’re really underestimating spider-man, he’s pretty cool.” you replied, “plus, i think it’s kind of heroic and hot what he does.”

“oooh, you’ve got it bad for spider-man, don’t you?” demetri teased.

you chuckled and shook your head, “no! well maybe yeah but it’s still super awesome!”

“you both are dorks.” hawk shook his head, going back on his phone to text whatever random person he was texting.

as you finished studying, hawk decided that he’d leave since he’s rather hang out with “hot babes” than two losers. demetri was next, his mom called him over for dinner.

that left you alone in miguel’s room. you stood up and yawned, stretching as you walked over to miguel’s mirror.

there was a picture of him hanging by the mirror. you sighed, “hey miguel. did you know i’m like probably deeply in love with you it’s pathetic? yeah, i know you like sam and you’ll probably never wanna see me again but… i just thought you should know that.”

it really was useless in your opinion. the way you were always pining over him when he was already pining for samantha larusso.

you sighed, packing up your stuff and saying goodbye to miguel’s yaya.

the thoughts of miguel still pestered your brain as you walked across the street, looking for your headphones. no matter how hard you tried, they wouldn’t go away. you didn’t even notice the reckless driver in front of you.

it wasn’t until you heard the horn only a few inches near you that you were absolutely paralyzed.

your thoughts quickly faded, chills ran through your body, and as much as you tried, you just couldn’t move out of the way.

was this really it? were you about to die without telling miguel how you felt? the butterflies he incinerated inside you?

a pair of arms swooped in, your legs left the ground and a small yell escaped your lips.

you landed on the sidewalk in front of your building. “holy shit! oh god, what the hell?” your breathing got faster and you felt like you could faint right here, right now.

your eyes darted in front of spider-man, who had his hamds around your waist. “(y/n)! are you alright? that was really close!”

your eyebrows furrowed and you nodded, feeling something extremely familiar about spider-man. “yeah! i think i’m alright- wait, how do you know my name?”

spider-man froze, “well uhh- oh! i know your friend, miguel! i’ve heard lots of good things about you.”

an idea clicked into your head, “oh, you know miguel? tan skin, dark curly hair, and extremely handsome?” you fought the smirk that threatened to form your lips.

“y-yeah! yeah, that’s him! you think he’s handsome?” he asked.

you nodded, “totally. he’s so handsome, intelligent, and charming. but don’t tell him i told you that!”

spider-man nodded in reply, “of course! your uh, your secret’s totally safe with me.” he chuckled.

you heard a gunshots and sirens coming down from the street. “i gotta go! just stay safe and look both ways before crossing, okay?” spider-man yelled as his hands ripped from your waist.

“bye spidey! thanks for saving me!” you waved, watching as the masked hero swung away.

maybe you were a bit woozy from almost getting splattered across the street but you were 100% sure of this.

miguel diaz was spider-man.

[ravensmind]

Happy RobRae week 2021! Here's my day 1 prompt fic. There will be an extended smuttier version coming soon. Might only do this prompt this year just due to things I have going on, but I'm still writing! Hope you enjoy this 😃.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13863436/1/Finals-and-a-First

~RavensMind~

RobRae week 2021 

Day 1: Gotham Academy AU

Finals and a First

Finals week. Two simple words that had the power to make anyone quake with anxiety and while he may do a good job of hiding it, Dick Grayson was no exception. Luckily for him, he had a solid group of friends who had each other’s backs. They mostly studied as a group when they were free, unless their class schedule or extracurricular activity demanded they improvise. Gotham Academy was not known for caring about its students' friendships or whether they had free time to study together or not. Dick was on the football team and they did not have practice that day, so he was free, but Victor, Kori, Garfield, and Tara were all at meets or practices or matches or just in class, only Rachel was able to study with him, and that presented a challenge. Dick was enamored with Rachel, infatuated with Rachel, could not stop thinking about Rachel, and she had no idea because he just could. Not. Tell. Her. 

Even though Rachel Roth, the quiet, reserved, sarcastic, smart, violet-haired girl was sitting only inches away from him at the same table in the library, he could not look at her, as he had some paranoid feeling that she knew exactly how he felt when he looked at her. Normally, he would play off of his other friends, but now they were alone. He hid in his textbook, pretending to be very interested in some words located near the spine of the book in some rose colored block of text. Out of frustration with his own inner turmoil, he picked up the noble they’d been assigned to read and chucked it into a nearby bookcase.

“Are you okay?” Rachel asked in a frustrated tone.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Dick returned.

"You’re just not usually this quiet, is all,” she replied.

“Guess I’m just nervous,” he said.

“About our finals?” 

“Yeah,” he said, thanking the universe for that excuse.

“I didn’t think you got nervous over stuff like this, at least I don’t think I’ve seen it. Wait ‘till this gets out, the chill, cool captain of the football team is freaking over his final,” she teased.

“But you wouldn’t tell anyone, right?”

“No. Lucky you, I don’t think anyone would believe me.”

“That the only reason you wouldn’t say anything?”

“No, because I don’t know that I believe you either,” she replied, toying with a strand of her hair with one of her slim, almost pale fingers.

Dick chanced a look at her and was surprised to see a playful smirk on her face and a strange look in her violet eyes that he was not sure he had seen before. He tensed a little when he realized he had slipped up and looked at her. Did she know? Was he screwed? The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable and get on her bad side. She had enough trouble dealing with the gossip and judgmental teachers for her goth vibe and overall lack of shits to give attitude.

At one point, he heard Rachel had been summoned to the dean’s office for violating the dress code by wearing black knee highs over fishnets and foregoing the standard blue skirt for a black one. Her response was that technically she was in compliance, as there was no rule about a specific color skirt, or that she could not wear anything in addition to the socks on her legs, and she was a model student. Aside from snapping at a teacher or two, she was rarely in trouble, and he knew she had good grades. She still kept that style, even though more teachers voiced their disapproval, but they ultimately could not do anything without changing the dress code and it was not worth it. After he heard about what happened, Dick helped her out by changing the color tie and slacks he wore from blue to black, as his popularity would make her style choice far less controversial. He had mostly done it to help her, but he also liked being seen as more of a rebel. He stuck up for her when she was being picked on and she was always quick to shut down anyone who was bad-mouthing him.They had grown a bit closer as a result, though neither really acknowledged it to the other. 

He swallowed and considered what his options would be if she dug deeper. He hoped that he could talk his way out of whatever accusation she was about to make. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Hmm. Well, you’ve never really stressed about tests before. When Gar complains, you calm him down and put together a plan to study, so I’m pretty sure you’re more level-headed,” she replied.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.”

“No, but I think it’s less likely that it’s about the exams. Now that I think about it… you kind of acted like this last time we hung out. Maybe it’s about one of us,” she thought aloud.

“Like I said, I’m nervous about finals. It’s, uhh, just been a lot for me this time. It’s our last year and I don’t want Bruce to be harder on me if I don’t measure up,” he said, injecting a little truth, desperately hoping it would help sell his lie.

“I suppose that’s fair, but I still don’t think it’s that.”

“Why’s it matter? It’s not like I’m hiding anything that would hurt people. I’m just stressed!”

“You’re hiding plenty, but that’s not the point. It matters,” she hesitated before continuing, “because I don’t like seeing you stressed. It’s like I can feel it and I want to help you. Something’s clearly eating at you and I hate seeing you try and bury it like it’s not there.”

He sighed and looked  down at his book. He stared down at the page as he felt the swelling of emotions that rose from his heart. He wanted to spill everything, but knew that it would not be fair to her, to dump everything at once and give her a massive choice to make about them. He cared about her and she clearly cared about him, so he thought he might be able to at least give her a hint or two. She was dealing with more than enough, she didn’t need his problems too.

“Okay...don’t laugh. It’s about a girl,” he said.

Rachel perked up and tilted her head. Dick swore her eyes lit up, but that may have just been a trick of the light as someone passed by the window near them, book in hand. 

“I’m not going to laugh! What’s making you so nervous? I seriously doubt you’d ever need to be stressing over a girl, plenty throw themselves at you, though I guess that could be tough too.”

“She’s different. I like her, but she’s never really said if she likes me or not. I hang out with her quite a bit and we have fun, or I think we do. I'm just not sure if I want to take a chance and mess up a good thing.”

“You’re being ridiculous.. Clearly she likes you enough to spend time with you, you should have had some kinda obvious sign by now. Some girls tease you or act a certain way around you, others might be more blunt, but you have to know at this point. Though, it would help if you said who she is,” she teased knowingly.

“Hah, yeah, it is a little silly,” he chuckled, “You wouldn’t tell her though?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m interested, I need to get ready for the big reveal, lots of pyro and speakers to set up,” she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes, “No, of course not, idiot. You know you can trust me. Why the secrecy, though? Is it... Kori?”

She leaned forward with interest, almost teetering on the edge of her seat.

“No, uh, but you’re kinda close,” he said, anxiously shifting in his chair.

He watched as she went quiet and crossed her legs in her chair, sitting up a bit straighter as she considered the possible remaining options. He hoped she had thought of herself first.

“I admit, I could see why you’d like Tara, she’s pretty easy to talk to and knows what she likes, which isn’t common,” she said, tracing her bottom lip with her finger, “I think she can be a little insecure though, so you may want to keep that in mind.”

He wondered to himself if she was toying with him.

“It’s uhh, it’s not Tara, either,” he admitted, his cheeks turning red.

Rachel’s cheeks also reddened as her mouth formed a coy smile, and she went quiet. Her fingers played with the edge of a page in her textbook as she looked away from Dick toward the door before snapping back so her eyes met his.

“Oh. So, I think if you like her, you really should say something. I’m not sure if I know *exactly* how she feels, but I’d want to hear you say how much you like me. I’d like to know how I made you feel… if I was her,” she teased.

“Are you sure? I uhh, I’d hate if I came on to her too strongly, she’d shut me down and it would mess with the friendship she and I had,” he asked, undoing his tie and opening his school blazer a little. He was feeling very warm all of a sudden.

“I don’t think she would let that happen, Dick,” she replied, leaning closer to him, “You should probably tell me who she is...so I have a better idea.”

He took a deep breath and smiled at her, letting the moment last, enjoying the hopeful, expectant look on her face.

“Her name is Rachel,” he said, edging closer to her.

Dick felt his heart pounding in his chest and he swore his face was burning as they both got closer to each other, until his lips were inches from Rachel’s. Neither looked around to see who else in the library might be watching, and the idea that anyone else even existed was as distant as another planet. Her eyes closed as she pressed her lips to his and he eagerly kissed her back, hardly believing this was happening. Their heated kiss was interrupted by the sound of the librarian reprimanding a classmate of theirs at another table on the other side of a bookcase. Rachel smiled at him, biting her lip while she studied his face for a moment.

“That. Is what you get when you tell the truth,” she said.

[elenajohansenreads]

Books I Read in 2021

#83 - Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams

Mount TBR: 69/100

Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently

Rating: 1/5 stars

Well, that was a slog.

So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds--no surprise there--and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.

So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag...well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn't own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends' or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn't read all of at once.

I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don't actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.

I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I'm wishing now that I hadn't bothered.

This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers--which was weird but I enjoyed it--and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.

Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I'm no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I'm trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be "likable," because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!

1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it's because he's "mad," bad plot reason, and if it's because he's affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that's pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard "if only I weren't a woman, people would take me seriously" princess who doesn't fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I'll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she's also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is...pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else's. And I mean that literally, if there's anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it's buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, "I don't want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?" sort of thing, doesn't help, because on its own it's incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he's arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a "little" race who is distinctly not human--I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal--and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don't care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he's thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly "something goes wrong that's not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway." Which got dull.

Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert's scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they're mostly tied to a plot arc that I don't care for.

The other thing that's getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You've got a castle that's the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy--the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There's a race of small likable people who aren't quite dwarves or any other "standard" fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There's a crippled prince who's not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.

And to someone who's never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I've read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I've just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed--and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero's journey, but if I'm supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.

And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems--this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn't have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn't resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the "and now they're exiles" theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn't suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line--also the end of the book itself--is the foundling reasserting that he doesn't know who he is, which is not new information. We've literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don't find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn't aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back "home." The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.

I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.

*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it's not and I can't pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don't want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I've managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they've been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them...I'm giving up. Not worth it.

[bird-in-a-cage]

#42 from the prompt list... I mean I'm sorry but... I NEED TO SEE THAT.

Wow, am I sorry this took so long! This was a tough prompt but, thanks to @cockasinthebird for being a wonderful human being, we got through it. So I hope this was worth the wait!

Prompt list is here if anyone wants to throw a prompt at me!

#42: “I didn’t say “sex party” as in orgy.  I said “hex party” as in witches.”

So far, college had been okay. It was as hard and challenging as Steve had expected, but he was getting on almost well. He had to spend a lot of time studying in the library, reading and re-reading source materials, typing, editing, deleting and starting all over again with essays and assignments sure. But it was different from high school, on a deep level he wanted to be here, amongst the old stone buildings that either held no heat at all or far too much depending on the weather outside, surrounded by people who also shared a passion for learning. It was different to focus on what he wanted to learn instead of just having to cram a little bit of everything into his brain everyday.

Turns out, if he was just allowed to go a little slower and take his time, he wasn’t as dumb as everyone back home at thought.

He’d gotten into college by the skin of his teeth, pulling far too many all nighters and living off five hour energy to drag his grades up when it was almost too late, pulling in every favour he had to retake anything below a C with nothing but a prayer and a pleading smile, somehow managing to not go completely insane in the process. Getting a 3 point grade average at graduation had been nothing short of a miracle. He wanted to say his parents had nothing to do with his acceptance into quite a nice school, but in reality Steve knew they probably greased a palm or two. Maybe helped pay for the new set of band uniforms that were recently unveiled.

The college itself was beautiful. Steve had fallen for it on his first visit. Old stone buildings, a large green campus area, a good surrounding community, regular activities and groups to go meet up with and try different things with now he was getting out of small town Hawkins and away from being stuck in what he knew. 

There was something a bit…odd about the college though. Steve would be sat in the library, for example, finishing up a comparison piece when he would hear the telltale low battery beep from his headphones. He always forgot to bring a charger. He knew it was on his nightstand back in the dorm room, wrapped around the drawer handle so he wouldn’t forget to lift it this time, so it was pointless checking his bag for it. He would go to pack his things away, open up his slouchy backpack and there it would be, his exact one because he’d wrapped a piece of green tape around it when his roommate kept stealing it and swearing blind he hadn’t, laying curled around his water bottle..

That wasn’t the only example though. Things would just appear when he was looking for them. Books he needed from a completely different section would just happen to be on the shelf he was currently looking at. If a flavour of soda was sold out at a vending machine, he would pick another, but the one he originally wanted would tumble out, ice cold and somehow impossibly refreshing. None of them were a major inconvenience by far, but it was just odd. 

The only small downside to the college of his dreams is that he forgot to investigate anything about the fraternities and sororities. Steve didn’t really have any desire to be in any frat even if offered, they were just houses for boys to pretend not to be at least a little bicurious as they bumped into each other all sweaty playing sports, using basketball as an excuse to touch each other’s muscles. Flat out no homo-ing each other. Steve was out and proud at college, didn’t need an excuse anymore other than “you’re hot, you wanna?”. The days of bi-panic and needing a thinly veiled excuse such as helping someone he thought was cute off the ground in the middle of a match were long gone.  Steve had been to a couple of frat parties, naturally, everyone did. They were kinda fun if you hung around outside away from the thick, choking air of sexual tension that was threatening to bubble over at any minute.

Everyone knew frat houses were just potential orgy dens, right?

There was one frat house though, just off campus and to the right a little, that gave off a weird vibe. The Omega House. It didn’t look that special, had dark grey panelling on the outside, windows trimmed in white, the omega symbol on the outer wall above the door painted in silver that reflected the sunlight and looked almost like real silver. Like the college itself, it was just odd. As far as Steve could tell it didn’t have many members, only four, as far as he’d counted, would walk around in blazing orange letterman jackets with that emblem stitched into the back and a smaller one on the front right breast. He didn’t know what majors they took, probably all on sports scholarships with how stacked a couple of them looked, and one liked to hang around the library. Always in sunglasses even indoors, tight jeans to combat the slightly too big jacket. Blonde hair shaved at the sides but longer on top, not wildly long but just enough for natural loose curls to develop.

Not that Steve had been looking at how handsome he was at all.

Thinking about it, he seemed to always be around when the odd things happened. When there would suddenly be a spare chair even though all the tables were packed with other students trying to do their work, a fresh stack of post it notes in Steve’s bag when he needed to write an annotation down quickly, a newly sharpened pencil just happening to be on the floor by his feet when he’d lost his before class. The rain suddenly starting as soon as Steve got into a building when he’d forgotten an umbrella like it was waiting for him to be safe and dry.

There was just something weird about the whole thing. Not enough for him to freak out and want to go home though, no way. He could deal with weird and slightly odd far better than being stuck in a town going nowhere, where his only future was getting a job in his father’s company and a wife he didn’t love, cranking out a couple kids after a year of so and slowly but surely morphing into a mirror image of the man he lowkey despised.

Even the thought of that was horrifying. It was bad enough that genetically they might look similar one day. Hopefully many, many years in the future. When plastic surgery was cheap.

The library was quiet when Steve entered. Of course it was, it was a Friday night. There were a number of parties and gatherings happening all over the place, but this week he’d promised himself to be good. Study now and party later. He’d been invited to a glow paint, totally-not-a-rave party happening just outside of town that he was pretty excited for. He’d been focusing hard on his studies so it was time to let off some steam. And maybe that steam had been building for quite some time cause ol’ Lefty wasn’t doing the trick anymore, mashing his face into a pillow in the dead of night, furiously jacking off under a blanket and praying his roommate didn’t wake up or come back soon. And, maybe sometimes, Steve thought about that cute blonde in the Omega House jacket and how good it would be to see those thick lips all slick and swollen wrapped around his cock. Really those thoughts were just between him and God, who he hoped wasn’t paying attention most of the time he was alone in his room.

Steve found the spot he liked, towards the back facing towards the window where he couldn’t be distracted by people walking in, and pulled his laptop and the well annotated copy of Dracula he was working from. His half finished essay sat on the screen, cursor blinking at him accusingly, demandingly even. He sighed at it and opened up to the page he was last working from when the chair next to him was pulled out. Not even one or two over, obeying the unspoken rule of the Personal Study Bubble. No, the very next chair. Steve could see orange reflected on his screen. He frowned slightly and turned to just give a passing glance, hoping for a the fuck? expression, when he saw staggeringly blue eyes staring back, nestled into tan freckled skin, natural curls just reaching down into the field of view. The regular sunglasses had been tucked up into the neck of a black tee. The back of Steve’s neck felt instantly hot as he looked away, hoping for a moment he hadn’t been seen, but that was impossible. He was right there.

“Hey, haven’t seen you around before. Must be in the same class though.” His voice was deep and Steve felt his legs turn a little bit to jello. He chanced another glance and saw the guy was holding a copy of Dracula too. Steve wasn’t sure he’d been holding it before… 

“Well, I attend almost every lecture…”

“You must do if you’re in here by yourself on a Friday,” the guy smiled. It didn’t look cruel, neither did it sound like he was making fun. This was already confusing, and Steve wasn’t the greatest with people at the best of times, let alone he around guys he thought were kind of stupidly handsome from afar, and apparently just stunning close up.

Steve just nodded and shifted in his seat slightly since this guy clearly wasn’t going to go away any time soon. He didn’t have anything on the table in front of him, didn’t even look like he had a backpack for the potential of anything. The odd feeling was definitely strong and getting stronger. “Can I… can I help you with something?”

“That depends,” the book was quickly tossed aside and the guy nudged closer with his chair, Steve could smell his cologne. It didn’t smell like anything he’d tried before. It was floral but dark and spicy, but also fruity too. Slightly burnt lemon and vanilla loaf? His hand wrapped easily around Steve’s freer one. His skin was warm, a little rough maybe from weightlifting which he clearly did, applying a comforting amount of pressure. Steve couldn’t help the skin on his arm breaking out in goose pimples. He glanced at their hands together and his throat felt impossibly tight. “I’m Billy by the way.”

“Steve...”

“Great. So, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things can be a little, strange around here-”

Steve glanced at their hands again, felt that blue steel bore into his eyes and further back. “Oh they’re strange alright…”

“You ever wondered why?” This guy, Billy, grinned something devilish and let Steve’s hand go only to put it on his knee, squeezing firm but not unpleasant. Steve was sure he was starting to sweat under the attention of all this. Yeah he had fooled around with a couple guys drunk at parties, stumbled into a dorm room or two he didn’t recognise to have some fun and wake up with carpet burns over his back and his knees, but this felt very direct. Especially when Billy’s hand started slowly drifting higher. Steve couldn’t even say he didn’t want it, he’d been staring at this guy from a distance for months now, but to have him suddenly be right in front and touching with obvious intent. It was something else.

“Uh, n-not really. Sometimes maybe?”

Billy’s eyes turned from cool to blazingly erotic in an instant, for just a moment, then back to cool again. He nudged even closer into Steve’s bubble, who was more helpless than a fish on dry land at this moment. 

“Would you like to know why?” The way Billy’s tongue licked over the L was something filthy. If Steve had been set jello before he was now quickly melting into a sweet pool of tangy cherry. “My friends and I can show you.”

Steve felt like he was drowning. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be happening. But still BIlly’s firm hand crept ever higher until he was practically cupping Steve through his jeans, inching closer until their lips were connected in the middle of the library. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed. He was already boiling alive in his skin from all the attention and Billy’s lips weren’t helping. They were as plush as Steve had imagined. Maybe not in the right area just yet but with the way Billy was pushing his palm directly against Steve’s slowly awakening dick they just might be soon.

He was half hard when Billy pulled away, flushed bright red like he’d been sunburnt.

“Come by the house tomorrow night, you’ll see. We promise you’ll enjoy it.” 

With that, Billy winked, slipped his sunglasses back on and left. Steve blinked at nothing for a long time, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened to him.

Did… did he just get invited to an orgy?

He packed up quickly and went back to his dorm, there was no way any studying was going to happen now. It didn’t happen throughout all of Saturday either. Just the memory of the whole short incident rolling around and around in Steve’s mind, of Billy’s words dripping from those lips and the feel of his hand pressing just right.

He’d definitely gotten invited to an orgy.

He lay on his bed for a while just thinking, tapping his forefingers together as something for them to do. Steve was kind of flattered really, he knew he was nice looking, but there were far better looking guys on campus, and from the stories he’d heard they’d probably be up for it no questions asked. It also popped into his head that the guys he’d seen wearing the orange Omega jackets were a lot more jacked than he was, and Steve had seen enough porn to know what that probably meant. A part of him knew this was utterly insane. Shit like this didn’t happen without a bored camera crew and fourteen different close up angles.

But then maybe it did happen. He was from a small town after all. He was pretty sure his neighbours three doors down were swingers from all the cars that would suddenly appear once a month for just a night. Least that was the rumor that he may or may not have pushed a couple times. And, afterall, wasn’t this what college was about? Being out there and experimenting with crazy shit you wouldn’t do in the real world. He’d taken ecstasy in his first few weeks at a warehouse party, he had no desire to do that back home.

So, maybe he was warming up to the idea of being a bottom at an orgy party being held in the weird grey frat house. Who was anyone to judge? Steve just wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, that’s all.

He felt nervous standing on the front steps of the Omega House. All the blinds were drawn inside. He didn’t know what to bring, what was customary? It didn’t feel right to bring, like, snacks, so he’d just brought himself, already flushing and trying not to get hard by just the thought of Billy getting his hands on him again, how good he must look naked and sweating, finding out what those lips could really do.

The man himself answered the door after two sharp knocks. The grin he wore was sinful, eyes wild and excited, grip firm as he pulled Steve easily inside the dark room. Steve wasn’t sure what to expect, but low mood lighting, a coffee table in the middle of three couches covered in books and blank papers, and every other surface holding up thick lit candles dripping with wax wasn’t it. It also appeared to be just the two of them.

It wasn’t entirely what he had signed up for. But Steve wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Man, am I happy you actually came,” Billy started, pulling his letterman off and hanging it over the banister like a coat hook. His black tee had the sleeves ripped off, his arms were nothing short of statue worthy. He ruffled his hair a little, the curls bobbing just so. They looked delightfully soft. “The rest of the guys are at some sorority bullshit, but they’ll be here later.”

“Uh, o-okay, cool.” Steve tried to sound confident as he went to go take a seat on one of the couches. Billy sat next to him, up close and personal again and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He was radiating body heat which Steve wanted to eat up greedily. He noticed some of the books on the table. A copy of Frankenstein, a very old looking copy of Dracula, maybe second edition, a copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, and copies of both Malleus Maleficarum and A Guide to Modern Witchcraft. Those titles mixed with all the candles and the mood lighting and Billy’s staring and frankly demonic grin led Steve down the path that seemed the most obvious to him.

This was a sex cult house. And it was about to get all Rosemary’s Baby up in here.

Billy’s hand was back on his thigh again, heavy and pressing, taking Steve out of his deep barrel of thoughts. The grin was back on his tanned features. “You look nervous.” He gave Steve’s thigh a squeeze. Even though he had no idea what was going on it still made his cock jump alert in his jeans.

“Well, I’ve never exactly been to… one of these before…”

Billy’s eyebrows furrowed together a little, he still wore a smile though. It suited his face. “One of what?”

“You know...?” Steve rolled his hands as his face turned ever redder. He was sure it could almost be seen from space. He wasn’t a prude by any means, but growing up in quite a strict household meant he just struggled saying some things out loud. So he whispered it instead. “...an orgy?”

Billy stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter that wasn’t at all humiliating. He must have sensed Steve’s rapidly growing discomfort and indignity because the laughter quickly died and turned more into gentle questioning. “Did you think that was what this was gonna be?”

“Well I don’t know what else this would be!” Steve spat out in frustration. He hated not knowing the whole story and here he felt he barely even knew the first line of the novel. Billy smiled warm like a summer day and cupped his cheek. He felt instantly calmed, being swallowed up by those cool blues like a gentle river on an August afternoon.  “I said I’d explain about all the odd things that happen around campus. They’re from us in this house. We’re kind of, different.”

“Different how?”

Billy took his hand back and snapped his fingers loud and piercing. All the candles extinguished themselves at once. Not a breeze to be felt. It wasn’t scary, or spooky, but it was pretty cool. “Different different. You’re the only person who’s seemed to notice. And, by house law, that means you get initiated. You get to know that we’re all witches.”

The word hung in the air and seemed ridiculous. But, at the same time, it didn’t. It did certainly explain how chargers and post its and pencils would suddenly just appear whenever Steve needed them. He still wasn’t completely convinced though.

“Witches?” He repeated back carefully, just in case he’d heard that wrong too. Billy nodded and clapped his hands. Every candle reignited themselves, flickering back to life one by one in a circle around the room. A bottle of whiskey and cans of coke appeared on the table where there had been just papers before. The books remained. There was a proud look on his face. Short of being drugged at the door and this all being a crazy fever dream, this was definitely real. Steve didn’t really have any reason to not believe his eyes and what was happening around him. Billy didn’t look like David Copperfield that was for sure. “So, not an orgy?”

“No. Not an orgy.” Billy chuckled and repeated back. He must have seen Steve’s face go from confused to understanding to a little disappointed all within the space of a few seconds because his hand was high on Steve’s thigh again. Maybe the guy just didn’t understand personal space? That seemed growingly likely. “I don’t think I’d wanna share you anyway.”

Steve felt the flush on his face again, but he grinned through it this time. Weird, spooky, otherworldly shit could be saved for later if there was even a chance of getting what he’d been thinking alone in his bed. “But you’d wanna maybe...?”

He let the question stay floating between them as Billy smirked lewd and pressed himself up against Steve’s body. “Bet you’d love to find out what I can do with my fingers pretty boy…”

Oh, Steve really would.

[actuallyadhd]

Hi! So I'm 15 and in school. What I really struggle with is that I'll sit down to do work (essays are where I have this problem a lot) and I'll be there for 4 hours and only get a tiny bit done. I turn my phone off and don't open any other tabs...I even set timers but I never reach my goals. It's incredibly frustrating because idk where my time goes and everything just drifts and I don't know what I'm doing to lose so much time. Is this a result of my ADHD? How can I stop this? thanks! :)

Sent October 18, 2018

It could be due to your ADHD.

I’m wondering if your goals are too large or something, so you’re basically shutting down when you sit down to work.

This might sound ridiculous, but stick with me and give it a try; it might help.

Okay, I’m going to make up a fictional homework roster and take you through the process I’m thinking of. Then I’ll summarize it into the steps to follow.

Cut for length.

In this imaginary semester, I’m taking Band, French, Math, English, Social Studies, and Art. Here is my list of assignments:

Band: practice all pieces

French: write a report on another country, all in French; practice vocabulaire

Math: Unit 3 review problems

English: read next short story; work on research paper.

Social Studies: read Chapter 4

Art: who are we kidding, I never had homework for art class

So four subjects and seven assignments. Let’s break it down further.

Band: we’re playing five pieces and I have solos in two

French: the report is due at the end of November; vocabulaire is a weekly thing and we’ll be tested on Friday

Math: there are 100 review problems at the end of the unit and our unit test is on Friday

English: we’ll be discussing the story in class tomorrow; the research paper is due right before Christmas and has to be 10 pages long

Social Studies: the chapter is 30 pages long (5 sections) and there are 5 sets of comprehension questions and 15 review questions to do, plus a bunch of glossary words to copy out, and we’ll be discussing one section of the chapter each day in class for the next week

Break down the larger tasks even more:

French report

choose country

research country, focusing on culture

organize research notes into categories (e.g., clothing, food, music, entertainment)

write clothing section

write food section

write music section

write entertainment section

write introduction; include demographics and economic information

write conclusion

check over grammar etc.

make sure bibliography is done properly

English research paper

choose topic

research topic

organize research notes

make outline

write body of report, following outline

write introduction

write conclusion

check grammar etc.

make sure citations and bibliography are done properly

Now assign due dates to each mini-task and divide up the other assignments over the coming week (pretending today is Monday), so the list is going to look more like this:

Band: practice all pieces, spend extra time on solos – daily

French report: choose country – todayresearch country, focusing on culture – daily until November 11organize research notes into categories (e.g., clothing, food, music, entertainment) – November 12write clothing section – November 13 & 14write food section – November 15 & 16write music section – November 17 & 18write entertainment section – November 19 & 20write introduction; include demographics and economic information – November 21 & 22write conclusion – November 23 & 24check over grammar etc. – November 25–27make sure bibliography is done properly – November 28

French vocabulaire: make flash cards – todaypractice – daily

Math: complete 25 questions per day

English reading: read short story – todaywrite out thoughts and impressions – today

English research paper: choose topic – todayresearch topic – daily until November 15organize research notes – November 16make outline – November 17 & 18write body of report, following outline – November 19–December 12 (break down into sections when outline complete)write introduction – December 13 & 14write conclusion – December 15 & 16check grammar etc. – December 17–19make sure citations and bibliography are done properly – December 20

Social Studies: read one section per daycopy out glossary words and definitions while readinganswer comprehension questions for each section on that dayanswer review questions after the entire chapter is finished in class

It looks like a lot, but let’s distill it to just what needs to be done today and estimate how long each task will take:

Band: practice all pieces, spend extra time on solos (30-60 minutes)

French report: choose country (15 minutes)

French vocabulaire: make flash cards (30 minutes)practice (30 minutes)

Math: complete 20 questions (30 minutes)

English reading: read short story (10 minutes)write out thoughts and impressions (20 minutes)

English research paper: choose topic (15 minutes)

Social Studies: read section & copy glossary words and definitions (20 minutes)answer comprehension questions (20 minutes)

Wow, that’s still a pretty heavy workload: just over 3 hours plus practice time! Of course, some tasks won’t take as long as I’ve put, and others will take more time. The total is probably close to right, though it doesn’t include breaks.

Because yeah, we’re going to take breaks.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t really do great with focusing on one subject for a really long time unless I’m really into it. So I’m actually going to reorganize this list to make it work better for how my brain works.

French report: choose country (15 minutes)

English research paper: choose topic (15 minutes)

Math: complete 10 questions (15 minutes)

French vocabulaire: make flash cards (30 minutes)

Social Studies: read section & copy glossary words and definitions (20 minutes)

Band: practice all pieces, spend extra time on solos (30-60 minutes)

Math: complete 10 questions (15 minutes)

English reading: read short story (10 minutes)write out thoughts and impressions (20 minutes)

French vocabulaire: practice (30 minutes)

Social Studies: answer comprehension questions (20 minutes)

Now things are broken up a bit more so it isn’t so daunting, everything has due dates to instill a sense of urgency, and my subjects are mixed up to maintain interest. And the key to actually getting through all of it is to take a 5-minute break after each task, as well as whenever my interest starts to wane during the longer tasks.

About the 5-minute breaks: I recommend active breaks, during which you get out of your seat and wander a bit, get a snack from the kitchen, etc. Whatever helps you recharge and won’t get you sucked in so that you forget to return to your work. For some people that is actually reading a book, which would be disastrous for me!

So, the steps I followed:

List all assignments.

Break down long-term assignments into smaller tasks.

Assign due dates to each of these smaller tasks.

Break down other assignments into smaller tasks.

Assign due dates to all of the tasks.

List all tasks that are due today.

Estimate how long each of today’s tasks will take.

Break up larger tasks even smaller (e.g., a group of 20 questions can be split into two groups of 10).

Arrange the tasks in a way that will maintain your interest.

Complete the first task in the list, taking 5-minute breaks as needed.

Take a 5-minute break when the task is finished.

Repeat steps 10 and 11 for each task in the list until done.

I hope this is helpful, and if it doesn’t tackle the actual problem you’re having, please write in again with more details so I can try again!

-J

[kestrel-tree]

*Sorry for the wall of text, let me know if you want a shorter answer*

#1 MAKE IT OFFICIAL

If you haven't already, getting your disabilities officially on record with the school can help a lot. Teachers who care will have a lot more leeway to bend rules for you without worrying about accusations of favouratism. Teachers who don't care will have official policies saying it's illegal for them to be assholes.

Depending on your location the process for doing this will be different. In Canada it's called an IEP (individual education plan) and in the USA I think it's called a 504 plan? Either way you'll need some kind of doctors note. Once that's in place you can set up accommodations. That might be things like getting extensions on assignments, writing tests in a different room so you can get up and stretch in the middle, etc.

#2 USE YOUR ACCOMMODATIONS!!!

Don't question whether having a migraine is *really* bad enough to ask for another day on an essay. Don't avoid using your elevator key because you can *technically* get up the stairs if you push yourself.

A task doesn't have to be physically impossible for you to say you can't do it. If something is going to harm you *which includes causing you pain* it's ok to say no. And it isn't weak or giving up, it's being responsible with your health.

#3 ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS

Regardless of how many accommodations you get, stuff is going to be hard. Including stuff that's supposedly easy for other people. Most people are not going to recognize the effort you put into everyday stuff like just showing up, so it's extra important that you recognize it yourself. Be proud of yourself based on the *effort* you put in, not based on the effort it would take someone else. If you got a D- on a assignment you did while sleep deprived and in agony, you're allowed to be proud of yourself for not just skipping it.

#4 REWARDS

Highly recommend implementing some kind of small treat after every doctors appointment. In general anyone I know with chronic health issues has anxiety inducing and frustrating healthcare experiences. So if you aren't going to get that feeling of satisfaction naturally, you need to outsource some dopamine so you don't feel like giving up.

If your family is on board that could be something like takeout or getting to pick dinner. If not could be downloading a new free game on your phone or getting one random thing at the dollar store.

#5 JUST DO A BAD JOB ON STUFF 🙃

Ignore all advice about never half assing things. Perfectionism is a huge obstacle to academic success. A bad mark is *always* better than a zero. Couldn't get an assigment done on time? Hand it in late. Feeling overwhelmed by your math homework? Do half of it. Same goes for non-school things like laundry etc.

#6 YOU DON'T HAVE TO PRETEND TO BE OK ALL THE TIME

Have a nap on the floor. Do stretches in the middle of lunch. Carry a heating pack around and plug it into a wall in the middle of class. It's not hurting anyone.

I get that being the weird person grimacing in pain all the time is not the dream high school experience, and it extra sucks when you dont have a simple concrete diagnosis to explain things to nosy/concerned people, but if you aren't being bullied and have accepting friends you can really improve your day by just doing what's best for you intead of what's typical.

#7 HIGH SCHOOL SUCKS

You may have heard someone say 'these are the best days of your life' or 'enjoy it while it lasts' or 'wait until until you see how hard the real world is'.

That attitude can take a huge toll on your mental health when you feel like you're missing out on your only chance at being happy because of illness. Fortunately, it's bullshit.

Adults are *nostalgic* about high school; no one *actually* wants to be a teenager again. Find the silver linings and enjoy them, but don't stress about losing your best years because life is generally uphill from here. Source: I'm 30, still disabled, and so much happier than I was 5 or 10 or 15 years ago.

hi. once again begging for advice as to how to survive high school while physically disabled (chronic pain specifically). looking it up on tumblr only gives me advice abt adhd. looking it up on google only gives me advice on how to take care of disabled children. please. send any advice you may have. im exhausted.