#lost in the stereo sound. — ❪ music. ❫

[x-heesy]

𝙿𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑: 𝚅𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝙳𝚒𝚘𝚖𝚊 (𝙳𝚎𝚖𝚘) 𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚢𝚗 @bigbonzo 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎

𝙼𝚒𝚡 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔

[rapturously]

“ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒. ”

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

┆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: an encounter with a familiar face at the boardwalk’s video store leads to a night you’ll never forget.

˹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.0K.

˹ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with plot, loss of virginity (reader), vampire antics, hint of bloodplay, paul thinks about killing the reader (briefly), dirty talk, making out, pet names, breast play, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, scent kink, groping, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl position, finger sucking (brief), catching feelings, cumplay, cliffhanger ending.

˹ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a really good way to come back! I am trying to improve my writing and I felt like this was a good warm-up for what’s to come! I hope you guys enjoy! thanks for your support!

SALTWATER KISSES PEPPER AGAINST YOUR CHEEKS WITH THE GENTLE ROLL OF THE TIDE, WHERE THE OCEAN BRUSHES WITH THE SANDY SHORES OF SANTA CARLA. BONFIRES FLICKER THROUGH A STARLIT DUSK, SURROUNDED BY THE SWAYING BODIES OF ROWDY BEACHGOERS.

Smoke stings your nostrils, the pungent haze of marijuana intermingled with scorched driftwood. A seaside breeze drifts across your shoulders, barely covered with a chiffon shawl as you search the growing crowds for your friends.

Santa Carla was unlike anything you’d experienced before, a nocturnal den crawling with so many unfamiliar faces. You had moved here during the peak of summertime, where school wasn’t in-session and each evening was an endless party.

The lukewarm bottle of Redhook swayed within your hand, half-consumed as you tossed it into the nearest bin. Your steps are sluggish as you wander along the beachfront, finding yourself drawn into the fray of a bustling crowd.

It was almost a different place altogether — day versus dusk, where the boardwalk transformed into a haven for the misbegotten. Wedging yourself into the crowd, you catch a glimpse of some local hair-band performing on the stage.

A hand grabs at your hip, causing you to yelp as you swivel, meeting the exuberant eyes of your friend, Chloe. “There you are!” She exclaimed, nose crinkling in amusement. “Jesus, you scare easily!”

With a nettled huff, you turn, noticing the glossy sheen within her gaze — too much to drink. “You grabbed me,” You insisted, barely able to hear her over the rancor of the crowd. “What’s going on?” Your inquiry nearly dissipated into the background.

“Devin wants to check out that stupid video store, do you want to come with? It shouldn’t be long!” Chloe chimed, catching the wandering eye of some sleaze through the crowd. She waved, but you seemed entirely disinterested.

“Yeah, it’s getting too loud over here,” Following her lead, she grasped ahold of your hand, polished nails snagging on your bracelet. There is a noticeable sashay in her steps. “How much have you had to drink?”

“God, you sound like my mother! I’ve had a few, but I’m fine! Devin is taking me home,” She mused, and you happened to roll your eyes. The position of matriarchal friend had involuntarily fallen to you, not that you minded. “Come on!”

Shuffling through the sand, you make your way up a flight of wooden steps, and you are thankful for the distraction. The rancor of rock music dissipates, devolving into the ambiance of fairgoers and stereos, instead.

Before you moved to California, you wouldn’t have dared to set foot in a place like this — but age and assurance bolstered your confidence. You enjoyed going out to these beachside promenades, even if it wasn’t always your scene.

The eclectic nightlife and view of the beach were satisfactory enough for you, with enough entertainment to last a lifetime. Neon lights from overhanging signs buzz with shades of pink and green, blanketing the boardwalk in an array of vibrant colors.

Video Max was a hotspot in Santa Carla — you’d been there more times than you could count since the move. The idle hum of Corey Hart filled the silence, trickling in over the store’s radio as Chloe hauled you inside.

Devin waved from across the shelves, clutching a copy of John Carpenter’s Halloween in his hand. “Thought you guys got lost!” He piped up, offering you a friendly smile. He was a good friend, and you’d been trying to nudge him toward Chloe since you joined the group.

“Almost,” You mused, feeling Chloe release you from her vice-like hold. It allowed you to peruse the shelves, absentmindedly scanning for any movie that happened to snag your attention. “Halloween isn’t for a few months.”

With a snort, Devin waved a hand in dismissal. “Never too early for scary movies,” For a moment, you watched his gaze shift elsewhere, past you and toward the door. “Jesus, have you ever seen anything like that before?”

Perplexed, you couldn’t help yourself, attempting to crane your head to peer over your shoulder. Much to your chagrin, your staring wasn’t entirely subtle, directed toward the group of guys filing into the video store.

Eccentric was certainly a term to describe the four, who moved in an eerie synchronization, like a pack of wolves prowling for prey. At the helm, the platinum-blonde bore a smug smirk, leading his flock into the fray, closely followed by the dark-haired one, whose expression was indiscernible.

The blonde pair reminded you of chortling hyenas, with the shorter one maintaining a curly mullet and a cheshire grin. It was the taller blonde with crazed tresses that ensnared your attention, his hair disheveled, reminding you of a lion’s mane. His overcoat and stressed, white jeans stuck out like a sore thumb.

The Boardwalk Boys — their infamy was something of a legend in Santa Carla, according to Chloe.

Through parted lips, you turned away, knowing you’d ogled for far too long. Instead, you made small talk with Devin and Chloe, tugging your shawl tighter around your shoulders. “Hey, how long are you guys planning on sticking around?”

“Not sure,” Devin rubbed the back of his neck, nearly catching Chloe from swaying into one of the shelves. “Might need to get this one home, as soon as possible.” He sighed, tone indicative of playfulness instead of exasperation.

“No,” Chloe whined, hanging upon Devin’s arm with an exaggerated pout. She glanced at you, eyes alight with bewilderment and intrigue before she leaned over, ushering you closer. “C’mere.” She whispered.

Concerned, you leaned over conspiratorially, palms planted against the top of the shelf. “You are painfully drunk,” You murmured, unable to mask your laughter as she patted your cheek, manicured nails tapping at your skin. “What, what’s wrong?”

“He’s staring at you,” She murmured, and before you could try to turn and look, she held you in-place. “The blonde one with the stupid overcoat, he keeps checking you out.” Chloe snickered, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What?” The bitter sting of disbelief rippled throughout your chest, a crippling denial that often permeated most of your interactions with boys. You found it hard to believe that one of them would have an inkling of interest.

Devin appeared mildly worried, throat bobbing as he dipped closer, brows furrowing together. “Twisted Sister motherfucker,” He uttered, confirming Chloe’s observations with one snarky remark alone. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, a bundle of nerves made residence within your stomach, gooseflesh raking across your spine. Your resolve splintered at the seams, perspiration breaking out upon your palms.

It was almost as if you could feel his gaze boring a hole through you, a heat so foreign and intense that your throat grew tight. In an attempt to relieve a sliver of anxiousness, you picked at your bracelet, gritting your teeth together.

“Should I say something?” There wasn’t anything inherently malicious about the stranger’s oppressive stare, but you could feel it. Chloe shook her head, prepared to encourage you to go and talk to him until the sound of voices grew closer.

Your streak of charisma seemed to wither then and there, shriveling away like dying leaves. Words turned to ash upon your tongue as the blonde happened to approach, lingering a shelf away as to appear inconspicuous.

“He’s cute,” Chloe slurred, a mischievous twinkle within her eye, a subtle hint for you to relax. Devin appeared less than enthused with her astute observation, but let it rest. “Definitely say something.”

“We need to get you home,” Devin murmured, a twinge of suspicion rippling through him. Anyone who frequented Santa Carla knew about the Boardwalk Boys, but one look alone, and something about them was unsettling. “You okay?”

Steeling yourself, you happened to nod, offering Devin a nervous smile. “Peachy.” With a steady exhale, you turned around, greeted by the wolfish grin of the lion’s mane blonde. He looked as if he had been ripped straight from a metal band, with some savage element to him.

Cerulean hues pierced through your own, stale cologne wafting from him. The cropped, mesh top he wore beneath the seemingly-archaic overcoat caught your eye, offering a teasing glimpse of his musculature.

He was unlike anyone you’d seen before, something peculiar — a wild card, whose charisma bled through from his grin alone. “Kept wonderin’ if you were gonna hide from me,” He crooned, head canting to one side. “I’m not mean and scary, promise.”

“Sorry,” Through a mumbled apology, you felt your features warm, as if you’d stepped into an open flame. Something about his very presence seemed to latch its talons into you. “I guess I got a little shy.” You confessed.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” His attention shifted to Devin and Chloe. “You mind if I steal her from you?” There was an unusual sincerity within his tone, laced with amusement. “S’long as it’s good with you, ‘course.”

Unexpected chivalry was the last thing you envisioned from this stranger, but you weren’t about to protest, glancing at Devin and Chloe. “You should probably take Chloe home,” You prompted, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “Tell her to call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Devin nodded, partially carrying Chloe against his side. “Be careful, okay?” His pointed statement was primarily directed at your new companion, who playfully crossed his hand over his chest.

“Swear on my life, bro.” His lopsided smirk and chortling was borderline infectious, hues glittering with bemusement as Devin nodded, albeit begrudgingly. You watched as your friends departed Video Max, leaving you to your present company.

Flicking a nail across your bracelet, your attention resumed its full concentration on the man before you, whose wicked style intrigued you. “What’s your name?” Introductions were more awkward than not, but he seemed well-adept at navigating these things.

“Paul, but you can call me anything you want.” His flirtatious nature wasn’t lost upon you, precocious like a playful imp. He stepped closer, leaning against one of the shelves in a casanova manner, eyes beginning to crinkle.

He was endlessly charming, even if you found his pick-up lines to be somewhat outdated. A brief huff of laughter escaped you as you extended your hand, treating him to a sweet smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Paul.”

Your name was freshly emblazoned on his mind, with no intention of fading away. There was something inherently tender about you, a warmth rarely found in this pit of depravity. He liked that, your innocence — it was hard to control himself.

Piety brought out the predator in Paul, whose boisterous personality was something of a magnet to you. Admittedly, he hadn’t seen you before — put a face to a name, let it drive him insane. Your smell was tantalizing, a rich concoction that made him salivate.

Paul stepped closer, weaving around the shelf’s corner as he made residence within your space. Your brief inspection of his attire brought about a multitude of peculiarities, from the tarnished medals clipped to his jacket, to the tattered holes across his white jeans.

“Real nice to meet you, babe,” He crowed, hues shamelessly flickering over your frame. There was a softness to you, unspoiled and supple, akin to some gift that he longed to unwrap. “Wanna ditch this place, head outside?”

The innocuous pet name was merely an extension of his flirtation, something you reveled in. Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, like a flock of butterflies, making you preen with excitement. “Yeah, why not?”

Lodging a toothpick between his teeth, Paul threw an arm around you, palm gently pressing against the small of your back as he guided you outside. The friends he’d come in with glowered as he passed, causing you to subconsciously move into Paul’s side.

As dusk furthered into the later hours, the hour of the bat, the crowds had started to thin. A cluster of scrappy motorcycles sat several feet away, along the wooden bannister. “Don’t mind my brothers, they’re just jealous.”

Brothers? The thought is perplexing — there isn’t much of a resemblance between the four of them, but you settle on the logical path of adoption.

“Jealous?” Incredulity ripples through your tone, as saccharine as sugar. Paul snickers, amused by your own obliviousness — it’s sweet, your humility, but he doesn’t seem surprised. “Why?”

“Why d’you think?” Paul steered you toward the bannister, making himself comfortable at your side. A feeble heat wafted from you, accompanied by the thick haze of your scent. It stung his nostrils, producing a dull burn within his throat.

“Oh,” He got the girl, you think, folding your arms to let them perch atop the railing. “I’ve heard about you guys — the Boardwalk Boys. I didn’t know I’d be speaking to a celebrity tonight.” You teased, tone jocular.

Through a guffaw and a wild grin, Paul nearly bumped his hip into you, twisting the toothpick between his teeth. “We got a bad reputation for bein’ troublesome,” He mused. “Hope you’re not thrown off by that.”

“I’m not,” You insisted, despite your initial hesitation. Casting judgment on someone you knew little about wasn’t fair — and Paul was the most intriguing person you’d spoken to thus far. “Where do you and your brothers live?”

“Don’t have a house,” Paul seemed nonchalant about this fact, placing a boot up upon one of the lower rungs. “We jus’ live in a cave on Hudson’s Bluff — party and slum it.” He noticed the look of astonishment on your face. “Totally legal, by the way.”

Through a furrowed brow and warm features, you canted your head to one side. “You live in a cave? Doesn’t that get —”

“Dangerous?” Paul interjected, grinning like the cat who’d caught the canary. He slithered closer, throwing an arm around your shoulders, ring-adorned fingers tracing over your arm. “Nothing about me is tame, baby.”

Biting back a hiccup, you felt yourself becoming unabashedly smitten, chewing at the inside of your cheek. There was nothing civilized and demure about Paul, who was as wild and unpredictable as they came. The juxtaposition to your pious demeanor clashed with his — in a good way.

Paul thoroughly enjoyed living on the edge, an amalgamation of all things untamed and dangerous. Recklessness was fun for him, like the thrill of the hunt. Sometimes, he let the human facade slip enough to rouse suspicion — David didn’t like that.

His touch was akin to a stab of ice, even through your chiffon shawl. A brief gasp rippled through you at the foreign sensation, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Swallowing your nervousness, you happened to stay put, gaze drifting to meet cerulean irises.

“I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re worried about,” In a valiant attempt to show a sliver of boldness, you found yourself wanting to impress Paul. “I think I can handle it.” Your insistence was cute to Paul, whose nose wrinkled instead.

“I like that fire you got, but you’re shakin’ like a leaf,” Paul teased, reveling in the flustered look plastered onto your visage. Before you could avert your eyes, he reached to tilt your chin toward him, as playful as could be. “You’re real pretty.”

Jesus, he was smooth — a crazed charm that was akin to a siren’s song, dragging you into the depths of his ocean. Compliments accompanied by his suaveness and fleeting touches made your nerves blaze with exhilaration.

Having melted the barrier of strangeness between you both, Paul hovered above you, leaning inward to sniff at your tresses. It was an amalgamation of all things sweet — from something floral to a hint of honey and vanilla.

“You’re …” Ensnared within his incendiary gaze, you found yourself unable to find the words, as if they ceased to exist. A beat of silence gripped you as you considered what to say. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

Most girls he sunk his teeth into weren’t so mesmerized — and if they were, they were often beneath his hypnotic spell. Your awe and bewilderment appeared to be genuine.

Paul laughed, the sound vibrating through him, ripping clean through his throat. He thoroughly enjoyed how smitten you were with him, and the innocuous attention was something he chased after. “You think so?”

Flicking the toothpick aside, Paul noticed the coy smile tugging at either corner of your mouth. It was easy to dip into the recesses of your mind, dig into each crevice for answers, but he chose not to. The unpredictability of it all enticed him.

“Yeah, you just … You’re very fearless, and bold. You don’t care what anybody else thinks of you.” If only you were confident enough to take a page out of his book, you might’ve been the same way. “It’s very attractive.” Your confession emerged as a soft-spoken utterance.

Unable to suppress his growing smirk, Paul’s lips neared the shell of your ear. “You hitting on me?” He purred, able to catch a whiff of your pheromones. It was a wave of something feminine, making his blood boil with anticipation.

The boardwalk became incredibly dismal, mere ambiance serving as a backdrop for your conversation with Paul. You cared little for curfew, little for going home. “I am,” With a steady exhale, you straightened your posture. “Is that okay?”

“Fuck, ‘course it’s okay,” Paul mumbled, lips brushing across the shell of your ear, causing gooseflesh to ice your spine. A clammy chill spread along the back of your neck, breath hitching within your throat. “Prettiest girl here.”

Whispered praise raked hot embers along your spine, causing your stomach to roll with waves of excitement. You were terrified to touch him, lips agape as he tilted your chin, forcing you to hold his stare.

“You’re sweet,” You murmured, tone wrought with disbelief as you mustered a smile, dazzled by Paul’s beguiling visage. His closeness was marked by the unusual chill of his flesh, the brush of his mesh-clad chest against yours. “Paul.”

“Should ditch this place, baby,” Paul’s breath fanned across your mouth, his scent a strange conglomerate of marijuana, sun-dried carrion, and stale cologne to mask it all. “Come and check out the cave.”

A sliver of your being sensed danger, as if your hackles bristled at the thought of going somewhere completely secluded with him. It was easy to dismiss your twinge of paranoia as nervousness, and you did just that.

“I’ll go with you.” With a brief exhale, you nodded in agreement, earning the delight of Paul, who seemed incredibly pleased. His bark of a laugh reverberated throughout his chest as he planted a sloppy kiss against your cheek.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,” His outstretched hand invited you toward his scrappy motorcycle, which seemed similar to a dirt-bike instead of a true Harley or Indian. “I’m a safe driver.”

Despite his faux assurances and oozing charm, some sliver of you felt uneasy. It would just be the both of you, which seemed infinitely more comfortable than having his brothers around.

Paul’s grin never diminished, glinting through the encroaching dark as he settled onto the bike, ensuring that you were situated behind him. “I don’t know if I believe you.” You mused, relieving some of the tension.

His laugh made you smile, like the cackle of a coyote — nothing tame about him. Despite his carefree nature, you enjoyed his company, savored the sense of liberation you felt with him. There wasn’t a need to perform, only exist as you were.

“Believe it, baby, we’re goin’ for a ride,” He mused, revving his bike with a noisy howl. Before he could spin off of the boardwalk, you immediately lurched forward, arms hooking around his midsection. “Might wanna hold on tight.”

Seaborne wind whipped against your cheeks, the night chill seeping into your bones. The silver glow of the moon sparkled across the ocean, framing Paul’s tresses in an eerie light. He was frenzied, screaming into the twilight as he drove across the beach.

A shudder of ecstasy raked across your spine, exhilaration fueled by a stab of fear. You clung to him like a drowning woman, digits tangled into the mesh, feeling the icy plane of his abdomen beneath.

A sharp inhale fluttered within your lungs when Paul’s bike hopped over a log, causing you to tense with anticipation. There was something maddening about his driving — recklessness, excitement, the thrill of the night.

The boardwalk faded into the background, mere sparkling lights in the distance, now dissipated. Hudson’s Bluff was a sprawling forest before one made it to the cliffside, barren with dirt and a sparse tree. The rocky incline that led to the mouth of the cave was steep and jagged.

“Home sweet home,” Paul crowed, guiding his bike toward the mess of boards, caution tape, and flotsam. Driftwood had washed up onto shore, with tattered tarps partially strewn across the cave’s entrance. “Didn’t scare you, did I?”

As he dismounted, he noticed the startled look upon your face, akin to a baby deer lost in the thicket. It seemed to fade once your feet landed upon slick rocks, waves kissing the sediment-laden shores. “Only a little.” You confessed.

Paul snickered, offering you a ring-adorned hand as he wound closer to you, planting a sly kiss along the back of your ear. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to,” He murmured, able to detect the spike of warmth in your blood, the hitch of your breath. “You’ll love it down here.”

The cavernous abyss of the cave’s mouth made you shiver, your grip on Paul’s hand becoming uncomfortably snug as he led you down. It was all uneven and perilous, the cave marked by overhanging foliage, moss, and rocky outcroppings.

Within the underbelly of their home, it became somewhat cozy, strewn in countless trappings of the present time, intermingled with that of the past. There were many huge posters of various bands, a portion of the cave carved off for their bikes and workshopping scrap.

“Did something fall underground here?” You asked, noticing the dilapidated fountain in the center of the cave, where slivers of moonlight crept through. Sweeping a digit over the old stone, you collected a century’s worth of dust.

“Used to be an old hotel back in the day, before it collapsed. Some sinkhole or somethin’, David knows the whole story,” Paul replied, tossing a torch into one of the barrels. “I didn’t listen to much of it.” He chortled, gaze fixated upon you.

Worn tapestries hung from the scaling ceilings, crimson velvet tarnished by the passage of time. Much of the decor was an amalgamation from the past and the present, worlds colliding in the depths of the cave.

“It doesn’t bother you, living here?” Perhaps your question might’ve passed as judgmental, but you were simply curious. Paul hopped up onto the ledge of the fountain, able to look down upon you.

“Nah. You get used to it,” Sauntering along the edge, he jerked his head toward another alcove of the cave. “Wanna see my place? Best part of the cave.” He mused, jumping down to land right in front of you.

You began to relax, allowing yourself to lower your guard with Paul. Vulnerability began to waft from you, a semblance of comfort that you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah, I’d love to.” Warmth crept along your spine when he took your hand again.

The cave was much bigger than you thought, with sprawling passageways, alcoves, and concealed grottos that didn’t make themselves known. Paul’s ‘room’ was nothing more than a dip in the rock, shrouded by gaudy velvet curtains.

It smelled of marijuana and a hint of cologne, accompanied by mildew and moisture. Disheveled sheets were strewn across a mattress, metal posters covering most of the rock. Mötley Crüe, Cinderella, Warrant, Scorpions, Judas Priest — Paul had an excellent taste in music.

“You’re really into music, aren’t you?” A brief bubble of laughter emerged from your lips as you gestured toward the posters. His stereo and cassette tapes sat atop a rickety vanity, mirror smashed and missing half of the glass.

“Yeah. I play guitar,” Paul was merely a novice, but he wasn’t the worst player in the world. “Metal not your speed?” He mused, gauging your response. Marko labeled him as a music snob, not that he could help it.

“No, I enjoy it. My parents are pretty strict on it, though,” You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Most of his belongings were scattered — strewn about the room or stacked into disorganized piles. “I like it here.”

Upon first glance, Paul saw you as a meal, a plaything, a means to an end. He intended on feeding from you, given how saccharine your scent happened to be. Blood was blood, but it did have a certain bouquet and viscosity, varying from person to person.

Now, he was beginning to have a change of heart.

Humans were disposable, nothing — piles of warm meat with a bloodstream, something to consume and discard once he had his fill. It was a callous way to think of it, but he wasn’t concerned with the livelihood of a stranger.

Despite the supernatural appeal he had, especially towards you, whatever unconscious effect you possessed was beginning to impact him. Paul lacked the desire to feast, to kill. Instead, it was simply that — the desire to be with you.

For a moment, he considered turning you himself — being like him, an eternal statue bound to his side. Then again, Paul obtained some sick thrill from toying with your humanity, seeing how far he could push his limits.

The fiery burning within his throat became nothing more than background noise, replaced with baser, carnal instincts. Paul’s jaw tensed, and he watched in rapturous silence as you picked up a Def Leppard cassette.

“Wanna listen?” Paul asked, noticing the flicker of excitement within your eyes. Coming from a religious background, rock music was demonized in your household — this was a much-needed break for you.

“If you don’t mind.” Beaming, you couldn’t help but warm as Paul plucked the tape from your hands, hovering beside you as he placed it into the stereo. Love Bites wasn’t exactly a clean song, and Paul snickered at the coincidental lyrics.

With a theatrical groan, he rocked back onto his mattress, listening to the squeak of the springs protest his weight. Paul let himself bask in the moment, tossing his overcoat somewhere toward the alcove’s entrance.

A pang of attraction rippled through you at the sight of him, spread wide with his arms planted behind him, mane of hair making him look like a rockstar. You stood with the shrewdness of a mouse, picking at the frayed stitching of your shawl.

Paul loved your innocence — it made you wildly gorgeous in ways that made his skin crawl. Cerulean hues shamelessly flickered across your form, lips quirked into a lopsided smirk.

“When are you gonna stop bein’ shy and come sit on my lap?” The sharp question was enough to make your knees wobble, heat beginning to pool within the pit of your stomach. Your doe-eyed stare flew to Paul, who seemed entirely unbothered.

Gawking as if he’d asked something offensive, you let your bewilderment show. “What?” It felt like some raunchy dream you’ve had before, but this was reality.

“You heard me,” Paul crooned, extending one hand in your direction. “C’mere.” Fuck, he could smell you — the familiar scent of feminine arousal struck his senses like a gut-punch, causing him to salivate. It was going to be a fight to control himself.

Nervousness dissipated into excitement as you abandoned your lingering insecurities, shuffling forward until you were in between his legs. Your hand found his own, calloused digits smoothing themselves across your palm, reveling in your softness.

Paul brought your palm to his lips, pressing a kiss against the silky skin there. The sharp cadence of your breath made him grin, a chuckle reverberating throughout his body.

“You are so pretty,” You sighed, unable to smother your compliment. There was no one quite as captivating as Paul, whose untamed appearance only appealed to your attraction. “So attractive.”

Amused, Paul appeared flattered by your sweet praise, and it turned him on to the point of no return. Jesus, he wanted you — wanted you for himself. Possessiveness wasn’t something he was familiar with, yet it began to fester inside of him nonetheless.

Coaxing you into his lap, you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, thighs squeezing at either side of his hips. You straddled him, feeling those ring-adorned hands clamor for your waist, caressing into your curves.

“Lookin’ good enough to eat, sweet thing,” Paul crowed, pinching the chiffon shawl between his fingers. “You want to fool around?” Blunt, straightforward — his intentions seemed crystalline.

Another hitch formed within the depths of your throat, gooseflesh prickling along your spine. “Yes,” With an excitable sigh, you attempted to seem subdued, but this was the first time you’d done something like this. “Please.”

Paul’s palms cupped your hips, groping at the pliant flesh through your dress as he moved to kiss you. Carnality bled through his lips, tasting of smoke and the twang of copper. A low groan stirred within his chest as you grasped at his hair.

Dusty-blonde tresses seemed stiff between your fingertips, layered in age-old product that hadn’t been washed out. You found yourself not questioning the strangeness of it, lost within the fervor of his mouth.

Def Leppard saturated the space around you, ambiance beginning to soothe whatever anxiousness you’d felt before. Paul was a fantastic kisser, tongue swiping across your lower lip on occasion, head canted to deepen the entanglement.

Prying your shawl aside, you let the chiffon garment taper off to the floor, a shiver rolling down your spine. Exposed to the cave’s mild air, your mouth eagerly clamored against his own, feeling one of his hands slither toward your backside.

You felt as if you’d been set ablaze, flesh burning with a carnal intensity, something you hadn’t experienced before. An amalgamation of new sensations began to overwhelm you, the thrill of desire settling into your bones.

Paul brazenly groped at your rump, feeling you up through your skirt with greedy caresses. Each kiss was voracious, stealing every wisp of air from your lungs until there was nothing left but a burning, a longing unlike anything you’d endured before.

“Wait,” Through a breathy sigh, Paul’s lips came to a crawl, piercing hues gauging you through blonde lashes. “I’ve never gone much further than this. Is that okay?” Your inquiry was a softspoken one, laced with innocence.

Fantasy ran rampant as Paul considered your confession, tongue darting to lap across his lower lip. Armed with this knowledge, he knew that he really needed to behave, or else he’d break you.

“Fuck yeah,” He huffed, tracing his palm along the pliant flesh of your thigh. “If you don’t wanna do something, you tell me, yeah? I got some ideas,” Paul crooned, pressing a string of kisses along your jaw. “Think you’ll like it.”

A tremor of ardor rippled through your stomach, evoking a sense of exhilaration. Curious digits found their way to his bare shoulders, exploring the broad muscle there as he kissed his way across your throat.

“Like what?” A sharp exhale tore past your parted lips as teeth nicked your jugular, testing the waters for what was to come. Paul’s smirk was palpable, like an icy brand etched into your flesh.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He purred, toying with your intrigue, enough to make you squirm within his lap. You very nearly froze at the incessant prodding of his erection against your thigh. “Fuck, you smell so good, baby.”

Whatever perfume you happened to spritz on today, you made a mental note to wear it again. Gooseflesh crawled across your spine, thighs involuntarily attempting to clench together as his palm drifted underneath your top.

With a silent insistence, Paul helped you squirm out of your blouse, catching an eyeful of your lace-laden chest. His lips twitched into a wolfish smirk, eyes gleaming with a fervent hunger.

You nearly shrank beneath his piercing gaze, finding that your blouse had made its way to the floor, lost to the moment. The lace of your brassiere was girlish and frilly, though you suspected it wouldn’t stay on for very long.

Paul pressed a string of needy kisses along your shoulder, ring-adorned hand skirting to knead at your breast. A soft moan tore past your mouth, a sound that he had been itching to elicit from you. He teased your nipple over the fabric, watching you squirm within his lap.

“Paul!” A low whine escaped you, one that reeked of neediness, a burning desire that had coalesced into a flame. His mouth found the dip between your neck and shoulder, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin there.

“Like it when you say my name,” He purred, nose nuzzling along your throat. The sanguine pulse of your blood was tantalizing, like a savory treat being dangled before him, but he resisted. “Gonna take this off of you.” One digit plucked at the strap of your brassiere.

“Mm.” With a noise of approval, you felt Paul move to unhook the garment with swift expertise. The humid breeze that drifted through the cave caused you to bristle, letting him leave you bare. His pupils seemed to expand with excitement.

Fuck, you were gorgeous — Paul was having a difficult time focusing on what part of you he enjoyed the most. “You are so fuckin’ hot,” He growled, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “What am I gonna do with you, babe?”

A shiver of exhilaration iced your spine, arousal pooling between your thighs, heavier than you expected. Molten heat swirled within your stomach, warmth permeating your features. “Whatever you want.” You uttered, and he happened to grin.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Paul crooned, dexterous hands wandering toward your ass, pushing you forward until his face brushed against your sternum. His tongue traced a pattern around your breasts, savoring the sweet slick of your flesh.

Swallowing the lump within your throat, your fingers raked themselves through his wild tresses, finding their purchase as he kissed at your chest. A satisfied whine left you, followed by a gasp as he began to suck at your nipple.

Tits were his thing — it elicited some frenzied reaction from him, the softness of your chest; supple and unspoiled. Paul’s digits found your unattended breast, kneading into the flesh there, causing you to moan.

The rough pad of his thumb rolled across your nipple, evoking a squeak from you. His cheshire smirk was tangible against your skin, like a hot brand, etched for eternity.

His greedy suckling dwindled to kisses, planting a string of wet pecks to your chest. “You are somethin’ else,” Paul hummed, a glimmer of lust shimmering within his eyes. “Lay down for me, yeah?” He murmured, planting a kiss against your jugular.

The erratic beating of your heart was born of excitement, a thrill unlike any other. His allure had captivated you, and before Paul’s change of heart, it was the predator ensnaring prey. It was the supernatural attraction of being a vampire.

Without question, you adhered to his request, the obedient human, awkwardly shuffling to recline across the mattress. It groaned in protest, yet you paid it little mind as Paul crawled toward you.

It was animalistic, something that sent a shudder of fear through your stomach, a good fear. Cerulean hues glistened with unrestrained desire, lips splitting into a smirk as he made residence between your legs.

Hands grasped mesh as he tugged his top away, musculature exposed to you, godly in some inhuman way. Arousal sat heavy between your thighs, beginning to drive Paul to madness. He found your skirt, head canting to one side.

“You mind if I get rid of this? Just gettin’ in the way of what I want,” The amorous cadence of his voice made you press your legs together in an attempt to relieve the tension. “Gettin’ shy on me, babe?” Paul teased, prompting you to smile.

“You can take it off.” With a shrewd utterance, you watched as Paul sluggishly tugged at your skirt. The frilly garment disappeared, tossed somewhere behind him. Thin, cotton panties were all that kept you from exposure.

Slinking forward, Paul’s body blanketed yours, arms keeping himself propped up as he gazed down at you, lips quirked into a grin. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” His mouth found your collarbone, leaving behind a string of hot, wet kisses.

A shaky sigh escaped your lips, laced with the tremor of anticipation as you reached for his tresses. Soft fingers raked through his stiff mane, eliciting a low, satisfied hum from him.

He kissed you wherever he pleased, finding plenty of enjoyment in your body. Your flesh was like silk, akin to velvet, an unblemished surface, all for his own pleasure. Paul kissed his way between your breasts, briefly nipping at your sternum.

The heady, dizzying scent of your arousal continued to scorch his nostrils, a burn of sheer ecstasy. Bloodlust had dwindled into lust — the want he felt for you far outweighed the desire to feed. A soft moan left you when he reached your stomach, hands finding your thighs.

“P—Paul, where …” Embarrassment flooded through you, warming your already-feverish flesh with bashfulness. A guffaw left your greedy paramour, who did not stop his trail of reverent kisses. “You don’t have to.” You squeaked.

Cute — Paul’s mouth twisted into a wolfish grin, cerulean hues reflecting the yearning of a man starved. “I want to,” His enthusiasm bewildered you, and the throbbing between your legs seemed incessant, now. “Fuck, I want it so bad, babe.”

A shiver rolled along your spine, digits idly tensing within his hair as he kissed a trail along your pelvic bone, teeth snagging into the waistband of your panties. An audible gasp ripped through your throat, eyes widening into a doe-eyed stare.

Paul’s hues met yours, lips still quirked into a smirk even as he guided your panties down your legs. He had them clenched between his teeth like a vice, sluggishly dragging them down until they were hitched around your knees.

Your stomach did flips, a whine bubbling from your throat as he pressed kisses along your calf. No man had ever bothered to do something as sultry as this — and you became lost to his lascivious charm.

Involuntarily, you pressed your thighs together, visibly smitten as Paul clicked his tongue. “Wanna taste you so bad,” He groaned, chin perched against your knee. “You gonna make me beg or somethin’?” A bark of laughter reverberated through his chest.

“No, I just — It’s embarrassing,” It was silly, so silly to be flustered over your own anatomy. Paul appeared amused, but he seemed more than happy to placate you, trailing his fingers along your thigh. “What if you don’t like it?”

“I’ve eaten worse, sweet thing,” Paul chortled, like the snickering of a hyena as he kissed your knee, head cocked to one side. “Your pussy is ‘bout to be the best thing I’ve had in months, and that’s bein’ serious.” He assured.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and his crass humor seemed to melt away your apprehension entirely. “I don’t want to starve you.” Your own jest made him grin — a full, ear-splitting leer that brought back his wild gleam.

Slowly, you parted your legs, and Paul whistled triumphantly, gluing himself to you with an inhuman haste. His mouth pressed open, wet kisses to your inner thighs, greed consuming him as he chased after that smell.

Your scent had been tormenting him since the moment he strolled into Video Max, and now, he was inhaling it all with glee. “Fuck, you’re soakin’ wet,” Paul groaned, causing your breath to hitch as you reclined into the mattress. “Pretty.”

Without pause, his tongue dragged across your cunt, akin to the burn of hot embers over your slit, an ecstasy that made you writhe. A growl ripped through his chest, one that made you shudder as he lapped at your core.

His tresses became your anchor, something to tether you to him as you tugged, pulled, and fisted at his mane. Paul seemed to enjoy it, nose nuzzling along your mound as he vigorously explored your cunt.

Taut, sinewy hands circled beneath your thighs, coming to perch atop your hips, caging you in against his mouth. He was primal — sloppy and enthusiastic, with little tact to his ministrations. His tongue traveled anywhere and everywhere.

The taste of your cunt drives Paul into a frenzy, like that of a fine stout, ambrosial — he’s intoxicated, hit with a buzz that clouds his mind. Your thighs coil around his head, involuntarily flexing against his temples.

There is a euphoria that swells within you, a fire that demands to be extinguished. Paul’s tongue possesses a mind of its own, eagerly lapping from your entrance to clit. At the first lap along the pearl of your cunt, you cry out.

Unbeknownst to you, Paul could’ve stayed between your thighs for an eternity, with little desire to catch his breath. Control became difficult to grasp, with the feral urge to ruin you taking root, the fantasy spreading like a creeping mold.

Between dizzying, wanton moans and excitable gasps, clawing for each wisp of air, you tug at his tresses with an iron grasp. His lips plant hot, open-mouthed kisses along your cunt, tongue gathering your slick.

Greed was his cardinal sin, a gluttony for you, for every fiber of your being. Cerulean hues flickered toward you, head thrown back, caught within the throes of ecstasy. It only furthered his lust, furthered the festering obsession.

The incessant throbbing of his cock was becoming mildly distracting, enough for Paul to absentmindedly grind his hips into the mattress. The friction made his flesh burn with excitement, lips moving to purse around your clit.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” Paul’s sultry husk momentarily broke your concentration, heart fluttering beneath your breast as you glanced down. It was as if he ensnared you through eyes alone, ensuring that you watched as he sucked at that bundle of nerves.

With a noisy, pleading moan, your back began to arch from the mattress, springs hissing in protest as you tugged at the base of his skull. You brought him into your cunt, not that he minded, and you were treated to a barrage of messy licks.

A sheen of arousal coats his chin, senses swarmed with your scent; a thick, feminine aroma. Pupils dilate with thinly-veiled excitement as one hand relocates, slithering from your hip to the warmth between your legs.

Time isn’t wasted with Paul as two digits begin to stroke along your entrance, mouth preoccupied with suckling on your clit. With a muted thrust of your hips, you can feel the huff of laughter from your crazed paramour, who pins your hips down with his other palm.

A demanding fire burns bright within the pit of your stomach, arousal coalescing between your thighs, a nectar that Paul consumes every drop of. Your flesh feels unbearably hot, like a fever you can’t sweat out as you approach your peak.

Throaty groans tear through Paul’s throat as he hungrily eats you out, drunk off of your taste. Two fingers ease themselves inside of you, initially sluggish until it turns into something erratic, feeling you clench around his digits.

“Paul,” It almost stole the wind from your lungs; the graze of teeth around your clit, causing you to shudder. With an incoherent string of moans, you continue to babble his name as if it were a prayer. “P—Paul, m’close!” You croon.

White-hot bliss floods your insides, and it only continues to spur Paul on as he pistons his fingers into your cunt. The sensation makes you writhe, an ecstasy unlike any other. He doesn’t slow down, alternating between broad laps of his tongue and sucking at your pearl.

Enraptured, Paul observed you like that of a patient predator, grinding himself into the mattress again. His fingers work against you, thrusting in once more before curling — and that seems to set you over the edge.

With a wave of overwhelming pleasure, you feel your climax hit you hard, like a rush of blood to the head. Uncoiling your thighs from around Paul’s head, you feel sticky, leaving behind the mess of your ardor for him to clean up.

A thin layer of perspiration clung to your skin, glistening through the low light of the cave. A burning sensation stung your lungs as you let yourself breathe, regaining your composure.

Paul lapped at his lips, emerging from between your legs with a cheshire grin. “You’re hot,” He sighed, peppering a string of kisses all along your thigh. “Need a break?” With a cajoling tone, he slithered closer, resting his head against your stomach.

Blonde tresses stuck out in all directions, wild and disheveled from your constant pulling. You pushed your fingertips across his scalp, and he happened to curl up closer to you. “That was perfect.”

“I’m good at pleasin’.” Paul snickered, pecking another myriad of kisses along your abdomen. He moved off of you, settling beside you on the mattress, stuffing a pillow beneath his head. The front of his jeans did little to conceal his erection.

In a simmering silence, you wordlessly moved to clamor into Paul’s lap, palms embracing the plane of his chest. You traced your fingers through the blonde hair there, noticing the way in which his visage illuminated with excitement.

Silky digits traced the line of his stubbled jaw, past his collarbone and toward the coarse line of his happy trail. “You’re so pretty.” A soft mumble escaped your lips as you touched him wherever you could, feeling his hands knead into your hips.

“Fuck,” Paul grumbled, becoming impatient as he writhed beneath you, erection grinding into your core with fervent intent. “Don’t make me wait, baby.” He sighed, giddy as could be when your fingers found his belt.

A pang of elation rippled through you, ardor seeping into your bones as you sluggishly rocked your hips against him. An agonized grunt rumbled throughout his chest, hands squeezing you tight as you unbuttoned his jeans.

Freeing his cock from the confines of strained, white fabric, Paul bristled, nearly steering you onto him out of sheer desperation. Your fingers coyly wrapped around his member, stroking from base to tip, flush within your palm.

Another hiss of impatience slipped through his teeth, festering with want as you pleasured him. He was flattered that you bothered to return the favor, but Paul was hyperfocused on fucking you until you sobbed.

“Minx,” He mused, catching your mesmerized stare as he flashed a wolfish grin in your direction. You ceased with your toying, sheepishly guiding him toward your aching cunt. “C’mon, just like that.” Paul coaxed, teeth scraping across his lower lip.

It was increasingly difficult to maintain any pious facade with him talking to you like that — resonance little more than a sultry purr, spurring you on. Sluggishly, you lowered yourself onto his cock, the intrusion causing you to moan.

Intermingled sighs of ecstasy drifted throughout the alcove, with Paul gripping your hips like a vice, hard enough to leave bruises. Your nails dug into his abdomen, eliciting a chortle from him as he bucked up into you.

His control was splintering at the seams, feeling your cunt clench around him as he bottomed out inside of you. Your visage contorted into a look of sheer bliss, lips agape and eyes half-lidded as you began to grind against him.

From beneath you, the view was divine — Paul’s hues carefully traced the pliant curves of your breasts, the way your body moved atop him with ease. Your jugular appeared inviting, and for a moment, he was reminded of the burn ripping at his throat.

As you began to move, allowing your pace to become spirited, his thoughts were torn from fractures of feeding to that of pleasure. He was strong enough to move you all on his own, taut digits skirting to your haunches.

“Paul,” You moaned, nails leaving crimson crescents against his chest. His hips happened to clash with yours, cock pounding into your cunt with the lewd clash of flesh. “S—Shit!” A stammered whine escaped you.

Def Leppard filled the void, resonant between the intermingled grunts of Paul and your wanton moans. Deft, needy hands caressed you wherever he could, one palm gripping at your haunch as the other wandered to squeeze your breast.

Pools of dull candlelight bathed you in its glow, ethereal in appearance — he was mesmerized. It wasn’t something that occurred often, being charmed by a human, and yet it happened anyway.

Paul continued to thrust into you, cock nearly kissing your cervix with vigor. Even through his erratic pace, you guided yourself in rhythmic motions along his cock, reduced to a mess of pathetic whimpers and eager cries.

A cacophony of crass noises emanated throughout the walls of his chambers — breathy sighs intermingled with wanton moans, the exchange of flesh for fantasy.

“Fuck, baby,” Paul groaned, the husk of his cadence causing you to shiver in delight. Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, arousal pooling between your thighs. “Feels so good.” He huffed.

As if acting upon selfish impulse, you reached for the choker around his neck, hooking two digits into the black fabric as you tugged him up. Pupils dilated with sudden exhilaration, cerulean hues boring into you, as incendiary as an open flame.

Lips clashed together, greedy and hungry — an unfamiliar hunger, one that seemed to sink its talons into you, refusing to let go. You kissed him as if each entanglement would be your last, feeling his teeth scrape across your lower lip.

Paul didn’t seem to mind doing most of the work, feeling your thighs twitch and tremble from exertion. His chest brushed against yours, evoking an animalistic growl from the depths of his throat.

The pace seemed to increase, turning to a wild fervor that filled you with excitement. Your cunt clenched around his cock, bodies sticky with perspiration and fluids, the clash of flesh becoming prominent.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Without warning, Paul happened to bite down too hard on your lip, and if it weren’t for his restraint, he might’ve taken it further.

“Paul,” Between wanton sighs and needy moans, you grasped at his tresses again, hips grinding against his own. A delicious friction boiled between the both of you, flesh to flesh, driven by desire. “Don’t stop, please.”

One hand skirted to cup his stubbled jaw, able to glimpse a sliver of the untamed side to Paul, the side that captivated you so. He was relentless, stamina borderline inhuman as he continued to guide you atop his lap.

A coppery scent filled his nostrils as a bead of crimson formed upon your lip. Paul bent forward, still fucking you as if it would be his last rut, tongue darting out to lap across your lips.

Saccharine warmth filled his maw for the briefest of moments — your blood, like a fruity bouquet, rich and virile. He hadn’t tasted something so sweet before, and it only made him want more. He kissed you again, with enough passion to make your head spin.

With another lewd clash of his cock slapping away at your cunt, you nearly reeled, moan swallowed by his voracious tongue. It was a messy kiss, fueled by his desire to lap at any drop of blood that oozed from your mouth.

Through a tangle of teeth, tongue, and want, Paul came, bucking up into you as his cock spilled inside of you. An exhale of ecstasy escaped you, mouths parting just enough for you to caress his lower lip with your thumb.

A wicked gleam glistened within his heated stare as he took your thumb into his mouth, pearlescent teeth teasing the fragile skin. A shudder wracked your body, enough to reignite the smoldering desire that now gripped your body.

“Stop that,” You mumbled, albeit playfully as you sluggishly untethered yourself from his lap, thighs scorched by his jeans and the constant friction. It must’ve been late, you realized. “That was …”

“Best you’ve ever had?” Paul teased, a howl of laughter rippling through him. He seemed more than satisfied, something that made you feel better about the whole ordeal. “You’re not gonna run off on me, are you?” He asked.

Curfew was dead and gone — you would face the repercussions come morning. Instead, you happened to try and find your panties, only to notice Paul twirling them around on his hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” With a huff, you immediately slithered back onto his lap, grabbing them with a flustered smile. Paul had you trapped, caging you in against his chest with a vice-like hold. “Paul.”

“Can’t hear you, sweet thing,” His eyes momentarily fluttered shut, lips curled into a wolfish grin as he squeezed at your rump. You were trying to put your panties back on even still, nose wrinkling with amusement. “Need somethin’ to wear?”

Despite your shrug, Paul moved to find you something adequate. He had a rather extensive collection of ripped band shirts that he accumulated from tourists — none of them possessed a pleasant smell.

He tossed a Judas Priest shirt at you, and while you were in the middle of pulling it on, he was glued to your side again. If you stayed until morning, he would have some explaining to do — or he could drop you at home while you were asleep.

“You’re real pretty,” Paul’s shameless admiration made your flesh warm, a pleasant sensation stirring within your stomach. “You tired? You’re welcome to crash here.” He offered.

“You don’t mind?” Your mother was going to kill you, but it didn’t matter anymore. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” Despite your reassurance, Paul tossed his head in a show of dismissal.

Admittedly, he could envision you here quite often, vampire or not. There was something about your smell, your blood, your presence — it sucked him right in, even if you were oblivious to it. Paul lounged beside you, watching as you reclined into the pillows.

A beat of silence drifted between the both of you, with Paul ogling you, countenance indiscernible. He seemed a touch surprised when you leaned over to kiss him — a sweet kiss, lacking the carnal intensity of previous entanglements.

“Sleep tight, babe.” Paul mused, watching intently as you fell asleep. Once dawn came, you would find yourself in your own bed, your house — with no knowledge or remembrance of how you got there.

[love-bitesx]

okay but imagine pavitr trying to play wingman for hobie to get with the reader and how funny/cute it would be

longer requests will be out this week, thank u all for the amazing support!! love you guys sm

: ̗̀➛ WINGMAN. hobie brown x reader headcanons

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

oh, he would be so annoying. in the best way.

you’d joined the spider society not long after the others, immediately clicking within the dynamic and it wasn’t uncommon for you all to just hang out in each others dimensions after a mission.

at first, hobie thought you’d simply peaked his interest because of your unspoken nature. constantly standing up for yourself and other spider people, putting people in their place if need be, just your general backbone intrigued him. you felt different to the others. that’s all he thought.

that was, until one afternoon, you were all packed into your apartment, music playing from the stereos and pavitr talking everybody’s ear off about god knows what. hobie had been silent for a while, no reason in particular, he’d been fiddling with the badges on his leather vest, in his own little world. well, until he felt a hand on his knee.

“hobie,” your voice was low, subtle, hanging just below the decibels of the melodies booming through the room, “are you alright? you’ve been quite quiet.”

“oh, uh,” he was taken aback, possibly by your hand that still lingered on his jeans, or how close he suddenly realised you were, seeing the soft details of your face and pigment in your cheeks for the first time, “yeah, no, i’m fine.” he cleared his throat.

smiling back at him, you took your hand away, moving back to get involved in the conversation again, not thinking much of it. regretfully, hobie looked up and saw pavitr staring at him, clearly having watched the ordeal and the excited smirk on his face told him that he’d definitely seen hobie flustered. he sighed.

after pavitr worked out that hobie had a thing for you, it was over for him.

he couldn’t even LOOK in your direction, without the shorter man hopping into his personal space, nudging him hard in the ribs, singing something about kissing in a tree.

constant comments about you to hobie

“y/n, i love your shirt! hobie, doesn’t it look so cool?”

“y/n! hobie told me to tell you he loves your shoes.”

“doesn’t y/n look sooo nice today! huh? hobie? what do you think?”

he was in hell, actually.

there was only so many "yeah, nice" he could say to you before he started to sound like a prick

on missions, he was insufferable

constantly making you guys work together somehow

“miguel, i think me and gwen work best as a team, don’t you think? y/n and hobie should do this one together”

swinging through the streets of whichever earth you were sent to, hearing distant yells of pavitr calling after you both “aren’t they cute together?!”

“good morning, hobie,” you grinned, sleep still evident in your voice as you wandered into the headquarters, beckoning to miguel’s very early morning mission call.

god, he was so thankful to have you alone for once. relief settled itself on his shoulders at the absence of his best friends’ watchful eye, happy to interact with you comfortably.

“mornin’,” he spoke, stretching his legs mindlessly out across the length of the desk, leaning back onto his arms, “how’d you sleep?”

“oh my god, i had the weirdest dream—” you begun, hopping up onto the adjoining surface, eyes lit up with passion as you ranted about the dream you had just resurfaced from.

he watched you the whole time, lips curling into a smile at the way you threw your hands around in the air as you spoke, reeling into every detail about your nonsensical experience. nodding every so often, he was almost enthralled by you – taking this peaceful moment as an advantage to see you properly. you were tired, sleep still evident in your eyes, hair a little chaotic in places, but the soft glow that it gave you made his heart skip.

he’d totally lost himself in speaking to you, listening to the excitement lacing your voice, that he didn’t realise other people had arrived.

well, until he felt a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“you guys are so cute together!” pavitr’s sing-song voice pierced hobie’s ears, shocked at the newcomers, “i saw the way you looked at them, loverboy.”

the nickname stuck

he’d been addressed more by “loverboy” than his own name, and his insides churned every single time

even gwen started calling him it, to which hobie would send a threatening glare

when you eventually did end up seeing each other, whether that be dating or other stuff, you both swore to keep it a secret

hobie refused to give pavitr the satisfaction of knowing he was right

so you would sneak around together, kissing in places you shouldn’t, stealing knowing glances in meetings, secret touches when no one was looking

he loved the risk of it all

but it was one afternoon, you’d both slipped away into an empty lab at the spider society headquarters, giggling to each other like kids as he dragged you into the vacant room

his hands were all over you, lips brushing whatever skin he could see, your arms slung around his neck as you kissed him

“did you lock the door?” you asked

“i thought you did.”

“OH. MY. GOD.” a third voice yelled.

you yelped, jumping away from hobie as a last ditch effort to maybe save some face

it was too late, pavitr stood there, mouth agape

hobie sighed, hanging his head

“GWEN! THEY DID IT!”

pavitr stepped back into the hallway and ran down towards where you’d both left them, his voice carrying through the metal walls

“LOVERBOY DID IT!”

you stood there, unsure whether if you just remained still, you could avoid whatever consequences you both faced

that was, until you felt hobie’s arm slide around your waist, pulling you back into him, an unintelligible look on his face

“we can’t keep it a secret anymore, i guess.” you spoke first, he let out a laugh

“i don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” he kissed you, softly.

a/n: hope this was okay!! currently got a bunch of requests in the works, so keep an eye out for more!!! also anymore headcanon ideas would be so fun!! thank u

[notjustjavierpena]

Cher (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Just something silly :) 

Summary: Why is Javier blasting Cher?

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Family dynamics, fluff, happy family 

Word count: 900

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52937182/chapters/156416113

Cher

There is a new course you have to take for work. It involves a few days of training a week, being huddled up in a building across town with your colleagues. It also involves leaving Javier alone most Wednesday and Thursday nights with a very fussy Inés and her adjusting older brother. You are excited to return home each night, parking the car with a smile every time you see the light through the kitchen window. 

However today, the light is accompanied by the sound of your stereo system - Javier’s pride - playing as you step out of the car. It is just loud enough for you to be able to hear the pulse of the bass through the brick walls. The song is unmistakable. 

DO YOU BELIEEEVE IN LIFE AFTER LOVE?

You swing the door open, firstly greeted by Cher’s voice. It isn’t obnoxiously loud but it certainly makes an impression at this volume, her auto tuned vocals blasting from the kitchen.

Next is the sight of your husband looking like he has been through war, hair tousled from tugging on it and his shirt untucked from his pants. He bounces Inés in his embrace, her arms laying against his chest while her face shows evidence of many previous tears. She isn’t asleep but rather wide-eyed and quiet, staring up at her father with wonder as the music plays. 

“What is going on here?” You ask with a stifled smile, putting down your bag and heading toward your daughter. You kiss her head and then her fat cheek, 

“Don’t ask,” Javier answers before you can say something snarky. 

“This is what we’re doing now?” You say instead and reach up to cover your mouth, a giggle escaping you but luckily getting lost as Cher hits another high note. 

“Oh yes, very much so. Inés won’t stop screaming at me unless Cher is playing at top volume and your son thinks it’s the best day of his life,” he gestures to Lucas as he comes bounding through the living room. You turn to face him while Javier continues to gently rock his daughter back and forth in time to the beat. 

“Mamá! Dance with me!” Lucas’ voice sounds over the music. He runs straight towards you, so very clearly enjoying himself like Javier has said. You mostly want to sit down, exhausted from hearing a man drone on about a program for your computer, but your son starts dragging you toward the center of the living room. You let him, unable to resist the way he looks like a mini version of your husband. 

He starts spinning around in circles, enthusiastically trying to follow the rhythm but only seeming to flail around while missing the beat completely. He is adorable, smiling from ear to ear as you hold out your hands for him to take. You sway with him while he giggles, your whole body flooding with happiness at the sight and sound. 

When the song starts to fade, Javier disappears into the kitchen to restart it. The familiar intro to the 90s hit starts playing and you can’t help yourself, reaching down to pick up your son and spinning with him. 

From the doorway, Javier watches you with soft eyes. He still makes your heart do somersaults in your chest, beating as fast as when you had first met him. He has a tired smile on his face, a bit of baby spittle on his shirt, but to you, he looks perfect simply because he has set aside his sanity for the sake of his baby girl. 

You dance towards him with Lucas on your arm. Your free hand reaches out for him, and Javier takes it only to be dragged into a tender kiss. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lucas’ face light up at the sweet display of affection between his parents. 

“You’re a great dad,” you say, the upbeat song a funny contrast to the gentle moment. 

Javier looks slightly shy, the faintest pink tinting his cheeks, and he huffs a flustered laugh. He rests his lips against the top of Inés’ head, her eyes having started to droop, “Cher’s the real star of the show here, doing all the heavy lifting.”

“Give yourself some credit, husband,” you roll your eyes affectionately while Lucas impatiently starts wiggling between the two of you. You smooch his dark hair even as you still look at your intoxicating man. 

“Yeah, well,” he replies with a slight shrug and a smile while you step back to continue dancing around the living room, holding a squealing toddler in your arms. It’s a funny feeling to be bone-deep tired yet also so full of happiness that it feels like you’re floating. 

Javier goes to restart the song once more. On his chest, Inés has dozed off completely. You are already feeling overwhelmed by the third replay of the tune but it is Javier who looks exasperated by the idea that he might start singing it in his sleep tonight. 

However, as Lucas throws his arms out to the sides to imitate flying in your arms, Javier also looks like he can’t believe that this happiness is his.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[writtenbymoonflower]

can i please request any of the marauders (dealers choice) with a shy quiet reader who’s just a little lonely, and doesn’t quite understand why he (the marauder) wants to be her friend but he just follows her like a lost puppy! if not totally cool- also it can be romantic i don’t mind but i just love the way you write the boys they’re so perfect

definitely did not use this request as an opportunity for MAJOR projection... of course not. Not sure if he's as openly needy as you were wanting, but I hope this is okay! Thanks for requesting hunny! shy!reader x flirty friend!Sirius Black

cw: drinking, smoking, kinda mean friends

1.4k words

Much to your dismay, your drink didn’t look any more interesting than the last twenty times you stared into it. Still, it was better than letting your eyes roam around the party and looking as lost as you felt. The friends you had come with ran off about thirty minutes ago, pulling attractive strangers onto the floor to dance. You were sat on the microfiber settee, swirling your drink and playing with the frays on your jeans. The jeans that your friends had stuffed you into, claiming they ‘make your ass look fantastic.’

Unfortunately, the effort was for naught, because you had been sitting down the whole night. The whole room was a mix of sounds, loud laughter, cups toppling over, the thump of the music from the stereo. You scanned the room, trying to see if there was anyone you recognized, you didn’t have to even look over for someone to call your name. 

“Y/N, love! I didn’t know you were here!” You looked up to see Sirius Black bounding towards you, not having any time to process before you were being hauled up into a hug. He was holding you far too tight to be socially acceptable, considering how you didn’t really know each other that well.

You had met at a party similar to this, one of your friends had a thing going on with someone in their group. Since then, it seemed like anytime he clapped eyes on you, he pulled you onto his arm. 

“Hi, Sirius.” You said quietly, still having the air squeezed out of you by the tattooed boy. He smelled like strong, clean cologne, tinged with musk, hair product, and makeup. It wasn't bad, actually kind of nice. He pulled back, but didn’t let go of you. You noticed he was far too pretty to be fair, smokey and sparkly liner rimming his eyes, high cheekbones topped with glitter that shimmered in the colorful lights, and dark, glossy lipstick, slightly smudged and blotted from his cup. He always looked his best at parties, but he took your breath away extra tonight, maybe because you hadn’t had enough to drink, too scared to run out and go up yourself for a refill. 

“What’re you doing, sitting here all by yourself, you goose.” He playfully scolded, finally letting his arms drop from around you. 

“My friends ran off, I was trying to get drunk.” You laughed pitifully. He was looking at you with enough intensity to make your ears burn. He peered between the two of you to look at your cup of beer. 

“Oh you poor thing, you’re never gonna get drunk enough on that. Come with me, let me fix you up.” He grabbed your free hand and dragged you over to the drinks table, you felt bad pulling him away from the people he came with.

“Aren’t your friends gonna worry? I don’t wanna steal you” You said, setting your red cup down to pick at your nails. 

“Let them worry. Besides, I’d let you steal me any day, dollface.” He winked at you, making heat rush through your body. “Anyway, let me make you a drink.” He picked up a bottle of red juice. “The key is, stay away from things that taste nasty.” He acted like he was teaching a class. “If you want to be drunk, you have to not suffer while you’re drinking.” He poured the fruit punch into another red cup, before grabbing a bottle of tequila and pouring a hefty amount in with it. He swirled the drink before handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” You said, looking at your shoes.

“Anytime.” He smirked at you. You hid your face in your drink, taking a tentative sip. It tasted mostly like fruit punch, with a tinge of warmth as it went down your throat. 

“This is dangerous.” You laughed nervously. “It’s really good, thank you.” You were smiling so shyly and sweetly at him he thought he could cry. 

“No need to thank me.” He shook his head like you were being silly. You looked over to see his usual tribe, smiling and laughing. Your heart burned, wishing you had a group like that. You liked the friends you had come with, but they treated you more like a pity project than anything else, it was embarrassing. Sirius was probably doing the same with you. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m gonna go outside for a smoke.” You started to turn on your heel towards the patio. 

“They’ll be okay, I promise. Let me keep you at least.” He pleaded. “I could use a smoke too.” He caught up to walk beside you. 

“Only if you want to.” You said, barely looking at him. 

“Can’t think of anythin’ I’d rather do.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes roved appreciatively over your form, making you want to hide and show off to him all at once. He held the door open for you, both of you sighing as the cool air hit your overheated bodies. 

“Thank you.” You muttered again.

“Lose the pleasantries, babydoll. It’s just me.” He shook his head like you were being silly while he pulled out a pack of cigs, handing one to you before sticking another in his painted mouth. 

“I don’t wanna take your stuff.” You said, ashamedly. You were already causing him enough trouble, pulling him from his friends, making him babysit and play bartender, now stealing his substances. You were quickly working your way to mooch status.

He spoke around the unlit stick in his mouth. “You’re not taking, I’m giving. Now c’mere.” He pulled you by your arm, wrapping his hand around your baggy jacket. He grabbed the cigarette from your hand. “Open,” He said, unusually quiet. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, making him laugh. “Open your mouth, silly.” 

“Oh,” You said, complying with his odd request. He placed the cigarette on your lips, letting you close your mouth around the filter. You thought your heart jumped into your throat as he stepped closer, cupping his hand around the side and flicking his lighter on, lighting the end of your cig for you. You could feel your pants turn to ash on the spot. 

“There you go.” He whispered, stepping away to light his own. Your brain short circuited, struggling to process the last few seconds. You took a drag of your cigarette before taking it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You looked at your shoes again. 

“Bad girl, what did I just tell you?” He laughed loudly. You took a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered, cheeks flaming. He blew smoke out of his nose, face pinched in confusion. “Babysit me, I mean. I know you just feel bad cus’ I was sitting by myself.” You picked at the lint on your coat. He looked offended, making you want to pass out on the spot. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” He said, hushedly. “It seems you don’t realize it, but I’m mean.” You must’ve looked as confused as you felt, because he kept going. “I’m not really very nice, I don’t do things for the sake of others, not like it seems you think I do. So, I’m not doing this for your sake, I’m doing this for mine.” He smirked at you, his sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. 

“I don’t believe that.” You looked him in the eye for the first time that night. 

“And I don’t believe that anyone would pass up the opportunity to be with you, but here we are.” He smiled at you. “Now, if you’ll let me, I would like to spend my time with the person I really want to see. My other friends will be fine, trust me. They’re probably thanking their lucky stars I’m finally leaving them alone, actually.” He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his side and swinging an arm over your shoulders. 

“Okay.” You said, looking at your shoes again, voice barely louder than a mouse. He shook his head again. 

“You’re so fucking cute, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. You let your fingers swipe the area gently. 

They came away with his pretty burgundy lipstick staining them.

[bangchansdirty-slut]

Lee know x male reader. Mreader wants to ride lee know's cock so he seduces him and the mreader gives lee know a lap dance

Paring: Lino x Bottom!Male reader

Genre: smut

requested:

More: Masterlist

A/n: Omg, I'm so sorry for the delay in posting. School has been overwhelming lately.

Minho and M/n had been dating for a few months now, and despite Minho's hectic schedule as a Korean idol, they managed to make time for each other. Today, Minho was exhausted from a particularly grueling practice and all he wanted to do was rest. M/n, on the other hand, was feeling touch starved and yearned for some affection from his boyfriend. He pouted as he watched Minho collapse onto the couch, his chest heaving with each breath.

With a sigh, M/n decided to take matters into his own hands. He walked over to the stereo and turned on a slow, seductive song. Then, he began to dance for Minho, slowly at first but then with more and more passion as the music took hold of him. He gyrated his hips, rolled his shoulders, and arched his back, deliberately thrusting his ass towards Minho's face.

Minho's eyes widened in surprise as he watched M/n dance. He couldn't help but be impressed by M/n's movements and the way his body seemed to melt into the music. It was clear that M/n was trying to get his attention, but Minho was still feeling too tired to reciprocate. Instead, he gently pushed M/n away, telling him to stop.

M/n's face fell, and he looked hurt for a moment before a mischievous smile spread across his lips. He climbed onto the coffee table and lowered himself onto his knees, then slowly began to grind his hips against Minho's crotch. "Come on, baby," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "I know you're not tired… down there."

Minho groaned, unable to resist the feel of M/n's body against him. He placed a hand on the back of M/n's head, guiding him as he began to stroke his hardening cock. The sensation was overwhelming, and Minho couldn't help but lose control. With a growl, he scooped M/n up into his arms, lifting him off the ground. M/n let out a squeak of surprise before wrapping his legs around Minho's waist.

Carrying M/n like this, Minho stumbled toward their bedroom, the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the air. He kicked the door open and deposited M/n on the bed, his hands immediately moving to yank down M/n's pants. He tossed them aside before roughly pushing M/n onto his hands and knees.

"Take it," Minho growled, his voice thick with lust. He felt the familiar ache in his balls as he positioned himself behind M/n. With one strong thrust, he buried his cock deep inside M/n's aching asshole. M/n cried out in pleasure, his body tensing and relaxing with each powerful stroke.

Minho began to move faster, his hips slapping against M/n's ass as he took his boyfriend roughly. He gripped M/n's hair, pulling him back slightly so he could watch his face as he fucked him. The sight of M/n's expression, a mix of pain and ecstasy, only served to fuel Minho's lust. He bit down gently on M/n's shoulder, leaving a bruise as a reminder of their passion.

M/n arched his back, moaning loudly as Minho's thrusts grew deeper and harder. He reached back between them, teasing and rubbing Minho's sensitive skin where their bodies were pressed together. Minho growled, his hips moving even faster as he lost control. He slammed into M/n over and over again, feeling the familiar tightness begin to give way as M/n's body adjusted to his size.

The room was filled with the sounds of their rough sex, their gasps and moans mingling together in a chorus of desire. Minho could feel himself getting closer, his orgasm building inside him like a runaway train. He pulled M/n's hair harder, watching as tears welled up in his boyfriend's eyes. It was a heady mix of pain and pleasure that drove Minho wild.

M/n felt the familiar tightness in his lower abdomen, knew that Minho was close. He increased the pace of his movements, rubbing his own cock as he did so. With a loud cry, Minho slammed into him one last time, his hips snapping forward as he came, filling M/n's ass with his hot seed. M/n arched his back, feeling the wave of pleasure wash over him as he came as well, his cum spurting out and coating their stomachs.

They collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily, their chests heaving. Minho rolled to the side, pulling M/n into his arms and nuzzling his neck. He kissed him gently, tasting sweat and desire. "I love you," he whispered, his voice raspy with exhaustion.

[0mg-bird]

Cake Batter ~B Floyd x Fem! Reader

Summary: How Bob comes home to an expected mess, both of his girlfriend and the dinner.

Warnings: Just fluff and some language.

You practically danced around the kitchen, making sure all the different things you had going were turning out the way you planned. You had sent Bob off to work after a morning of rolling around in bed, apologizing that he had to spend his birthday with fighter pilots and not you in lingerie. Then, you had showered and gotten dressed and rushed off to the store. You were determined to make his favorite meal, all from scratch, so you searched the store for every ingredient needed. You never claimed to be a chef, but you were going to try your hardest to make the best dish possible for the man you’ve been in love with for six years.

Music played in the background as you danced around the kitchen, mixing things in this bowl, seasoning vegetables in that one. You truly believed there was a method to your madness.

Then, slowly, it started falling apart.

Your cornbread burns in the oven, the roast you started early somehow still isn’t tender, you forgot to add the carrots in to simmer with the broth and you start questioning if the lettuce for a side salad is rotten or not.

Panic starts to set in when the clock inches closer to the time Bob said he’d be home. You turn the heat up in the slow cooker, then try and focus on making his birthday cake instead.

While pulling another mixing bowl down, you get lost in thought. Hands wiping at your apron, you huff at the remembrance of your families doubt. They make countless jokes about all the faults you’ve been through over the years. Bleaching your laundry, locking keys in the car, forgetting to pay the water bill, and most of all, soiling every meal in some way.

It’s like you’re a bad omen when it comes to every task an adult should complete successfully.

Your father once said the real reason Bobby didn’t pop the question was because he was scared of having a wife who’d accidentally poison him.

You shake yourself free from that absurd claim, then go back to your measurements.

How much flour did you put in already? Was that too much sugar?

You shrug, humming to yourself as you turn to the fridge and retrieve some eggs.

Cracking them open, you drop half the shells in the batter, making you curse and fish them out with a spoon. Whisking away, you don’t see the initial spark of the outlet where the slow cooker is plugged into, but when you smell something odd, you see the flame coming from the wall.

You gasp and shout, hastily setting the mixing bowl down, it teeters on the edge of the counter.

You grab a towel, trying to throw it over the fire, this is when you really begin to panic. The flame burns your hand, making you cry out but continue to smother it until it extinguishes. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but when you hear the crash of the bowl and turn to see the cake batter splatter everywhere on the floor, you cry with defeat.

What do you do now?

You’ve ruined it all.

You immediately grab a wet rag and sink to the mess, trying to wipe it up. Your hair falls in your face, tears fall fiercely.

As far as your dearest Bobby goes, he pulls into the driveway, relieved he is finally home. His key turns in the door, and he expects you to be reading on the couch, maybe watching a movie. He pictures you greeting him with a kiss, telling him about dinner reservations you made maybe. What he doesn’t envision is the scene unfolding as he comes into his small house.

“Honey?” He calls, clicking off the stereo. Immediately he hears the sound of your cries. Panic floods him.

He follows the sound into the kitchen, a brisk pace about him. There, he finds you on the floor, wiping up a mess, covered in cake batter, face red, loose hair falling against your damp cheeks.

“What happened?” He asks, and your eyes lift to him with pure sadness. You speak but your words are sobbing and broken. “I-I was making dinner and then the-the cornbread burned because I left it in too long while chopping vegetables and I forgot the carrots and I put too much flour in the cake and then the kitchen caught on fire-”

“Fire?” He panics, looking around, sure enough there’s a large scorch mark on the wall where the outlet is.

“Mhm.” You nod, getting to your feet. “And I didn’t know what to do- why don’t we have a fire extinguisher? And then the batter fell and made a mess and I was trying to clean it up before you came home and saw but I wasn’t fast enough and now it’s all ruined!”

He comes forward, not caring that he’s stepping in the residue of batter. He holds your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, just breathe.” He shushes, but you can’t even look at him.

“I ruined it, it’s not okay! I-I had a plan, I was determined but I fucked it up.”

His arms are wrapping around you, his hand on the back of your head, he’s whispering to you to calm down, that everything’s okay.

“I’m sorry, Bobby.” You cry into his shoulder.

“It was an accident, I’m not mad at you.” He says, pulling you back. He holds your face between his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tears that come. “Just breathe, you didn’t ruin nothing, okay?”

You shut your eyes, nodding. Your hands go to hold his wrists, but you wince at the pain. His eyes widen. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I burned myself.” You sniffle, lifting your hand to show him.

Bob pulls you to the sink, holding your wound under cold water to give you some relief. “It’s just been a rough day, huh?” He asks, not in a mocking tone. He’s so utterly genuine, you want to cry all over again because he’s too perfect for you.

“I wanted you to feel special, I was going to master your favorite meal and it was going to be great.” You say, feeling defeated.

“I believe you, and I bet it was gonna be great, baby.” He says, grabbing a towel and wrapping your hand.

As he guides you away, lifting you to sit on the counter top, he kisses your fingers before going to grab the first aid kit.

You feel dumb, it was his birthday and yet he was talking care of you.

He gently rubs some Vaseline over the burn, then wraps it with a bandage. “See? All better, and the world didn’t end.” He smiles at you.

You shake your head. “I’d make a terrible wife.” You say, looking down at your feet.

Bob’s brows furrow, not liking the way you talk about yourself. “Hey…” He says, rubbing your knee. “Who says that, huh?”

“Me. My family.” You admit, wiping your face.

“Well, that’s a silly thing to say, isn’t it?” He asks, coming to stand between your legs. His finger lifts your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him. “One bad meal doesn’t matter.”

“I am a terrible cook, I over season, I burn, I make a mess. I can’t even cook a frozen pizza.” You say, and he pauses.

He can’t deny it, but he won’t say that.

“You’ll get better with time. Besides, I can cook so it’s fine.” He pushes your hair back, smiling.

“I’m cursed, Bobby, that’s why you don’t want to marry me.” You huff, looking into his big blue eyes that squint a little at your accusation. “I never said I didn’t wanna marry ‘yuh.” He says.

“But-”

“But nothin’. I’d marry you tomorrow if it was up to me, honey, but I want to make sure we are settled in every aspect before I make you my wife. It has nothing to do with whatever curse you think you have. You ain’t got no curse, you’re perfect.” He means every word, cradling your head with his gentle hand.

Slowly, you nod. “I’m sorry your birthday wasn’t better.”

He pulls you from the counter. “I came home to you, my birthday was great.”

His sideways smile makes the corners of your lips lift, and suddenly you’re leaning into him, kissing him deeply. Bob grips your hips, holding you to him as he groans at the fever of your mouth.

After a moment, he pulls back. “Let’s clean up and then we’ll go out to eat, okay?”

You nod, kissing his cheek. “Okay.”

All this mess over some cake batter.

[buckysgrace]

Okay after reading your headcannons you absolutely have to do a little one shot of Billy getting road head from some random chick he met at a bar or something. Cause you got me thinking nasty things now 😇

CW: Impaired driving, drunken blowjobs, lots of drool, slight degradation ya know the drill

Billy was sure he'd never felt this great before, so alive. He couldn't really recall your name, the memories of the way it rolled off of your tongue blurry now that he thought about it. What he could recall was that you liked to kiss with tongue, and you squealed every time he pressed his foot down harder on the gas.

Somewhere between swapping beer, cigarettes and spit you had wound up agreeing to a motel room with him. He thought you were pretty, far too pretty to be living in this shitty town. But he didn't ask you about it.

He swerved to straighten himself back on the road, glad that it was so late in the night that no one else was out and about. Perhaps that was the only thing this shitty town had to offer.

You were currently bent over the middle console, your dress raised up over your ass to expose your flashy panties to him. He groaned as he brought a palm against your right cheek, squeezing softly as you nuzzled your face against his bulge.

He groaned as he continued to rub at your flesh, enjoying the way you felt against his rough hands as he slowed down a bit. He didn't want to rush this, even though he'd get another round with you at the motel. He could be straightened up by then.

You were attempting to pull his zipper down with your teeth, before you ultimately gave up because it was a lot harder than what you thought it would be. You let your fingers take over the task, laughing at the struggle.

"C'mon," He mumbled as he pushed on the back of your head, sighing at the feeling of your warm breath against the tip of his cock. He groaned, desperately needing to feel your lips around his girth, "Don't tease me." He urged, squeezing the steering wheel tightly as you took a soft lick across his slit.

Trying to focus on the lines on the road became harder and harder as you wrapped your soft lips around his girth. He groaned at the sensation, sighing deeply as you began the slow motions of rocking your mouth up and down the length of his cock.

He hissed as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, your cheeks warm and wet as you began to drool around his cock. It was messy, sloppy as the sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat echoed louder than the music playing on the stereo.

You seemed quite pleased, moaning and whining each time the head of his dick hit the back of your throat. You began to dig your fingers into his thighs, gripping onto him for support as the vibrations from your sounds spread through his body.

His cock ached at the sensation of your tongue messily licking around his girth, pressing against his throbbing skin as he slowly began to jerk his hips up to meet your motions. He yelped before he stopped his movements, stalling to straighten out his hands on the wheel from where he'd accidentally pressed down on the gas.

"Careful," You giggled as you looked up at him, eyes hazy as you pressed his fat tip against your smeared lips. You spit against his head, coating the length of his cock in your saliva before you began to stroke him once again, "Would be a funny way to die." You said a moment later, teasingly before you wrapped your mother around his girth once again. He thought it might be funny for you, but it would be heaven for him.

He groaned as he wrapped his fingers tighter around the steering wheel, completely lost in the feeling of your warm cheeks against his girth. He sighed at the sensation of you gagging around him, the vibrations traveling up his body as he suddenly felt very warm. Like he had a fire spreading within him.

You moved your wrist to the motions of the bob of your head, squeezing what didn't fit into your mouth as he writhed underneath you. He groaned as your saliva continued to drip around him, coating his balls in your spit while you gagged around him.

"Fuck, fuck," He cursed, fighting the urge to shut his eyes as the pleasure took a hold of him. His stomach muscles clenched tightly together, his lips parting as a loud groan burst free. His cock felt heavy against your tongue as he came, his spunk coating the back of your throat, "Jesus Christ." He grunted as he moved a hand down to grip the back of your neck, holding you there for just a second.

You gagged and trembled around him, your throat aching around his cock as you dug your fingers into his thighs. He sighed in bliss as he shook underneath you, enjoying the sensation for just another second before he released you.

You sat up quickly, cum and spit leaking from your lips as you fought to catch your breath. He chuckled as he brought his hand down to his softening dick, sliding himself back inside of his jeans. You wiped at your mouth, continuing to smear your lipstick worse than before.

"S'nice," You mumbled as you turned towards him, eyes still hazy as you pulled your messy lips into a smirk, "Can we stop and get something to eat? Or drink?" You asked a second later, taking him by surprise. He thought about it for a second, debating since he'd already gotten what he wanted.

"Sure," He mumbled, watching the way you situated yourself back into your seat, "You got money?"

[bellobambino]

'O Sole Mio'

?: After a few glasses of cheap Chianti, Luigi tells you a story. Nothing could have prepared you for its delivery.

1,080w

Author's Note: I don't have any words left after this, all i have is feelings and crying and ... im so gone for him. ive lost my mind. i dont know if this shit makes any sense but i was just about weeping writing it LOL

------------

It was the last golden gasp of summer at Seaside Heights, the kind of evening that feels like a postcard itself. The boardwalk was alive with the smell of fried dough and the sound of distant screaming children on rides powered by questionable engineering. Luigi and I had wedged ourselves into a corner table on the patio at some hole-in-the-wall Italian place.

We had ordered slices and “just a glass” of wine, which inevitably became, “Just bring us the bottle.” By the time I was three pours deep, Luigi had his legs stretched out like he owned the place.

His eyes, espresso-dark and shining under the cheap string lights of the boardwalk, were giving me that look. You know the one. Like he knew how good he looked in his half-buttoned linen shirt.

That’s when he suddenly froze, his head tilting to the side. He pointed upward. The music—some cheesy, dramatic Pavarotti knockoff that these Italian dives play to try and appear authentic. Then he smiled, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“What?” I asked, already laughing at whatever dumb thing he was about to say.

“Oh my God.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you. No way.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.” I smacked his arm—rock solid.

He paused and sighed. “Okay, but promise me you won’t laugh.” He leaned in with a straight face that had me eagerly anticipating another highly entertaining Mangione story.

“I promise,” I lied.

“Alright.” He looked around, then leaned in conspiratorially. I was melting for this man. Every moment with him felt important, filled with meaning. He could have said anything, and I’d lap it up like a dog. “So,” he started, rubbing his face like he was already regretting this.

“My mom used to play these mix CDs on the stereo at home. Pavarotti, Bocelli, all the classics, right? She’d be cooking, cleaning, just vibing to these… love songs.”

“Sure,” I said. Totally normal so far.

“But this song”—he pointed upwards again to the song playing on the patio speakers—“‘O Sole Mio,’ a total guilty pleasure for her. When it came on, she would lose her mind. Singing, swaying, dancing. And eight-year-old me sat there watching her, thinking, This must be the greatest song in the history of songs. So, Mother’s Day comes around…”

At this point, Luigi paused, biting his lip like he wasn’t sure he should continue. I couldn’t help the smile that possessed my face.

“Oh my God, Lu, what did you do?”

He waved me off, reaching for his wine. “No, nah, I can’t—”

“Finish the story, Luigi.”

“Fine.” He threw his hands up. “I learned the song. Like, the whole song, okay? I watched every Pavarotti performance on YouTube at the time. Memorized the lyrics. Practiced in front of the mirror. And on Mother’s Day, I performed it for her.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. For her, my family, my cousins, neighbors. I’m pretty sure Pavarotti himself has sung for smaller audiences.”

I lost it. “You did not…” I said, breathless already. The image of little eight-year-old Luigi in my head, filled with love for his mama, singing an Italian love song in complete earnestness, was too hysterical to keep contained.

“I did,” he admitted. The music swelled in the restaurant, hitting that classic over-the-top crescendo, and Luigi—my God, this man—pushed back his chair and stood up.

“And now…” He slapped his hand on his puffed-up chest and lifted his chin.

“Luigi, NO.”

“I will sing it for you.”

And let me tell you, it was terrible.

He was hamming it up like some kind of opera drunk on karaoke night, his voice all over the place but somehow still deeply passionate, like he was singing to save Italy itself. People in the restaurant were staring. I was just as mortified as I was captivated. Tears were streaming down my face. Dying. And he didn’t stop. He didn’t care. He kept going—arms gesturing wildly, every crescendo perfectly wrong—and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

When he hit the final note—“O SOOOOLEEEEEE MIIIIOOOOOOO!”—he threw out his arms in a dramatic flourish, like he was expecting roses to rain down from the sky. I clapped so hard my palms hurt.

When he finished, he bowed. One or two other patrons gave half-hearted claps, probably just impressed by his dedication to the bit. His cheeks and ears were a delicious shade of pink, his smile lighting up his face as he moved his chair closer to me.

“You’re too much, Luigi,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

He finally sat down, our knees touching. He leaned towards me, and suddenly I was his only audience. “Do you know what the song means?” His voice was soft, so only I could hear. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

I shook my head.

“Okay, ‘O Sole Mio’—it means ‘My Sunshine.’ It’s about… someone being the light of your life. Like…” He shifted his weight, trying to find the words. “Like even the sun itself can’t hold a candle to the person you love.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed by the intensity, but too caught up in the moment to stop himself. “It’s like the artist was saying, ‘The world is so much brighter with you in it.’ The guy is completely wrecked over how beautiful life is because of this one person... you know?”

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, gauging if any of this was resonating with me at all. His goofy bravado had melted into something almost painfully genuine and sincere.

This was real for him.

“I do know, Lu,” I said quietly.

He leaned back, taking his wine. He shrugged. “And that’s why I sang it for my mom.” He tried to downplay it, but I saw right through him. “Because she’s always been my sunshine. Always will be.”

My breath caught in my throat at that.

Then, he must have realized he’d gone too far into the serious zone. He snapped back to being playful. “Anyway, I fucking nailed that performance on Mother’s Day, and everyone talked about it for weeks after.”

I don’t know if he realized what he was doing to me. The lights sparkled brighter. The air tasted sweeter. And my heart was warmer. Because he was here. He was insane, but I wouldn't have him any other way.

The song made perfect sense. Life is a gift with you.

~~~

What a beautiful thing is a sunny day.

But another sun, even more beauteous, oh my sweetheart, My own sun, shines from your face This sun, my own sun, Shines from your face; It shines from your face

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 113 (Cozy Celebrations)

The events of this post occurred leading up to Winterfest (Generation 2 parts 99 to 102)

The Winterfest season began in Henford with a fresh coat of snow on the ground. White powder was rare in the rural river town, but like anywhere else, it was always welcome during the holiday season.

Hazel Moody-Nesbitt lived in a two-story cottage in the Bramblewood with her wife, Nicola. They also lived with Nicola's mother, Kim, and brother, Dominic, and Hazel had recently returned from a political conference in San Myshuno with holiday traditions on her mind.

The high school sweethearts had been married close to three years, but they were already growing apart. Still, they both hoped they could find the spark still lit amid the magic of the festive season.

"The first Winterfest without your father won't be easy, but we should try to make it a happy holiday," said Kim. "For Eddie's sake."

"We don't need to be sad, Mom. Dad's still with us, especially at this time of year." Nicola and her family wanted a quiet Winterfest at home, wrapping themselves in comfort and tradition as they soldiered on without her father. Outgoing Hazel wanted to support her wife, but she was hoping for something more this holiday season.

"Staying in watching Winterfest movies sounds like a really nice time, but maybe we could spice things up a little, and add some traditions from other cultures for the fun of it. Like cooking different kinds of food! Maybe we can't travel anywhere, but we could do the next best thing exploring different cultures."

Nicola hadn't travelled much. She'd heard Hazel's tales of camping in Granite Falls with her family, but she thought it sounded uncomfortable and full of bugs. She was a homebody, but expanding their holiday celebrations to embrace other cultures was a good idea. It's exactly the sort of thing Nicola would want to teach her students.

They got the season started by hanging a festive wreath over the bay window in the living room, and Nicola made japchae at Hazel's suggestion. "Apparently, it's a noodle dish they serve in places like Mount Komorebi for the holidays."

Nicola was comfortable with things like roast turkey, gingerbread, even egg nog - the comforts she'd grown up with in Henford, but the more gregarious Hazel wanted to try new things. Taking it upon herself to learn new recipes as well, Hazel taught herself to make brigadeiro, a Selvadoradian holiday confection made with chocolate and condensed milk.

The girls decorated, donned festive sweaters, and brushed over their relationship issues with tinsel and fairy lights. They both wanted to discuss their relationship fears, but they avoided it at every turn. They could never find time for couples counseling, even though they brought it up whenever they would argue about one thing or another.

Living with Nicola's mother and brother often left Hazel feeling like the odd man out. She'd come downstairs after working on the computer, listening to her wife chat happily with her family. But when Hazel would enter the room, they'd grow quiet, as though their conversations weren't meant to include her. As if she wasn't family.

Late at night, while Nicola graded papers and listened to familiar winter holiday music on the stereo, Hazel would head to the Gnome's Arms. She was a social creature and always had been; Nicola was more outgoing when they were younger, but after she lost her father, she didn't enjoy the nightlife anymore.

Hazel tried to understand, but it's not like Henford even had particularly wild nightlife to begin with. At the Gnome's Arms alone she would socialize, getting to know the locals in support of her work for Mayor Varner.

She'd even stay late enough - and often enough - that the pub owner, Laura Jameson, let her practice mixology for fun when the tables started clearing. She even learned to make a coquito - best described as coconut-flavoured egg nog mixed with rum from Isla Paradiso.

She visited her childhood home in Finchwick one afternoon after work, excited to discuss their plans for the holiday season. She found her father, Neal, standing in the laneway with River's wife, Cassandra.

"I'm looking forward to Nicola and I blending family traditions this year. We'll be over for Winterfest dinner, but she wants to spend a lot of time with her family remembering Eddie, so I don't know how many other family traditions we'll be able to join." She couldn't hide the regret in her voice.

Neal smiled. "We'll miss you for whatever traditions you and Nicola won't make it to, but we'll be thrilled to see you both, as always."

By the time Hazel made it home that night after a visit with her family, Nicola had finished grading papers and fallen asleep. Hazel climbed into bed and leaned over for a cuddle, but Nicola was sound asleep and grunted as she turned the other way.

Laying in bed, Hazel tossed and turned, resorting to counting falling snowflakes out the window to quiet her mind enough to sleep. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Japchae is Korean (Mount Komorebi), brigadeiro is Brazilian (Selvadorada) and coquitos are Puerto Rican (Isla Paradiso). The game says the real places in the descriptions, but I'm trying to be cute and keep country/world names in-universe, even though it's impossible to perfectly match every Sims world with a real-world location.

[x-heesy]

𝙿𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑: 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚜

𝙾𝚍𝚢𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚢 𝚋𝚢 𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜 🎧

[aesthetic-bbyg]

SMOOTH OPERATOR- TOM K.

Tom Kaulitz x chola!reader

in which you and a group of friends walk into a convince store in LA only for you to end up crushing on the German boy buying beer and candy.

Nattie speaks: I came up with this while listening to music hehehehe. I was also torn between braids or dreads but ultimately I chose braids🤞

TOM SHUFFLED ACROSS the aisle of the gas station, eyes wandering across the variety of candy and occasionally glancing down at the crumpled up paper in his hand, scribbles of what everyone wanted hardly readable. He wasn’t familiar of the area, only being in LA for a few days for the tour but he was still sent off to find all the necessity’s to survive in the hotel a little longer. His black glasses were shoved up onto his hat, braids swinging down his back with each step while also pulling his baggy pants up. His hands were full of chips, candy, cookies, now his vision was directed towards the back freezers were the beer was stored.

Off in the distance he could hear a faint buzz, a booming sound of music being heard from a mile away and it only got closer. The lyrics of a Tupac song echoed into the store, a mixture of boys and girls stumbling in loudly. The one holding stereo grinned innocently, lowering down the music as the clerk behind the counter glared at him. Two girls trailed in after, you and your best friend, Alejandra, pinkies interlocked as you whispered about some teen pregnancy that happened downtown.

“Hurry up, or I ain’t getting you nothin’.” Your brother, Manuel, demanded, heading towards the food. His hair was slicked back, far too much gel layed on his dark locks to stick it in place.

The two of you headed down to the back, immediately searching for the cold drinks, you sharp eyes looked around the glass doors of different beverages. You gasped suddenly, wrapping your fingers around the metal handle of the door and pulling it open. A fresh breeze blew onto your body, contrasting against the hot sun that beamed brightly just outside. “Damn, Jandra!” Your friend jogged by you with curious eyes. “They released a sandía version of the Arizona Teas!” A big grin filled your face, grabbing the red tin can.

“Shiit.” Alejandra smiled, “Alright, you get the sandía and I get the mango, just so we got options.” You nodded, closing the door as someone walked behind you. You looked over your shoulder instinctively, catching sight of a tall boy, adorned in baggy clothing, a bandana wrapped along his hairline and long cornrows.

Tom had also taken notice of you the moment you stepped into the store, he turned to catch a better look but was met with your own eyes. For a moment, time slowed, both of gazed kept on each other, waiting for the other to look away. In the end, his eyes were lost behind a shelf, but you could see the way his lips quirked up into a smirk before he walked into the chip aisle.

You nudged Alejandra, removing her attention from the kids juice box section. You subtly nodded over to the boy who stood a few feet away, grabbing a bag of salty snacks. “He’s cute.” You whispered, Alejandra nodded in agreement smiling over at you knowingly. “Should ask I for his number?”

“Do it.” The girl giggled, revealing her pearly teeth that were caged behind a pair of braces. But, before you could walk over he began to make his way to the front, breezing past your brother and his group of friends who were going ham on the condiments. You huffed, walking by your brother to get a better look at him but still keeping it nonchalant. Your hands were inching towards a bag of Hot Cheetos, you brother loudly chewed on his hotdog, you stared over at him with a disgusted face. Alejandra opened up a bag of hot Cheetos, filling it up with cheese from the nacho section. You joined her, doing the same till your ear picked up a brewing commotion.

“In the United States you need to be 21 to buy beer.” The old clerk lectured, angrily glaring at the boy in front of him, a ID slipped on the counter that showed all of the mysterious cute boys information.

“But I am 19,” He pointed at the date of birth stated on the card, “that’s legal everywhere else, just let me have them.” The boy argued back, a thick accent in the back of his throat while he flailed his arms angrily.

“But we’re not anywhere else, we’re in the United States, it’s the law, kid.” The braid-haired boy groaned, taking back his ID and leaving behind the pack of beers, cursing under his breath in german. At that point the commotion had caught the attention of all the group. You stared as he stomped out the store, bag full of other snacks in his hands. Your brother and his friends snickered amongst eachother, you shoved his shoulder with a stern look.

“Yo, do him a solid and get them.” You muttered, your brother stared down at you, expression laid back and careless like usual, but he raised a brow.

“You gon’ pay for it o que?” (Or what) He questioned, “Cuz, I’m already payin’ for whatever you and Jandra got there, I ain’t spending my money on nothin’ more.”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands into your pocket and pulling out the last bit of cash you had on you, placing it in his open palm. He smirked smugly, walking to get a pack before making his way upfront, the things got paid for, the cashier asking the same questions of did you find everything okay? as always, though his miserable tone was pitiful. As soon as you and the group stepped out the store, your brothers friend cranked up the volume on the stereo again, the song blasting from the speaker. From a distance you could see the same boy, leaned up against the ice machine, his snacks still in hand while the other held a cigarette between his fingers. His dark glasses protecting his eyes from the lowering sun.

Alejandra smiled at you, passing the pack of cold beers before cheering you on silently. You looked back at her before jogging over to the tall boy. “Yo, got these for you.” For a moment he just stared at you confusingly, cigarette burning down as the seconds ticked by. “I saw what happened in there, but don’t worry, we always got each others backs here in LA.”

You’d begun to think that maybe he didn’t understand you, he did have a thick, foreign accent while speaking earlier which made you assume that he may have a limited English vocabulary. You weren’t sure, but it made you nervous and awkwardly shuffle from side to side. But finally, he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoes and lifting his sunglasses from his enchanting irises. He grabbed the pack, a smirk on forming on his pierced lips. “Thank you, beautiful, what’s your name?”

You liked his confidence, the nickname immediately making your smile and lean your head to the side flirtatiously. “Y/n, and you?”

“Tom.” He replied swiftly, eyes examining your body. The tight white tank top that hugged your skin, the baggy Dickies that belong to your brother hung low on your waist being kept up by a black belt, your ears gleaming with large silver hoops. You had a few tattoos scattered across the exposed skin he could see, your eyebrows were thinly drawn on, lips lined with a dark shade of brown. He liked you, adored your style. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “You fine as hell too, that’s why I wanted to ask for your number.”

“Yeah?” Tom lowly questioned, his shit-eating smirk only getting bigger. “Well you’ve got it, gorgeous.” He set down the beers, reaching for his phone in his deep pockets. You exchanged numbers, conversing a little longer, pulling all the flirty comments you could think of. You got him to chuckle a few times before he revealed that he was in town with his band.

“I like your glasses.” You hands reached forward, grabbing them from his head and placing them on your face. “Damn, these nice as fuck.”

He chuckled softly, staring at you. “Keep them.” You looked over at him, lowering the glasses to make sure that he meant it and wasn’t playing with you. “Gives me a reason to see your pretty face again.”

“Damn.” You stared at him happily before a loud horn blasted from behind you, you rolled your eyes, glancing back to see your brother looking back at you from red the low-rider car seat. “I gotta go, but call me guapo.” You smirked, waving your hand before walking towards the car. Alejandra smirked as she saw your happy express when you hopped in the open-roofed car. Tom eyes never left you as the car pulled away from the gas station and sped down the road, the whole vehicle vibrating as a rap song shrieked out the speakers.

“Who was that vato you were talkin’ to?” Manuel questioned, looking back at you from the rear-view mirror with a raised brow.

“None of ya’ business, mitotero.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms, head turning to stare out into the road, the harsh wind whipping through your hair. Alejandra smirked, leaning in closer to your ear.

“So, did you get it?” Your friend watched as your lips twitched, teeth coming out to bite back the grin that threatened to show. She giggled, shaking your body lightly. “Ohh, girl, you got that look of looove.”

“He fine as hell but love is a little much.” You replied, looking over at her with a mischievous smile. “He gave him his glasses, though.” You pull them from your head and passed them to her as she gawked at them.

“A la madre, this is some of that nice shit.” She examined it closely, staring at the Ray-ban logo printed on the side. Just then you felt a buzz on your thigh, you looked down at the phone as it lit up with a notification, an unknown number texted you. Immediately you opened it and smiled, Tom had texted you, a flirty greeting topped with a winky face. “I assume it your man textin’?”

“Cállate.” You turn your phone off, stuffing it in the side pocket of your pants. The text was only the first of many, Tom taking more interest in you the longer you talked, it wasn’t long till he’d taken you to his hotel room.

“Shit, fool.” You mumbled, tightening the belt around your waist as Tom chuckled, being the only audience member of your fashion show, aka you trying on his stupidly baggy clothes. “How so you wear this stuff everyday.”

He shrugged, throwing his hands up slightly. “I am a big man, I need big clothes.”

“No shit.” You scoffed, turning towards the mirror and staring at the huge shirt that looked more like a dress. “Should I wear this to the carne asada?”

“I think you should wear nothing, you’re sexier that way.” The Kaulitz boy smirked, doing that thing where he fiddled with the black piercing on his lip. You rolled your eyes and walked back into the closet, ignoring his comments as you dug through more of his clothes. In a few hours you and Tom would have to arrive at your tíos carne asada, Tom being requested to join by non other then your mother.

Tom was already dressed and splayed out on the seat, just watching as you struggled to find something, which why you ended digging through his clothes. It took an half hour before you came out satisfied, grinning widely as you put on your silver hoops.

The real problem came the moment you stepped in the backyard, your tíos home full of guest that you knew and some you didn’t. Either way a handful of them came up to with same comments how old you looked and how big you’ve gotten. Manuel came up with his little gang that constantly followed him around, it took him the longest to get sue to Tom. Though, it wasn’t long before your brother and Tom became friends.

“Wassup, ese.” Manuel he held a corona beer in his hand, using his free one to grab clap against Tom’s and bring him in for a swift chest bump. Then you ran into your mother, her expression going from a stern glare to a huge smile. Everything had went smooth so far, you were happy to be there, until a familiar voice squealed from behind you.

“Tomas! Mi Niño, mira que guapo té vez!” Your mother chanted, bringing him into a tight hug and planting her calloused hands on his cheek, he smiled shyly at her affection. The boy had grown to be a favorite, his charisma and cute looks making him popular with the tías.

“Mama, he just got here from Germany a couple days ago, está cansado, we just gonna sit and chill.” You attempted to reason with the woman, staring at your boyfriend apologetically. But you’d only made the situation worse, she gasped dramatically, looking back at the boy and ushering him to a table. She’s explained everything to all of the tías, which lead to him being taken care of for most of the night. He was constantly being checked up on, being handed plates of food, being talked to about the latest scandal of the neighborhood, it left you sitting with Alejandra, on the other side of the backyard.

“Que tienes, amiga?” The dark haired girl questioned, staring at your frowning face and squinted eyes. She could practically feel the heat of annoyance radiating of you.

“They took my fucking man!”

heheheheh, this just a short little thang I decided to write bc why not,🤷‍♀️y’all already know that Tom would have the aunties in a CHOKEHOLD!! I also had to rewrite the last half of this bc I forgot to save it so sorry if any parts of it seem rushed or short!

[tinydefector]

Beachcomber having his human pet (gn reader) massage his tires (and kinda getting off on it)?

CAR SPA

Beachcomber x human

Word count:1k

Warnings: unknown body job, ejaculation, feeling up, washing car, valveplug.

Masterlist

Beachcomber Masterlist

Hehehe I offer you car wash feel up. It was too good to pass up Beachcomber getting a car spa treatment after a beach trip. So enjoy Beachcomber getting worked up by his human companion feeling him up unknowingly

___________________

beachcomber as he sits on the Oceanside watching the waves roll in.  "Comber!" A voice breaks him out of his daze on the rolling waves. His human companion is making their way back up out of the surf towards him. Beachcomber smiles as he watches them walk towards him. 

"Waves treat ya kindly?" he calls back out to them, gesturing for them to join him on the sands. The roar of the ocean in the background is peaceful compared to the sound of all the ruckus back at base. They settled beside him looking through a bag seeking a lost towel, when they found it they laid it across the sand as they lay down beside Beachcomber. 

"Mmm the surf is great" they state before dropping down to sit on the sand beside him. They lean back enjoying the sun on their skin as they lay on the towel. "Let me know when you wanna head back, promised you we'd go to the car wash since you brought me to the beach, can't have you getting rusty can we" they state with a lopsided smile as they.

Beachcomber laughs in return as he runs his servos over their head, digits brushing their wet hair. "Earth has such beauty, I've never seen oceans like this before." He reply while watching the waters As gulls' calls punctuated serene ambience, Beachcomber savoured Natural beauty of the landscape.   

They lay in the sun for a little longer trying to dry off more, after a little they grab their gear. "Well I'm ready to head off, we'll stop at the car wash to give us both a chance to get the sand off us" they hum happily. 

Beachcomber stirred gently, he stands up stretching slightly before he Transforms with fluid grace, engine purring soft invitation. They are quick to throw their gear into the passenger seat, clicking their seatbelt as they give Beachcomber's steering wheel a pat. “All set” the state. 

Beachcomber pulled smoothly across the sand starting the drive back to the beach entrance of the shore, following the tracks in the sand he  drifts slightly which makes them laugh lightly from the squeal the sand makes under Beachcomber's tires. 

The drive is peaceful, Beachcomber uses his mirrors to watch them as their arm rests on the side of the door drifting in the wind as they drive, the ocean Air brushes against their face before they finally end up back on a paved road. "Just up here Comber, this is the car wash I was telling you about, its the one most cars go to after beach camping" they call him.

Beachcomber's engine purred with gratitude as they signalled their destination ahead. He parks carefully on the grates. "OK Beach boy, bath time" They state teasingly while moving to grab the pressure washer off the wall. They check the settings and soap as they move towards Beachcomber. “ alright tell me if the pressure is too much” they call out to him as the hit him with the soap spray. 

Beachcomber's engine lets out a choked noise before he settles at the feeling of the soap coating his frame. his frame shutters as they lean down and begin scrubbing with a cloth humming along to music playing on his stereo. 

 They lean down under his shield and bumper scrubbing it before moving to the fender which Makes Beachcomber gasp in delight as a choked vent leaves him at the feeling.

Beachcomber has to shut down his vocal system so he doesn't moan as he moves to his wheels and hubcaps. tiny vibrations from his engine in a trembling purr is the only sound outside of every now and then revving too much. 

In truth Beachcomber, he wasn't expecting this kinda treatment with a hands on wash but he would be damned to the pits if he let his vocalisations ruin this for him. Beachcomber's engine rumbled deeply, fans whirring as if overheating. At each movement form his companions' hands that brushes the hidden nooks behind his wheel-struts. Charge ripples through his frame, he can feel himself getting worked up, transfluid leaking from his undercarriage. 

They continue working the grim out of his wheels as they then scrub down his doors, moving further down his frame, their hands move across more sensitive cabling under his door frame as they clean. More transfluid leak from him onto the ground into the grate as he shutters. 

He lets out a silent groan, grinding plating together against his Spike. As the begin scrubbing the underside of his frame trying to make sure they get all the sand and salt their eyes catch a bright pink fluid leaking from Beachcomber. "Hey Beach, I think you have a leak or a broken line." They call out while continuing to clean and rinse him off of soap and grim. They run their fingers over the pink fluid before rubbing it between their fingers trying to figure out what it is.

Beachcomber vented raggedly, in effort to cool his systems from the overwhelming touch. Slowly, consciousness returned, along with mortified realisation as their hand brushed over his overstimulated spike again. “Primus might be transmission fluid” he states quickly hoping that it was believable enough for them not to question it. 

They give a light shrug before wiping the fluid away and washing the remaining fluid away. “Didn't know you guys had pink Transmissions fluid, but eh alien robots should have known you guys don't work fully like us” they mumble.  It makes Beachcomber shutter in relief.  “yea joys of being cybertronian,  but I'll have to get Ratchet to check it out once we get back to base” he rumbles as they give him one last spray down with water. 

“Well you're all clean now Beach, are you ready to head back yet?” They ask with a tilted head and smile. His engine purrs lightly as he debates driving when he knows it would be a shaky drive back to base. “Let me soak in some more sunlight before we head back” he calls back to them. 

__________________

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[imsodishy]

Come and Knock on Our Door

also on A03

(this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience)

March, 1987   

She hears them before she sees them, which means Steve has lost the battle for his car’s stereo for the three hundredth day in a row.  

Robin is standing in the slush on the curb outside the Columbia campus bookstore with her chatty co-worker Francis, with her messenger bag clutched to her chest so she doesn’t do something insane like swing it full force into Francis' fucking face. Which wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t. Francis isn't the worst or anything. He’s just really jazzed about the philosophy classes he taking. And he loves the sound of his own voice. And he can’t take a hint or a subtle no, or a really fucking pointed no. And, okay, he kind of is the worst, but Robin needs the job, it accommodates her class schedule, and she’s rarely shares shifts with Francis. So Robin will just continue to tune him out while he blithely goes on and on about solipsism or whatever the fuck.  

When the BWM rounds the corner and comes into view she sighs in relief.  

Eddie’s got an arm hanging out his backseat window, drumming aggressively along to the aggressive song the beemer is blasting, when he spots her he sticks his head out too, “Buckley! This guy bothering you?” he hoots, as they pull up to the curb. Her body language must be more starkly uncomfortable than she realized.  

Before she can deny it, Billy is crawling out the fucking passenger window like someone who doesn’t know how doors work, sitting himself on the ledge, and slinging his arms over the roof of the car to glare silently at Francis.  

Steve turns down the music to a bearable volume, “Problem, Robin?” he slides his ray-bans down to the tip of his nose to give Francis an unimpressed once over like he’s still King of Hawkins High, like anyone in New York should give a shit about him. It’s an attitude that’s depressingly really effective in a lot of situations. When he’s in a good mood Steve says it’s all about confidence, when he’s being a moody butthead he says it’s all just bullshit. Either way, it does the trick.  

Francis is bug-eyed and slack jawed, and blessedly silent for the first time all day, staring at the spectacle that is Robin’s day to day life.  

“Well,” she says with cheery a smile and a smack to his shoulder, “That’s my ride. See ya, Frank.”  

She rounds the car and Billy climbs the rest of the way out the front window before he opens the door for her, shuts it behind her, and then drops himself in the back seat behind her, through the actual door this time, at least. And he does it all while maintaining extremely hostile eye contact with Francis over the roof of the car.  

Robin gets shotgun, always , is the only car rule Steve has been able to consistently enforce so far in their time as a unit. She’s not sure how or why.  

She's also not sure how or why this is how her life is turning out. If anyone asked her to recount the story of how she came to be sharing a house in New York, with this particular array of boys she could probably lay out the steps one by one pretty easily, and coherently, but it wouldn’t really clear anything up.  

The short answer is Steve Harrington suddenly started collecting strays after high school. Which no one who knew him for the first eighteen years of his life could have predicted, Robin can confidently say that as someone who did know him then, or at least knew of him. So its Steve's fault, basically. He collected the three of them like weird dogs, and he found the house they're renting too.  

Just before they peel out Steve turns to her and says, “Who's the clown?” maybe loud enough for Francis to hear, maybe on purpose.  

“He's a turd,” Robin says dismissively once they’re on the road. “Listen, I need to talk to you guys.”  

Because she does, and she's been putting it off since the phone call on Tuesday. Told herself it could wait a day, and then Steve had a jam-packed work schedule, and then Billy was cramming for a big test he was stressed about, and then Eddie's hours were so odd she just couldn’t find a good time to sit them all down, and if she really put her mind to it she could just delay, delay, delay until the bomb dropped in their laps and they all exploded in a giant mess.  

She wasn’t sure why that seemed kind of appealing, but she figured it was probably a bad sign.  

Billy leans forward, hand gripping the headrest of her seat, “That guy bothering you?” it’s the same question Eddie asked before, but with a wildly different tone of menace behind it.  

Eddie tries to wedge his face in next to Billy, “You need us to talk to him Robbie? Lean on him a little? Scare him into backing off?” Eddie says like a parody of a tough guy. Billy shoves him back over to his side of the back seat with an annoyed grunt, but his grip on Robin’s seat relaxes a bit too.  

“The only people who find you scary are people who have never had a conversation with you,” Steve snorts, “Not even a whole conversation. Just a passing interaction. You're a scarecrow.”   

Eddie squawks.  

“Pretty sure Buckley’s packing bigger guns than you, dude,” Billy says and Eddie squawks again, louder and more dramatic.  

“Untrue! Buckley, flex real quick.” He demands, as he tries to shake an arm loose from his permanent leather jacket/denim vest combo.  

“No,” she says. “Listen-.”  

“There's more than one way to scare a square,” Eddie goes on, “Just because I'm slender and svelte, doesn’t mean I can't be intimidating.”  

“Sure. But you're not intimidating though,” Billy drawls.  

“This is character assassination!” Eddie’s too loud for the confined space of the car, “I terrorized Hawkins High! They thought I worshiped the devil!”  

“And they kicked your ass on the regular. No one was scared of you, dude.”  

“Guys!” Robin tries to interject, desperate to get this conversation on track.  

“You know,” Steve says, hand peeling off the wheel to gesture at Eddie, “If you wanted to bulk up you could try working out with us sometime.”  

“What about any interaction we’ve ever had makes you think I would want to do that?” Eddie asks.  

“You were literally just complaining about being a scrawny little weakling,” Billy says.  

More (mostly) mock outrage from Eddie, “Not any of the words I used actually. I’m lithe . Like Mick Jagger, you meathead.”  

Billy snorts.  

“Shut up!” she finally shouts them down. All three of them give her sidelong looks like that was a little uncalled for. She takes a deep breath and gets right to the point, “My mother is coming. This weekend. She is very concerned about my living situation.”  

“Little late outta the gate, isn't it. It’s been, like, months,” Billy’s right, except for one thing.  

“Yeah,” Robin tugs at her bangs, “She was not aware that I was living with three boys until now. She thought I was rooming with my cousin April.” Who, when caught out by her own mother that she was not attending Columbia with Robin, but was in fact trying to make it as an actress in New York, had sung like a canary, trying to deflect some heat off herself. It hadn't worked, incidentally, Aunt Janine was also headed for the Big Apple to lay down the law. “The fact that I have been lying to my parents for months didn't really help matters.”  

“Your dad’s not coming up though?” Billy checks.  

She shakes her head, “Couldn’t get time off. Just my mom, taking the Greyhound up tomorrow to assess how far I’ve fallen.”  

“You want one of us to pretend to be your boyfriend?” Eddie offers, “We're all single, you can take your pick.” He strikes a pinup pose, nearly elbowing Billy in the face by accident. Billy elbows him in the ribs on purpose.  

“God no! Absolutely not. Any hint of impropriety, forget it. She’ll tie me up in a sack and ship me to a women’s college. I have barely negotiated a stay of execution pending a visit. She cannot under any circumstances think I'm involved with any of you,” she pauses to gag at the thought, “So, you guys need to be on your very best behaviour. Okay?” she pleads  

“Okay,” Steve says dubiously, “But, she spent your whole senior year convinced I was going to get you pregnant. And I’m pretty sure I did nothing to deserve that.”  

That’s true. Steve worked very hard to project good respectful boy who is not trying to have sex with your daughter. But, even though it was the truth, it never did him any good with Sharon Buckley. The fact that he is one of the three boys Robin now lives with definitely didn’t help her mother’s freak out.  

“We're just going to have to make it work, okay?” She can already tell that she sounds panicky about it, she doesn’t need Steve awkwardly patting her knee to make the point to her.  

“We'll make it work,” he parrots back. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we’ll clean the whole house-“  

“Real clean,” she butts in, “Not teenage boy clean.”  

Eddie says, “Hey I’m twenty-one, remember.”  

“All the more reason you should know how to wash a fucking dish by now.” Billy mutters. Eddie smacks him and it devolves from there. Billy quickly gets him in a headlock.  

Eddie squeaks, “Uncle! Uncle!”   

“Uncle Wayne can’t save you now dipshit,” Billy laughs.  

Steve throws an arm back blindly to smack either or both of them, “Stop kicking my seat you assholes. I swear to God I will crash this car and kill us all!”  

It has to go well with her mother. She really doesn’t want to lose this.  

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Eddie says, as he's carting another load of laundry down from his room (Robin's got him doing a preliminary clean before she goes in there to help. She categorically refuses to deal with any or their dirty undies, and she will never compromise on that), “If my room looked really lived in? Since were trying to prove everything is above board and nobody is a bed hopping harlot?” He’s been kind of vaguely complaining all afternoon, but he hasn’t actually been slacking off.  

The house they share in the Bronx is tall, narrow, and a little rundown, in a neighborhood full of tall, narrow, rundown houses. Eddie's room is just the whole third floor all to himself. Which is ideal, because he's a rabid collector of junk and it gives maximum room for his knickknacks and oddities to spread out without taking over shared spaces.  

The second floor has Billy and Steve's rooms and the boy's bathroom, which they squabble over constantly.  

Robin’s room is on the ground floor, along with the living room, kitchen, laundry room, and her own bathroom, which Steve is not allowed to use for his hair routine, no matter how much he bitches about Billy hogging their sink. If she gives an inch she'll be drowning in hairspray in no time.  

“There's a fine line between ‘lived in’ and ‘biohazard,’” Steve says. Robin has him vacuuming, which right now means he's cross-legged on the ground trying to extract a sock that was under the sofa and is now tangled up in the beater-bar of their second-hand machine. She told him to move the sofa first, but did he listen?  

“Easy for you to say, rich boy. Missing your maid yet?”  

“For the millionth time, we didn’t have a maid!” and they're off on that we’ll tread track, Robin tunes out the millionth go ‘round of Steve insisting a cleaning lady is different than a maid, because she only came once a week, not every day.  

Billy's been tasked with deep cleaning the kitchen, because he's the only one who can be trusted to do it undirected.  

Robin's been trash bagging anything that she deems Not Mom Safe, saucy albums and posters, cheeky mugs and the like. She's not actually going to throw their stuff out (she quite likes a few of those posters), but she is going to stash it all under the porch for the weekend.  

She's made all three of them swear on their lives that their porn is locked down like Fort Knox. Which will have to be good enough. She’d rather die than have first hand knowledge of any of their jerkoff material.  

She's peeling down their calendar that's purportedly advertising power tools, but is covered front to back in bikini babes, when Eddie exits the laundry room and asks, “Is all this really necessary?”  

“Yes,” Robin says without hesitation, “She's like a dog with a bone. Anything could set her off.”  

Billy pauses in the kitchen, “Set her off like how?”  

“Lectures. Endless ones about all the dangers of sex, and how sex is everywhere, and you need to be prepared, and the urges and dangers, and dangerous urges, and on and on until you just wish the earth would swallow you whole.”  

“You know,” Eddie says speculatively, “There’s an easy fix, if she's so worried us dirty boys are gonna compromise your genteel virtue.”  

“Oh yeah? What's that, Casanova?” Billy asks, turning back to the sink he was scrubbing.  

“We could pull a triple-Tripper.”  

Steve scrunches up his face, looks around to check he’s not the only one who’s lost, then asks, “A what now?”  

“Jack Tripper. Three's Company?” Eddie clarifies, then, when that clarifies nothing (obviously), he singsongs like a grade school teacher trying to lead the class to an obvious answer, “We pretend to be homosexuals.”  

Robin freezes. Trash bag full of half naked babes in her hand.  

“Is that what went on on that show?” Steve wonders out loud before his eyes drift to Robin and he notices her deer in the headlights routine, “Uh, would that be… bad?” he asks her tentatively.  

Because Steve knows. Steve’s the only one that knows. Since they got accidentally way to high after a shift at the mall the summer they started hanging out and she word vomited all over him (she also real vomited on him that night, but that was incidental).  

In her frozen prey animal state she cannot answer him, of course. What she can do, is clock the other body that has gone unnaturally still. Standing in the kitchen with a sponge clenched in his fist. In stark contrast to her wide-eyed panic, Billy’s face is entirely blank. Eerily blank.  

A year ago she wouldn't have hesitated to say he was angry, disgusted by the very concept. He'll, even just a couple months ago. Now though…  

No, though. That's an insane thought. Surely.   

Probably.  

Definitely.  

On the bright side, the insane thought (quickly dismissed, not at all camped out in her brain for later obsessing over, no sir) knocks her out of her torpor enough to choke out, “Uhhhh, we’re not hatching any hi-jinks, okay. We're just going to show her that I have my own room, and my own bathroom, and very plainly show her that no one here is having any kind of sex!” She swings her arm like she’s axing that idea, which only calls attention to the soft-core calendar still clutched in her hand. She hastily stuff it in the trash bag.  

Steve nods slowly at her and mimes taking a deep breath, she copies.  

Billy silently goes backs to scrubbing the sink somewhat more aggressively than he had been.  

Saturday, after her morning shift, Robin goes to the bus depot alone to collect her mom. Steve had offered to drive her, but the car is almost never worth the hassle honestly, they've been using it less and less the longer they've been in New York. He should maybe just sell it, like Billy sold his before the move, but she knows Steve feels better having it just in case. Anyway, it’s good for when they go back to Hawkins on breaks.  

Honestly the main reason she says no to the lift is… she just wants a chance to see her mom alone for a second. Maybe she can prime her a little, really try to sell that everything is fine and dandy, but mostly… she just wants to see her mom just the two of them. She hasn't seen her since Christmas and she misses her. Sue her!  

When her mom steps of the Greyhound it’s easy to forget for a second all the stress this visit dumped on her head. She’s got the same mousy brown hair as Robin, swept half up to keep it off her face, and she’s wearing the same pea-green puffy coat she’s had for a decade. Robin can’t help smiling.  

It seems like Mom’s in the same boat, big reflexive smile that it takes her a second to lock down into Concerned Mom Mode as she drops her bag by Robin’s feet. “Let me get a look at you,” she squishes Robin's face between her palms and manually bobbles her head around, this way and that way, like maybe she’ll be able to see the debauchery if she catches it in the right light.  

“Hi Mom. How was the bus?”  

“Smelled like grass. I think it was that guy,” she lets go of one of Robin’s cheeks to point unsubtly at guy with a long gray ponytail, “Toking up at ever rest stop.”  

Robin smacks her hand down, “Mom! You can’t just point at people.” she hisses, mortified. Some of those warm fuzzy mom’s here feelings instantly evaporating in the heat of her embarrassment.  

“Oh, I can’t point out pot heads, but you can shack up with a bunch of boys? Is that how it is in the big city?”  

So that lasted about thirty whole seconds.  

“Mom,” she huffs, flapping her hands, “We are not ‘shacked up.’ We’re just four people in a house. It’s nothing scandalous.”  

“Then why hide it from us?” Mom swipes.  

“Because you would have been worried.” Robin parries.  

“Because it’s worrying, sweetheart. We don’t want you throwing your life away for some boy. Three boys? It’s a minefield, this could derail you so easily.”  

“I’m not going to throw my life away.” Robin rolls her eyes, grabs her mom’s bag and starts leading her to their subway stop, “They’re friends. Good ones! They support me. Billy’s at Columbia too!”  

“Your education is not less important than your boyfriend’s-”  

“Oh my God, I am not dating Billy!”  

“-You can’t drop out, even if he-”  

“Who the hell is dropping out?!”  

“Robin Caroline Buckley, do not curse at me!”  

It goes about like that the whole ride home.  

It's bedlam in the middle of the living room when they get home. Because of course it is. Because that is the house she lives in.  

Billy’s got Eddie by the arms and Steve’s got his ankles and they’re swinging him like a sack of potatoes between them. Steve and Billy are both obviously post run, sweaty and a little ripe. Eddie is screeching, “I’ll be Mick Jagger! I’m Mick Jagger!” over and over. He’s the only one of the three of them with a shirt on. It’s got a girl in a metal bikini on it.  

“You are no Jagger, jack-ass,” Billy snorts.  

Eddie notices the Buckleys in the entryway first, says, “Oh fuck, what time is it?”  

When Steve looks their way his eyes go wide and he immediately drops Eddie’s legs, letting him thump down with an oof and enough force to nearly bring Billy down on top of him.  

Steve gamely smiles his goodest good boy smile, as he hustles over, hand outstretched, “Mrs. Buckley, so good to see you again. How was your trip?”  

Mom looks at his hand, looks over his shoulder at Eddie struggling to his feet and Billy climbing over the sofa instead of walking around it like a normal human being.  

Steve forces a laugh, “We were just, uh…”  

“Trying to entice Munson to join us in some calisthenics,” Billy cuts in, “Physical fitness is so important.” He thrusts out a hand same as Steve did, but a good boy smile is nowhere to be found. His smile is distinctly smarmy, Robin hates it on sight. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley, nice to meet you. Billy Hargrove.”  

Climbing to his feet Eddie is out of breath, despite the fact that he was not the one hauling a whole person’s body weight around. “I successfully dodged gym class for six years I refuse to be pressganged into it now just because you two are masochistic, meatheads. Hello Mrs. Buckley, it is my sincere pleasure to meet you.” Robin thinks he might be aiming for good boy but the smile comes off a little… insane.  

Rather than just sticking a hand out to be ignored, Eddie grabs one of her Mom's in both of his and gives it a very earnest looking shake. Then he gestures expansively with one hand, the other keeping hers trapped, “Welcome to our home.”  

Her mom definitely doesn’t know what to make of Eddie, a common reaction. But she's got a long standing opinion of Steve: Risky. And she's clearly formed a quick opinion of Billy based on, just, everything about him: Risky Squared. She’s tightlipped, observing their bare chests like a pair of sweaty time bombs. The hand Eddie hasn’t claimed is wrapped tightly around Robin’s wrist like she's thinking about running all the way back to Indiana with her daughter in tow.  

Robin turns big, doleful eyes over to Steve. He grimaces and mouths ‘ Sorry.’   

“Mom-“  

Ripping her hand out of Eddie's, her mom whirls on her, finger pointed firmly in Robin's face, “No, no. How can you possibly expect me to just leave it alone? I cannot just pretend that there’s nothing going on here.”  

“Nothing is going on though, I swear,” Robin pleads.  

Her mother scoffs, “I am not naïve, Robin. I am a nurse, I know what young people get up to, I see the fallout of it every single day.”  

“Mrs. Buckley-“ Steve tries.  

“Put a shirt on, for Christ sake!” she snaps at him.  

Steve yelps, “Yep,” and hightail it to the laundry room. Comes back with a shirt on and a spare that he lobs at Billy’s head. All three of them are just standing there, looking so goddamn awkward, obviously wanting to help and with no idea how to.  

They spent their whole Friday cleaning. Today’s the first day of spring break technically. They were planning to get drunk, watch a bunch of horror movies, and throw gummy bears at Steve every time he had a bad movie opinion.  

Instead, this is happening.  

“Sweetheart,” Mom entreats, “I know you never want to listen when I try to talk to you about boys and sex, because you think it’s icky,” and Robin tries desperately not to squirm or cringe, “But you can’t stick your head in the sand. Condoms can fail, and you're not on the pill, god knows I tried when you first got your period-”  

Robin loses the battle and cringes away, but the boys are right there , shuffling around awkwardly. She’s pretty sure she heard Steve whisper a horrified, “They can?” when her mom mentioned condoms. She really doesn’t want to talk about any of this.  

“-No! Listen to me! I know you want to just, la-la-la,” Mom sticks her fingers in her ears, just when Robin is embarrassingly close to doing that exact thing, “And not think about it, because it grosses you out. But you have to think about it! Because if you get pregnant-“  

“I'm not going to get pregnant!” she protests.  

“You might!”  

“I won’t!”  

“ Robin ,” her mom sighs, beyond exasperated.   

“I'm a lesbian!”  

Sharon Buckley is, for perhaps the first time in Robin's entire life, at a loss for words.  

In the silence, Eddie gasps quietly, “A reverse-Tripper.”  

Steve thumps the back of his hand into Eddies gut, hisses, “No, dumbass, she's just gay.”  

“Oh shit, for real? Right on,” Eddie whispers.  

Billy’s face is carefully blank again.  

Steve clears his throat, “We should, uh,” he points to the ceiling and raises his eyebrows at her, asking silently if she wants them to clear out. She’s not sure she does, but she nods anyway.  

Steve herds them up the stairs. He’ll probably lay down the law while they’re up there. Necessary or not.  

Once they’re gone the first thing her mom says is, “What on earth is a reverse-Tripper?” eyes unfocused, sounding slightly perturbed.  

“It’s not a thing,” Robin says, “Eddie makes up his own things a lot and they’re mostly, you know, nonsense.”  

Her mom blinks, refocuses on her, searching her face like she’s looking for a sign of it. “Robin, are you- You're not just trying to shut me up, are you?”  

Robin tucks her elbows in, folds her arms around herself tight. “No. Mom, I’m gay.”  

“Okay, we should- let's sit down,” her mom says, gesturing to Robin’s own sofa like she’s the host and Robin’s the guest. They should sit, that’s a good idea.  

But then once they’re seated, knees angled towards each other, Robin can barely look at her mom she’s so tense. She focuses on the green coat, she’s still wearing her coat. Robin is too, no wonder she feels overheated.  

“Sweetheart,” they’ve been sitting in silence for... who knows how long, days maybe, when Mom speaks, “I hope you know that all I have ever wanted, all I have tried to do, is give you the best chance to make it. To get you to adulthood, to a point where you could go out into the world and have the opportunity to do... whatever you wanted to do.”  

Robin nods, because it seems like she should.  

Mom’s eyes are shiny when she takes Robin’s face between her hands, “So if you’re out in the world now, well, not if, you are, you’re out in the world now- and I am so proud of you, sweetheart- and if you’re telling me that what you want is a... a girlfriend?” Robin nods again, a tiny nod, barely a nod at all. “Then I am thrilled you have the opportunity to want that. I love you.”  

Robin launches herself at her mother, smothering her and her puffy green coat in a hug, “I love you too, Mom.”  

“It can’t be all you want though,” Mom keeps talking, even all choked up, “You have to finish school.”  

“Mom!” Robin laughs.  

They reset.  

She calls the boys back downstairs, and they creep down all unsure until they see her mom smiling on the couch. Billy and Steve have both cleaned themselves up in the interim (Eddie has not changed his shirt). They all get real handshakes and a much more gracious intro, they give her a tour of the house.  

She catches her mom having a quiet, concerningly earnest conversation with Steve at one point. When she asks him what it was about he says, “She asked me if I knew all last year, and then she wanted to thank me for having your back.” Then, after a pause, “Also she wanted to make sure i understood that even if condoms aren’t infallible I should still always use them. She had stats.”  

“Well, she is a nurse,” Robin tells him.  

Eddie snitches about the stuff hidden under the porch, so her mom gets a cup of coffee in a mug with a sunbathing pinup girl’s butt prominently displayed and Bottoms Up! in a cheerful font on it.  

Billy waffles wildly all day between being weirdly flirty with her mom and being even more weirdly awkward and quiet, like he can’t figure out how to act. Robin corners him in the kitchen eventually and pokes his ribs until he snarls at her. “You’re being super weird,” she informs him.  

“I know.” He tilts his head back against the cupboards, closes his eyes, and doesn’t elaborate.  

Out in the living room Eddie’s telling some story, arms waving wildly and face gleeful. Her mom is laughing.  

“She’s really nice,” Billy says eventually, eyes still closed.  

“Yeah, she’s pretty okay,” Robin replies, leaning her head on his shoulder.  

On Sunday Robin and her mom meet up with aunt Janine and April in Manhattan for lunch and a debrief. They also seem to have come to some kind of agreement. April apologizes to her about ninety times, and Robin lets her grovel a bit, even though it worked out alright in the end.  

Aunt Janine tries to stir the pot at one point, says something about Robin’s living situation with pointedly raised eyebrows over her mimosa. Mom looks at Robin, pats her hand, and says mildly, “Well, they’re nice boys.”  

Robin smiles so big her cheeks hurt.  

After lunch Robin takes her to the bookshop, to show her where she works, and lets her terrorize Francis for a little while.  

Monday morning Mom goes home. The boys all get big hugs at the bus stop, their reception ranging from enthusiastic to baffled with Steve falling somewhere in the middle. Robin gets the biggest hug, and her mom cradles her cheeks between her hands for a long moment. She says, “Be safe,” and gives her a kiss on the forehead.  

They all wave until the Greyhound is out of sight.  

And so ends the Mom Visit.  

Monday night they get down to their briefly delayed spring break plans. Steve and Eddie aren’t students, of course, and all four of them still have work this week, so it’s not much of a break. But for tonight they have a stack of movies, a stock of adult beverages, and a pile of very childish snacks.  

Robin, Billy, and Eddie are in the kitchen dumping various configurations of sugar and salt into many bowls, Steve is in the living room setting up the VCR.  

“I can't believe you had us convinced your mom was a total prude, when, all along, t’was you.” Eddie pokes a finger right up in her face, which she slaps away. He does it again, and again, switching hands each time she smacks one down, and cooing, “You the prude,” each time.  

“I'm not a prude,” she protests.  

“Oh yeah? Then instead of Poltergeist you wanna watch some porn?”  

She gives a heartfelt, “Ewwww,” to that thought.  

Billy tosses a handful of skittles at Eddie as he leaves the kitchen, studding his dark hair with colorful little pellets.  

Robin fiddles with a bag of chips, “It just- It was never relevant. It was never going to be relevant, even- even if there were girls like that around, it’s not like I  would be, you know,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows as if to say prude because she can’t even say it, “It’s not like they’d be interested in me.” If she just keeps staring at this bag of chips she won’t have to see whatever stupid face Eddie is making.  

“What are you talking about? Robin, you’re great!” he says.  

“I’m not exactly a hot commodity,” she tells her bag of chips.  

Eddie spins her around by the shoulders to make her face him, “Look, Buckles-“  

“Don't call me that.”  

“-Hawkins was a stupidly small pond. It was a puddle. No one’s thriving in a puddle, not many fish in a puddle. But we’re in the ocean now, baby! And when we do find some fish ladies of your persuasion-”  

“Gross.” Robin interrupts again, because she has too.  

“-When we do find them,” he continues on louder, “You will be an irresistible lure to them.”  

“That metaphor was strained dude.”  

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna talk problems?” He asks, leaning back against the counter beside her, “My actual, pretty much twenty-four-seven, standing right beside me competition is Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and Billy ‘Hard-Body’ Hargrove. Okay? I am the one who is screwed.”  

She just sips her beer and absolutely does not share her suspicions that Billy’s not in any kind of competition with Eddie for dates.   

Robin can see Billy and Steve in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, chucking candy at each other's open mouths. They’re already getting competitive about it, she can tell. Someone’s going to end up with a corneal abrasion from a skittle tonight.  

“But then again, who knows?” Eddie tilts his bottle towards hers, “It’s New York City, baby. Anything can happen.”  

She’ll drink to that.