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megamindsecretlair · 7 months ago

Text

Say You Love Me

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Angst. Smut. Cursing, dirty talk, PIV, fingering (female receiving), oral (female receiving), minor D/s elements, all consensual. Allusions to drug use, masturbation.

Summary: After Frankie returned from the trip, he seemed like a different person. More moody and withdrawn. You finally couldn't take it anymore, all the times he snorted drugs and fucked up. You kicked him out and it has been months. After getting scared half to death, you finally admit to yourself that you miss being around Frankie. You decide to clear the air once and for all, getting reacquainted with him.

Word Count: 7,234k

AO3 Link

A/N: Finally stopped being a baby and decided to write and post this. Idk why this has been plauging my brain, but I enjoy it and I hope you do too. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @nerdieforpedro @soft-persephone @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00 @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @superhoeva @softimgyu @eggnox

You rolled over in bed, stretching your hand across the other side and finding the space cold. Every morning you woke up, reaching out for a body that would no longer be there. No matter how many times you started the night in the middle of the bed, your body was too used to “your” side.

You sighed, snatching your hand back, and got out of bed. It was approaching midday on Saturday and you were too damn tired to do anything. Work was kicking your ass per usual and your daughter had been up all damn night crying. It took a village to raise a baby. Your daughter had to settle for you.

You looked and felt like hell. You passed a mirror, not bothering to give yourself more than a cursory glance. You knew you looked how you felt and you didn’t want any visual reminders. You went down the hall, checking in on your baby girl, Inez. She was up all damn night so you decided to postpone going to the park today. Let her sleep some of that wayward energy away.

You’d have to find something else to tire her out during the day so that you got some kind of sleep. Inez was far too young to understand why Daddy wasn’t home, but old enough to ask about him. Constantly. And hell if you knew what to say. You didn’t understand it yourself.

Your daughter needed you, so you didn’t get to fall apart like you wanted. You finally closed her bedroom door, walking down the hall once more towards the kitchen. The kitchen was open and spacious enough to feel like you could cook without too many things in the way.

There was a small kitchen island in the middle, where the sink was, and extra counter space to work. You took out ingredients for pancakes, eggs, and bacon. You yawned as you greased the pan with butter, turning to the countertop to start mixing the pancake mix.

You set everything down, reaching into your spice cabinet. You braced yourself to fight with the cabinet door, damn thing had been stuck for months, but it gave way easily. You stumbled a bit and looked at it, testing the cabinet by opening and closing it.

“The hell…” You muttered. You tested the cabinet again. Matter of fact, strange things like that had been happening for a while. Where things that were once loose or in need of fixing magically repaired itself overnight.

Were you sleepwalking and fixing things? Had you imagined that these things were broken? You remembered bitching to Frankie that he needed to stop snorting shit and actually be useful around the house. Some of that was picking a fight because it was more convenient to yell at him than admit how frustrated you were with him, life, or work.

You closed the cabinet with a frown, making a mental note to investigate it later. As you turned around, you jumped with a scream on your lips. A shadow passed outside of your house.

It was on the tip of your tongue to yell out for Frankie, that there was a stranger outside. Bastard was no longer there. Your heart raced as you peered out of your kitchen window. Whatever or whoever it had been was too quick. You couldn’t see past a certain angle, as the kitchen was tucked in the corner of the house.

“Shit, shit,” you whispered. You never touched Frankie’s guns, despite how many times he begged to show you how to defend yourself.

“Why would I need to know how when I have a big strong man to do it for me?” Your words to him echoed in your mind as you backed away from the kitchen slowly, eyes glued to the window. It could be nothing. It could be something. But fuck if you didn’t wish you had listened to Frankie at the moment.

You padded away, barefoot, careful of every creak as if the person or thing outside could hear it. You backed all the way to your bedroom, grabbing a bat. You really didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to have to fend off an attacker. Too many scenarios ran through your mind.

What about your daughter? What about you? How were you going to protect her if this thing or person hit you, hurt you, or killed you? And who the hell does something like this in broad daylight? A fucking psychopath.

You swallowed around a huge dry lump in your throat, feeling your heartbeat in every step you took towards your daughter’s room.

Faintly, there was a scratching sound. Or perhaps a knock? You couldn’t make it out. It was so quiet in the house, you couldn’t decipher the house settling or an intruder trying to break in.

You opened Inez’s room by a crack, checking to ensure that she was still asleep and none the wiser. You debated if you should wake her up and stow her in her closet or in yours. No. You needed to make sure that the asshole never made it past you. It was that simple.

You closed her door as softly as possible, inching down the hall towards the back of the house. Towards the source of the noise. It sounded louder. Or maybe you were just getting closer.

Either way, you were nearly to the back door. There was a large shadow there. You could see your locks getting turned. You trembled with fear, but there was only one thought in your head, “Gotta protect my baby.”

The locks gave way just as you raised the bat in your hand. You had a fleeting thought about bringing a bat to a gun fight when a large man let himself into your house, lifted his head, that damn baseball cap moving to reveal chocolate brown eyes and a scruffy beard.

“Francisco Morales!” You harshly whispered, lowering the bat.

Frankie stopped in his tracks, eyes wide, lips puckered in an apology. “Sorry!” He said in the same tone you were using.

A mixture of relief and adrenaline flooded through your system, making you sway. You leaned on the wall for support. Frankie reached out but you held up the bat to keep him away.

“I almost peed my fucking pants!” You furiously whispered.

Frankie looked down at your bare legs. You opted to wear a blue tank and black shorts to bed since you had the heater cranked up to a hundred. Without him as a space heater, going to bed was damn near frigid.

Heat rushed through you at the look on his face. Despite the tense situation, he still looked ready to devour you. Sex was never your problem. It’d been entirely too long since you felt his touch but that was beside the point. He was still a bastard.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. Damn him. He looked good, sporting dark jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt. The shirt was stretched over his biceps, granting you a view of his golden skin tanned from being outside. He wore his signature cap, curls peeking out from underneath.

“It’s my house,” you said.

“I mean, yes. But why aren’t you at the park?” He asked.

You stared at him. “What?”

“You’re usually at the park by now,” he said.

“Are you stalking me?” You asked. You had too many thoughts whirling through your mind and not nearly enough food. Your stomach chose that moment to growl. You placed a hand over your belly, willing it to shut the fuck up.

Frankie lifted an eyebrow and you scowled at him. “No, I’m not stalking you. I just…” he grew quiet, licking his lips and suddenly looking everywhere but at you.

“Spit it out,” you said. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. You couldn’t begin to imagine what he had up his sleeve at the moment. What fanciful yarn of shit he was getting ready to spin.

“I sort of fix things while you’re gone,” he said slowly.

“Sort of?”

“You were always telling me about things I needed to fix. And I never did. I..I wanted to make sure shit worked around here, even when I’m not here.”

You sagged against the wall, chuckling though there wasn’t a damn thing funny. “That’s you?” You asked.

Well, at least you weren’t going crazy. It was just like Frankie to show up a day late and a dollar short. “So you let yourself into my house while I’m gone?” You asked. You leaned the bat against the wall. You placed a hand over your chest. Your heart was still beating a hundred times per second.

Frankie stood framed by the doorway, sunlight hitting the back of him and making him glow slightly. He kept one hand on the handle as if he didn’t know he should bolt or stay.

“It’s my house too,” he said, a deep sigh leaving him.

“You can’t be here, Frankie. You can’t let yourself in to fix things. I have…I can call someone to come fix it,” you said.

“And have some piece of shit overcharge you or some stranger in here?”

“It’s not your business anymore,” you whispered. Having Frankie here, in the flesh, while you were half naked, was screwing with your nerves. It had been too long since you'd seen him longer than the time it took to drop your daughter off at Santiago’s where Frankie was staying.

And he caught you in a particularly vulnerable moment, missing the heat of his skin and the curve of his lips. Frankie turned wide eyes towards you and licked his lips. He dropped his hand from the knob and placed his hands on his lean hips. “Let me at least fix one more thing,” he said.

“Frankie…” You sighed.

“Just one more. And…I won’t come around anymore.” You tried to ignore the trembling in his voice. The thickness of his words and how he forced himself to say it.

You were tired. And he caught you on a bad day. You knew it was a bad idea, but you moved away and let him enter. He closed the door and locked it, giving you a brief smile before he walked down the hallway. You saw him glance towards your daughter’s room, but he kept moving on towards the kitchen.

You debated throwing on a robe or longer pants. Anything to not make you feel so exposed. But this was your house, dammit. And just because he pushed his way in, didn’t mean that you had to change anything on your side.

Frankie assessed the kitchen and noted your breakfast supplies. “Pancakes?” He asked.

You nodded. Frankie nodded. It was all so awkward. Staring at him across a chasm of pain and frustration. You’d give anything to run to his side, tuck yourself under his arm, and just breathe in his scent. Feel warmed by his body heat.

“Christ, it’s hot in here,” he said. He took off his cap and wiped sweat from his brow, fixing his hair before returning the cap. He was letting it get too long, the ends curling against his ears.

You cleared your throat and put yourself to good use by finishing up breakfast. Inez would be up soon and you wanted to get her something to eat. You didn’t know what you would do if she caught Frankie here. She would inevitably ask if he was staying for breakfast. You finished up bacon, making extra…just in case.

Frankie moved around the kitchen like a phantom, knowing exactly where everything was. He should, it had only been a few months since the separation. Since he followed his friends on some asinine “top secret mission” and came back changed somehow. He offered you no explanation. You held on to the anger you felt, the hurt, the many ways you tried to get him to open up and he never did.

You cleared your throat again, not wanting to go down that dark path once more. “If it’s too warm, I can turn down the heater,” Frankie offered.

“I got it,” you said. You didn’t move towards the thermostat. You continued mixing the pancake mix and wishing he’d hurry the hell up. You felt his eyes on you linger for a brief moment before he dropped to the floor, getting under the kitchen sink. You moved out of his way, standing off to the side while you spun the spoon around and around. Trying to ignore the length of him. His legs as he propped them on the floor. His heavy, scuffed boots.

Frankie grunted as he worked. You hadn’t seen him grab his old tool box and you nearly tripped over it. You cursed as it hit your foot, your baby toe smarting from where you hit it. Frankie gave you a lopsided grin.

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” He asked.

“Focus on yourself,” you said, though you noticed it had no bite in your words. A kiss from him…you must be loopy. Not seeing Frankie helped. Not being reminded of how pretty he is when he’s sober, teasing, and open like he was before. It was easy to focus on your daughter or work, day by day, too tired to worry about how you arrived here.

“We used to have fun finding things to fix,” he said, returning to whatever the hell he was doing.

You didn’t say anything as you turned your attention to the eggs, getting it prepped before putting it on to cook. You whisked the eggs as you remembered when you first moved to the house. It was a piece of shit then, but you had fun making it into a home. Into something both of you were proud of.

“I let too many things slide,” he said.

“Can’t you fix that shit in silence?” You snapped.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

You rolled your eyes, mixing and mixing and mixing. You were scatterbrained, Frankie’s presence conjuring up many memories and thoughts. But the only one you were stuck on now, was how amazing he looked. His shirt had ridden up while he reached under the sink. You saw a hint of his tummy, so thick and luscious with a happy trail leading straight down to…

“Eyes up here, gorgeous,” he muttered. You looked up and caught his eyes and a smirk on his face.

You turned back to the stove, turning it back on, and obscuring your face from his. So what, he caught you staring. It’d been months…Months since you kissed him, held him, or felt any kind of relief. You tried after he was gone. Tried pleasuring yourself in your bed, in your bathtub, in the living room after your daughter went off to bed.

Nothing worked. It was like your body had gotten much too used to the way he took care of you, your fingers and vibrator no longer did shit for you. Asshole. Out of all the things he did, he didn’t have to take that from you as well. You’d be able to think more clearly, act better, when you got around him if you weren’t so pent up. None of this…yearning.

You turned around, ready to plate the eggs when Frankie stood behind you. Too close. You gasped, standing so close to him that your breasts nearly brushed his chest. He smiled crookedly at you, looking down, when he whispered, “Forgot something in my truck.”

You nodded. Swallowed painfully. He didn’t move. Didn’t touch you, didn’t say anything, just stood there in the kitchen looking down at you.

“Is there anything else that needs fixing around here?” He asked.

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him that your body needed fixing. Your heart too. You shook your head, moving past him since he wasn’t inclined to move. He sucked in a sharp bite of air as your body slid against his. Possibly on purpose.

“Daddy!” Inez shrieked in the otherwise quiet house. Frankie’s face erupted in a big smile.

“Chiquita! (Little one!) Look at you!” He said. He stooped down and scooped up your daughter, swirling her around the kitchen in a giant bear hug. The eggs popped behind you.

You softly cursed, taking the pan off of the stove and turning it off. Not burnt but…not soft either. You plated the eggs, turning your attention to Frankie as he held Inez in his arms.

She chattered away, catching him up on everything he missed since he’d seen her last weekend. Everything that happened on Bluey, with school, with her friends, and with a squirrel she grew fond of in the backyard.

Frankie listened to everything, rapt attention, like your daughter was providing exclusive news coverage. He asked her questions, getting her to open up more. It made your heart sick.

“Is Daddy staying again?” Inez asked.

Your lips parted but no words were forthcoming. You looked to Frankie for help, though you didn’t know why. Bastard was smiling at you. “I can’t let you eat all the bacon. I’m a growing boy, I need food,” he said. He pouted at your daughter who shrieked with giggles.

“You’re already growed up!”

“Growed is not a word,” you said.

“Mommy’s just jealous. She’s already growed up, too,” Frankie said.

You tilted your head at him but he only shrugged. You rolled your eyes. “I suppose I can spare a few slices…”

Inez yelled in victory, mimicking her father when he watched sports. He yelled the same way, placing your daughter down on the floor. He got down to her level, fixing her pjs and then tapped her nose.

“Now, I wanna see clean teeth and a scrubbed face in ten minutes,” he said. He looked at his watch. “Go!”

Your daughter took off towards the bathroom, huffing and pumping her short little legs to beat Frankie’s clock. He watched her with a slight chuckle and you watched him. You hated that they worked so well together. You started to feel like the Wicked Witch of the East keeping them apart.

You never denied Frankie a chance to see his daughter. But you knew that he was maintaining a healthy distance for your sake. Because whenever you got around him, you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or scratch his eyes out.

Frankie stood up, walking over to you. “I can make up something if you don’t really want me here,” he said.

And be the one to crush your daughter’s heart? He stood too close again, crowding your space in the way that he always liked. Frankie reminded you of a puppy, a wolf puppy, but a puppy that just liked to snuggle. Touch. Caress. Part of his charm was that he was so openly caring that way.

“It’s okay. Some payment is in order for fixing the sink. Finally,” you couldn’t help but add.

Frankie smiled, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me,” he said.

“Better hurry before there’s no more bacon left.” Frankie smiled, turning on the sink. You waited for it to sputter like normal, shooting out water before clearing and returning to a normal flow. When it didn’t, Frankie winked at you and washed his hands.

“I still need something from the truck, I’ll hurry,” he said. He went out the front door this time. You moved everything to the dining table, getting out three plates instead of two. You peeked out of the window as Frankie climbed into his truck, retrieving a plastic bag.

The sun damn sure loved him. It highlighted his tanned skin, like the sun itself was giving him a kiss. The red in his hair stuck out against the sun. He turned towards the house and you moved on, hoping he didn’t catch you staring again.

Frankie came back in, waving some kind of nugget for the sink. You didn’t have a clue what it did but if he said he needed it, then so be it. Your daughter returned, grinning up at Frankie. He stooped down to one knee, looking at her.

“Did you just splash water everywhere?” He asked.

“Noooo,” Inez said. She was a bad liar.

Frankie chuckled. “With soap this time, please Chiquita?” Your daughter’s shoulders slumped as she went back to the bathroom.

You giggled as you poured orange juice for her and started the coffee maker. “Would it be alright…?”

“Black. I know, Frankie,” you said. It had been his standing order when he was still here. You liked doing domestic shit for him. Liked taking care of him to appreciate him for all the small ways he took care of you. Fuck, you missed it.

Your daughter returned and you all sat down to breakfast, like the good old times. You talked and laughed, played board games. Frankie told you to take a nap while he took your daughter out to the park to tire her out. You loved the idea so you agreed.

When you awoke, it was well past dark outside. You sleepily emerged from the bedroom, finding Frankie asleep on the couch with your daughter tucked into his lap. You sneakily backed away, grabbing your phone so that you could snap a picture.

Done, you leaned against the doorway staring at the pretty picture of them. Frankie adjusted himself, waking though you swore you hadn’t made a noise. He smiled sleepily at you, kissing your daughter’s forehead.

“Guess we both knocked out,” he said.

“I’ll get her in bed,” you said.

“Let me?” He asked.

You nodded. He stood up slowly, cradling your daughter and took her to the room. You didn’t watch as he tucked her in. Couldn’t stand this separation a moment longer. You were weak. Weak in the damn knees and there was no solid ground beneath you.

A wall of heat preceded Frankie before he stood behind you. He made no move to touch you, just stood there for a second before moving past. He cleared his throat. “I won’t come over anymore, promise,” he said.

“I never really thanked you for fixing all that stuff,” you said.

“I should’ve done it while I was here. I wanted to do something nice for once. So you didn’t always think I was a piece of shit,” he said.

“I never thought you were a piece of shit, Frankie,” you said. You shook your head. This talk had been a long time coming. You supposed it was about time. Now, when you weren’t still so angry. Funny how a decent nap fixed a lot of things.

When you kicked him out, it had been a huge screaming match. Luckily, your daughter was next door at a sleepover. But still. You were surprised you hadn’t woken the entire neighborhood.

“It felt like…you didn’t want to be here. Like all you could think about was escaping. You were always up in the air and even when you were home, you were snorting shit or out with your friends. I started to feel like…” You weren’t quite that brave, to admit that it felt like he didn’t love you anymore. Couldn’t bear to toss those words out there.

Frankie saw you flinch anyway. He closed the distance and looked down at you with those haunting brown eyes. “You and Inez are the only important things in my life. I fucked that up, I know. But I swear to you, I wasn’t trying to escape. Never from you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. Fuck, this shit was all so hard. You were staring at your husband, at your best friend, as if he were a stranger. There were so many things familiar about him and so many things you didn’t recognize.

“Then why…?”

“Bad shit seems to pile up sometimes. So much so that the only way to drown it out is either up my nose or down the bottom of a bottle. I don’t want to burden you with that shit,” he said. He sighed and shook his head.

“It’s not a burden,” you said.

“It was to me. I only ever wanted you to keep being open and smiling. And happy, mi vida (my life).”

“That’s not realistic, Frankie. Your burdens are my burdens. Mines are yours. That’s kinda in the marriage contract,” you said.

“Do you know when I fell in love with you?” Frankie asked. He stepped closer, a shadow falling across your face because of his hat.

“Frankie…” you sighed, shaking your head. Trying to ward off his words. You didn’t want to hear about his love. You didn’t want to think about all this time apart.

“We’d only been dating two months. We had plans for a picnic. One of those fancy shits that people do because it’s cute and you just want to spend time together. Only, we got there, and it started raining. I thought you were going to think I was dumb or stupid for not checking the forecast. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

Your thoughts turned to that date. It was the exact opposite. You felt so over the moon about him already. You liked his voice and the cute way he meticulously planned everything and looked so nervous. It could have been a picnic in the park or running to the store, you just wanted to gobble up all of his time and attention.

“But then you stood up while everyone was running for cover and you turned your face to the rain. And fuck, I’d never seen such a beautiful person before. Never felt felt like I was in the presence of, fuck, royalty or divinity or something.”

You laughed. You didn’t want to but he was being too damn cute. “Shut up,” you said.

“You know I don’t always have the right words. But I never felt like I deserved you. I left so often because I knew I was fucking up. I knew I did. I know I still do. And it fuckin’ hurts knowing that I want to be a better man for you and I can’t,” he said.

Your chest ached for him. “I never asked you to be a better man, Frankie. You already were,” you said. Didn’t the big idiot see? He was an amazing father. A great husband when he was on the right track. He always made you feel so safe and protected. Loved. Cherished. Respected.

He gave and he gave, often at the expense of himself. He was a provider and a protector. Just because it was built into his DNA. And he thought he wasn’t a better man?

Frankie dropped to his knees. He took your hand in his and kissed the back of it. When you didn’t pull away, his large hands encircled your waist. He planted his forehead against your stomach.

Softly, so softly you only heard him because it was quiet in the living room, he began speaking rapidly in Spanish. It was too fast for you to keep up with. It sounded like a prayer. It sounded like benediction. You slowly reached out and took off his baseball cap and let it drop to the floor.

You ran your hands through his curls, loving the softness of his hair. It was silky soft to the touch and you ran your fingers through it. Frankie sighed but continued. Reaching some kind of conclusion, he looked up at you.

“I don’t deserve another chance, mi vida. You’ve put up with far too much from me already. But I can’t go another day without you. Without Inez. I want to be here. I want to be the man you married. I want to be everything you ever needed or wanted. And if you’ll give me that chance, I promise I’ll do everything I can to live up to it.”

You didn’t know what to say. It had been a hard road to being okay with kicking him out. You had spent many restless nights, tossing and turning because you didn’t want him in the house and you couldn’t bear the thought of him not being in it. Giving in right now felt like giving up. But it also felt like the stepping stone to everything you ever wanted from him.

For him to heal whatever was in his heart and mind. The shadows he kept from you. To be the man you married. And here he was, offering it to you on a silver platter.

“I only want you to be yourself. Can you do that, Frankie?” You asked.

Not missing a beat, Frankie nodded. “I swear it.”

You cupped his face and kissed him. Sliding your lips against his felt like the first breath of air after swimming for a long time. Like sliding onto clean sheets after a warm shower. Frankie made a low, strangled noise in his throat before he stood up and then crashed his lips back to yours. You caressed the nape of his neck, fingers curling around his hair, pulling him closer.

Frankie’s hands migrated to your round ass, cupping it and squeezing. You gasped and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting you. He didn’t move or press for more. Too content to stand here and make out with you. When you both were fighting for air, too lost in kisses to be apart for long, you pulled back far enough to whisper, “Take me to bed.”

Frankie growled but didn’t move. “Are you sure?” He asked.

“Now.”

Frankie smiled against your lips as he walked you backwards towards your room. You didn’t break contact, kissing, trusting that he knew where to lead you without running you into a door or a dresser.

Inside your room, he didn’t bother to turn on the light. He kicked the door shut behind him and then he pushed you towards the bed. He broke away long enough to toe off his boots and pull his shirt over his head.

You felt for him, little ambient light in the room enough to make out his outline. You would like the lights on but you liked the intimacy of the dark. Where you weren’t cataloging everything about him. Weren’t worried about how you looked or if he was enjoying himself. It had been months. Things changed. Affections changed.

You felt none of that in his arms. In the way he ripped off your tank and shorts. The way his thumbs lightly caressed your aching nipples. You gasped, loving the rough texture of his calloused fingers. A man that worked with his hands. There was nothing sexier.

He moved on from your lips, giving you a breather, while he kissed down your jaw and neck. He hooked his fingers around your shorts and panties, pulling them down in one fell swoop. You could feel the slickness between your thighs already, turned on to the max. Your body needed and craved him. So much so, you had been doing a poor job of hiding it the past few months. Even your memories or fantasies were nothing compared to the real thing.

You stepped out of your shorts and panties and Frankie pushed you onto the bed. He hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you to the edge of the bed, spreading you wider. Had the light been on, he’d see you closing your eyes and inwardly groaning.

You didn’t know why you felt shy, only that you did. Only that this time felt different. In so many ways. Sex had never been a problem for you and Frankie. But this felt like more. Like when you first got together and all you wanted to do was explore each other’s bodies.

“Shh, shh,” Frankie whispered. “You are gorgeous. Beautiful. Devastating,” Frankie whispered against your tummy as he kissed there.

You giggled. How the hell did he know?

“I know you. Inside and out,” he said when you asked him. He kissed down your tummy as he knelt before you. He dragged his nose through your folds, inhaling. “Still smell so sweet. Tell me, did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked.

You hesitated. Did you really want to admit that too? That you did but were unable to finish if he wasn’t there?

“Tell me, mi vida,” he said. He bypassed your pussy altogether, moving down to place kisses against your thighs. You sighed, body heating up to dangerous levels. You just wanted him to move, to touch you, to give you that relief you’d been craving for the past few months.

“Yes,” you finally admitted. The word nearly scraped your throat on the way out. You wanted to fight and tease him. Be sexy. But you were just too damn horny to think correctly at the moment.

“Did it help?” He asked. He got a teasing lilt in his voice that told you he was enjoying this. Enjoying dragging this out as much as possible.

“Yes,” you said. That wasn’t technically a lie. It did help take the edge off. But only just. It seemed like once you gave up, you could get something that resembled sleep. But you didn’t really rest.

“Liar,” he said and bit your thigh. “Did you think of me while you touched yourself?”

“Always,” you moaned as he dragged a finger lazily up the center of you. He didn’t touch your clit, not yet. He only played with your pussy lips, gathering the essence that leaked out of you.

“Tell me what you thought about,” he said. He placed his free hand on your tummy, splaying his fingers wide.

“Frankie…” you sighed.

“Tell me. I won’t say it again,” he said. His voice dropped, turning into that sexy, sleepy, bedroom voice of his that never failed to make your eyes roll back. Combined with the fact that you couldn’t really see his face, couldn’t gauge his emotions, could only rely on his voice, it turned you on in the best way possible.

You swallowed around a dry patch in your throat. You were breathing so hard, it was tough to calm down long enough to tell him. “I thought about your hands. And how big they are. And how incredible they feel on me,” you said.

Frankie hummed while he pushed his fingers through your folds, swirling his thumb around your clit. You gasped, moving your hips. But Frankie’s steadying hand on your stomach kept you locked in place.

You moaned, back rearing off of the bed. “Keep going,” Frankie prompted.

“Your fingers…feel like heaven. I thought about you fingering me,” you said.

Frankie kept his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles, while he pushed a finger inside of you. He grunted and a shudder seemed to run through him. “You’re so fucking wet, mi vida. Keep going, tell me how you really feel,” he said.

“I thought about you…tying me up. Tying me to the bed and leaving my legs free while you fuck me,” you said. The safety of the darkness let you unleash what you really wanted. Frankie had taken you in so many ways. You thought you’d be sick of it. Or craving something new.

The opposite was true. You liked his mastery over you. The way he commanded and demanded, the way he gave orders and you followed, with a little mischievous resistance. You liked being at his mercy because you knew that he’d always protect you.

You clenched around his fingers and Frankie cursed low, under his breath. “You want to be fucked?” He asked.

You nodded until you realized he couldn’t see you. “Yes, fucked,” you said.

“What else do you need from me?” He asked.

“I want you to hear your voice. I missed it. I want you to…tell me you missed me,” you said. You didn’t know how much you needed to hear it at the moment. After you kicked Frankie out, he respected it by keeping things civil as much as possible. You saw the lingering looks when you dropped off Inez, but you weren’t sure how he really felt.

“Oh, mi vida,” he sighed. He flipped his wrist and started fingering you in earnest. Before, it had been a slow glide, getting reacquainted with your pussy like the first time he came back from his tour overseas. This was something new entirely. He pumped his finger into you, adding a second and stretching you.

“Oh, oh,” you moaned and grabbed hold of his wrist, feeling his muscles move beneath his skin.

“I have thought of nothing else but you. I’ve missed you so damn much, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t focus. I dreamt of you and hated when I had to wake up and discover you weren’t there,” he said.

He curled his fingers in a come hither motion and you were exploding on the spot. His voice should be bottled and sold as the cure to any sexual ailment. With a few sentences, he had you going off like a bottle rocket. He whispered in Spanish while you floated in that gooey region in your mind, lost to pleasure. He continued to stroke that spot, wringing every last morsel of passion from you before he slowed down.

You calmed down, throat raw from moaning, and panted. Frankie removed his fingers and he loudly sucked on them, tasting you.

“There were too many nights that I stroked myself to thoughts of being welcomed back into your warm, wet heat. My hand was a poor substitute. Every day in the shower, I spilled into my hand wishing that I was spilling into your tight, little pussy,” he said. He kissed all around your pussy before planting a kiss on your clit.

You moaned and writhed on the bed, picturing him in the shower glistening with water. Picturing him jerking himself to climax, lips parted, eyes tightly closed, the steam of the shower rising around him. Your pussy clenched just thinking of it.

“I dreamed of your taste, mi vida,” he said. He followed that sentence with a lick of his tongue. You jerked and moaned, hands flying to his hair and pulling. He growled, licking you again and causing you to pull harder.

“Sweet fuck,” you moaned.

Frankie stopped talking as he aggressively ate you out. Gone was the sweet, slow pace he set while he finger fucked you. His tongue moved around your clit, flicking and tasting, and teasing between his lips.

You writhed and moaned, pushing at his head. It was too much. He grabbed your flailing hand and pinned it to the bed beside you. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, escaping your lips. You brought your other hand up and he only pinned that one as well. His big hands locked down your wrists, to the point that you couldn’t move an inch. God, you loved it.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum on, cum on,” he encouraged in between licking and teasing you. You began to tense, crushing his head between your thighs. He kept going, licking and licking until you were a shaking, creaming mess before him. You managed to curb your moans, painfully aware that your daughter was just down the hall. But she slept like a rock, much like you.

Frankie licked everything you gushed out. Like you were a little ice cream cone for him. He moaned into your pussy, finally dragging his lips away. You wondered if his jaw was soaked with your essence. You got your answer when he kissed both of your inner thighs, leaving wet spots behind.

“So fucking pretty. So fucking gorgeous,” he whispered into your skin while he kissed up your tummy. He stood as he did so, moving to free himself of his jeans and briefs.

“Fuck, Frankie, I missed you. I missed you so fucking much,” you whispered.

“I missed you too. Let me come home. Let me stay,” he said.

“Stay, stay,” you said.

He stopped kissing you while he got to your titties. He kissed all around your nipples, bringing his hand up to play with your left one while he sucked on your right.

“Frankie,” you chanted over and over again while he gave generous attention to your nipples. You played with his hair, with his broad shoulders. You ran your hands up and down his back, lightly dragging your nails across his skin. Overcome with the sudden need to mark him. To scratch him. To give him a physical mark and show it off to the world. That he was yours. Would always be yours. Forever and ever.

“I love you,” he whispered as he lined himself up with your entrance.

You caressed his face, bringing him down for a kiss. “I love you,” you said against his lips.

He slid in with one savage thrust and you dug your nails into his skin, sharply hissing as he stretched you to the max. Your legs shook from finally being full. You clutched Frankie to you while he thrust, picking up speed while he rammed into you, just as you asked.

“Fuck, fuck,” you moaned.

“Can’t. Last. Much. Longer,” Frankie said through gritted teeth. He dropped his head to your chest, lips finding your nipples once more as he thrust hard and fast, pummeling you, and eliciting so many moans and cries from your lips you had no hope of staying quiet now.

He pulled out unexpectedly with a groan. You whined, until Frankie roughly flipped you over. He hiked your hips up, lining himself back up, and then slamming into you.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned. He hit a sweet spot deep inside you that made you see stars as you came.

Frankie slammed into you, chasing his own orgasm as you squeezed and convulsed on his dick. You didn’t know if your eyes were open or closed. There were just the stars flashing in the darkness, a burrowing sense of relief that flooded your system and made you collapse.

His fingers dug into your hips painfully while he continued to fuck you, your essence making it a smooth glide. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing in the dark room. He slammed harder, your ass making a delicious clapping sound on his thighs.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum,” Frankie chanted. It was punctuated with him thrusting one last time, so deep inside of you, while he groaned and climaxed. He seemed to swell inside of you, filling in any remaining space if there was any. His cum pulsed, hot and sticky, shooting out of him and filling you to the brim. So much so that the moment he moved, it leaked out of you.

He pulled out completely and dropped beside you with a heavy, panting sigh. Your hips dropped to the bed, completely spent and worn out. That was what you had been missing. Your fingers or vibrator couldn’t reach as far as he could. They couldn’t talk and stimulate both your mind and body. You had tried listening to old recordings of his voice and it wasn’t the same.

Frankie tucked himself against you. You laid on his bicep while he curled his arm around you. His fingers trailed along your back and you hummed, snuggling closer.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” you whispered back.

The end.

Frankie will be back! The Secret Frankie Morales Files

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belokhvostikova · 1 year ago

Text

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | What was supposed to be a summer vacation to your boyfriend's hometown, turned into God's greatest test of morality against you. In other words, you basically fuck your boyfriend's best friend, Eddie Munson.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mention of alcohol, drug use, jealousy, possessiveness, small violence, a threat of murder (little yandere, but not really-ish, I don't know, to be honest), slightly dark (I think, right? Maybe?) cheating, and explicit sexual content: fondling, spitting, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, degradation/praise kink, finger sucking, nipple play, face slapping, pussy slapping, masturbation (male), fingering, handjob, cum eating, squirting, and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I... don't know what this is. Just take, goddamn it, there, take me for all I'm worth! Do I condone cheating? No. But did this idea make me really horny? Yes. And he's a little mean, so be warned.

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Sometimes… you wished he’d never spoken those words.

When two weeks into his summer vacation in Hawkins, Indiana was enough time spent away from the debilitating semesters of university to have his newfound room—proffered by the closest of a distant family member, because two months with the folks would just be too much—smelling of the fresh cologne of clean air and washed linen; the smell that warmed you with the loving memories of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers.

When his navy blue comforter wrinkled under the weight of tussling bodies, because in those mere two weeks—his half in Hawkins, yours in Indianapolis—both hearts ached for the touch of one another, and he refused to deprive himself from the physical contact of his love, you. Crushing kisses, trailing hands, and connecting bodies to commemorate the rising sun, because a town miles away from the bustling city of beeping traffic and screaming pedestrians left room for the morning songs of the Northern Cardinal.

When the exhaustion of a two hour journey through cornfields and even smaller towns guided you to the place where he relished you in the memories of his boyhood; swing sets on the playground, the arcade after homework, Tuesday performances at the Hideout. Such memories came to life for you when the aluminum stock sign welcomed you into Hawkins. Sore from stiffness, your limbs crashed into the embrace of your lover, where your first night in the cursed town consisted of fucking the Friday night darkness away, until bodies glowed under the welcoming sun of the Saturday morning, where dewy grass freshened the air in contrast to the concrete slabs of cracked busy sidewalks you grew up on.

But then… he spoke those words.

When a stroking thumb against the hairs of your brow elicited the tired whine from your mouth, as you nuzzled your face into his naked chest to shield you from the burning sunshine pouring from the basement window. Your eyes woke to his dozy lips, chapped with pinched corners to show off the crookedness of his teeth that brought such beautiful character to his soul. Puffs of morning breath warmed your somnolent face with his morning greeting.

“I know I’ve told you this like a million times,” he croaked, “but I really am so happy that you’re here. With me.” His heavy hand landed on the apple of cheek to encourage your growing smile. “Can’t wait to show you around, can’t wait for you to meet my friends- the guys.”

Now, a new cologne of ashy darkwood and burning spices tarnished the content bubble of ten months of sweet kisses and heavenly whispers with groping handfuls and filthy intimacy. An anxious pit of guilty dread now eats you alive when the musk of his igniting cigarettes invades your being, but how can you think of such worrisome, when it’s the same scent that has your face torching with flames of desire and heart fluttering with anticipation for a new love- a different kind of love?

Other times… you are happy that he spoke those words.

Because it led you to Eddie Munson.

Her diamond scintillated, shoved in your face by her persistent eagerness to show off the glowing ring that beamed under strobe lights of greens and reds that twirled from the tiny disco ball. Eric Marcher, who couldn’t give you anything more than a nod of acknowledgement when introduced—despite his intimate hand clasp and hug combo with your boyfriend, had been detailed to you as the man needed when small town goers were itching for party favors. Now, in the cul-de-sac of Mirkwood, a lively get-together of strangers, like Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels, bombarded you with the overwhelming hospitality of detailing their personal life to the woman who snagged Braun Peterson.

A large smile matched that of her ring, beaming with a boastfulness of pride for fulfilling that suburban wife “dream” role, but you couldn’t blame her. A fat rock rested upon her finger to symbolize her everlasting love with her partner? Hell, you’d shove it in other people’s faces, as well. “It belonged to Nana Leslie before Oliver got it with her blessing. See, my daddy was never able to give it to my momma, because well, Nana never liked her,” you met her seven minutes ago, “but, anyways, it’s been in the family for two generations, and now it’s mine!”

“Oh, wow.” You liked her and her family drama. Your hands maneuvered to twist her finger, watching how beautifully the jewelry captured the light.

“I mean, it was kinda rash, ya’know, with the war and whatnot.” Her Midwestern accent sang. “Oliver wanted to tie the knot before his deployment, but I was not about to do it in City Hall. Though, he did promise me a big wedding when he comes back from Iraq.” She longingly sighed, as you nodded along. “Ya’know, something that doesn’t involve a smelly courthouse. “What about you?”

You chuckled. “What about me?”

“Have you and Braun discussed when you’d be getting married?”

You nearly choked on your drink despite not even having one. “Oh.” Quite the response to offer. “We’re, um, not exactly there yet. I mean, we haven’t even been dating for a year.” You awkwardly laughed.

“Well, you don’t wanna wait too long!” Cheryl huffed out an airy laugh. “It’s like, when ya’know you know, ya’know?” Her attempt to philosophize the concept of love left your head nodding along to move the conversation, but Cheryl “soon-to-be-Levison” Daniels surely had to knack to keep talking. “And don’t you know?”

Do you know? “Um-”

“Would you quit harassing my girlfriend?” A familiar hand squeezed your shoulder, before the presence of Braun Peterson came from behind the couch, where he bent down to smile at you.

“I am not harassing your girlfriend.” Cheryl scoffed. “And come on, I’ve been your best friend since we were babies! I know you! And I know you always talked about getting married!” She sternly punctuated. “I mean, it’s literally what made you cuter than the rest of the boys on the playground.”

Braun derided. “Okay, first of all, we were never best friends, I just had to endure being in the same grade as you.” You both chuckled, as Cheryl dramatically gasped. “And secondly, in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not a seven-year-old that’s desperate to propose to any girl who was willing to push me on the swingset.”

“Oh!” You piqued his interest. “I happen to be a great companion on the swingset, I’d love to join you.” You sweetly beamed, an endearing feature that had him devastatingly blushing with love.

“Yeah?” He whispered in your face, where you met his question with a nod, reeling him in for a kiss.

“Ugh, see!” Cheryl’s voice had you separating with a hot face. “Marriage material! At least a proposal by the first year mark.” Her brows teased, forcing him to laugh in disbelief.

But Braun Peterson smiled, nonetheless, and your throat had constricted. While the idea of marrying your first serious boyfriend wasn’t the most unsettling notion, the reality of it coming faster than anticipated from the opinions of those closest to him, who unfortunately were raised in the small town mindset of a white picket fence before the age of twenty-five, had your tummy swirling with queasiness. Freshly out of university, the last thing you needed was a ring waying you down by a man whose loud chewing you were still trying to adjust to. A proposal in two months was not in schedule.

Because dinner was on Saturday. Meeting the parents was next Wednesday. Niece’s birthday party in two weeks. At least three years of dating before moving in. The fourth year, an engagement. The fifth, a wedding. Children? Somewhere long after.

Strict? Maybe. But perfect in your mind of precision? Absolutely.

“Um, could you get me something to drink?” You interrupted the possibility of any more talks of the future. “I just have to, uh, run to the bathroom real quick.”

His hand rubbed down your back so perfectly, calming the nerves that festered in your stomach. “Absolutely.” He assured you, as always. “I’ll find us something to eat, too, baby.”

So perfect, so perfect.

Your legs had guided you away from the living room before you could muster a brief goodbye. Maneuvering around shifting bodies, you found yourself counting the steps of the staircase, feeling the utter disappointment when the last steps came out in odd numbers, but the bathroom was two doors down, and the last thing you needed was to obtain tunnel vision from the minor details that didn’t fit your standards of life.

A knock to the wooden door with a silent response lifted the weight off your shoulders, permitting you to open the door and finally receive some peace. But the breath that nested in your throat lost its chance to be of relief, when a presence carried over from behind you, shoving you into the bathroom, with a determined slam to the door.

A rough hand muffled any of your attempts to yell out, but your stiffened body had luckily learned to vaguely relax when the man behind you turned you against the bathroom counter, and you came face-to-face with someone who familiarly made your body shudder under his stare.

His hands moved to grip the porcelain of the sink on either sides of you. “Eddie…” You gulped, as your chest heaved. “God, y-you scared, um, I- is s-something wrong?”

“You’re making quite the impression out there, aren’t ya?” His lip barely curled into a smile, as he stared down at you. “Everyone just fucking loves you, don’t they?”

You refused to meet his eye, trying to move from the caging of his arms, but his persistence left you trapped. “Um,” you sighed, “y-yeah, all your friends are nice-”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, they aren’t my friends.” He spoke so dauntingly. “They’re your boyfriend’s friends, remember? Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, “um, I should go, Eddie. I need to leave.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” He deeply chuckled, finding amusement in the panicked look of your face. “You just got here.”

“Look, Eddie, I don’t know what you’re trying to do-”

“Me?” He scoffed. “I’m not tryna do anything, you’re the one that fucking started it.” His forehead forcefully pressed against yours, shoving your head back so you’d finally look him in the eye. “Remember?” He tauntingly cooed at you, getting in your face. “Remember you being a slut, and startin’ it? Because I sure fucking do.” He spat. “So don’t ask me what the fuck I’m doing, when you started it.”

Your breath heavied, as his nose ran against yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut to wield the strength to compose your anger, a hatred solely targeted to yourself. You were certain Eddie was feeding off of the visceral pounding of your heartbeat, getting off on the sheer panic of your being.

And you hated yourself for loving it.

“N-Not here.” You thickly swallowed. “Please.” Such a desperate plea, and it had him laughing in your face.

“‘Not here?’” He mocked. “I think I can have you wherever I want, no? It’s sure as hell not like you’re gonna stop me, pretty girl.” A soft kiss planted on your cheek had your eyes opening. “God, you really are so pretty, y’know that, baby? Do you know just how pretty you are?”

“Eddie…” His eyes bored into yours, piercing your desire with a burning itch that had you intoxicated on his strong scent. You watched a smirk etch onto his face, as he watched you follow the outline of his plump lips. Do it. Do it. Do it. You were screaming at yourself to just give in. Thighs clenching, heart racing, mouth salivating for the man that enticed you like no other. Your breath shuddered, as your shaky fingers delicately placed themselves against his shaven face.

Just a taste. Just a little.

You reached onto your tippy toes to feel the soft skin of his lips gently brush against yours. You were dictating this. He was letting you dictate this. Because when it all crashed, you started it, you’d be to blame. All it took was the shy kiss fueled by your hesitancy for Eddie Munson to consume what he wanted, and his tongue shoved past your teeth to ravage your taste. He had you gasping against his lips, nothing touching you but his mouth, but it felt like he was pinning you against your will.

Eddie’s knuckles blurred white from the tightening grip you had him enduring, because frustration coursed through his body, as he fought the restraints keeping him from just giving in and fucking you against the bathroom sink. A guttural growl lurched from his chest, “What are you doin’?” He smashed his lips against you. “I didn’t ask you to kiss me.” He sneered.

His comment forced a lump to be caught in your throat, urging you to push away from his chasing lips. “N-No…” Another breathless kiss smeared against you. “Stop, Eddie, we can’t-”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” He interrupted with his tongue injected into your mouth. “Remember you wanted this.”

You were awful. “No!” You whined, unwilling to face the reality of your cruelness.

“Oh, but, yes, baby.” He humiliated you with his mocking tone. “Yes, remember?” He whispered into your make out. “It was you, you fucking looked at me.” Eddie scorned. “How fucking stupid are you to think I wouldn’t do somethin’ about you lookin’ at me, huh? You remember lookin’ at me?” His kisses were becoming more aggressive. “You fucking looked at me, sweetheart!” You felt the air in your lungs burn from his resistance to letting you breathe. “What the fuck do you expect me to do when you were fucking lookin’ at me like that, huh?!”

And you had been looking at him…

Three days ago, the Hideout had been an unfamiliar experience to you on the night of May 30th. It became evident as such when Mary Jane platform pumps rather distastefully met the abhorrent crunch of breaking asphalt from the gravel parking lot, where beat up cars and pick-up trucks haphazardly parked themselves with no formation, clearly lacking the etiquette for what was promised to you as a “nice” establishment. A wave of regret had drowned you in despair as you walked out of your car, immediately being met with the obscene noises coming from a drunken man nearly hacking a lung out, only to shoot his spit and mucus onto the dead bushes that once decorated the place wonderfully in the 60s. You begrudgingly passed the neglected entrance; its doors open for the sleazy, middle-aged men of Hawkins, Indiana to make themselves right at home, as they littered themselves amongst the breadth of the property, sparsely filling up tables and stools with cold beers to accompany them. A gasp of disgust had petered out of your lips, when each step you took sticky film residing on the weathered wood of the floor clung to the outsoles of your beloved heels, coating them with decades of syrupy beer that had found solace within the bar from the happy accidents that tailored the feng shui of the Hideout.

You were appalled.

It was beyond the definitions of obvious that you had overly dressed yourself for the occasion. It was at this moment, you were mentally curing Braun Peterson for providing the wrong impression, completely overselling the bar he once played in, and disregarding the lack of formality that came with the building and its loyal customers.

“Babe, it’s got a decked out bar, you can order whatever you like, trust me, my boy Johnny will whip it up, and it’s got plenty of tables for you to sit your pretty self down and enjoy the show. Not to mention, the nicest stage where you can watch me perform. It’s gonna be great, I promise!”

With a rush of worriment devouring you, you insecurely hugged your bare arms over yourself in an attempt to shield yourself from the preying eyes of unabashed stares coming from bulky men, old enough to be your father, who proclaimed themselves as regulars and patently peering to you as new meat.

Endeavoring the will to appear not so lost and clueless, you walked with your head held high, a fabricated facade of confidence, and you took refuge onto the high top table that accommodated two uncomfortable stools that shared the same layer of dust as the plastic faux wood of the table.

Yeah, you were definitely going to have it out with Braun Peterson.

Your body felt rigid, guarding yourself from potentially coming in contact with anything biohazardous, while also feeling so small from the persistent scary stares that you felt so strongly were examining your body as if you had no autonomy. And maybe you were being a bit pretentious at this moment, but given the overflow of staggering malaise that was consuming your being and clearly placing you into an uncomfortable environment, there was an absolute negative chance of actually enjoying the night, especially after you were going to dish one out to Braun.

Speaking of which, you caught sight of the slick-back, blond hair that was pursuing your way from a slim hallway that catered to the southend of the building, which presumably led backstage. “Hey, you made it!” Incompetent to your unease, Braun had merely stepped up and shoved you into a tight hug, a kiss swiftly placed onto your lips with a smacking mwah.

While he spoke so highly, clearly excited for his performance, you couldn’t fathom reciprocating his energy, immediately stating your concerns with a whine into his embrace. “What is literally wrong with you?”

Judging by your tone, anyone could have discerned the genuine disturbance from being in such situation, but ever the comedian, Braun merely chuckled. “That could be an hour long discussion, babe.” Your eyes flashed with disbelief at his choice to dismiss your evident worries.

You sighed, resisting the urge to not scream in public to cater to his comfort. “No, Braun, I’m serious. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of bar this was?” You pleaded, hoping he’d acknowledge your troubles rather than brushing them off. That was one thing you had quickly discovered from the months of making it official with Braun Peterson; he had quite the sense of humor, which wasn’t at all particularly harmful, but this “sense of humor” had a funny way of not knowing when to draw the line. The line always seemingly crossing your boundaries. But god forbid you spoke out. Last time you did, his roommate Josh asked you to quit being uptight on Braun’s behalf. “I look like I’m dining at a Michelin Star restaurant, not grabbing drinks at some middle-of-nowhere bar. Why didn’t you specify?”

You really didn’t want to cause such a confrontation on his first night back performing at the place in which he claimed was “the start of everything” for him but, my god, you were seething with irritation.

“Shit,” he huffed, understanding your worries once he took a glimpse of the perverted looks the attendees were more than glad to show off. “Look, babe, I seriously didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“You said this place was nice, Braun.”

“I know, I- I just knew you wouldn’t be into these kinda bars, but I really wanted you to come see me tonight.” He sighed. “I swear, baby,” he secured your shoulders into his hand, “I just wanted you to be here with me, b-but I screwed up. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

You heaved in defeat, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. He hadn’t been far off with his assumption; twenty-three years of a city setting in the upper east side, where renovated brownstones of contemporary decor were more of your liking rather than the casualness of a lonesome bar.

Your lips jutted with a mumbled “it’s okay” to pass the tension. But Braun’s hands had worked their way to the fullness of your cheeks, where his thumbs delicately swept under your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” He poured his eyes into yours. “I know it’s not your scene, but I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, baby.” Braun leaned in to press his lips to yours, and that loving comfort was enough to ease your body into relaxation against his hold. His hands released for the brief seconds it took to take off his leather jacket and hang it over your shoulders. “Keep this on, and if anyone bothers you or-or does something, please just tell me.” He implored. “I’ll be right on stage, only a couple feet away, I’ll see you, okay?”

Huffing a sigh, you simply nodded, choosing to come to a consensus of trying to enjoy the night. It had been close to reaching a year that you agreed to be Braun’s girlfriend, and from then, he’d been dying to show you everything about himself. Following the end of the school year from university, Braun had made plans to spend the summer back in his hometown of Hawkins, Indiana, where he had adamantly informed you about the band, the one in which he partook throughout his high school career, Corroded Coffin. And there was no denying it, the bubbling feelings of a blossoming relationship, one where your boyfriend had an actual desire to share the intimate parts of his life with, like seeing where he grew up, made you burst with excitement.

Because even with his flaws, Braun Peterson had a gentle touch that filled your heart with a promising future of blissful contentment.

“I won’t leave you out here,” his hand found its way to your thigh, “afterwards, I’ll have drinks brought backstage, where me, you, and the guys can just relax in peace. Away from these creeps.” He gripped with loving reassurance. “And- and, I promise you some of the most incredible food, okay?”

You snickered through your nose with a bit of suspicion. “From here?”

Braun laughed at your wariness. “From Benny’s Burger, got the best diner food for your pretty belly.” You arched your brow, pushing it until he gave in. “Okay, okay, Enzo’s. Seconds, thirds, all on me, baby, whatever you want.”

“Deal.” He sealed your agreement with a playful handshake.

He smiled at you, bringing a comforting hand to your neck. “Thank you, again, pretty.” His thumb caressed. “Just wanna share this experience with you. Wanna let you know how cool I was back in high school.” He teased, as you giggled. “Here, gimme kiss.”

Braun pulled you in for a sweet kiss, letting your worries wash away with his reassurement, because he always had you. “You’re gonna do great, I’m sure of it.” You smiled against him.

“Only ‘cause I have you here cheering me on.” Braun finished you off with one more kiss. “Remember, I’m only a couple feet away, I’ll come grab you once we’re done.”

With that, Braun Peterson left you to your own accord, securing the warm leather of his jacket around you, as you watched him disappear into the back. Disagreements and solutions. Compromises and sacrifices. This is what it meant for the man who cherished your time, and publicly showed it like no other. Everything was okay. Until the minutes passed of tugging on your lip with anticipation, and the staged lights dimmed.

Everything was okay.

But the center spotlight had rained against a figure, and you hadn’t even internalized the fact that a stranger physically made your body react with a gasp, as you merely took in the sight of him.

Him, who caressed his warlock, fingers teasing the strings, and lips kissing the mic with heavy pants of excitement. “Nice to see some familiar faces!” He grinned, scanning the all too familiar bar that let his amateur band of misfits play every Tuesday night; the regular bar goers seemingly flooding him with memories of his youth years. But then, his eyes landed on you. Front and center. “Even better to see some… new faces.” His lips curled into a menacing smirk, drinking up your stunning face.

Your heartbeat pummeled out of your chest, heat chewing at your cheeks, as his daunting figure had you shying away with a flush state, like you were a school girl receiving her first valentine, forcing you to wrap Braun’s jacket tighter around you.

Shit, Braun!

Quickly, your eyes diverted to the man you should have been gawking at, tuning his guitar before peering up with a smile that held all the good in the world, one he solely dedicated to you on a daily basis. You mustered a shy smile back, attempting to swallow the guilt. And this is where it should have ended. It’d be quite ignorant to dismiss the reality that attractive people come and go everyday during relationships, so this is all it was. You saw something pretty, you admired it, you left it. That’s what you promised. That’s what you committed. So you blinked yourself straight, and gave small claps of encouragement to your boyfriend.

But the eerie feedback from the mic had your head snapping to the front man, and as expected, his gaze hadn’t left your body once; a smirk devouring his face when your eyes caught his. That night, an alluring spark ignited within Eddie Munson, and he was determined to indulge in it.

“We’re gonna perform a couple songs for old times’ sake, bring some life back into you old fucks.” He jabbed comments eliciting some laughter from the crowd that watched these antsy boys torment their ears years before. “So just like back then, as always, I’m Eddie and we’re fucking Corroded Coffin!”

The thrash to his guitar introduced the blaring cords of a song, reminiscent to one Braun typically played for the background noise of when your naked bodies dreamily slapped together. The frontman’s stage performance flooded your senses as you became mesmerized by the fluid movement of his fingers abusing the delicate strings, and his husky voice yelling the lyrics to the abrasive song. He was encapsulating the beauty of metal with such ease and grace, playing his heart out for a dingy bar filled with good-for-nothing men. It felt so utterly undeserving. He was meant for a real stage.

Eddie.

That’s what it was. That’s all it fucking was. It had to be. You weren’t a bad person. You couldn’t be. The familiar tunes matching that of how Braun Peterson would rut his hips into yours was the sole reason for the tantalizing heat that was creeping within your body, not because of the man with the long hair who punctured his hungry glare against you, as he belted the grotesque lyrics of whatever song it was that you never cared to officially learn the title to. But how could you have ever found the will to learn, when Braun would consume your thoughts with the drilling of his cock to the beat of the song? Why couldn’t that be enough? Why had your hips subconsciously rolled to find some needed friction against your seat to the thought of Eddie burying his face between the warmth of your body?

Why did it feel like he was burning you alive?

The disgusting reality of your endeavor to get off on a dirty stool to another man had hit you like a ton of bricks, rightfully slapping you in the face with utter shame for who you were, and you didn’t dare to spare Eddie another glance; eyes fluttering around embarrassingly to look at anything other than Eddie.

Braun. Braun. Braun.

He was right there. He always had been.

The night dragged on for an unbearable hour, filled with the ongoing cycle of desiring something that wasn’t yours and the self-loathing hatred to follow. The burn of Eddie gaze had your body crippling with anxiety, and you engaged yourself to only peer at the man who’d brought you pure happiness for the last ten months of your life. But he was there; torturing you with his eyes that felt laser-cutting from a mile away, despite how adamant you forced yourself to refuse his attention.

You hadn’t even verbalized a word to him yet. And it was devastatingly pathetic how submissive he had you.

The last cord of the night strung out with the fellow patrons commemorating their boys for the nice trip down memory lane. You adjusted yourself to gently cheer along, feeling awful when Braun’s brightful smile had never once dropped because of your presence in the crowd. Just focus on him. It was all you had to do. As the men walked off with their equipment, Braun’s sweaty figure jumped from the stage, heading straight for you.

You immediately jumped from your seat, forgoing the complaints of him being sweaty to hold him in your arms with such fervency. “You did so great!” His hands held your back, delicate kisses pressing into the crook of your neck.

“Yeah?” He searched for your validation, only ever caring for your words, as he mumbled into your neck, inhaling your sweet smell that comforted the adrenaline high he was experiencing. “You, uh, you liked the first song I picked out?” His brows teased.

“Of course!” You cupped his face to bring him into a smearing kiss that he gladly reciprocated. You pulled away, staring into his soft eyes that held all innocence, and you cursed yourself for ever thinking of another man when such beauty was held in the palm of your hand. Your thumbs gently swept on the underside of his eyes, as he smiled down at you. “You were amazing, Braun.” You sincerely spoke. Overcompensating? Completely. But you needed him to be okay, and his happiness was worth it. “You always are so amazing, Braun.”

He brought you in for another embrace, and sealed it with a loving kiss that had you melting in his arms. “You’re pretty fucking amazing, too, Y/N.” He spoke. “C’mon, baby, let's go on back.”

“W-wait!” You steadied yourself within your position, holding his hand tightly. “Um, w-we can just stay out here, I’m sorry for getting mad earlier.”

His head dropped, lips jutting at you before he landed a quick kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize where you don’t need to apologize, baby.” He urged. “Don’t gotta make yourself uncomfortable for me- in fact, I won’t allow it. Not after dragging you here in the first place.”

“No, really it’s fine-”

“It’s not, baby, I don’t want you out here.” Braun persisted. “Plus, I’ve been talkin’ the guys’ ears off about you, I’m sure they’d love to put your pretty face to your name. Promise they’re not as scary as you think.”

What a fucking lie.

A journey to the back hallway led you to the chipped door, where Braun relinquished a double courtesy knock before entering the room, where a waft of sweat and cologne welcomed you to the small dressing room that held the members of Corroded Coffin. Shifting behind your boyfriend, your eyes landed around the burgundy painted walls, littered with posters of the previous self-made artist who first established themselves at the Hideout. Where they were now? More than likely not Hollywood, given the cheesy names teenagers thought were cool at the time.

“Hey, uh, guys, gained a new fan today, Y/N, this is Gareth, Jeff, and…” A polite smile to both identified men waving back to greet you was easy enough. “Where’s Ed?” Thank god.

Braun directed you to the couch, leather and torn, with its yellow foam of cushion peering from the tears after years of being broken in by body weight. “Talkin’ to Nicky out back by the stage.” Gareth had answered, as a hand towel harshly rubbed against his head to ease the dripping sweat from his frizzy curls.

“Nicky’s the bar owner.” Braun intimately informed you, graciously bringing you into the loop.

“You enjoy the show?” Jeff, with a genuine attempt at conversation, had gestured for you to engage in. Perhaps it was the blatant stiffness of your body from the wariness of sitting on the couch that surely soaked copious amounts of bodily fluids than you’d like to imagine, that got him to ask for your honest opinion. Or, the other obvious, that you clearly dress far from the usual scene that was typical for a Corroded Coffin performance at the Hideout.

Trying to atone your ignorance to the metal scene, and whatever the hell tension that was between you and the frontman, your head awkwardly nodded in response. “Yeah, um, yeah, I did.” Braun’s reassuring hand landed on your knee. “I’m still getting used to our difference in music taste,” luckily that was receptive to a couple chuckles, “but it was great seeing him, a-and you guys out there, as well.”

Heavy footsteps from the stage announced themselves as they entered the dressing room, and your body hardened at the mere sight of his shining chest, coated in his perspiration, drenching the line of hairs of his abdomen to seep into the low hanging waistline of his pants. Your eyes snapped to the wooden floors, as Braun jumped to give a brief greeting to his friend who ultimately settled against the water dispenser right in front of you.

“Ah, now that you’re all here, babe, this is Eddie; Ed, this is girlfriend, Y/N.” Already accustomed to your presence, Gareth and Jeff felt no need to weigh in another hello, which resulted in an unfortunate silence, after Eddie, himself, decided staring at you was the only formal approach.

But it wasn’t until his intentionally loud, “huh,” that pierced the silent, did your stomach drop with fear. “This is your girlfriend?” Your eyes stung at the inevitable occurrence of your boyfriend’s friend outing you in front of everyone as the girl who just couldn’t keep her eyes to herself.

Braun’s brows cinched at his question, huffing in confusion. “Why’re you sayin’ it like that?”

Eddie had quickly dismissed him with a nonchalant shake to his head. “I dunno, what’ve pictured you with a girl like Mindy, ‘s all.” What an asshole.

You knew it’d be hypocritical to suddenly interrogate your boyfriend on whoever it was Eddie was referring to, especially when it showed Eddie’s intentions were not the purest of them all with the mention of a certain ex. “The fuck, dude, no, that was nearly two years ago.” Braun quickly shut down, evidently not amused with whatever game his buddy was trying to pull.

“Relax.” He chuckled, plucking a small toothpick from the table of plattered junk food into his mouth. “Only teasin’, man, y’know me. Plus, it’s good, shows good progress on your part; movin’ from small town pretty to big city pretty.” Eddie pointed a ringed finger at you.

Braun merely rolled his eyes at the arrogant attitude he’d learned to adjust to throughout his years in high school, but when he turned to you, and saw the tight-lipped smile you gave, he leaned in to comfort you. “Don’t give him a second thought.” He whispered against your hair. “Eddie’s just… out there.”

Patting your thigh, Braun walked to join his friend at the water dispenser, leaving you to heave the tightening breaths of your chest from the sudden suffocation you felt from guilt and anxiety. “C’mon, man, lay off the comments, alright?” Braun quietly spoke to Eddie. “I don’t need you chasin’ her away when I actually love her.”

“‘Love?’” Eddie playfully whistled. “Hm, you must actually care for this girl, huh?”

Braun confirmed with his lovesick smile that made Eddie want to hurl. Soon, Braun was leaning in close to bump his friend in the chest. “So what d'ya think?”

Eddie’s daunting eyes looked past Braun’s shoulder, connecting with your fretful ones, and a sickeningly smile creased his face. He tsked, watching your ostentatious manner refusing to touch the furniture he and his buddies called home. “Seems a little… anal-retentive.” He smirked at Braun. “But, hey, she’s cute, and y’know what, if you like, I like her.” If only Braun Peterson knew of the extent of the underlying meaning his closest friend was alluding to. “You good to her? Treat her well?” Eddie questioned.

“Of course.” Your boyfriend was quick to answer.

“That’s good, that’s good.” Eddie casually nodded along, chewing on the wooden stick between his teeth. “Aye, because y’know pretty girls like her will be quick to look for another man to satisfy her. Gotta treat ‘em well, so they keep their fucking legs closed.” The toothpick snapped at the sudden clenching of his teeth, before Eddie sighed a heavy breath to calm himself. “But I think you gotta good girl on your hands, Brauny, nothin’ to worry about.” Eddie dragged out, before calling to you. “Hey, that seat comfortable for you sweetheart? Need a stool or somethin’?”

A wave of nausea slapped you, as you watched his sinister smile.

Eddie Munson totally saw trying to get off at the sight of him.

His minacious laugh puffed in your face, as he loved watching your eyes crumble in self-reproach from your actions. “Yeah, you fuckin’ remember, baby?” He cooed, as your head dropped with guilt as to what you had just done. But his abrasive hand was quick to forcefully grab your face, cheeks squishing under his tight grip. “Don’t feel bad, princess, it’s okay to share a little.” Eddie smiled, as your eyes frantically looked into his. “Quit the fucking innocent act.” He advised you. “You and I both know how much of a slut you are.”

“I-I,” your thoughts had been racing with the screams of wanting him off of you, but your body was falling limp in his arms, ready to let him take what you so desperately wanted him to take. The words died on your tongue, when suddenly harshing pounding came from the door.

“Yo, anyone in there?!” A drunken voice called out.

“I’ll be out a second!” You managed to rip through your shaky voice, while Eddie breathily chuckled, his hand refusing to let go of your face.

Hearing the partygoer’s footsteps decline in the distance, your heart eased for the slightest moment, and suddenly your nervous system was wailing for you to leave while you could. But before you knew it, unexpectedly, the softest kiss was placed upon your scrunched lips from the man who nearly devoured your mouth so aggressively two seconds ago; you had no choice but to be receptive. “So sweet.” He gently moved his lips against you, it had your tummy erupting with the sensations of a new touch. “So fucking perfect, y’know that? Just how perfect you are?”

Every time he briefly left your lips, you whined for more attention, quickly bringing your lips back to him with a sigh of his name, “Eddie.”

“Mm,” he moaned against your mouth. “I can see why Brauny never shuts the fuck up about you.” The mention of his name had you stiffening. “Tell me, baby, do you suck his cock as good as you kiss him?”

Stunned and repulsed by the jerk you let kiss you, you shoved Eddie’s chest back, finally getting him off of you, and before you mind could process, your hand connected to his cheek with a stinging slap. Your burning hand had trembled, as it slowly clasped it over your mouth in disbelief. Eddie slowly turned to you with a sly grin, but before he could make any movements, your feet finally found the courage to sweep you out of the bathroom with a harsh slam to the door.

On autopilot, you quickly descended down the stairs into the lively living room that did little to ease the bloodcurdling thud of your beating heart that felt as if it was going to rip out of you. It wasn’t until a hand latched itself to the bicep of your arm, reeling you back against a body.

“Hey, hey, you okay, hon?” Braun’s voice echoed into your ear.

“U-Um-”

“Baby, look, if this is about what Cheryl said, please don’t pay any mind to it.” He stroked your arm with concern. “She- everybody here just has a traditional way of thinking, but it’s not what I think. I promise, I’m not looking to shove a proposal down your throat when you’re not ready.” Braun had a fascinating way of calming your worries that drastically differed from the rush Eddie had just forced you through. “Hell, I’m not even ready.” He chuckled, which was able to elicit a small smile from you, at least. “I wanna take my time with you, cherish my moments with you, baby.”

God, you were an awful human being.

Peering behind his shoulder, you watched Eddie saunter his way down the stairs with a lingering stare that quickly found yours. “C-Can we go?” You hastily rushed out. “I’m just a little overwhelmed m-meeting all these new people.”

“Okay, yeah, yeah.” He’s quick to drop off the beers to the living room side tables that were supposed to be your drinks. “C’mon, baby, let’s just take a breather.”

If you knew the guilt Braun Peterson felt for the sole reason of throwing you into a crowd of overwhelming people when you’d literally just kissed his closest friend, you would have pathetically begged on your knees for his forgiveness in front of everyone, and detailed the million ways he was so incredible. But this would stay quiet; suppurating within you, because the peace on his face was more important than wrecking his life. As he guided you to the front door, you looked back to meet the eyes of the man who sparked a match inside you, his arm hanging around a blonde, when you wanted to be the one held under it. Eddie Munson winked at you, cruelly changing the course of your life.

For the days to come, Braun saw an immense amount of affection coming from your part. But who was he to complain, when someone as pretty and sweet as you willingly showed the world how much you loved him? Welcoming the morning sun with your tongue prodded at the slit of his tip, before ferociously waking him with the ride of his life, as your ass pummeled against his thighs, only for the cherry on top to come when breakfast was served like you suddenly became a housewife to your boyfriend. But you’d do whatever if it meant getting the image of his best friend out of your head, despite it leading to the best orgasm you’ve ever had when you pictured it was his cock you were riding, only to realize your lip had been sputtering with blood, because you refused your mouth the need to call out his name, Eddie!

But Friday night came, and it seemed your thoughts satiated under the cuddle of your boyfriend, who agreed to a movie night that entailed buying an obscene amount of candy from the Family Video store, where Labyrinth was purchased alongside the sweets. Wrapped under his embrace, a thick woven blanket swallowed you against the rugged couch of the basement, where you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

For once, peace had come, tranquilizing the tumultuous feelings that consumed you alive. That was until the basement door impetuously flung open before echoing with a slam, that had yours and Braun’s head snapping to the stairs that creaked under the incoming weight. “Mason?” He called out for his cousin.

But it wasn’t the familiar face of his family member who lent you both the basement of his house, and your stomach twisted with fear. “Nope.” He popped the enunciation, as his hair bounced with every step until he reached the bottom step. “But he let me in.”

Braun sat up with a curious look, too occupied with the arrival of his friend to notice the rash way you curled into his side. “Hey, you alright? What’s up?” His eyes followed, as Eddie dramatically plopped himself on the singular recliner next to the couch.

“Ah, nothing.” He made himself at home, clearly lacking the regard of his intrusion to your night. “Just hangin’ around, thought I’d stop by.” His eyes glued to the television screen.

“Not that we don’t appreciate you, man,” Braun began, “but, uh, this is kinda just a movie night… for us.”

Eddie watched the oddity of the movie for a split second, before his head twisted to the both of you, eyeing the closeness with a piqued brow. “Which one of you freaks picked this movie? Was it you, sweetheart?” He smiled, as he watched you shift uncomfortably.

“Alright, c’mon, Ed, seriously.” Braun interjected.

“I’m kidding.” Eddie scoffed. “C’mon, Brauny, it’s been months since I’ve seen you, the least you two could do is spare the couple minutes of whatever touching is going on under that blanket, and let me relax here for a minute.” He argued, sinking into his chair. You watched Braun sigh, for whatever reason suddenly becoming a lap dog to the friend he long admired throughout high school, merely bringing you closer as means to make up for it.

“By the way, driving all the way here seems to be the last resort to relaxing.” Braun poked.

“Aw, c’mon did you actually think I was thinkin’ of you, Brauny?” He wooed, his eyes briefly connecting with you, as Braun rolled his. “Was seein’ Cynthia down the street.” Eddie answered.

“Dude, Ed, doesn’t she have a kid?” Braun grimaced, recalling the moments in which his cousin’s neighbor—three doors down with a minivan and white shutters—threw him an occasional hello with a stroller evident on her walk around the neighborhood.

“So fuckin’ what?” He laughed, causing your stomach to churn with disgust. “That kid made her have massive tits, it’s not like I’m looking to be the stepfather.” Eddie smiled looking back at you, your eyes refusing to meet his. “Just a simple exchange of goods for services.” He proudly announced. “Speakin’ of which, I happen to give Cynthia my last couple’a joints, you got any to smoke here?”

“No.” Braun sighed, scruffing his hair with his hand. “Haven’t gotten the chance to speak to Rick to get some, miss it, though.”

“Then go get some.”

Fuck, you knew what he was doing.

“Me? This is my place you barged into, you go.” Braun retaliated to his friend’s taunting.

“Can’t,” Eddie tsked, “kinda fucked around with the blonde Rick had his eye on a couple nights ago at Eric’s.” He laughed. “But in my defense, she never clarified, and was fairly easy, so, I mean…”

“Can you ever learn to just keep it in your pants?” Braun jabbed, forcing his friend to chuckle at the joke.

“Priorities, Brauny, Priorities.” Eddie winked, before reaching into his back pocket, retrieving the loose dollar bills from his tattered wallet to slap against the center coffee table. “Look, it’s on me, we can wait for you here, right, sweetheart?”

No, no, no. Your knees clutched to your chest, as you tried to steady the breaths that were already becoming uneasy from his presence alone. Braun peered down at you. “You can come if you want. Just gotta wait in the car, don’t want you meetin’ someone like him.”

Your eyes flickered to the man who was sickeningly grinning, somehow having the power to pull a pulsating sensation from your pussy that had you swallowing thickly. “I-It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “I can just wait here.” You spoke so meekly, as though you’d been the victim in this situation, when Braun’s pure smile beamed down at you.

“Thirty minutes top, baby.” A quick kiss landed against you, before he stood from the couch. “Don’t let him burn the house down, please.” Braun joked, slamming his hand against the table to pocket the money Eddie provided.

“Gotta good girl’s influence hanging over me,” Eddie smiled, “nothing to worry about, Brauny.”

Your boyfriend chuckled, running a soft hand against the top of your head to wish you goodbye. “Love you, baby, be right back.”

“I love you.” You shared the sentiment, watching him jog upstairs, where the basement door closed behind him with a deafening silence that shot through you. You watched the door for far longer than needed, a pressuring sting coming from your nail digging into your cuticle to get rid of the apprehension that festered in your belly.

Eddie laughed. “What a fucking liar.” Your head snapped, ready to scream at him that your words held truth; the deep admiration for the man who did nothing wro- “That I am.” Eddie added, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket followed by a joint. He lavished in the twitching of your eyes, flashing from anger to anxiousness under the action of him shedding his jacket to light what was brought to his lips.

A puff of cloud escaped his mouth before he spoke. “Take a hit, baby, you’re so goddamn tense I can practically feel the stick up your ass.” He stood from his place to sit next to you, immediately rolling his eyes as he found you shifting away from him, until your back hit the far end of arm rest, feet digging into the cushion as your knees stayed glued to your chest. “Relax, alright-”

“Eddie, we can’t-”

“I’m only tryin’ to get you to relax, shut up for two seconds and take a fucking hit.” He scolded, and your eyes widened under his intimidation. His body scooted until your painted toes were trapped beneath the heavy weight of his denim-clad thick thighs, allowing him to bring the joint to your face. “Don’t wanna have to get mean, just put it in your mouth.” You wondered where the anger from your assault to his face was lingering, surely the hit had to have pissed him off to some degree. His fingertips pressed against your lips, as your mouth enveloped the end of the joint, welcoming the burn to your throat. “Look so cute with that shit in your mouth, so good, princess.”

You pushed his hand away when it became too much, trying to control your coughing from the large intake. “T-Too much.”

“Mhm, I know, baby.” He whispered, watching your lips pout, as his hand caressed your leg. Bringing the joint to his lips and hearing it sizzle, Eddie moaned against it. “Fuck, I can taste your mouth on it.”

You pushed your knee away to get his hand to fall back into his lap, where his fingers only moved to hover over the bulge of his pants, as he took more hits. Soon, his sole hand was undoing the buckle of his belt, and your brows arched against his movement, yet your mouth stayed quiet from any protest.��

Your lips parted in awe watching his cock spring against his belly, pants coming to hang around his thighs. His finger came to gently tease the head, before his hand wrapped to smear the precum that oozed from the tip. So casually, Eddie Munson began fucking his hand so casually, as if you weren’t sitting next to him. He acted as though he was in the comfort of his own bedroom, and you wondered whether the bit of anger that mixed in with the arousal that pressed against your belly was from the fact that he could get off without even sparing a glance at you.

He smoked and jerked his cock, letting you bask in the glory of his heavy member, where his hand tugged the loose skin of his big balls to smack against his hairy thighs. As casual as he was, Eddie was itching to turn his head and watch your legs clench with need, something his peripheral could only get a glance at, but Eddie Munson wasn’t giving in. He felt your toes curl under his thigh, your body speaking for itself to be touched.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He twisted his palm against the slick head of his cock, before he squeezed down to his base for more tugs that had him wondering if your pussy felt anywhere near as good as his hand. You watched his fingers pull up his shirt, until his teeth bit down to hold the fabric up, and his toned toros was cramping from the sensation he was bringing himself. “Mmm!” He moaned, wetting his shirt with his mouth, as his hand became relentless against the thumping veins of his cock.

No longer a thought of need, his fingers abandoned the lit joint to the ashtray that stayed stationed on the table with a few cigarettes, and his free fingers traveled to toy with his nipples, pulling the pebbled nubs to spark up his impending orgasm. “Ugh, mm!” His hips were gyrating upward, chasing the fleshlight that was his hand, as his speed increased, and your hands grasped onto the old couch for the needed restraint to not throw yourself onto him.

With an aggressive jerk to his cock, and a stinging pinch to his nipple, the angry red head of his dick sputtered out his creamy cum, dribbling against his belly before the pool collected against his unruly pubic hair.

His shirt slowly slipped from his teeth, as Eddie caught his breath with heavy grunts. “Fuck me, shit.” Taking his fingers, he dragged it around the breadth of his belly to gather the seeping cum, where he finally turned to you with dark eyes, and used his cum tainted fingers to motion you closer.

You body mindlessly complied until those same fingers were pressing into your mouth, letting his salty spent invade your taste buds, before your throat began getting fucked. “Wanna fucking slap me and walk away, huh?” His free hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you gagging at his mercy. “Wanna get mad at me for you being a filthy slut? ‘N drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy?” You whined, holding his wrist in an attempt to ease the thrashing of his fingers down your throat. “God, so fucking pretty.”

His fingers ripped from your tongue, but before your lungs could get a breath of fresh air, his mouth was on you, replacing his fingers with his tongue, as he kissed you with such ferocity, it nearly felt like a punishment. Teeth clashing and biting, you mewled in protest. “Eddie!” You gasped pushing away, but his hands kept your face close.

“What, you don’t want me to?” He mocked, before laughing. “Y’know I don’t give a fuck.” Pushing you back against the couch, Eddie climbed over you where his mouth continued his assault against your lips, and your hands wavered into his sweaty curls.

In the briefest moment your lips disconnected, “W-We need to-” You moaned, feeling his plump lip suction against yours. “Stop, Eddie, we should- ugh!” Eddie pulled away and watched your body crave more, but your eyes stung with its glassy coating of tears that were threatening to spill. “Braun…”

“Aw, he’s gonna come back soon, ‘n you don’t wanna get caught.” He whispered, as his forehead fell against yours.

“He’s your friend.” Your voice cracked with guilt.

Eddie huffed. “You better listen clearly.” His hand wrapped around your jaw to force your eyes to his. “Brauny’s a big boy. Yeah, he may be my friend, but Brauny’s got this pretty, little thing that I need to play with, so being frank with you, baby, I don’t care.” His nose flared with anger, as his words stung. “And I’m gonna need you to cut this bullshit sorry act, because it’s really pissin’ me off, and I don’t wanna have to get angry with you.” He hissed. “Okay, baby?”

You stared into his dark eyes, mouth gulping to reply. “Okay.” And once again, your lips grazed his, letting him groan into your mouth.

“Mm, you really are so pretty, angel, such a good girl listenin’ to me.” He murmured. “Looking like this, how could your boyfriend ever expect me to keep my hands off of you?” He kissed. “You gonna let me touch you- touch that needy fuckin’ clit. I’ve never touched one before, you gonna let me touch yours?” He tormented with the brushing of his fingers against your pajama shorts.

You pouted your lips at him, brows cinching at his words. “I feel like you’re lying to me.”

And Eddie Munson snuck that signature laugh in your laugh that you didn’t appreciate, but your pussy surely did. “What does it matter if I’m lyin’ to you, you’re gonna let me touch you, anyway.” His fingers curled around the scrunchy waistband, before pulling them from your legs to expose your sopping cunt to the cold air of the basement. “Fuck, look at that.”

You didn’t know what came over you, but with a hand over his where he parted your legs, you chin tucked in to delicately ask him a question. “Did you really have sex with those girls?”

Eddie smiled, tongue lapping at his lip as he looked at you. “Does it hurt your feelings if I did?” You shrugged, not really sure why you asked, though clearly agitated by the knowing answer. “Do I gotta tell you pretty things, so you don’t get hurt?”

His hand combed through your patch of pubes, tickling your abdomen in a way that had your body seeking for more. “Please, Eddie.”

“Mm, what is it, baby?” His nails raked down the side of your pussy lips, deliberately avoiding your slit to tease the nerves of your mound. “Need your little pussy touched? It’s so fucking gorgeous.” You nodded, scratching his forearm down to his wrist to urge his movements further. “Gimme another kiss first, princess.”

You pulled him in, letting your kiss spark up the butterflies that loved to erupt in your tummy whenever you saw him. Not so harshly as before, your kiss passionately swallowed you both, with the sweet connection of saliva that strung between your moving lips. But you had an appetite for more, grossly moving the kiss into a heated direction that had him moaning on your teeth. Denying yourself from him was punishment enough, the care no longer festered, you were getting what you deserved.

“Uh, calm yourself, baby.” He spoke between kisses with a teasing chuckle. “Look at you so desperate, shh, calm down. Be slow with me for a second, sweetheart.” You obeyed, slowing your movements into a languid interaction, before your lips latched onto his tongue, pulling it out from his mouth to suck on, as if it was his cock, because you never got the chance to fully taste his musk.

Eddie mewled, cock twitching against your thigh, as your action had him melting with a burning desire. Finally, the squelching noise of your dripping arousal echoed into the room, as his fingers dove into the folds of your pussy. “Is that your fucking clit, baby? Listen to how wet your pussy is for me.”

“Mm, Eddie.” You sucked in a breath, as your fat bud was being toyed with.

“Moaning for me, princess, you’re moaning.” He whispered into your ear. “‘Cause you're mine right now, I’m making you moan, not him, hm. Not your little Brauny. You only moan for me, at least for right now, because you have a boyfriend.” You absentmindedly nodded along to whatever words he was feeding you, too caught up with your pussy being played with to care. “We’ll see about that.” He laughed, before nipping at your earlobe.

“Wanna touch you, too, baby.” You whined, reaching for his hung cock, letting your hands twirl around the heated length that was circulating with enough blood to fuck you for multiple rounds.

Eddie hissed. “Sss, what are you doin’? Grabbin’ my fucking cock?” He smiled, as you stroked him, allowing him to plunge his fingers into your tightening cunt, as both your movements fell in sync with one another. “Grab it, yes, baby, fuckin’ grab that cock!”

“Fuck, that feels so good, Eddie!” His fingers pulled out to rub your clit, before suddenly your pelvis jolted with the burning sensation of his hand coming down to your pussy. “Eddie!”

“Lemme slap that clit, lemme slap that fucking clit, baby.” Your wetness splashed against your inner thighs with each spanking of his hand. “God, you don’t know what you do to me, sweetheart. Such a pretty girl, I’m fucking losin’ my control over you. Got you strokin’ my cock, while my fingers fuck your pussy, and I love it, baby, I love it so fucking much.” He babbled, teeth biting down to keep the worse words in. Your brows furrowed, as his fingers blasted within you, hooking inside to scratch that throbbing g-spot that had you wailing with want. “Smile for me, baby, smile ‘cause I’m making my baby feel so good.”

And you did, letting your head crash back with your mouth hanging open with an inebriated smile tugging at your lips, as you played with each other. His lips crashed down for another smearing kiss that had your tongues desperately pirouetting around each other.

Your thighs began shaking under his control, pistoling his fingers in a way that was bringing you closer to your release. While looking down at your thrusting hips, he simultaneously pulled away from your kiss, leaving you to whine for his return. “No! More!”

He looked back up into those pathetic round eyes and scrunched brows with your bitten lips that nearly had him collapsing with another orgasm, as your hands pulled at the head of his cock and squeezed his balls. “Don’t you fuckin’ look at me like that.” He warned, not ready to release his load if it wasn’t going to be inside of you, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of his sweaty face, beads of perspiration invading his hairline, as his face flushed with a blushing rose that surely made him feel embarrassed with how vulnerable he looked. “Don’t fuckin’- don’t you- ugh- no, no, no, no!”

His large hand slapped your cheek, forcing your face away, leaving you gasping in disbelief. “I’ll fuckin’ slap you.” He spat, watching you merely turn your head back with a sparking revelation in your eyes that made you look even more beautiful. “I’ll slap your stupid fucking face-” Another stinging crash to you cheek that had you crying in pain, but you kept looking for more. “You like that shit?”

You hurriedly nodded, letting your tears pool from the growing pain that tightened your pussy around his fingers. “Yes, more!”

A harsh smack landed on your cheek once more, agitating your poor skin. “Mhm, like that, me fucking slapping that stupid, little fucking face.” His hand felt the wetness of your tears drenching your cheeks with every slap. “Bruisin’ that pretty fucking face, fuck! C’mere, c’mere!”

His tongue lavished against your burning skin, bringing tingles to your body when his spit-covered tongue ran against your hot cheek to lick up your salty tears. “Get your fuckin’ hands off my cock, I’m shovin’ it inside your desperate cunt.” Eddie declared, slapping his tip to your pussy, to let your wetness pour on his dick.

A harsh stab to your pussy lunged his thick cock into your pulsating walls, urging a screaming moan from your lungs. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight!” His hands clamped around the front of your thighs to fold you in half.

“Ugh, fuck! Slow, p-please, baby, slow!” You wailed.

“Yeah?” He cooed, driving his thrust down to one punctuated one every second. “You want this cock slowly, can’t fucking handle this tight, little pussy getting fucked hard?”

Your trembling hands cupped his face, letting you bring him down for a consuming kiss. “J-Just wanna feel all of you.”

“You are, baby, you are.” Eddie pierced himself into your g-spot. “Feel it deep inside, baby, feel my fucking cock all the way inside! Just for you! You- you fucking dirty, filthy whore!” The muscles of his ass tightly clenched to pound you thoroughly with each stroke. “Gonna let me do it faster? Huh? Fuck you into this fucking couch until your some braindead slut? Look at you taking my cock!” His hips began slapping faster. “Gonna be fucking good for me?”

“Uh-huh! Always, fuck!”

“You will?” He taunted. “You fucking will? You’ll take this cock whenever I want you to? Whenever I want this pussy of mine? In front of your boyfriend? Tie him to a fuckin’ chair, and force him to watch me fuck his pretty girlfriend’s little cunt!”

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me better than him!” Your hips moved to meet his slapping thighs, as you clenched around his cock to milk him with the cum you wanted in your cunt. “Want him to watch me take your fat cock!”

An animalistic growl forced its way out of chest, as the image of his best friend crying over the despair of betrayal elicited him to rut his hips into you fervently. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” His head dropped against your chest, reveling in the commotion of your bouncing tits that were urging to be freed. His hands pulled at your shirt, exposing your boobs that were quickly squished together under his hands, as his tongue lapped around your nipple.

“Ugh, yes, you’re gonna make me cum!” You heaved, finding your hand had landed on his thigh at a weak attempt to slow his crashing movements into your pussy.

“Beautiful fucking tits!” He nibbled on your pointy nipples, forcing those whines that drove him crazy to come out. “So fuckin’ delicious! And just for me!”

“Just for you! Only you!”

“Yeah?” He pouted at you. “Fuck, fucking lick my hand, lick my fucking hand, you bitch.” His palm landed on your mouth, where you dumbly stuck your tongue out to taste the sweatiness of his hand, before that same hand came crashing down on your cheek for the umpteenth time. “Stick that filthy fuckin’ tongue out when I slap you in the fuckin’ face!”

You obliged, letting the wet muscle hang out as another slap landed on your face, forcing your head to the side. But turning your face back with the expectation of one more slap fell short, when instead, a glob of warm spit hit your tongue, one after another.

“Fuckin’ clean that asshole from you fucking holes!” More spit. “‘Cause you’re mine! Not his! With my spit in your mouth and my cum in your pussy, you’ll be fuckin mine, right?!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, as the rope in your belly was hanging on by a mere thread ready to snap. “Yes! Yes! Just yours!” You cried out. “Cleanse me! Cleanse me with your cum and make me yours!”

Eddie’s hand pressed down against your pelvis harshly, prompting a gushing stream of your hot squirt to wet yourself and his thighs, as you screamed from the highs of orgasmic ecstasy. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! I’m cumming! I’m- FUCK!”

Nothing but heavy breaths could be heard in the basement that reeked of sex and bodily fluids. Your hands fell limp around his neck, whereas he sagged the entirety of his dead weight against your chest. His teeth grinded from the continuation of your pussy clenching around him, as your body tried to settle at the unfamiliar size that inculcated itself brutality into your cunt.

It was quiet. It was peace.

Until the ringing in your ears subsided, and slowly began picking up on the maniacal laugh that was coming from the man who slowly picked up his head from your chest to greet your un-whitening vision with a sinister smile, and suddenly you felt the pit in your stomach sink.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve just made a big fuckin’ mistake.” He chuckled, harshly pressing his forehead into yours, causing the seat cushion to dent beneath you. “Y’know why?” He tantalized, watching your eyes grow big with fear. “Because if your little boyfriend touches you after you just said you were mine,” he placed a delicate kiss to your lips that you couldn’t muster to reciprocate, too scared to do so, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” He laughed.

A minute and eight seconds.

Braun Peterson had leaned the weight of his body against the counter, letting the low hum of the buzzing microwave lull his mind to ease, as the fingers of his hand shoved against his eye to wake from the tiredness of the morning day. It hadn’t been until the slap of a heavy hand against his bare shoulder jolted his eyes open to see his cousin slugging his socked feet against the linoleum tiles, before scratching the floor with the chair legs to have a seat at the kitchen table.

Mason had yawned, stretching his jaw from the bitter soreness of having to deal with a restless night of grinding his teeth. “Where’s the missus?” His nails scratched over his stubble. “Sleepin’ in?” Given your gratitude for a place to stay, Mason had spent the few days of your presence waking up to a full breakfast of all the fixins, differing greatly to the two-minute microwave food the young welder had to succumb to for his poor skills behind the stove.

The morning had changed with the sight of Braun in front of the buzzing appliance. “Out, actually.”

“Already?”

“Yeah, couple days ago,” Braun cleared his dry throat, “she met Cheryl- you remember Cheryl?” Not exactly someone from Mason's graduating class, but given Hawkins’ small breadth of streets, a distant young face of hormonal acne and blue eyeshadow was all that could be pulled from his string of memories, as Cheryl Daniels still sported that purity ring that had long gone been switched out for an engagement ring to her military fiance, whom she could relish his fat benefits with. So, Mason simply nodded to get the story along. “Anyway, yeah, Y/N met her, and, well, you know how women are; one giddy introduction, next thing y’know they’re doing 9:00 a.m pilates and leavin’ me behind to eat some shit food for breakfast.”

Mason peered at the counter to see the empty box of his frozen food. “You asshole, ‘s that my last Hot Pocket?” His mundane voice spoke, too tired to hold any real malice behind it.

“I’ll head to the store and buy you a whole new pack, relax.”

Braun Peterson steadily watched the last couple of seconds tick down. “If anything, man, I deserve that one after you and Y/N kept me up last night.” Mason breathily chuckled.

“Ah, sorry,” Braun stretched his arms, “Y’know Eddie came over, we watched a movie, didn’t realize it was so loud- which if you want any advice, don’t watch Labyrinth high, unless you wanna have a total freak out.”

“Not talking about that.” Mason shook his head with a laugh. “But, aye, next time you bring Munson around and make my basement reek of weed, the least you could do is save me some.”

But Braun’s eyebrows had stayed scrunched with concern to ever consider his cousin’s future word of advice. “The hell are you talking about then?” He curiously poked.

“You and Y/N.” Mason emphasized with a sly smirk to tease. “I mean, you guys are usually pretty considerate, but I guess the weed really got to y’all or somthing, man, you two were fucking loud last night- and I mean that literally.” He laughed. “Would’ve taken her as a quiet girl.”

Braun Peterson blinked. You had went straight to bed last night after the movie. In fact, you heavily implored him to do the same, after swifty prompting Eddie out of the door when the credit scenes rolled. “Y/N and I- we didn’t… no, we didn’t-”

The microwave beeped.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #mean!eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic

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kotemf · 1 month ago

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Gift wrap banner by: @the-little-moment.

My gift for @lonewolflupe for the @galactic-gift-gathering event is nothing else than a short fic about Commander Fox and his biggest love: caff. Your gift is belowthe cut, I hope you like it!

(Also, you can read this on Ao3 too)

Fox has always had a thing for caff.

He was a little older than eight standard years old when him and his batchmates decided to sneak out of their sleeping pods after the curfew and wandered to the mess hall. They were there for snacks but the moment Fox laid his gaze on a forgotten cup of the brown liquid on one of the tables, he couldn't look away. There was something about that brown liquid, something that made him take a sip.

There was no way to describe the taste, or the rush of contentment and energy that flooded Fox the moment he swallowed. And he knew in that moment that he wanted more.

His liking for caff hasn't changed. By the end of the war, he was drinking enough caff to show on a drug test.

And then the war ended, Fox was forced to quit his job of a commander until he recovered from the damage Palpatine did to him - not that he actually needed the time off but try explaining that to his overprotective batchmates - and along with his job, he list the option of stealing caff from the coffee machines in the senators' offices.

So he went and tried a coffee shop after coffee shop. And who knew caff could be even more delicious? Don't take him wrong, the plain black liquid he used to drink was good but it was nothing compared to pumpkin spice latte or strawberry creme frappuccino.

He didn't get why his batchmates laughed at his choice of drinks but then, his batchmates has always been weirdos. Fox didn't take it personally and brought them each a vanilla bean frappe with two pumps of raspberry syrup to their meeting in Wolffe's apartment.

"What's that?" Wolffe gave the plastic cup Fox just handed him a weird look. What was his problem? It was aesthetic!

"Looks kinda poisonous. Are you trying to kill us Fox'ika?" Cody joked. Asshole. Next time, Fox was getting him decaf.

"It's vanilla bean frappe with two pumps of raspberry syrup you moron."

"You know, maybe you could open a coffee shop," Rex snickered.

"You know what? I will."

"No, Fox, that was a joke! You can't just open a coffee shop!"

"Watch me."

Fox was nervous. He had exactly ten minutes and forty five- forty four- forty three- forty two- Alright, that's enough, he needed to calm down. He had approximately ten minutes before he opened his very first coffee shop. His worry was unnecessary. He was just opening his first ever coffee shop. What could go wrong?

Fox nervously sipped his iced matcha espresso as he watched the numbers on his watch change steadily. The drink was good. Surely his customers were going to agree. It was so good Fox ran out of the drink before he was supposed to open. He needed something to drink, something strong.

He was in the middle of the process of making a unicorn frappuccino when the door opened. Fox forced himself not to run away as he turned to his first ever customer. He was surprised to see senator Chuchi.

"Hi!" she greeted him cheerfully. She looked perfect as always, her blue skin glowy, robes carefully ironed without a hint of wrinkling, not a hair out of place... What was she doing in Fox's coffee shop. Not that it was Fox's business he was just curious. That... that didn't make it his business, right?

"Senator. What can I get you?"

"Surprise me."

Alright. Fox could do this. Caff was his job. No. No, caff was more. It was his life. He could make a good drink for a pretty senator.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, Fox started mixing ingredients in a cup. He started with some melted chocolate, added ice, almond milk, blueberry juice and mixed it well before pouring some well brewed coffee into it and topping it off with whipped cream and some heart shaped chocolate sprinkles. He looked at his creation. That wasn't any of the drinks on the menu. He did it all on instinct, without thinking. It didn't look bad, though. He handed it to the senator.

"Looks great. I don't remember seeing this one on the menu?"

"It's a... it's a special. Just for you," Fox stuttered.

He watched the senator take a sip. He hoped he mixed it well. An angry senator was the last thing he needed, especially when it was the one senator who treated the clones with respect. What was he even thinking, he should've just fixed her a regular latte with some extra cream and- "Wow. This is... I don't have words for this, this is the best drink I've ever had."

"Really?"

"Uh huh." The senator took another sip. Fox guessed he was lucky. "How much is it?"

A good question. "It's on the house," he blurted out.

"Thanks, Fox." The senator smiled at him. "I'll be back tomorrow!"

Fox watched the senator toss a generous amount of credits into the tip jar as she walked out of the shop. He was still busy wondering if she really just said his name. How did she recognize him? Kriff, how did she even know he had a name? He always went by CC-1010 when in the senate.

He was still pondering over that when he heard his batchmates snicker from the door. So they really came. Sweet.

"Are you going to be standing there or do you actually want to purchase something?" Fox asked impatiently. He was a barista, not a comedian. His job was to get people so hooked on caff he could live out of their orders, not making them laugh.

"Just basic blacks caff," Cody ordered.

"I will let you know that I offer a variety of different-"

"Black caff, vod," Cody asked again, the others following his example. His batchmates were the worst! Why couldn't they just all admit what drinks they really loved? Fox had no problem with admitting that his favorite drink was strawberry cream frappuccino.

"Of course." Fox rolled his eyes as he prepared each of his beloved batchmates a plain, boring coffee. "Two credits each."

"You're kidding, right?" Bly asked.

"No."

"You mean a senator gets a drink on the house and your batchmates don't?" Wolffe looked offended.

"The senator didn't get the most boring drink I offer, did she?"

"We are your batchmates!" Rex argued. It was ironic that it was him of all people, he wasn't even from the same batch, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and got kidnapped and later adopted by Cody. Not that Fox cared, no one was getting free drinks if they didn't at least order something interesting.

Fox's coffee shop turned out pretty well. Soon he had more customers than he could handle. Senator Chuchi kept coming every morning and sometimes in the evening as well. The command batch stopped by daily to order their plain coffee and then the di'kute returned alone later to order the drink they were embarrassed to admit they liked. The entire Coruscant Guard frequented the place as well as many other clones. Then there were Jedi and of course the regular citizens of Coruscant. To sum it up, the place was popular.

Fox was proud when he learned how well known his humble coffee shop was. Sure, his vode knew his shop. But nat-borns did too and that was a surprise. And it wasn't just some regulars who lived nearby, no. His coffee shop was a well known place! People would say they will meet at Fox's and their friends knew exactly where. Teenagers would buy caff just so they could spend an hour taking selfies with the cups and let the drink get cold. Fox couldn't be more happy. He loved caff and he loved making it for the citizens of Coruscant.

He heard the door open.

"Hey, Fox," Rex greeted him. He was the first one to return for his alone drink that day.

"Rex." Fox nodded at him. "The usual?"

"The usual."

Fox started making Rex's favorite espresso with milk, dragon fruit syrup, pink whipped cream, white chocolate topping and marshmallows. "Here you go." He handed Rex the cup and watched his vod'ika leave. He shook his head fondly. If only him and Fox's batchmates could admit they weren't all that much into boring, black caff, their lives would be much easier. It wasn't like they could laugh at each other. Rex loved milky espresso with dragon fruit, pink cream, white chocolate and marshmallows. Bly loved pumpkin spice latte. Cody loved affogato with cookie cream and two pumps of extra caramel. Wolffe's favorite was iced matcha tea latte with almond milk, raspberry syrup, seven extra pumps of dark chocolate, purple whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. Fox didn't judge. His batchmates did but they didn't have the right too.

Fox was distracted by the door opening again. He looked up to see his favorite customer. He smiled. "Hi, Riyo. What can I get you today?"

She smiled back. "Surprise me." She always said that. It was more of a game at this point, she could've ordered any of the drinks Fox has served her in the past. But she seemed to enjoy the surprise and Fox liked the challenge of creating new and new delicious and aesthetic combinations.

"Of course."

#galactic gift gathering #star wars events #star wars #fan fiction #commander fox #riyo chuchi #captain rex #commander wolffe #commander cody #commander bly #caff #fox loves the girliest starbucks drinks and you can't take that headcanon away from me #gift fic #hope you like it

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miss-tc-nova · 2 months ago

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With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 3

I personally love this one for the vibes I got when writing. I freaking love this song. And yes, I've used it before for inspiration.

Premise: Another date, but someone ends up showing their hand.

Words: 2,272

Music Inspirations: Hurricane - Panic! At the Disco

~~~Gambits Lost~~~

Music and merriment fill the bustling city. Joy permeates every street as the citizens celebrate Topsy-Turvy Fest. Hopeful entrepreneurs show off wares to excited tourists while the mouth-watering scent of signature food calls to anyone in the area. Most intriguing, however, are the shows scattered across the town to entertain. Thus far I’ve been witness to magicless magic shows, a story told by eccentric puppets, unusual juggling, and even a contest for the ugliest mask. The music sings like sirens though, an amassing crowd drawing me by my curiosity.

A troupe of performers have taken over the street, gathering more on-lookers as the tune continues. Some members of the ensemble coax passers-by to join in the frivolity regardless of their dancing prowess.

Then a hand takes mine. That sweet, pure smile behind the mask lures me in, hoping to add me to the fun. Apprehension fills my chest but as she integrates me into the mass, I find myself compliant. It doesn’t take long to lose myself in the music and just be part of the crowd.

A pair of hands finds my waist, instantly matching my rhythm. Citrus spice immediately invades my lungs like a drug and I can’t fight the smile biting at my lips.

“Imagine if you picked the wrong fool in the crowd,” I muse.

His voice, low enough for only me, sends a buzz through my brain. “Oh I would never mistake anyone else for my fool.” A twirl brings my full attention to him. Gold glitters in the light, unable to mute those unmistakable eyes. “I could pick you out of a crowd with any one of my senses.”

Goosebumps trace my spine. “You say as if you’ve actually tasted me.”

His teeth gleam. “Wanna test that theory?”

“You want to taste a crowd of people?”

“I wanna taste you.” Across his lip slips his tongue to make his point.

It’s been just over six months since this little affair began and he’s still vying for that kiss. Tales of the prince’s unrivaled laziness have certainly reached my ears, so I’m very impressed he’s still putting in the effort. And he really is. Not every date has been unique or magical, but each of them has been truly enjoyable. I’m always amazed by the little things he incorporates into each meeting, be it a flavor I mentioned liking or something I hadn’t tried before. I can’t say I’m entirely convinced his motives have changed, but he’s certainly doing his best to run away with my heart.

I tap a finger against his lower lip. “Nice try.”

Harlequin eyes roll, having long since learned it’s not that easy.

Together, we sway. “I have to say, you may have outdone yourself. How did you come up with this one?”

“Ruggie gloated about attending the festival when he came last year. Said it was one of the most exciting events of his life. Very impressed by the cuisine.”

“Is he the food-motivated hyena? Blonde. Sneaky. Kind of cute?”

An ear flickers. “Wanna try that again?”

“No. He is cute,” I scoff. My eyes narrow with my grin. “Don’t tell me you’re insecure now? Someone so handsome and charming as you? Surely not my clever kitty.”

“Yeah right.”

“Then what? I’m not allowed to compliment others?”

“No. Those eyes are for me.” Pulling me flush against him, Leona leans in so I see nothing but the striking green depth of his greed. “Everything you do I want to be about me. I want every dream to be about me, for every thought to be filled with me.” He pulls back, wearing another smirk. “For every smile to be because I made you happy.”

Those last words steal the breath from my lungs, though he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, Leona continues indulging in the music with me in this moment.

Another turn guides me towards the edge of the crowd and, when the song ends, Leona and I slip away into the beautiful streets of Fluer City at the height of its celebrated Topsy-Turvy festival. No other event could be this perfect for us; there are no stares, no gossip, no cameras—no fears when no one knows who’s behind the mask.

Together, we enjoy the festival, taking in the music and sights. Before long, an amazing mix of red, blue, and purple paint the sky, encouraging the golden lanterns to light the streets. Though some people have only just begun to celebrate, many are beginning to pack up and turn in.

Then the most alluring smell ensnares me as we walk by. Warm sweets have been tempting all day and, while I’ve done well resisting thus far, those cinnamon rolls are taunting me. Beginning to pack away her little stand, a woman is busy boxing up what treats she didn’t manage to sell.

A deep chuckle burns in my ears and, a moment later, my date approaches the woman.

“Mind if I take a few more off yer hands before you go?”

“Oh of course. Less for me to take back if you do,” she hums.

Leona takes a box in exchange for a bill. “Thanks.”

Her eyes widen as she digs through her till. “Oh, just let me—”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hand dismisses her action. “I hate carrying the small stuff.”

He leaves her stunned, so full of himself as he returns to me. Even so, I can’t stop smiling.

“How very kind of you,” I say, full of sarcasm.

“What? I didn’t lie. Carrying change around gets annoying.” Our path leads towards the city outskirts.

“Well I also meant the cinnamon rolls.”

“What, you think I got these for you?” The box is suddenly out of reach. “Nah, these are for me.”

“Oh really.”

“I paid for them.”

“Fine. Keep your cinnamon rolls. I’ll just go—”

Before I can walk back, he snags my arm. “Alright alright. Don’t be stupid. You can have one.”

“Well if you insist.”

Just as I reach for the box, again it’s whisked away. “For a kiss.”

That devious grin of his isn’t serious, but I’m not surprised by his choice of collateral.

“Is that all?”

“I mean—”

Quickly, I lean in, pressing a chaste peck against his cheek. Caught off guard, Leona goes rigid and is too distracted to notice my hands sneak around the box. And then I bolt, sweets in my sweet possession.

“Hey!”

Just outside the city, I veer off the path towards the trees. This is when my lion catches up, arms thrown around me. But rather than pull me to a stop, we both end up going down. At least the box makes it out intact, having fallen from my hands alongside his mask. I, on the other hand, am squished even as I laugh.

“Get off of me!”

His strong grip rolls me onto my back, pinning my hands above my head as he holds me down. The mask on my face is taken away by his free hand, exposing me to the full effect of that handsome, smarmy face.

“A smart mage would’ve used their portal magic.”

“What fun would that be?”

“Well then, what punishment should we give thieves tonight?” A finger traces my face.

“You mean being tackled to the ground wasn’t retribution enough?”

“No, that was your punishment for running.” Heat bleeds across my face—clawing at my spine—at his nose brushing against mine. "So what am I gonna do with you?"

In a rather childish moment, I stick my tongue out. It only makes my situation worse.

His grin comes with malice. “Don’t stick it out unless you wanna share it.”

My lips purse, not willing to test him.

Triumphant, Leona frees his captive and sits, reaching for the box. One of the sweets loses a bite, but he looks pleased with himself.

Even as I sit up, I’m still waiting. “That’s it? You’re not going to punish me?”

“Oh I am.” He takes another bite. “These are mine.”

My jaw drops, despite the smile sneaking up on me. “You are such a child.”

Past his mouthful of food, Leona exposes his tongue. It’s a test. Instead, I scrunch my nose at him and look away from my tormentor. The sulking doesn’t last; warm arms pull me against him with a laugh. Even I emit a little giggle, leaning against him. Comfort has never come so easy before.

“So did I win any points today?” he hums.

“Perhaps. The city is beautiful and the festival certainly has been enjoyable.” My mask turns in my grasp. “It’s a relief not to have to worry about being seen for once.”

“Mm, I thought you might like that.”

“Even if we weren’t doing things we shouldn’t, it’s nice not being gawked at and skirted at every opportunity.”

“Would you rather screaming fans rush to mob you?”

“I’d rather be ignored.”

“Fair.”

“A bit like we were, dancing in the crowd.” I set the mask aside, turning my gaze to the new born stars in the twilight sky. “Overall, I’d say this is my favorite date so far. But admittedly, I’m getting a little peckish.”

A new pastry in hand, Leona makes a show of taking another bite. “Oh? What a shame.”

I huff, but laughter rumbles against my back while his head bumps against mine. Ultimately, a taste of that sweet treat is offered by his hand, of which I happily indulge. Embarrassment floods into my ears when he drags a thumb across my cheek, licking the frosting from his finger. It’s such a silly, simple gesture, yet it has me enamored, all the while I bask in his embrace.

I’ve always clung to this ridiculous notion that Leona hasn’t won yet—that I still had an out. It doesn’t matter that he managed to get me to do this in the first place or that we’re still doing it, I kept telling myself no line had been crossed. But right now, as I stare at this haughty cat, beneath the sunset, sharing treats, and goofing around, I think it’s time to admit it. He’s the highlight of my life. I’m always looking forward to our conversations. Then moments like this, he shows me that he’s really paying attention and that he’s willing to take the time to do something for me, despite his lazy reputation. There’s no denying that he’s got his claws deep into my heart.

He’s won.

“Hey, Leo,” I murmur, voice soft and brittle.

With a questioning glance, he looks to me.

And I close the gap.

Fear floods my veins. This is the thing he’s wanted from the beginning. It was my trump card and the one that assured he stuck around. There’s no telling what will happen once this is over.

That fear quickly gives way to greed. His lips are warm and soft, the remnant taste of cinnamon fresh and encouraging. Fingers dive into that wild mane, desperate to eliminate the space that doesn’t exist between us. It’s like tasting water after years of drought and I may never be satiated again.

This new craving only intensifies once those rough hands pull me closer, clinging to my body as if I might evaporate in his grasp. His hunger nearly consumes my own, his mouth eager to take everything he can get. At this point, I might just give everything I have. No one has ever wanted me the way Leona does. His attention and desire are all for me. I am the only thing he sees and I would do everything a thousand times over just to drown in his lust. Sure, it might all be for some petty points, but for the first time in a long time, I feel something other than emptiness.

A little lightheaded and a little overwhelmed, my lips drop from his. This does not deter him in the slightest. Instead, the man presses his ravenous mouth against my neck. That tongue utterly frazzles my mind, causing my shoulder to reactively jump and force him off.

His apology comes in a breathy baritone. “Sorry.”

Finally, he pulls back enough to show me those eyes I admire. Between us, heavy breath mingles. The thumping against my chest fuels the thrill, though I’m not sure whether it belongs to my heart or his.

Adrenaline begins to subside, giving way to bitter thoughts. Even so, I smile, brushing the bangs from his face.

“I never had a chance.”

His elations purrs in his voice. “Glad you finally understand.”

“So should I expect a warning before you expose me?” I stand, brushing down my clothes. “Or would it be better if I take a head start and disappear now?”

Brunette brows furrow as he joins me on his feet. “What are you talking about?”

Thorny words scrape my throat. “You got what you wanted, so this is the end, right?”

He appears insulted at my insinuation. “You kiss me like that and you think we’re done?” It’s my turn to be confused, our foreheads meeting by the grace of his hand. “Not a chance. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

That simple statement shatters everything. I so quickly built a shoddy barrier to prepare for the break and he tore it down, not to leave me in ruins, but to hold on.

Heart fit to burst, I lunge. His laugh fills my ears like a hymn. Even just the way he holds me, as if I’m precious yet fleeting, is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.

Loneliness will have to wait for my company a while longer.

~~~~~

Part 4

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

#gender neutral reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twisted wonderland leona #leona x reader #leona kingscholar #with reckless choices

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daffodil-mania · 1 year ago

Text

The Itch

Stanford era!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader. Swearing, sexually suggestive/explicit language, mentions of drugs and alcohol. No smut (yet); this one’s a good ole fashioned slow burn. Takes place around 2002-ish

Author’s notes: Helloooo! I said I had something longer, and here it is. I intend on turning this into a multi-part fic, so keep your peepers peeled! I didn’t post sooner because while I had ideas for this fic, nothing was really clicking for me. However, @uncouth-the-fifth recently shared some Sam AI chatbots she’d made (which I highly recommend you use btw) and after using one of them my creative juices started flowing again, and out popped this fic. Enjoy!

—

The air is thick with the competing smells of booze, weed, and sweat. Some fratbro’s shitty spin on house music is booming at a deafening volume throughout the house, and all around you people are drinking, grinding; generally having the kind of time you’d expect at a frat party. It’s Valentine’s Day, so the amount of couples making out in corners has increased drastically, much to your chagrin. Your friends had dragged you here under the pretense that you all needed to blow off some steam after another grueling week of tests and homework. You have to admit, the idea had been tempting; you don’t consider yourself a party person, but you’d had this itch to do something outside of your normal routine. The itch had developed suddenly a week ago while you were standing in line at your favorite coffee place, debating on ordering your regular cup of joe or really spicing it up and asking for a shot of espresso when you saw him.

He was good-looking, sure; tall, despite his seated position at one of the tables, broad-shouldered and well-built with these soft hazel eyes that just screamed “kicked puppy in need of someone to take care of me”. But none of that is what kept your gaze on him. No, as ridiculous as it sounds, it was his hands. Huge, muscular hands that made your mouth water just thinking about them. Ten long, thick fingers that dexterously flew across his keyboard as he typed. You were hit with a barrage of hand-related fantasies ranging from dirty to holy fuck that’s dirty when the barista cleared her throat and brutally snapped you back to reality, causing you to stammer out an apology and place your drink order with haste.

Ever since then, you’d been haunted by the memory of those hands and felt “the itch”, as you called it. It was an aching want that existed deep in your gut, and it demanded satisfaction. It clawed at you, showing you images of those ginormous hands pawing you, squeezing your neck, your tits, anything they could reach. You’d done your best to resist, throwing yourself into your coursework, hoping desperately that if you ignored the itch it would go away. But it didn’t. So here you are, at a frat party, trying to find a way to scratch your itch so that the ghost of those hands could be put to rest and stop tormenting you.

You take a sip of the drink you’ve been nursing all night in a secluded corner of the living room and make a face. It tastes like piss and vodka’s evil offspring. You look around for a place to abandon your solo cup, but decide that you should properly dispose of it so no one knocks it over, or worse, drinks it. You crane your neck over the sea of sweaty, horny college students and map a path to the kitchen. Your friends had abandoned you long ago in favor of going onto the floor to dance, so your trip to the kitchen will have to be a solo mission. You take a deep breath, mustering up your courage and preparing yourself for the bumpy journey ahead, and plunge into the crowd. Things are going smoothly enough and it looks like you’ll actually make it to the kitchen unscathed when someone suddenly slams into you. Thankfully, you’re pushed into a sorority girl, so you manage to not eat shit or get trampled to death. Unfortunately, this crushes your drink against your chest, drenching the entire front of your top. Miraculously, the sorority sister is spared, and she doesn’t even seem to register the fact that she’s been bumped into.

You turn around to glare at whoever just ruined your favorite shirt and come face-to-face with a solid wall of muscle. You have to look up to get a good look at your assailant, and you see it’s him. The guy from the coffee shop. All of your anger is quickly replaced by an interesting cocktail of shock, embarrassment, and need. You thought he was big in the coffee shop, but standing before him now makes it clear just how fucking massive this guy is. He clears six feet easily, and you can tell he’s got miles of muscle underneath the henley he’s layered under a faded tee shirt.

You manage to drag your eyes away from his chest and see that all of the color has drained from his face, puppy-dog eyes apologetic and wide with shock. He’s speaking to you, but with your height difference and the ear-splitting music you can’t hear him. You pull a confused expression and have to shout “what?” a few times over the music before it gets through to him that you can’t hear a fucking word he’s said. He looks around quickly, then gestures for you to follow him. You do, confusion and nerves swirling around sickly in your stomach. Eventually he leads the two of you to a quieter corner of the room, and resumes his rapid-fire apologizing. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you, I swear, I was just trying to get away from my friend who kept trying to introduce me to this girl and I—“

You hold up a hand to silence him and force yourself to smile. “It’s okay, shit happens, I get it.” He shakes his head, unsatisfied with your response. “No, no, seriously. I feel awful about your shirt—“ you don’t miss the way his eyes dart down to look at your front, and you realize with a blush that he could probably see down your v-neck if he wanted to, “—and I really want to make it up to you. I have an extra shirt in my car if you want to change, and I’ll get you a new drink, I promise.”

The poor guy looks like he’s about to have an anxiety attack, so you wave your hand again before laying it on his arm. His eyes snap to where your hand has curled around his forearm and you jerk it away, uncertain of what possessed you to touch him. Great, now he thinks I’m some kind of perv. You clear your throat before you start talking again. “Um, yeah, a-a new shirt would be cool. Oh, but don’t worry about the drink though; it uh, it sucked. I was actually on my way to get rid of it when you bumped into me, so maybe spilling it was a blessing in disguise.” Jesus Christ, you’re rambling and stuttering like a kid asking out their high school crush. You nervously tuck some loose hair behind your ear and try to inhale some calming breaths, cringing at your social ineptitude, and look up at him. He’s smiling kindly, revealing two adorable dimples that make you want to melt into a warm gooey puddle on the floor.

“Yeah, I tried one of the drinks earlier; I don’t know what was in it but it was not good.” He scrunches up his face and pretends to gag, which pulls some genuine laughter out of you. His grin gets wider and it makes his eyes crinkle, and this has your stomach doing somersaults and your pussy clenching around nothing. The song changes and after a smiley beat passes he leans in a little closer and tells you his name. “My name’s Sam,” he practically shouts into your ear, “Sam Winchester.” You turn your head ever so slightly so you can give him your name in return. “Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.” Sam straightens up and you extend a hand for him to shake. He accepts, enveloping your hand in one of his gigantic palms. You fight to keep a blush off of your cheeks. Your hands fall, but he doesn’t release you. Instead, he gives your hand a small tug, and nods over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll take you to my car.”

You dutifully trail behind him, your hand still wrapped up in his. If you weren’t appreciative of Sam’s height before, you are now; he effortlessly parts the throng of people around you, allowing the two of you to walk to the door with ease. And it’s only when the two of you step out into the chill of the February night air that he lets go of your hand, which you try not to read into. You cross your arms over your chest to trap some of the warmth that is rapidly escaping your body, your still-wet top clinging coldly to your frame. There are a few wasted stragglers on the lawn, and the music starts to fade as Sam leads you to his car. You’re mildly surprised when you see what it is; a black Honda Civic sedan. It’s a newer model, but it’s nothing fancy. You get the sense that while Sam isn’t very materialistic, he takes pride in his possessions and their upkeep. He pops open the trunk as you rub your arms, wishing that you had opted for more layers than just your v-neck long sleeve and a lacy camisole. You glance back at the house, wondering what your friends are doing as Sam goes through the trunk. After a minute he produces a black Metallica tee. You accept it gratefully and smile at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Metallica? You’ve got good taste.”

Sam clears his throat and awkwardly looks at his feet, his expression a bit pained. “Actually, it is… was… my brother’s.” He says, looking up at you through his bangs. You nod, and decide against probing for more information. He’s a stranger doing you a kindness; you don’t need to know about whatever family history that is capable of eliciting such a reaction from him. You glance at the road and then back at the house before looking at Sam. Your cheeks feel warm. “Um, do you mind covering me? Sorry, I know that—“

Sam cuts you off, flustered. “No, god yeah, of course. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.” He admits sheepishly, redness creeping up his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. You shake your head. “It’s okay, really. Um, and thank you, for the shirt, I mean. You really didn’t have to.” His expression softens and he gives a small shrug of his shoulders. “‘Course I did. I’m the one who bumped into you like a total jerk. This is the least I can do.” His response only serves to intensify your burgeoning crush on him.

You both stand there for a minute, just looking into each other’s eyes, something similar to tension but too clumsy and new to be called that building between you. A fierce shiver courses through you, and Sam apparently remembers that you asked him to cover you. He maneuvers the two of you so that the car is blocking you from any prying eyes lurking on the street, and he places himself in front of you to shield you from the people in the house. He turns his back to you, giving you some more privacy, and you murmur a quick thank you as a burst of heat goes straight to your core.

You quickly shed yourself of both your camisole and your top, thankful to be in a dry shirt that doesn’t reek of alcohol any more. You tap his arm to let him know when you’re done, and he turns to face you. He sees that you’re still shivering and wordlessly goes back to his trunk, leaving you a bit perplexed and holding your sopping bundle of shirts in your hands. He pulls out a gray zip-up hoodie and stands before you again. “You look cold,” he says, obviously. It’s a sweet gesture, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. Sam holds his hand out for your shirts so that you can pull on his hoodie, and you swap your bundles. As you pull on the hoodie, you tell him, “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me. Most people would’ve just let me freeze.” You chuckle quietly, racking your brain for some other way to express your gratitude without sounding like a broken record.

Sam shakes his head, and another sweet, sympathetic smile graces his face. “Y/N, again, it was the least I could do, believe me.” You nod, and then gesture vaguely for your shirts. “Oh, right,” he says with a small laugh, adorably absentminded, and hands them over. As you go to take them, your fingertips brush against his, and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted. Deliciously, wonderfully electrocuted. The contact causes you to jerk your hand away, dropping the shirts. “Shit, sorry—“ you curse, and the two of you drop to your knees simultaneously to retrieve them. Your hands meet again, but this time the contact lingers. You lift your head to find Sam’s eyes boring into yours, his lips slightly parted, his cheeks flushed. And that’s when you feel it again.

The itch.

—

Author’s notes: I know this wasn’t a *super* long fic but I’m slowly pushing myself to write longer stuff. One of these days I’ll write something longer than 2,000 words, I promise. Anyways, thanks for reading!

#sam winchester x reader #supernatural #sam winchester #spn #fluff #slow burn #daffodil-mania #the itch

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kutner-elegist · 1 month ago

Note

this will be kutner related bc i love my idiot indian man. make him make thirteen eat spicy food. she dies. kutner doesn't even have a particularly high spice tolerance thirteen is simply white

apologies for not following your request exactly but lest we forget Kutner was raised by white parents eating white people food and to me Kutner is likely Gujarati and/or Punjabi gleaning from his late parents' names and also the fact that Kal Penn is Gujarati and those regions have less spicy foods compared to southern India and also Thirteen seems like she can take some spice (for a white person) so this is gonna be a bet (Hot Ones style if you've ever seen them) that comes close but Kutner wins only because he is more committed to the bit and masochistic than Thirteen (the end part got sad just so you know)

Kutner and Thirteen sat across from each other, both their countenances intense. They each had ten pieces of buffalo wings neatly lined up before them, with cold bottles of beer on the side for palate cleansing. In the center were ten different bottles of hot sauce. Quiet severity emanated from their staring match.

House towered over them at the head of the table. Foreman, Taub, Wilson and Cuddy were on the opposite side.

Foreman broke the silence. “What exactly are they doing again?”

Taub tilted his head, his eyebrows still raised. “They’re playing chicken with … chicken wings, I guess.”

“Hot wings,” Kutner emphasized.

“Kutner is Kutner, but why are you doing this?” Foreman said to Thirteen.

“He thinks I can’t handle spice because I’m white.”

“Why do you care—”

“Ask questions later,” House cut him off. “The game is on. Ante omnia, we must ensure that they haven’t used any performance enhancing drugs. Their blood was screened for painkillers, and Wilson watched them until the results came back all negative. If they used local anesthetics that might be undetectable such as Cetacaine, its effects should have worn off by now, but we still need to make sure.”

“You let them do blood tests for this?” Foreman asked Cuddy.

“They paid for it.” Cuddy shrugged.

“Shush.” House scolded Foreman. He then commanded, “Kutner, say ‘Imagine an imaginary menagerie manager managing an imaginary menagerie.’”

“Imagine an imaginary menagerie manager managing an imaginary menagerie,” Kutner obliged effortlessly.

“Now Thirteen.”

“Imagine an imaginary menagerie manager managing an imaginary menagerie,” Thirteen glided through the tongue twister as well.

House held up one of the hot sauce bottles, the label facing the spectators. “We shall begin with Cholula Original, around 1000 in the Scoville scale. On your mark, get set, eat!”

They bit into their chicken wings. In the blink of an eye, they were both holding defleshed bones.

“This isn’t even spicy.” Kutner put down the bone.

“It’s regular stuff,” Thirteen agreed.

They raised their beers, clinked their bottles together and took a small sip.

“Next up, Valentina Black Label, 2100 SHU. On your mark, get set, eat.”

They quickly ate them up again, and licked the sauce off their fingers.

“This is nothing,” said Kutner.

“Nothing,” Thirteen repeated.

Again, they had a sip of beer just to cleanse the palate.

“Third, Tapatío, 3000 SHU. On your mark, get set, eat.”

“It’s alright,” said Kutner.

“Uh-huh,” said Thirteen.

Thirteen drank a little more beer than Kutner.

“Tapatío is hot,” said Taub.

“To you.” Kutner looked at Taub with his smug grin.

“Quaker Steak Buckeye BBQ, 5000. On your mark, get set, eat.”

Kutner devoured it quickly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Thirteen took a little longer, but finished it soon enough. She held her sip of beer a little bit before swallowing it.

“Tabasco Habanero, 7000. On your mark, get set, eat.”

“Ooh, it’s starting to hit,” said Kutner.

Thirteen’s pale skin was flushed, but she remained composed. They both had a gulp of beer.

“We are only halfway there. The sixth is Crazy Jerry’s Brain Damage, 11,000. On your mark, get set, eat.”

“Why are you eating something called Brain Damage?” Foreman stepped forward. “It will certainly hurt your GI system.”

“Only a little, and temporarily at that. These are all FDA approved for retail,” said House.

Neither Kutner nor Thirteen responded to Foreman. They managed to finish the wings, but not as easily. Kutner silently drank his beer. Thirteen fanned her face with her other hand while she drank hers.

“You can stop anytime you want, you know,” said Kutner.

“You wish,” Thirteen retorted, but she was a little out of breath.

“Dragon Repellant Knightmare, 15,000. On your mark, get set, eat.”

Thirteen hesitated before biting in. Kutner gobbled it up, as if he wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. They emptied their beers, and House replaced the empty bottles with new ones. Thirteen fanned her face with both of her hands. The redness spread to her neck. Kutner was getting flushed as well, just not as noticeable on his deeper complexion.

“They’re FDA approved for a little dip, not whole chicken wings covered in them.” Foreman approached Thirteen. “Remy.”

Thirteen dismissed Forman with the wave of her hand. “I can take it, okay?”

Foreman turned to the rest of the spectators. “This is stupid!”

“Which is why it’s funny,” said Taub.

Wilson nodded in agreement.

“Why are you allowing your employees to endanger their health?” Foreman asked Cuddy.

“They’ll do it even if I tell them not to, and I’d rather be present in case damage control is needed.”

“Foreman is trying to dissuade Thirteen, which is only going to motivate her more. He’s interfering with the competition by giving unfair advantage to one side,” said Kutner.

“Yes. Foreman, shut up. Taub, say something discouraging to Kutner to make it even,” said House.

“I don’t think the guy who willingly electrocuted himself can be discouraged from anything,” said Taub.

“True, and that statement would have the desired effect, so good enough. Blair’s Jalapeño Death, 20,000. On your mark, get set, eat.”

“Whoa.” Kutner recoiled after eating it, breathing rapidly. He chugged the cold beer. He took off his hoodie.

Thirteen coughed. She tried to drink beer to cool down, but ended up choking on it a little. Foreman leapt toward her. House barred him with his cane. “No entering the ring if you’re not playing.”

“You know what,” said Thirteen, coughing and breathing heavily. “You win, Kutner. I give up.”

“Technically, he has to complete the next round to win. Otherwise, it’s a tie.” House looked at Kutner.

Kutner’s face was distorted with agony, but he muttered, “Bring it on.”

“Very well. Blair’s Original Death, 30,000. Whenever you’re ready.”

Kutner took some time to regain his composure, and ate the ninth chicken wing. He immediately washed it down with the rest of his beer.

“We have a winner!” House exclaimed.

Wilson and Taub clapped and cheered. Cuddy rolled her eyes. Thirteen finally calmed down from her coughing fit and she kept drinking the beer. Kutne, however, remained seated. His eyes were fixed on the last remaining wing on the plate.

“Come on, you won. It’s over.” Taub tapped Kutner on the shoulder.

Kutner reached for the last hot wing. Everyone felt their own bodies growing tense as he painfully finished it off. House handed him another beer, and he chugged it down. He panted, and his skin glistened with sweat.

“You’re insane!” Thirteen yelled.

“That one was called Pain 100%, 40,000. This proves my hypothesis that you are a masochist.”

“I’m not a masochist!” Kutner protested between gasps.

House leaned over toward Kutner. “You already won. You didn’t have to touch that last one. You love to gloat, but right now you’re in too much pain to do that. You want pain more than you want victory.” House stepped away from the table and walked over to Wilson.

“This wasn’t as entertaining as I thought it would be,” Wilson said to House.

“We didn’t do it for your entertainment,” said Kutner. He was still recovering from Pain 100%.

“What did you do it for?” Taub asked.

“It’s not a dare if there’s a purpose,” Kutner replied.

“So you did it for nothing.”

“Pretty much.”

Taub sighed. “Have fun digesting all that. I’ll see you tomorrow, unless you need a sick day.” He walked out.

“At least this is over,” Cuddy grumbled before she left.

House and Wilson left as well. Kutner and Thirteen cleaned up the table. Foreman stayed behind to help.

“It’s still pretty impressive that you lasted as far as you did.” Kutner’s gloating smirk was back.

Thirteen laughed. “My insides are already burning.”

“I’ll finish cleaning up. You go get some rest. Drink water,” said Foreman. His eyes followed Thirteen through the window until she was out of sight. Then, he hissed, “Why did you put her up to this?”

“House and I ironed out the details, but having a match was her idea.” Kutner shrugged, his eyes wide open.

“You provoked her first.”

“I didn’t mean to provoke her, okay? It was an off-handed joke.”

“You should have said no when she wanted to do a match! You know she has—”

Foreman stopped mid-sentence because Kutner stepped closer, almost getting in his face. “She has a fatal neuromuscular degenerative disease. You think you know where it goes because you’re a neurologist, but you don’t. Neurologists just refer them to rehabilitation and follow up every now and then. You don’t even do that, because you work for House now. You confirm a diagnosis and your work is done. I did my residency in rehabilitation medicine. I’ve seen where it goes, many times over. Lifestyle changes are helpful, but it doesn’t change the destination or the course. It hardly even delays the inevitable. If she wants spicy chicken wings, she’ll have the goddamn spicy chicken wings. I’ll do whatever she asks to make her day exciting. I care about her. Maybe not in the way that you do, but I do. I won’t apologize for her decisions to you.” Kutner stormed out of the room.

Foreman continued to wipe the already-clean surface of the table.

#house md #house md fanfic #lawrence kutner #remy thirteen hadley #eric foreman #flash fanfic request

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toffee32 · 1 year ago

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CAMILLUS

From Twitter: OKAY IM EXCITED have been wanting to create a proper Legion OC for a long time, and since I'm *specially* inspired today I finally came up with something good, very OC and a potential OC rank in general LOL.....

LORE BELOW!!

In certain areas the Legion military is expecting demographic disaster, with so many reckless loses. Fearful, Caesar discreetly forms a group of his most studious and wise priestesses talented in brainwashing techniques, with the goal of coming up with a protocol that would quickly and efficiently integrate the most unwilling men into the ranks.

Having been granted all the freedom the needed for this project, the priestesses study many medical procedures, drugs, technologies and rituals to totally break the mind of men.

Out of all their test subjects, only one man could come out alive from these trials, a blood-lusting beast potentiated by a concoction of psycho, sacramental herbs and spices, injected directly into the arteries by command with a repurposed bomb collar. The man, absent-minded, meek, and mostly passed out when out of drugs, becomes an uncontrollable animal ready to battle in mere seconds.

After the continuous studying of this specimen, a kind of dyonisian-like cult emerges by the priestesses who witness the power of ritualizing frenzy and ecstasy, not for the sake of wordly pleasure but for mindless, untamed strenght and destruction.

The subject was baptized "Camillus" (Priest Servant) after his identity was competely erased away. He has yet to be released in a battle. Meanwhile, he has become used to the company of the priestesses, enjoying their knowledge and attention.

Whilst the project was a success, it was found to be very scandalous for Caesar, knowing well that the last thing he wants is for the Legion to be tainted by drug-fueled mindess bioological machines that are so antithetical to the ideal Legion soldier who proudly serves with all his will and wit.

More commentary I made on Twitter:

Thinking about how different this man would be from the average legion soldier just bc he was socialized amongst priestesses 😚 he knows the pleasure of womanly company, their wisdom and care, he's probably very delicate in mannerism and soft-spoken. He's a ladies man, a girls guy. He'd be so out of place in any legion camp amongst other men and be very displeased about it. But still he can switch into being the scary beast he was brainwashed and trained to be surpassing all the other men in brutal strength lol ❤️ I love that contrast

#fallout #fallout: new vegas #fnv #f:nv #fallout legion #caesar's legion #oc #fallout oc #mars priestess #mars priestesses #I AM SO KEEN ON DEPICTING THE LEGION PRIESTESSES GOSH I LOVE THEM!!#also #berserker type soldier/rank.... “MAN TOO ANGRY TO DIE”.... Classic....#fallout new vegas #fo:nv #fonv #fanart

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starphasedd · 1 year ago

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Unmade

1 - The Prelude

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Rating: 18+ for violence, explicit language, and eventual smut.

Synopsis: "When Din saw the look in your eyes at the sight of the child, he knew he made the right decision coming to you."

Notes: Hiii 🥺 It's been so long since I've had the motivation or inspiration to write. I'm so happy to finally post chapter one of my new works. 💓

This is a new multi-chapter series that will be worth reading, guaranteed. 👌 updates may be slow. But I promise I am working on it. And yes--smut coming soon. In the next chapter 🔥

Each chapter will have an assigned theme song. Literally just a song I listened to while writing that had me vibing. Name and artist in the notes below. 😊

Word count: 5k +

AO3 | chapter 2

9Aby - Tatooine - Ten months prior to present

It was getting increasingly difficult to find work.

Jobs were getting smaller and less complicated by the day. Some were bigger than others, but nothing compared to what you used to bring in. You've seen everything from small weapons repair, to minor speeder bike maintenance. But for the most part, they were small and low compensating jobs.

You found it hard to afford the essentials anymore. Food, water, toiletries–any base comfort to life. You hadn't had a home cooked meal in months . You ate what you could find or pawn off any wealthy vendor along the streets.

Luckily, you owned your own shop. You were infinitely grateful for that. It meant you had a place to sleep; a roof over your head. Most importantly, a door to close and lock at the end of the night. To keep the thieves and possibly more , out.

Mos Eisley had been attracting people from all over in recent years. You heard of a spice trade running rampant nearby from people in the village, but you always tried to ignore the banter. It was never good to involve yourself with those kinds of things. You made it a personal goal to stay pretty introverted. It was best for you, and everyone around you to not get involved in trivial things like gossip and politics.

It was testing, though. The drugs coming through town had taken a toll on your business.

It makes it hard for you to bring in any credits. Very hard. The criminals were starting to take over, driving all of the families with children out. Not only was it becoming difficult for you to earn any credits, it was making it difficult for you to earn clean credits.

For the longest time, your customer base were family men with speeders, regular weapons used for recreation and such. They were clean, good credits. You could take pride in helping the people of this town. You were contributing to happy and healthy lifestyles. It was relatively wholesome.

It’s not like that anymore.

Outsiders would come in looking for repairs on their weapons, only for you to find out the particular weapons they had in their possessions were registered as stolen. Ninety nine percent of the time, that meant they were previously owned by Imperials and were now being used in some type of crime syndicate. At first, you would turn them away. Even if it meant getting cursed at or losing business. You had options back then. But when more of them started rolling into town, driving the city folk away, you had no choice but to start taking their business. It was survival, at this point.

You laid awake at night, wondering–thinking of ways you could turn everything around. It always came to the same conclusion. You were a defenseless woman, operating a male dominated trade, in a town that was now overrun by criminals.

And you were alone.

You didn't have any family. Or even friends, for that matter. You kept to yourself all these years, solitude being your closest friend.

You did have an acquaintance that worked out of a hangar bay in the spaceport. Peli Motto. She was just that though. An acquaintance . Not a friend. There was something about her that irked you. Maybe it was the righteous part of you that wanted to be pure and good–because she was somewhat of a scammer. But her methods had her eating well every night. She was always at the bar, drinking and having fun. Gambling, all of it. You hated to admit it, but you often found yourself jealous of her.

Not just the scheming way of lining her pockets, but also her mechanical talents. She was definitely gifted in her trade, and she had loyal customers from all over. All of which could be possible clients of yours, but would never set foot in your shop because of her. Sometimes you thought she tried to spoil your name so everyone would come to her–a rotten way to get rotten business.

Day by day, you watched ship after ship land and leave her hangar. It angered you. Stars , it really pissed you off.

That is, until one day, she actually sends someone right to you.

It was incredibly muggy that day, you remember. Your hair stayed damp, sticking to your cheeks and neck. Your clothes clung to your body uncomfortably. Sweat rolled down your skin constantly all day. At some point, you wished you could walk around butt-ass-naked . Anything to escape the heat at this point. You wanted to rip your shirt and pants off to cool down. Even for a little while.

You sat atop an old project speeder bike in the corner of your shop. Some sunshine was able to come through missing pieces in the makeshift metal roof. Part of your shop was a building with one wall knocked down. You kept your personal belongings there. The other half of your shop was relatively open space. The roof was held together by pieces of metal you had found here and there. Most of it was rusted, and broken. Hence the big ray of sunshine that's beaming down on you right now. The floor on the open side of your shop was nonexistent. It was the raw, sandy ground. The floor leading into the closed part of your shop was tile you had laid down a while back. Something to walk on other than the sandy floor.

You tried covering up the brick walls of your shop with old blankets to give it a more 'homey' feel. You thought it may make your customers feel more at ease when they were around. When you had customers.

The speeder was a side project of yours that was slowly becoming your only project. You had always dreamt of owning a speeder for recreation. So, you bought a scrap, hollow shell of one a few years back to work on and restore for yourself. Sadly though, it was now becoming your survival project. You needed to sell it to feed yourself.

Red hued safety glasses shield your eyes from hot sparks that fly up from the soldering iron in your hands. Your fingers glide delicately over the sensitive wires in the ignition chamber of the speeder's engine bay. You’re sitting on the warm leather seat; the top half of your body hunched over in what you can only refer to as a “gremlin looking” position. It should hurt your back, but you were used to it by now. The long term effects lost on you for the time being. The only thing on your mind was getting this machine running so you could sell it and fill your cooling chamber.

Sweat glistens your face, neck and exposed chest as the hot Tatooine suns beam down on you. You have a bottle of water next to you on the ground in case you start to get nauseated. Which happens more frequently than not on this maker forsaken planet.

You reach up to wipe some of the sweat off your forehead with your arm. The heat from the surrounding areas combined with what radiated off the molten wires in front of you was taking a toll on your physical state. Maybe not the best day to do this. One of the hottest reported days in the planet’s history.

You sigh through chapped lips, deciding against starting the next bundle of wires. You lean down, gripping the water bottle with what little strength you had left to bring it up to your lips. You chug, sucking down the entire sixteen ounce bottle in one thirsty gulp. Despite the painfully hot air surrounding you, your water managed to stay relatively cool in the shade of your bike. The liquid runs cool down your throat; coating it in sweet relief for a few moments before you feel it hit the inside of your belly.

You sigh again, sitting up straight on the bike’s seat. You let your head fall back on your shoulders and you close your eyes, resting them for a few moments. Your arms fall limp to your sides, your thighs straddling each side of the hot speeder. The sun beams down on your skin and you can feel the burn starting up again. The red safety glasses also help to shield your eyes from the sun.

Your shop is far enough outside of the main streets that you don’t get all of the city noise, thankfully. Most days, you can sit here and just listen to the quiet noises of the sand and wind. It was relaxing sometimes, and deafening the other times.

So, you sat there for a few minutes. Head back, posture relaxed. Just enjoying the silence for a while.

After a few more minutes, you heard the distinct sound of the main shop door opening. The door was large and made of very flimsy durasteel. The sound of that loud wobbling paired with durasteel scraping on the sand surface was something you didn’t hear very often anymore. This was all followed by heavy footsteps; leather boots clumping lazily over the ground. A large man crested around the corner, looking down at you sitting on your bike.

You glance over at him. He appears human, his whole body brandished with expensive looking weapons. He had short cut hair, blonde in color. His eyes were blue. His skin was pale and freckled. He wore a black leather jacket on top of a black tank top. Both were dirty, and he didn’t seem to care.

A grin spread across his face and chills immediately shot down your spine. Your back stiffened as the large man began sauntering in your direction before he came to a halt in front of you. His thumbs hook in the pockets of his pants on either side.

He nods arrogantly before finally speaking to you.

“They told me a pretty little lady ran this shop. I dn’t believe em.” His accent is unfamiliar to you, his words almost slurring together. Or is he drunk?

He licks his lips once and smiles down at you. His teeth are dirty and unkempt.

You cough and shift away from him, swinging your leg over the other side of the speeder. You take a couple steps back from him, but not too many. As to not set any red flags off in the man's head. Your hand reaches up to push the red glasses onto the top of your head. You squint when the sun hits your sensitive hues. After pushing your glasses up, your hands slide back down to your waist and lock onto your hips.

Usually with these types of guys, you choose a more aggressive approach. You would immediately tell them to get lost, or chase them out. But, something is different about this one. He seems…off. Unhinged, maybe? Something about his demeanor screams at you. You’re uneasy.

You’re playing it safe this time. Just…see what he has to say.

“Guess I’m that lady,” You say sweetly, a very fake smile cresting your cheeks. You pretend to be busy, shifting around to pick up some useless spare parts hanging around. “How can I help you?”

His breathing is a little heavy, you notice. And that scares you. That hints at something unstable within him.

He takes his hands from his pockets and flattens his palms on the fabric, rubbing them up and down to dry them of the sweat he’s exuding on this hot day. He grins again and shifts to follow you when you opt to start walking into the shaded part of your shop.

“Need a piece of equipment fixed.” He says plainly, directly behind you.

There’s a tall, bar-like table to the left of your shaded space. Behind the bar-esque table is storage for your customers' weapons. You walk behind the bar, and he follows around to face you from the other side. Thank the maker. Breathing room.

“What kind of equipment?” You ask innocently.

The man reaches behind him and pulls a large rifle from his back. He drops it down on the counter in front of you.

You grab it softly, pulling it closer. Your fingers wrap around each end to bring it up for a better view. A knot is tightening in your gut. As you thought; an illegal weapon. Again. This one in particular is especially heinous.

A T7 Ion Disruptor. A rifle banned by the New Republic.

You clear your throat, slowly setting the weapon back down on the table in front of you. You glance up at the man through your lashes. He’s still grinning at you, shifting weirdly on his feet. Back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I can’t work on this.” You say, slowly pushing the rifle back towards the man.

You know there’s trouble when he stops shifting from side to side, and his grin slowly fades. He huffs, slapping his hands back down onto the weapon and pushing it back to your side of the counter.

“I’ll pay ya, No questions asked.” He says, his blood shot eyes boring into your face.

Your heart is starting to race, goosebumps covering the skin of your arms as the situation slowly starts to escalate. You’ve seen this desperate type of behavior before. Especially here. Especially now. The spice coming into town has corrupted many people here. The crime syndicates were always looking for better weapons. But they would only buy if the weapons were in working condition. Addicts would find these illegal rifles and bring them to you, desperate to have them fixed so they could go sell them to the syndicates. All to get their next week's fix of drugs. You feel for these people, you really do. This is a way of life for them. This is how they survive. You wish you could help, but you can’t put yourself under the radar of any crime syndicate.

“--’m sorry. I can’t. This rifle is banned by the New Republic.” You say softly, pushing the rifle back towards the man.

His breathing has increased; it’s loud and almost rabid now. He’s sweating and twitching. He stands there for a moment, staring at you. And without any notice, he violently slams both hands down on the table and shoves the rifle at you. It hits your lower stomach. Your heart drops into your belly.

“I don’t care if it’s fuckin’ banned by the New Republic. I need it fixed–” He says, leaning over the counter. His hot breath is fanning your face as he grunts. “ Now .”

He’s huffing heavily through his nostrils. Sweat is dripping down his cheeks and dropping on the weapon below him. His fingers are twitching on the wood countertop, and his eyes are wide. They’re bulging out of his head, red and bloodshot. The skin around his eyes is dark and almost hollow.

You let a soft, shaky breath escape your lips as you struggle to find the courage or words to confront him. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t give you a chance to respond. He just…waits.

You’ve experienced men like him before, but never this violent. Most men that came in here were trying to get a rise out of you. Always something to say. They always thought they could take advantage of you; overpower you. But you pride yourself on your courage and cunning. You never let them get to you.

This was different, though. This man is explosively violent and unstable.

He’s desperate . That scares you the most.

You struggle to find words as fear settles into your skin. Your hands drop below the counter to a shelf underneath. He doesn’t notice, as he has his eyes fixed on yours. Your nimble fingers begin to wrap themselves around an emergency blaster you have hung under the counter.

Finally, as your fingers secure defense, you muster the courage to speak.

“I can’t ,” You exhale slowly, finger tightening on the trigger of the blaster.

The man exhales hard, fingernails starting to scratch into the wood surface below his palms. He leans up slightly, letting his chest have room to inhale so he can speak.

“ You little bitch ,” He starts, but he’s cut off.

“Is there a problem here?” An unfamiliar voice rings in. It’s modulated, almost like it came from a droid.

It startles the both of you. In unison, the two of you shoot your heads in the direction of where the voice came from.

In the entrance of your shop stands another man, and your heart sinks even more.

He’s tall and covered in armor. The armor is all different colors, worn and damaged from much use it seems. He also has weapons brandished all over his body. He has brown boots on, strapped with bombs of all kinds. He has a dark brown flight suit underneath. Every important part of his body is covered by the worn armor.

When you get to his head, you immediately recognize what he is.

A Mandalorian. A distinct helmet.

He stands tall and confident. He has broad shoulders, and large arms.

Your fingers are still locked on the trigger of your blaster as you struggle to tear your eyes from the Mandalorian standing in your doorway.

The man in front of you grunts and shifts to stand up to his full height. He shuffles before turning back to look at you.

“I’m almost done with her,” he starts, before shooting around the left side of the counter at you. As he’s coming around, he’s speaking. “ You can have her when I’m done .” He growls out, sweaty and vicious hands grabbing for you as he breeches the left side of the counter. He’s moving so fast it’s hard for you to process. You don’t fully register what’s going on, not really. All you can see is his large, looming figure coming at you at lightspeed. All you can hear are the quick shuffling of his feet and he charges you.

Instinctually, you bring the blaster out from under the counter and point it towards him as he charges you.

But as soon as you brought the blaster out, the man was shot down. A red beam of plasma blasts past and so close to your head the wind gust from it causes your hair to fly up and over your head.

Not a sound comes from the man as he falls to the ground. He thuds loudly, loose limbs hitting the ground after his back. You’re still holding the blaster up in defense, almost like you’re stuck there. Your heart is racing out of your chest and your breathing is slightly elevated. It takes you a few seconds to fully register what just happened. You finally let your arms drop slowly.

You look down at the blaster in your hands, watching your trembling fingers grip the cold durasteel. Your skin is white from gripping the weapon so hard. Your head is dropped, preoccupied, as the Mandalorian slowly approaches the counter.

“Are you alright?” The man asks softly.

It startles you out of your stupor and you look up, seeing the Mandalorians’ hulking figure standing in front of you. He’s even bigger when he’s up close.

You softly set the blaster back in its place under the counter and look up at the Mandalorian.

“Yeah...” You mutter softly, confusion evident in your tone. You look down at the dead man on your floor. “ Maker. ..why would he just…?”

“Exactly why you think.” The Mandalorian speaks. His voice is deep and weathered through the vocoder.

You glance up at him, eyes searching the T-visor of his Beskar helmet.

“Apologies. I heard the whole thing.” He says.

You look from the Mandalorian in front of you, back to the body on your floor once again. You stare at it as you speak.

“Another victim of spice addiction.” You say softly, your tone caressed by a tinge of sadness.

The Mandalorian silently nods his head, his hands coming down to grip the buckle on his belt.

After a few moments, you can hear him shift, grabbing ahold of the Ion Disruptor on the counter. You turn to look back at him and watch as he examines the weapon with diligence. His helmet tilts with the weapon, and his gloved fingers glide delicately over the durasteel.

“Could I take this off your hands?” he asks after a few moments of examining the weapon.

“ Please take it.” You say, a soft smile on your cheeks.

His helmet turns to look over you for a few seconds, like he’s examining you now.

“How much?” He asks.

“It’s yours. No charge.” You say, letting your hands rest on the counter. Your blood is starting to cool, and you’re not trembling anymore.

He looks down at you again and nods, throwing the heavy weapon behind him to sit with some of his others. “Thank you.”

You can’t help the cheeky smile that crosses your face. Your cheeks start to burn. You shift to cross your arms over your chest. “Any particular reason you ventured into my shop, Mandalorian?”

He nods. “I could use your help repairing something.” He says, reaching into a bag on his side. He pulls out a hyperdrive ignition key and gently sets it on the table. He shifts his hips to lean on the other side. “Peli Motto told me you’re good with old ships.”

“Peli Motto? She sent you to me ?” You ask, astonished at the man's words as you lean down to get a better look at the hyperdrive part.

“Not a friend of yours?” He asks, watching you examine the part.

You huff. “Not exactly.” You say nonchalantly, sliding your fingers over the delicate part. “She couldn’t help you?”

“No. She said you’re pretty well versed with electrical failures. On older ships.”

You glance up at him for a moment and chuckle. “Interesting.”

“Don’t usually get referrals from her, I take it?”

“Never. She’s the reason I never have business, if I’m honest.” You say softly, leaning back up and putting your hands on your hips.

He cocks his head to the side gently and watches you.

His gaze is deep, and silent, as he watches you. You find yourself fidgeting with the hem on your hips.

“I..uh, can fix this. Easy. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

He nods, and you take that as your que to get to work.

It takes you forty three minutes, actually. One of the quickest jobs you've had in a while. It was a relatively easy fix. The Mandalorian stood and watched you the entire time, intrigued by your knowledge of the machinery.

"Razor Crest, right?" You ask.

"Yes. How can you tell?"

"This hyperdrive ignition design was used on most pre-imperial ships. But, this one has a significant trait that ties it to the Razor Crest, and the Razor Crest alone ," you say, using a finger to draw him in close by pointing down at the part.

"This is air cooled. See the little chamber here?" You ask, pointing to a small, empty glass chamber in the middle of the device. "Like any other part on a ship, this can get hot. So it's got a pocket of air that feeds directly into the ignition pump, that sends fuel to the thrusters."

He watches you.

"The Razor Crest was the first and last ship ever to have a glass chamber for the hyperdrive ignitions. Afterwards, they were all Durasteel chambers. Easier, cheaper. The glass chambers had so many issues with cracking and leaks, that they immediately discontinued the design. And went for something more durable."

He watches as you slowly pull out the glass chamber and set it aside.

"We'll replace the glass with some durasteel, and you'll be all good to go." You say with a soft smile.

The Mandalorian stands over you, continuing to watch in silence as you make a small durasteel chamber by hand, and fit it to the hyperdrive ignition.

"You're very knowledgeable." He speaks, his voice low and scratchy.

You glance up at his visor for a moment and shoot him a quick smile before looking back down at your work.

"I'd hope so, otherwise I'm in the wrong profession."

A loud click indicates that the durasteel piece is back in place. You gently slide it towards him once you do your final examination.

"You're all set." You say with a smile, hands resting on the counter in front of you.

It's dark out now. A small bit of moonlight shining in through the holes in your makeshift roof. Fairy lights and small cantina lamps light the space around you, painting everything in a soothing orange hue.

The Mandalorian gently grabs the part from your counter and slips it into his satchel.

"What do I owe you?" He asks.

You think about it for a moment; hard. And then you glance over at the lifeless body of the attacker on your floor.

"Nothing." You say, still staring at the body.

He pauses, seemingly confused. "I don't understand."

"No charge today.” You say, looking back up at him and nodding towards the body–hinting.

He takes a deep breath in, this chest rising steadily as he shifts on his feet again.

You offer him another warm smile. “A token of my gratitude.”

His chest falls after a few moments and his helmet turns to look around your shop. He hadn’t had time to until now.

"Your kindness will not be forgotten." He speaks gently.

You smile. "Nor will yours, Mandalorian. Safe travels."

He stands there for a few moments longer than you anticipated, almost like he's thinking. Then he nods and turns to slowly make his way out of your shop.

You thought that would be the last time you saw him. You were wrong.

It was probably a month later when he came back.

It was another hot day. You chose to take the day off, this time. You sat in your bedroom which was closed off from the rest of the building by a large blanket hanging in the doorway. Your room looked like every other building on Tatooine. The walls were crafted of sandy colored pourstone, rounding at the top. A large window on the left lets in plenty of natural sunlight to illuminate the room. There’s just enough space for your bed. You keep a small, single person table and chair directly under the window, where you sit and eat your breakfast every morning.

You’re sitting under the window drinking some caf when you hear the door to your shop open. You stop what you’re doing and listen to see if the person approaches your counter. Heavy footsteps lead directly to the enclosed part of your shop. Quickly, you set your cup of caf down and shuffle to meet the customer out in the open area.

When you shove the blanket out of your way, you’re surprised to see the same Mandalorian from a month earlier standing in your workshop. His appearance is different though. Before, he only had the Beskar helmet. The rest of his armor was pretty old and worn. But today, he appears to you in nothing but pure Beskar armor. From head to toe. He looks clean, and well put together. Shiny.

You rub your hands together and smile softly as you approach him. His helmet follows you as you walk over on the other side of the counter.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here again.” You say softly.

The Mandalorian nods, his hands looped in the buckle of his belt like the last time you saw him.

"What brings you back, Mando?” You ask. The nickname slips, but it suits him.

“Are you looking for work?” He says, his voice smooth through the vocoder.

You tilt your head to the side a little, slightly confused. “Pardon?”

“I could use your help,” He starts, his hands coming up to rest on the counter top. “...maintaining my ship and…” he starts, but trails off and he reaches behind himself to shift his shoulder bag to the front. When he does, he lifts the cover to reveal something extraordinary to you. “..with this.”

He reveals a small, green baby. It’s wrinkled, and has pointed ears. Big brown eyes look up at you in wonder as your mouth gapes. It coos softly, tilting its head to one side as it observes you.

“ Stars ….what the hell is that?” You stutter over your words as you lean down to gently pull the baby from the satchel. It coos again, happily, as you pick it up.

“I've been bequested to bring him back to his kind.” Says the Mandalorian.

“H-how did this happen?” You ask, eyes focused on the little green baby in front of you as his claws grip your hands on either side.

“It’s a long story,” He starts, watching you observe the baby carefully. “I can’t watch him and I need to continue hunting to fund this quest,” He says softly.

You glance up at him for a moment. “And you…came to me? Why?”

“He needs supervision, I can’t leave him alone.” He swiftly bounces around the why part of your question.

You look from him, back down at the baby. The baby watches you with wide, curious brown hues. His mouth gapes open so show small, jagged teeth underneath. One of his hands comes up to touch your chin softly.

There's an odd feeling that comes over you when he makes those little noises. The way he seems to smile, and immediately warm up to you.

“I can pay you handsomely.” The Mandalorian speaks after a few minutes of silence.

You glance back up at Mando through your lashes, he’s closer now than he was before. You’re slowly cuddling the green child into your chest as he seems to settle right into your warmth. One arm is under his bottom, and the other is behind his back to hold him firm against you.

You start to say something, but no words come out. A breath of air sneaks through as you lock onto his T-visor.

You shake your head, looking back down at the child. “M-my shop? How will…? I can’t just leave..?” You mumble out.

“Peli agreed to look over it,” Mando says.

You look back up at him once again, softly rubbing your hand over the baby’s back.

“Peli ? Now I'm confused.”

“She proposed using it for storage.”

You click your tongue, looking down at the child as he lays comfortably against your chest. “Of course she did.”

“You’ll have plenty to keep you busy aside from the child. My ship is old,” He says, his tone softening. A gentle approach. “...it always needs work.”

You look up at Mando for what feels like the hundredth time. He stands tall over you, his broad shoulders blocking the sunlight behind him. His posture is serious; stern. This is important to him. You find your eyes needlessly searching for him under the T-visor, though you know you’d never find him.

“Okay…” You speak softly, just under your breath. Almost like you didn’t mean to say it.

“Yeah?” He asks, his shoulders slouching a bit; relaxing.

“Yeah, okay.” You say again, this time it was louder. Like you were reaffirming it. Like you needed to hear your own voice to register you had just agreed. The baby in your arms coos softly in your warmth.

The Mandalorian nods, clearing his throat softly. “Thank you.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was nervous. You tell by the softness in his tone; a stark difference from what you had heard before. He was out of his comfort zone here, dealing with a child. You understood why he came to you now. He was familiar with you, and trusted you wouldn’t turn him down. He just needs help and guidance in this uncertain time for him.

“I’ll go grab a bag.” You say softly, looking down at the baby in your arms.

As you walk through the blanket that covers your private quarters, Mando can hear you whispering to the child in your arms. “ Wanna come with me, sweet boy? ” Your tone is soft and motherly, unlike what he had heard when you were dealing with that spice addict a month ago.

When he saw the look in your eyes at the sight of the child, he knew he had made the right decision coming to you.

‐-------

Chapter theme: With Love From - Aly & AJ

#din djarin #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x you #mandalorian and grogu

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