#that part in headfirst slide

[predoom]

the last one was a good one :’)

[heaveniowa]

headfirst slide joecals you're EVERYTHING to me and more (x)

[patrickztump]

how planned and thought out do you think everything was when it came down to the setlists of 2023 and 2024 (thus far)?

the interview with patrick where he said “i want to play this song [headfirst slide] that we haven’t played in a long time, it’s still on my pedal and everything,” to fans rallying to convince fall out boy to play it by setting dates to increase stream counts at once and starting hashtags, then to pete saying at one of the pre-release shows “you said your faces would melt off if we played this,” to it becoming a setlist staple for two legs now. how much of that was planned, and how much of the abundance of additional deep cuts, demos, and even soul punk songs were part of that plan? or how much of it snowballed off that stab in the dark of “well, they said they wanted it, might as well give it a shot.”

on one hand, they are very methodical in what they do. but on the other hand, what’s not to say they finally saw what people really wanted - so much more beyond the hits + current album - and they felt so much love from the reaction of headfirst slide’s first play in over a decade that they said, “why not?” and spread the entire discography across the table, leaving no one out (except mania, rip).

in the likelihood that it was just something to say in passing to a question that is probably asked on the regular, and not an elaborate plan put into motion before the question was even asked, i think it did everyone wonders and showed love to everyone across the board. love to the fans. love to the songs. and love to the band.

[destielreboot]

I’m sorry you’re telling me that fall out boy has now done at least part of EVERY song on folie à deux in the last year…

[6esiree]

They Help You With Your Period Pains

Imagine Alastor, Lucifer, Husk, Vox, and Adam help you with your period pains? …you’re not in a romantic relationship and there’s a sprinkle of plot in every one of them 🤍 NSFW, btw!

Alastor:

Two days—that’s approximately how long Alastor managed to withstand the sweet scent of your monthly cycle before he found himself dropping to his knees, your lips parting with a pleasured gasp as he pulled your panties down, unfazed by the sight of your pad. He dove headfirst into your messy folds with a desperation that had your knees trembling, his slender tongue slithering into your entrance and exploring each and every inch of your warm, wet, gummy walls.

You were supposed to be friends, but between his filthy slurping and his sharp nose rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit with every twist and turn of his head, it was hard to remember that. And as for Alastor, it was hard to remember that he was supposed to satiate his cannibalistic thirst for blood in exchange for alleviating the never-ending cramps wracking your core, especially with his cock straining almost painfully against his slacks.

“Oh, Alastor, just fuck me at this point,” You unashamedly whined, feeling somewhat jealous of your mattress as he subtly rolled his hips in an attempt to relieve himself. “You already pushed past the boundaries of our friendship with…this, so fucking me won’t make any difference.”

Alastor hesitated—but when he accepted the truth behind your statement, he gave your cunt one last good lapping before unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his slacks, a gratified moan reverberating through your chest as he pushed your legs back, displaying your fluttering hole. His tongue traveled across his lips, and while you couldn’t tell whether he was cleaning himself of your blood or savoring the sinful display beneath him, you were still eager to accommodate him.

“I suppose you are right,” Alastor admitted, the head of his weeping cock pushing past your folds at such an agonizingly slow pace that you clutched onto the lapels of his coat, bringing him in. “Now, now, darling,” He let out a sigh, “I’m not—ha—going anywhere.”

That’s what you hoped as Alastor began to slide his cock in and out of your cunt, his pelvis kissing your swollen clit with every delicious roll of his hips. But you eventually found yourself whispering ‘Promise not to?’ against his temple, your hands traveling underneath his dress shirt, eliciting a static-like groan from his throat that had your gummy walls clenching around him. Alastor already felt weak for getting on his knees for you, but he found himself agreeing anyway.

“We can do this every month,” You said between bouts of moans, clutching tightly onto his back as he brought you closer to the edge. “To indulge our separate needs,” Alastor tentatively added, “Correct?” You nodded, knowing perfectly well that he was simply trying to justify it.

Lucifer:

Life after Lilith’s seemingly endless sabbatical became a bleak affair for Lucifer, so when he met you, he instantly latched onto you—much like he latched onto your aching breasts as he pushed his cock past your folds, the heavenly embrace of your cunt and your pleasured gasps soothing his loneliness. But the two of you were friends, friends who found themselves tangled in the sheets religiously every month with the excuse of alleviating the cramps that wracked your core.

Lucifer assumed that there was nothing past your little arrangement in your mind, even when you sought him out and unashamedly crawled onto his lap with a whimpered ‘I need you right now, Luci,’ seeping past your lips. As soon as he had you chanting his name, however, his forked tongue fluttering against your swollen clit as his fingers worked dutifully inside of your warm, wet, gummy walls, he stopped thinking about that entirely. In the moment, he felt like you were his.

“Does this feel better, honey?” Lucifer pulled away from your nipple to ask you, a trail of saliva dribbling down his chin. You feverishly nodded with an ‘Mhm,’ as he relentlessly drove the head of his cock against that velvety spot inside of you. “Good—that’s what I like to hear.”

This all happened because half a year ago, the painkillers Lucifer so graciously supplied you with strangely stopped helping your cramps; and in one last ditch effort to get close to you, he sheepishly suggested what a certain someone used to enjoy during her monthly cycle. While you didn’t want to ruin your friendship, the offer was simply too tempting to decline, especially with the way your aching cunt throbbed at the mere thought of Lucifer being in between your legs.

“Fuck! I’m so, so close, Luci,” You whined, threading your fingers in his soft hair, scratching affectionately at his scalp before pulling him into your chest, encouraging him to latch onto your breast once more. “Always making me forget the pain—mmph!—thank you s’much.”

Lucifer watched your eyes flutter shut and your mouth fall open in a series of desperate pleas that had his cock stiffening inside of your cunt. But he focused on lathering your pebbled nipple with attention rather than chasing his own release, alternating between teasing kitten-licks and actual suckles, only allowing himself to cum when your walls clenched around him. It was always disappointing to feel you finish, but at least Lucifer could pretend you were his next month.

“Well, I guess that’s that, huh?” Lucifer sighed as he looked down at you, his cock softening inside of your cunt. “Mm, no,” You shook your head, but it was what you told him next that had his heart fluttering. “Oh, and I think it’s about time that I told you that the painkillers still work.”

Husk:

If there was anybody you could seek out when it was that time of the month, it was your dear friend Husk, his skilled fingers effortlessly coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your aching cunt. Unfortunately, he avoided using his tongue and especially his cock in fear that his barbs would worsen your cramps—and not just because he realized that he hadn’t lost the ability to love the one time he penetrated you, the way you had moaned out ‘Baby’ making his heart rate pick up.

So, Husk made you lay on your stomach this time around, a strong hand holding you down by your nape as he feverishly worked away at your cunt from behind, his pupils dilating at the mixture of slick and blood cascading down your thighs. You tried to warn him that such a position would be messy, but he assured you with that oh-so-addicting baritone voice of his that he couldn’t give a fuck—and that’s when you tried to suggest he use his cock again.

“Shit, doll, don’t ya remember how long it took ya to adjust?” Husk gruffed, his fingers twisting and turning inside of your warm, wet, gummy walls, desperately searching for that spot that would shut you up. “This is about you, not me—so just relax and let this old man take care of ya.”

But if you were fine with feeling each and every second of Husk’s barbed cock stretching you, then how could he say it wasn’t about you? He had filled up your cunt to the brim after you moaned out ‘Baby’ instead of his name that one time he fucked you, a ghost of a bite still present on your shoulder blade; and now that the memory had infiltrated your dreams and filled most of your mornings with slick-drenched panties, you wanted his cock so, so desperately.

“Do ya still need it, hm? Look at how ya fallin’ apart with just my hand, doll,” Husk chuckled as he finally located that velvety spot inside of you, abusing it. “I don’t need it—mm, fuck, baby!—I want it,” You cried out, your legs trembling as he brought you closer to the edge.

And there it was again, that dreaded term that had Husk’s heart picking up as fast as his hand pulled out of your cunt to unfasten his pants, his weeping cock throbbing in anticipation. ‘Yes, yes! finally!’ You gasped as he pushed past your folds without any warning, your walls eagerly accommodating him. Husk supposed that he could drown out his feelings with some cheap booze later, refusing to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, you wanted him too.

“Uhh, shit, so fuckin’ tight,” Husk huffed, lifting up one of your legs over the bed, spreading your glistening cunt for him. “It’s all for you, baby, only you,” You moaned. “Only me?” He leaned in and rolled his hips into you, purring with an unmistakable gratification as you nodded.

Vox:

Pity, just pure, utter pity—that’s what brought Vox to your door without failure every month, ready to alleviate the cramps that wracked your core despite the countless painkillers you had taken. He couldn’t recall how he had approached you with such a proposition in the first place, or at least not while he pushed his cock past your messy folds and replaced your pained groans with relieved moans, your squelching cunt almost making him short-circuit.

Still, Vox savored every little reaction he elicited from you as he held your legs apart instead of some shitty, uninspired pornstar named Rocky, the head of his cock abusing that velvety spot inside of you which had your eyes fluttering shut, your brows knitting together, and your plush lips falling open in a series of desperate pleas as you arched up into him in such a natural way. In short, the sight was nothing compared to the usual performances Valentino invited him to critique.

“If it weren’t for you, I would have—ha, yes!—quit a long time ago,” You unashamedly admitted, fueling his already inflated ego. He pushed your legs back onto your nude chest, plunging his cock into you at a new position. “Nobody knows how to—oh!—fuck good in the porn industry.”

No, but at least he did, Vox thought to himself as he drove his hips against yours at a feverish pace, his pelvis rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit. It had been six months worth of this, and your cunt had yet to grow tired of swallowing his cock in a warm, wet, tight embrace, just like he had yet to grow tired of your slick and blood alike staining the slacks hanging loosely around his hips, including the way your breathy moans fogged up his screen. Why? …he didn’t really know.

“You know, sweetheart,” Vox started, releasing one of your legs to fondle your breasts, a hiss seeping past your lips as he rolled one of your pebbled nipples between his thumb and his forefinger. “Unless you’re bound to Val via your soul—fuck—I could give you a job myself.”

You couldn’t help but feel fortunate as Vox coaxed an orgasm out of you, your cries of ecstasy somehow getting drowned out by the grunts and groans you coaxed out of him with your fluttering cunt. If he hadn’t showed up at your door the day you thought about quitting, you never would have been presented with such a tantalizing job opportunity by the same individual you could depend on to fuck you until your legs were virtually useless.

“Yes, please! I’m tired of Val’s bullshit,” You sighed as Vox pulled out and collapsed right next to you, the bed creaking with his added weight. “Good, I needed a new assistant,” He said, the excitement that bloomed in his chest making him realize that he was no longer fucking you out of pity.

Adam:

Having sex with Adam had never, ever crossed your mind until he caught you in the middle of a series of gut-wrenching cramps, no painkillers in your system. The way he barged into your office and asked you why you hadn’t finished the stack of paperwork that was due in less than an hour made you snap. You were his assistant, so he had the right to discipline you—but right now? Every single damned syllable that seeped past his masked lips only served to exacerbate your pain.

Adam was your boss, but he was far from professional, filling the entire work day with fleeting touches and an incessant amount of ‘Whatcha doing, babe?’’s and the occasional ‘Soooo, when are ya going to let me take you out?’ In short, you knew it was okay to stand up from your swivel chair and push him back onto the loveseat in your office, straddling his hips and unashamedly guiding those big, heavy hands of his underneath your blouse.

“Holy shit, babe, what’s gotten into you?” Adam asked, confused, until you bunched up your pencil skirt and showcased the imprint of your pad against your panties. “Oh, never mind,” He chuckled. “I gotcha—fuck yourself on me and I’ll take good care of these for now, alright?”

You were relieved to know that Adam wasn’t grossed out by the blood as you slowly sunk onto his cock, your warm, wet, gummy walls eagerly accommodating him despite his impressive girth. While you adjusted to him, he quickly discarded his mask, diving down to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, his heavy hands gripping your hips with a force that would surely leave your skin bruised. But how could you complain when you felt so, so much better?

“Mm, babe, that pussy of yours is clenching around me so fucking tightly,” Adam groaned against your breast, your fingers weaving into his hair as he thrusted up into you, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. “Y’know, I would just love to—fuck—take care of you every month.”

Oh, the thought was tempting, especially as he fucked up into you at a feverish pace and the filthy sound of your squelching cunt, his relentless suckles, and your stifled moans bounced off the the walls of your small office. Anybody could walk in on you, and that’s what fueled the two of you to chase your releases, eliciting a curse from Adam as you plunged down on his cock and swirled your hips, your swollen clit rubbing deliciously against his pelvis. But he ended up touching you himself.

“I meant it when I—fuck, yeah, keep moving like that—said I’d take care of you,” Adam huffed, his fingers lathering your clit with affection, making your cunt flutter around him in no time. “I only fucked you because I had no painkillers on me,” You said, but you eventually muttered a ‘Fine.’

[hxxsxxng]

the thing about roommate jake is…

pairing : roommate!jake x fem!reader ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.• mdni

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

roommate jake is ALWAYS craving physical touch. he is always coming up with excuses to be in your room, cuddled with you in your bed. some nights it was an innocent reason like he was ‘washing his bedding’ or ‘it was too cold in his room’. but the vast majority of nights, it was for a more sexual reason. he would wrap his arm around your waist, sliding under your shirt to cup your chest while he nuzzeled his face into the back of your neck. just scooting a little closer, you could feel the tent in his pants pressing against your ass. “jake!” you sighed. “whaaaat, babydoll?” he acted oblivious.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

roommate jake would browse online to find the lingerie he thinks you would look perfect in and wraps it up and leave for you for when you got home. he leaves a cutely wrapped gift box on your pillow as a supprise. some times he would leave a card with it too, reading things like “you looked so beautiful tonight” or “i miss you”.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

the only way you could ever repay jake for buying you such expensive gifts was letting him see you wear it. this is probably why he liked spending so much time in your room, you doing little fashion shows for all of the sets he has bought you. eventually, when the pressure in his pants builds up enough from viewing each of your outfits, he would throw you on the bed, and tear it right back off of you. each night that he left the presents, you sent a little thank you photo of you wearing it. different poses flattering each different set that he bought, he kept a folder of your ‘try on’ photos in his camera roll.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

roommate jake makes sure you are taken care of. he hated seeing you sick, or in pain. he had a pretty good immune system, but you on the other hand, got a sinus infection practically every week in the winter. he would make sure you had warm soup brought to your room every night along with some antibiotics. he would sit on the edge of your bed and graze your legs with his fingers, trying to distract you from your uncomfortableness. or maybe he would lay in the bed next to you, brushing your hair behind your ear, admiring you while you spoke. sometimes doctor jake would suggest engaging in alternate treatment methods as well.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

he is very handsy but is also careful when touching your body. though jake has done these things a thousand times over, he will still ask if it is okay every. single. time. he is a gentle lover, he likes the little things. wrapping his hand around your waist when y’all are grocery shopping. gripping your thigh when his is driving. they are all little reminders how much you drive him crazy. on those nights when he has found himself in your bed, instead of kissing you senseless, he would gently trace your skin with his calloused fingertips, and press soft kisses to your jawline and neck. he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

roommate jake has an oral fixation. he loves biting and sucking on any of your body parts that he can. but his favorite was definitely your nipples. he would effortlessly swipe his tongue across them while having his eyes closed, humming with contentment. he was patient and slow. jake wasn’t one of those men who were quick to jump into bed. he preferred to explore you first, before diving in headfirst. it gave him the chance to savor your reactions and focus on your pleasure, rather than his own.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

roommate jake loves cooking with you. him in the kitchen with his selves half rolled up, and your cute little maroon apron was so adorable. you were never really the greatest cook, so jake took pride in the fact that he was your own personal cooking tutor. he stands behind you with his chest pressed against your back, and guides your hands measuring each ingredient, like a marionette. he would lean down and smell your vanilla scented hair and leave kisses on the side of your neck while you attempted his recipies.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡.•

taglist : @jakeflvrz

inspo from : @heeseungsbm 💓

[rosyhoneydew]

"Buck, Tommy, hey! There's room over here, we'll scoot down!"

Evan bounds over to the booth, sliding in easily next to Eddie. Tommy's quick to follow, finding his seat next to Evan, but taking care to keep a small gap between them. 

In the weeks that the two of them have been together, it’s been kind of amazing to watch Evan dive headfirst into their relationship. Tommy has zero doubts about the two of them, but he does know that these moments can still feel a little scary in their novelty, and he meant it when he said he didn’t want to pressure Evan. 

He's aware that the 118 aren't anything like the guys he worked with when he was there. He's also aware, however, that no matter how close you are with your friends, your family, no matter how well they take it when you come out, it’s different, showing affection to another man so openly in front of them for the first time. 

At least, it wasn’t easy for him when he finally brought his ex, Mark, along to Harbor's holiday party. They were only together maybe 4 months before it was clear they wouldn’t work out, and Tommy's not convinced that it didn't have anything to do with how he'd tense up any time he felt his boyfriend's hand around his waist. He needed some time. He doesn't blame Mark for anything, of course, but he really likes Evan, so he's going to do whatever he can not to scare him off.

"You guys must work some crazy calls in Air Ops, huh Tommy?" Ravi asks, a while later. They've been trying to keep the shoptalk to a minimum, not everyone's partner is a first responder, but they seem to keep finding themselves back here.

Tommy opens his mouth to respond, but Evan is speaking before he has the chance.

"Ravi, you have no idea. The other day he flew out to PV, right? And his team had to rappel down and get this hiker into a basket. It was crazy! It's super hard to get close to those cliffs 'cause they crumble so easy, you know? They kept showing footage of it on the news." And Evan's a couple of beers deep but Tommy is certainly not expecting the confident way he slings his arm around Tommy's shoulders, effectively killing any space that was still between them, or the way he turns to Tommy, lowers his voice, and adds, "It was so hot."

He's pretty sure that last part was only meant for him to hear, but, well, Evan's not really known for his discretion. Hen snorts and Tommy's pretty sure she's laughing at whatever dumbstruck, lovesick face he's wearing.

"Cool!" Tommy hears Ravi say, through the thrumming in his ears.

It doesn't stop there. Evan keeps a hand on him all night. When Tommy goes to the bar to get their next round, Evan kisses him on the cheek, and when he returns to the table, his hand finds Tommy’s thigh. And more than once he feels his face burning hot at the sensation of Evan's eyes on him.

He’s brazen in the way he looks at Tommy, leans in to mutter comments in his ear, and orients his whole body to face Tommy. He’s pretty sure they’re being a little rude, neither of them fully tuned in to any conversation being held tonight, but he's silently grateful for the way their friends give them a little grace. He only spots a few good-natured eye-rolls despite the way they’re clinging to each other. Though, he has a feeling they’re only going to get away with this once. 

They stay a little while longer, finishing up a few bar snacks and listening to some of the wilder 911 calls Maddie had fielded that week before everyone starts to make their way back home. Tommy’s barely buckled himself in before Evan’s hand reaches for him again. He’s flushed, clearly buzzed, but his head seems to still be on straight. It lolls to the side as he looks at Tommy. 

“Did you have fun?” His boyfriend asks. 

Tommy smiles, lifting their joined hands, and kisses Evan’s knuckles. “Yeah,” he says, “I did.” 

[buzz-in-your-veins]

Helping Them<3

Helping your S/O via the wonderful art of cockwarming.

CW: Sex, cock warming, face/pussy fucking, gender neutral reader with a vagina, possessive, violence (not to reader), minor slut-shaming possibly, minor voyerism, then talked about.

Vox

Vox loved to have you in his tv room with him. Having you around reminded him you choose him, and your sweet nature always made his days easier.

But he had to admit he liked you best like this, under his desk as he watched the denizens of hell, mouth wide and warm, eyes glassy as drool slipped past your chin.

Feeling more than hearing your hiccuped moans as you stayed still on his cock, pussy spread wide around his plug, nothing better to do than keep Vox warm as he worked.

Vox was always possessive over you, and after Valentino himself had very nearly lost an eye for walking in unannounced, Vox no longer had to worry about people coming in and seeing his precious baby reduced to a filthy whore.

Vox hissed as you whined around his cock, the vibration in your pussy verging on too much. Glancing down, Vox groaned.

You were looking at him with the most beautifully pleading expression, slowly jolting your hips, mouth spread around his wet dick.

“Good Baby, just like that.”

Vox started thrusting into your mouth, unable to resist anymore.

“Fuck baby, yeah that’s it.”

It quickly turned into Vox pulling you up and fucking your pussy, better than any plug, pushing you headfirst into orgasm as Vox moved faster.

“O-oh. S-shit baby, fuckkkkk-”

Vox whined as he came inside you, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you heard Velvette scream up a storm as the power went out.

Lucifer

Lucifer seemed to be allergic to his work. He would absolutely refuse to compleat any of the paperwork he had, and point blank ignored the meetings he was supposed to hold.

The two of you had finally worked out a compromise.

Lucifer loved having his cock in you, pumping in and out of your pretty pussy, sliding in between your lips, jerking in your hand, it didn’t matter, he just loved having his cock in you.

So lucifer would do his paperwork with you sat on his cock, wet folds spread around his dick as you refused to let him move.

“Please. Please my love. Duckling please. Please anything.”

Lucifer loved being inside you.

And he wasn’t afraid to let you know.

“The papers Luci, then anything you want.”

Lucifer hadn’t even looked at the sheets as he signed them, going through them as fast as possible, whining the whole time.

As soon as ten had been stamped Lucifer swept his arm across his desk, sending papers and tools to the floor, and laid you back, before starting to completely wreck your pretty pussy.

“Please, I need it love, please my duckling.”

Lucifer begged so sweetly how could you refuse?

As soon as you nodded you felt heat spreading through your core as Lucifer came.

Then immediately dropped to his knees to eat you out.

The meetings were harder. Lucifer couldn’t be quiet whilst he had his cock in any part of you, and vehemently refused to share even the noises you pulled from him, so cockwarming wasn’t an option.

But lucifer going to the meetings with your juice still coating the inside of his mouth and outside of his dick?

Knowing you’d be ready and waiting for him to get back?

That seemed to work.

Alastor

Alastor didn’t see the same appeal of sex as others did. He found the act, and subsequent swearing and fluids, rather gross.

That didn’t stop him from pleasing his doe, however.

The radio demon being less that stellar in anyway?

That won’t do.

Often, Alastor would use his shadow or his tentacles to pleasure you, an act both of you found pleasurable and fun.

There were however rare times Alastor would pleasure you himself.

Today was one of those times.

Alastor was fascinated, watching as you came apart on his cock. His cock he hadn’t moved for the hour it had been inside you.

Watching as you cried pretty tears and begged for him to move through hiccuped pleas, hips trying ever so hard to buck down, pussy leaking and spasming around his cock.

Hearing you whine and moan as every breath you took jolted you was delightful.

Hearing you scream when he finally thrust in was ecstasy.

You came two thrusts later, so Alastor bent you over the desk and fucked your sensitive pussy through a second orgasm, until he added his own cum to the mess between your legs.

Angel Dust

Being one of the best hookers in hell, Angel has cockwarmed before. He’d never seen the appeal of it.

Siting on someone’s cock doing nothing?

It was just a waste of time.

So when you asked him if you could cock warm him to help you keep focus, he was reluctant at first.

Surely it would just cause more hassle?

After some talking, and your reassurance you did want this, Angel agreed.

Cock firmly inside your tight warm pussy, Angel quickly began to see why this was so popular.

Watching as you sat on his cock, seemingly paying it no mind, even though Angel could feel you getting wetter?

Fucking nevhana.

Realizing ever move he made affected you? Hearing your bitten of moans and choked whimpers? Angel was quickly realizing why this was so popular.

Shifting slightly, Angel smirked as he felt your pussy clench.

It stayed that way as you completed your assignment, Angel shifting ever so slightly to feel your walls clench around him, and when you finally finished?

Angel wasted no time in picking you up and dropping you back down on his cock, using you as a prop while he chased his own release, all the while playing with your clit.

You came twice as Angel used your pussy as a fleshlight.

The two of you were definitely doing that again.

Adam

Adam loved you like this.

All quiet and pliant under his desk.

Mouth stuffed full of his cock as he did the necessary paperwork. He usually got Lute to do this bullshit but these ones were beyond her pay grade.

Lute was also the only one with permission to just walk into Adam’s office.

Which she did.

“Your coffee, sir.”

Adam smiled as he felt you swallow around his cock, this was his favourite part.

“Awesome super tits! Did you finish your work?”

You were forced to stay quiet and pliant on Adam’s cock as he spoke with his lutenante.

But two could play that game.

“Extermination is in thr-ah-hree months.”

You smirked as Adam lost some of his composure. You didn’t see Lutes eye roll. You did however, hear her leave.

“You little slut! You wanted her to catch us didn’t you? Pulling that stunt.”

Adam pulled you off his cock and stood you up, plunging two fingers into your pussy.

“Look how fucking wet you are, I should fuck you with the door open next time, all of heaven can see you getting your pretty slutty pussy split open, huh?”

Adam pulled his hand out of your pussy, sucking your juices off his fingers as he bent you over the desk and shoved his cock in instead.

“Maybe we should ask Lute to join us next time, bet my little slut would love that.”

Adam fucked into l you roughly, never stopping his words, working you to orgasm three times before he came himself.

“Should make you walk around with my cum leaking out your slutty pussy, no pants, let everyone know your mine, and no one else can have the pretty slut huh?”

Dispite his words, Adam did clean you up.

It was then that you noticed the second coffee. Your favourite iced drink.

Your face flushed as you thought of Lute buying you the iced drink, knowing you were under her bosses desk.

Feedback is always appreciated<3

Comments are my high.

~Vyrus

[earth2steve]

hiii i am LIVING for all your notes app blurbs 🥹 i saw that you were taking requests so i wanted to shoot my shot! could you pretty please with cherries on top do giggly and smiley and silly and sweet sex with eddie 🥹 he’s just a nerdy simpy lovesick lover boy to his core and i just know it. thank you mwa!!! ❤️

<3

18+, fem!reader

eddie is suffocating, blistering like the sun, sturdy pinning you against your dresser. there’s nothing funny about it — not in the way his hands are pawing at your chest or the shape of him through his jeans when he brushes against your thigh. eddie seems to disagree. you pull back from his face with a frustrated huff, head smacking the wall behind you with the force of it. 

“eddie, i can’t kiss you properly when you’re grinning like an idiot.”

he gives it proper air time now that you’ve stopped trying, smile splitting across his pretty face like a fault line. 

“can’t help it.” he shrugs, nudging closer — hand sliding up the front of your t-shirt. “i mean, holy shit, have you seen yourself? i’m gonna eat you alive.”

his finger brushes just below the underwire of your bra and your whole body flushes hot.

“yeah?”

“shit, yeah, baby. i’ll go cannibal holocaust on one of these.” his grip is tight on your thigh, squeezing so hard your flesh bulges out from between his ringed fingers. laughter blooms in your chest.

“my leg? nah. i’d go your ass, for sure.”

eddie nods, grin plastered stuck. “yeah? you wanna eat my a—"

your face screws up quick, one hand slamming down over his open mouth. eddie cackles, the sound muffled by your cupped palm. 

“no gross sex jokes before noon, please.” you urge, eyes dancing with amusement. eddie licks your hand and nips at your fingers until you yank it away, and then his mouth swallows your sounds of protest and you’re quickly boiling up again. 

his hand brushes past the hem of your skirt, rucking it up. "no? how 'bout just the gross sex part?"

"i'll allow it." you breathe, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as he drops to his knees on the carpet. you'd know him blind; the fond squeak of his leather jacket and the chains on his belt as he situates himself.

he wades in closer, grabbing one of your legs to sling over his shoulder, and a perfume bottle somewhere by your arm goes flying. “oops.”

“babe.” he chuckles, eyes alight. “did you get dressed in the dark or something?”

“you got the wrong day of the week down here.” he explains, finger tracing across the embroidery on your underwear. a shiver runs up your spine. 

“no.” you huff, aching to snap your thighs together with his hand still shoved between them. the soft, tickling sensation of his touch is driving you half crazy. “thursday is on the floor in the backseat of your van."

“and? didn't feel like skipping a day? - catchin' a breeze?” eddie smiles, eyes wide and teasing, brows tugging upwards.

“eddie, please. would you just—”

it's little salvation from the feeling when he buries his face between your thighs, offending underwear pushed to the side, a ragged moan ripping from your throat.

hot, melty pleasure washes over your bones. your hands go flying to the top of his head and more of the junk atop your dresser tumbles to the ground as his flattened tongue slices through the pooling arousal at your core.

“you’re — you’re so good at that, fuck — i love you, oh-”

eddie groans against you, surfacing for a moment to nip at the fat of your inner thigh with his canines.

“baby, don’t say shit like that, ’m begging you. 'm gonna cream my jeans.”

he doesn’t stay up for long — just enough to get his message across, and then he’s working at you again, tightening the band of pressure in your gut with his swirling tongue. 

“which- ohmy god. which part? that i love you, or that— oh shit-”

you don’t manage to finish the sentence before you’re tumbling headfirst and gasping into pleasure. your thighs twitch around his head, back arching, a second pulse between your legs.

he’s grinning like the cat that got the canary when he pops back up, pushing back his fringe and slotting between your wide stance.

“now what?"

“'was tryna spell thursday, couldn’t you tell? here, lemme try again—''

[predoom]

that part in headfirst slide + he did spit last night

[zebuie]

𝓔𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 .. 𝓣𝐢𝐝𝐞

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

SYNOPSIS; ellie eats u out on the beach.

WARNINGS; 837 words (interesting..) swearing, semi-public sex??? Idk😭, eating out (r receiving),fingering (r receiving), I think that’s all????

A/N; sorry for disappearing writers block got to me 😭🙏 anyways here’s this very messily written fic..🙁 also this is rlly short 😣

ways to help palestine

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ as you jolted awake as u heard a persistent knocking on your door. u rubbed your eyes and squinted at the light shining through the window. What time was it? you were normally a light sleeper and could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, so this must be an emergency. u fumbled for the lightswitch, blinking in the sudden brightness, and shuffled to the door.

"Who is it?" u called, your voice gravelly with sleep.

"Ellie," came the reply. "I need you to get up right now." u groggily rubbed your eyes and opened the door to see Ellie holding two cups of coffee and a blanket.

"What's wrong?" u asked, still not fully awake.

"Nothing. I just woke up and thought it'd be fun to go to the beach today," Ellie said with a smile.

"Ellie, it's 5am what.." u protested.

"Oh come on, it'll be fun," Ellie said, pulling you along.

u yawned, still half-asleep, and followed Ellie out the door. Ellie had laid out a blanket, picnic basket and a cooler of drinks. The sun was barely rising over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the ocean. Ellie took ur hand and led you to the water. You sat down on the sand, The waves crashed against the shore and seagulls soared overhead.

As u sat beside Ellie, taking in the calming sight of the ocean, her sleepiness started to fade away. You felt Ellie's fingers trace softly over urs and a warm smile tugged at her lips. Without saying anything, Ellie leaned closer to you and your lips brushed lightly against each other. A sudden rush of desire surged through your body as she eagerly kissed back,

Ellie's hands roamed lower down your body, caressing your hips gently before sliding under your shorts. Her fingertips grazed along your wet panties, causing shivers to race down your spine. "Ellie," you sighed breathlessly into the kiss as pleasure spread through your core.

Ellie slowly slid her fingers inside your panties until they found slick folds of flesh waiting for her there. The contact made waves of passion pulse through your veins; a whimper escaped from your mouth as u rocked slightly against Ellie’s hand seeking more friction. you broke apart briefly so that Ellie's fingers dove deeper inside your wet slit,

expertly stroking your swollen clit with her thumb as you moaned loudly into the morning air. Her free hand tangled in ur hair , gently tugging at its roots as they kissed passionately once more.

The mix of Ellie’s mouth on hers and her skilled fingering had uou trembling beneath her touch, nearing her breaking point. "Ellie…" u whimpered against her lips, pleading silently for release."Fuck me… please,"

you growled huskily into the kiss as waves of ecstasy crashed over you like a tsunami. In response, Ellie quickly removed her hand from your panties and pulled them down entirely before diving headfirst between your thighs.

She feasted hungrily on every inch of damp flesh laid bare before her while teasing your ass with a finger or two just for good measure. It wasn't long before she felt those telltale signs that indicated impending bliss: squirming hips, shaking knees and soft groans escaping through parted lips that seemed to hang open.

Ellie's fingers delved deeper into your wet slit, rubbing against your sensitive clit while her thumb grazed across the engorged bundle of nerves. Her lips locked onto yours in a desperate kiss that had you squirming beneath her touch, edging closer and closer to your peak. You whimpered helplessly against her mouth as she sucked greedily at the flesh around it all while fingering you expertly below.

Ellie's fingers worked in perfect harmony against your core, causing sparks to fly throughout your entire body. You groaned loudly into her mouth as you rocked against her hand, craving more of the intense pleasure she was dishing out. She broke the kiss and trailed a path down your neck to nibble playfully on your shoulder blade while keeping up her rhythm. "You're so fucking beautiful like this," she rasped out between breathless sighs before claiming your mouth once again in a passionate kiss.

Ellie shifted her weight so that she could spread your legs wider, giving her better access to your heated core. She licked a long stripe from the base of your clit up towards your wet entrance before repeating the process in reverse. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure racing through you and you moaned softly against her mouth as she teased every inch of skin within reach.

Her tongue flicked across your sensitive clit, causing you to buck against her hand. "Ellie fuck.." you cried out through gritted teeth, desperately craving more of her attention on that spot. She hummed in response before sucking the bud between her lips while circling it with the tip of her tongue. You gasped and arched your hips closer to her face, completely lost in pleasure as waves of intense sensation washed over you.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[chemevan]

he always slay with those backup vocals istg

[Image ID: a drawing of patrick stump and joe trohman from fall out boy. they're both singing headfirst slide into cooperstown into a bad bet from their record folie a deux, specifically the verse "keep a calendar this way you will always know". the last 2 words are written way fancier than the rest of the lyrics, to picture joe's high pitched backup vocals on that part of that song./.End ID]

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part six

art by the most talented @piaart -- they are also cooking up something extra hehe

author’s note: 18+! mdni! yeah yeah uhh… things happen between our favs. this is a nice chapter! future chapters may not be so nice… 5k!!! words. part one/two/three/four/five. ao3 linky.

Terzo’s pajama pants drag across the floor, having had trouble finding basically any pair of pants that fit his length since losing out on the ministry’s tailor. He’s grown used to it and has even gone so far as to hardly wear socks anymore due to his pant legs curling beneath his toes. Anxious to get back to you, to see how you’re handling falling headfirst into his trap. As he nears the guest room he is met with silence until he creeps closer to the door. A dim light spills into the hallway and he can hear soft pants and whines coming from inside. His stomach drops, lurching to push the door open. You’re on the bed with your knees pulled up to your chest, cheeks wet and eyes red.

“I-I can’t stay here,” you whimper as shaky hands rub your red eyes. “Something’s n-not right here.” Terzo is immediately in front of you, knees working his way to around your legs and his hands gingerly pushing your fingers away from your face to cup your cheeks. He is practically on top of you, the concern in his eyes nearly sending you into another fit of tears. Your head feels so heavy in his hands.

“What has happened, principessa? You are shaking like the leaf.” You’re surprised by the softness of his voice compared to the grip he currently has on your face, like you’ll disappear if he were to let you go. He brushes the hair out of your eyes with his thumbs. You try to catch your breath, almost unable to focus on anything other than how devastatingly handsome he looks. God, you really are *drunk*. Mumbling, you lift your arm that feels impossibly heavy to point at the suspicious telephone on the dresser.

He follows your fingertip and his entire body goes rigid as he sees it, rage boiling up inside of him. Terzo knows he can’t let it blow, not now, not while he has you in his arms. He takes a deep breath and turns back to you, leaning in so close that strands of his hair skim your forehead. “I am here now, topolina, eh? Here to protect you from the monsters.” Your eyes widen as if he’s serious. Is he serious? Was that phone call even real? You find yourself nodding. “I will take you to my room now, yes?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead scooping you up into his arms and hurrying out of the guest room.

Terzo is so *warm*. The fear and tension evaporates from your body, going completely limp against his chest. You are nearly being lulled to sleep just by his heavy steps and the steady beat of your heart. Visions blurs and when you’re able to focus again you’re being lowered onto a plush mattress. A comforter magically drapes across your body and you continue to sink into a cozy haze.

He stands over you unable to tear his eyes away or even move. Bewitched to see you in his bed. Terzo considers taking to the couch so you can have the bed to yourself but… but he’s a selfish, bad man. The mattress dips as he slides into bed beside you though he does allow for some space between you. Sleepy eyes flutter open and you look at each other. You start the little game, inching closer to him every few moments just for him to do the same until the tips of your noses touch. It’s almost juvenile, like having your first sleepover with a boy.

Lips brush against his and you’re kissing, timid and cutesy at first. The taste of alcohol is strong on your tongue and lips that he greedily sucks and laps at as your bodies press closer together. Terzo has his arms curled around your waist, pulling you tight against as your hands roam his coarse chest hair at your fingertips. You’re head is so heavy but your thoughts are light, each little sound from him sending you further into madness.

“Puffetta, you are tipsy,” he murmurs against your lips but there’s an edge of seriousness — you are drunk and no matter how hard you beg for him it would be wrong for him to truly take advantage. Still, his cool fingers slip beneath the hem of your t-shirt and he starts to stroke along your hip bones. Your hot skin only becomes hotter, face flushing as you try to wriggle yourself even closer to him.

“But I *want* you to.” An exasperated whine while your heart beats out of your chest. The whiskey he had you drink is going directly to your clit, throbbing with a primal need. You can’t believe you’re here in his bed, between luxurious purple sheets. Another whine and you hook your leg over Terzo’s hip to pull him in closer. “Touch me. Touch me *please,”* you whisper and chew on your lower lip.

*Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.*

Eve tempting the serpent.

He could take you so easily. Push your underwear to the side while you press into his touch. You’re probably so wet right now, so wanting. Terzo groans and removes one hand from underneath your shirt to gently push your leg off of his hip. The disappointment in your eyes makes him hesitate for just a moment until he gives your thigh and rough squeeze, making you mewl. Oh, what sweet sounds he could get you to make. He sucks in a deep breath, taking a moment to settle himself and ignore his burgeoning hardness in his boxers, and then brushes the tip of his nose against yours with a wicked grin.

“Okay, I’ll touch you. I’ll touch you along your stomach… your hips, your thighs…” His eyes are dark as they bore into yours. “Everywhere that isn’t *private*.” You huff and open your mouth to interject but he cuts you off. “I’ll make you feel good, *prometto.* Let me, gattina.” His husky voice and sharp squeeze of your hip has you nodding in agreement. Terzo knows best, doesn’t he?

He begins to trace slow, tantalizing circles along your inner thighs, making you shiver. You can feel the heat pooling even more intensely between your legs, but his touch remains just shy of where you need it most. For now, you let yourself get lost in the sensation, trusting him to keep his promise. Terzo’s bare fingers dance along your skin, igniting tiny sparks of pleasure with each stroke mixed with how soothing it all feels. To *finally* feel his hands all over you. You arch your back slightly, trying to coax him to where you need him, but he remains just shy.

"Terzo..." you breathe out, your voice a mix of desperation and drowsiness.

“I knew you wanted me,” he chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. Strong hands drift up your stomach and sides, so close to your breasts but just grazing the sides of them. You let out a shaky sigh, your body trembling with anticipation. “Calm yourself, puffetta. Aren’t you sleepy?” His fingers continue their journey, tracing patterns along your sides.

His touch is maddening, a tease that leaves you both frustrated and yearning. You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the alcohol and desire pulling you into a hazy state. His lips brush your temple as he whispers, "rest now, there will be a time for this.

"Promise?" You murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into his gentle touch.

"Prometto," he assures you, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. His hands continue their soothing patterns along your sides, easing you into a sense of calm and comfort.

Your breathing steadies as you sink further into the couch. The fire inside you starts to die down, limbs growing heavy. Terzo’s soft breath on your skin and his deep strokes of your hips soothe you to sleep in his arms. He gives a shuddered gasp as you finally succumb to sleep, burying his face into the crook of your neck to take a deep inhale of your scent.

He can’t let you leave now, can he? Not when you’re finally here, so close and so vulnerable. He tightens his grip on you, a possessive edge creeping into his touch. Lips graze your shoulders and he shudders again, white hot desire coursing through him. Terzo bites the inside of his mouth *hard* to calm himself, to focus on something other than you.

But you’re *here*. In his arms. Snoring quietly. He sighs against you, arms around you giving you a firm squeeze. Sharing his bed with someone almost seemed like something he would never do again. But you’re here. His mind quiets, a sense of peace washing over him. You are here for him. Not because of his position or his family. Eh, perhaps the money and the mystique helped but… Terzo hums quietly and brushes his nose along your shoulder.

You’re here.

***

You wake up with your head in his armpit. Eyes blink open and the scent of him fills your nose, musky and comforting. You wiggle slightly, trying to adjust your position, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer. If your head didn’t hurt so much you would be swooning. Cheek rests against his chest and you take a deep breath. Terzo stirs beneath you, his hand drifting up your head to lazily pet your hair. A content hum leaves your lips and you feel him stiffen, fingers digging into your scalp. You lift your head so that you can see him.

Terzo’s eyes are already dark. A beat passes between you, holding each other’s gaze until he gives in. He presses a timid kiss to your lips as his other arm wraps around your waist. You blink as his head tips back for a moment, a delicious grin spreading across his face before he rolls you on to your back.

His lips capture yours again, more urgently this time, as his hands roam your body with newfound purpose. Morning light filters through the curtains, bathing you in a comfortable warmth that spreads beneath your skin. Cheeks are already flushed and you mewl into the kiss as you bring one of your hands up to cup the side of his face. The tips of your fingers brush along his hairline, feeling his silky hair for the first time.

"Terzo," you murmur against his lips with a huff, the desire in your voice evident. He responds with a low growl, his fingers tracing the along your collarbone, sending shivers down your body. “Please.”

He feels a pang of deep arousal in his gut as that word falls from your mouth. There’s a brief reprieve, his nearly black eyes gazing into yours, giving a sharp inhale before he grabs you. Fingers dig into the back of your head, his mouth hovering just over yours as his hand snakes down the front of your sweatpants. Palm presses against the heat between your legs and your entire body jolts from him finally touching you where you want him to. Your jaw goes slack, giving a small whine as your eyes flutter shut.

“*O-oh,*” Terzo gasps, shuddering just from the noise you made. He desperately wants to hear more of it so he pushes your already damp underwear to the side and runs his deft fingers over your wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch as his name falls from your lips. Terzo moans and leans down to press his forehead against yours, sharp gaze locked on your every reaction. A finger slips inside you and your whole body tenses, breath caught in your throat. He starts with long, slow strokes in a come hither motion, making your toes curl and your legs tense.

He is absolutely loving this, completely consumed by the way your body reacts to him. This is a moment he has dreamed about, thinking up the perfect things to whisper in your ear that have sadly slipped his mind now that he has you beneath him. You rest your one hand on his arm, squeezing as your other one digs into the sheets. Terzo adds another finger, a hiss leaving his lips before crushing them against your mouth, swallowing up your needy moans and gasps. You’re drowning in him, pumping his fingers into you now at a heated pace with all your muscles clenching around him with each thrust.

You murmur his name again, your hips rolling against him with each movement, eyes half-lidded. Terzo lifts his head, a string of spittle connecting your lips as his grip on the back of your neck tightens. He’s panting heavily, his chest nearly rising and falling at the same rate while your fingers dig into his arm, whining at the loss of his mouth. Tension continues to rise within you, heat spreading beneath your skin. His body is nearly between your legs now, hips grinding along with each of his thrusts until he’s rutting against your inner thigh. You can’t handle it, a thunderous moan spilling from your lips as you clench around his fingers. The orgasm rips through you, pleasure so intense that it makes you see stars.

The snarl that rips from Terzo’s throat brings you back to the present. His hand bunches up your shirt and shoves it up your chest, exposing your breasts. You give a sharp gasp only for the air to be immediately expelled from your lungs as his other hand frees his throbbing cock from his briefs. It is perhaps the most handsome penis you have ever seen. He grasps himself with his large hand and starts to stroke at a frantic pace, his mouth dropping open with a groan. Impossibly dark eyes meet yours, heart thundering in your ears as you watch him pleasure himself. Your name tumbles from his lips, your *actual* name, before he gives a stuttered grunt and comes undone. You can’t help but flinch, arms flying up to shield your face. He moans with each pulse of his cock, his seed spilling on your chest and stomach.

Wide eyes stare into his hazy gaze. Terzo pants heavily, chest rising and falling with force as he takes in the mess he’s made. “You are afraid?” His voice his hoarse but his eyes have softened and his lips twitch into a barely there grin.

“Afraid?” You blink at him, eyebrows shooting up in confusion. It tears your mind away from overanalyzing the fact that your boss’ jizz is currently pooling in your bellybutton.

“Of my sperms,” he trills, unable to hold back his smirk any longer. You roll your eyes as he leans over you to grab a towel conveniently on his nightstand.

“I didn’t want it to get in my hair,” you huff and lean up on your elbows. Terzo gently wipes down each boob and continues down your stomach.

“Ah, si. Makes it, ehhh, clumpy.” He smiles wide, crinkly eyes forcing your frown to dissolve into a giggle. “Need a shower, cara?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Mmm, well I need one.” Terzo presses a kiss to your forehead before slinking off you to his feet. “Don’t snoop. I will know if you do.” He wags a finger at you, squinting his eyes. Drama king. You hold your hands up with an innocent look on your face. His nostrils flare and then he wobbles to the bathroom, his briefs around his ankles. You sink back into the bed, sweatpants around your thighs and your shirt bunched up underneath your armpits. Sitting up, you adjust your clothes so that you’re covered up and finally, you let your mind wander.

The insides of your thighs are still twitching. You feel like you could be drunk again, your head still buzzing from the way he worked you with his fingers. The water starts to run, filling the room with soft white noise.

You dangle your legs at the edge of the bed, eyes wandering the room now that Terzo is in the shower. It’s the nicest room in the whole house — chic, vintage furniture that is beautifully stained a deep purple that stands out against the intricate black wallpaper. Candelabras are scattered throughout with black candles half burned away. The mattress is comfortable, soft with a mass of pillows and several blankets including a sprawling comfortable that’s currently pooled around your waist. You catch your reflection in a floor to ceiling ornate golden mirror.

Hair a mess and swollen lips, complete with an exhausted expression. You run your fingers through your locks in an attempt to smooth it out and untangle some of the knots. Tips of your fingers travel down your cheek so settle on your pink lips with a light touch, thinking about the night before, or at least what you could remember from it. The way he pressed the glass to your lips and made you swallow all that whiskey before stealing your breath away with a bruising kiss. The line has been more than crossed, it’s been pole vaulted over. Eyes continue to drift around the room.

You become focused on the golden framed artwork on the wall in front of you, taking up the space above a low dresser. It’s him; Terzo with his hand raised above him holding up a geometric ball of light that streaks through what looks like the night sky. You’re compelled to your feet to get a closer look at the details. The shower turns off but you’re distracted — he looks almost like a statue, his figure a pale yellow in contrast to the dark sky. Like he carries the light inside of him. You want to reach out and touch the frame but the light is so bright, a worry crosses your mind that it could shock you — like Terzo had shocked you the other day. This doesn’t stop you from leaning in closer to it, admiring the image of him. You realize that he doesn’t have his scar.

It draws you in like the rotary phone did last night, except the art is much more welcoming. As your mind drifts to the phone call you feel a chill. Did that actually happen? The sounds echo in your head, the screams of agony and the squelching. Had you fallen asleep and dreamt it? You hum quietly to yourself. It’s not the best omen for a budding romance. Then again, it is only one of several red flags that have popped up since working for him and none of them have stopped you thus far.

The bathroom door opens and Terzo steps out, a towel draped loosely around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin and his paint still drying. He pauses, admiring you from behind for a moment until his gaze falls to what you’re doing.

*Lightbringer.*

Well, an edited version. He didn’t want to be reminded of the Clergy’s chess game, how he was merely a prop to forward *their* cause. Not the true cause. Lightbringer reminds him that for a time people truly did see him as a guiding light. Terzo’s eyes drift back to you, still in his clothes from the night before. His chest tightens, realizing that you’ve been the one guiding him these days.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is heavy with sleep as he takes a few steps towards you. You’re caught — jumping at the sudden sound of his voice before anxiously laughing it off, turning to look at him. You feel a jolt of arousal. Despite seeing him rather naked, the way water drips down his thick chest hair makes a sound bubble up your throat. Still, your eyes linger on the jagged scar that spans his entire neck.

“Could use some Advil I think,” you manage, rocking on your heels as use one hand to massage your temples. “Do you mind if I freshen up a bit?”

“A-ah, yes of course,” he shuffles out of the way before having a seat on the bed, pointing you in the direction of the bathroom. “There should be Advil in the cabinet.” Terzo props up his head in his hand, eyes lingering on you for a long while. You feel frozen in his gaze, the air catching in your lungs. You’re here in his room. In his clothes. You spent the night with him. He fucked you with his fingers not long ago. Forcing yourself forward, you give him another anxious grin and hurry by him to the bathroom.

He watches you go, drinking in your figure with a hungry look. The minute you’ve disappeared behind the bathroom door he gives a shaky exhale, his hand falling to grip the edge of the mattress. Nails easily tear through the fitted sheet, leaving claw marks. He brings his hand up to his nose to smell what’s left of you on his fingers with a growl. You’re still here and sober. Now, Terzo has to *keep* you. He has unending experience with seduction, luring people who can be easily swayed into the clutches of the ministry but he was only the figurehead. He was the shiny, handsome man who would reach out his hand and have twenty people take it but getting them to stay was never something he never had to worry about.

And his track record with relationships is abysmal. Is this even a relationship, though? He exhales through clenched teeth — he’s getting ahead of himself. You’re here and you *must* stay, no matter what Terzo decides to put you through. You’re his toy, after all. But he *likes* you*.* He chews on the inside of his cheek. An internal struggle ensues between wanting to give you the affection and love you so deserve or to ruin you like how he ruined all his other toys.

Terzo could use advice but the person he usually got it from *could* have been who was on the other side of the phone call you received. Why did it appear to you? It only ever would manifest for him, having been touched by the hells and all, why would the proverbial *they* want to communicate with you? **He can’t help but think he must have cursed you somehow.

His thoughts melt away as you emerge from the bathroom looking fresh and alert. He leans back on his hands unable to hold back the smile that cracks across his face. It may be the first time he’s felt true happiness since coming back.

“There’s a really good breakfast place right down the road from here if you wanna go.” You rock on your heels in front of him. His face goes blank, wide eyes meeting your gaze.

“Ehh… I don’t drive or have a car.”

“I can drive.”

“Your tire is flat.”

“Ah, right. The tire,” you sigh, having completely forgotten. “I could always get us an Uber—“

“*Puffetta*,” he interjects, his voice stern but still an edge of gentleness. You clamp your mouth shut and feel a pang of fear in your chest. Are you being too much already? Thoughts start to spiral until he speaks again. “I, eh… I don’t leave the house much. It’s…” he drifts off, running a hand over his face. “Difficult. It is difficult for me.” You take a moment to process his words, feeling a mixture of understanding and concern.

"That's okay," you say softly, stepping closer to him. There’s a hint of fear and worry in his eyes that makes you feel an ache in your heart. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? He might be worried about being recognized by leaving his house… or maybe it’s something deeper. You remember that despite spending much of your time with him each week there are "We can stay here. Maybe get delivery?” You scan his face, waiting for the first inkling of relief.

Terzo gives you a small, appreciative smile and you melt. "Mm, yes, let us do that." He reaches out to take your hand, toying with your fingers. You give a quiet exhale as you take a step toward him, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against your knuckles before planting soft kisses on each of your fingertips. It’s surprisingly sweet of him and it takes your breath away. Terzo’s free hand slips to your waist and pulls you into him so he can rest his head against your stomach. You start to run your fingers through his hair with a hum and you can feel him relax from your touch. He wraps his arms around you and the entire world falls away.

You stay like that for a quiet moment. This man just fingered you into oblivion but somehow this is more intimate. He lefts his head to look up at you, his mismatched eyes bright.

“Shall we start the day, baby?” Terzo’s voice is barely there, a low rumble that gives you butterflies. You nod and he’s immediately on his feet, arms still around your waist as he ushers you toward the door. He nearly trips over you with a loud giggle that fades as something catching his eye out the window.

Terzo does a double take, eyebrows furrowing. There’s an *imp* in his driveway. A small creature with claws and wings just wandering around your car. He focuses his eyes and realizes that it’s *changing your tire*.

“What’s up?” You start to turn around but he quickly squeezes you in his arms to keep your facing forward.

“E-eh, nothing. Come on — if I do not have french toast in the next hour I will *perish*.”

***

He spends most of the day watching you over the top of his copy of *The Turn of the Screw*. A book he read in his early days of his studies that he continues to come back to. There’s something… comforting about the story despite it being a horror. Perhaps Terzo could relate to the loneliness that plagues each of the characters— and the madness that follows. He’s not usually this quiet on the weekends, spending some time being… well, loud. Unruly. Not in a destructive way but in an over imaginative sort of way. He marches through the house and sings. One time he decided to roll himself up in his comforter and slink across the floor like a worm. The man needs activity but with you here all he wants to do is relish being in your company.

You are content with being with him, even when sitting in silence scrolling your phone while he reads. Terzo’s presence was felt more than seen during your usual working hours and you’ve never quite felt comfortable when he was around you until… well, *today*. You started with your head on his lap, his fingers massaging your scalp as you drifted in and out of a post-breakfast nap. As the day went on, the both of you shifted from room to room either settling sprawled over each other or snuggled in your own plush chair. It’s like two cats spending quality time together, cohabitating.

It’s not all that different from how you spend your current weekends now that your life is on a better schedule. You get to actually sleep at night now! But most of that extra time is spent in your bedroom alone, spacing out or watching some kind of trash reality tv show. Now you’re with him, breathing his air and taking up space in his home all while *not* working. And he’s been uncharacteristically quiet which at times sends your thoughts spiraling. Does he regret crossing the line with you? Have you overstayed your welcome? Just as you’re about to ask if you should leave he springs up from the couch.

“I have an idea, ‘fetta!” Terzo excitedly snuffles over to you with his hand outstretched. “We must enjoy the yard right this second!” You are *game*. Putting your hand in his you let him tug you up from your chair and out of the den. He slows down once you reach the kitchen, taking a moment to look out the window, remembering that *thing* that was outside earlier. Thankfully, the imp was nowhere to be found.

“You know, this has become one of my favorite pastimes.” Terzo squeezes your hand while he fishes a joint out of his pocket.

“You’ve had that this whole time?!” You reach out for it but he playfully swats your hand away.

“This doesn’t mix well with reading books,” he murmurs as he brings the joint to your lips. You swallow thickly before parting them to let him delicately place it in your mouth. “A joint and a nice lay in the grass on a warm day.” His voice dips, making your cheeks flush. You blink and the joint is suddenly lit — he must have had a match at the ready. “We must enjoy it together, si?”

“Yeah, we should,” you mumble around the joint before giving it a deep drag. Terzo plucks it from your lips just as you start coughing and slings his arms around your waist, pulling you against his hip. You walk in unison out the back door and into the yard, the sunlight bathing the both of you in its warm rays. He immediately flops onto the grass with the joint in his mouth, dragging you down with him. You don’t get outside much aside from the outdoor improvements you’ve cared for.

It’s nice to enjoy the freshly mowed grass and the cool breeze that keeps you from getting too sweaty. This is the first time you’ve seen him in sunlight, the rays kissing the wrinkles around his eyes. Terzo reaches for your hand with a sharp smile and deep dimples, lacing his fingers in yours.

Everything is so… perfect in this moment. So much so that you don’t want it to end.

[lillaluna]

guilty

"Wriothesley, I'm late," you say, and duck under your boyfriend's big arm, fastening the earring in your ear on the way.

"But you can stay late," Wriothesley says, watching you dash over to the wardrobe where you've started scoping out what you can wear to work.

Even though Wriothesley was now urging you to be late, getting ready in the morning was actually one of his favourite parts of the day. You weren't punctual, so like a cute, dishevelled kitten just waking up from a nap, you ran around his flat almost every morning looking for your things. He watched you dive headfirst into one of the shelves in his wardrobe. Your long hair spilled down your naked back, with only the strip of your black lace bra showing. Lowering his eyes down, the guy bit the inside of his cheek, remembering how last night he had, with his teeth, pulled down your black translucent panties that now clung so appetisingly to your taut ass.

"Where is she," you muttered angrily, worming your way back out of the bowels of the wardrobe. Almost jumping with fear, you put a hand to your chest, breathing heavily when you found Wriothesley already leaning over you, leaning against the wall. Considering your rather large height difference, he loved doing this to you. Looking up at you, his beautiful ice-coloured eyes on you, and teasing you.

"I guess you'll have to stay a while," the guy said with a cheeky grin, and then he reached his rough fingers up to the strap of your bra, sliding them upward to your collarbone and then down to the cleavage between your breasts.

Your pulse quickened with his actions, and like a mesmerised woman you thrust forward, resting your palms on the guy's torso. It was good that he hadn't buttoned his shirt yet, so you could run your fingers over all his muscles, feeling the relief of his body. You reached up on your toes to touch Wriothesley face, but he nimbly picked you up under his hips, and the next thing you knew, you were pressed against the wardrobe door, wrapping your legs around him.

Wriothesley clung to your neck, running his wet tongue along it before biting your earlobe. It sent a wave of goosebumps up your spine, and brought a muffled moan off your lips. You ran your slender fingers through the duke's gray-streaked hair, and then pulled his head back to look into Wriothesley eyes. He smiled slyly.

"Just admit that you hid my things," you said, carefully studying the face of your boyfriend, who already had stubble on his cheeks.

"Guilty," Wriothesley replied without resistance, pulling you into a deep kiss.

[omegalomania]

so im sure everyones fully well aware of the magic 8 ball site fob is using to promote a contest to win some tickets to see them in nashville. the little 8ball widget theyve got in browser is also modeled on the physical 8ball that they had in the vip merch packages for tourdust's first leg, which is cool! but of particular note is the way that, to fill out the contest form, you have to pick your favorite fall out boy songs. and the sheer breadth of what is allowed is...interesting? it's not cohesive by any means, but it is really wild the selection of songs they have here because not all of them are fob songs. in fact, quite a few of them aren't.

i went directly to the source code and got a full list of all possible songs that you could input (which you can check for yourself by right-clicking and selecting "view source"). i'm going to list them here for archival purposes, with a few notes/explanations cause some of these are WILD.

there are 187 songs total listed.

bolded songs indicate songs that are demos or never received an official release

italicized songs are songs by other bands

underlined songs indicate songs that are covers

songs with an asterisk beside them (*) indicate they are from patrick's solo catalogue. two asterisks (**) are for pete's.

additional commentary by me will be [in brackets]

20 Dollar Nose Bleed 27 7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen) 7-9 Legendary A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" A Nice Myth [one of the earliest fall out boy demos, found on their first ep, and only the casette version at that] Allie* Alone Together Alpha Dog America's Suitehearts American Beauty/American Psycho (song) American Made Art of Keeping Up Disappearances As Long as I Know I'm Getting Paid* Austin, We Have a Problem Baby Annihilation Bad Side of 25* Bang the Doldrums Beat It Big Hype* Bishops Knife Trick Bob Dylan Bounce [this is a song that came out on then-Decaydance labelmates The Cab's debut record, Whisper War, which patrick produced. he has writing credit and also is credited with background vocals (and also shows up in the music video)] Caffeine Cold Calm Before the Storm Centuries Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends Champion Check Your Phone** Chicago is So Two Years Ago Church City in a Garden Coast (It's Gonna Get Better)* Coffee's for Closers Cryptozoology* Cute Girls* Cyanide** [this is a nothing,nowhere song that pete did some spoken word parts and backing vocals on] Dance Miserable* Dance, Dance Dead on Arrival Dear Future Self (Hands Up) Death Valley Deep Blue Love* [song patrick did for the indie short film "spell"] Demigods Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes Don't You Know Who I Think I Am? Electric Touch [the (in?)famous taylor swift song patrick featured on] Eternal Summer Everybody Wants Somebody* Explode* Fake Out Fame Less than Infamy Favorite Record Fellowship of the Nerd [this is an alternate title for world's not waiting, as far as i can tell] Flu Game Flu Game [yes flu game is listed twice for some reason] Footprints in the Snow [demo from the Llamania ep] Fourth of July From Now on We Are Enemies G.I.N.A.S.F.S. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part to Save the Scene and Stop Going to Shows) Ghostbusters (I'm Not Afraid) Golden Grand Theft Autumn/Where Is Your Boy Greed* Grenade Jumper Grow Up and Be Kids [this song is on The Cab's sophomore album Symphony Soldier, which release after they left decaydance. nonetheless, pete does have some writing credits on it. give it a listen and you'll hear for yourself in the first 10 seconds or so] Growing Up Hand Crushed by a Mallet [this is a remix of the 100gecs song of the same name; patrick did some vocals for it] Hand of God Have I Got a Gift for You* [song patrick did for the horror movie black friday] Headfirst Slide into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet Heartbreak Feels So Good Heaven's Gate Heaven, Iowa Hold Me Like a Grudge Hold Me Tight or Don't Homesick at Space Camp Honorable Mention Hot to the Touch, Cold on the Inside Hum Hallelujah I Am My Own Muse I Don't Care

I Got Nothing, But You Got Something [this is the one that really perplexes me. there's no evidence of this song actually existing, other than an unverified genius post and an article on a single fandom wiki. it is inexplicably listed here despite its very existence being questionable at best.]

I Slept with Someone in Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me I Wanna Dance with Somebody (Who Loves Me) I'm Like a Lawyer with the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You) I've Been Waiting [this is technically a lil peep song with fall out boy as a feature] I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song) I've Got All This Ringing in My Ears and None on My Fingers Immortals Irresistible It's Hard to Say 'I Do', When I Don't It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love Jet Pack Blues Just One Yesterday Lake Effect Kid (song) Lake Shore Drive [this is a song patrick covered on the piano at wrigley, first night of tourdust] Love from the Other Side Love Will Tear Us Apart Love, Selfish Love* Love, Sex, Death Lullabye Mad at Nothing* Miss Missing You Moving Pictures My Heart Is the Worst Kind of Weapon My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark (Light Em Up) New Dreams [this is a bonus track on pax am days, a naked rayguns cover] Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner Novocaine Of All the Gin Joints in All the World One of Those Nights [another song from the cab's whisper war. this one has patrick doing vocals very prominently] Open Happiness [this was a huge collaborative piece done for a coca cola commercial. patrick was on it along with big names like cee lo green, janelle monae, and labelmates travie mccoy and brendon urie] Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued Parker Lewis Can't Lose (But I'm Gonna Give It My Best Shot) Past Life [llamania ep] Pavlove People Never Done a Good Thing* Porcelain* Pretty in Punk Rat a Tat Reinventing the Wheel to Run Myself Over Roxanne Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)* San Diego [this is a blink-182 song that patrick did some writing for] Saturday Saturday Night Again* Save Rock and Roll (song) Sending Postcards from a Plane Crash (Wish You Were Here) She's My Winona Short, Fast, and Loud Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers So Good Right Now So Much (For) Stardust (song) So Sick [this is a song patrick has exclusively covered live, so it's a fascinating inclusion] Sober [another blink-182 song patrick did some writing for] Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year Star 67 Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea Sugar, We're Goin Down Summer Days (song) [this is a martin garrix song patrick lent some vocals to] Sunshine Riptide Super Fade Switchblades and Infidelity Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things to Do Today The "I" In Lie* The (After) Life of the Party The (Shipped) Gold Standard The Carpal Tunnel of Love The Kids Aren't Alright The Kintsugi Kid (Ten Years) The Last of the Real Ones The Mighty Fall The Music or the Misery The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes The Phoenix The Pink Seashell The Pros and Cons of Breathing The Take Over, the Breaks Over The World's Not Waiting (For Five Tired Boys in a Broken Down Van) This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race This City* Thnks fr th Mmrs (song) [for some reason the site specifies song here, despite that not being necessary. the only other times this distinction is relevant is when songs share a title with their albums, i.e. save rock and roll] Thriller Tiffany Blews Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC) Uma Thurman Untitled 1 (Colorado Song) Untitled 2 (Jakus Song) [both of these are recently released tttyg era demos] W.A.M.S. We Didn't Start the Fire We Don’t Take Hits, We Write Them [this is a song that famously was only ever performed live. we don't have a studio recording or even a demo, as only live versions exist] We Were Doomed from the Start (The King is Dead) West Coast Smoker What a Catch, Donnie What a Time To Be Alive What's This? When I Made You Cry* Where Did the Party Go Wilson (Expensive Mistakes) Wrong Side of Paradise [llamania ep] XO You're Crashing, But You're No Wave Young and Menace Young Volcanoes Yule Shoot Your Eye Out

in conclusion i have no idea who compiled this list. it doesn't include every song patrick and pete have ever touched (notice the lack of gym class heroes, cobra starship, and hush sound discography) but it has a really weird selection of songs. i mean, blink songs patrick wrote on?? its bizarre.

anyway do you think if we mass request swing me by the rafters they'll have to do it