#that scene with him shaving 🥹

[jongbross]

Hi, it’s boyfriends things with Exo😅🤍

Thanks

kim minseok:

cutest boyfriend out there

will take such good care of you 🥹

is literally a keeper

your family loves him, he just charms everyone around him

might be a bit difficult as sometimes he can't see why you're still with him

doesn't realize that you're the luckiest person for having HIM

kisses your nose a lot

holds your hand while walking on the street

listen to you vent and gives you the best advices

won't let you sleep in though, so good luck with that

kim junmyeon:

the personification of a gentleman

pulls chairs for you, open doors, makes sure you're with your seatbelt on, doesn't let you walk on the side of the sidewalk that's closer to the street, etc

has the warmest hugs

can literally hug you for hours if you let him

secretly plans to pop out the question in the near future

buys you anything you want. anything.

respects your opinions SO MUCH, it's ridiculous

has the boyfie vibe somehow, so people don't hit on him anymore

chanyeol can see how much he changed because of you, how he's much more bubbly now

"you made him worse!!" (joking)

zhang yixing:

nicest boyfriend out there

dude is just soooo chill, your friends adore him

shows you random stuff on your phone just so you can laugh about it together

hands you his jacket whenever you're cold, but scolds you for not taking one with you

calls you a lot whenever he's away

you'll have to take care of his cats, i'm sorry

does this thing where he kisses both your temples before kissing your lips when he has to say goodbye to you before traveling

passes out beside you on bed while you're talking about a nice recipe you saw on tiktok

doesn't bring up marriage if you don't

really, really hopes you do

byun baekhyun:

i hate him, but congrats to you, i guess

ugh he's just so sweet

takes you out EVERYWHERE, like picks you up at your place

always has a smile on his face when he's around you

asks you about your day and listens to carefully

holds your hand while driving

charms your mom with helping her on the kitchen, it's like a scene straight out of a movie

sings 24/7, so your house is never silent anymore (your neighbors hate you though)

has a whole way of talking that's for you and for you only

you can't trick me baekhyun, i know you must have at least one (1) flaw

kim jongdae:

sunshine boyfriend

let's you sleep in whenever you feel like it

clears some space on his wardrobe/drawers for your clothes and things

"jagi, can we cuddle?"

has so much fun playing with you, you're literally he's best friend

always places bets with you

lots of kisses on your cheek

randomly smiles to you because he knows it makes you happy to see him smile

likes to take you away for the weekend, just you and him

loyal af

park chanyeol:

the "it's okay, i got it" boyfriend

personal uber driver, takes you everywhere if you let him

really, reaaally stubborn

can't sit still, is always looking for something to do with you

"did you see they opened a new bowling place downtown?"

purposely leaves his things at your place

his house is way bigger than yours but he doesn't care

plays guitar while you cook dinner

kisses you everytime you feed him

loves when you sleep on top of him

do kyungsoo:

he's comfort embodied in a person

likes to have breakfast with you, it's like his favorite part of the day

bonds with your pet if you have one (and they love him)

saves new videos on youtube to watch it with you

is in charge of cooking, always

asks you to help him shave just because

gets excited whenever something good happens to you

is your number 01 supporter

loves when you cuddle closer to him in your sleep

shy forehead kisses whenever he can't find the words to express his feelings

kim jongin:

cutest, most caring boyfriend

respects you more than anything in this world

listens to you so carefully whenever you have something to say

is willing to fix some of his bad habits for you

needs constant reassurance that you love him, just because he loves you so much and can't stand the thought of you falling out of love

laughs so hard at your jokes, and they're not even that funny

pays for every meal but lets you pay for his coffee so you won't feel bad

helps you choose your outfits

loves when you play with his hair

wanna have a baby with you so bad

oh sehun:

gets offended whenever someone treats you badly

"why didn't you tell me?? i would've give them a piece of my mind"

smirks whenever he sees you wearing his clothes, he just loves it

calls you whenever he can't go see you

encourages you to go see your friends, especially when he can't be around

but let's be honest, he's attached to you by the hip

rolls his eyes whenever you baby him, but secretly loves it

stares at you dearly when you're talking to his hyungs or his family

lets you play with his fingers when you're bored or too shy to talk to people

dude is so in love it's actually sickening

[swifty-fox]

⁶⁾ “i can’t believe it took a night like that for you to let me help you with something.” for Clegan please ? 🥹❤️ Only if it inspires you of course ❤️

uhhh guess this is a sequel to this other bathing scene

have another 1k of the buckies being cute

"Tell me something Buck," John's fingers swipes across Gale's bottom lip, presses a dimple into the plush center and replaces it with his lips for a brief chaste kiss, "how come you can't grow hair nowhere but your chin and I can everywhere but that."

Gale hums, closes his eyes as the razor scrapes along his adam apple in an audible rasp. He waits for John to pull the blade away, wiping it on a clean cloth to speak, "Guess I'm just lucky, John."

"Bestowed with looks that would make the Greeks and the Romans weep. Talented, smarter than any man in the room, perfect blue eyes, a full head of hair, the prettiest pink cock and hole I've ever seen-"

"Bucky"

"-and you're calling yourself lucky 'cos you can grow a beard in a week unlike the rest of us women."

He's laughing, the boney curve of his wrist pressed to his mouth to hide his grin and he hardly cares he's getting shaving cream there because Bucky's grinning at him with the full wattage of his mirth, face crinkling like expensive silk into a beautiful expression Gale knows by heart.

"Are you going to just flirt or are you going to help me shave this damn mustache?"

"Hmm," John squints his eyes playfully at him, leaning around his body to swish the straightrazor through the washbasin in the tiny London hotel room they'd gotten for the weekend.

Gale's chin is captured once again in a confident grip, sharp blade dragging across his skin with tender precision. His thighs are spread to make room for the broad spanse of John's body and it would be an easy movement to grind their hips together and turn this interaction altogether something different.

"You should keep the 'stache," John says, pulling away to clean the blade again, "It makes you look dashing."

"It makes me look like a child who can't grow hair anywhere else but his upper lip."

"You wound me, Buck."

The smile is an unwilling thing. His problem has always been that he can't resist John Egan's personality. The looks were a boon but he thinks the other man could have been plumb ugly and Gale would have still been his devoted man from the first moment.

He smiles at John and can't drop it even as John glides the knife across his throat.

He watches John's face and ponders the trust, the vulnerability. The sudden image of John tilting the blade too sharply, flesh zippering open under the tool turned weapon. He'd let him, Gale thinks. He'd let John do that to him, give him his blood and his life and everything else he might have. Unable to suppress his shudder when John presses the razor to his throat again, it makes John pause.

"I love you," He says, openly and blandly and for the first time aloud because it hadn't felt safe to do so while they were at war.

John, who had turned to rinse the razor, drops it with a clatter and Gale is subject to the glorious experience of a John Egan who is struck speechless.

"I-"

"Is that okay?" Gale interrupts, struck by a sudden nerve. Maybe this wasn't what they were supposed to be. Maybe it was too bold, too open for the secrecy that was asked of him.

"Is it - Jesus, Buck-" John kisses him, smearing shaving cream between their chins, "You're insane. I love you. Of course it's fucking okay. I love you." he repeats it a third time, as if he'd been holding them back and now could finally set every instance free.

Gale smiles, lazy and tired and warm under the hands fo his fella. John kisses him again and laughs.

"I can’t believe it took a night like this for you to let me help you with something"

[dilli-vali-girlfriend]

Hindi movies I’ve watched since my exams ended:

Dil chahta hai: i never knew i needed to see akshaye saif aamir trio until i saw this movie 😭😭😭 kind of weirded out by the too old girl and akshaye plot but it was cute!!

Khoobsurat: they did fawad khan so dirty by making him say so stupid things some times. Nonsense movie but fun

Om shanti om: SHANTIPRIYA 🛐🛐 what great acting by deepika bhai for a DEBUT film. I loved the reincarnation plot ahahaha. Also omg kitne saare bade bade actors the same movie mei i dedd

Badrinath ki dulhaniya: watched purely for varia plot uske alawa nonsense plot. Love the yearning ahh

Humpty Sharma ki dulhaniya: VARIA VARIA. much better than badri ki dulhaniya. also MAI TENU SAMJHAAAWAAAN KI. Varun dhawan clean shave era 🙏🙏

Hum tum: HANDS DOWN BEST MOVIE IVE WATCHED IN ALLL. Emotional rollercoaster. Saif and Rani ki chemistry on ALAG LEVEL 🥹🫶 end tak aate aate rule hi dia tha mujhe. Also that one scene where he kisses rani to shut her up in the starting 😭😭 me and whoooi

Kalki: lets not talk about it? Ew? Cheee?

Desi boyz: atp i dont know why i am intentionally watching nonsense movies cuz what the hell was this. Dude has a gf tab bhi male escort banne ko taiyar hai? What kinda- and tanya and jerry vala plot kitna uncalled for tha

[thebuckandeddiething]

Eddie's mustache might be temporary but I've created a Buck tenderly shaves it for him as they look into each other's eyes scene in my head so I'll be alright 🥹

[macabr3-barbi3]

God, That's Good!

Chapter 8: Pentious' Death

Pentious has dirt on Lucifer- and that just won't do. Something shifts in his relationship with Alastor.

Tags: EXPLICIT DEPICTION OF MURDER (I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. A MAN IS DYING); followed by Explicit Sexual Content™️

Sweet Lord this chapter was a lot! Please be mindful of the tags above before continuing. There is a smut scene in this chapter- I'll include dividers surrounding it in case you want to skip over that section!

Also just as a note- everything from chapter 7 to chapter 12 is taking place on the same day! I tried to figure out a way that it would make sense to space things out but ultimately just having a bunch of fuckery on the same day is what worked out the best xD

My weekly thank you to @fraugwinska for her eternal love and support, as well as to @minkdelovely for being so supportive and sweet about this story 🥹

(this divider doesn't count for the smut lol)

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9 🥧 Chapter 10 🥧 Chapter 11

They stand there in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before he speaks. “So, what can I do for you?” Lucifer asks the other barber, and Pentious’ smile somehow gets even wider.

He straightens his shoulders. “I have come to check out your establishment,” he says, and Lucifer’s eyebrow quirks up. “Despite what Niffty may have claimed, it’s not much to look at- though I presume you’ll have it in top shape in no time!” He steps further into the shop, trailing his fingers over different surfaces, inspecting Lucifer’s razors, moving around until he’s within an arm’s length. “I have also come to collect my money back- the five dollars.”

And he’s been trying to be polite, but the request makes him laugh out loud. “Do you not know how a contest works, Sir Pentious? You lost- the money is no longer yours.”

“Furthermore,” Pentious continues, as though Lucifer hadn’t spoken, “I shall expect half of your earnings every week, delivered to me via Niffty, once you start getting customers in. You’re welcome to use your remaining share to make the place a little nicer-”

“Just why, exactly,” Lucifer cuts in, “would you expect me to do that?” He spoke as though Lucifer owed him something, when their contest had been cut and dry- Lucifer had won fair and square, he hadn’t cheated in any way, nor had he stolen the money.

Pentious holds out his hand to Lucifer, waiting for the money to be dropped into it. “You see, I thought I was wrong until you mentioned Fleet Street to the crowd asking where they could find you! I was but an apprentice- you taught me the tricks of the trade!”

For a moment Lucifer has no idea what he was talking about- then the memory hits like whiplash, causing him to dig his fingers into his palm, the faint pain of it keeping him grounded. Young Eddie- a slip of a teenager that he had given a few dollars a month to assist him in cleanup one summer when his business had been booming, his free time limited when it came to the state of the shop. He had been going through a late puberty, his facial hair growing in patchy and uneven around his red spots of acne, and he- Damien- had taken pity on the boy and taught him how to shave in the most basic of manners. 

He feels the blood drain from his face as he staggers back towards his chair, and Pentious barks out a harsh laugh. “Ha! So you recall my face at last, Damien Diggory- and you’ll adhere to my terms or I ssshall fetch the Beadle and tell her of my findingsss!” He stalks closer, his frame towering over Lucifer far less pleasantly than Alastor did, his words hissing through his teeth in his excitement. “You think you’re ssso much more clever than everyone else, coming back here, but I know who you are! And I ssshall have you on the first ssship back to the wastesss of Florida if you don’t do as I sssay.” He straightens his shoulders again, smile pleasant once more. “I ssshall like to have my money back now if you pleassse, Missster Diggory.”

His plans, his goals, his vengeance- they slip through his fingers like sand with every word from the other barber’s mouth. He’s still talking but Lucifer can’t hear him over the buzz of anger, of wrath, that fills his mind, his eyes going dark around the edges. Pentious would ruin everything that Lucifer had worked for if he wasn’t stopped; even if Lucifer did as he said the threat of it would loom over his head constantly, forever in the back of his mind, never sure if he would fulfill his plot before it all came crashing down around him.

And Lucifer does raise his hands from where they’ve been ramrod straight at his sides, but not to reach into his pocket for his wallet- he feels like a man possessed as he lunges instead for Pentious’ throat, the man letting out a choked off grunt when Lucifer tackles his tall frame to the ground. There’s a resounding thud that shakes the shop walls, and Lucifer is distantly conscious enough to hope that Alastor doesn’t hear it and come running, or God forbid the little girl come up to see this. But more pressing is the deep thudding inside his head, dark whispers saying to silence this man, that he was going to destroy everything that Lucifer had done if he didn’t stop him. Even now his past chased him as he tried to outrun it, this lowly charlatan that he had tried to help as a young man coming back to haunt him all these years later.

Pentious releases a hand from those encircling his throat, opting to rake his fingernails down Lucifer’s arm rather than dislodge his grip- he can feel bones shifting beneath his palms, the red of the man’s face ensuring that he couldn’t speak beyond the garbled noises that escaped his throat. He tries to twist his body, managing to knock Lucifer from his position and try to scramble away. The smooth fabric of his suit slips against the wooden floors, not giving him the traction he needs to truly escape. Lucifer tackles him once more, this time bringing his arm up to wrap around Pentious’ throat and finally,  finally,  his movements slow and eventually stop, his body hanging limply in Lucifer’s arms before he lets him gently to the floor.

He was well and truly fucked, he realizes, his panic rising when he hears the girl shouting something from downstairs. In a frenzy, he grabs Pentious’ boots and drags him across the floor to the half-open door of the apartment, scrambling to shove his body inside and ease the door shut before the door to the shop opens. He pulls his sleeves down in a rush so she can’t see the marks that her employer has left on him, and when she flings the door open she glances around curiously.

“Where’s Sir Pentious? He told me to make sure he wasn’t late for the tailor- I think it was supposed to be yesterday actually, but I know I have the time right at least!” She stands with her arms behind her back, rocking gently forward on her toes then back on her heels.

Lucifer clears his throat, hoping he doesn’t sound as panicked as he feels. “Sir Pentious had to leave,” he says in what he hopes is a reassuring manor. “Perhaps you should run along after him!”

She whips her head back and forth, red hair splaying in every direction. “No, sir- if he comes back and I’m not here I would be in some trouble! I mean- he says that, anyway. But between you and me, I think he’s a bit of a softie.” She gives Lucifer a conspiratorial wink, her smile fading when he doesn’t return it. “He’s okay though, right?”

“Oh, he’s fine! Just had to step out-”

He hears a soft noise from behind him, perhaps too low for the girl to pick up but he hears it clear as day- Pentious was waking up from his short bout of unconsciousness, Lucifer’s strength not enough to permanently put him out of commission. “-rather suddenly- why don’t you wait for him downstairs? Or, like you said- if he’s a softie, surely you wouldn’t get into any trouble for returning to his home or base of operations.” He returns her wink finally, and that seems to put her at ease- she flashes him a smile and is off in seconds, the door slamming behind her and the stairs thumping as she bounds down them. He breathes a sigh of relief, taking a deep breath for the first time since he had learned who Pentious was, steadying himself to go back into the apartment and try to talk reason into the man.

He doesn’t get a chance. Pentious charges him from the doorway of the apartment, Lucifer landing hard on his knees while Pentious tries to claw at his face, his throat, anything he can reach. His own throat is bruised, dark shades of purple and mottled green that makes him look like a dead man come back to life, his eyes red rimmed and furious as he tries to take Lucifer down. In a moment of desperation, Lucifer manages to grab his razor- he flicks it open with practiced ease, one hand adjusting the grip he has and the other reaching out to fist in Pentious’ hair, swinging his weight to change their positions. The force of the motion sends them both toppling backwards, Pentious still flailing in an attempt to get away despite the firm grasp Lucifer has on him, no true sounds coming from his ruined throat.

In a way, Lucifer’s mind clears as he lifts the razor. He stares at the ceiling of the barbershop, stray bits of hair obscuring his vision, but he feels for once like his body is at peace. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears over the muffled noises from the man above him- he doesn’t feel numb, or empty.

He feels justified. He brings the razor down in a swift, precise movement, a spurt of warm liquid that drenches his face before the body that rests on his chest falls still at last.

He’s unsure how long he lays there before he drops the razor, using the weight from both arms to shove Pentious off him. There’s the solid noise of something heavy dropping onto a hardwood floor, then silence. Lucifer can’t look at him, can’t face what he’s done yet even as the evidence coats his face, his chest, his hands. 

It was necessary. That’s what he tells himself as he rises to his knees, body vibrating with the leftover adrenaline of the fight. And no one would ever have to know- he would clean up, hide the body until dark when he could try to take it somewhere to bury him. There was that killer on the news, the Bayou Butcher- it could be passed off as one of their kills if anyone ever found the body. Alastor would never have to know. He seemed complacent enough with Lucifer’s plans but to actually see it plain as day, staining Lucifer’s skin? The conversation they had had not even an hour ago would be for nothing- Alastor would be frightened of him, would surely kick him out, report him to the authorities. He needed to move now, clean this mess up, hide the body-

There’s no creak of the stairs or the door, nothing to alert him to Alastor’s approach until he hears the soft gasp at the entrance, looking up from Pentious’ body and the pooling blood to see Alastor standing there with wide eyes, his hand covering his mouth.

“Alastor,” he gets out, his voice low and rough. “Fuck, I- I didn’t want you to see this.” 

“You killed him?” The baker asks, and Lucifer can’t identify the tone in his voice so he flinches at the sound of it. “You actually- you did this?”

He closes his eyes against the raw emotion in Alastor’s voice. “Yes. I- I wasn’t planning to, he recognized me from my past and he was going to blackmail me, I couldn’t just let him-” Alastor is still watching him, his eyes darting between Lucifer and Pentious, his hands trembling, and Lucifer’s chest aches with the possibility of Alastor being scared of him. He staggers from his knees to stand, his feet stuttering as he tries to approach Alastor, and he knows he must look a mess. “Please, Alastor, he would have ruined everything; you have to understand.”

And to Lucifer’s shock, he seems to. He removes his hand from his mouth to reach out and cup the barber’s cheek, his other hand coming up to wrap around his back and pull him into his chest. Lucifer could sob with relief, Alastor’s arms around him feeling like they were holding him together- like without them he would simply bust into pieces on the floor. “Fuck, I was- I’m so sorry,” he mumbles into Alastor’s shirt. “If you’re afraid, I understand; but please know that I would never, never harm you.” He places his own hand- coated in blood, he realizes, but he feels like he’s moving in slow motion, too late now to take the movement back- along Alastor’s face, stroking a thumb along his cheekbone.

To say he’s surprised when Alastor steals his mouth in a searing kiss would be an understatement; one he doesn’t have time to unpack as Alastor brings their lips together, a frenzy of teeth and tongue that has wires crossing in Lucifer’s brain, transforming the anxiety of the moment into something more heated that races confusedly through his veins. The baker guides him, walking him backwards towards the apartment until they cross the threshold, closing the door enough that they can’t see the body on the floor of the barbershop before shoving Lucifer onto the couch.

Dust puffs around them, tickling his nose, almost breaking the moment to let out a nervous giggle until Alastor starts pawing at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons until he gets it open and slides his hands along the planes of Lucifer’s chest and abdomen. One of his hands drifts lower, brushing against sensitive skin through the fabric of his pants and Lucifer’s hips buck up without conscious thought, a broken moan pouring into Alastor’s mouth that the other man simply drinks down. 

It’s not until he hears the clinking of his belt that he’s spurred into action, pulling off Alastor’s mouth with a gasp and stilling him with a hand to his wrist. “Jesus fucking- Alastor, wait-”

“I can’t,” Alastor groans, rolling his hips down against Lucifer’s, the friction against his clothed erection making Lucifer see stars. “I need you, need this, please…” He drags Lucifer’s hand away from his wrist, brings it to the hardness straining between his own thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Lucifer manages before Alastor is taking his mouth again, tongue sliding against his, everything heated and moist and so much. “Fuck, I- we’re taking it slow,” he protests halfheartedly, already kicking himself for the possibility of the gorgeous man in his lap taking a step back. “We said we would slow down-”

“Slow down after, damn it,” Alastor near snarls, never ceasing the grinding of his lower body, and flashes of pleasure spark down Lucifer’s spine at the perfection of it. “Will you be so cruel as to make me beg?”

His head is shaking before he realizes it, soft words of affirmation spilling forth and spurring Alastor to finish removing Lucifer’s belt, tossing it carelessly behind him to clink onto the floor and shoving his shirt up. His hands are fast and deft, buttons undone in record time and reaching in to pull Lucifer’s cock from his pants, hard and aching in the slight chill of the room from the breeze that blows through the broken windows. He moans when Alastor gives him a stroke, his grip firm and perfect, and he finds the sense of mind to start working at the baker’s bottoms open as well. 

The whimper that escapes Alastor when Lucifer gets a hand around his erection will live in his mind forever, he thinks, low and keening against Lucifer’s mouth. He shifts his seat in the barber’s lap, impatiently smacking his hands away so he can bring their cocks together between his own hands and buck his hips, bare skin hot and hard against one another, the way eased by the fluid that leaks from them both. 

Lucifer is almost embarrassed by how quickly he’s losing control with this beautiful man in his lap, his fingers digging into the soft skin of Alastor’s hips- he’s sure to leave bruises, something he wishes he was a good enough man to feel sorry about, but the thought of leaving something that lasts on Alastor’s body was too delicious to pass up. He grips harder, and Alastor rips their mouths apart to let his head drop back and whine. “Touch me,” he asks earnestly despite his earlier despair at the thought of begging, freeing a hand from their lengths to bring Lucifer’s deathgrip from his waist to the buttons of his shirt, all but ripping them off in his haste to assist in undoing them. “Please, Lucifer-”

To have someone so lost in passion because of him that they plead with him for more, their release obvious and imminent in the tremble of their frame is a high Lucifer has seldom experienced. Even with Lilith he had never felt so desirable- but to think of her now was unfair to either of them. Right now he was here with Alastor, who was squirming and desperate seated on top of him, Lucifer would be damned if he didn’t give the man the attention he desired and deserved.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, taking over for Alastor’s nimble fingers and hastily opening his shirt, calloused fingers brushing against a dark, sensitive nipple, the motion causing Alastor to collapse forward with his head on Lucifer’s shoulder. He pants hot and wet in Lucifer’s ear as the barber lets his hands explore, trailing over beautiful, smooth skin that it was possible no one had ever touched before; his sounds are a combination of unrestrained pleasure and frantic whispers of Lucifer’s name. “You’re a marvel, so perfect for me-”

Alastor’s grip tightens fractionally, the rhythm of his hips faltering against Lucifer’s until his whole body tenses. Teeth sink into Lucifer’s throat- not hard enough to draw blood, perhaps more of an anchor to reality as orgasm crashes into Alastor, muffled noises escaping where he holds delicate skin between his teeth. The baker’s grip is so much wetter as he spills over his fingers, a hot splash of release that decorates Lucifer’s abdomen and makes the glide of their cocks against each other sloppy.

The pain of the bite, the sudden slickness to the friction of Alastor’s hands holding their erections together is too much for Lucifer as well. He throws his head back, his groan directed at the ceiling as his orgasm rips through him, body burning like he’s been set ablaze from the inside out. Ecstasy claws its way through him, sharp bolts of it that start in his abdomen and flash through his limbs and brain like explosions while he spends himself as Alastor had, hot and wet across his fingers and their cocks.

Lucifer isn’t sure how long they sit there, simply breathing one another in before Alastor withdraws his teeth from the barber’s throat. “My apologies,” he murmurs into Lucifer’s ear, and the shiver that races down his frame has little to do with the chilled air that resides in the apartment. “I’m not quite sure what came over me.”

“I have some idea,” Lucifer says on a laugh, slipping a hand into Alastor’s dark curls to pull him from the crook of his neck and look at him properly. He brushes sweaty strands away from his forehead, presses a soft kiss to his lips. “It was an intense moment for both of us- there’s no need to apologize for it. If anything, I should be apologizing; I said I would court you properly before we did anything more and I’ve given in to the first temptation you offered me.”

Alastor scoots himself backwards on Lucifer’s lap, grimacing at the mess that still rests between them. “You’re the one who chose to name yourself after the origin of sin in Eden; perhaps I was counting on that.” He winks before he climbs out of Lucifer’s space entirely, grabbing a doily from the sofa arm to haphazardly wipe himself down before he slips through the door back into the barbershop.

Lucifer hears him speak, and the dopey smile still on his face from the linger aftershocks of pleasure fades when he remembers what lay on the other side of that door- what he and Alastor now had to race to fix before anyone came looking. 

“Oh dear,” Alastor exclaimed, and Lucifer could picture the worried crease in his eyebrow at the carnage. “What a mess!”

Act 1:  Chapter 1 🥧 Chapter 2 🥧 Chapter 3 🥧 Chapter 4 🥧Chapter 5 🥧 Chapter 6  🥧Chapter 7 🥧 Chapter 8 🥧 Chapter 9 🥧 Chapter 10 🥧 Chapter 11

[typicalopposite]

Heyyy, I hope you’re well!💖 I’m soooo obsessed with your “every time I fly” fic it’s all I’ve been thinking about the past 2 days seriously 😭🥹🙌 I would love love love to see Tommy’s point of view or a scene of someone comforting him before the accident 🤧 totally get that you probably already have a plan for the fic thoo but just wanted to spread da love anyway and share!! ❤️‍🔥

Ahhhh! 🫶🫶🫶 I am feeling better from yesterday! And I JUST FINISHED chapter 4 (5om ao3 cause of the prologue) so of course I’ll give you a little Tommy POV! I do actually have a plan to turn the backstory I wrote here into a full fic, especially now that I have angsted a little too hard towards Buck and I feel the need to detail everything that happened with Jay and why Tommy feels like he’s to blame even though Buck was in the wrong! 🫣 but that will be after this fic is finished! Anyway!

Here you go 🫶🫶

Tommy lays on his couch, staring absentmindedly at his TV. He couldn’t tell you a single thing that’s happening on it, but the background noise is just about to lull him (finally) to sleep. If he doesn’t get some soon he might go insane. But to be fair… he feels like he’s gone insane already. Insane with grief, definitely… insane with guilt… for sure.

He should have never kept this a secret. Now it’s all coming back and ruining his life all over again.

There's a knock at his door. Loud thuds to the tune shave and a haircut. Tommy groans and pulls the throw pillow over his head to muffle them. He knows who it is already… They have a key.

“T-Bone!” Sal says equally as loud, pushing the door open. He hears his heavy feet trample across the entryway. If he gets dirt on the rug… he’s dead. There's a shuffle and two small thuds, then the footsteps sound much softer. Tommy can’t help the small smile that works its way to his face. He’s threatened Sal’s life many times about tracking dirt into his house. Seems he’s finally learned. “There you are!” Sal says walking into the living room.

“Here I am…” Tommy repeats, not meaning for it to come out quite so sarcastic, but… it’s been a very stressful week. He pushes himself up to sit, and looks up at Sal.

“Damn, T! You look like shit!” Tommy does his best to attempt to kill his so-called friend with a glare… it doesn’t work, and Sal plops down beside him. “Come on, it can’t be that bad…”

“He found out about Jay…”

“Oh,” Sal leans back into the cushion. “Well… did you tell him—”

Tommy shakes his head, rubs at his eyes. “Fucking Gerard mentioned him…” he says. “And then Evan just sprung it on me… and I panicked.”

“So… what does he know then?”

“He saw the articles… he knows we dated,” Tommy shrugs, burying his face in his hands.

“That’s all?” Tommy doesn’t respond. “Wait… that’s all? He dumped you… for that?” Tommy nods, face still covered, he tries to breathe and it comes out a sob. “The hell, T?!” Sal pushes to his feet, turning towards Tommy, and grabs him by the arm, hauling him up. “Come on… you are done wallowing over this kid…”

“What… where are we going?”

“Out!” Sal says, grabbing his and Tommy’s shoes from the doorway

[figthoughts]

omg your response to stubble dean is so real 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏need s9-s10 stubble to fucking itch my inner thighs until it bleeds 🙏🥰💭😊 rip stubble in s11 🥹 he shaved off a bit i think!but in that alternative episode from sam’s dream,s12 i think or just near finale seasons,that has him with fucking beard?????holding that weapon with the lights red???pants immediately off jaw wide open

mhmm right??? literally on all fours barking rn, that scene with the red lights is so fucking hot, you’re so right !!!!! scruffy jensen literally OWNS me omg

[fandoomrants]

Tua, s4, ep 5 thoughts!

Spoilers!

-Five and Lila travelling for years?! Omg!

-Also them fighting, laughing, and bonding!

-Pls no one make this weird and sexual! That was finally them bonding and showing trust, taking care of each other. Him, helping put the glass out of her leg, and her shaving him and leaning on him. That's just trust!

-Klaus is gonna spend some time in that coffin, wouldn't he?

-Can he potentially die due to lack of oxygen and food, and be reborn over and over again for eternity?!

-I knew he's gonna set sth on fire....

-That was indeed uncalled for!

-I feel that the same thing with Klaus trusting Reginald and then being stabbed in the back by him is repeating again...

-Ok, Ben's mind is really hijacked...

-Yep. Viktor's name is indeed spelled with a K. I knew that, not sure why I started spelling it with a C.

-Can't believe for once Luther is reasonable, and Diego's not. Well, they both usually are but I've always thought Luther is more oblivious.

-Wherever Five and Lila are, the time must be passing differently.

-OMG, dog ghost!! Cute!!!

-Claire was picking up Klaus 🥹

-Allison can just try to rumour the guy.....

-Caire to the rescue!

-Can't believe Allison did that in front of her daughter....

-Aw, Diego learned another language to be able to communicate with Lila's family?!? Cute!

-The place Five and Lila are at is kinda nice.

-..... Thoo, I did say their bond was nice and shouldn't be seen as something romantic in the beginning but ngl, they give me a bit odd vibes....

-Nooooo! 🫣🫣 This shouldn't have happened!

-BOTH OF YOU STOP BEING WEIRD!!!! WTFFF?!

-Ughhh, finee! I get it, I can't read people's relationships right! Every time I decide "oh, what a cute platonic bond", and ha! Nope! Not so platonic!

-I'll be forever mad about that!

-Sidenote (I wanna forget the prev scene!) but where is Gene kinda familiar from? 🤔🤔 Been trying to decide that for 5 episodes now.

-Luther actually trying to bullshit his way out of a situation, lol.

-...And gets in trouble for being nosy.

-Ok, the others got in trouble.

-Not the pants 💀😂

-Yay, fighting to music!

-Why are clothes being ripped? 💀💀

-And a random cat!

-"The moneymaker" 💀💀💀💀

-I was gonna say how are they gonna explain this to Five but Five has things to explain on his own...

-No, really, noo, I don't want this thing with Lila and Five 😭😭 Why is it happening?! It's literally proving Diego was right. Is like, something wrong with them? Like, are their brains messed? I suppose, 6 years is a long time...

-Umm.... Isn't Five a bit afraid of the train...

-Why is he hiding it?! Ughhh....

-Ok, kinda actually really happy Klaus decided to fight his way out.

-Tho, I expected that Allison and Claire would get there then.

-Aw, cute reunion!

-Why is Lila suddenly not worried about her kids, btw?

-But hey, good thing Five gave her the notebook!

-Ok, I kinda get why he's like that but like, he's been through apocalypse and all, he needs a break. But Lila is right, this isn't real.

-Ok, she remembered her children...

-Nah, Viktor, let them shoot him.

-See, bad idea. You got shoot, and he's bitching about his suit!

-I'm not buying the old man's nice words.

-Ouch! That was unexpected!

-But I suppose I guessed right for Reginald's wife?

-Omg, that skin thing is creepy!

-Is she an alien too?

-I think Jean isn't buying it...

[kthyg]

ghoul. — (rhapsodies)

[SPECIAL INSTALMENT: (CHRISTMAS) RHAPSODIES]

pairing: ot7 x reader

rating: 13+

genre: tokyo ghoul au, soulmate au, fluff

disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction. descriptions of the BTS members in this story does not reflect nor portray them in real life. everything in this story only fits in imagination and does not apply outside of imagination.

warning: nothing much, just; domestic yoongi, domestic jin, lots of soft kisses, hugging, an emotional and sentimental moment with yoongi and his first love, cannibalism joke (just once from tae). japanese terms of endearment are used in this by jin and tae.

word count:

lexicon & profiles | masterpost | masterlist | navigation

note from winter 💌:

this is my first christmas fic - yeayy!! also this is just my poor excuse to be extra emotional and sentimental idk idk i want to give a nice scene for my ghoul babies bcs ik they wont hv a nice scene for some time in normal ver ha ah ha ah…

this instalment is the softest I've ever written...

its been a long time since I write a story based on a song. the last time was winter flower by younha ft rm, a story about a girl healing from depression but reached a point where she couldn't handle it anymore, suddenly wanting to end everything. it was a open ending story tho :) anddd now rhapsodies joins as the second story that is based on a song.

also, just a friendly reminder that rhapsodies is not sharing the same timeline as the released chapters of ghoul. if possible, its a future story but whatever information (such as relationship, places, etc...) in this instalment is valid for the alt story and main story :D

ok so i don’t really celebrate christmas but i think i kind of know the feeling (not 100% because i would love to celebrate holiday season with snow ;-;) because i have gone through it with my maternal relatives - i joined them during 2019’s christmas! 🫶🏻

I HOPE IT ISNT TOO LATE FOR A CHRISTMAS GIFT 🥹 (be nice w me this is the first time i've ever written a full fluff)

💌 what is winter listening to? : first love by bts (suga) & piano ver by smyang piano, first love by hikaru utada, christmas tree by v, my dearest by amalee (original by supercell).

📝 if you want to know more about this au, you can refer to lexicon & profiles. any other questions you can refer to me !!

dedication: to my first love.

              Snow has been falling for days now, piling into a thick layer of what looked like shaved ice on almost everything. It was a special evening today; your squad, the Q squad was preparing to celebrate Christmas. You and Yoongi had invited the others; Taehyung, Jungkook, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin – your and Yoongi's soulmates, - Rosé, Mingyu, Minghao and Sunoo.

              You sat comfortably and warmly in the company of the fireplace and your members, Jisoo, and Lisa, as the three of you decorated the Christmas tree. The pine tree that stood mightily in front of you was a real deal, all thanks to Namjoon.

              When you told him you have always celebrated with the artificial one with your loyal friend, Somi, during your days in the Jeon Quarter, he immediately told you he would buy the real one just for you. He had done the same thing for Jungkook back then because unlike you, Jungkook couldn't even celebrate the festive season during his childhood.

              You could've disagreed and told him to get the artificial one, but all your soulmates agreed with Namjoon before you could even voice your opinion and defeatedly accepted his decision. You couldn't stop him from doing things his way – The strong-headed Kim Namjoon.

              The crackling fire sound was soothing to your ears. The warmth of the fire was very inviting for you to jump to the couch and wrap yourself with a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate providing extra warmth in your palm.

              Curling into a ball, basking in the heavenly warmth on this cold day; you could always do that any other time. As you and your friends decorated the tree in meaningful silence, the doorbell rang, disrupting the silence.

              "Can someone go get the door?" Jin yelled out the request from the kitchen.

              Jisoo immediately got on her feet as she volunteered with a cheery smile, "On it!" But her smile was quick to fade once she reached the door and opened it as she mumbled in a boring tone. "Oh, it's you…"

              Greeting with an equally boring tone, "Save the disappointment for another day, 'lil sis," Taehyung rolled his eyes. "I'm here for my lovers anyways."

              "Who's at the door, Soo-ya?" You asked, making your way towards the door. Once you've seen the invited guest, you beamed, "Oh–! Hi, V."

              "Hi, hime," he opened his arms as an invitation for you to slot in and you did. He smooched the crown of your head lovingly as the lovely nickname spilt from his lips warmed your cheeks.

              "Come in," you broke the hug and ushered him to step in. "Jin's in the kitchen preparing food for tonight, and Yoongi's in his room."

              "(Y/N)!" Jin called for you. "Can you help me here?"

              "Be there in a second!" You responded and turned back to your soulmate with a welcoming smile, you told him, "Make yourself at home, Tae."

              Once you were completely out of their vision, the silence was loud, "Don't get too comfortable," Jisoo narrowed her eyes at her brother.

              "Stop being so hostile," he sighed deeply. "It's Christmas, for God's sake."

              "Hostility is subjective," she retorted.

              "It will be objective today or I'll have your half-human flesh as dinner tonight."

              "Obscene!" She gasped out loud as her hand reached out to slap Taehyung's shoulder, offended.

              "Jisoo, the Christmas tree isn't going to decorate itself!" Lisa shouted from the living room.

              "Of course it won't, Lisa!" She huffed but obliged either way as she turned towards to living room, continuing decorating the Christmas tree.

              The kitchen was filled with the heavenly and divine smell of delicious meals being cooked. Jin multitasked his way through the kitchen since the afternoon. Yoongi has been helping him but he retreated to his room after some time now.

              "Hey, kareshi," your arms snaked around his waist as you hugged him from the back, chin resting on his shoulder as you asked, "What do you need help with?"

              "Hello, kanojo," his thumb brushed across the skin of your hand that was wrapped around his waist lovingly and softly. "Who was that?"

              "It's Taehyung," you told him.

              "He's early," he mused to himself. He turned around to face you as he rested his arms on your shoulders, lazily slinging them around you. "Can you help me with the chicken?"

              "Of course," you smiled.

              Jin lowered his face, killing the distance between your face and his as he placed a quick kiss on your lips. It was a short moment of two lips having contacted but the heat still flared up to your cheeks and your stomach filled with butterflies.

              "It won't be long; you can check on Yoongi in his room after you're done."

You stifled a giggle with a frown, "I didn't even tell you I was going to check on him."

"Soulmate instinct," he winked at you and stole yet another kiss from you. This time he remained a bit longer. No tongues were involved as it was purely lips-to-lips interaction but were enough to be a very meaningful kiss.

              A frown on his temple, fingers cupping his chin as Jungkook pondered. He and Namjoon were on their way to Yoongi's squad apartment but decided to stop by the 5th ward mall because Jungkook decided to buy a present for you. He knew you had told all of them to not buy you anything, but he was never the one to listen, so here he was. 

"What should I give (Y/N) for Christmas?" Jungkook asked his companion as they walked into the mall. The mall was decorated with Christmas lights, trees, and all other related decorations. The branded stores also decorated up to the session and released brand new items to fit into the festive session.

              "A lingerie?" Namjoon suggested mindlessly.

              "What the fuck, hyung." Again, a deep frown found its place on Jungkook's forehead at his soulmate's idea.

              "It's a suggestion." He shrugged.

              "Well, what do I buy her lingerie for?" The younger cast cursory glances at the stores. Feet had their own mind as Jungkook walked to wherever his feet took him, and Namjoon followed suit.

              Having a late realisation, Jungkook's eyes widened, "Are you hinting I should fuck her tonight? At Yoongi's apartment?"

              Namjoon gave his soulmate a side glance, "Not a bad idea?" then he shrugged, "I would prefer calling it love making though, since it's Christmas."

              Jungkook let silence be the language between them as they continued to stroll around the mall until there was nothing to be explored but as if the brain had relied on the conversation they just shared, their feet stopped in front of a lingerie store.

              "Maybe it's not a bad idea after all."

              "Told you." And Namjoon walked into the store with Jungkook trailing behind.

              "Jimin put that down."

              Hoseok's deep voice burst Jimin's little bubble of fantasy as he glared at the younger. "What? Hyung, no," he flashed his soulmate the white fluffy tail butt plug and a pair of white fur cat ears. "This is cute!"

              The other only gave him a dirty look, "You're just kinky."

              Jimin had heard that almost every time, he was shameless and immune to it. 'Kinky' has probably become a compliment for him now. He would be more than proud if someone called him so.

              "You would like it if it's on (Y/N)," you would definitely look cute in this, no doubt.

              The tail-like butt plug inserted in your arsehole, leaving your pussy dripping with wetness, and the cute cat ears to match the tail. You'd look so pliant and submissive, and with that costume, it would give an extra hardness, extra adrenaline rush, blood rush down to their cocks–

              "Or unless you'd like it on you?"

              Flabbergasted, heat rushed to Hoseok's face both from embarrassment (for thinking about you in a public setting and popping a boner) and humiliation (from Jimin's sexual innuendo), "Hah – whatthefuck, shut up Jimin!"

              "That's what I thought," he has a smug grin tugging on his lips.

              "Thank you for purchasing!"

              What.

              "Jimin!" No way he actually bought it.

              Well, you'd look cute either way.

              Yoongi wasn't in his room.

              And when that happened, he could only be in one place. You stood in front of the door – the door to the space where he found solace at any time given.

              You have been in there with him occasionally. The two of you would sit in silence, content with just the presence of each other as the bright stars in the dark sky became the only source of entertainment most of the time you and him were in the room.

              On rare occasions, Yoongi would sit on the brown piano, you next to him and play you a piece that never told you the name of it even when you had asked about it. He would brush the question away with a kiss on your temple and the same word "Untitled".

              And right before you, the sound of the 'Untitled' piece was playing. Your hand reached to knock on the door, "Yoongi?"

              "Kitten," his voice was mellow as he answered you. "Come in."

              Stepping in, you took in your surroundings. It was the same as when you last saw it. There wasn't much to keep a tab on the room except for the brown piano that settled on one side of the corner, the only furniture in this spacious room of nostalgia – as Yoongi would call it.  "What are you doing here alone?"

              "I'm not alone," he told you. He was sitting on the piano stool as his fingers rested in between the keys. "I'm with my first love." He looked at the piano fondly before he brought his gaze to you with equal, or if could, greater fondness.

              "First love?" You asked as you approached him. The room was dark with no source of light except for the sun outside. The sun was slipping, creating a glorious conflagration that blazed fiery colours. They appeared silky, smooth combinations of red, yellow, and blue in the sky that illuminated the room, colouring it like the sky.

              "The piano," his hand reached out to take yours in his, guiding you towards the seat next to him. "The first thing I learn to love."

              Placing your fingers delicately on the piano keys, you pressed the keys of Yoongi's favourite piece, the one he named 'Untitled'. You didn't play it until the end although you did remember the whole piece just from listening to him playing it. Reaching the last note of the piece, your fingers retreated from the keys. "Do you want to tell me about your first love story?"

              Your voice has always been so soft, delicate, and mellow. Who was Yoongi to reject your request? Maybe it was the time you knew the meaning behind the piece you had just played that you learned by heart from him. Chuckling, his fingers started to move around the keys as he silently answered your request.

              "From the corner of my memory, in the corner of my childhood house," fingers leisurely hit the keys. "A piano was there."

              "Hmm?" Your fingers joined his on the keys, as you played to harmonise with him. "What colour was it?"

              "Brown," he breathed out. "A brown piano settled on one side."

              He continued, "I remember that moment, where I was barely any taller than the brown piano. I looked up to it, because of my height but also because I was in awe. I yearned for it the moment I had touched it my little fingers."

              "It felt nice, I told my mom." His fingers pressed on the last notes before changing to another key. "I was content. Just from looking at it. It felt so nice that I played, however, my fingers wanted and even then, I still didn't know its significance."

              "It's nice that you know your first love even as a child."

              "What's your first love, kitten?" He asked, fingers still on the keys.

              Yours too, on the white jade-like keys, as you answered him, eyes closed. "Us."

              You continued, "I didn't understand the concept of first love back then, but my parents could easily be my first love, but I know I love them from the moment I was brought to this world. I didn't learn to love them because by default, I have already loved them. They were my unconditional love."

              Your fingers paused mid-air, "First love," resumed, "It can be interpreted in many ways,"

              The first time you learn how to truly love,

              The first time you love,

              The first time you felt truly loved,

              The first time you are loved,

              The first time experiencing the true definition of love.

              "But it will always have the same impact; unforgettable and irreplaceable."

              "True," Yoongi agreed softly, the soulful melody still filling the room.

              The mellow sound that came from the graceful movements of Yoongi's fingers on the piano continued to become honey to your ears. Your fingers were now placed on your lap as you let your lover play the black and whites on his own.

              You turned to look at him, to take in his beautiful side profile. His skin was glowing. His eyes were closed as he focused on letting his digits work their wonders on the eighty-eight.

              He looked stunning.

              Sometimes, less was more, and you didn't need to elaborate more on Yoongi's majestic presence.

              Ethereal.

              "First love isn't always sunshine and rainbows," he told you once he finally opened his eyes, his fingers had stopped, leaving the last note he had pressed echoing around the room. "Back then during my elementary school days, I remember, I was finally taller than the piano."

              "But dust was piling on top of the white jade-like keys. I neglected it when I yearned for it so much. I still failed to see its significance," his fingers were like a feather as he ghosted his fingertips on the keys.

              Melancholy as he continued, "Until a day came that marked the last day of the piano."

              "Don't feel sorry for not recognising the significance or recognising it late," you told him.

              Your fingers raised in the air and were softly placed on the right keys as you pressed. Fingers had their own mind as they danced on the black and whites, continuing where he had left. "Don't worry even if I leave. You will do well on your own. Though it is an end to our relationship, greet me happily when we meet again, no matter in what form."

              Yoongi looked at you with acute nostalgia. One hand of yours left the bar of whites and blacks as you reached for his hand, "Let's give a proper greeting to your first love."

The brown piano that stood mightily in front of you was the exact brand of piano Yoongi had back then. It might not be the original form of his first love, but in whatever form a piano could be, it will still be the first love of Yoongi.

              "Let's finish this piece together."

              Even though I was gone for a long time,

              Without repulsion,

              You accepted me.

              His fingers picked up where they had left as he confessed, "You may not be my first love, but you and the others will always be my eternal love. The people I loved, love and will love for eternity."

              Even when I pushed you away,

              Even when I resented meeting you,

              You were firmly by my side.

              "I wish to love you the way of my first love, I want to love you every day."

              So don't ever let go of my hand.

              I won't let you go ever again either.

              "If there comes a day where we have to end everything the eight of us share, I wish to continue loving you, every day until my days end."

              The two of you hit the last keys, and as if feathers, fingers were lifted slowly and smoothly from the keys. The piece came to an end. It came to a meaningful end. An end that filled with so many emotions. Conflicted at first but harmonised in the end.

              "I love you, (Y/N)."

              "I love you too, with all of me."

              The sun slipped completely away from the horizon as the light on the sky was then replaced with clouds of dust of bright, shining stars;

              A kiss sealed the vow.

–

              The food was almost done by the time you entered the kitchen with Yoongi. Jin was preparing the plates and utensils along with the dishes to be put on the table with the help of his younger sister and Lisa. You and Yoongi joined them to help but Jin shook his head and said that everything was almost done and asked the two of you to accompany Taehyung into the living room.

              When your feet strode towards the living room, the doorbell suddenly rang again, making you halt in your steps along with Yoongi as you looked at him, "I think that's the remaining guests," you motioned him to sit with Taehyung as you walked towards the door. "Let me get the door."

              Once you twisted the doorknob to open, you were greeted with two figures, both having muscular build and cute faces, carrying almost the same aura had you not known these guys like the back of your hand.

              Namjoon was the first to greet you as he pulled you into a hug, "Merry Christmas, princess," he kissed your cheeks before going for your lips. You savoured the feeling of his plush lips on yours.

              He pulled back and said, "Apologies for our delay."

              Jungkook was quick to lock you into a tight hug and cradle your head in his arms. You returned his hug with equal enthusiasm before replying to Namjoon, "No, don't worry. You guys are not late at all," you broke the hug, much to Jungkook's displeasure as he whined at the loss of warm contact.

              "Plus, Jinnie just finished cooking," you added.

              The sound of a car's nearing the neighbourhood made Jungkook whip his head towards that direction. Recognising the car and the wild skill of driving (no value for both life and the car; Jimin), he said, "I think that's Jimin and Hoseok."

              The three of you watched as Jimin safely and perfectly parallel-parked his car next to Taehyung's. Hoseok got out of the car and appeared to be nagging about something as his mouth danced at a fast pace with a frown etched on his forehead.

              Probably nagging at Jimin, again, for his reckless driving.

              When Hoseok neared the entrance where you, Namjoon, and Jungkook stood, his eyes shone with bright felicity as he waved enthusiastically in your direction. His lips could practically be seen as a lovely heart shape with perfectly aligned teeth to complement his charming look.

              "My lady," He reached for your hand to kiss your knuckles. "Hello, lovely ladybug."

              "Hello, Hobi," you gave his cheek a quick peck before he moved on to greet his other soulmates with the same gesture.

              "Doll," Jimin was like a wind as one second, he was right behind Hoseok and the next second, he was already in front of you while his arms snaked around your waist, locking them to leave no room for space between you and him. His nose caressed yours before his pillowy lips lowered down to seal a kiss with your lips.

              Pulling away at a small distance, breath mingled with his as you wished him, "Merry Christmas, prince charming," and he took your lips on his again. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

              After some moment, you pulled away – because you knew he wouldn't – to let him greet his other soulmates. Just like Hoseok, Jimin was a fair and equal person as he kissed the others as well. When you thought no one else was coming, a female figure was approaching, and it was a figure you knew so well.

              "Rosie, my favourite flower!" You ran towards her with a gleeful smile. Arms opened as an invitation for her to intertwine and exchange body heat with you.

              Finally reaching you, she wrapped you with her winter coat, "(Y/N), my favourite person!"

              "You walked here?"

              She nodded, "The distance between R squad house and Q's is not that far, you know that!"

              Giggling, you broke the hug and walked her towards the door where all your soulmates have been watching your interaction with Jimin's younger sister. Once you reached them, Jimin snatched– pulled you to his side – to which Rosie rolled her eyes at her brother's unspoken possessive act.

              "Ahem," a voice interrupted.

              "Gyu!" A gasp escaped your throat once your eyes landed on the newcomer – or newcomers, plural because he wasn't alone. "I thought you wouldn't come."

              Another figure approached your crowd, and you couldn't help but smile once you saw who it was. It has been so long since you've seen them because Gyu's squad was assigned to a mission in China. Minghao reached out to you for a greeting hug as jested on his soulmate, "He? Wouldn't come? He was literally so excited when you sent us the invitation."

              "Of course, I would come, lotus," Mingyu rolled his eyes at him and come to join your hug with Minghao. "I'm your life-time partner."

              "We are partners," Minghao italicised. He then directed his full attention on you as he nuzzled his face in your neck. "I miss you, dainty lotus." Although the hug didn't last long because you were pulled away by none other than Jimin. Minghao was bewildered at the sudden loss of warmth, but Rosie patted his shoulder with a shake of her head, "Don't mind it."

              Another voice entered the scene with sassiness, "Are you guys done yet?"

              Sunoo walked to the door of the house. He had arrived shortly after Taehyung and helped Jin in the kitchen. He crossed his arms as he said, "Close the door because it's so freaking cold outside."

              "Jeez, Sunoo," Minghao slung his arms around the younger's shoulders. "Cut that sassiness, it's Christmas!"

              Rosé jumped on the duo cheerfully, "Right? Chill a bit," she said with a light tone.

              "I am chill," he slapped Minghao's chest playfully. "Just close the door and get it you guys. It's freezing outside."

              You chuckled before urging them to get warm inside. Jimin was still by your side as all of them walked towards the living room until he saw Taehyung on the couch. All your soulmates that have just newly come immediately greeted him. Jimin hogged him and smothered him with kisses on the face and one deep kiss on the lips. You watched the duo fondly. The eight of you might have shared a deep bond but maybe Jimin and Taehyung shared an even deeper bond with each other, and you admired it.

              You saw Yoongi already making his way towards you and with expectant arms, you welcomed him into your embrace as he slotted in perfectly by your side. It brought back old memories where you had always thought Yoongi was a person that hates physical touch, though it was true to an extent because he was only touchy with his soulmates and especially with you but loathed having skin contact even the slightest with other than listed.

              "Merry Christmas, guys," Jin walked into the living space as he greeted them one by one including your friends. The apron that he has been stuck with has finally been removed from his body and his clothes have changed. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."

              You let yourself be situated in between Namjoon and Hoseok at the dining table and enjoyed the food Jin had cooked with so much love – helped by your members and Sunoo as well – The room was filled with chatter and laughter as the food goes down into everyone's stomach. They went from KCCG matters, as you asked Mingyu and Minghao about their mission in China – you knew they wouldn't have a difficult time in China given that Minghao knew the way around the country – to some random topic to not let an awkward silence fill in the room.

              Before Christmas, all of them including you had made an astounding achievement that you would like to consider this Christmas celebration as a celebration not just for the festive season but also for them. Rosé and Tae's squads joined hands in the 2nd Wipe Out Operation conducted by Namjoon, S2 Squad; you, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin and Yoongi, was successful during the Owl Suppression Operation that was led by Hoseok, and the latest; Mingyu and Minghao's mission in China.

              It has been a tough, hectic weeks, but everything was successful and everyone was safe as they returned in one piece. You were glad your soulmates were willing to celebrate Christmas along with your friends – especially Mingyu and Minghao. You knew your soulmates would very much want to celebrate this festive season with the company of eight, and that was why you were glad they had agreed to celebrate it together.

              Also given that it was the first Christmas you got to celebrate with your soulmates.

              The first Christmas where you get to celebrate with your loved ones, your first love.

              The first Christmas you get to create lots of memorable memories with your loved ones.

              It was the very first true Christmas you celebrated after your parents' death.

All rights reserved © 2022 kthyg. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost without permission. Feedback is very much appreciated. It keeps me motivated! Send me an ask !!

[shurismainbxtch]

Who’s your fav ship in living single ?

Okay this is gonna be long…This is a hard question because Overton and Synclaire are so fucking cute like thats the kind of cheesy love that i want. I actually just finished the episode with TLC after not knowing the context for years bc i’m a TLC stan and came across some of their scenes in that episode on youtube so i didn’t know until now that he was so guilty about having all these dreams about TLC and thinking about Sinclaire. As a kid, i’m like “Bro TLC is in your bed!” Ngl since season 1, I was waiting on Overton to shave his head cause he was looking good in those scenes👀 Anywaysss… I will be heartbroken if Overton and Synclaire break up but I don’t see it happening any time soon.

Max and Kyle are my favorite ship though because it just keeps getting better. I lowkey knew that they liked each other in the first season because most of my relationships were enemies to lovers so i could just sense it. My favorite moment was when Kyle got nervous singing in front of her and then the next night he sung one of my favorite songs “My funny valentine” to her. I was literally singing it with him💀This ship will always hold a special place in my heart🥹❤️ Ugh i just love Living single😩

Yo tell me why Queen Latifah was in my dream last week so i told her that i’m watching Living single for the first time and she got emotional and gave me $200💀

[hekateinhell]

GUESS who just finished reading your latest magum opus? ME FAM, DA!!! Transformative experience from start to finish, I’d missed reading your stuff SO much. So evocative, so vivid, so sensual. Felt like coming back home after a long trip, like cool breeze in my hair. I lived, I died, I lived again. 

First of all, the flower motifs were there right from the start (and I might’ve spoiled myself a lil with you latest post), but when it dawned on me what Armand was about to do to Lestat I was like OH MY GOD SHE DID THAT and I had to put my phone down for a minute. The chokehold these bitches (and you) (affectionate) have me on is insane. 

Again, perfection from start to finish, so here are my top 10 moments in no particular order, hopefully it makes sense (literally just finished it so I’m not really coherent rn) 

*drum roll*  🥁 🥁 🥁

1. “Yes, yes, let me be your co-conspirator. Tell me your secrets! I'll keep them all, good or bad – place them in a box and swallow the key, no one else will ever know.” INSANITY. The devil’s minion till the very end alright. 

2. “Daniel could've sworn he felt the blood rush through his retromandibular vein, every cell alive and awakened and thrilling at the closeness of its source and exhilarating at the thought of returning to its original host.” INSANITY X2. And also it’s such a wonderful callback to that one bit in QotD where it’s mentioned that all of Daniel’s “molecules were dancing with Armand’s invisible chemistry”. It DO be like that with them. Down bad for Armand on a chemical level, and you got that across so incredibly well. YOU GET IT. 

3. Armand noticing right away that Lestat hadn’t shaved and worrying if something might be wrong because why wouldn’t Lestat shave before flying to see him? Was Lestat telling the truth there? Was he aching for Armand’s company so badly that he didn’t have it in him to shave? Of course Armand would notice and of course he would worry.

4. “Daniel had worn a black cursive A right over his left pelvic bone for the remainder of his mortal days.” EXACTLY. There’s absolutely no way this didn’t happen. 

5. "And how would you have me, maestro?" Lestat inquired. His knee bouncing as he leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. Daniel didn't have to read Armand's mind to know that the immediate answer might be, "In so many ways," yes ma’am 🥵🥵🥵

6. “Lestat was at the perfect height for Armand to stand between his legs, a hand over each knee, as he bent his head to Lestat's chest and closed his mouth over a rosy nipple. He suckled at it for a moment before angling his head, and Daniel realized what Armand had done when he saw the grimace on Lestat's face.” god this is so hot. You didn’t even HAVE to write it but I can guarantee that every single person who reads that will be able to picture Armand’s fang piercing through Lestat’s nipple vividly. The writer that you are 🥹

7.  “It had to be said—it has been said—Lestat was a large man” THERE IT IS, Priapus makes its grand entrance. Love to see it, always. 

8. Daniel’s possessiveness??? Have you awoken a new kink in me?? It’s not like I didn’t think Daniel was possessive of Armand before, I did, but the way you had him contemplating the scene before him in awe but ALSO on so many different levels did something to me. He knows he’s no match for Lestat but he has A FEW things going for him and he’s going to let Lestat know about them, damn the consequences. He’s careless and immediately regrets it but he can’t help himself. He even resents the fact that Lestat didn’t bother removing his rings before touching Armand. Yet he guides him through it and desperately wants for Armand to enjoy this. He’s such a good boyfriend pls, always has been 😭😭😭

9. Armand being like “I THINK THE FUCK NOT” when Lestat offered Daniel a taste of his blood, so good. Lestat puts out so easily (figuratively but also literally and good for him tbh) while for Armand it’s such a sacred thing and he’s not about to let his only baby drink from another (not even their prince) like it’s no big deal. But also YES @ both of them eating Armand’s ass and Daniel getting a taste of Lestat that way. You truly put that out there and you should be proud 🥹 

10.  "We could simulate it sometime” yes they could and they SHOULD godddd part two incoming y/y?

I honestly could go on but I think I’ve made myself clear now lmao. It was magnificent, comeback of all time from one of my all time fave vc queens xoxo DA  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

DA!!

Lovely to see you as always 💖 I was wondering what you would think of this one — my 9lbs. 9k baby. It's May, it's spring, I'm in my flower era and I'm dragging everyone along with me!

It was all about the flowers lmao that scene stressed me out more than anything because it's the... set-up for the rest of the fic??? Armand conveying his affections for Lestat in a very intimate way—using his art—but it's low risk in a sense because the physical evidence is gone the next day. Anyway, I thought tattoos would be cool to play with because I've never seen that come up in VC fic before and Anne said they could have tattoos even it's just temporary, okay? I'm gonna exploit that!

Haha you gave me an ao3 style comment so I'm going to work through it ao3 style 🖤

Yes, this is so important to me when I think about post-canon A/D! I need them to have the elements of their OG dynamics but healthier and improved.

IT'S LIKE PHEROMONES WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW 🥵

omg okay you're the only so far who's commented on me giving Lestat some stubble and it was so important to me 🤧 I cannot express the sound I made when I realized that canon doesn't specifically tell us if he wakes up completely clean-shaven, or if it's part of his grooming routine like filing his nails every night in IWTV. I threw in a bit of my meta re: Magnus and Lestat's turning and well there you go — it's my story and I'm sticking to it. And as usual, you're right on the money... Lestat DID want Armand to notice because he knows Armand's caregiver tendencies with his loved ones. And then he got mad about it when Armand reacted accordingly and read him to the filth. Can't win with this guy. 😔

I believe with my whole heart Daniel was walking around with an A or even a Property of Armand tattoo on a private area from 1977 to 1985. I've said before it and I wrote it now and I'll do it again, don't test me.

Daniel being an expert on Armand comes in handy all the time, and he's officially known since 1985 how down bad for Lestat Armand has been. RIP. I also wonder how many times Armand randomly mentioned Lestat to his boyfriend during DM era aside from the Rutger Hauer moment. There's no way it was just the one time.

I loved writing that bit! In my head you could almost hear the soft sounds of Armand making those little bites into Lestat's nipples and I tried so hard to translate that onto the page. 🥹

Legit I'm one more smut fic away from tagging Lestat's dick as it's own character: Priapus (Vampire Chronicles). I'm not joking, I'm such an unserious person lmao

YES you get it! I feel like a lot of times we think Daniel would just be totally down for everything no questions asked, but like talking about the evolved DM dynamic earlier — now Daniel has all this knowledge of Armand's history with Lestat that he didn't have before. He's an understanding guy and he's open to a lot, but it's a very complex situation and I think it's natural that some feelings will come up here and there in the early days. Also, I left it ambiguous on purpose, but it's not clear just how much Daniel was in on regarding Armand's plan here. Was it something they discussed prior, like in explicit detail with the date marked on the calendar and circled in red? Did Armand plan to get that far in the first place or was it a surprise to him as much as it was to Daniel? Or was it kind of inevitable... "Yeah, get these guys in a room for the 50th time in 200 years and this time, they're gonna fuck"?

asjkgfasgk that was exactly Armand's thought process - fucked out and high with Lestat's blood in his ass, and all he can think is that Lestat better not touch his husband/baby unless Armand's ordering him to. The audacity, only Lestat fr 🤧 I got creative with vampire anatomy there and ~membranes~ and yk what I'll do it again it's free real estate

100% (now I just need something else to get meta about so I can write porn around it, it's the only way I know how to operate 🥲)

I wrote so much here lol I'm embarrassed but full transparency, it might not have been an angsty or heavy fic (and it was never supposed to be!), but I did pour myself into it and it makes my heart happy you enjoyed it! 😭🌸

[sandwrrm]

I have numbers for the trash husband! 1-2-4-6-9-10-11/12-13/14

Yesssss, Pre "trash husband" Vizsla, let's fucking goooooo......

— a fun headcanon

He is surprisingly good at cooking— nothing fancy, just simple traditional dishes. Everything he makes is obscenely spicy though, even by mandalorian standards. Makes sense. Weeds out the weak, only the truly strong can stomach his food, etc. etc.

— a sad headcanon

Both of his parents were toxic and hateful in different ways— Tor Vizsla was of course a warmongering barbarian who founded the original Death Watch, and Mom Vizsla I headcanon as a cold and calculating woman who preferred to fight not on the battlefield, but with subterfuge and manipulation.

I feel like they had a loveless, abusive marriage that only got worse the further they settled into their opposing ways. The one thing they came together over was their goal to restore Mandalore as a galactic superpower with their clan at the head, and poured everything into grooming their son to take over in their wake.

I feel like Pre had no semblance of a normal childhood, every second devoted to brutal combat training with his dad or grueling political education pushed by his mom (her idea to send him to study on Coruscant at the same time as Satine— I headcanon she had a fixation on outdoing and undermining the Kryzes by infiltrating their own game of diplomacy and beating them from the inside, which was the origin story of Pre running for governor eventually.)

He definitely inherited all of his parents' strengths plus a heaping side of their worst traits, all with zero warmth or nurturing from either of them at any point along the way.

— a headcanon about their family

Okay enough bleak past family shit! Let's pivot to my "death watch succeeds" AU where he and Bo-Katan get married and have their own family 🥹

They have two daughters, one biological and one adopted/foundling, named Shae and Ranah after their favorite historic girlbosses prominent female Mand'alors. These two should by all rights be terrible parents, but I honestly feel like it would mellow out their unhinged sides slightly, and shift their focus from "conquest and wrecking shit" to "intense dedication to family" in terms of which traditional mando values they prioritize.

Pre, for all his other flaws, would I think be acutely aware of how shitty his own parents were and commit to not making his kids live through a similar upbringing.

— a headcanon to spite canon, specifically

I feel like calling it a "headcanon" is an understatement since it's, well, an entire verse, but as I keep mentioning I have a whole AU that explores what would've happened if Pre and Maul didn't fuck each other over and Death Watch succeeded in retaking Mandalore, the whole basis of which is spiting canon by keeping this dude alive, lmao

— a missing scene that definitely happened

This is literally a missing scene by virtue of it happening off screen in canon, but I would've loved to see his duel with Dooku after they had a falling out! Yeah yeah the "darksaber v. lightsaber fights are cool" aspect but also..... the sheer amount of drama and extra-ness the clash of these two would've exuded....

— I recognize that canon has made a decision, but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it:

You already know I'm going to say this but fuck his hairstyle from The Mandalore Plot, it makes me irrationally mad, I'm retconning it, he had a shaved head the entire time, etc etc

But on a serious note, why would he shoot one of his own men for no reason? Like I'm not downplaying the random murdering aspect. I absolutely believe he'd do this to an outsider (as we've seen,) but randomly murdering members of the small minority of mandos he supposedly wants to unite and needs the loyalty of to further his goals? Even for someone who is extremely impulsive and casually violent, this doesn't make sense to me. Boom, didn't happen, retconned.

(I'm literally just rehashing the things you and I already said we dislike about this episode lmao)

— something [other character] believes about them that isn't true

Satine thinking early on that he would be a good influence on Bo and steer her towards maturity and an interest in politics, and supporting the two of them getting closer based on that. Oops 😬

(I mean.. Satine trusting him in general but that's canon and not a headcanon so!)

— something they believe about [other character] that isn't true

Gonna jump in and defend my boys the Zabrak brothers for a second..... they were not monsters or thugs, at least not at their core, not even by virtue of being Sith/dark side force users. They were chronically subjugated, objectified, and used as pawns by the nightsisters and by the Sith. Poor dudes barely ever had a chance to organically form their own personas, goals, allegiances, etc. without being directly or indirectly influenced by an outside party's motivations. But anyway that's a rant for another post. Moving on!

— their happiest memory

I mean. Definitely the fleeting moment of retaking Mandalore, having his entire life's purpose be fulfilled, and finally having it all.... for a brief blink of time before it all inevitably went south.

— their worst memory

Being sentenced to exile on Concordia as the civil war came to a close. The shame of his once great clan eroding to a shadow of what it once was, the traditionalist faction as a whole being weak and decentralized to the point where it took such little force to drive them off-world and keep them there. I imagine this was a "worst memory" and a gateway point to further radicalization for many trad mandos of this age/era.

Ask meme post for anyone who wants it!

[thestalwartheart]

I never really know on the Q flying thing. I like the theory I've seen that he lied to let Moneypenny go as a boost to her confidence to get back in the field. But I can never really understand why ANYONE had to go tbh (obvs I know it's mainly bc the writers wanted the did-they-didn't-they of a Bond/Moneypenny tryst, and I'm not going to complain about more Naomie, or that shaving scene 🥵) - I'm sure MI6 have secure phones to relay info and it didn't seem so vital that someone had to get on a plane. Otoh I can see Q being OK with military aircraft where he's closer to controlling things and is 'involved' to an extent, as opposed to public flights where he's in the hands of strangers. And the sappy shipper in me also wants to believe that he IS afraid of flying and still got on a plane to fetch Bond in Austria, and again to go to him in Norway, because of All The Love 🥰

I’m similarly up in the air about it!* I enjoy almost all the fanon explanations for that line. I’d never heard that one about Moneypenny’s confidence though - that’s so lovely 🥹🥹🥹 And the military vs civilian plane thing is a point I hadn’t thought of either.

My usual explanation for it if I’m going with the “isn’t scared of flying” headcanon is that he was too busy, recognised that no one actually needed to be out there (you’re so right on that point), and said to Moneypenny “What do you mean I’m supposed to deliver intel? That’s ridiculous. Tell him whatever you like, but I’m not going.”

HOWEVER, the whump potential of him actually being scared!!! The way he overcame it, either for Bond or the job!!!! The way he’s at the helm of it all in NTTD!!!!! It’s too good to resist as a writer, tbh.

Thanks for chiming in, Bishy!

* Oh look, a pun!

[madelynraemunson]

I HAVE WORDS.

mainly because i LOVE this eddie 🥹💞💞 this fic is going to be my new hyperfixation i fear

commentary with some spoilers below the cut

the relationship between wayne and eddie that we see in the beginning is SO RAW and so real. it is what i pictured their relationship would be like if it were canon in ST.

also him fishing with wayne, spending summer afternoons with him, bantering with him about “good music” vs ‘honky tonk’ music. SO FATHER AND SON CODED I CANT ♥️

MR. PICKLES 😭 my heart. losing my mind at the fact that this eddie sleeps with a stuffed bunny in his 20s. i’d let him hit solely for that reason

also, i’ve never wanted to be a pillow so fucking bad. i feel bad for mr pickles because he probably had to see That scene play out.

reader drunk calling eddie and him taking such good care of us while we were absolutely shit faced. “oh no you don’t… c’mere”

HOW DO YOU HAVE EDDIE’S MANNERISMS AND QUIRKS DOWN TO A FUCKING T 😭 and the fact that you’ve been working on this long before flight of icarus was released and having some concepts turn out to be canon (playing shows, moving to the big city, meeting a girl at a bar and falling head over heels for her, feeling a sense of calling to music — honey you were probably losing your mind!!! you have our favorite metalhead DOWNNN it’s like you know him personally

eddie being bullied 💔 eddie with gum in his hair 💔 eddie rage shaving his head only to get bullied significantly WORSE 💔💔💔💔

the “this is my castle” easter egg YESYESYES

eddie calling us princess 🦋💞💕💞💕

UGH and eddie falling in love with us, cooking for us, losing his v card to us…how he started off so shy but then started gaining confidence after we talked him through it 10/10, I LOVE THIS MAN

i’ve throughly enjoyed reading this one shot fic. you are an absolutely incredible writer and deserve thousands of notes. also, thank you so much for working so hard not only on the fic but the extras like teasers and layouts of all the locations! 🥰 looking forward to reading/supporting your other works

Virgin!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

strangers to friends to lovers

★Teasers ★Locations ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie embarks on a new chapter after finally graduating. He expects to face a variety of hurdles that come with a change of scenery, but what he doesn't anticipate is falling head over heels for you.

Author's Note: Holy shit, I can't believe this is finally finished after 11 months. It’s the first time I've written smut in well over a year and I'm pleased with how it turned out (I couldn't have done it without the support of my beloved @eddiethefreakkmunson)

Location photos are linked above and in the fic at their first mentions. AU with no Upside Down, no use of Y/N, focuses on Eddie's POV, fluff and mild angst with a happy ending *wink wink*

Word count: 17.3k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! alcohol consumption/drunken behavior, subtly pervy moments, masturbation, fondling, dry humping, protected p in v, oral (f receiving), a little bit of praise & possessiveness, includes swearing.

Eddie was determined to leave Hawkins for good as soon as he tossed his graduation cap to the sky. He didn’t expect how expensive a venture like that would be, so he devised a plan. For a couple of months, he would stick around to save up a financial cushion.

To pocket every penny possible, Eddie took up odd jobs around town like mowing lawns and painting fences. With every task completed, he army crawled his way toward living life on his terms. He didn’t expect it to take him well over a year to save up enough cash.

On this sweltering afternoon, the atmosphere is charged with the promise of new beginnings. The summer sun peeks out from behind the dense clouds and casts irregular shadows on the dirt road of Forest Hills.

His van is packed to the brim with boxes of his belongings. After mentally checking everything twice over, uncertainty twists Eddie’s stomach into knots. What if I have car trouble? What if I get lost? What if it’s not everything I hoped it would be?

Wayne descends the concrete steps and joins Eddie. He lets out a belly-deep sigh that speaks volumes. You’ll figure it out. You’re gonna find your way. Your best days are ahead of you.

There’s a hint of sadness in seeing his boy take this significant step toward independence. But beneath that sorrow, profound pride prevails within Wayne. Eddie’s dreams reach far beyond the boundaries of Hawkins. Sticking around here won’t do him any good.

Eddie looks at the man who’s been his rock; the one who used to rise before dawn to plate crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes, meeting Eddie’s needs before his own. The memories are vivid as he reflects on the milestones his uncle guided him through. Without a doubt, Eddie wouldn’t be half the man he is today if it weren’t for Wayne.

His beloved van sits atop the very spot where he once wiped out while learning to ride a bike without training wheels. “It’s time to be a big boy,” Wayne said, urging Eddie to muster some faith in himself.

Reluctantly, Eddie mounted his small bicycle and clutched the rubber handles. With a push to set him off, he experienced the fleeting thrill of accomplishment as he pedaled forward. He only made it a few feet before his balance wavered.

The bike wobbled, sending Eddie tumbling to the gravel. His knees and palms bore the brunt of the fall, and the sharp pebbles embedded themselves into his scraped skin.

Wayne isn’t exactly a ‘rub some dirt on it’ kind of guy, but he isn’t the coddling type either. He cleaned Eddie’s wounds, slapped on some bandages, and told him to give it another shot. Faced with his nephew’s tearful protests, Wayne emphasized that just because failure stings, it shouldn't deter him from trying again.

“I guess this is it then.” Eddie wipes beads of sweat from his brow using the back of his hand.

“Yep, looks that way. It sure will be quiet without y’here. I got so used to living with all that racket of yours.”

“It’s called good music. You should take it for a spin sometime, it’s way better than that honky-tonk shit you made me listen to growing up.”

“I like my honky-tonk shit just fine, thank you,” They share a laugh.

Wayne will undoubtedly miss their banter, but it’s their Sundays together that weighs the most on his heart. Occasionally, the summer graces them with a few perfect days—pleasantly sunny with a stirring breeze. That weather maintained an unspoken tradition.

When little Eddie moved in, he was struggling to find his footing and hadn’t spoken much. Wayne took him to a serene lakeside spot where the water gently lapped against the shore.

He cast his line into the water in pursuit of a crappie dinner, and six-year-old Eddie gleefully played with the live bait. Over the years, their dynamic remained largely unchanged. Wayne watched his bobber from the swaying dock while Eddie kicked back in a folding lawn chair. It was simple father-son time that didn’t cost more than an afternoon or two. As of now, those days are over.

“You sure you’re gonna be alright without me, old man?”

Wayne shrugs and shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I suppose I’ll manage one way or another.” 

“Take care of yourself,” Eddie says firmly.

“Will do. Oof-” Wayne chuckles when he’s abruptly hugged. He smooths over the back of Eddie’s head with his calloused palm.

The men hold onto one another, their unspoken sentiments conveyed in the silent embrace. They exchange a pat on the back before parting.

Wayne’s eyes follow his nephew as he closes the rear doors and makes his way toward the front of the van. “Eddie, one last thing. Remember to take your chances while ya got 'em and strike while the iron’s hot. Don’t let nothin’ pass ya by.”

Offering a firm salute, Eddie hops up and settles into the driver’s seat.

With Hawkins in the rearview mirror, Eddie sets off. Chicago may not be the sprawling metropolises of New York or Los Angeles, but it’s a world apart from his hometown.

It’s far enough away to provide a much-needed change of scenery, yet close enough that he can move back home if things go to shit.

The drive goes smoothly overall with a couple of instances of getting turned around. By the time Eddie is finished with the long hours on the road, he’s bone-weary.

His new place may not be the epitome of luxury, but it’s a roof over his head and that’s all that matters. After lugging his things to the fourth floor, Eddie can finally consider himself moved in. His apartment lacks furniture and decor, but it’s a space he can call his own.

The throbbing of an unbearable intensity plagues his thighs, a fiery reminder of the multiple flights of stairs conquered. He collapses onto his twin mattress and emits a low groan. The sound bounces off the bare walls and echoes through the studio apartment.

Eddie starts noticing the difference in sounds around him. Gone are the barking dogs and tires rolling over gravel. His fridge hums like the one in the trailer, which is nice, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out the argument happening in the unit above his.

When the noise finally subsides, he hopes to catch up on some much-needed sleep. But just a few minutes later, the ruckus rekindles. In a bid for tranquility, Eddie clutches his pillow to his ears to block out the animalistic makeup sex seeping through his ceiling.  He’s praying that the man is a two-pump chump because this is a lot for a first night. Hell, it’s too much for any night.

In a matter of days, Eddie has already encountered a series of issues. Whenever he tries to use hot water, his shower head screeches like a banshee. And the upstairs neighbors? They wear bricks for shoes and have a hoedown at 2 a.m. on a nightly basis; that is, if they’re not at each other’s throats.

Job hunting has been fruitless. The gas stations, car washes, and tobacco shops turned him down for the same reason: no documented experience. This means that he’s going to be stuck with the makeshift bed frame he came with for a while, which is just wooden planks zip-tied together. He’s not sure how long it’ll be able to withstand his tossing and turning.

There’s good news, though. Eddie refused to succumb to defeat. Today, he strolled past a tattoo parlor and impulsively checked it out. When he approached the counter, Eddie was met by an imposing man with a rather unwelcoming demeanor. In spite of feeling a bit intimidated, he greeted the man warmly.

As expected, the shop owner Cliff, did not reciprocate. When Eddie inquired about job openings, Cliff promptly replied with a curt “no.” Eddie’s tone grew desperate and he nearly pleaded. Cliff became irritated and offered a non-existent custodial position just to get Eddie to shut up and leave.

Currently sprawled on the rickety mattress, Eddie holds Mr. Pickles in the air and looks up at him. His trusty plushie is a bit worse for wear, having had his seams sutured with crimson battle vest thread.

“We’re doing it, buddy. We’re finally doing it.”

Shortly after moving in with his uncle, he had trouble falling asleep in the unfamiliar trailer. Wayne, hoping to provide comfort, gifted Eddie the stuffed bunny. It swiftly became a treasured part of his life, symbolizing safety and support—two things he hadn’t received much of up to that point.

The floppy-eared companion got its name from Wayne’s favorite snack. Whenever his uncle would pop the lid on a fresh jar of pickles, young Eddie would erupt into a fit of laughter. He insisted that Wayne was going to transform into a pickle due to how fast he blows through a jar.

In his twenties now, Eddie still cuddles with Mr. Pickles every night. If his pal could talk, he’d tell him how proud he is. Eddie rolls onto his side and nuzzles the bunny’s worn fur. That smile lingers on his face while he drifts off to sleep, now with a sense of hope for the days ahead.

The time has come. Eddie has worn through his entire wardrobe and needs to make a trip to the laundromat. Having a washer in the trailer was something he didn’t fully appreciate until now.

Taking a quick look around his apartment, Eddie spots a cardboard box that’ll suffice in lieu of a laundry basket. He fills the box with the scattered clothes from the floor, slips on his sneakers, and makes his way out onto the street.

Nestled in the heart of his neighborhood, Eddie arrives at his destination. The air carries an overwhelming fresh scent of detergent. It’s not bustling by any means; there are only a handful of people here.

Compared to those who are well-versed in their routine, Eddie feels out of place. He chooses an available machine and plops his box of dirty clothes on the counter behind him. He inspects the front-loading washer, not versed in its functions and operation. Eddie goes to open the machine’s door but it refuses to yield.

His patience wanes with each futile tug. Just as frustration peaks, a sudden realization dawns on him, prompting a blush to sweep across his cheeks. There’s a lock hidden on the flip side of the handle.

With the press of his thumb, the lock disengages and the door screeches open. Hot under the collar, Eddie hastily scoops up his clothes and stuffs them into the damp drum. He slams the door shut with a mechanical click, the sound signaling the lock relatching. 

This place lacks helpful signage, to say the least. The only one here displays the cost of running a cycle, but there’s nothing to guide newcomers through the process.

Eddie pulls out his wallet to retrieve a few quarters. After inserting them, he figures out the detergent tray without much trouble. But as Eddie presses the START button repeatedly, increasing his force with each press, the machine stubbornly refuses to respond.

“You have to choose a setting.”

Eddie jumps at the sound of your voice, his brows arched and mouth hanging open. “Huh?”

You walk over from the adjacent wall of driers a few feet away. “It won’t start unless you select a wash setting first.”

He looks at you like a deer-in-the-headlights, so you step in and set the machine to delicate for him. The washer springs to life and water begins to fill the drum.

“Ah, that makes sense,” Eddie says while rubbing the back of his neck. “These are so different from the one I had back home.”

“Where’s home?” You ask, resuming your task of folding your clean laundry on the nearby counter.

Eddie is visibly taken aback by your continued engagement. “A town in Indiana that you’ve definitely never heard of,” He starts to fidget with the detergent jug’s cap, though it’s already sealed.

Suddenly, Eddie feels self-conscious about his appearance. Talking to a cute girl wasn’t on the agenda today, he didn’t dress for this. He regrets choosing function over fashion; his denim shorts are an old pair of Wayne’s jeans that he cropped to wear while mowing lawns. The raw hems are messily frayed and the light blue is darkened with grass stains.

“Indiana, huh? You’re a ways from home then. What brings you to The Windy City?”

Eddie’s attention lands on your pile of clothes, subtly assessing your wardrobe choices. “Uh- just needed a change of pace, I guess.”

“Chasing the dream, right? Figured Chicago had more to offer?” You peek at him, catching his stare fixed on a pair of underwear at the top of the pile—a standard white cotton panty, nothing worth ogling.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his posture stiffening when you make eye contact. He swallows hard, averts his gaze, and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. “Something like that.”

“Did you bring your band with you?” You take the undergarment in question and fold it, seemingly unfazed.

As you move the folded pile into your laundry basket, his clothes start thumping inside the machine, causing suds to splash against the glass window. 

Eddie’s brows knit together. “How’d you know I have a band?”

“You’ve got the look,” You remark as your eyes travel over him.

He leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Is that so? Do enlighten me, what’s the dead giveaway?”

“Your hair,” You suggest charmingly.

Eddie swishes his brunette curls like a lady in a shampoo commercial. “Too predictable?” 

“I’d say it’s on brand. Let me guess, Slayer? Maybe a little Dio or Megadeth?”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you before looking down at his shoes. “Jesus Christ, you’re reading me like a goddamn book.”

You cock your head to the side, playfulness tugging at your lips. “And if I were to look for this book in a store, what name might I find it under?”

“Eddie,” He lets his arms fall to his sides. When you tell him your name, it bounces around in his head. How pretty, he thinks.

After lifting your full laundry basket, you step away from the counter. “Good luck with the dryers. Oh, and just a heads up, those doors lock too. Don’t go yankin’ the handle off unless you’re looking to take home a souvenir,” You giggle to yourself as you walk out of the laundromat.

Eddie’s mouth hangs open while he watches you leave. Once you’re gone, his attention drifts to the nearby bulletin board. Among the various flyers, one advertises an open mic night. He decides that he’ll check it out sometime this week.

At Double Barrel Bar, Eddie is swallowed by a sea of mainstream nonconformity. The bar-goers are dressed similarly to him, and while the crowd is mostly younger people, they’re still a touch older than him. 

A symphony of clinking glasses and animated chatter collides with the thunderous live metal music. The dense haze of tobacco smoke and the distant clatter of pool balls only enrich the ambiance. The walls are adorned with framed music memorabilia and band posters, a mix of global icons and local talents.

Eddie is enveloped with nostalgia. This place reminds him of the gigs he used to play with Corroded Coffin, although they never played for an audience this size. Staring at the stage, he questions whether he could engage such a crowd and persuade them that he’s worth listening to.

Between two other men at the bar, Eddie takes a seat.

Lee, the bartender, greets him. “What can I get ya?”

Eddie shrugs and hooks his sneakers beneath the rung of the stool. “I'll take a cold one, whatever's cheapest.”

“You got it. Bottle or tap?” Lee wipes his hands on the white rag draped over his shoulder.

“Bottle is fine.”

Lee retrieves a bottle of beer and deftly pops the cap before sliding it over to Eddie.

His fingers curl around the icy glass, the condensation cool to the touch. Eddie’s plump lips wrap around the bottle’s rim and he takes his first sip. The crisp liquid trickles down his throat, offering a short-lived remedy for the stuffiness of the room. 

As Lee tends to another patron, Eddie fidgets in his seat, causing the flier in his back pocket to crinkle. “So, you host an open mic?”

“Yeah, Thursday through Sunday. Are you any good?” Lee asks.

Eddie flips his guitar pick necklace between his fingers. “I like to think so. I guess you’d have to ask the ants in my kitchen, they’re the closest thing I've had to an audience lately.”

Lee snorts. “I've got a good feeling about you, I’m gonna reserve a spot.”

“Oh, uh- you don't have to do that.”

Lee waves his hand in dismissal and gathers the abandoned glassware from the now-empty seat beside Eddie. “No pressure, just swing by on Thursday if you’re interested.”

The opportunity intrigues Eddie, but performing alone is uncharted territory. Contemplating the offer, Eddie grapples with a cloud of self-doubt looming over his decision.

It’s been two months, and his routine is now established. Each day brings progress and a sense of reward, even though there have been occasional hiccups along the way.

Surviving the sweltering summer with a broken AC was sheer hell. He found himself spending ample time nude in his apartment or standing in front of the open freezer compartment of the refrigerator; sometimes simultaneously. Fortunately, September has arrived, and the temperature has begun to wind down.

Managing expenses requires a frugal approach, given the modest pay from his custodial job. Eddie resorts to taking power showers and using candles to keep his utility bill low.

Sometimes he forgoes meals to keep an extra couple of bucks on hand. But when he does eat, he opts for saltine crackers slathered in butter, bologna sandwiches, canned soups, and plain noodles. Occasionally he treats himself to store-bought pasta sauce, though it’s still the saddest spaghetti known to man.

Eddie faces skepticism from the seasoned artists at the tattoo shop, all military veterans who view him as an arrogant kid. Their perception fuels his determination to prove himself. To earn their respect, he’s dedicated to cleaning more thoroughly than he ever has in his life.

He’s become keenly observant, absorbing every detail of the professional tattooing process, despite never being included in those conversations. Within the circle of artists—Ace, Lunchbox, and Dozer—Eddie gravitates toward Ace, who becomes a mentor. Seeing Eddie’s genuine enthusiasm, Ace asks about his drawing abilities. 

Although Eddie’s sketchbook is brimming with fantastical creatures, Ace can recognize a young man’s raw ambition and desire for direction and purpose. He takes Eddie under his wing, allowing him to learn the medium while on the clock.

After taking Lee up on his offer, Eddie found himself on stage every Thursday night. His performances were rusty, as he hadn’t played in front of anyone since before he was working his ass off to get here.

As he strummed through the jitters, Eddie rediscovered the sanctuary that music had always offered. It felt like a part of him had resurrected, reviving the passion he sorely missed.

Playing Thursday nights may not rake in tips like the weekends would, but he’ll take what he can get. Eddie’s been saving up for some pre-owned furniture, and he’s happy to snag any extra cash he can for it.

Life is good right now. The worry about moving back home has lessened, and he’s genuinely amazed at how smoothly things are going. Just when Eddie thought things couldn’t get any better, a Saturday night slot opened up at the bar.

It would be twice as busy, packed from wall to wall with people who could bare witness to him fucking up. Doubt crept its way in, but when Lee mentioned that Eddie could pocket thirty-five bucks or more by the night’s end, it was a no-brainer.

Tonight marks his debut Saturday gig. Stepping through the red brick archway and out onto the stage, the creak of the rustic boards beneath his feet sends a ripple up his legs. Eddie hasn’t even made it to the mic and he’s already forgotten what foot he’s supposed to be stepping with next.

Beneath his t-shirt, his back grows slick. A lump lodges itself in Eddie’s throat, causing his voice to crack when he introduces himself to the room. Amidst the overlapping conversations and the flushing from the nearby restroom, the amassed noise seems muffled. The strong winds in his head distort the sounds, whirling like a twister.

Eddie hooks his guitar up to the amp and forces himself to take a deep breath. As he tunes his instrument, the upheaval begins to settle. Gradually, Eddie finds unity with his guitar and concentrates on perfecting the tone.

Throughout the performance, there’s a persistent undertow of nerves refusing to fully subside. In spite of his efforts to lose himself in the music, his fingers occasionally falter as they dance on the strings.

At the end of his set, Lee can be heard whooping and hollering over the sparse clapping. With a sense of relief, Eddie packs up and makes a beeline for the bar, eager to ease the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Normally, the rush is akin to a high, but this time around it’s so intense that he’s dying to dial it back a notch.

He splurges and orders something a bit fancier than his usual bland beer. Why not celebrate a little? Eddie claims a recently vacated table in the bustling crowd, seating himself on the leather stool adorned with studs. His eyes roam the room while he takes a swig of his drink, savoring the superior crisp taste.

His attention zeroes in on a figure just feet away, a quick recognition igniting in his mind. Eddie recognizes you instantly, due to the scarcity of memorable encounters he’s had.

Eddie observes from afar, observing your mannerisms as you execute your waitressing duties. You must only work weekends, which would explain why your paths haven’t crossed again until now. When your eyes meet his, a shock shoots through his body.

He sits in rapt anticipation as you make your way over. Time seems to stretch unbearably from your previous spot until you finally stand opposite of him, separated only by the circular wooden table.

A courteous smile graces your face—a skill that waitresses must master if they want to pay rent. “Ready for another?”

Eddie stares back at you. His eyes drift down to the almost full beer bottle in his hand. The cogs in his skull are scraping, unable to put the words you’ve said to him in a comprehensive order. He nods without making a peep.

You pivot to leave, but then turn back to him and lift a brow at his unaltered dumbstruck expression. “Are you sure? ‘Cause you don’t look it.”

He remains silent and shakes his head sheepishly, feeling foolish for agreeing to another beer and then changing his mind just because you asked again. Is there more dignity in being indecisive than a bumbling mess?

“You were just singing up there for nearly an hour,” you call him out, folding your arms and tucking your serving tray against your side. “I know you can talk.”

Eddie clears his throat, but he ends up making an odd sound. “Uh, my throat’s a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Did you forget to do your vocal warm-ups or what?”

“It probably sounded like I did,” Eddie laughs, the self-deprecation evident.

“Not at all, I thought you were great.”

“You did?” Eddie’s lips curl at your compliment. Heat blooms on his cheeks, amplifying the full-body perspiration. He takes a casual sip from his beer, a guise to moisten his dry mouth and escape your intimidating gaze.

“Totally, you really come alive when you’re up there,” you rest your forearms on the table’s edge. “Is it just Eddie, or do you go by a stage name?”

No way. There’s no fucking way that you remember him, his face is so forgettable it’s not even funny. Lee had to have said something about who was filling the Saturday night spot. Eddie is inwardly thrilled to hear his name roll off of your tongue, but he tries to maintain his composure. “I suppose not, I guess I never thought about it.”

“You could pull it off, it suits the whole ‘one-man show’ thing you’ve got going on,” You say while giving him a once-over. The intrigue on your face is unwavering as you walk away.

He’s drunk, he has to be. Or maybe his drink was spiked somehow. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous as all hell, despite only having taken a few swigs from his beer.

A short while later, Eddie’s bottle is half-empty as he sits, continuously replaying the moment in his mind. More specifically, he can’t stop thinking about the sparkle in your eyes; he’s never seen anything like it.

He snaps back from his daydream at the sight of your return, this time with an unopened beer in hand. Eddie looks nothing short of puzzled as you slide it across the table toward him. “Uh, no thanks, I’m-”

“Relax, it’s not for you. I’ll be clocking out in six minutes. I wanna hear more about that small town of yours. I mean, as long as that’s okay with you. I understand if you have other plans tonight.”

“No!” Eddie exclaims. “I mean, yes it’s more than okay, and no, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

You glance downward while scuffing your shoe against the floor. “Okay, cool. Keep it cold for me then?” 

“Yeah, for sure. You can count on me.”

Shit shit shit. How is he going to keep this beer cold? Of course, ways to heat it flood his mind. If you come back to a lukewarm beer, that’ll be the end of him. He’s going to fuck this up and any chance of getting to know you will be squashed.

When you join him again, your drink is still cold and the bottle has left a ring of moisture on the paper coaster. Eddie’s unsure of how he managed to not lose it; if he’s capable of anything, it’s misplacing something when his only responsibility is to keep it in his possession. 

As you slide onto the stool beside him, you’re quick to inquire. You ask him typical ice-breaker questions at first, and Eddie responds with a plethora of details. At times, he goes off on tangents. You don’t appear bothered by it.

Eddie talks about his ability to learn how to play songs by ear, and he delves into the intricacies of his favorite Dungeons & Dragons campaigns that he’s created over the years. He earnestly tries to convey its depth to you and throughout his ramblings, he doesn’t miss the concentrated look on your face as you try to keep up.

Lee is nearing the end of his cleaning routine and the other waitresses have left for the night. Neither of you is aware that the bar is devoid of a crowd, scorching lights, and blaring music.

Eddie has been too busy asking you about your origins and passions, his wide eyes and attentive demeanor affirming his genuine interest. Just as he mentions working at the shop and you’ve asked him how many tattoos he has, you’re interrupted.

Lee stands beside the table, armed with a damp rag and a spray bottle. “Awfully hard to wipe the seats when your asses are still on them. Scoot your booch,” Lee instructs by motioning toward the entrance.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to slip off his stool. You, on the other hand, take your sweet time.

“Have a good night,” You say and give Lee’s shoulder a friendly pat.

Uncertain of his next move, Eddie hesitates while you make your way to an unmarked door. It’s half past two in the morning, and he feels a tug of concern about you leaving by yourself.

There’s a very good chance that you’d consider him clingy or intrusive if he waits here. Eddie opts to stand outside. He props himself against the building and idly nudges a loose chunk of concrete with his shoe to keep himself occupied. Soon after, you emerge into the night.

The slam of the heavy door prompts him to straighten up. “Hey.”

“Oh, I thought you left,” you admit and adjust your purse strap on your shoulder. “Thanks for telling me about Hawkins the Hell Hole.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Do you, uh…” Eddie inches forward, his Reeboks scraping loudly on the pavement. “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s pretty late.”

“I don’t live far, it’s just a few blocks.’

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around then?”

Your eyes twinkle brighter than he’d previously seen. “I’d say the odds are in your favor.”

“Goodnight. Get home safe,” He says with a half-hearted bow.

“Likewise,” You reply, biting back a giggle.

Eddie watches you fade into the darkness along the unlit patches of sidewalk. Once you’ve turned the corner, Eddie smiles from the surreal sensation of floating on clouds.

In this moment, the feeling of joy is so potent that it’s borderline palpable. He’s the embodiment of elation, a soul soaring high. It’s a feeling he wishes he could bottle up and carry with him forever.

The next Saturday plays out much like the previous one, save for one detail: it’s considerably tougher to concentrate on stage knowing who’s in the audience. Post-performance, the routine echoes that of the prior week. The two of you gravitate toward the same table as before, establishing it as the one you’ll always sit at.

At first, a hesitation lingers before diving into more personal topics. However, as the night progresses and more beers are consumed, you seamlessly fall into them. Eddie weaves elements of drama and romanticism into his past, making it utterly engrossing for you to listen to.

When you propose getting together outside of the confines of the bar for the first time, Eddie eagerly accepts your invitation to show him around since he has yet to do any sightseeing.

Eddie is swept up in an exuberant wave of boyish excitement, and it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He never experienced it during his teenage years like the average person. The sheer thrill of having an instant connection with a girl is an entirely new feeling for him.

Week after week, your laundry days are synchronized and you’ve started the habit of making silly faces or giving each other the finger just because. During the late nights spent together at Dove’s Diner, Eddie finds enjoyment in seeing you eat. It’s a peculiar fascination, but it makes him happy. Seeing you completely at ease while enjoying greasy food is endearing to him.

When he arrived in Chicago, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of not wanting to move back to Hawkins. Even so, he wasn’t experiencing the same comfort here as he did in that cramped trailer.

There was a longing for familiarity that he had in his old surroundings. Eddie didn’t want to have to go back home in order to feel that sense of belonging again. He had his doubts about ever truly adjusting to life here until you came along. In your company, the foreignness of the city fades away, replaced by that feeling he’s been missing.

Several times, he’s been working in his sketchbook, adding to the pin-up style figures and faces that bear a striking resemblance to you. While engrossed in drawing, he hadn’t picked up on the similarities. But when he absentmindedly drew a simple heart, that's when it occurred to him.

Eddie like-likes you.

As your shift comes to an end, you head to the back room to gather your belongings. Eddie stands idly at your claimed table, picking at his hangnails while he waits.

“When’re you gonna ask her out?” Lee asks while tidying up nearby.

Eddie laughs heartily at the idea. “How about never.” 

“You should. I can tell she’s into you.”

“Yeah, right. I don’t stand a chance.”

Lee puts down his spray bottle and looks at Eddie. “Listen, I’ve known her for a while now. Trust me on this,” he dumps a used ashtray out into a trash bag.

Eddie emits a noise of disbelief, his mind flickering back to the painful lesson he learned in his youth—he’s no one's type. Lost in reflection, he doesn’t realize you’ve returned with your sweatshirt draped over your bent arm.

Despite the tiring evening, you're upbeat in his presence. “Okay, I’m ready! I was thinking we could get some takeout and watch TV at my place.”

“Sure, I could eat,” Eddie says with a grin. Lee is shaking his head, looking particularly smug.

Your apartment is the polar opposite of Eddie’s, the difference is like day and night. It has a homey atmosphere and there’s a notable absence of wear and tear. He does have band posters, framed personal photos, and furniture, but they fail to create the same inviting ambiance that your apartment effortlessly exudes.

Seated beside Eddie on your couch, you tease him. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m trying!” He attempts to mimic your technique, but the piece of chicken repeatedly falls from his chopsticks.

“I can see that,” you stifle a laugh. “And you’re total shit at it.”

Out of frustration, Eddie impales his sweet and sour chicken with both sticks.

Glancing your way, he catches you smiling ear to ear, watching him. Eddie smiles back as he chews. “What? This way works just as well.”

You laugh and refocus your on the TV while resuming your meal. Eddie swears that you’re sitting closer to him than when you first sat down. Your thigh is almost touching his and your shoulder is just as close.

The paranoia subsides as he gets lost in thinking about how he can feel the heat radiating off of your bare thigh. But Eddie’s pulled back to reality when your chopsticks cut across his vision and dig into his takeout box.

He doesn’t mind, not really; sharing is caring. Having said that, when you lean over to look into the box, your shoulder bumps against his. A particularly appreciative sound escapes your lips, one that’s borderline pornographic.

“That’s really good, I’ll have to get some next time,” you hum and place your takeout box on the coffee table. “Or I could just keep stealing yours, it tastes better that way.”

Eddie is frozen, eyes unblinking. As you return to your spot on the sofa, you’re unquestionably closer this time. Your beautiful skin is on display in those shorts of yours and your bare thigh is brushing against his own. He could choke on air right now if he were still breathing.

You look over at him, your brow furrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah, yep. All good,” Eddie avoids making eye contact and stares blankly ahead. “Peachy keen.”

“Okay, weirdo,” you brush off his abrupt awkwardness and scoot toward the edge of the cushion. After gathering your trash, you look at him. “All finished?”

“Mhm,” He replies weakly and extends his box toward you.

With your arms full, you head into the kitchen, leaving him by his lonesome in the living room.

Eddie releases a heavy sigh and drags his hands down his face. Your absence allows him to reenter his body, but it only makes him keenly aware of his not-so-subtle half hard-on that’s outlined through the thin fabric of his shorts.

His eyes widen in alarm and panic takes over. “Shit!” Frantically brainstorming ways to conceal it, Eddie spots a fuzzy blanket at the far end of the couch and he retrieves it, draping it over his lap. While he tries to make himself look as casual as possible, he catches a glimpse of your approaching shadow just before the kitchen light is switched off.

In the few seconds he has left, Eddie tries out various hand placements, but none feel quite right. Every position feels forced and conspicuous.

As you stride back to the couch, your sweet expression eases some of the tension in his bones. “I got a bit chilly,” Eddie blurts out, hoping to preempt any impending questioning. “Is it okay if I use this?”

“No, I’m totally gonna tell you that you can’t use a blanket for its sole purpose.”

Eddie laughs nervously, “Alright, alright.”

This is arguably worse, being wrapped in your scent. It’s awfully hard not to get any harder when your natural smell is flooding his head. It’s intoxicating, and he finds himself inhaling deeply to capture as much of it as he can.

“What’d I miss?” You ask while plopping back down beside him.

The continuous movement causes Eddie to clench his back molars together because an image surges before he can even think to suppress it. He’d bet all the money he has that you’d look stunning on top of him. There’s fantasy looming alongside the image; Eddie wonders what you look like beneath your clothes.

“Nothing, you didn’t miss anything,” He mutters. When you start to squirm against the back of the couch, Eddie shoots you a questioning look. “You got ants in your pants?”

You huff, “No, there’s an itchy spot on my back. Could you scratch it for me, please? It’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh, um, sure,” Eddie fumbles for words as you angle yourself and present your back to him. “Where is it?”

“Right between my shoulder blades.”

Eddie’s eyes zero in on the outline of your bra strap that’s visible through your shirt across your back. Given his luck, that would be the target. Just to be cautious, he starts by scratching at the higher middle part of your back.

“A little lower.”

Eddie swallows hard as his fingers tentatively inch their way down. His belly begins to swirl the closer he gets to the clasp, but thankfully, you stop him just before he reaches it.

“Right there! Yeah, harder.”

If this goes on too much longer, Eddie could very well pass out. But, per your request, he applies more pressure. Beneath the blanket, the discomfort has only intensified—his arousal is now raging with a persistent ache.

“Oh my god, finally,” You say appreciatively and settle back into a more relaxed position.

The overwhelming urge to touch himself skyrockets as his body begs for friction. Eddie repositions himself to adjust the blanket, hoping to keep his erection concealed. From the corner of his eye, his gaze drifts along your figure, pausing at the rise and fall of your diaphragm as you watch TV.

A jagged breath falls from his lips, but he’s determined to clear his mind. Realizing that he can’t leave here tonight with your blanket as a shield, he has to find a way to distract himself by the end of this program.

Miraculously, he survived. Now lying in his bed, Eddie is surrounded by the darkness, save for the glow of the moon and the faint residual light from the streetlamps filtering through the broken blinds. Eddie stares up at the ceiling while his mostly naked body responds to the vivid recollections swarming his train of thought.

On any ordinary day, Eddie would resort to the routine of using his hand and lotion to relieve himself. Be that as it may, the stirring in his core demands a different sensation.

With the thought of you weighing heavily on his mind, there’s an alternative means by which he’s going to alleviate the frustration and desire that’s grown too loud to ignore. Eddie, already shirtless, yanks his boxers off in a swift motion and kicks them off carelessly. Moving onto his knees, he leans over the edge of his bed and retrieves a pillow from the floor.

He sits back on his heels in the middle of his bed and contorts the stuffing with intent. For a moment, he’s not sure how he wants to use it. His body’s impatience grows, causing his erection to bob expectantly.

Eddie licks his lips in anticipation and sets the bent pillow down with the bend facing him. With one hand, he firmly holds the makeshift toy in place. With his other, he strokes himself languidly, blotting the fabric of the pillowcase with precum as he taps his cock against it repeatedly.

Experimentally, Eddie rolls his hips downward, thrusting the sensitive underside of his length against the smooth material. His eyes fall closed, and he can’t seem to pick just one aspect of you to fantasize about, not when every inch of you is so captivating. Eddie grunts, “Yeah, you like that?”

He adjusts his hips, angling them lower to get more friction. The heat blooming causes Eddie’s jaw to go slack. The usual five or six minutes have been halved as the thought of your smile makes Eddie embarrassingly close already.

Wanting to get in a few more thrusts before he’s spent, Eddie pistons himself against the pillow. “Tell me how badly you want me, I wanna hear you say it.”

With one fist continuing to pin the pillow down against the mattress, Eddie trails his other hand up his pale, slender stomach. He digs his gnawed-down nails into his skin, leaving red streaks behind, as he tries to imagine it as your touch. Eddie doesn’t know what it would feel like if it wasn’t his hand, but the thought of you is more than enough.

Devoid of any visual aid, the absence of a magazine or porno tape isn’t hindering him. Typically, when Eddie only has his imagination to utilize, he can beat off without finishing until he eventually gets bored and gives up.

This time it’s different. As his thoughts run wild, Eddie’s rhythm falters. The bed frame squeaks, and the wood shifts while he thrusts as hard as he can.

“Uhhh,” A coarse moan pours from his throat as his cum shoots onto the pillow. Eddie’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pants. The tension in his abdomen gradually subsides as he floats his way back down to earth.

His eyes flutter open, and he’s faced with the mess he made. “Fuckin’ hell,” With a sigh, Eddie decides that he’ll deal with it tomorrow.

After changing into fresh boxers, he chugs down a glass of tap water. Utterly exhausted, Eddie collapses back onto his bed. The aged frame creaks in protest to his abrupt flop. The intensity has been burned away, and what lingers is rawness.

Here’s the thing, Eddie has a way with words, and his unconventional charm comes without a second thought. But conveying himself physically is a different story. His upbringing lacked affection, and consequently, Eddie was robbed of particular milestones. Among those missed moments was sitting on the grass beneath a starry night sky on summer night.

Eddie never got to pluck the green blades from the ground as he gathered the courage to have his first kiss. He hasn’t so much as held someone’s hand before.

With Mr. Pickles tucked under his chin, a wave washes over his heart, wading him further into the tide of ache. Eddie may be inexperienced but he’s not stupid. He’s picking up what you’re putting down. Your persistent hints practically scream at him to make a move.

But your persistence only worsens the anxiety because Eddie’s not sure that he can take the leap like you want him to. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s uncertainty about what to do if he gets to be with you.

Eddie’s drawn to you, his poor pillow could tell you that much. This isn’t the first night he’s spent laying here trying to talk some sense into himself. When he practices being smooth instead of awkward, Eddie struggles to navigate through the hypothetical scenarios that he’s in complete control of.

If his bedroom walls could speak, they’d tell of those nights. But after the sinful act he just committed, they have a hell of a lot more to say. Those bold utterances were far from who he is. It was a facade, a portrayal of a self-assured man he’ll never embody.

Talking dirty made him feel powerful in the moment because the mask allowed him to avoid facing how he truly feels about you. At his core, what Eddie craves is to baby you, he wants to show you that he can be sensitive. He’d die on the spot to see you in a state of delight from being showered with adoration.

Eddie closes his eyes and envisions a world where he can be what you want. He’d never be oblivious to having food in his teeth, and he’d never push a door that should be pulled. This false reality is one where he doesn’t disappoint you by shying away from your advances. It’s unrealistic, he’s just not wired that way.

During his younger years, Eddie endured the worst of taunting. The other kids mocked his short frizzy curls by referring to it as a “rat’s nest.” They told him that he’d resemble a troll until his dying days.  It was ingrained into him that he was unworthy of any form of love—be it familial, platonic, or romantic. The remarks made about Eddie’s prominent nose convinced him that he was a walking safety hazard and he’d poke someone’s eye out if he ever dared to kiss them.

In the seventh grade, Eddie hit a breaking point. He was fed up with having chewing gum put into his curls. There are too many times to count where Wayne sat for hours with a jar of peanut butter, attempting to free the cemented wads from his nephew’s locks. One day, Eddie stood in front of the mirror in the cramped bathroom and cried at the discovery of another bright pink clump of gum tangled in his hair.

It may have been just one piece at that time, but it was the final straw. Out of desperation, Eddie did the only thing he felt would solve the problem for good. By taking matters into his own hands, he used the clippers to give himself a buzz-cut. As chestnut-colored locks cascaded down, settling atop the sink and his feet, the damage was done.

Wayne lent a hand in handling the patchy spots in the back of Eddie’s head that he couldn’t quite reach. The impromptu solution worked as he’d hoped, but it only opened the door to different torment. 

The following school day, his classmates didn’t hold back, likening his appearance to that of an inmate waiting to meet Old Sparky, or cruelly suggesting that he resembles his imprisoned father.

Eddie quickly came to understand that he was never going to be the guy girls wished would ask them to the dance. The scars of rejection were etched into his self-esteem, and since then, he’s come to terms with his inadequacy.

Perhaps you’re interested in Eddie because there are still things you don’t know about him. Surely, once you learn how unworthy he is, you’ll laugh in his face just as the others did.

Tonight he’s shielded from the nightlife commotion inside his van, parked along the curb outside your apartment. He sits patiently, watching the pine tree-shaped air freshener gently sway with the feeble push of air from the AC vents.

It’s Friday night, and there’s nothing he’d rather do than spend it with you. Eddie directs his attention toward your building as you descend the steps of your apartment’s stoop.

Eddie detects the effort, even from afar. Your shoes look new and you’re wearing more makeup than he’s used to seeing you in. These differences have him pondering the significance behind the deliberate choices.

When Eddie casually suggested catching a movie a few days ago, he hadn’t thought much of it. To him, it was merely something you hadn't done together. He didn’t think twice when you got so excited about seeing a late-night showing of Die Hard.

It’s dawning on him that it wasn’t because you’re a big Bruce Willis fan. The reason you’re all gussied up is because this is a date. He asked you out on a date.

This is not a problem, per se. Eddie’s thrilled about going on his very first date, but fear also has him in a chokehold because he’s unprepared.

Wayne never took the time to give his nephew the lowdown on dating. It didn’t come up because Eddie never displayed interest or curiosity about it.

He’s at a loss. Eddie doesn’t know how to carry himself, he doesn’t have a clue about what’s considered proper etiquette beyond what he’s seen on TV and in movies. Are those even reliable sources?

As you cross the sidewalk in his direction, Eddie’s palms grow slick. It suddenly registers that he should be outside, ready to hold the car door open for you. But before he can act on this realization, you swiftly swing the door open and slip onto the passenger seat.

"Hi," You chirp, the sound almost a squeak as you close the car door behind you. You subtly adjust the bottom of your dress before securing your seatbelt.

“Hey,” Eddie’s eyes wander over your body until he finds himself admiring your bare knees.

With a jolt, his eyes snap back to your face, only for you to be watching him with a pleased expression adorning your features.

Eddie clears his throat and busies himself with turning over the ignition. “You look nice,” he scrunched his face. “Pretty! I meant to say you look pretty.”

"Thanks," you reply appreciatively and inspect your freshly painted nails to ensure they’ve withstood the indecisive wardrobe changes of the past half hour.

Throughout the brief drive, engaging in small talk grants Eddie a temporary respite from his brain being in overdrive. Determined to maintain composure, he makes a conscious effort to avoid looking your way.

Eddie successfully carries the conversation as you enter the lobby and get through the refreshments line. Luckily, you secure the last two seats at the end of a row; he’d have been mortified if the theater was oversold and there weren’t any seats left.

The first half of the movie goes as one would expect; you’re comfortably seated beside him, occasionally whispering commentary to each other. Meanwhile, Eddie shovels fistfuls of over-buttered and under-salted popcorn into his mouth, crunching away as the scenes progress on the screen before him.

But then there’s a subtle shift in your body language. He assumes that your inability to sit still might be caused by the need for a restroom break. That is until your knee gradually inches closer to his.

The film has become an afterthought as Eddie watches you place your hand on your thigh, noticeably close to his own that’s casually hanging off of the armrest. It’s impossible to differentiate the pounding pulse in his ears from the blasts of gunfire booming through the theater.

When your fingertips graze his, Eddie rips his hand away to reach for the bucket of popcorn that’s resting in the ditch of his opposite arm. “Want some?” he fails to whisper while offering the bucket to you.

The explosive flashes of red and yellow harshly illuminate your face and without a word, you shake your head and go back to the movie.

Eddie puts the bucket back where it was, and in the hopes of distracting himself from the guilty tingle in his feet, he fidgets with his wristwatch. Repeatedly, Eddie clasps and unclasps it, making the strap incredibly loose and uncomfortably tight around his wrist.

A few minutes go by and without warning, his heart stops because you unexpectedly rest your head on his shoulder.

As if struck by lightning, Eddie leaps to his feet. The motion launches the bucket of popcorn into the air, and the people in the row in front of you are showered with kernels. He's as stiff as a board as he’s confronted with mild uproar and a chorus of expletives. 

Red-faced and unsure of whom to apologize to first, Eddie turns to you. “Shit! I’ll go get another one,” He doesn’t wait for your response and rushes down the stairs, practically leaping over them two at a time.

After bursting through the double doors and out into the empty hallway, Eddie brings his palm to his forehead, his other hand propped on his hip while he paces. Once he’s able to collect himself, Eddie heads toward the lobby, only to find that everything is powered down. 

Eddie decides to use the little time he has to rehearse what he’ll say. There might not be anything he can do to play off his peculiar behavior; at least, nothing that he can think of at the moment.

As he shows up empty-handed, Eddie doesn’t overlook your rigid posture. Your left leg is crossed over your right, pointing away from him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re just upset that he wasted the popcorn and didn't get more.

In your lack of questioning, Eddie feels compelled to explain himself. “Concessions were closed, so…” He gestures with upturned palms, but you don’t acknowledge that he’s spoken or come back.

Not having received a response, Eddie resorts to chewing on his thumbnail and his leg bounces in tandem. Lost in his head, he finds it increasingly difficult to focus on the remainder of the movie.

Exiting the theater and stepping out into the parking lot, Eddie’s voice lacks confidence as he walks alongside you. “What’d ya think? I give it a solid six out of ten.”

You reply with a casual shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “It was alright.”

“How ‘bout I treat you to Dove’s? Wanna go for a bite?” Eddie suggests to salvage the remainder of the evening.

“I’ll pass. I’m not hungry,” you say curtly, taking a step ahead to open the passenger door for yourself, denying Eddie a second chance to hold it open for you. 

“Oh,” Eddie begins, but his sentence is severed by the slam of the door. “Okay,” he finishes with a sigh.

During the drive back to your neighborhood, the air feels dense. The radio commercials do little to fill the space between you.

Upon the front tire nudging the curb, you get out of the van before Eddie has put it in park. He hurriedly follows suit, rushing over to catch up with you as you head toward your front steps.

“I had a good time tonight. Did you?” Eddie blurts out.

Pausing in your steps, you turn around and face him. “Yeah, I guess.”

Knowing that he’s the cause of your deflated spirit punches a pang to his chest. Eddie offers a gentle expression. “Would you wanna go again sometime? Probably best if you hold the popcorn though,” he chuckles uncomfortably.

“Night, Eddie,” You say with finality before letting yourself into your apartment.

Once you’ve gone inside, dejection overtakes Eddie’s features. “Goodnight,” he mutters to himself, biting the inside of his cheek.

Sifting through the mental archive of wisdom passed down by Wayne, Eddie desperately rummages for any guidance that could apply to his current situation.

Eddie has officially had the world’s worst date, and it very well could be the only one he’ll ever get to go on. It only hurts more that the outcome was entirely his fault.

You’re avoiding him, that much is obvious. You stopped showing up to do laundry together and while he performs, you intentionally keep your back turned to the stage.

After your Saturday shifts end, you no longer stick around to hang out with Eddie, instead choosing to leave with your fellow waitresses.

One would think that it was a tough decision, but it makes perfect sense to him. Eddie gives up playing on Saturdays to avoid crossing paths with you. He reverts to his old spot on Thursday nights.

It’s a way to protect himself while making things easier for you. He can’t fathom how repulsed you are by his presence at this point.

Eddie sits at the folding table in his living room, his feet hooked with one another. The blaring thrash metal fills the room as he meticulously drafts tattoo concepts, completely absorbed in his sketchbook.

The incessant ringing of the telephone hardly cuts through the music. Eddie ignores it for the first two rings and lets out a reluctant huff before pausing the tape and picking up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Heyyy, can you come get me?” Your cheerful request weaves through the lively chatter and honking car horns in the background.

Not having seen you in two weeks, your voice hits him like a wall. “What for?”

“M’ready to go home.”

Eddie reads his watch and leans against the wall. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“You know what, forget it. I’ll just walk home.”

“Absolutely fucking not. What bar are you at?”

“Errr, The Dugout I think.”

“Stay put, alright? Wait for me inside, I’ll be there in a few,” After hanging up, he recklessly shoves his feet into his Reeboks and snatches his car keys from the counter.

Eddie arrives, expecting you to be inside. But there you are, sitting on the curb, right where you shouldn’t be. He calls out to you and jogs over, dodging a few bar-goers on the way.

At first, you turn your head the wrong way when you hear your name called. When you spot him, you scramble upright. “You came for me!” Excitedly, you raise your hands above your head and it slightly throws off your balance. 

“Holy shit, you’re plastered,” Eddie half-scoffs, half-laughs. His eyes roam your body, and he immediately takes notice of your scraped and bloodied knees. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Huh?” you ask, your drunken buoyancy unaffected by his evident concern. Following his guided point, you simply shrug. “I dunno, can’t remember.”

“You’re not here by yourself, are you?” Eddie scans the area, looking for any signs of someone accompanying you.

“Mmm... no, well yes. My girlfriends were here but they left.”

Eddie scoffs, “You’ve got some shitty friends.”

“Good thing I have you. My very own knight in shining armor is here to rescue me!”

“That tower of yours must’ve had quite the mini bar, princess,” Eddie remarks.

“Let’s go,” Eddie instructs, heading toward his van with the assumption that you’re following.  Peeking over his shoulder, you’re practically tripping over your own feet.

The long strap of your purse slides off your shoulder, snags on your bent elbow, and the bag thuds against your calf.

“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” He steps back, takes hold of your purse, and throws it over his shoulder. Then, he wraps his arm around your waist and holds you snugly to his side, determined to get you home safely by whatever means necessary. After helping you into the passenger seat, he reaches over to fasten your seatbelt. “No hurling in here, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” you salute before sitting back so that your head is supported by the headrest.

Getting you up the stairs was the hard part. He unlocks the apartment door and gently steers you toward the bathroom.

You make a feeble attempt to resist, grasping onto the door frame before finally yielding to your waning strength.

Eddie lets go of you and begins to rummage in search of supplies.

“Okay, Eddie Bear. I’m ready for my bath,” You slur, leaning against the wall for support as you start to ease yourself into the tub.

“Eddie Bear, huh? That’s new,” he snorts before glancing over. “Oh, no you don’t. C’mere,” Eddie grasps you by the waist once more, guiding you to sit on the closed toilet seat.

With both hands, he cradles your booze-warmed cheeks, unintentionally pushing your lips into a pout. “Stay put, would ya?”

Mumbling to himself, Eddie goes back to gathering the first aid supplies. “I look away for two goddamn seconds. Nothing but trouble, I swear.”

The pout doesn’t leave your face and you cross your arms with an annoyed huff. As the seconds pass, it's as though there’s elevator music playing in your head while you wait for something to happen.

Eddie crouches at your feet. “So, what’s your justification for getting shit-faced on a weeknight?” The tip of his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he begins wiping away the dried blood on your knees with a damp cloth.

“Boys are dumb, that’s why.”

“I know, aren’t they just the worst?” Eddie concurs with a hum. He stands to rinse the cloth, washes his hands, and then fully gets to his knees on the tile floor to apply ointment.

“Yeah, they are,” Your voice trails off as you look at his fingers resting firmly on your thigh, just above your knee, to prevent any inadvertent movement.

Engrossed in your own little world, you start humming an improvised tune. “Like them so much,” you sing-song to yourself.

Eddie glances up at you briefly. “What’s that?”

“Your hands,” you explain and poke each of his knuckles with your index finger. “You’ve got such nice fingies.”

“Fingies?” Eddie smiles as he secures bandages over both of your knees. He withdraws his touch from your thigh and he takes hold of your hand, turning it palm-side up.

“Mhm, the nicest.”

“Yours are nice too,” he comments as he cleans the scrape on the heel of your hand. As Eddie admires the intricate lines and wrinkles across your palm, he inadvertently brushes the cloth directly against your wound.

You make a high-pitched fuss in reaction to the sudden contact, reflexively pulling your hand away.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie apologizes earnestly. He applies the ointment before applying a bandage. Rising to his feet, he theatrically brushes off his hands. “There, good as new.”

You reach out to him in a toddler-like manner and make grabby hands at him.

Eddie laughs and leans against the door frame. “I’m not carrying you. Brush your teeth so we can get you into bed.”

“You’re no fun,” you groan while you stand awkwardly, the bandages restricting full movement. You wet your toothbrush and squeeze toothpaste onto it, making sure to shoot a scowl at Eddie as you do.

After lackadaisically brushing your teeth, you plop the brush back into its cup. “There, squeaky clean. Happy?”

“As a clam,” Eddie says with a grin. He steps back to allow you out of the bathroom. “Go put your PJs on.”

With a dismissive wave, you drag your feet to your room and begin to dig through your dresser drawer.

Just as he’s about to start picking up after himself, he’s interrupted.

“Eddie,” You call out defeatedly. 

“Yeah?” When he doesn’t receive an immediate response, he cautiously steps into the doorway of your room. There you stand, still wearing your dress.

“I can’t reach it,” You say, turning your back to him and bowing your head slightly, signaling that you need his assistance.

Eddie swallows hard and mutters under his breath, “Right, the zipper,” Stepping into the room, his hands start to tremble.

Now positioned behind you, he carefully takes hold of the small piece of metal. Despite the trembling, Eddie tries his best not to make contact with your skin as it’s revealed by the descending zipper.

Dizziness consumes him as his eyes flit between your shoulder blades. Once your dress is completely unzipped, Eddie takes a significant step backward, putting distance between the two of you. “Is that all you need?”

You return to sifting through your pajama options. “I think so.” 

Eddie retreats to the bathroom. The image of your bare back is seared into his memory, he’s just gonna have to live with it etched into his mind forever.

After regaining his composure, he locates some aspirin and fills a drinking glass with water. “Are you decent?” Eddie asks hesitantly, not daring to step closer to the threshold without receiving confirmation.

“Uh huh,” You mumble, flopping onto your bed and committing to the first position you land in.

Holding the cup of water and two tablets of pain relief, Eddie re-enters your bedroom. He finds you sprawled and droopy-eyed lying on your back.

Eddie’s chunky metal rings clink against the glass when he sets it down on your nightstand. “I think you’ll appreciate this little visit from the aspirin fairy come morning. You’re gonna feel like shit.”

“Okay,” you murmur, your attention glued to how his strong nose casts a shadow on his cheek in the glow of your bedside lamp. Flipping onto your side facing the door, you yawn and stretch your toes.

Eddie gathers the jumbled blanket from the other side of the bed and drapes it over you, covering you up to your shoulders with care.

Although he wants to, he refrains from tucking you in, concerned that you might trip or get more hurt if you need to get up. “Well, goodnight.”

Just as Eddie turns to leave, your weak grasp seizes his hand before he’s out of reach. It stops him in his tracks, and his gaze follows the path from your joined hands, tracing up your arm until his eyes meet yours.

Fighting to keep your eyes open, you’re teetering on the edge of consciousness. “I don’t want you to go.”

He returns without needing any further invitation and sits on the edge of the bed by your belly. Releasing his hand, you rub your eye before tucking your fist beside your head.

Looking down at you affectionately, a grin graces Eddie’s face. He watches as your eyelids flutter closed, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. “Such a sleepy girl.”

With your eyes cemented closed, you adjust your head on the pillow before drifting off to sleep. Eddie stays put for a minute or two, simply admiring you. He’s never seen something so precious.

His heartbeat rattles his ribs, just as it did the first time he saw you waitressing at Double Barrel. That static-like tingling plagues his extremities as an old thought resurfaces. In those conversations where you shared your life stories, Eddie couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be kissed by you.

Eddie’s eyes brim with tears at the fact that his presence is solely due to your inebriation, and this closeness it’s about to expire. “God,” he exhales, rolling his eyes skyward to hold back his tears.

“Sleep tight, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, pulling the blanket a touch higher over your shoulder. Then, he switches off the lamp and leaves you to rest.

Dwelling on the fact that you won’t remember tonight won’t do him any good. Getting this close to you would have never happened in sober circumstances. At least he got to take care of you in the way he always wanted, even if only for a short time.

Over the past few days, Eddie has been thinking about how he felt when you relied on him to get you home. He’s curious whether the call you made to him signifies that you still want him in your life. If that happens to be the case, then he can work with that.

Going through with this might worsen the sting of rejection, but Eddie has his heart set on mending things.

Within moments of entering the bar and scouring the room for you, he spots you conversing with Lee about a table’s order. Eddie begins to pat his thighs in an erratic rhythm as he feels his insides lurch.

As soon as Lee notices Eddie, he wraps up the conversation and gets back to work. You observe Eddie, noticing the hopefulness on his face as he strides across the room. “Do you need something?”

“Not necessarily. I was wondering if I could uh, make you dinner or something?” Eddie kicks one foot with the other and totters back and forth in place. 

Your expression changes to one of disbelieving annoyance. “I can slap together a PB&J at home, but thanks.”

“No, no. I’m serious, I’ll make whatever you want,” Eddie insists.

“What for?”

Eddie briefly looks away, scratching at the nape of his neck. “I miss hanging out with you.”

“I don’t know,” You ponder with uncertainty, your gaze monitoring the occupied tables in case you’re needed.

“Let me cook for you. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

His pleading eyes wear you down. “Fine, when?”

A bright smile spreads across Eddie’s face, stretching from ear to ear. He bounces on his tiptoes with enthusiasm. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can set a time then.”

“Sure, yeah,” you respond, your attention diverted to a booth on the far side of the room where the seated customers wave you over. “Look, I gotta go.”

You’re already back in work mode and walking away before Eddie can say anything else. He just stands there, incapable of shrinking his smile to a mere grin.

Bowing his head, Eddie pumps his fists at his sides in a moment of triumph. With the opportunity for redemption sitting in his lap, he has his heart set on making things right.

In the days leading up to the agreed-upon dinner, Eddie makes several trips to the library, hunting for a recipe for the meal you mentioned. He dips into his emergency savings to purchase extra ingredients, dedicating his time and money to practice making it.

The first go around, he forgot to add two crucial ingredients, resulting in a bland and tasteless dish. Eddie couldn’t let it go to waste, so he settled for the less-than-impressive dinner that night.

On the second attempt, he tried to compensate for the previous mistake by adding more than enough seasoning. He didn’t exactly do it on purpose; it poured out of the canister much faster than Eddie expected. Regrettably, that meal went straight into the trash. Eddie couldn’t stomach a forkful of it.

Eddie absolutely, positively cannot fuck this one up. He can’t afford to, both figuratively and literally. Without a doubt, if he serves you a shit dinner, you’ll push him out of your life for good.

When you knock on the front door, the perceived silence on the other side of the door is broken with a clatter and muffled cursing. The quiet resumes and hangs in the air for a couple of seconds before the door swings open.

There stands Eddie, hair a little tousled. “Hello, hello!”

His stomach does somersaults at the sight before him; your clothes accentuate your figure, and your skirt suits you. Once again, you look stunning and appropriately dressed for a date.

Meanwhile, Eddie doesn’t have many options to choose from. The most formal thing he owns is a button-up shirt and it’s too dressy, but it’s all he has. Paired with it are his holeless black jeans. Before today, he never thought it was possible to be both over and underdressed at the same time.

“Come on in,” Eddie says, stepping aside with reluctance, allowing you to enter his apartment.

As soon as he opened the door to you, his mind turned into a whirlwind of second-guessing himself. The shirt is definitely too formal, but Eddie wants to prove that he knows it’s a date this time, and he means for it to be one. If only he owned an iron so that the material wasn’t as wrinkly as it is.

He wants to prove that he can clean up nicely, evident from the scent of aftershave and cologne. Eddie meticulously clipped his fingernails and tidied his eyebrows, ensuring that he is as presentable as possible.

“This is my castle,” He gestures to the space.

The entirety of the afternoon was spent tidying up and Eddie couldn’t bear to leave a single surface undusted. Any potentially embarrassing materials were tucked away and he washed all of his dirty dishes.

As you enter and survey his studio apartment, he takes the opportunity to rake through his bangs with his fingers. You spot his sketchbook sprawled open on the guitar amp and pick it up.

“Oh, those are nothing, you don’t have to-” Eddie moves forward and reaches out, intending to retrieve the drawing pad, but pauses when you point to the sketch he recently finished.

“This one,” you trace the lines of the drawing with your finger before looking over at him. “I’d get this one.”

“You’d let me give you ink?” There’s a hint of insecurity and surprise in his voice as he subtly retrieves the sketchbook from your grasp.

“Maybe. It depends if you’re still shit at it,” you shrug casually, interlocking your hands behind your back as you assess the living room area. Your attention falls on the antique bookshelf, adorned with miscellaneous items and framed photos. “Has Cliff let you take clients yet?”

“No, you’d be my first real canvas,” Eddie admits.

As you continue looking around, his gaze is one beat ahead of yours. His eyes land on it just before yours do, and his stomach drops upon spotting the one thing he forgot to hide.

“Oh my god!” You squeal, rushing over to the couch and scooping up Mr. Pickles. “Who’s this cutie?”

Pale as a ghost, Eddie stares blankly back at you. How the fuck did he forget to hide the one thing on this planet that rids him of all masculinity.

“I’ll introduce you another time,” Eddie silently urges you to put Mr. Pickles back in his spot, desperately hoping you’ll never bring it up again.

In actuality, he should be thanking himself for the oversight, because you look far more high-spirited than when you stood outside his door.

“I’m looking forward to it,” You brush over the matted fur on the bunny’s head before carefully placing him back on the sofa.

The tension dissipates on his body as he picks up on the change in your energy. It’s reminiscent of how happy you were to see him when you were drunk. But this time is different; it’s genuine, rather than influenced by alcohol.

You’re lured into the kitchen by the incredible aroma, and the steaming food matches the enticing smell. “There’s no way in hell you made that.”

“You bet your ass I did,” Eddie retorts with his hands on his hips while he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen.

You step closer to him. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” you purr, inching closer until your toes nearly make contact with his socked ones. With featherlight pressure, you place a tender kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

Eddie’s internal circuits fry as he tries to process the fact that he just got kissed on the cheek for the first time. His lungs refuse their vital function, denying him oxygen. He retreats by half a step, attempting to mask the blazing rosiness of his face.

“For god’s sake, I’m so sick of whatever this stupid game is.”

“What game? I’m not-” Eddie panics.

“You get me to throw myself at you by doing thoughtful shit like this, but when I finally make a move, you act revolted.”

“I swear to Christ I’m not playing with you. I mean, I’m not trying to,” Eddie explains, his words jumbling together. “I know I've been making a total ass of myself, and tonight was supposed to fix that. But I just- I keep screwing up because I like you and you make me so nervous.”

You scoff, halfway turned toward the door. “That’s hard to believe. You flinch if I so much as bump into you. You don’t want to touch me, I get it.”

A pang of guilt hits him like a baseball bat to the stomach. “No no no, I do! I wanna touch you,” Eddie admits. “Look, you mean so goddamn much to me. You deserve someone who can make you feel good, and I can’t do that.”

Still guarded, you sound agitated but you turn to face him nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”

His voice lowers, a whisper of shame. “I don’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman. Nobody wants to fuck the dorky virgin, y’know?” Eddie’s vision blurs from the tears veiling his vision.

You frown at the vulnerable quiver in his voice. “I do, I’ve been wanting to.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn’t be able to make you cum.”

“I have to disagree with you on that. You’re a fast learner,” You extend your hand to him at waist height.

Eddie stares at your outstretched hand, struggling to process the gesture. He holds his breath, torn between his anxiety and trust. Cautiously, he places his hand in yours.

The benevolent hold pulses a flash flood through his being, the frigid water jolting his systems alive. When you intertwine your fingers with his, the clamminess is evident against the softness of your palm. Insecurity floods him, worried that you’ll be repulsed by it.

Cracks of lightning electrify Eddie’s heart, rendering him unable to meet your gaze. Instead, he focuses intensely on your joined hands. “I have no idea what I'm doing though.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him with a confident smile. Giving his hand a slight squeeze, you add, “See, not so scary anymore, right?”

Eddie shakes his head, even though fear is still coursing through his veins. You pick up on his hesitation and knowing that he won’t do it himself, you guide his hand to your hip and leave it there.

He sort of caresses, not out of boldness, but seeking to alleviate the numbness in his fingers. The sensation has already spread to other parts of his body.

Your patient expression, graced with a grin, grows into a bright smile when you meet his eyes. Eddie’s confidence blossoms, and he uses his other hand to cradle your cheek.

Acquainting himself with the contours of your face, his thumb strokes lightly from beneath your eyes and along your cheekbone. He starts to smile too as his nerves give way to the feeling of reassurance.

As you tilt your head into his touch, your eyelids flutter closed, and you grasp at the loose sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. He steps forward willingly, but his voice retains an uncertain tone. “I really wanna kiss you, but I’ve never, uh…”

You lean in, and the tip of your nose gently brushes against his. The thundering of his heart in his ears drowns out everything but your voice.

“Close your eyes and follow my lead, okay?” The warmth of your breath encircles his lips, turning his knees to jelly. 

Eddie can’t even whisper a confirmation. At your request, he closes his eyes, leaving him solely reliant on his other senses. The smoothness of your lips against his registers as a gentle peck with just enough pressure for him to feel it. It lingers, and he finds himself incapable of moving his lips in response.

“Want another?”

With his eyes still closed, he murmurs, “Yes, please.”

Devilishly, you press a kiss to his wrist, the hand that is still gently cradling your face.

Eddie’s eyes open, a pout and a scowl simultaneously forming his reaction. “Nu-uh, right here,” he insists, leaning in eagerly. He’s caught up in the desire to feel it again but he’s still hesitant to initiate the kiss himself.

You happily close the gap and this time, Eddie slightly purses his lips against yours, doing his best to follow your lead. After giving it a few tries, he feels you withdraw but his head instinctively follows, chasing your lips.

His eyes swirl with affection as he grapples for something to say, feeling breathless and dumb. “Fuck, I don’t wanna stop doing that.”

“Then don’t.”

Finally, Eddie’s able to pursue, but only a fraction of a second before you. With determination, his pecks carry more verve. It’s easier than he thought it would be; granted, he can rely on his ability to keep a steady rhythm, a perk of being a musician.

Eddie didn’t think this could get any better—that is until your lips slot perfectly between his, wet and warm. He pauses, malfunctioning once more. As you kiss him deeply, his mind is dusted in a golden haze and it feels as though he’s floating within himself. Enveloped by the sensation of your hands on his collarbones, a soft noise escapes him.

Mortified, Eddie freezes. Instead of deterring you, it only spurs you on. You wrap your arms around his neck and mold your body against his. The intensity of the kiss only escalates, he’s chasing your storm, matching your every move.

Your fingers entwine in the curls at the nape of his neck, coaxing more noises from him. Eddie is so far gone that he’s unaware of the growing bulge in his jeans. His hand leaves your cheek, traces down your shoulder, and along the outside of your arm before clinging to your waist with both hands.

You hover over his lips, a stream of electricity fizzling between you. “Is it okay if I take my shirt off?”

Eddie forgets to respond but then nods fervently. With curious eyes, he watches intently as you lift your shirt, unveiling skin he’s never seen before.

He inhales and exhales shakily as your necklace falls back into its place against your chest. It’s not a swinging pocket watch, but Eddie is entranced nonetheless.

“You said you wanna touch me,” you draw his trembling hands up your sides. “Now’s your chance.”

Eddie’s hands ascend and meet the silky band of your bra, and you guide his palms forward to the plush foam padding. Your reassuring hold is encouraging, but Eddie tears his stare from your breasts to check-in. He finds you already looking at him, exuding a sweet demeanor. “Give it a try.”

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs in the thick column of his throat, his hands unmoving beneath yours.

“Like this,” You squeeze your hands twice before removing your guidance and allowing him to proceed at his own pace.

Adrenaline motivates him to cup them independently this time, and his cock twitches as he commits to the action.

“You’re doing great by the way,” You offer a smile.

Growing more confident, Eddie applies more pressure. His thumbs move in tandem, brushing over the area where your nipples are concealed. The innocent delight in his eyes burns dark into frustration after a few squeezes. Eddie huffs in annoyance at the fact that he’s only getting handfuls of padding.

“Easy, tiger. Want this off too?”

Heartened by the lack of ridicule, he feels safe. Regardless, Eddie fails to articulate more than a few words, his heart lodged in his throat. “If that’s okay with you.” 

“Come sit,” You suggest, taking his hand in yours to lead him to sit on the edge of the bed.

As he sits, Eddie thanks himself for having washed his sheets for tonight, despite never imagining that this would happen.

When you release his hand, both of them return to the plush of your waist, making himself at home there. The straps of your unhooked bra drape loosely on your arms, and his pupils dilate as the foam cups gradually gain distance from your body. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie says under his breath, his bottom lip shining after a swift swipe of his tongue.

Your hips receive an involuntary squeeze as his patience begins to waver. He then slides his hands back up to your ribs, using his thumb followed by the heel of his palms to graze the bottom of your breasts.

With a sigh of relief, Eddie no longer has to daydream about what they might look like. His beautiful brown eyes roam over your body like you’re a masterpiece, a sculpture carved from stone solely for him to admire endlessly. Savoring the moment, he takes his time to appreciate every second. Eddie doesn’t take your trust for granted.

After a minute or two, you scoot backward onto the mattress toward the pillows. “Let’s get more comfortable.”

He watches you recline half-naked on his bed, and his belly swirls at the sight. Eddie follows suit, crawling to you. Now positioned between your legs, Eddie hesitates as he looks down at you, your hips not making any contact.

His touch resumes at your waist, but this time he’s stroking the expanse of your tummy; it inadvertently brings comfort to both you and him. Until this moment, he’s never had the chance to see the tiny details on your face up close—the distinct aspects that compose your sheer beauty.

Eddie’s hazelnut curls hang over his ears as his gaze trails over your neck and chest. His intense adoration makes you want to hide, but the unease is melted away when he captures your lips with his own. Eddie feels like it’s already been too long since he last kissed you, the deprivation like that of extreme thirst.

Goosebumps prickle his fully dressed form, a surge of belonging filling the cracks in the surface of his heart. Timid pecking is a thing of the past, each kiss more fervid than the one before it. The wet click of your lips drowns out the inhibitions buzzing in his ears.

Eddie’s large hand paws at your breast, his thumb playing with your pebbled nipple, drawing a whine from the back of your throat. You tug him closer by his jeans, bringing his hips down against yours. Regardless of the denim barrier, this causes a change in him. When you lift your hips against Eddie, he grinds back just as needily.

As your lips part, he begins a trail of affection along your cheek, jaw, and down your neck. When Eddie reaches your collarbones, his mouth moves hurriedly. He’s itching to fulfill the longing that’s been something he’s imagined plenty of times before. Kissing every inch in his descent, Eddie hunches over and takes your nipple into his mouth.

The melodious sound that pours from you makes him painfully harder. His cock strains against the metal zipper of his jeans, fighting to defy the taut material. You arch into his mouth, and Eddie continues to grind against the apex of your thighs.

He licks his way across to give much-needed attention to your opposite breast, all the while maintaining stimulation on the other with his thumb. Eddie suckles and flicks his tongue, his breath hitting your bare skin like a sweltering midsummer heat wave.

The reciprocity of sincerity is blowing his mind; the way it feels to have your hands weaving through his hair. There’s a slight tug when your fingers catch on a knot, and the sting only fans the flames burning in his lower belly.

Eddie releases your nipple, leaving it bereft of the heat of his mouth. Following his previously explored path up your chest and neck, he bashfully looks into your eyes. “Could I, uh, kiss you down there, too?”

“Normally I’d have to ask for head. Are you sure?”

The melted milk chocolate of his irises practically drips off of his lashes as he blinks at you. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

“I’m not entirely convinced,” You coax him playfully.

“I’ll just have to prove how starving I am then, won’t I?” Eddie quips, moving out of the way to remove your skirt. As he does, the waistband slips from your hips and he slides it off your legs.

You’re in nothing but your panties and the white cotton is not particularly sexy, but they sure are familiar. That day at the laundromat, Eddie never imagined he’d see you in this exact pair at some point. He wonders if you did.

His fingertips tap their way up your thighs until they reach the band of your underwear. You look so cute with your hands resting across your belly like an awaiting princess—his princess.

Much like the skirt before it, the garment is tugged down the curvature of your legs. Your knees knock together as your legs reflexively close. Meanwhile, Eddie is mesmerized by the damp patch on panties hanging from his fist.

“You wanna keep 'em?”

Eddie nods with feigned innocence. These would go to good use, he thinks. 

“They’re all yours,” You grant his wish.

“I feel so spoiled,” he says while tucking them into his back pocket for safekeeping. Then, Eddie redirects his attention to the living art laid out before him. “Especially for getting to see you like this,” he drags his fingertips along the outside of your calves until they reach your knees.

Your legs fall open, proudly putting your glistening cunt on display for him. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, moon-eyed. He repositions himself between your legs, lying on his stomach. Drool pools on his tongue, his mouth just inches away from your body. With one arm wrapped under your thigh, Eddie uses a finger on his free hand to collect the wetness that’s all for him.

“Don’t be a tease,” You fuss.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Eddie responds, ready to put his new skill to use. It starts with a testing press of his lips against your clit. He works his way lower, mouthing at you messily, making out with your cunt. Eddie licks his lips and rests his cheek against your inner thigh. “Can I use my fingers too?”

“Yeah, just take it slow,” You gather his hair and keep it out of his face so it doesn’t get in the way.

Eddie glides two digits through your folds, admiring the way the pads of his fingers glisten with the mix of your slick and his spit. Slowly, he eases his two fingers into your entrance. They sink deeper without facing resistance, and you soak him down to his bottom knuckles. Eddie looks up at you from between your legs, amazed. “You’re so wet.”

You sigh, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze. “You own a mirror, don’t you? How could I not be.”

Flattered, Eddie smiles. He draws his fingers back before plunging them into you a little faster this time, though not by much. As you lay back and get comfortable, you instinctively roll your hips downward with each thrust of his fingers.

With his cheek still resting on the inside of your thigh, he’s unable to bring himself to speed up, downright mesmerized by the sensation of your velvety walls squeezing around his fingers. When he accidentally flexes and curls them upward, it elicits a pretty gasp from you.

Eddie’s gaze flits up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What was that?” he teases and does it again, deliberately. “Did you say something?”

You moan, “That feels amazing,” You run your hand up your belly to your breast, massaging yourself in tandem with his improved technique.

He finds a steady tempo, rubbing the spot that makes your nerves flare. With nothing else on his mind, Eddie is fully engrossed as he drives his digits into you. Your fingers suddenly appear before him to rub your clit for added stimulation.

“Oh my god,” You moan unabashedly, arching your back off of the bed in response to the heightened ecstasy.

“You like that?” Eddie looks up at you, feeling a rush of pride as you writhe.

“Yes- fuck, I’m almost there.”

Eddie boldly nudges your hand away with his nose, swiftly replacing your fingers with his tongue, flicking it passionately.

Your moans fill his ears as he laps at you, enjoying the way you taste when you unravel. He’s so in the zone that he fails to realize you’ve already reached your peak and become overstimulated.

You squirm in his grip, gently pushing his forehead away. “Eddie, Eddie!”

“Yeah?” His fingers stop abruptly, and he looks at you with doe-like eyes, your glossy sugar smeared all over his lips and chin.

“It’s too much,” You say exhaustedly.

“Shit, my bad,” Eddie frowns, disappointed that his fun has come to an end. He slowly withdraws his digits, admiring the way you’ve coated them. He drags his fingers down his tongue like your arousal is cake batter from a bowl. A low hum emanates from Eddie as he sucks them clean, inadvertently making a show of it. “God, your pussy tastes good. Even better than I dreamed it would.”

“Come here,” You beckon him, smiling blissfully.

Eddie wastes no time getting onto his hands and knees and crawls up between your legs. Hovering over you, he gazes into your eyes, cheeks dimpled. “I made you cum.”

“I can’t remember the last time I came that hard either,” you chuckle, noticing the sheen on his face. You grab your discarded shirt to wipe it off. “Here, let me-”

“No!” Eddie angles out of your reach, his brow furrowed. Using his still-sticky fingers, he wipes at his lips and chin, licking his digits clean once more. “Can’t let it go to waste.”

After you tuck his frizzy curls behind his ears, Eddie’s tender grin fades. Your hands slowly move down his pecs to his belt, and you tug at the metal buckle. Just as you free the leather from the prong, he stops you.

“Uh- wait.” The hesitance in his voice brings your pursuit to a halt. The way you shrink back causes his heart to squeeze.

“I’m sorry. We don’t have to go all the way if you’re not ready.”

“It’s not that. Believe me,” Eddie reassures you. He brings a hand to the side of your face and strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m just worried that you’ll never wanna see me again ‘cause I'm so terrible in bed.”

Your shoulders raise and lower with the deep breath that you take. “You said you want to make me feel good, right?”

“More than anything,” Eddie declares in a heartbeat.

“Your cock would.”

Eddie nearly shudders and his voice burns raspy. “Yeah? You want it?”

You hook your fingers through his belt loops and tug, staring back at him intensely. “Not want. I need you inside me.”

“Christ,” he gulps and presses his hips forcefully against yours, dampening the denim. Eddie lowers his mouth to your shoulder and kisses it. “I wanna know what it feels like so bad.”

You turn your head and nibble his earlobe. “Let’s take care of that, shall we?” When your hands return to his partially undone belt, Eddie doesn’t intervene this time.

“I don’t have protection though.”

Blindly, you unbutton and unzip his jeans. “Side pocket of my purse.”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away and awkwardly scoots backward off the bed. His pants hang low on his slender hips, exposing the snug elastic band of his blue plaid boxers. After finding the condom, he inspects it. “I have no fucking clue how to use this.”

Sitting up, you hold your hand out. “I can put it on you if you want.”

Eddie hands it to you, then it occurs to him that he’s still fully dressed. While you’re tearing the foil package, he yanks down his jeans and kicks them away, his belt jangling. Only a few buttons are undone from the neck before he gets impatient. Eddie tears his shirt over his head, leaving his mane disheveled.

He pulls at the waistband of his precum-soaked boxers indecisively, but the sight of your beautiful naked body reminds him that it’s only fair. Eddie pulls them down and his anxiety has caused him to go partially soft. When you look at him, he wishes the world would swallow him whole. 

Your eyes rake across his slim frame, then meet his eyes instead of drifting below his waist. Eddie climbs back onto the bed, sitting on his haunches. You crawl onto your knees to join him and pull his body against yours, kissing him.

Mumbling against your lips, he tries to apologize for already failing you by being unable to stay hard, but his words falter as the kiss deepens, his worries becoming an afterthought. Eddie grips your waist, and the sensation of your breasts pressing against his bare chest makes him feel woozy. As soon as you break the kiss, he’s immediately filled with fear once more. “If it’s small or it looks weird, don’t tell me.”

You effectively distract him from his insecurities by trailing your lips down his pulse, dragging your teeth along the supple skin there. Eddie grips your ass harshly, a shaky sound pouring from his throat as you kiss your way down his body. He watches, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

As you finally look at his shy cock, you run your palms up and down the sparse hair on his outer thighs. “You’re the perfect size for me,” You compliment him with a smile. 

“I am?”

You suck a bruise on the pale skin of his waist. “Yeah, you are.” 

Eddie’s eyes close, his hands resting on your shoulders as he focuses on the sensation of you licking and biting him. Lost in the feeling rather than inside of his head, Eddie’s cock gradually rouses.

Having previously set it aside, you grab the condom. “Hold it still for me, please.”

“O-Okay,” he secures it at the base, his palm covering the trimmed thatch of curls. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” With one hand, you fit the band around the tip, and with your other, you roll the latex down his shaft. That alone causes Eddie’s mouth to fall open, a ghosted moan tumbling from his lips.

“There, easy peasy,” Sitting back up and wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against you. His wrapped, twitching cock is trapped between your bodies. “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

“I’m not sure I could if I tried,” Eddie says, his eyes flitting between yours. “Is this really happening?”

“It’s happening,” After kissing the tip of his nose, you settle back bringing him down with you to get comfortable, your head resting on the pillow.

Eddie returns to the previous position, this time with your legs hiked around his hips, causing his cock to rub against your mound. Afraid of poking around too much, he asks, “Would you do the honors, m’lady?”

“Why, of course,” you say with a giggle. You guide the head of his cock right where it needs to be and look into Eddie’s eyes. “Go ahead.”

He swallows hard and inches his hips forward, the tip of his cock breaching your entrance. Eddie sinks until he’s halfway sheathed by the hot embrace of your cunt. As he pushes the rest of the way in, his jaw falls slack.

“You doing okay?” You soothingly stroke the bulging veins on his forearms.

“Mhm,” Eddie mumbles with his lips rolled inward. After a few seconds without moving, he draws his hips back and then drives them forward. The moan that rips from his chest is unholy.

After two or three agonizingly slow and experimental thrusts, the motion comes naturally to him after all that practice he’s gotten from humping his poor pillow in this very spot. “Fuck me,” The hand that isn’t supporting Eddie’s weight fists at the bed sheets as he thrusts repeatedly, falling into a slow and steady pace. “Jesus fucking fuck.”

“Look at you go,” you moan out. “It feels amazing, doesn’t it?”

“Feels… god, you feel incredible,” Eddie grunts, propping himself up on both hands. His hair hangs down, swaying with the tempo of his hips. In this position, he can watch the bounce of your body with each thrust and he’s doing just that.

The grazing of your fingernails along his flexing hips throws off his pace. It weakens him, especially when you’re looking at him the way you are. Eddie is so consumed by the feeling of you wrapped around him that he can’t be self-conscious about the fact that he’s moaning every time he sinks back into you.

The shame of virginity has been lifted away as Eddie experiences this night of firsts with the girl he’s crazy about. Eddie is struggling to keep his eyes open, not wanting to miss a single second of this. He’s captivated by the way you’re watching his length disappear inside you over and over.

You look stunning lying on his pillow, anchoring his body to yours. Before tonight, he considered the concept of moaning someone's name to be cliché because it only happens in the movies. But Eddie’s had a change of heart because he can’t stop saying yours. It’s all of you right here, right now, all over, making a man out of him.

His muscles begin to tremble, and he lowers himself onto his forearms. Eddie rests his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering. “I’m so close, baby. I don’t wanna cum,” He slows his movement to stave off his orgasm.

“I want you to,” You express while gliding your hands down his muscular back.

“No,” Eddie protests, ceasing his thrusts entirely. “I want you to cum again first.”

“This isn’t about me.”

 “Are you shitting me? It’s always been about you,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “I’d do anything for you, you’re so damn worth it.”

Just before you have the chance to respond, Eddie unexpectedly rolls his hips. With one hand, he thumbs at your clit, watching how your eyes roll back. He doesn’t even have to look down to see the mess you’re making because he can hear it.

Eddie’s moans dance with yours as he pushes his knees forward, adjusting the angle of his hips to mimic a ‘come hither’ motion. He knows he’s found the spot he discovered prior when your legs spasm around him. In response, Eddie rubs your clit harder.

The way your walls tighten makes it all that more difficult for him to hold back. He’s on the cusp, his abs tensing as he tries to fight it. Your hand flies above you to push against the headboard, your other one occupied with gripping his flexing waist.

“Cum for me,” Eddie growls, frustrated with himself as he teeters on the edge, just seconds away from spilling into the condom.

Your brows furrow and your eyes squeeze shut, a rush of air getting caught in your throat as you climax.

“Yeahhh, that’s it,” Eddie’s abdominal muscles tense to their limit. “Oh- fuck,” His voice pitches higher.

“I’m yours,” You moan prettily and guide him down, letting him bury his face in your neck to give his arms a well-deserved rest.

“All mine,” Eddie says between his labored breaths. He grips and lifts your hips while you kiss his shoulder. Losing their previous steadiness, his strokes become shorter and more sporadic. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cuh- uh- mmm.”

Eddie lets out a whimper as he delivers two unsteady thrusts before slamming his hips against you, burying himself as he orgasms. His ass tenses and ripples, the muscles contracting as he rides out his high.

Panting loudly, Eddie stills his movements completely and props himself up to look down at you. “Jesus Christ. After that, I wanna have you for dinner every day,” he says against your cheek before kissing it. “As a snack in the middle of the night,” Eddie adds, kissing your temple. “Shit, you’d be good for breakfast too. It’s the most important meal of the day, y’know.”

You let out a winded giggle, your bodies sticking together as he struggles to keep himself propped up.

“Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” You tease and smile wide when he rolls his eyes and snorts.

Eddie takes your hand, flattening your palm against his chest so that you can feel how vigorously his heart is beating. “Is this what being in love feels like?” He asks tearfully.

“Yeah,” you nod, placing his hand over your own heart that’s thudding just as hard. “Just like this.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

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tags: @nj01 @tlclick73 @foreveranexpatsposts @madelynraemunson

[seitmai]

Coffee in one hand, end of life brochure in the other.

What a great symbol, Coffee the thing that is associated with a new morning getting up and live life and the brochure that it will end nevertheless soon

Jensens just so happened to be the fact you were forbidden fruit, he wasn't about to tread on another man's toes. Especially when he was tiptoeing towards the sweet release of death's gentle hands. None of that stopped his heart from racing whenever you smiled though. 

🥺🥺🥺

Your smile was pure happiness, it wasn’t hard to make Jake's heart melt inside his chest—a chest he once thought was hollow. 

I imagine that scene from the grinch where his heart grew, just that it was honey instead of cindy lou who🥹

“How the hell do you know all this?” Jake asked through a sheepish smile he couldn’t hide, your intelligence intimated him in the best of ways. You made him want to do better, be better, strive for more in life. It wasn’t that Jake wasn’t smart, he was. But next to you? It was an unparalleled excellence. 

Ahhh I don't know what to say I just loved this part🥰

Jake countered through a shit eating grin, that signature Seresin smile you loved so much. The very one all three of your children had inherited from their father.

I just know those kids are so stinking cute

“I’ve spent my whole life not believing in religion, so who am I supposed to pray to to keep me alive Jake?”

😭😭😭

“You said it yourself–hair holds memories and we can make new ones together.” Jake cooed as he shaved off those golden boy locks you loved to run your fingers through. He suited the buzz cut a little more than you did if you were being perfectly honest.

Honey must really not look too good, knowing how Glen Jake looks with a buzzcut lmao

With teary eyes and puffy cheeks you stood on weak legs. The simple gesture of a haircut meant the world to you, Jake knew that. He didn't want you going through this alone. If shaving his head with you brought you a sense of solace? He was more than happy to. 

🥺😭🥺😭

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Ten: [The Potato Head Society & The Other Guy, Jarred?]

Summary: Jake helps you shave your head in hopes of keeping your power and control. Facing your own mortality makes you question your faith in a higher authority and Jensen and Jake met for the first, and what you hope, will be the last time.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion

Word Count: 4.2K

Author Note: It's no secret I've been having a little bit of a rough go on this hell-site as of late. But I'm still here, working on this series. Seeing your weblogs, comments and concepts truly mean the world to me. so please, don't be hesitant to share.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“My only real advice for this kind of thing is this.” Jensen sighed as he stood on the steps of his townhouse with you. Coffee in one hand, end of life brochure in the other. Things had taken a rather drastic turn for him in the last few days. After your birthday, his health started to drastically diminish–so much so that his doctors weren’t too sure how much time there was left to combat the cancerous cells spreading through his body. “Go right through it.” Jensen smiled, never once did you ever see his positivity falter. “Like right through it, feel it all, be in it, don't avoid it because the moment you start avoiding it is when it's truly won.” 

Little Sammy held your hand as you stood next to Jensen–he was too young to understand that the man talking to you was dying, hell, you weren't even sure if you understood the significance of the pamphlet Jensen had picked up after your first CCA meeting. He’d told you it was for a friend, little did you know that friend was standing right in front of you. 

The Cancer Counseling Association held biweekly meetings at the hospital. You hadn’t planned on attending when your oncologist, Doctor Morrison, had first mentioned it. But when Jensen said he’d been going almost religiously for three years? You thought, what's the harm? 

The harm was it was depressing as fuck. 

“You go completely in the tough times, feel everything and get out the other end of it all.” You’d asked Jensen something along the lines of how he’d managed to keep fighting all this time and still be so positive about life and all its underwhelming rewards. He was for the most part, a happy guy despite it all. But even the strongest of soldiers have an achilles heel. 

Jensens just so happened to be the fact you were forbidden fruit, he wasn't about to tread on another man's toes. Especially when he was tiptoeing towards the sweet release of death's gentle hands. None of that stopped his heart from racing whenever you smiled though. 

“Many of these things you don't have a choice in.” Jensen continued as his eyes lingered down to little two year old Sammy who stood holding your hand in his. If anything you needed the encouragement to fight this battle for your children. “You know, fuck, whats that expression?” Jensen mulled it over as you chuckled, still standing on the path right outside his street facing townhouse. “Uhh–oh yeah! It's not how well you walked through the fire, but how you walked through it regardless.” 

“I think I'm just barely crawling through the flames right now–” You answered honestly. There wasn't a nice way to say he’d looked better than he did right now, with sunken eyes and skin that looked as if all the life had been drained from his soul. 

So you never mentioned it. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“So—“ The library wasn’t Jake Seresins favourite place to go, but there was someone who made the isles of hard covered literature easier to understand that always seemed to draw him in. Like a moth to a flame. “Did you have a good Christmas?” The silence that followed as you stared across the desk where you were processing returned textbooks had Jake's heart racing, he couldn’t read you and that fact made him all the more nervous. “Or not? If you’re Jewish maybe? Don’t celebrate Christmas that’s cool too I just thought—“ You had to giggle at the college football star standing across from the reception desk with his elbows leaning on the ledge. Your smile was pure happiness, it wasn’t hard to make Jake's heart melt inside his chest—a chest he once thought was hollow. 

“I had a wonderful Christmas, I went home to visit my mum, she always says that if the Christians can steal Christmas from the pagans then us non-religious folk can celebrate too.” You shrugged your shoulders politely as you kept checking off the returned textbooks from students who’d taken them home over the summer. 

“What do you mean when you say the Christians stole Christmas?” Jake Seresin grew up in an incredibly conservative, extremely religious household that attended church every Sunday rain hail or shine. Jake swore his mother nearly spontaneously combusted when he had to stay in hospital overnight after having his appendix removed. It was a Saturday afternoon when they’d presented to the emergency room—poor old Janeen nearly dropped dead at the mere thought of her ten year old missing church the next morning. 

“Lord have mercy upon us, for we have sinned.” Jake could still remember his mother crying vividly when he woke after surgery. Even at ten he knew his mother was somewhat of an overly sensitive soul. 

“Well technically, in order to convert the Germanic pagans who, like, celebrated the winter solstice and stuff—the Christians were like, fuck it, let’s just say that Jesus was born on this day and you can hang tinsel and stuff.” Again, you shrugged your shoulders like it was common knowledge, but as Jake stared down at you with confusion swirling in his emerald eyes, you thought for a split second that maybe this was actually news to the college athlete who’d been following you around for the better half of nine months. Respectfully. 

“You can’t just change someone’s birthday like that? Can you?” Jake, in all his years of attending Sunday services, Sunday Schools, being forced to read the bible and knowing far too much about parting seas and burning bushes, he’d never once been told that Christmas was just a day. 

“It’s kinda like how King James was rewriting the bible on one side of the castle and had witches trying to turn his pee into gold on the other.” Jake was speechless as you looked up at him from your chair, your eyes seemingly swirling with knowledge beyond your years. It made sense that you worked in the library on campus. 

“How the hell do you know all this?” Jake asked through a sheepish smile he couldn’t hide, your intelligence intimated him in the best of ways. You made him want to do better, be better, strive for more in life. It wasn’t that Jake wasn’t smart, he was. But next to you? It was an unparalleled excellence. 

“I uh—I tend to read a lot.” Jake caught the way you faded into yourself, never one to want to outshine others. “Just get lost in here sometimes, books are sometimes easier to understand than people.” Jake could sympathise with that sentiment, he knew what it was like to feel like everyone was watching, judging a book by its cover so to speak. Everyone knew him as the meathead footballer who’s weekends were spent racking up the body count. 

But with you? Jake just felt like Jake. Because that’s who he was to you. Simply and forever Jake. 

“Do you like, not believe in God or something Miss Y/l/n?” Jake asked cautiously. He didn’t want to offend you or come across as rude or anything—he was simply asking a question he thought he may need to know if he was ever going to introduce you to his mother. 

“I find it hard to believe in a world full of stories about Gods and Goddesses from a plethora of different perspectives that there can only be one, if one exists they all have to right? Harmoniously and complacent with the way the universe has fallen to shit without their divine intervention.” Jake had to take a moment to take what you had just said in. He was almost rendered speechless, but not quite. Not Jake Seresin. 

“Damn Honeybee, you’re fucking fearless aren’t you?“ Jake couldn’t help but to smirk as he tried to keep his voice down. “You’re just raw doggin’ life with no religious affiliations.” It was then your turn to laugh. 

“Guess I am. What about you? Do you believe in a God? An all mighty man, or woman, that sits in the clouds and judges your every action?” You asked with a teasing smirk as Jake bit his bottom lip, mulling over your question: 

Did he believe in God? 

“My mother would probably prefer if I said yes, but, the more I look at life without the rose coloured glasses I tend to think perhaps the big guy in the sky is all just some story.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Did you know hair holds memories.” The sound of buzzing clippers echoed off the walls of the bathroom as you sat before the mirror. Jake stood behind you with those big emerald eyes you loved so dearly, looking at you with a sympathetic look of understanding and support. “In some cultures people don't even cut their hair because it would upset the gods.” Jake could see the tears in your eyes as you looked at him through the mirror, understandably rambling to somewhat buy yourself some more time. “Medusa's hair was alive, there's certain styles linked to different cultures and full hair cutting ceremonies in–” If Jake didn't interrupt now you would have gone on forever. You had a habit of information dropping in situations where nervousness got the better of you. Not that Jake ever minded, he just knew if he didn't get ahead of it, you wouldn't stop. That would ultimately lead to you sitting in silence when the information swirling around inside her head had all been said. Panic would begin to rise inside your chest, the air would soon get thin, the room would suddenly get a little hotter and before you could even realise you'd be in the midst of a full blown panic attack. 

The last time Jake witnessed such a thing was when Sam had colic. 

“Honey–” Jake cooed as he turned off the clippers he held in his hand, only to place them down on the countertop to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Noone is forcing you to do this, if you don’t wanna cut your hair we don't have to.” 

“No–” You sighed. “No, I want to do this, it's just a lot.” You tried to explain. “It's probably one of the only things I still have control over.” Jake understood, it would be hard not to. After all, he wasn't heartless. If he could Jake would have taken this all away, he would have given anything, including his own life to take your pain away. “I just hope I don't have a weird shaped head.” 

“I'm sure you have a really nice scalp dear.” Jake chuckled as he massaged your shoulder tenderly. “And look, if you want my professional opinion, I think you’ll make an awesome live action Mrs. Potato Head.” 

“Jacob!” You tried to hide your smile as you felt your cheek heating with a hume so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “You’re cruel!” 

“But I made you laugh.” Jake countered through a shit eating grin, that signature Seresin smile you loved so much. The very one all three of your children had inherited from their father. “That's all that matters, now–let me work my magic alright, I've got you.” 

“You’re probably a worse hairdresser than you were a husband–” It was a low ball, but Jake took it like a champ as he reached out for the clippers. The buzzing was almost immediate as he used the pad of his thumbs to complete the electrical circuit. With the tool now in full gear, Jake chuckled as he looked at you with fake shock and horror casted across his face. 

“Oh now who's being cruel huh?” Jake watched as your eyes followed his hand that held the clippers. “Technically we’re still married Honey, you still have my last name.” He mumbled under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear, seemingly trying to keep your attention on what he was saying rather than the clippers approaching your head. 

But–you moved:

“Should we cut my hair with scissors first?” 

“Y/n–” Jake sighed as he once again turned off the clippers and placed them back down on the side of the sink. 

“No no no I'm not trying to stall, I just don't want you to accidentally scalp me when my hair gets caught up in the shaver.” Jake saw your point, for the hair you did have left it was pretty thick and full of life still. He held the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Not in frustration towards you, but in defiance of his new quest. 

“I'll go ask the nurses station for some scissors.” 

“Thankyou–” Was all you managed to say back before Jake stepped out of the bathroom attached to your hospital room. The Christmas lights still flickered in the dimly lit room, seemingly consuming the entire room in bright blues, greens, reds and yellows. Even in sickness you couldn't help but to lean into the christmas cheers. 

It hit Jake in that moment as he rounded out of your hospital room that he should get you something small to open when you wake up from surgery. The hospital has a gift shop right? Perhaps some flowers and a small gift you could keep with you during chemo. Maybe a book or a– *Thud* 

Caught up in his own train of thought as he made his way to the nurses station, Jake ran straight into someone coming out of the elevator. There were two very distinct things Jake noticed as he came back into the reality around him. Those distinct things being that the man he’d run into was carrying not only flowers, but a small gift. Huh, uncanny. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” The man apologised almost immediately after the mild impact. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” Jake responded with a polite smile his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” Jake reached out to shake the guy's hand, in retrospect he should have kept walking. Jake really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jake could think of would never have prepared him for the name that the man spoke next as he took Jake's hand in his. 

“Jensen–” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Okay, I'm ready.” Neither Jake nor Jensen knew if you had mentioned either one in conversation, so, respectfully, both men chose to play the fool. Neither one really wanted to ask. Neither Jake nor Jensen wanted to be the one to open that can of worms. 

When Jake returned with the borrowed scissors in his grasp–he acted as if he hadn’t just met the man he assumed was the very Jensen in your contacts. 

“Last chance Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Are you positive?” He asked with a smile so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “I’m all in with you, just say the word and we do whatever you wanna do.” 

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. Jake's questions lingered in the air around you, it was hard not to get caught in the moment, get lost in the emerald eyes looking at you through the mirror. Jake stared you down as you shifted in your chair to look at him. He saw no hesitation in your eyes as Jake followed your gaze, searching for any sign or signal that could indicate that the next few moments were about to be a mistake. 

“Honey—“ Jake tried to heed the warning lights flashing before his very eyes as you closed the gap between the two of you. Jake stood leaning over your right shoulder, looking longingly at your lips. “Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“Loving you is stupidity—“ Was all you said before you let your lips softly connect with your husband’s. Jake kissed you back with enough love in his heart to knock the wind right out of your lungs. The fleeting moment was broken, however, when Jake pulled away. The idea of another man kissing you on his mind, what was this guy's deal? Jackson? Jason? 

“Come on Mrs Potato Head, hand me those scissors—“ Jake chuckled, hiding his own insecurities about the man he’d unintentionally met in the hall. You took a second to keep up, but as you licked your lips to savour the taste of Jake's signature vanilla chapstick, you nodded and handed him the scissors. 

“I’m ready.” You sighed, once again looking back at your own reflection. “Let’s get this over with.” Change is an inevitable part of life, but that fact didn't make the current circumstances any easy to process. “Do you think that there's gonna be a place for me despite my inability to believe in a higher being?” Jake understood what you were saying, but he didn't have the answers. “I'm starting to wonder more about if there could ever be a life after death.” 

Clumps of hair in small sections fell to the tiled floor around you as Jake worked his hands through your hair. Cutting strands from your head like the local mower man cut grass. It felt like such a mundane task to complete, like this was an everyday run of the mill, average experience. But for you? This was a hard and confronting pill to have to swallow. 

“I’ve spent my whole life not believing in religion, so who am I supposed to pray to to keep me alive Jake?” Jake saw the tears in your eyes as he cut your hair with caution and steady hands, he heard the small but audible sobs that escaped your lips as he switched from the scissors to the clippers. The buzzing all but silenced your cries but Jake knew this was hard on you. The tears that stained your cheeks clearly reflected your sadness, anger and the inner turmoil that had been engulfing your entire existence since your diagnosis.

“You don’t pray to anyone Honey, you’re stronger than this cancer could ever be.” Again, no one ever sits you down and prepares you for this. No one gives you the heads up about the possibility of one day having to shave your wife's hair off in the name of dignity and control. But as Jake ran the shavers across your scalp, leaving nothing but a small layer of fuzz in their wake, he saw just how much sorrow and pain was swirling in your eyes. 

Jake thought to himself in that very moment: ‘I've been needing a haircut for a while now anyway.’ 

With one quick motion and in the blink of an eye, Jake was running the shavers right down the middle of his head. You really had to take a second to process what he’d just done, what your husband had just done right behind you. 

“Jake!” The shrill that escaped your mouth was something unmatched to any emotion you had ever expressed before. “What are you doing?” The image of Jake shaving his head in solidarity would forever be burnt into your mind. 

“You said it yourself–hair holds memories and we can make new ones together.” Jake cooed as he shaved off those golden boy locks you loved to run your fingers through. He suited the buzz cut a little more than you did if you were being perfectly honest. 

With teary eyes and puffy cheeks you stood on weak legs. The simple gesture of a haircut meant the world to you, Jake knew that. He didn't want you going through this alone. If shaving his head with you brought you a sense of solace? He was more than happy to. 

“Looks good–” You smiled as tears ran down your cheeks. Jake reached out to cup your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with the pads on his thumbs. “Mr. Potato head.”

“Consider us the founders of the Potato Head Society.” Jake chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. In order to cherish you the way you deserved, Jake had to be the bigger man here. He knew that a cloud of uncertainty loomed in the halls, one by the name of Jackson or fucking Jeremy for all Jake cared. But as he stood in the bathroom with you, surrounded in the locks of hair that had once been on your head, he knew damn well at the end of the day it was still his last name you chose to take. “Good thing you don't have an odd shaped head after all, it kinda suits you.” 

“Would you still love me if I did?” You asked quietly, giving Jake an excuse to confess his love. Jake's lips were soon pressed softly and ever so tenderly against your once again in the blink of an eye as gentle hands still worked to soothe your stained cheeks. 

It wasn’t a hard question to answer, nor an easy question to ask—but as Jake pulled away to rest his forehead on yours as he ran the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, you knew it was an easy concept to understand: 

“I’ve never, and I will never, stop loving you Honey.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

For as much as Jensen hated all things hospital related, over his past few years of treatment, he’d come to know these halls better than he knew the back of his own hand. 

From countless radiation treatments, to endless chemotherapy sessions. Hours upon hours of remedial therapies and acupuncture sessions to stimulate nerve endings, Jensen was a man who was just about ready to pull the plug and live out the remaining few months he had, or less, from the comfort of his back deck. 

He’d been poked and prodded, sliced and diced, far too many times to count on both his hands and for what? A few extra months tacked on top of a few years spent battling pancreatic cancer. No thankyou. Jensen had always had an optimistic outlook on life, until his life started to become the same bland halls and the same bland rooms, with the same bland doctors and nurses who all shared the same look of medical sympathy. 

Jesen, for all intents and purposes, was ready to give up his signature status of being the resistant ‘pin cushion’. The student nurses could learn how to change cannula sights on the lady, Paola, who sat in the same chair for every chemotherapy session. 

The last few days hadnt been too hot for the six foot one, brown eyed, brown haired (allegedly) man. His prognosis had been diminishing ever since he got the news his treatment was no longer as effective as it once had been. 

The day Jensen was told he only had a few short months to live before his organs would begin to fail, even with treatment, was the same day he saw you crying outside the local doctors office. The Hermitage centre as they called it. 

The last thing Jensen ever wanted was for his life to be meaningless, before he knew what he was doing? His feet were padding against the concrete as the psalm of his hands began to sweat inside his jean pockets. 

“You look like you’ve just been told you’re dying?”  As the elevator counted up the floors of which Jensen had to take from the ground floor of the Rhode Island Hospital to the oncology unit, he could vividly remember asking you that question. He recognised the look on your face because not ten minutes prior he;d been told the very same thing. 

“I'd start to get your affairs in order, Mr. Hughs “ It hadn't been just a regular check up with his local general practitioner. But it had been the almost final nail in a long awaited coffin. 

As the elevator dinged, Jensen took a few steps out into the bustling hallways of the oncology ward. Within seconds, he was met with a force so muscular it damn near knocked him back a few paces. But the cancer ridden ex fireman squared his shoulders and kept easy on his feet. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” Jensen almost immediately apologies after the mild impact. He assumed that it was him that had caused the slight collision. His special awareness was pretty shot these days. The flowers he carried were almost crushed on impact, however he managed to save the bouquet of sweet peas, peonies and pansies. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” The man responded with a polite smile Jensen could only assume his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” like a slow motion car wreck, Jake reached out to shake Jensens hand. In retrospect he should have kept walking. Jensen really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jensen could think of would never have prepared him for the look of utter betrayal that smeared itself across the blonde headed aviators face as Jensen shook your husbands hand: 

“Jensen–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

@goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb

[peonierose]

So let me first say how much I love the edit 💚 It’s so colorful which I love so much because let’s be honest a splash of color is a beautiful thing it can brighten up any day 💚 Including mine 🥰

No joke it drew me in from the first second. I’d put this on my wall to have a splash of a colorful ocean wave 🌈

"I was… just… checking in," she feigns innocence.

Tatum I love her. She’s like I’m you know just checking in 😅 But Ethan was like yeah right 😂 Love to see Tate and Ethan as parents. Cord his little bean sprout 🥹 Internally I was like: (I’d look at Ethan with Heart eyes and he’d be like what’s wrong with her eyes? 😂😂😂😂 Then I’d laugh so hard) I think Ethan needs a shirt that says ”People think I’m funny. Though I’m just being honest.“

That glass art that was displayed? I bet it’s beautiful 💚

"Oh," Tatum chuckles, "not really an enthusiast. I mean, I appreciate beauty when I see it." Tatum slows down, focusing on a stunning oceanic scene with iridescent jellyfish. She leans in, noticing the strokes and gradients of color.

How did you know that apart from dolphins, jelly fish are my favorite? (To look at not touch you know? 🤣)

I knew if Luna and Tate ever met? They’d instantly like each other and hang out. Imagine Tate and Luna having a girls night and or like a double date and poor Ethan and Bryce would have to make conversation that would be so cool 😍😱

Tatum holds out her hand. "I'm Tatum."

The kind artist eagerly takes Tatum's hand. "Luna. Luna Auclair."

Luna always says she loves all flavors of shaved ice. But Bryce knows rainbow is her favorite 🌈

"Lunes?" A handsome voice calls out from behind the tent. "I gotcha a rainbow shaved ice."

Poor Ethan he was expecting it to be awkward in a bad way. But he probably didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms by both Bryce and Luna. I think Tate knew. It’s nice to seem them all bonding 🥰

Ethan sighs. He extends his arm to shake Bryce's hand; but instead of leaving it at that, Ethan pulls Bryce into a hug, giving him a few pats on the back.

This was a beautiful story (as all your stories are 💚) And the fact that McGrumpy met two sunshine’s? Come on. He didn’t stand a chance a hug was coming whether he liked it or not 😂

Again thank you so much for writing this beautiful story and making that beautiful edit (like I said before I’d honestly put this up on my wall 😍 That’s how much I love it) Love you to the moon and back Ems 💚 Thank you for being an amazing friend (one of my first friends - something I will never forget is your kindness and support towards others 💚)

Kāhāhā

💚 Happy Birthday, PeonieRose! 💚

Synopsis: Ethan and Tatum finally take a vacation to Hawaii! But even though they try to escape all reminders of the hospital, they're in for a bit of a kāhāhā, er, a surprise.

Word count: ~2477

Warnings: fairly fluffy; language; an innuendo; Ethan's grumpiness

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @peonierose! You are such a ray of sunshine! I know I probably sound like a broken record, but seriously, that is the absolute best way to describe you. 🌞 Any chance I get to interact with you--even if it's just seeing one of your posts in passing, I can't help but feel your warmth and joy. I am so, so grateful that you are part of this community, and even more so, I am so grateful I get to call you friend. I hope you had the best 25th birthday ever! 😉 Sending you the warmest hugs, my OC sister! Love youuuuuu! 😘

A/N: This is an AU; some of the characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry; some of the characters belong to our birthday girl PR (who I am hoping will forgive me for attempting to write them 🤣). This work was not preread or beta'd; please excuse me errors.

~💚~

The peaceful morning sunrise blankets the island of Oahu with a warm pink glow. A gentle symphony of tranquil waves and the brush of palm fronds drift through the open balcony doors of the private beach-side bungalow. The soft fragrance of exotic florals infused with notes of the citrus sand pirouette across Ethan's face, the luxury of it all making him stir from his sleep.

Breathing in deeply, he contorts his bare body into an intense stretch, the tight burn sending pleasurable shocks through his nerves. With a heady growl in his chest, he lets out a yawn, relaxing back into his pillow. With his eyes fluttering close, he reaches over to the other side of the mattress, his fingertips searching for his wife.

He quickly sits up, noticing he was alone in bed. "Tate?" He calls out, a deep gravel in his throat. He looks around the room, but there is no evidence of her anywhere–that is until he hears soft mumbles coming from outside on the terrace. He climbs out of bed, cinching the sheet around his waist and saunters to the balcony.

Approaching the doorway, he sees that she's on the phone, a knee pulled up to her chest as she tosses her tangled tresses with her fingers. With a curious expression, he stealthily leans against the siding, crossing his arms as he intently watches his bride.

"... for about four minutes… uh-huh… right, and then it will play a little song… right… right…" Tatum gives a quiet, cordial laugh. Wearing her husband's waffle knit pajama top, she mindlessly fidgets with a loose thread at the hem as she continues to whisper. "I get it… thanks, again, Alan. Call me if he's still fussy after that bottle."

"We haven't even been gone for twenty-four hours–"

"Ethan!" Tatum startles, clenching her phone to her chest. She exhales a big breath, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

"What are you doing?" He motions at the phone, his eyebrows furrowing. "We talked about this."

"I was… just… checking in," she feigns innocence.

"Tatum," Ethan sighs, slowly stalking to her chair, "we're supposed to be on vacation." He leans over her, their lips meeting in a tender kiss.

"We are on vacation–"

"And we trust Dad and the Aveiros with our son–"

"Yeah, but," she starts picking at her nails, "being on vacation doesn't mean we stop being parents, Ethan."

"I never said we stop," he leans up against the balustrade, folding his arms again. "Cord," a corner of his mouth curls as he stares out onto the beach. "Cord's my boy, my little bean sprout, he's… my everything. But, baby," he chuckles, blowing away a breath as he turns back to Tatum. "We need a break--especially you."

"I just miss him," Tatum twists her mouth, her eyes fixed on her husband’s crystal gaze. "It's weird. Our lives have changed so much since that little guy showed up."

"Almost eight months," Ethan smiles endearingly.

"But even before that," Tatum rubs her hands across the flat planes of her abdomen, "he was literally a part of me for nine months. I'm feeling a little…"

"Incomplete?"

Tatum shakes her head.  Standing up, she takes a step towards Ethan, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You complete me, Mr. Ramsey," she croons, "but I do feel like I'm missing something. I guess," she titters under her breath, "I have forgotten what it's like to just be me, to just do what I want without planning ahead, without worrying about diapers and pumping and naptimes.  I guess I'm having a hard time remembering life before Cord–ha!" she snorts, "B.C.! Get it?"

Ethan shakes his head before laughing to himself. "Well," his voice grows dark, "how about… I help you remember what it was like B.C.?"

"Yeah?" Tatum bites her bottom lip as her eyes train to Ethan's mouth. "And… how would you help me remember?"

Ethan wraps his arms around Tatum's waist, and without warning, he lifts her up, tossing her over his shoulder before giving her ass a firm swat.

"Ethan Jonah!" She squeals with glee before he jogs inside their bungalow.

—

Later that afternoon and feeling much more relaxed, the Ramseys decide to venture out and explore the island. Tatum slips on a smocked fuschia maxi dress with a pair of espadrilles and a floppy sun hat while Ethan dons a pair of khaki shorts with a sage green linen top, complete with his white Vans.

Casually walking hand-in-hand, they are drawn to the beautiful drumming of a group of Polynesian musicians outside an open market. They stop to admire the cultural beat, complete with awe-inducing twists and twirls of their mallets and several hula dancers with hypnotizing moves.  

Tatum playfully sways her hips to the music, Ethan smiling and nodding to the beat–that is until two of the dancers place a lei around his neck before pulling him reluctantly out of the crowd to dance with them.  He tries to maintain a stoic-look of displeasure, but as he looks back to his hysterical wife, he finally busts out laughing and starts to move his body clumsily along with the hula dancers.

When the dance comes to an end with a roaring applause, Ethan and Tatum stumble into each other, holding their aching bellies as they continue to laugh uncontrollably. It had been so long since they had been free of responsibilities, free of schedules and expectations, free to just be themselves as a couple.

Tatum hugs onto Ethan’s arm, their hands interlocking as they enter the open market. They stop at the different vendors, tasting new and exotic foods, watching local artisans design furniture, clothes and jewelry. One tent catches Ethan's eye with master carvers intricately cutting, sanding and sewing traditional Hawaiian weapons.

"These are really neat," Ethan cautiously holds up a knife, testing the sharpness of the blade. "What do you think? Cord's first knife," he jokes.

"Eh," Tatum swallows thickly, running her finger over an instrument with real shark teeth. "Maybe he should master his pincer grasp first. Or, I don't know, learn to walk?" They snicker between one another when suddenly, a colorful tent with art canvases catches Tatum's eye. "Rams, I'm going to look over there."

Already in a conversation with one of the craftsmen, Ethan nods while giving a wave to his wife.

Tatum moseys over to the tent, instantly taken aback by the artwork lined up along the walls and wooden easels. Brilliant splashes of color, expertly mixed and brushed, tell colorful secrets about the island.

"Aloha!"

Tatum looks deeper into the tent, noticing a young, beautiful blonde with gorgeous waves sitting at an art easel as she captures another story with her brush strokes. Tatum ducks into the canopy, noticing sculptures and stunning pieces of glass art everywhere.

"Aloha," Tatum smiles at the woman before turning back to look at all the beauty. "Did–did you create all of this?"

The young woman giggles, bowing her head coyly. "Yes, I did."

"It's exquisite work," Tatum continues to observe the various crafted pieces. "They're…" she stares off at a canvas with a kaleidoscope of colors forming waves crashing along the shoreline. "They're dreamy. "

"Well, thank you… Are you an art enthusiast?" The artist chuckles as she adds a new swipe of paint to her canvas.

"Oh," Tatum chuckles, "not really an enthusiast. I mean, I appreciate beauty when I see it." Tatum slows down, focusing on a stunning oceanic scene with iridescent jellyfish. She leans in, noticing the strokes and gradients of color.

"Hrmm," the blonde chuckles, putting down her paint brush. "Anyone that sees beauty in the world… is an artist." 

Placing a hand on the back of her chair while steadying herself with a grip on her easel, she cautiously stands, balancing herself onto her feet. Noticing the struggle out of the corner of her eye, Tatum looks over–and gasps into a smile. 

"Well, aren't you full of surprises!" Tatum titters, watching the young blonde place her hand on her heavily pregnant belly. "When are you due?"

"Oh gosh," she giggles, out of breath, "not for another seven weeks." Tatum's face drops, staring at her abdomen. "I know, I'm huge."

"What? No! I–I'm sorry," Tatum puts a hand over her face, "I didn't mean to make a face."

The blonde laughs harder, massaging her tummy. "Don't be. That's the reaction I normally get from people, and I don't blame them. I'm almost as wide as I am tall!" she jokes with a titter, "but I also don't get the chance to tell people there are two in there instead of one–"

"Twins?" Tatum’s eyes widen, her lips curling into a smile, "my goodness! Well, congratulations to you! And by the way," she becomes serious, "you look phenomenal."

She blushes, "thank you."

Tatum holds out her hand. "I'm Tatum."

The kind artist eagerly takes Tatum's hand. "Luna. Luna Auclair."

"Well, Luna Auclair," Tatum beams brightly, "is this your entire collection at the moment?"

"Not all of it," she twirls around, looking at her work. "I still have some pieces in storage, plus I have an art exhibit with some of my students tomorrow."

"You teach art, too?"

"Yes," Luna beams, "down at the university–"

"Tate?" Ethan calls from outside.

"I'm so sorry," Tatum holds up her hand apologetically to the interruption.  "In here, Rams!" Tatum shouts walking towards the entryway of the canopy.

Ethan struts inside the tent, his eyes instantly intrigued by the swirls of color and intricate placement of designs. "Wow," he whistles with his teeth. He takes off his sunglasses as he begins to focus on a few canvases.

"Aren't they extraordinary?" Tatum bumps up next to him, her attention swept away in the paintings. Ethan hums in approval as he steps in front of the same beach design she had checked out minutes ago. "Do you like it?"

Ethan's eyes stay focused on the art nodding his head. "I do. I really do."

Tatum looks back, but realizes Luna has stepped away. She turns to Ethan, linking his arm with hers. "How about," her voice is soft, "this piece in the study? Or maybe the guest room?"

"No."

Tatum's eyebrows crinkle. "No?"

"No," Ethan tilts his head to his wife, "the playroom." The corner of Tatum's mouth curls as her husband continues. "This… this is Cord." He grins as Tatum nods, brushing her pout against his lips.

"I'm sorry I had to leave you like that," Luna waddles back in, "my fiancé called to let me know he's coming by."

"Oh wonderful," Tatum claps her hands together in joy. "Oh, Rams, this is Luna. She painted all of these pieces... And even designed these sculptures."

"Aloha," she coyly greets as Ethan holds his hand for her to shake. 

"Aloha, Luna," he grins kindly. "Very nice work–"

"Nice?" Tatum playfully swats his arm, rolling her eyes at the younger blonde. "Don't believe him," she giggles. As she wraps her arm around his waist, he pulls her in by the shoulders.

"They are phenomenal," Ethan clarifies, "is it possible to have something shipped to the mainland?"

Luna nods. "You two vacationing?"

"Yes," Tatum answers. "We're from the East Coast."

"Oh wow," Luna's eyes widen, "a good ways from home–"

"Thank goodness," Ethan jokes under his breath. "I don't want to even look at something remotely related to work."

"Ethan is an administrator of sorts, a leader of our organization and," she glances at him innocently, "his patience gets tested. A lot. Plus, we haven't gone anywhere in…" Tatum looks curiously at Ethan.

He squints, looking up towards the sky as if calculating something in his head. "Eesh, well over a year. At least."

"No wonder you two got away," Luna shakes her head. "Your work sounds stressful."

Ethan looks at his wife, "That, and–" he smiles proudly, lacing his hand with hers, "we just had a baby."

"Awww!" Luna coos. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

Luna squeals. "Is he here?"

Tatum's face falls, Ethan squeezing her hand. "No, he's back home."

"Oh… I bet you miss him."

Tatum kindly smiles and nods. Ethan brushes his lips against her temple before answering. "We very much do… which is why… we are… looking at the art pieces."

"Right!" Luna chirps, snapping her fingers. "Is there something here that is speaking to you?"

Making their way around the showroom, Luna helps pick out a few canvases for Cord's playroom that also boast the essence of the Polynesian culture through the artwork. Returning to her clerical station in the tent, Luna begins carefully packing them up before pulling out paperwork.

"So, you said the East Coast," she starts filling out the document, "where specifically is this heading?"

"Boston."

"Oh my gosh, you're kidding me!" She giggles. "My fiancé–"

"Lunes?" A handsome voice calls out from behind the tent. "I gotcha a rainbow shaved ice."

Ethan feels a strange spike in his blood pressure, his expression falling with concern. "That voice," he mutters under his breath to Tatum. "I… I know that voice."

"Give me a second, B," Luna yells over her shoulder, tearing Ethan and Tatum away from their private conversation. "I'm with a customer." She turns her attention back to the transaction.  "Okay, now… where was I? Oh!"  She grabs a pen, "I just need your name–"

"Ethan Ramsey?"

Tatum and Ethan slowly look towards the voice, appearing behind the tarp before slowly turning to stare at one another.

Ethan gnashes his teeth in irritation, his jaw ticking.  There standing in front of him is an old thorn in his side from Edenbrook, Dr. Bryce Lahela. "We…" he growls softly, "are over five thousand miles away from home. How in the fuck–"

"Ethan, fix your face. Right now–"

"Oh my God!" Luna squeals, her bright eyes staring at Ethan. "You're the Dr. Ethan Ramsey?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Ethan groans. Tatum pinches his side in warning as Luna bounds towards him, shaking his hand emphatically again.

"I've heard so many amazing things about you, sir."

Ethan freezes. "You–you have?"  Tatum quirks an eyebrow, stifling a grin.

"Are you kidding me, Doc?" Bryce pipes up, slinking an arm around Luna.  "You and Tanaka helped shape my career, made me tougher. I took a lot of scary chances in residency, but… you always believed in me, had my back."

Silence falls over the tent. Bryce and Luna both stare happily at Ethan with wide, toothy smiles and stars in their eyes, making the old mentor feel even more awkward. He looks to Tatum, compassion written on her face as she casually nods towards the couple.

Ethan sighs. He extends his arm to shake Bryce's hand; but instead of leaving it at that, Ethan pulls Bryce into a hug, giving him a few pats on the back.

"It's good to see you again, Lahela."

~💚~