#the shirt is only 50% ironic

[mimicmerchant]

Bonus pic 🥸

outfit asks: any of 👻👕❌ for either of your lancer kids and/or their mechs, bonus points if they match

Up top: AIC wanted to try out a tutu dress and dragged Lulu with

Below: after Kai repped Fren-Z in a live-streamed soap opera side quest, I have to imagine they sent him free merch he wears because he’s a ding dong

Thank you so much for the ask!!! I got very excited thinking up some goofy outfits c:

[lokis-army-77]

Live from Hawkins

Older!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Eddie watched as you are stood up on a date and without a second thought, he brings you home.

Warning: 18+. Eddie is in his late 50s to early 60s, reader is 20s to early 30s. p in v, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, pet names, a few spanks, fingering, mention of a partner having died.

A/n: Thank you @munson-blurbs for hyping me up to write this and for thinking of the funny little thing that happens at the end hehe, I love you <3 also my version older!eddie is inspired by @ farmerusedto on tiktok and Instagram.

Masterlist  Part 2

The fun of nightlife had escaped Eddie when his biological clock started making him go to bed at 8:30 p.m. instead of 2 a.m., but tonight was an exception. After an extraordinarily shitty day, he thought a drink or two at his old haunt would cheer him up. It didn’t, not entirely. The whisky he had been nursing tasted like shit and the crowd in the bar left little to be desired, except for you. 

Eddie had clocked you when you entered the establishment at eight on the dot. His eyes raked over the pretty silky red dress that stuck to the curves of your body as you made your way to a tiny circular table with two chairs and sat down. Your head was held high as you watched the front door. 

Ah, a date, He thought. Then he began thinking about all the dates he had been on in the long past years until he had met his wife, and then the lack thereof after her passing twenty-some years ago. He’s never had time to date. Raising kids two kids as a single dad while also being a simi-successful musician turned producer, looking for romance added a whole new thing to worry about so he just didn’t, but now, in his later years of life, with his children grown and moved out, he could afford the chance to indulge. Sadly though, you were apparently taken. 

Even after he had finished his one glass of alcohol, he waited. Watching you as your posture slowly became slouched, you sipped on some fancy beverage, and your head stopped peaking up when the bell to the door chimed as it was opened and closed. You were beautiful and didn’t deserve to be stood up.

When the clock struck nine, Eddie stretched his aching joints and stood from the bar. Sauntering his way over to your tiny table.

“This seat taken?” He asked, hand resting on the back of the chair. 

You lifted your head from your phone startled and shook your head. “Unfortunately, no. You can take it.” Sighing, you look back down at your phone, expecting him to take the lone chair and pull it up to another table. To your surprise, he actually sat down in front of you. “Um… can I help you?” 

“Sorry, I just saw you sitting here by yourself for a while and thought you might like the company. A pretty girl like you in a pretty dress like that shouldn’t be sitting alone in a bar like this, some weirdo could show up.”

You blush, almost as red as your dress. “And how do I know you aren’t the weirdo?” 

“Good question. You don’t.” He laughed.

The deep timber of it had your stomach flipping. His facial features were hidden under a nicely kept beard, full of salt and pepper hairs, more salt than anything else. The shaggy, slightly curly hair atop his head looked the same. He was definitely older than you by a couple of decades, but hey he was nice looking and obviously, the guy you were supposed to be seeing wasn’t coming. What harm could come from flirting with this guy?

“But hey, a bit of mystery can be a good thing, don’t you think?” He asks. 

You can't help the giggle that passes your lips. “Oh, really?” You look him up and down. His outfit was something reminiscent of the eighties, only more subdued. Tight black jeans, motorcycle boots, and an Iron Maiden shirt that had been ripped at the hem. Before he had sat down you even spotted a black and white skull bandana in his back pocket. “I’ve heard that with age comes wisdom. Are you here to enlighten me then?”

He lets out a more hearty laugh this time, his head falling back. Your eyes scan the contours of his neck and watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. “I don’t know about wisdom, but I do have a few decades under my belt. Maybe I was the one hoping to learn a little thing or two from such a charming young lady as yourself. 

Your hand lifts to cover your smile and you look away almost bashfully. “Such a smooth talker aren’t you?” 

“As smooth as I can be…” He leans forward, hand resting on the table, fingers laced together. You see the many rings decorating them. The flip in your stomach drops and you clench your thighs together. “Why? Is my charm winning you over?”

“So that’s what you’re trying to do, huh?” You smile. 

“Well, it was either that or all the vintage dad jokes I know.” He smiles back. 

You can feel your mood being lifted from the once sour thing that it was into something more bubbly as you listen to him. “Vintage dad jokes? Sound’s intriguing. Maybe I’ll stick around for now.” 

He nods. “That’s a good choice Sweetheart. Who could resist the allure of outdated humor and a bit of gray hair?” His hand tugs at his beard. 

“You know, I could be out having an adventure with the guy I was supposed to be meeting here instead of chatting with a silver fox.” There is a permanent grin etched into your face as he gasps in faux offense. 

“You wound me, Sugar.  Isn’t it usually the unexpected adventures that turn into something unforgettable?” Eddie couldn’t lie to himself, he was laying it on pretty thick, but it was all in hopes that maybe, just maybe you might come home with him. 

“Well, I do have to admit you are intriguing, maybe I’ll take you up on this adventure.” It was childish, the way your heel-clad foot slid its way past the single, center leg of the table and halfway up the man’s calf. 

When he feels your foot rubbing on him, he has to steel his face. One of his hands slipped from the table and slithered its way down his leg and caught your foot. “What do you say we get out of here?” His hands were so big and his fingers so long that they wrapped with ease around your ankle. The pads of his fingers pressed in gently and you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse were thumping throughout your body. 

Your mouth suddenly turned dry, words evaded you. All you could do was nod in response. He let go of your foot and stood, reaching out his hand. You take it and he pulls you up as well. “My name’s Eddie by the way.” 

…

The drive to Eddie’s suburban home was filled with chase touches and lingering hands. His large palm warmed your thigh, his fingers dug into the plushness there. You cozied up to him, lips trailing up his neck to his ear where you nibbled on the lobe. 

Eddie groaned as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat when you inched a delicate hand into his lap. 

“Now, little girl, don’t be starting something you can’t finish.” He chided. His hand on your thigh moved ever closer to the already high hem of your dress. 

“Little girl?” you whisper into his ear. “I’m not a little girl, old man.”

You feel every bump and jerk of his 1960s Ford pickup as he practically jumps the curb and slams the brakes in his driveway, screeching to a halt. Eddie unfastened his seatbelt and turned to you. His hand immediately found purchase on the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and his beard tickled. You giggled into the kiss but that was cut short when they turned to gasps as soon as Eddie caressed his tongue into your mouth. 

“Eddie…” You moan into him, fingers latched onto his shirt, pulling him into you. 

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He pulled away from the kiss. 

You looked him in his eyes, the street lamp outside aiding in deepening their already dark hue. “Touch me. Need you to touch me.” 

He smirked. “Alright baby, I’ll touch you.” 

Then, he backed away, hooking you from himself and slipping out the door. A pout worked its way onto your features as he walked around and opened your door. Tisking he shook his head. “What’s the frown for sugar?” 

You took his outstretched hand, he was ever the gentleman. “You stopped kissing me.” 

Leaning down he gave you a sloppy peck on the lips. “Well, I can't touch you how you want, Sweetheart, unless we go inside.” He chortled as he guided you to his front door. As soon as the lock was undone and the knob twisted, you pushed the two of you inside. You were hot and worked up and needed something to help the pounding ache that had made itself known between your thighs. 

Inside, you try your best to tug Eddie’s shirt up and over his head but he is quick to catch your hands, pushing you back against the wall and holding them above your head. 

“Not so fast. You’ve got to ask for the things that you want.” 

You shake your head in defiance. You knew where this was going from the way he gripped your wrists. From the way his voice became stricter, more dominant. Need pools in the pit of your stomach. This was what you had been craving, what no other man could make you feel. 

“Please.” Your plea comes out just above a whisper. 

“Tsk, Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that.” Eddie maneuvers both your wrists into the hold of one hand while he lets the fingers of his other run down the open skin of your neck tantalizingly slowly. Goosebumps begin to prickle on your skin as the fingers wander down your chest and over the tops of your breasts, cleavage on display, heaving as you take sharp breaths of air. 

“Please, Eddie.” Voice cracking. “Please, I want you. I want you to touch me, I want to feel you.” 

He groans, hips pressing you to the wall harder. “What a good girl you are.” He captures your lips in another heated kiss.

The night had barely begun and you already felt like you were drowning in him. The scent of menthol cigarettes, whisky, and something almost woody filled your nose and all you could think of was the man pinning you to the wall.

A staggered gasp caught in your throat when Eddie dropped your wrists and heaved you up by the waist. Your legs cinched around him and his arms held you close. “Why don’t we take this to my room? I can put some nice mood music on.” He kissed up your neck as he carried you through his home. 

“Mood music, hum?” You whimper when he sucks on a sensitive spot. “What, gonna play the Temptations greatest hits? Or how about the Chordettes? Don’t they have that song with your name in it?” 

You yelp when his hand smacks your ass. “M’not that old, Sweetheart. It’s more like eighties rock ballads but that’s not what I’m choosing.” The smirk that contoured his lips was wicked. 

“Mmm, and how old are you?” You ask, words muffled by your lips meeting his. 

“Old enough.” Eddie pushes his door open and it hits the wall with a thud. He walks to his bed in the darkness and practically throws you on top of the sheets. He doesn’t follow, instead, he flips the bedside lamp on and the room fills with a soft yellow light. 

His room isn’t what you thought it would be. It's all dark colors, blacks and grays. Three electric guitars hang like decorations on the wall in front of you. A few picture frames are scattered over the dresser to your left, too far to see the images clearly in the dim light. You watch him like a hawk as he walks to that very dresser and turns on a speaker. 

He really wasn’t kidding about the mood music. You think. 

“Get comfortable Sugar… Just got to figure out this damn phone.” You chuckle as you watch him fiddle with the touchscreen and cheer when the music fills the silence. You laugh even louder when Eddie fumbles the phone in his hands and drops it to the floor. “Shit.” He bends down to pick it up and when he does he props it against the mirror of the dresser. 

“Is it okay?” You ask, hand covering the giant smile plastered on your face. 

“It’ll live.” He shakes his head. When the giggles die down, he slowly comes toward you, crawling up the bed. The way his hands travel up your bare legs gives you chills. He pries you open gently, your dress hikes up your thighs, and the wetness of your pussy is on full display. 

“Well, aren’t you a naughty girl… No panties?” He asks, hot breath on the inside of your thigh as he nips at the skin. 

You shake your head as you explain. “No, not wearing a bra either. You can see the outline through the dress” 

He grins a devilish grin and slowly teases his way up your thigh. The hot air from his breath caresses your skin white his beard tickles you. He pushes back your dress a little more before looking you in the eyes. “Ready?”

The whine that comes from you is almost unrecognizable, all desperate and needy when his mouth attaches itself to your pretty cunt. Your hand flies to his head, gripping his silky hair between stiff fingers. 

“Fuck. E-Eddie.” You rasp. He hums the vibrations add to the cacophony of pleasurable feelings between your legs. 

Eddie’s tongue rolls along your folds, wetting every inch of skin. The gentle sucks he performs on your clit pull moan after moan from you. Your back arches and your hips push down into the bed. Eddie’s hands push your thighs farther apart, the plush of them pooling through his spread fingers. 

He loves the feel of you. Loves that he can make you writhe under him with just his tongue. His ego is through the roof, having not been this intimate with someone in years. 

It's been all but a few minutes, to you its been hours, Eddie is expertly working you up up up and to the edge. One hand smoothes down your leg and under his chin. You feel the subtle touches of his fingers as they linger around your cunt. His other hand pushes your leg back more, creating more room. You heave a cry when two fingers breach you, stretching you out at a leisurely pace. 

In and out, in and out, in and out he went, fucking you deeply with those long thick fingers of his, covered in rings. The metal soon became warm as they began to be covered in your slickness and his spit that dribbled down to meet them.

With the way his fingers pushed up into your walls, poking the fire in your belly. The ember that it once was, was not a full-on flame. It was wild and hot and needed something more to feed on. 

“Eddie!” You cried, clamping down around him. Body ridged, ready to let go. 

“That’s right baby, say my fucking name.” He pulled back only to reattach to your clit and pump his fingers tenfold. 

His words were tender to the flame, making it rage out of control. “Eddie!” You cried again, wonton moans following as you feel the fire spreading. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you chant like a prayer. 

He’s greedy as he laps up every ounce of your release, you have to push him away gently, too sensitive for him to keep going but the crooked smirk he gives you as he kisses up your body tells you he wants more. 

Your breathing is rapid as you come down. Your legs feel like jello and you’re hot, super hot. The fire in your veins had rekindled and the dress, conforming to your body, was becoming uncomfortable in the heat. 

Eddie can see the way you tug at the garment and gives it a tug of his own. “I hate to see this little number go but I need to see all of you.” He manhandles you onto your stomach, snatching the tiny red zipper and pulling it down to reveal the soft skin of your back. 

His hands rub into your muscles, thumbs catching on knots and smoothing them out. It was intimate, something you had never experienced in a one-night stand. He removed the tiny straps from your shoulders and kneaded until you were sighing contently into his sheets. Lower and lower he went, tugging the fabric with him and eventually taking it off, throwing it into the abyss. Rough fingers squeezed at the fat of your ass. 

Unknowingly, Eddie had bent down, and as he was massaging you bit down playfully on your ass cheek. A weak squeal erupts from your throat. “Eddie, what are you doing?” 

“I can’t help it if you look good enough to eat.” He bites down again and you buck your hips back. A hand quickly smacks down on your ass. “Quit being a brat. First not asking for what you want and now this? What am I going to do with you?”  Condescension drips thickly from his words. 

You wiggle your hips in his grasp. “M’sorry.” 

Another smack. “I’m sorry what?” 

The fire burns brighter with this fuel.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He spanks you a third time. “Try again, baby.”

Your stomach flips. “I’m sorry… Sir.”

He hums in satisfaction. His hands wrap around you and pull you to your knees, ass in the air. With your head buried in the covers, you can only guess what he’s doing by the subtle movements behind you. 

Eddie has taken his shirt off and unzipped his pants. His cock achingly hard and straining against his black boxers. “Gonna fuck this pussy good, baby.” You whimper in response. He shickers, “You like that, Sweetheart? You want my cock in that pretty pussy of yours?” 

“Please,” You mewl, aching to finally have him inside you. The roughness of his hand steadies you as he inches closer. His hard cock on the other hand. He presses it against your folds, the head slipping through easily. You release a shaky breath when he nudges your clit. “Need you inside, please Sir.”

“Gonna give it to you baby,” Eddie replies, pushing into you. His breathing shudders at the warmth surrounding him. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, sucking him in and not letting him go. 

He feels amazing stretching you out. He's bigger than you thought, wider. The tip pushes into your walls as he begins to thrust into you, the most wonderful grunts and growls filling your ears from behind. 

"So fucking tight, Sugar." Eddie fucks into you at a hard brushing pace with stamina you didn't know he had. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be visible marks there later but you don't mind. 

You turn your head slightly and look over your shoulder as best you can. Eddie has a wild look in his eye, streaks of gray hair falling into his face. Your eyes catch on the plethora of ink etching his skin. You had seen the ones covering his arms but you couldn't have imagined this. Your mind wandered to what the rest of his body looked like. We're there more pieces yet to be seen or did alabaster skin win out as you go further down his body? The thought of seeing the rest of him has you bouncing your ass back into him, meeting his every thrust with fervor. 

The fire Eddie had lit within you was once again roaring out of control. The way his cock filled you deep has you shaking in delight. 

"More, more, more," you called out to him, fists clamping down onto his sheets so hard it was a wonder you hadn't ripped them. 

“More? Is that what you want?” He patronizes. His right hand moves from your hip and he bends forward, snatching your hair up at the base of your skull. The dull throb that accompanies his tight hold has you wailing. Your stomach flips and flips, pressure building up. You’re going to cum and you tell him as much. 

“Please, keep going Eddie, fuck. Keep going, I’m gonna cum, Sir.” Big blubbery tears have started to streak down your face, once pristine makeup now smeared. 

He pulls on your hair. ‘Don’t cum baby. Wanna watch that pretty face as you cum on my cock.” 

Eddie pulls out of you and it feels like forever until you are flipped onto your back and he inserts himself back inside. The new angle has your legs clamping shut around him and the head of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot which makes you keen into him.

You make eye contact with him, his gaze is feral. He’s looking at you like you’re a buffet laid out for him. His hips rock into you with such force that your body is slowly jerking up the bed. You reach out for him, hands open and close, needing to have him close to you. That fire is still burning within you and it is scorching. 

Eddie leans into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your nails dragging long scratches down his pecks and stomach. He catches one, entwining his fingers with yours and pinning your hand back into the mattress. Another intimate moment that had butterflies erupting alongside your fire. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Wanna cum so bad.” 

He leans down more, pressing a chased kiss on your lips. “Alright Sweet girl, you can cum.” 

When you let go, Eddie can’t help the absolutely hedonistic moan that comes forward. He’s rutting into your constricting cunt like an animal. The look of absolute ecstasy that washes over your face had him fighting off his own release. 

“Where do you want it, Baby? Where do you want my cum?” 

It’s absolutely crazy, the place that comes to mind, but some deep, dark, nefarious place inside you wants it so badly. Craves is. 

Without thinking, brain foggy with a greediness only comparable to the deadly sin itself, you blurt, “Inside.” 

Eddie’s hips stutter and his mind goes blank. Inside? Fuck, She wants it inside. He groans, fighting himself. He shouldn’t but he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. Thoughts of what your pussy would look like leaking his cum have him going ridged, his conscience losing out against a primal need he didn’t know he had. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck ah!” He’s a moaning mess when he finally gives in and lets himself cum. 

You can feel his release as a warmth spreads out from your tummy and envelopes you. Eddie falls careful not to let all of his weight squish you. His kisses make you giggle as you try and catch your breath. 

You’re exhausted, warn out in a way you never have been. “Thank you,” you say, kissing him back. He looked at you with soft, round eyes.

“Why are you thanking me, Sweetheart?” 

You sigh, content. “You saved me from a night of wallowing in my self-pity.”

He shakes his head. “Beautiful girl like you deserves to be treated right, that guy’s a bastard.” 

“Tha-” You’re cut off by the loud ringing of his phone, still connected to the speaker.  Eddie cringes at the volume and turns slightly to eye the phone but does not move to get up. It stops ringing a moment after. 

“I think I should get going…” You whisper and give him another kiss. 

“Mmm, you could stay the night. I can take you back to your car tomorrow.” 

You pout at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Sweetheart, I’m asking you to stay, you aren't imposing on anything.” 

You giggle and go to answer but you are interrupted by his phone ringing again. Eddie says quietly, “What the hell?” before pulling himself out of you. He hesitates a moment, watching as his cum leaks past the puffy, used lips of your cunt, then grabs at his phone. 

‘HARRINGTON’ Is flashing across the screen. 

“What do you want man? I’m in the middle of something.” 

Eddie still has his phone connected to the speaker and the next few sentences make Your smile fall and your face bloom into a heat that could rival the sun. 

“Oh, I know you are. Half the fucking world does you dipshit!” 

“Wow okay Steve, calm down. No need for name-calling.”

“Eddie I swear to god, do you know what you’ve just done?” 

“No…?” Eddie scratches his head, looking at you and shrugging his shoulders. 

“You just fucking broadcasted you having fucking sex LIVE on fucking Facebook!”

[jadeyarts]

Separate from that other anon I for one would personally love to hear your Peri and Harbinger/Foxglove headcanons

OMG YAYYYYY. I HAVE QUITE A FEW ♥ (for my own convenience i'm referring to them by their og series names for reasons)

the events of timmy's secret wish are what first planted the seeds of genuine, fully positive feelings and fondness for poof in foop's mind and heart... maybe even a puppy love crush. he seriously thought "well, dying in poof's arms wouldn't be so bad" and hoped that wouldn't awaken something in him. it did.

in a lot of episodes they often have differently colored eyes - foop has a darker shade of purple. i think poof's noticed, and i think he even likes the look of those darker eyes.

given how foop would cry out for poof to protect or save him, i think that poof grows to be incredibly protective of foop… poof will square up for his square!!!

hes the one telling cashiers that foop asked for no pickles, imho ♥

at some point poof stopped intervening in foop's nefarious schemes so i've kind of interpreted poof as just... not caring anymore. he can't stay mad at foop for long, and he finds himself not even bothered by whatever damages he ends up causing anyways. i think he might even find his antics amusing.

after the events of certifiable super sitter, foop actually feels comfortable with admitting that poof is his best friend-

it'd take a few more years to admit it to poof's face, though, it's too embarrassing for him! he'll gush to chloe constantly, though - she knows he's in love with poof before either of them does.

foop's first boyfriend was actually their mutual friend sammy sweetsparkle in high school, while poof had kind of an on-and-off puppy love situationship with goldie... until he kind of flipped out on her about constantly getting foop's name wrong in the middle of a jealousy induced break-down. foop was actually thrilled to hear that poof let his dark side show over wanting to be with him.

sammy and foop ironically broke up on good terms because sammy's best attempt at understanding the fairy/antifairy situation is that they must be soulmates and he didn't want to stand in the way of true love. he's their second biggest supporter.

technically poof confessed first but his confession was literally just screaming IF I DONT SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU I AM LITERALLY GOING TO BLOW SOMETHING UP!!!! at foop, which was a love confession that would only appeal to foop.

chloe TRIED to plan the "perfect" first date for them but it was horribly awkward and not to their tastes. so instead their first REAL date was poof taking foop to a kelly clarkson concert where they got matching "my life would suck without you" t-shirts.

poof actually buys - WITH HUMAN MONEY, IN A HUMAN DISGUISE - every kelly clarkson album as it releases for foop.

they nearly elope several times but got caught by wanda every time. wanda doesn't really like the fact that poof is with foop but doesn't wanna turn into mama cosma about it so she comes to terms with it. she doesnt want them to just run away and get married when she doesn't think they're ready yet either, though. timmy has to be the one to appeal to foop's desire for attention to convince them to have a big wedding after they graduate. poof doesnt care whether he has a big wedding or just elopes - as long as foop is his. if foop wants a big wedding, that's what they'll have.

whenever people ask how long they've been together they tend to go silent because their first instinct is to say "about 50 years" even though they're only about 22-24, and they've only officially been a couple for about 6 or 7 years. foop's second instinct is also to say "from the very first moment i drew breath" like the dramatic weirdo he is. which isn't even accurate and they both know it.

literally so specific to my own little homebrewed post-canon that you can't even pretend it works with anw:

in my elaborate fanon after AC and AW abandoned foop in season 10, poof begs wanda to find someone who would be willing to take foop in. luckily, wanda knew just the fairies for the job.

after getting adopted foop changes his name to foxglove thimbleplight - poof changed his last name to thimbleplight when they got married so he becomes periwinkle thimbleplight. :3

they still call each other poof and foop - usually in the form of embarrassingly cheesy affectionate nicknames. we're talking "smoopy-poo" level cheesy usage here.

(actually that one still works with anw but the art i drew is clearly my own designs and not the anw designs and it's exceedingly cheesy so)

poof convinced foop to go to the fairy academy with him - initially foop was hesitant because he… wants to… but… antifairies cant become godparents, right??? poof was willing to do literally anything it would take to keep foop by his side though. he initially considers manipulating some poor unsuspecting godparent to quit on their godkid just so he can hijack the ensuing fairy idol for foop to win and take their job… it's devious, and he knows foop would have loved that he did something so malicious just for him, but in the end he just gets into a fight with jorgen and the fairy council about it. he argues that technically foop is legally a fairy now since he was adopted by fairies, so he should be allowed to become a godparent. they end up agreeing.

their relationship was kind of a controversial issue in fairyworld for a few years because of poof's high profile status - while they're not the first fairy and anti-fairy couple, they're the first recorded instance of a fairy coupled with their own counterpart in eons. the media did get bored of them eventually though.

they already wanted to get married after high school but they agreed to postpone the wedding until after they graduated from the fairy academy so they had enough free time to make it as over the top as foop wanted it to be. poof actually proposed to foop AGAIN with a diamond ring after they graduated from the fairy academy, even though they were technically already engaged - with the intent of being as over-the-top dramatic and annoying to the rest of their classmates as possible.

^ which is similar to what cosmo and wanda did as teens though details differ. cosmo is literally the only one who seems to realize this and audibly goes "WOW, DEJA VU..." when this all happens.

while wanda had to get used to poof and foop together, cosmo accepted it pretty much immediately. mostly because sometimes they reminded him of himself and wanda. (<- actually canon)

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

AN: Came up with a new idea, let me know if you all like it. 👀

Natasha shivers when the door opens behind her, wrapping herself tighter in the thin jacket jacket that is not meant to be worn during the winter. Although she’s sitting in the corner, trying to make herself as invisible as possible, the icy wind stabs at her back and it practically takes her breath away. Her whole body aches from a lack of sleep and food, although so far the bartender had only been generous enough to give her a single glass of water.

It’s almost 9:00pm, evident by the pitch-black gloom outside the windows stained with dirt and snow. Natasha doesn’t know what time the restaurant closes, but she has no way of leaving it safely, having used the last of her energy to stumble here through the surrounding woods on foot. The next city over was probably at least 25 miles away. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed and despondent, reaching for her water glass with trembling fingers. 

A lot of luck had gotten her this far, more so than her own skills, but she feared tonight would be when it finally ran out.   

Someone drops noisily onto a barstool three seats away from her. “I’ll have a beer.”

Natasha looks over warily at the person joining her. You’re wearing a leather jacket over a flannel shirt that is only buttoned halfway up, and Natasha feels colder just looking at you. You puff on a cigar as you pull out a few folded bills and toss them on the counter. The smell of smoke causes her to cringe away in distaste and she notices you immediately take the cigar out of your mouth and stamp it out on the counter.

The bartender comes over, frowning at the new ashy ring on his wood countertop. 

“Add it to my bill,” you grunt, pushing the money towards him and swapping them for a bottle. After you take a sip, you glance over at Natasha for a second, turning to face ahead and watch the television behind the bar. 

Natasha drinks her water, wondering if she has the dexterity to steal from the tip jar when she can’t even feel her fingers. She had seen how much cash you had in your pocket–at least another $50–maybe if she played you up a little you’d buy her dinner. You were the only one in the restaurant who hadn’t eyed her like a meal, and Natasha knows you only put your cigar out for her. She has to put her plans on hold, however, when she hears heavy footsteps pad up from behind her. Someone taps on her shoulder.

“Hey, honey,” a gruff voice mumbles. 

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but from the corner of her eye sees that it’s the big bald man who had been watching her from a booth since the moment she entered the restaurant. 

“You came here alone, didn’t you?” the man asks. “You walked here.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. She notices your attention has moved from the television to the man standing behind her. 

“Let me give you a ride home,” the man says, his voice heavy with unsaid intentions. 

“No, thank you,” she says. 

The man leans in closer to her until his alcohol-laced breath is hot against her ear. “It wasn’t an offer, honey.”

“She said no,” you growl. Both Natasha and the man looked surprised at your intervention. 

“Fuck off,” the man spits. “You’re always taking girls home, let me have this one.”

You roll your eyes at his comment. Natasha looks at you with trepidation now as you get up, your footsteps somehow heavier than the man’s despite being shorter than him.

“Go home, Stu,” you tell him. “Alone.”

“Not tonight,” he spits, grabbing onto Natasha’s arm. Normally, she would never allow herself to be handled like this and would have broken Stu’s nose on the counter by now, but that’s a fight she didn’t know she could win in her current state. She tries squirming out of his iron grip but is dragged off the barstool instead. No one sees you lunge forward, cranking your arm back and punching Stu in the face. Natasha cringes when she hears what sounds like clanging metal and pushes away from Stu as he falls to his knees, crying and screaming while clutching his face.

“Are you okay?” 

Natasha looks up and sees you offering her a hand. She grabs it, your palm rough but warm, and hops over Stu to stand next to you. She’s shocked to see that the lower half of his face is completely drenched in blood from his broken nose. 

“You motherfucker!” Stu gasps, struggling to his feet.

“Stay down,” you suggest. “We should probably leave,” you tell Natasha, and against her better judgment, she eagerly follows you outside even after witnessing you take down a full-grown man with a single punch. 

The wind is prickly against her skin and the cold weighs down her bones. Snow falls in hard pellets and Natasha lifts her arms over her face to protect it.  

“My truck is over here!” you shout over the wind and Natasha numbly chases after you. It’s a beat-up red pickup truck that has certainly seen better days, but Natasha gives no comment as she climbs in and you turn on the heater, blasting her with warmth. “Sorry about Stu. I’ve never known him not to be an asshole,” you say, adjusting the vents in Natasha’s direction.

“Thank you,” she blurts out.

“Oh. Uh, you’re welcome.” You sound like you’re not used to being thanked. You turn the windshield wipers on to clear off the snow collected there. “I know Stu was right about one thing, though. You’re not from around here.”

“No,” Natasha admits. “Do you know if there’s a motel nearby I can stay in?”

“The closest one is thirty miles out,” you say. “But we’d be lucky to move even five with the snow picking up.” The windshield is almost fully caked in a layer of white again. “My place is only two miles from here. You can crash for the night and I’ll take you up to the city first thing tomorrow when the weather clears.”

Natasha wants to tear up at your generosity. She hasn’t known you for more than five minutes, and you’ve already rescued her from a creep and offered her a place to stay. Maybe her good luck is hanging on longer than she’d thought. 

“I’d like that,” she says, and you nod, revving up the engine and driving out of the parking lot. The drive is completely silent but in a comforting way. Although you’re focused on the road, you only have one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift in a very relaxed, almost casual way. Natasha stares at your hands, curious as to why she can’t see any bruising on your knuckles from when you practically turned Stu’s face inside-out. You seem to notice her staring because you suddenly clear your throat and adjust your position, moving both your hands to the 5 and 7 o’clock positions of the steering wheel.

True to your word, your cabin is relatively close to the restaurant, although the drive feels longer to Natasha because you can’t go faster than 15mph. You park on the driveway, hurrying out before Natasha can even unbuckle her seatbelt to have her door open for her.

“Thank you,” she says, although reluctant to step back out into the cold. 

“Go through the front door,” you tell her, handing her your house key. “I need to get some firewood from the garage first.”

Natasha darts to your porch, fumbling with the key frustratingly before she can get the door open. She stumbles into your home, stamping snow off her shoes. She finds the light switch, flipping it on and surprised to see how barren your house is. There’s a couch, a television, and a potbelly stove in the first room, and an opening to the kitchen on the left and your bedroom ahead. There’s not even a shelf of books or knick knacks as far as she can see.  

“Sorry about the mess,” you grumble as you come in behind her, carrying an armload of splintered wood. “I wasn’t anticipating any visitors tonight.”

“It’s cozy,” Natasha comments as you throw a few pieces of wood into the stove and light some tinder underneath. 

“The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it,” you say. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, wait, you don’t have to do that,” Natasha starts. “I’m your guest–”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off. Natasha doesn’t know how to respond to your unending kindness. Sometimes, she forgets that good still exists in the world after all the evil she’s been running from. “I’ll heat up some soup. I hope you’re okay with ham and potato.”

“Thank you,” is all she can manage.

“Go ahead and wash up. I’ll need some time to warm up the soup. Use whatever you need. There’s a clean towel and some clothes on the left side of my closet that might fit you. They belonged to…an old friend.” Natasha hears the wistfulness in your voice, her curiosity piqued. But she doesn’t pry and goes into your bedroom, closing the door. She finds the clothes and a folded up towel that you mentioned, so she carries them all into the bathroom.  

The hot water has never felt so wonderful as Natasha washes off the grimes from several days’ of traveling. But she enjoys it for too long and soon, the water runs cold. Motivated to step out, she dresses in the clothes you provided, glad for the wool that keeps her insulated and toasty. She joins you in the kitchen, where you’re ladling soup into two chipped bowls on the table.

“Feel better?” you ask her. You’ve taken off your leather jacket now, your checkered flannel fully hanging open over a white tank top. Natasha has no idea how you’re able to withstand the cold in the cabin, although the fire from the potbelly stove has made the temperature much more tolerable. In one less layer of clothing, she can see the muscles in your chest and shoulders, which certainly explained where your powerful punch came from. You have a beaded chain around your neck holding a pair of dog tags. While Natasha is still not sure what to think of you, she has a better idea now. 

“I feel amazing,” she says, “Although I think I used up all the hot water–”

“It’s fine. Do you want a beer?”

“No, thank you. Water is fine.”

“Sure.” You pour her a glass from a pitcher in the fridge and grab a beer for yourself. She waits for you to sit with her before dipping her spoon into her bowl. The soup warms her up from the inside and before she realizes it, her bowl is empty before you’ve even had a few spoonfuls. Her cheeks heat up as you fill her bowl without being prompted. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs and once again you only grunt in response. After you finish your soup, you don’t refill it, instead sitting back and sipping your beer. Neither of you talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Natasha finishes her third bowl, scraping every drop onto her spoon, before her curiosity finally wins. 

“Can I ask why you’re being so nice to me?” she asks. 

You stare at her as if she’s just asked for your answer to a complex math equation. There’s a few seconds of pause before you respond. “Because you’re someone who doesn’t ask for help, even if you really need it.”

Your answer has Natasha even more confused.

“You remind me of myself,” you add, as if this is enough clarification. When you talk, your voice is low and gruff, almost like you’re not used to having someone listen to you. From the furnishings in your home, or lack of them, it’s clear you live alone and probably have for a while. With the closest settlement 30 miles away, Natasha is surprised you haven’t set up further out. Whatever life you had lived, it seemed like you just wanted to retire in peace, despite that you didn’t look older than 30 years. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she says. “After tonight, you can drop me off in town and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not a burden,” you reply. 

“And I’m not trying to be.” Natasha takes her bowl to the sink to wash it, but you stop her.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up in the morning. You should get some rest.”

“Come on, let me do at least one nice thing for you,” Natasha begs.

“Hmm,” you mumble, your face twisting as you appear to think hard about her request. “How about you let me use the cold water in the bathroom to wash up, and then the bedroom is all yours?”

“Deal.” 

But while you’re in the bathroom, Natasha sneaks back into the kitchen and washes the dishes. She can’t help herself; it just feels wrong to take advantage of your hospitality without giving you anything in return. She leaves the dishes to dry on the counter, then guiltily hunts around the remaining rooms for any further insight into your life before you get out of the shower.

In one of the kitchen drawers, she finds a small pocket knife that when folded, can be concealed perfectly in the palm of her hand. She had lost her own knife running through the forest earlier that day, and even though she can’t imagine having to use it against you, it makes her feel better to have a blade on her. She pockets it, hoping you won’t miss it, and keeps looking. But there is nothing to find: no receipts, no tags, not even a handwritten sticky note to yourself.

Natasha jolts when she realizes she hasn’t even asked your name yet. 

You emerge from your bedroom, your hair flattened by the water, a towel slung around your neck. “Bedroom is all yours,” you say, dragging a moth-eaten blanket to the couch and dropping down on it. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“One more question,” Natasha says. “I’m Nat. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

Natasha smiles. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Nat.”

***********************************************************************

BOOM.

You feel like you’ve only just fallen asleep, but you sit up at the sudden noise, momentarily forgetting where you are.

“Police! Open up!”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

“What the…?” You blink in confusion, tripping over the blanket as you stumble to the door. Peeking through the blinds, you see four men in SWAT gear standing on your porch. All of them are armed with multiple guns and one of them holds a battering ram. But you don’t see any police insignia on any of their uniforms. A tank of a truck is parked on your driveway, blocking the path to your own, and any chance of unnoticed escape. 

“Police! Open the damn door!”

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Natasha suddenly pops up in your bedroom doorway, her hair tousled and face drowsy. 

“We’ve got company,” you respond, as there’s pounding at the door again. “They said they’re police, but I don’t think that’s true–”

“Oh, shit,” Natasha gasps. “They found me.”

“Found you? Who?” The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

“I’m so sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” Natasha begins pacing your living room as bright lights stream through the windows. You probably won’t have much more time before they force entry.

“Nat, what’s going on? Who are these people?” you ask, running over to her. You’ve hardly known this woman for 12 hours, but you have a fierce desire to protect her from whatever’s hunting her. When you had first seen her in the bar, looking roughed up and sad, you had the urge to help her. But scaring Stu off wasn’t enough and even taking her to your home couldn’t keep her safe.

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

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

AN: Any guesses on R's mutant inspiration? :)

Click here for Part 2!

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[doctor-dusk]

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

being the only witness to a crime has its advantages.

warnings: hard dom!alex, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv, mentions of death/strangulation.

word count: 4.7k

celebrating am's birthday with an am!alex smut. is it weird for me to say that i actually enjoyed writing this? save me officer turner save me. hope you like it :3

the ticking of the clock was starting to irritate you. not that you were easily irritated, but since you had been sitting there for almost forty minutes, everything seemed to be at least a little irritating from your point of view.

they said it would be quick.

the ceiling fan was also irritating you. it was spinning slowly, barely ventilating. you crossed your legs, leaning back against the cushioned chair, and looked at the clock on the wall. it was almost 8pm.

they really did say it would be quick.

‘’miss.’’ the strangely deep voice of the police station clerk caught your attention. you turned your head to look at her. she didn't look that old, but the strands of gray hair scattered throughout her brown hair gave away that she was in her 50s. ‘’can you sign here?’’ she pointed to the paperwork laid out on the counter under a black ballpoint pen.

you stood up, your shoes making a clicking noise on the porcelain floor as you made your way to sign the papers. you signed the fields marked with an 'x'. it was a boring form, but necessary.

‘’follow me, i'll take you to the interrogation room.’’ she said, coming out from behind the counter, going through the small door to get to you. you followed her through the hallways full of doors, you couldn't tell if they were cells or other departments. you weren't in a position to find out right now, you would just go there, tell what you knew and leave.

she opened the door to interrogation room number 5. you looked around before entering. dark gray walls, a mirrored glass wall to your left, a medium square table with two chairs at the ends. oh, and of course, a small recorder right in the center of the table.

‘’the investigator will be right there to talk to you.’’ she said, motioning for you to sit in the chair. you nodded, taking a few steps forward to sit in the first chair.

you left your purse on your lap, crossing your legs over the other, swaying back and forth. there wasn't much to look at there. you didn't have your phone with you. somehow, they took it as soon as you entered the police station.

that's what you get for going to a pub with a college friend and watching her get strangled in the alley.

you shook your head, guilty for having thought that. it wasn't her fault. at least as far as you know. it was on saturday. it didn't take long for the police to call you in for questioning when they found out you were the only one who witnessed the whole thing.

you sighed, looking around, not sure exactly what you were looking for. you looked at the recorder on the table, tilting your neck forward to get a better look. it was ridiculously old, but it seemed to be in good condition. several small buttons, a small sound output and a vertical microphone, almost imitating an antenna.

you reached out your hand, wanting to touch the tip of the small microphone.

‘’don't touch it.’’ you heard a male voice behind you that made you straighten up immediately, the shock making your heart beat faster and your hand twitching back to your lap in the blink of an eye. you didn't even hear him come into the room.

‘’sorry.’’ you said in an apologetic tone, glancing at him when his steps got louder and firmer towards you to sit in the chair.

all in black, including the suspenders. tailored pants, shoes that were shined that morning. ironed black shirt closed to the last button with the collar low. utility belt circling the small waist with a badge and a gun in the holster.

so this is the investigator? fuck, he's hot.

he let out a heavy sigh, holding a mug with black coffee without sugar and a brown folder under his arm. he smelled like cigarettes, especially because he had smoked one before entering the room. there were bags under his eyes, you didn't know if they were dark circles or if that was something characteristic of him. he certainly looked like he hadn't slept in three days. but still hot.

he threw the folder on the table without much care, pulling out the empty chair to sit down.

‘’coffee?’’ he asked, gesturing with the mug. you shook your head. he shrugged, taking a sip and soon reached into the small outer pocket of his shirt. ‘’gum?’’ he asked again, taking a piece of gum from inside the small rectangular package. ‘’you can take it, you know?’’ he said as if he knew you were hesitant to take it. of course, he was an investigator. he certainly knew a lot about body language at this point.

you reached out to take the gum, accepting it. watermelon flavored, curiously enough, it was one of your favorites. he repeated your action, opening the small package and putting the gum in his mouth, keeping the paper inside his shirt pocket to throw in the trash later. 

‘’comfortable?’’ he asked you. you shifted in your chair, nodding. the chair wasn't that comfortable, but you wouldn't dare complain. ‘’good. let's get started, miss…’’ he paused, reading your name on the interrogation sheet. his accent made it even better. 

he spread the papers on the table meticulously in front of you. it was the investigation dossier. photos of the crime scene, the autopsy report, the draft of the opening of the investigation. he opened a small, worn notebook. there was a pen inside, the clicking sound crackling in your ears as he tested the pen to confirm that it was working. he cleared his throat, turning on the voice recorder, making a small red light light up in the upper left corner of the recorder. he brought his face closer to the microphone, making a few strands of his black hair fall over his forehead like a small waterfall.

‘’tuesday, july 8th, 8:15 pm. this is investigator turner from the 3rd regional police station, and i will now be taking the statement of...'' he paused, reading his name and surname again on the file. ‘’... about the crime of homicide against tori baker, which occurred on the 5th.’’ he said out loud as the recorder began to emit a tiny red light that blinked non-stop, indicating that the recording had started. ‘’did you know the victim?’’

you nodded. he let out an impatient sigh, shaking his head.

‘’words. we're recording.’’ he said in a firm tone, pointing to the recorder. you mentally cursed yourself for having forgotten that detail. he was intimidating you more than you would have liked.

‘’yes, sir.’’ you answered loudly, hearing him hum, writing it down on the interrogation sheet.

‘’was she your friend?’’

‘’college classmate.’’ you answered, eyeing him up and down. you couldn’t help it. cops in general were hot, but this investigator was something else.

‘’were you very close?’’ he continued asking, his eyes fixed on you, looking for some kind of hesitation.

‘’not really. we went out for drinks every now and then.’’ you answered with a slight shrug. ‘’on saturday it wouldn't be any different.’’

‘’any particular reason for drinking on saturday?’’ he asked, pretending he didn't notice you devouring him with your eyes. ‘’birthday, celebration...?’’

‘’good grades.’’ you answered. he raised his eyebrows, not writing down the information because he didn't think it was that important.

‘’tell me about this pub you guys went to on saturday.’’ he prompted, crossing his arms and leaning his weight on the back of the chair.

‘’we used to go to this pub almost always. it's good and cheap. they serve great drinks there and the fries are made fresh.’’ you answered, seeing that he hadn't written anything down in his notebook, since he didn't think it was important yet.

‘’when you guys went out, was it always the two of you or did someone else go with you?’’ he asked, fiddling with the pen between his fingers. there was no way that even this was sexy.

‘’most of the time it was just me and her. some college friends would go with us too, but not always. on saturday, a friend of mine had gone with us.’’

‘’and where was she when it all happened?’’ he sat up straight in his chair, ready to write it down.

‘’fucking the security guard in the bathroom.’’ you answered. he was speechless for a few seconds, raising his eyebrows. you knew it was very blunt of you, but you knew you couldn't lie. ‘’her words.’’

‘’right. i think we can leave that part out of the interrogation.’’ he muttered, clearing his throat. ‘’tell me how it all happened. where you were, how you got there and what you saw.’’

you took a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. it wasn't a memory you liked to keep and much less one you would like to recall out loud. you clenched your fists a little, becoming merely restless.

‘’take your time.’’ he said when he realized you had been silent for too long.

you sighed, chewing your gum for a few seconds before starting to speak. ‘’i was already a bit tipsy. i had had about 4 shots. maybe 5. she told me she was going to smoke and left through the back door. i stayed at the bar.’’ you said slowly, especially since he was writing it down quickly. his writing was a bit sloppy, but it was enough to understand. i mean, at least he understood. ‘’at a certain point i decided to leave too. i wasn't feeling well and the bathrooms were too far away.’’

‘’how long between her leaving and you leaving too?’’ he asked you. you blinked a few times, you realized you were too distracted by how his body was leaning over the table.

you scoffed, trying to think. ‘’i don't know... maybe 10 minutes. i wasn't looking at the clock.’’ you replied and he nodded, gesturing for you to continue. ‘’so i went out the back door and…’’ you stopped. ‘’can't remember vividly.’’

he looked at you, squinting his caramel eyes. you remembered, of course. you remembered enough. and he knew it.

‘’c'mon. tell me what you know. i promise if you tell me we'll finish before 10pm.’’ he drawled a little. it strangely gave you chills. you chewed your gum, blowing air into it, the sound of it popping echoing through the silent room. so silent that you could even hear the blood running through your veins as your heart beat faster.

the investigator clenched his jaw, pressing the recorder button to pause the recording, clasping his two hands together, resting his forearms on the desk, leaning closer to you. fuck, he was so pretty up close. you could even see a mole in the lower left corner below his mouth.

‘’what do you want?’’ he questioned.

‘’what do you have to offer me, investigator?’’ you asked back, your shoed foot climbing up his leg. his fingers clenched against each other subtly at your tone.

he stood up, firm footsteps walking across the room towards the door. he opened it, sticking his head out and looking down the hallway from one end to the other, making sure there was no one there. the police station was almost always empty at this time. almost everyone was having dinner.

he closed the door again, locking it. the clicking sound made your heart beat faster and your mouth went dry.

‘’let's make a deal, miss.’’ he urged behind you, his big hand flying to your shoulder, your eyes widened at the firm contact. he bent over, his head right above your shoulder, his face close to yours. ‘’i'll give you what you want as long as you tell me what you know i need to know. deal?’’

oh, please. you didn't even need to answer. your cunt throbbed at the single thought.

‘’deal.’’ you answered, glancing at him, catching his smirk in the corner of your eye.

‘’sit down at the desk.’’ he commanded, straightening his posture and carefully removing his utility belt, leaving it hanging over the back of the chair as you stood up.

‘’the papers.’’ you pointed to the papers spread out on the metal table.

‘’fuck the papers. i told you to sit down.’’ he said rudely, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. rough. you liked it.

you sat down on the table before he could lose his patience, your jeans were crumpling the papers under your ass, but he didn't care about that, and neither should you. he hurried to reach for the button on your pants, pulling the zipper down.

‘’not even a little kiss to warm up?’’ you teased him. he narrowed his eyes on you.

‘’no. you're asking too much.’’ he said and you giggled as he roughly pulled your jeans down along with your panties, going down to your ankles, where he pulled only the left side, keeping your pants and panties hanging by your right heel.

‘’you're going to eat me out and you're telling me that a little kiss is too much?’’ you questioned as you watched him getting down on his knees in front of you, the sight alone already making your cunt even wetter.

‘’the bones of the trade.’’ he grunted, spreading your legs without any delicacy, as if he was impatient and in a hurry. but oh, he couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of your glistening pussy right before his eyes, so pretty and ready for him. he looked up at you for a split second. ‘’any particular reason for being like this?’’ he asked, teasing you for the first time.

‘’i have a thing for investigators.’’ you joked, already feeling his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, making your cunt pulse in reflex. he took the chewed gum out of his mouth, sticking it under the table.

‘’guess i'm lucky.’’ he shot back, moving his hands to your inner thighs, his rough and calloused fingers digging into your skin, almost leaving marks because of how little delicacy he was using. ‘’now tell me what you know.’’

before you could even begin, his tongue slowly runs itself against your pulsing clit, making your eyes gradually roll to the back of your head. he licked again, this time starting from the bottom, collecting a stripe on his tongue, swallowing his own grunt for doing so.

''w-where do i start?'' you asked after recovering from that first contact.

''you left the bar through the back door.'' he recalled, his mouth going back to your pussy, his tongue swirling around your entrance, collecting your slimy juices, lapping his wet muscle over your folds like he meant it.

oh, this is going to be harder than you thought.

‘’i left the bar, they were on the dark side. the lamp was broken and i couldn't see very well.’’ you kept going, your eyes almost closing as he was sucking against your folds, the squelches were sloppy and your both hands grabbed the edges of the cold desk, grounding yourself as he delved into your pussy, licking and sucking you like your pussy was an orange, where he could smear himself with your sweet wetness. ‘’i- i was so fucking drunk and…’’ he hummed against your throbbing cunt, his eyes and ears on you the whole time, multitasking between eating you out and continuing with the interrogation to get more information.

‘’what did he use to strangle her?’’ he asked, his breath coming out in hot puffs, his hot mouth rising to suck your clit, shoving two fingers inside your cunt. his long and slender fingers scissored you, stretching you out, exploring your gummy walls and making you whine.

‘’hands.’’ you panted, your head falling back, all your eyes could see was the white light from the interrogation room ceiling.

‘’hands.’’ he repeated, curling his fingers inside you, reaching the caves of your walls and hitting spots you didn't even know could be located, feeling the clenching motion around them. ‘’were they saying something?’’

‘’i couldn't hear, i swear…’’ you babbled, feeling him giving sweet kisses all over your pussy while his fingers were buried in you up to the knuckles, moving in and out, making a squishy sound. he made a disappointed face, but didn't stop what he was doing.

‘’he saw you?’’ he asked. you nodded. you remembered the man looking at you that night. his piercing eyes staring into your soul. you didn't even know how you were still alive. ‘’do you think there's a reason he didn't kill you too?’’

‘’i think it's because i’m hot.’’ you hissed as he slapped your pussy sharply. you were being too bold for your own good.

‘’maybe you're right.’’ he answered, you could even feel that annoying smile against your pussy as he slurps everywhere, making sure no spot goes untouched as his protruding nose rubbed against your clit.

oh, you almost smiled. he thinks you're hot too.

you're so wet and so sensitive now, soaking not only his mouth but also his chin. but damn, that man was an eater. you couldn't control yourself, almost closing your trembling legs around his head as his fingers pumped inside your pussy with purpose. your hand moved from behind to hold his head, needing to keep him close as you're approaching your climax.

‘’and what did you do after he strangled her?’’ he asked, moving his mouth away a little, his fingers never stopping their restless movements, feeling that your cunt was coating them so much at this point.

‘’i threw up.’’ you answered honestly. his mouth and nose twitched a bit.

‘’understandable. what was he like? i know you saw him.’’ his tepid breath hitted your fevered skin.

‘’m-maybe i saw him.’’ you babble out. he rolled his eyes, realizing he needed to change his strategy.

without any warning, he pulled away from your pussy, pulling his fingers from your gaping and aching hole. you looked at him, you were close, so close...

turner wiped his wet face with the back of his hand, standing up again.

‘’what was our deal?’’ he asked, placing both his hands on the table, caging you. he was impatient. ‘’i'll give you the what you want and you give me what i want.’’

‘’i told you what i knew.’’ you shrugged nonchalantly.

‘’fucking brat.’’ he growled, running his hand through his hair, combing back. he took a deep breath, pulling you from the table and making you stand, your weak knees almost gave out, but you managed to balance yourself only for him to turn you around and push you against the table, forcing you to bend down.

you let out a gasp at his attitude. his hand crept along the curve of your ass in a strangely delicate way.

‘’change of plans.’’ he announced, the sound of him unbuttoning his own pants ringing through your ears like a sweet melody. ‘’take this notebook and this pen.’’ he said, referring to the small notebook and pen he was using. your eager hands reached out to grab it. ‘’you will write down all of his characteristics that you remember on this sheet of paper while i fuck you. is that enough for you?’’

his words hit you harder than expected. you nearly convulsed at the feeling of his reddened tip nudging your entrance.

‘’fucking answer me.’’ he growled, gripping the back of your head hard. you nodded quickly. he pressed your face against the papers on the table, your eyes glanced at him behind you, his thick cock threatening your entrance the whole time. ‘’words.’’

‘’yes, yes, i get it.’’ you answered almost breathlessly.

taking a deep and sharp breath, he buried himself inside you, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips as your toes curled and your hands twitched. he bottomed out, watching how your pussy swallowed his cock with greed. he forced himself to look away. god, he was already hard since he saw your pussy, when he ate you out then... he almost came in his pants. if he gives in a little more, he might explode cum inside you in the blink of an eye.

‘’what are you waiting for? write it down right now.’’ he ordered, his hand slapping you hard on the ass, watching it jiggle and you winced, feeling it sting like a painful insect bite.

‘’fuck, you're so deep…’’ you cried out, you could feel his tip poking your cervix. he was indeed balls deep inside your cunt, forcing the goppy insides of your cunt to accommodate him.

‘’stop complaining. you asked for it.’’ he grunts as his rhythm begins to become restless, his hips snapping against your ass, hitting you deep and raw. so dirty and raw. yes, you definitely asked for it.

he was taking you so hard, almost as if no thought was going through his head while he was pumping into you, making you feel full of his big, veiny cock. trembling, your hand began to write. your handwriting was almost a scrawl, you could barely stand and the desk was shaking too much with his incessant rhythm.

‘’tall. good girl. how tall are we talking?’’ he hummed in your ear, seeing what you were writing.

‘’mmm i think 6 feet tall…’’ you replied, a pathetic moan leaving your lips as he started to roll his hips against you.

‘’write it down.’’ he tapped the notebook with his index finger.

you were so drunk, your body was practically stretched out on the table, but you were determined to write down everything you remembered about that man. god, you even felt guilty because your colleague had to be strangled for you to be there, but it was so good, he was fucking you so good, so hard and deep.

he couldn't say he was hating it. oh, quite the opposite. he was loving feeling your cunt gaping out around him. he was so thick, the stretch making your mouth water and your knees buckle as your tongue lolled out.

“tall, buzz cut, green eyes, scar on the cheek and tattoo on the hand. that's because you didn't remember, hm?” he groaned hoarsely into your ear, smirking and slowing down his movements, moving as slow as a turtle now. “was that all you needed? for me to fuck you to the hilt? what do you think your colleague would think about this? you're so fucking selfish.”

“shut up.” you gulped, feeling his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he slammed back into your pussy again and again.

“tsk tsk, don't you dare to talk to me like that." he scolded you, his hand returning to your head, pressing your skull against the table, you're already drooling over the papers, but you loved it. he was right, you're selfish.

“or what?” you asked, feeling the pressure in your bones like he was smashing your head at that desk. worse than that, he was practically skinning your pussy, it was getting sore, swollen, it burned like it was getting raw.

“or you'll spend the night in a cell to learn to respect authority. sound good?” he panted in your ear, closing his fist around your hair, twisting it and forcing you to raise your head to look at him. 

“will you pay me a visit in the early hours of the morning?” you asked, a wicked smile playing at your lips. he almost smiled. damn, you're crazy. and in a way it made his cock throb.

“maybe. what was that tattoo on his hand? promise, that's all i need and i'll make you cum.” he tilted his head, his hand grabbed your buttocks tightly, pushing it to the side so he could look and see how his cock was already coated with a white liquid from the friction. “milking my cock already.” he scoffed, giving you another firm slap on your ass cheek.

“i-it was a snake. a snake.” you cried, coaxing a groan from the back of his throat, his pace quickening as his smile widened. the scent of sex surrounding you both and permeating the interrogation room. 

“mhmm, good girl. well, you were actually useful to me.” he said in a tone of mere disdain, deep down a bit of desire dripping into his voice as he pounded into you restlessly. the way he said it did things to you, and soon you were collapsing on his cock, your cunt pulsing and squeezing him like a vice. 

he forced himself to pull out of you. of course, he wasn't using a condom, he would never risk it. he watched with wide and attentive eyes while you were reduced to a mess, your cunt gaped, oozing arousal, a strong pink hue predominated, demonstrating how abused your hole was because of him.

turner looked down at his cock, it was so hard that it was painful the veins were much more marked and the reddened tip was leaking precum, he needed to release it somehow. he grunted, tucking his cock back into his pants and zipping up. he didn't ask if you were okay. he knew you were. 

he cleared his throat, watching you collapse into the chair behind you. you were breathless and blissed out with all that happened.

it took a while before you could put on your jeans, you felt like you were completely boneless now, every part of your body was exhausted and begged for bed and two muscle relaxant capsules. 

“alright, the interrogation is over, you can leave.” he said to you, sitting back down in his chair, taking a sip of the coffee that was still warm. simple as that. you weren't expecting more, actually. 

you held your purse, feeling a pain in your cervix that you knew would last a couple of days, but it was worth it. you wiped your face, wiping away the sweat and fixing your hair so it didn't look like you were hit by a bus.

“i think he was a drug dealer.” you said, stopping at your tracks. "that area has a lot of them and she wasn't a saint either. but she was a nice person.” 

the investigator nodded, noticing the hint of resignation in your voice. that was all he needed to know, actually. the police didn't get too involved in cases involving drug trafficking. society had its laws and they had theirs. the police didn't have much power in that regard — in fact, they didn't want to fight. what would the militia be without drug trafficking, by the way?

“thanks for your cooperation.” he replied. you nodded, pressing your swollen lips against each other, forming a thin line. “there will be a vehicle with two cops outside to take you home safely.”

“is that all? i mean if you need anything else…”

he interrupted you. “i know. i have everything about you here.” he tapped the sheet with your file. “besides, i'm an investigator. i will find you.”

you could see the shadow of a smile forming at the corner of his lips. but you weren't sure. he was so hard to read. you nodded, excusing yourself and walked to the door, unlocking it and leaving the interrogation room without looking back. 

turner spent a good few seconds staring blankly at the closed black door. he didn't know what he was thinking exactly. it wasn't like he fucked every witness he questioned. but he didn't regret it either. 

he shook his head, collecting all the paperwork again, seeing that you had drooled over some of it, smudging the written words with printer ink. he didn't care. it wasn't like this investigation was going to go anywhere. he carefully placed all the papers in the file folder, turning off the recorder. 

his body relaxed a little in the chair, his head fell back and he closed his eyes, rubbing his closed eyelids hard with the thumb and index finger of his left hand. your moans were still echoing through his head. he had to admit, he liked you. 

his cock throbbed again at the thought of you, he had almost forgotten about his own problem now. he would have to spend a few minutes fucking his fist in his office to get some relief.

before he got up from his chair to leave the interrogation room, he picked up the small notebook, looking at what you wrote. his eyes rested on your handwriting before he closed it and picked up the pen, starting to scribble on the investigation update sheet on the cover of the brown file.

#case 521 — tori baker

status: closed…?

a/n: i shoud be working rn...

taglist: @thenightslikeawhirlwind, @goblinontour, @yourstartreatment

(if there are more people who asked to be on the taglist, please enlighten me again, i must have forgotten to include :x)

[zep-zep-blog]

Im back from the dead yall. I got this idea from @timeslugarts ^^ Go give them a follow for their amazing art! Hope yall enjoy!

Vox x gn!reader

Genre:Fluff | Cw: death, car crash, hospital mention

☆Devilish Love☆

Darkness. That's all you could remember until you wake up in this fiery hellscape. In reality, you were hit by a drunk driver and was in a coma back on Earth with family crying at your bedside, but your soul was trapped here. In the underworld of sinners that were repenting for their crimes.

You wandered the streets, looking around at the different sinners, demons, and other wayward souls. That is until you ran face first into someone, that being a tall man(?) if you could even call him that. He had a tv as a face for crying out loud. "Watch it." He said in a voice that was common in late 50's shows, his voice was sharp and boomed. Ofcourse you squeaked out an apology, but it wouldn't be the last. As you ran into him several times, even getting into arguements with him.

Over time, you did grow close. You stopped arguing with him less often and he offered to let you stay at his place. Soon his roommates, Valentino and Velvette grew to accept you and noticed how much romantic tension there was. You hung around him like a lost puppy, helping him with paperwork or his various shows he produces. This did lead to some issues though, as one day you had accidentally mixed up the scripts for one of the shows and you got into an argument. You and Vox had argued for almost 2 hours, but he finally cracked and impulsively kissed you on the lips.

That kiss had spiraled into you being his right hand, his assistant, his second half. You and him ran Voxtech with a iron fist, planning on taking over sinners and hell. He was also planning some ring options behind the scenes, asking Velvette for help on diamond size, band size, even the box color. Little did he know that the doctors in the mortal plane had other ideas.

You stood in the kitchen, messy hair from just waking up and only in one of Vox's more casual shirts and some underwear. He sat at the island, pouring you guys some cereal, you were about to take a spoonful when BAM your gone in a blink of an eye. Vox panicked, going absolutely nuts. Every tv, phone, camera, you name it was spent looking for you. He even went down to the Princess's hotel to demand an answer from Alastor.

"WHERE ARE THEY ALASTOR! I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL TURN YOU INTO VENISON BY THE TIME IM DONE-" He yelled, going berserk at the front door of the hotel. The door opened by Vaggie lunging at him with her spear, but was thankfully stopped by Charlie. "What's going on? What did Alastor do?" She asked with her signature smile. "He took them! I just know he did!" Vox screeched, pointing his finger at the clam and smiling radio demon. Every one turned their heads to look at Alastor, who looked a bit too calm for the situation. "Who?" His staticy voice came off as genuine confusion. "MY SPOUSE YOU STUPID FUCK!" Vox argued. "Who?-" Alastor was cut off by Angel, "Wait. Someone married you?" He asks, "Well, we were going to get married, but-but they just DISAPPEARED!" Vox says desperately, but not wanting to give Alastor any ammo he left. He returned to his office, giving annoyed huffs to Valentino and Velvette's questions.

Meanwhile, you had woken up to a heart moniter beeping and the warm embrace of your mom, hugging and weeping. The smell of hospital had made you more aware of the situation. Was..was that all a dream? You weren't exactly the perfect person, but having a dream about falling inlove in hell was a bit much for your human mind. Eventually, years had passed and you had lived a single life with a few pets for company, never getting over that dream until your death. Unfortunately, time in hell is different, while almost 30 years had passed since that car crash it had only been a few months for Vox. He had lashed out and never stopped searching. He spent all his time balancing finding you, fighting Alastor, and running Voxtech.

You had woken up in the same place 30 years ago, but it didn't look like that time had passed. You were shocked, it wasn't a dream all those years ago. You dashed through the streets looking for the familiar building of your long lost beloved. Soon you reached your destination, zooming through the lobby, but getting caught short by security. You caused a huge scene, cussing and yelling, begging for them to let you see Vox. Velvette alerted him to your outburst and he zapped through the wires to the lobby and froze. It was you, the person he still had the perfectbring for. The person he still made a plate for. The person he hugged a pillow at night to remember the touch of. He ran to you, shouting at the guards to let you go. He hugged you tightly, sharing a few tears as you hugged him back. You missed this, he missed this.

After being reunited he couldn't wait anymore, he eventually proposed with the ring he saved all that time. Sure he waited months, but you waited years and now you both could take over hell together.

[rubra-wav]

Vox HCs entry #2

Warnings/CW: discussion of toxic masculinity, SFW

A/N: just various thoughts I've had about this man.

- He is a musical theatre/drama fan

He gives me this energy so much due to how dramatic he is in general. His first instinct when Alastor comes back is to instantly make a callout on live TV in the form of song. 💀

I feel like he listens to musicals in 'secret' - but it's not actually nearly as much as a secret as he thinks it is. I feel like in general he gets very loud when he's passionate or excited about something.

I just have a mental image of him thinking nobody in Vee tower can hear him while he absolutely yells the lyrics of a song with headphones on at full volume while dancing out the choreography to the song.

He'd deny everything about it if you brought this up however. He grew up in the 50's and due to that I feel as if he would be very insecure about it. I'll elaborate more on that in the next point.

- Still has a fair few beliefs to deconstruct

He is from around the 50's time period, and due to that I feel like he would have a lot of internalised toxic masculinity.

He is on and off with Val who's obviously GNC, so I think he doesn't gaf too much about others and what they wear and do anymore

But I think he has a lot of shit he directs towards himself still.

Elaborating on the liking theatre thing and denying it: I think he would stubbornly deny it because he thinks it's 'too feminine' for himself to be interested in and that he thinks it makes him 'less of a man' and shit kinda like that.

I also think because of this he also has horrendous perspectives on showing emotion.

It is already canon that he hides behind a mask at all times, but I feel like even if he 100% trusts someone to be genuine around them he still wouldn't let himself do so due to thinking he's 'less man' if he does things like cry or directly seek any kind of support - especially emotional - outside of his usual compliment fishing behaviours.

I don't think his perspectives usually pertain to others as he's had a lot of exposure to different more up-to-date / nonconforming people with Val and Vel - but I do definitely feel like he has hella internalised bullshit.

Dating him in this aspect would be hard because you would need to be there reassuring him that it's okay to do things which society deems as 'feminine' - especially with what 1950's society deemed as being normal and abnormal for men.

He needs reassurance so bad about it.

I can see him as trying to keep up his mask of not needing any kind of help from you even when it's obvious he's cracking under whatever (pressure, overwhelm, stress, etc. Etc.)

- This man can't dress himself well for shit

(Mostly based upon past Voxtagram posts)

This man's closet outside of his usual outfits is largely button-up/polo shirts and cargo shorts with the most horrifically ugly patterns you've ever seen in your life.

The only reason his outfits look good ever is because of Vel forcing him to not dress like shit.

I can imagine him walking out of his room in a blue and red polo and black cargo shorts with a snapback on and Velvette and Valentino just looking at him in utter horror. 💀

I also like the idea of him having equally chaotic socks. Like you have the usual put together outfit he has on, but then he takes off his shoes, and they are eye shatteringly ugly with words printed on them.

It's ironic because if you date him he will be probably pissy about you dressing well going out together.

He's a hypocrite 🙏

- He doesn't like sweets

I can see him as not liking things that are sweet at all.

He absolutely takes his coffee black as well, it's the most bitterest gag-worthy flavour ever and you are terrified at how much he seems to like the taste.

The sweetest thing he does like in the way of drinks is diet coke.

I feel like he survives on energy drinks, but I don't think he enjoys them at all and just tolerates them.

He doesn't like desserts either. Maybe tiramisu but not frequently.

I can see him actually liking dark chocolate though. I feel like he likes bitter things.

He's totally an absolute cunt about it as well.

If he sees you having coffee with milk/creamer and sugar he's the type of person to go "ugh. I don't know how you can drink that." While fake gagging at you.

He's that mf

A/N I have multiple ideas for drabble/fics, but my brain decided to write this out for now.

If you like sweets a lot he would be annoying as fuck about it 100%

I'm a bit hesitant to post like full fics or drabbles as I don't want to in the moment be like 'yeah, this is great!' Then look at it the next morning and be tweaking out because it feels OOC or I could have worded things better. Perfectionism is a fucking nightmare 🗣/lh

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

the gang + socs + shepherds and how they flirt (pair them up in all your silly ways)

How the Outsiders Flirt

Ponyboy Curtis

-dude flirts with the nerdiest history/literature/media reference pick up lines

-he does it ironically. Mostly.

-“Hey y/n, you won’t need the Rosetta Stone to translate my love for you.”

-“Hi, I’m babe Lincoln, and I’m about to give you the Gettysburg undress.”

-“Call it manifest destiny, but I truly believe it’s my God-given right to acquire you.”

Johnny Cade

-I think a lot of people think Johnny is a bad/nervous flirter

-which is true if he’s trying to flirt with someone he actually likes

-I also think he would be amazing at text flirting

-but, to the gang? He’s smooth as hell

-doesn’t need pick up lines to make any gang member flustered

-Gang: “Hey Ponyboy, did I ever tell you how damn handsome you are in that?”

-Crush: “Uh- hi Y/n… *tries to muster up courage to flirt but ends up looking at invisible watch* O-oh guess I’m late gotta go!

Darry Curtis

-I think he’s awkward at it

-OKAY SO

-a lot of people think oh he’s so experienced he would be so smooth

-but let’s be so fr I think Darry maybe has the least experience in romance besides ponyboy

-because he’s juggling raising two damn children

-if that doesn’t hold you back from flirting idk what will

-but anyway

-he’s very awkward at it but the gestures are sweet and he eventually gets help with lots of coaching from soda

-“Uh-Yeah! You’re really pretty Y/n!” *insert awkward finger guns and mental facepalming*

Sodapop Curtis

-rizz king

-I’m sorry but he knows how to pull

-like the best out of all of them

-he perfected the art, he can flirt kinda dirty or innocent in a perfect balance

-but either way you’re going to be blushing 2 minutes in

-seriously he’s charming af we know this

-idc how “tough” you are you will turn into a giggling schoolgirl under his words

Dallas Winston

-he’s not respectful

-catcalling/blunt remarks about your body

-invades personal space

-dirtiest mf pick up lines

-“Hey Y/n you work at Kentucky Fried Chicken right? Because whenever I’m done with these breasts and thighs, can you give me a greasy box to put my bone in?” (Afab ver.)

-“Hey Y/n Are you an eco-friendly kind of guy? The condom in my pocket goes expires tomorrow, so why don’t you help me use it?” (Amab ver.)

Two Bit Mathew

-CHEESIEST PICK UP LINES EVER

-ARE YOU FROM TENNESSEE BECAUSE YOU’RE THE ONLY TEN I SEE TYPE SHIT

-LIKE ACTUALLY MAKES YOU LAUGH FROM CRINGE

Steve Randle

-he’s a pretty average flirter

-I think it’s like a 50/50 chance of you being either charmed or disgusted

-definitely more explicit/implying pick up lines

Cherry Valance

-sweet and wholesome

-compliments and things like that

-“Hi Y/n, you look so pretty today!”

-“Y/n that too is stunning on you!”

-“I could get lost in your eyes.”

Marcia Don’t Know Last Name

-I think she’s pretty blunt

-“Hi Y/n I really like you. Let’s date.”

Tim Shepard

-okay so you know how Wattpad men flirt? That’s this man

-flirts like he already owns you

-“His gaze darkened”

-“his voice drawled out”

-“Darling..”

-Allll that shit

-if you can imagine how a mafia boss flirts that’s him

Curly Shepard

-okay I feel like he would kinda make fun of you flirt

-like banter flirting

-tease flirting

-like you both mutually make fun of each-other and bite your lip type shit

-or it starts off teasing quickly goes to flirting

-or real spit-out-your-tea blunt shit

-“Damn, Y/n. That shirt is ugly as hell. Put it on the floor.”

Angela Shepard

-kind of like cherry but a lil more spicy

-“Damn Y/n if you wore that everyday I don’t think I could survive”

-“I like to be ontop of things. You can be one of them if you want.”

-“Y/n you’re making the sun jealous walking around like that.”

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | july 15 - july 21

50:90 – HONEY

“Maybe this sounds stupid, but I didn’t think it would be so cold at the rink,” Bea says. She’s got a thin zip-up hoodie on over a t-shirt and a pair of leggings. She’s wearing long socks because Honey told her that she needed to go change out of her Birkenstocks and put on real shoes– “like, sneakers, Bea”– so that she didn’t get frostbite.

Honey’s only been to an ice rink once, on a date with Thomas just before Christmas when they first started dating. She had been dressed for the Charlotte winter in her big puffy coat and gloves, but she had worn jeans and thin socks that day, and she thought her toes would fall off by the end of the date. They were only at the rink for an hour and she made Thomas turn the heat to 80º in his car on the drive home so that she could thaw out.

Bea definitely wouldn’t have made it through the boys’ practice in Birkenstocks. That’s why they’re in Charlotte today.

It took Trevor an hour on the phone to convince Honey to come with him to Charlotte, since Jack had invited Bea along to practice. She feels a little trapped in the city, but as long as they’re in the Coliseum, Honey isn’t looking over her shoulder the whole time. After all, it’s only the seven of them in the rink besides a few workers that are doing their own thing. The boys are on the ice and she and Bea are on the home bench, sitting and watching the boys run a passing drill.

“It also echoes a lot more than I thought,” Bea adds. “Qu– they’ll smack the ice with their sticks and it, like, reverberates.” 

Despite her correction, Honey doesn’t miss the way that Bea was going to mention Quinn by name. She also hasn’t missed how Quinn has been showing off during practice– he’s never been the type to gloat, but every time he does something well or scores on one of the others, he looks over at Bea to see if she’s been watching.

But she hasn’t been watching him. Bea has been resolutely ignoring Quinn as much as she can, only sneaking a look when he’s completely enraptured with what he’s doing in that moment. 

“Why have you been acting weird?” Honey asks, the question bursting out of her like a cannonball. “Him blue-balling you one time isn’t that big of a deal, you know.”

Bea presses her lips together and rubs a fist over one of her eyes. She sighs and turns to face Honey, swinging her leg over the bench to straddle it. “I have been giving him so much attention,” she says. “It’s messing with me, honestly. I’m so attached to him, but it’s just not reasonable for me to be this attached.”

“Why not?” Honey prods. Bea sounds much more rational than the previous morning, when she hijacked the phone call between Honey and Trevor to rant about Quinn. That’s a good sign– or maybe it’s not, because Bea’s starting to sound a little resolute about her choice. She’s always been the kind to make up her mind and stubbornly stick with her decision, even if it turns out to be the wrong one.

Bea spreads her hands out to her sides and shrugs, an ironic laugh bubbling up from her chest. “He’s leaving.”

“So, what? You can’t visit him? You can’t talk to him on the phone?” Honey demands. “There are options, Bea.”

“That’s not what I decided to do at the beginning of the summer,” Bea says.

So it is stubbornness that’s causing Bea to act this way. Honey should’ve guessed that.

“Things can change,” Honey says, scoffing a bit. “You don’t have to stick with your Slut Summer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that, Honey!” Bea snaps. She looks around to make sure none of the boys heard her outburst as they continue to practice, then she steels herself with a deep breath. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet and definite. “I like him too much. I am too attached to him. Even if I wanted it to work after this summer, it wouldn’t. That’s just the way that it is.”

“Why not?” Honey asks again. “Really. If you like him this much, then you shouldn’t have any trouble making it work outside of Litchton.”

“Honey!” Bea scrubs her hands over her face, then starts to count off the reasons against her palm, her tone sharper than it needs to be. “He lives across the country, in another country. He travels constantly. He might like me now, but I’m just some bitch from Litchton. It’s not like I’m a model from New York who understands the pace of his life.”

“Did he say that?” Honey interrupts, looking out onto the ice to Quinn. If he called Bea ‘some bitch from Litchton,’ she’ll walk across the ice right now and tackle him to the ground. Trevor would probably help her beat him up, just because it’s her, and it’s not like the other boys would stop her if she told them that he insulted Bea.

“Of course he didn’t say that, don’t be stupid,” Bea retorts. “But it’s the truth!”

“So, what? You’re just going to give up?” Honey shakes her head. “You’re going to fuck the other guys and ignore him until you like him an acceptable amount again and push your feelings for him into a dumpster that’s on fire?”

“Are you and Trevor going to stay together after the summer?” Bea asks, turning the tables on Honey with a quirk of her eyebrows. 

Honey frowns. The truth is, she doesn’t know. She has a lot of the same concerns as Bea, but despite how she felt last week during that brief– three day long– period of panic where she wanted to end things with Trevor, she doesn’t know what she wants. She likes him, but it’s the same thing: he’ll be all the way across the country and she’ll be here. “We haven’t talked about it.”

Bea laughs at Honey’s reply. “Well, Quinn and I have talked about it. It’s a one summer thing.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Honey murmurs, her frown only deepening. “I’m just saying that, if you like him, you should see if it works outside of Litchton.”

“It won’t. He won’t be around. It’ll be a seasonal relationship because his priority is hockey. I don’t want a boyfriend who’s only around for three months out of the year,” Bea says, her eyes narrowed. “And that’s it. That’s that.”

“Okay, geez,” Honey concedes. “I just don’t see what that has to do with your relationship with him now. You’re clearly upset ignoring him. He obviously feels like shit, too, but he’s not trying to cause a fuss. Why can’t you just talk to him?”

“I’m taking a break,” Bea states. 

“I don’t see how that helps you.”

“You’re the one who suggested it in the first place.”

Honey flinches back. “No, I didn’t,” she denies. “Why would I suggest that you and Quinn ‘take a break?’ You’re obsessed with each other.”

“Yeah, you did,” Bea insists. “You told me on the phone to take a break. Trevor agreed that it’s the right thing to do.”

“You’re following Trevor’s advice?” Honey sneers. “Bea, sweetheart, he’s an idiot and you don’t really like him all that much. Plus, Quinn doesn’t want to take a break from you.”

“You don’t know that.” Bea rolls her eyes.

“I do. I do know that,” Honey insists, her voice rising a bit.

“How?” Bea snaps. “How could you possibly know that?”

“He told me.”

“Great, well, he told me that he respects my decision and he agrees that it would be really hard to be together after the summer. And as much as he’s willing to try, I’m not. I like him so much that if we break up, I’m going to be miserable,” Bea says. “We’ll break up because of distance and it will change me on a fundamental level. So, we’re mutually parting ways at the end of the summer. It is the best outcome and you can’t change my mind.”

“So maybe you should suck it up and be happy with him now,” Honey bites back. “Ignoring him and making yourself miserable now isn’t going to make that ‘mutual’ breakup any easier at the end of the summer.”

Bea clenches her jaw and glares at Honey, clearly stopping herself from saying something. 

“Oh, don’t do that,” Honey scoffs. “Whatever you want to say, go ahead and say it.”

“You don’t want me to say what I’m thinking,” Bea says carefully through her teeth. “I think I’m going to go call Cece and see if she wants to grab dinner while I’m in town. She’ll drive me back to Litchton tonight. I’ll see you at work.”

Bea stands and stomps away, dialing her sister’s phone number and holding the phone to her ear. Her footsteps echo across the arena and the boys pause on the ice. 

“Hey,” Luke exclaims with a clap and a whistle to get the girl’s attention.

“Bea, where are you going?” Jack calls. 

Honey watches Quinn’s head turn as she makes her way to the doors, pushing them open with a crash and disappearing through them. Something seems to click in him and he skates toward the edge of the ice, finding an entrance and hopping up, following after her. His stilted jog on his skates is probably slower than he wants it to be, and all of his gear must be weighing him down. It’s probably going to ruin the blades of his skates, too, but he makes his way through the doors anyway.

Cole and Trevor skate up to Honey. 

“What was that about?” Trevor asks, concern written all over his face as he looks at Honey. As he surveys her, some of the tension in her shoulders melts away. His concern is for her, if she’s okay.

“Yeah, is she alright?” Cole adds, leaning over the boards on his elbows. “That was…”

“She’s fine,” Honey interrupts, words clipped and short. “She’s just calling her sister. She’ll be back in Litchton tomorrow.”

Cole nods. “Alright. Cool,” he says, taking Honey’s word as truth. That’s lucky for her– it’s good that he doesn’t pry. 

Trevor, however, is still standing in front of her, the look in his eyes much more skeptical.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Honey warns the boy.

Trevor pauses, then nods. “Okay.” He looks out onto the ice, then back to Honey. “Do you want to come skate? I can find some blades for you somewhere. I’m sure they have extras. I can go ask the equipment guy.”

Honey fully relaxes, endeared by his offer. “No, baby, I’m okay,” she says softly. “But thanks for asking. You’re almost done anyway, right?”

Trevor looks at the door to the lobby, which has been flung again upon Quinn’s return. He’s got a stormy look on his face, a scowl the likes of which Honey has never seen.“I think we’re about to be done for the day right now,” he says. “I’ll rinse off in the locker room and be out as soon as I can. We’ll pack the car and head home.”

He skates off, joining the other boys as they exit through the tunnel to the players’ locker room. Honey is left on the bench, checking her pockets to make sure she has all of her things before she stands and walks to the lobby. This rink is about twenty minutes from Bea’s house, so there’s a good chance she’s still in the lobby waiting for Cece to pick her up.

Honey should feel trepidation about being next to Bea again so soon after that argument, but there’s something about the way Trevor said ‘home,’ like Litchton really is his home. It felt like a kiss to the cheek and a squeeze of her hand. Trevor talks to her like they’re together-together, like they share a space, and it gives her butterflies.

Just like she thought, Bea is in the lobby. She’s sitting on a bench near the water fountains, arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown etched onto her face. She looks at Honey when she walks through the doors, but just tilts her head up defiantly.

Honey gets the message. Bea doesn’t want to talk anymore. Good– neither does Honey.

She turns her back to the girl, reading the fliers posted on the bulletin board over and over, as if there will be new information the next go around. Anything to avoid having to sit next to an angry Bea.

Whatever she wanted to say, but held herself back from spouting, must have been too mean. Honey understands. She’s seen Bea put the nail in the coffin of an argument before, even experienced it a few times herself. It’s never good and Bea always regrets saying it. It was her New Year’s Resolution last year to work on that, and she’s done pretty well.

A car horn sounds outside. Honey looks to the entrance. She recognizes the vehicle– it’s the old ‘Wagon’ that Bea’s dad used to drive. He passed it down to each of his girls, so Cece has it now. It’s not an actual Station Wagon, but it’s big like one, so that’s why they call it that.

Bea stands and heads toward the exit, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. She pauses at the door.

“We’re going to House of Pizza,” she says, voice hard. “Do you want me to say hello from you? If I see them?”

She’s referring to Honey’s parents. It used to be a tradition to go to House of Pizza on Mondays after school, to celebrate a good start to the week. Honey would get a side of fries to go with the pizza that she’d share with her mom and dad, who always left work early on Mondays to pick her up. Her dad always swore he didn’t want any pizza. He’d order a meatball sub and scarf the whole thing down, then eat two slices anyway. Every single time. 

Honey’s heart seizes for a second and she swallows. “Sure,” she replies, her voice feeling foreign. “If you see them.”

Bea nods once and leaves.

Honey takes her place on the bench. Her mind is racing. She traces the back of her teeth with the tip of her tongue.

Do they still go, now that I’m gone? Are they able to do that without me?

Honey doesn’t think she would be able to go to House of Pizza without her mom and dad if things were the other way around. There are too many memories with them there. 

There are too many memories in Charlotte, now that she thinks about it. It’s weird that she’s here. There are people in this city that knew her before Litchton. This is where her childhood cat is buried and her dad’s favorite dog. Honey has to take a deep breath before she feels suffocated by how fresh all of her memories still feel.

It’s lucky that Trevor comes out of the locker room with his gear as she exhales. His hair is a little wet and his clothes are sticking to his body, folding over awkwardly with the bag that’s thrown over his shoulder.

He’s alone, so when Honey stands to greet him, he leans in and pecks her mouth. “The other boys are going to throw their stuff in the back themselves,” he says. “So we can go sit in the AC. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Honey confirms. “We just got in a fight.”

“What about?” Trevor asks.

“Quinn,” Honey tells him with a shrug. “It’s fine. We just have different opinions about their situation.”

“Yeah,” Trevor says. “I figured it was something like that. I’m sorry you got into a fight.” They walk towards the exit and Trevor holds the door open for Honey. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Next time, don’t tell Bea to take a break from Quinn,” Honey replies with a chuckle.

“But that’s what you said.” Trevor sounds confused.

“I never told her to take a break from him,” Honey tells him. “But she seems to think that I did, too.”

“You told her to take a break from ‘all of this for a minute,’” Trevor says, using air-quotes. 

“Oh,” Honey breathes out. She does remember saying that, just to console Bea. She meant for her to take a deep breath and distract herself for a little while, just to put the emotional spiral aside. “Trev, I didn’t mean Quinn. I just needed her to ground herself so we could talk it out rationally later.”

“Oh.” Trevor blushes. “My bad.”

Honey laughs. She shakes her head. At the car, once he places his bag inside the trunk and they climb into the driver and passenger seats, Honey leans over the console to press a kiss against his lips. “‘s okay,” she murmurs, kissing him once more before the boys arrive. “They can’t stay away from each other long, no matter how much she insists. I bet by the end of the week, we’re back to gagging about their public displays of affection.”

“Oh, their ‘PDA,’ if you will… I better enjoy this while I can,” Trevor quips back, reaching for the radio to change the station to something that isn’t yelling about an advertisement. 

“And Jack better milk the shit out of it,” Honey adds, which makes Trevor laugh. He laughs even harder when Jack exits the building and puts his bag in the back of the car, but Trevor doesn’t explain himself. Jack just narrows his eyes suspiciously and uses his stick to reach across the backseat and poke Trevor in the back of the head. It turns into a brotherly spat, which eventually calms once the other three exit the building and break it up.

With a final promise to see them in Litchton, Honey and Trevor are left alone in the car for an entire ninety minutes. Despite his best efforts, Honey refuses to give Trevor road-head and won’t allow him to finger her while he’s driving. Finally, when he gives up, she gets to listen to him sing off-tune the whole way to the fruit stand for her usual shopping spree, then all the way home.

51:90 – TREVOR

With a final tap to the 8-ball, Trevor loses yet another game of pool to Luke. He was supposed to see Honey tonight at her place, but she texted him earlier saying that Jessie had a family emergency and she and Tyler had to run to the hospital, possibly for the night. Honey was asked to babysit little Luca and, being the kind-hearted girl she is, she said yes.

Trevor can’t really be mad at her for helping them out, but he was looking forward to cuddling with her and having a slumber party in his girlfriend’s bed. 

Because he can’t do that, he’s in the basement with the boys, playing pool and listening to music and talking about random shit. 

Now that Trevor is free from the confines of the pool table, he flops down on the couch. He sits beside Cole, tucked away into the corner near the armchair where Quinn rests. Luke calls for Jack to take Trevor’s place at the table and the boy goes willingly, although his eyes slide over the movie on the screen. Talladega Nights. 

It’s been a fan favorite among the boys of the lake house for years. Of course it is– Will Ferrell, racing, pretty girls, raunchy humor. At one point in their lives, it was each of their favorites. Whether it be because of the moment that Carley Bobby flashed her tits or because of the stupidity of the film, they all loved it.

Jack seems more reluctant than most to leave the movie behind to play pool. After all, it’s still one of his favorites, easily a top five pick. Quinn’s barely paying attention, just watching the movie with a half-interested flicker of light in his eyes. Cole is much more interested, mouthing the words along with the characters on the screen. Trevor falls in with them, able to pick up the story easily after years of watching it over and over again. It never gets old.

“Hey, let me see your phone,” Quinn murmurs, reaching out with his foot to kick at Trevor’s knee. 

Trevor fishes it out of his pocket. “After the way she snapped at you yesterday when you went after her, I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Quinn fixes him with a glare, then returns to the phone without saying anything. 

“Hey, if she doesn’t want to see him, then maybe she’ll come over and see me,” Cole interjects, putting an unnecessary twang on his words just because it’s the way Ricky Bobby speaks. 

Quinn ignores him, staring at the phone. Then, Trevor watches him shift his eyes to the side and bite his tongue before he tosses the phone into Trevor’s lap. “She doesn’t want to come over at all,” he says. “Says it’s too late for her to come over on a work night.”

Cole laughs. “Yeah, sure, ‘cause she hasn’t slept over on a work night before. You’re down in the dumps, Q.”

Quinn grits his teeth, but stays silent.

“Let me text her, Z,” Cole says, reaching for the phone. “Bet she’ll come over if I ask.”

Under normal circumstances, Trevor would absolutely hand his phone over to Cole to see if Bea comes running. Today? That’s too cruel. Especially because, as Honey revealed last night, he completely misinterpreted her advice to “take a break” and turned it into something bigger than she intended. Plus, his actions caused Honey and Bea to have a fight. He doesn’t like that.

“Nah, bud, just let it be. Listen to Ricky Bobby, he’s learning a lesson right now.” Trevor tucks his phone away again and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. He prods his arm up on the plush pillow next to him and cradles his head against his fist.

He succeeds in distracting Cole, who is as easy as a crow spotting something shiny, but Trevor still feels weird about the dark glare that is cemented on Quinn’s face. He still sits in the armchair– a better man than Trevor. 

If Honey broke up with him, even for a few days, he wouldn’t be seen outside of his bedroom until their problems were solved. He’d sulk the whole day long, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. Trevor’s always the first to remind people that he is not the person with the world’s best attitude, even though he’s doing a lot better at controlling himself than when he was a teenager. 

He’s even gotten better at admitting defeat and apologizing when he’s wrong. This situation calls for that.

“Look, man, I’m sorry about what’s happening with Bea,” Trevor says to Quinn, who gives no indication that he’s listening. Belatedly, he adds, “I feel bad.”

“Why would you feel bad,” Quinn replies with a grunt, patience already thin. Trevor should have thought this through.

Trevor groans in the back of his throat, having been caught in a pickle. He could lie and say that he feels bad in general, but when they patch up, Bea will tell Quinn that it was Trevor’s idea all along. He may as well get it over with. He ducks his head. “I was the one who suggested that she take a break from you for a couple of days.”

A hush falls over the room and everything seems to go still. Even though Talladega Nights plays on, it’s impossible to hear over the suspense of the moment, the anticipation for Quinn’s– likely negative– reaction. Even Cole is quiet and the pool players have frozen in place momentarily. Luke was half-bent over, ready to take his next shot, but he straightens up and watches Quinn. Jack’s holding his cue up in front of him, arms crossed atop it like a hug with one of his fingers touching his teeth and another pinching at his lower lip. His eyes are wide and they’re darting back and forth between Trevor and Quinn. He starts to chew on his fingernail, a tic that has always comforted him in moments like this.

“What,” Quinn states, his head seeming to turn towards Trevor in slow motion, looking like the movement should be joined by the long creak of an old door in a horror movie.

“To be fair, Honey suggested it first,” Trevor says. “But I�� misinterpreted what she meant.”

A tight smile comes across Quinn’s face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Those are dark, sharp, and deadly, not complacent like his smile. “Let’s go upstairs, Trevor.”

Trevor looks at the other boys, all of whom avert their eyes. He’ll receive no backup down here. Thanks a lot, guys, he thinks. However, he makes no move to get up. “No, we should– let’s talk here.” At least here there are witnesses if anything happens to him, like a broken bone. After all, it was Quinn that broke Jack’s wrist in a scuffle all those years ago, and that was just when they were kids. Imagine what he can do to Trevor now.

“No, I think you want to go upstairs,” Quinn says with a slow nod, not blinking once as he stares at Trevor. He cocks his head slightly to the side. “Unless you want to talk about that girl that you’ve been seeing. From Raya, right? I think it’s only fair that I get to weigh in on your relationship, since you’ve made a problem in mine.”

Trevor sees through the implication, the threat, and feels his mouth go dry. Quinn wouldn’t dare tell everyone about what’s going on between him and Honey. Trevor can only imagine how pale he looks. He shakes his head.

Quinn nods again, narrowing his eyes at Trevor. “That’s what I thought,” he says sarcastically. He stands. “Let’s go.”

Trevor, feeling meek, follows with his tail between his legs. He thought he was being nice, apologizing to Quinn for the break. He was owning up, and all of that– and this is what his honesty and empathy gets him?

Quinn doesn’t stop at the first floor. He climbs the stairs to the second floor, where all of their bedrooms are, and he stops in front of Trevor’s door.

“What exactly happened?” Quinn questions, crossing his arms over his chest and blocking the entrance to Trevor’s safe haven. His voice is cold, devoid of emotion, and Trevor honestly would rather him throw something or even wind up to punch Trevor.

“It was the morning after the hot tub,” Trevor says. “She barged into my room looking for Honey. She made me call her. She talked, Honey told her to take a break and that she’d see Bea soon.” Trevor looks down at his shoes. “Then Bea asked me if I thought Honey was right, that she should take a break. I thought Honey meant an actual break, not just a few hours to calm down before dealing with the problem. I said yes.”

Quinn’s nostrils flare and his mouth pinches together, about to say something.

“But I also told her that your relationship with her is better than other relationships you’ve had,” Trevor adds, covering up his mess. “And that you seem happier with her than you are with anyone else.”

“You did,” Quinn says. He nods a few times. “What makes you think that you get to talk to her about my other relationships? Why didn’t you send her to me?”

“She didn’t want to see you,” Trevor replies. “After… what happened the night before.” He doesn’t want to explicitly bring up Quinn’s inability to perform.

Quinn’s face darkens. 

Well, it can’t get worse than this. “And she’s worried that you regret this. That you– that she’s not what you want.” Trevor takes a breath, but no more words leak out of him. 

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose and curses under his breath. He looks up. “She thinks that,” he states. He starts to laugh. “And instead of telling her that I don’t want that, you told her to take a break and figure it out?”

“How was I supposed to know how you felt?” Trevor demands. “I can’t give her advice about you!”

“Oh, but you did,” Quinn points out. “You have given her advice about me. Some therapist you are, Trevor. You’ve seen how I was with Liv, you were there while I dated my girlfriends in Michigan, and you seriously thought that I would be okay with taking a break from Bea?”

Trevor flounders for an answer, but comes up with nothing. He shrugs helplessly. 

Quinn reaches behind him and opens Trevor’s bedroom door. He steps forward and takes Trevor by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer. 

“If you fuck this up for me again,” he threatens lowly. “I’ll kill you.” He smiles, sealing his promise, and sends Trevor stumbling into his bedroom. Before Quinn closes the door on him, he adds, “You’re lucky that I like Honey. Otherwise, I’d have no problem fucking that up for you, too.”

He slams the door shut and walks away. Trevor can hear him stomping down the hallway, then down the stairs, then the slam of the front door. It isn’t long after that Trevor hears Quinn drive away.

He checks the time. With shaky hands, he finds Honey’s number and clicks on it, lifting the phone to his ear. She said Luca usually goes to bed around 8. It’s 8:45 now, so she should be free. 

She picks up just as he’s about to pull away and hang up, cutting his losses. “Hello?” She asks, a smile already evident in her voice. 

“I’m an idiot,” Trevor says.

Honey laughs aloud, then claps a hand over her mouth. She’s able to quiet herself down, snickering as she says, “Yeah, sweetheart, I already knew that.”

‘Sweetheart.’ That’s a new one. Trevor bats his smile away. Now is not the time to be blushing over a nickname from the girl he likes. “I told Quinn that I was the one who told Bea to take a break from him.”

Honey is quiet on the other end of the call. “You really are an idiot.”

“I know,” Trevor groans. “He was so mad, I thought he was going to punch me.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t.”

“He said if I ever meddled in his relationship again, he’d kill me.”

Honey hums. “Well, that’s nice. For Bea, I guess. That he’s willing to kill for her.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might just hate me?”

Laughter fills his ears again. “He doesn’t hate you, Trevor.”

“I’m not exactly feeling the love over here,” Trevor complains.

Honey pauses. Her voice returns, sounding like she’s suppressing another round of giggles. “Would you like to?”

Trevor furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head at himself in the mirror and tossing his hand up in a confused gesture. ‘What?’ he mouths to himself. “Feel the love?” He asks into the phone. “I’d prefer it if Quinn wasn’t threatening me–”

“Not from Quinn, baby,” Honey sighs. “Luca’s down for the night and I’m all alone downstairs… I missed you tonight. We could’ve been in bed.”

Trevor perks up. “You missed me?”

“Hard not to. I see you all the time. It’s weird, canceling plans with you.”

A smug smile makes its way across Trevor’s lips. “What part did you miss most?” He teases.

“I was kind of counting on your cock, actually,” Honey says conversationally, like that’s not a sentence that would have Trevor spitting out his water (if he were drinking any). The blood from his brain already seems to be rushing to the exact appendage that Honey mentioned. “Had a bad day at work. Barely talked to Bea at all.” She’s pouting for effect, Trevor can hear it through the tinny speaker. “Thought it would make me feel better to hear all those pretty noises you make when I get my lips around you.”

Her lips. Her bright, shiny, pink lips. The image fills Trevor’s brain, sluggish from the blood leaving it and making his nerves stand on end, and the best he can manage is an “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Honey confirms. “But I’ll have to settle for my imagination, I guess.”

She sounds dejected, like her heart is broken by disappointment, and Trevor just can’t have that. Sure, maybe she’s playing him like a fiddle, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “No,” he tells her. “No. We– fuck, Honey, I’m hard just hearing you talk like that.”

“Aww, you like it when I talk dirty to you?” Honey teases. 

Trevor hums out a response, but Honey didn’t need it.

“Why don’t you let me hear just how much you like it?” She asks. 

It’s just like Trevor’s dream, when he would get so close to fucking her on the boat before he’d wake. She would tease him in her devoted way, although it’s clear through her voice that he’s completely at her power. 

“Are you going to–” Trevor starts to ask, but it’s a stupid question. She’s definitely not going to get off while she’s in Jessie and Tyler’s house, while she’s technically still babysitting Luca. 

“No, not now. But I need something to occupy my mind later, once I’m home in my cozy bed.” She lowers her voice. “I’m ovulating again, you know. It’s been driving me crazy all day. I almost checked out a book from the romance section before I remembered that the real thing is just a few minutes away.”

Trevor’s already walking back to his own bed. He settles among the pillows, a hand on his waistband, ready to take his shorts off as soon as Honey says.

“Ovulating, huh?” He asks, hearing himself through a fog. “So, you’re–”

“Really, really horny,” Honey faux-complains, trying to garner sympathy from Trevor. She tries to make it sound like a problem, but it’s not– not for him. She wants to fuck him, bad. She’s working, technically, but she’s calling to hear him come so that she can get off to it later. 

Trevor cannot believe his luck. Here he was thinking that he’d be dead by the end of his conversation with Quinn, but his girlfriend is on the line making him feel better in the best way possible.

“Fuck, wish I could hear you, too,” Trevor admits sheepishly. “Wish I was in your bed. Want you to touch me.”

“Mm, do you already have a hand on yourself?” Honey asks.

Trevor shakes his head, then remembers that he has to actually respond to her. “No.”

“Go on,” Honey encourages.

Trevor pushes his shorts and underpants down to his knees with a slight struggle, trying to hold the phone between his shoulder and ear. “‘Kay,” he says once he’s wrapped his left hand around his length. It brings a little reprieve and he has to stop before he starts to stroke himself without her explicitly telling him to do so.

“You know what I’d do if I was there?” Honey asks. 

“Tell me.”

“Rub my thumb over your tip,” she says. “Then lick up all the precum that comes out while I rub you. Haven’t tasted you in so long, Trevor. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like.”

Come to think of it, it has been a long time since his dick was in Honey’s mouth. She refused his requests for road head yesterday, and she certainly hadn’t sucked him off in the hot tub. Did she blow him when they were high? He doesn’t remember.

“But I think once I taste you again, I won’t want to keep my mouth off of you,” Honey ponders. “I’ll want to keep you in my mouth until you’re coming down my throat for a second time.”

Trevor’s lips part and he lets out a desperate groan, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. His thumb passes over his slit, just like she said she would do. With his eyes closed, he can almost picture her here.

“There are those pretty noises,” she marvels. 

Does Trevor detect fondness in her words? He’s already too far gone to decide, but his first instinct is that yes, it is. It’s more– she’s proud.

“For you,” he murmurs, losing control of his mouth.

Honey breathes in, her breath jumping through the phone. “Oh, yeah? All for me?”

“Wanna make you happy,” Trevor continues.

Behind his closed eyes, she’s smiling up at him as she pumps his cock, pressing a kiss to his shaft and leaving behind a slight sheen of lipgloss in its place, which disappears as her hand continues to move.

Her voice fills his ears and he imagines her face when she’s trying not to smile, trying not to show that she’s pleased with his words. It’s the same face she made yesterday at the rink, when he offered to find some skates for her– her lips quirking up into a kind-of ‘v’ shape because no matter how much she tries to avoid the smile, it comes anyway.

“You do,” she offers simply. Her voice is sweet, serious even, before it turns raunchy again. “I wish I were there, too, baby.”

Baby, baby…

“Remember when Cole dared me to lick the whipped cream off of you?”

“Uh-huh,” Trevor replies, able to come back to himself for a second when she mentions Cole. He doesn’t want this to end so quickly, so the mention of his friend is welcome, even if it’s a little weird.

“I think if he dared me to do it again, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, and I’d have to suck you off right then,” Honey says.

“You– you put your fingers in my waistband,” Trevor chokes out, feeling the phantom touch, the memory of her fingers against his abdomen. They were so low, so near to his cock, and she did it mindlessly. If she were here, she’d make a point to touch his v-line now. She’d run her finger over it, barely, just enough to have his skin crawling. “Didn’t even think about it. I wanted you to.”

“Hm, I know you did,” she teases. “I could see it on your face.”

“Dreamt about it,” Trevor adds. “Got off thinking about it.”

Honey makes a noise of surprise. “You did?” She asks. “So you’ve been fucking your fist, picturing me, since the second week of summer?”

It’s humiliating, but it’s true. Trevor doesn’t care anymore. He has her, anyway. They’re together. She’s his and he’s hers, always has been since the second he bumped into her outside the fruit stand.

“Wanted you for so long,” Trevor says. “Need you.”

“You have me,” Honey replies. It’s nowhere close to a promise, nor a confirmation that they’re together the way Trevor wants them to be and tells himself they are, but her words have him seeing stars. “I’m right here, baby.”

Trevor keens. His hand practically flies over his cock, leaking and dripping and twitching as she continues to talk about how pretty he sounds and how much she wishes that he was with her right now. She compliments him in all sorts of ways, but her use of ‘baby’ and ‘sweetheart’ echo through his head over everything. 

The nail in the coffin comes quickly, too quickly for Trevor to process. She says it and he’s spilling over his hand, crying out in a way that would be pathetic if he could hear it over her light laughter and the rush of blood through his eardrums.

Her words ring in his head, replacing the ‘babies’ and the ‘sweethearts’ with “Want you to paint my face with your cum, Trevor. It’ll look so pretty on my tongue.”

He doesn’t remember talking to her after that. Trevor barely remembers pulling his pants up or falling asleep, and yet, he drifts off and his dreams are full of Honey getting exactly what she wanted. It’s an endless loop. Nothing exists for Trevor except Honey– not in his dreams, and if he has it his way, he’ll luck out and be stuck with her forever. It’s almost a shame he has to wake the following day, the only consolation being the promise of the real thing.

52:90 – HONEY

After two days of faux-cordial, one-sentence answers from Bea, the girl has finally apologized for her outburst at the rink. Honey tried to do the same and apologize for pressing Bea for answers, but she just waved Honey off. 

“Emotions were high,” Bea had said with a shrug. “I can’t blame you for getting frustrated. I’ve been so mad at myself for the past couple of days and it hasn’t been easy for anyone.”

“Should we talk about it?” Honey had asked, a slight grimace on her face. “And maybe keep it under control this time?”

Bea chuckled at Honey in a self-deprecating way, rolling her eyes. “Oh, fuck off. I’m much calmer now. Cece and I had a nice long chat about it. We even phoned Trixie in from Topsail. All the McLean sisters, back together again, solving the world’s problems.”

“Really?” Honey asked. “How is Trix?”

Ada shushed them, then asked why they weren’t working, and the conversation ended there. 

It would continue later: Bea left Honey a note at the cash register in her loopy handwriting, saying that they should get margaritas at the dingy Mexican restaurant in town that no one remembers the name of, so they all just call it ‘Mexico.’ On Wednesdays, they have $15 pitchers of margaritas. Honey has never been one to turn down Mexico and Margs.

So, after work, that’s where they go. Mexico is near the grocery store, even shares a parking lot with the brick building that Honey visits every Monday. They walk from the Nook– it’s maybe a block and a half– and they appreciate the exercise anyway. They share a pitcher of the mango margarita and Bea orders fajitas while Honey orders her usual ACP with extra tortillas on the side. 

“So I haven’t been hiding details from you, but there are things I haven’t told you,” Bea starts, gesturing with her fork once the food arrives. 

“Like how you decided you’d keep it casual because he wasn’t over Liv,” Honey says. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that.”

Bea ducks her head and swirls her drink with her straw. “Yeah. I didn’t really– I don’t think I quite believed him until we talked about her on Friday. After the party. After we went to bed.”

“What did he say?” Honey asks.

“You know I’m not an insecure person,” Bea says. Honey nods, confirming her reminder. “I just can’t get over that Quinn was with a model before me. I feel like he left that out on purpose when he said he missed her sometimes. How often is ‘sometimes’ anyway?”

Honey shrugs. “Too vague to tell. I think that’s the purpose of the word.”

“Yeah. But… yes,” Bea shakes her head, trying to get her story together in a coherent way. “When Quinn and I first had our conversation about the Slut Summer, he told me he had just gotten out of a relationship, right?”

“Right,” Honey agrees. Bea had told her that part.

“Then, he tells me he’s not sure if he wants to get back together with her when he sees her again.” Bea spreads her hands on the table, pausing to suck up a sip of margarita from her straw. She clears her throat. “Again, this was before I started… liking… him. So at the time, it was fine! I wanted to fuck his brothers and one of his best friends, so who cares if he gets back together with his ex girlfriend?”

“A few weeks later, you start falling for him, and suddenly you care that he isn’t sure if he wants to get back together with her,” Honey says. 

“Exactly,” Bea states, sitting back against the vinyl booth behind her. There’s a parrot painted on the booth near her shoulder. If she moves over just an inch, it’ll look like it’s her pet and she brought it to the restaurant with her. Honey will have to take a picture for her when they’re having a less serious conversation. 

“So what happened when you talked about her?” Honey asks.

“Quinn broke up with her because she wasn’t ready for marriage and babies,” Bea tells her. “Babies, Honey,” she repeats. “I’m not ready for a fucking baby. I certainly wasn’t hooking up with any of them to marry and have babies.”

“That’s crazy,” Honey says, matching Bea’s tone to validate her feelings. She’s right– Honey can’t imagine getting married and having babies right now.

Her mind drifts to Trevor and his guest appearance at Story Time, to the little girl who pulled herself up by his pant leg and reached for his teeth. She imagines his stupid, silly, overdramatic face as he shows the illustrations to the baby. 

Before she can help it, she’s imagining him in a rocking chair in her house, in the little nook behind the loft stairs that was her nursery when she was young. There’s a baby on his lap, resolutely ignoring the book in his hands, touching his cheeks and trying to poke at his eyes. She imagines Trevor snickering and blowing a raspberry on the baby’s rosy cheek. Suddenly, in her mind, he’s wearing a wedding ring.

“What’s crazier,” Bea interrupts her thoughts with wide eyes to emphasize the word, “Is that at the rink when he followed me, he apologized for making me so upset and he asked if we could talk. I said no, because– well, you know why– and he told me he loved me.”

Honey’s jaw drops. “What?” She demands. “What? In what context? How did he get to that?”

“I don’t know!” Bea exclaims, throwing her hands up. “He loves me? We’ve been fucking for seven weeks! We’ve only known each other for seven weeks! I’ve been a fucking whore this entire summer and still, he loves me?”

“To be fair,” Honey says, trying to speak nonchalantly. “It’s really isolated up here. A week feels like a month, sometimes. Litchton time is different. To him, it probably feels like you’ve been together for ages.”

“But, the thing is, we’re not really together. Like, yeah, it’s special, whatever– but I’m fucking his brother.”

Honey watches a middle aged woman from the table behind them cast a look in their direction.

“Lower your voice,” she murmurs, gesturing around them.

“Sorry,” Bea says, calming down. “It’s just a lot.” She brushes her hair out of her face and takes another sip of her drink, then crouches down to lick some of the salt off of the rim of the glass. “Could you imagine? If Trevor told you he loved you right now, what would you do?”

Honey ponders the question, but comes up with nothing. To be honest, if Trevor told her that he loved her right now, she’d spit out her margarita and probably accidentally get it in his eyes.

“Naturally, I told him that I can’t deal with this right now,” Bea continues. “How do I even reply to that? ‘Sorry Quinn, I’m taking a break from you because I like you too much. I don’t love you back, but I like you too much and I might start loving you back if I’m not careful.’ Like, what the fuck is that?” She demands. “Inadequate, is what it is.”

“Do you really think he loves you or did he, like, just say it to get you to talk to him,” Honey points out. “Because you haven’t been talking to him at all. Maybe desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I don’t think Quinn would say something like that just for kicks,” Bea says. “Or just to get me to talk to him. I think he means it, and, well… you know. I’ve never loved someone before, I don’t know what that’s like. It’s not like I can say it back.”

“Ah, yes, the age-old Bea dilemma,” Honey teases. “I always knew that you dating all these men for a few months, then breaking up with them just before it gets serious, would land you in trouble someday. The heartbreaker gets her comeuppance.”

“You are so not funny,” Bea scolds. “This is Quinn we’re talking about, Honey. Quinn Hughes. He is the closest thing I have ever had to an actual boyfriend. You know I’ve never been with anyone like this. I never expected to be with anyone like this. The closest thing I can compare him to is Thomas. Not in the sense that Quinn will act like he did, but like… Quinn will change everything for me. He already has. I–” She loses her words, shaking her head rapidly and tapping her fingers against the tabletop. She takes a deep breath like she’s about to speak, then deflates.

The mention of Thomas is enough to stop the conversation temporarily. Honey is lucky that their food arrives and they can take a break to scarf down a few bites. It gives Honey time to think and time to steer the conversation away from her least favorite subject. Bea rarely ever brings Thomas up, so invoking his name adds a seriousness and somber quality to the conversation that it didn't have before. The time with her food gives Honey a chance to form an adequate response– well, a question.

“So, what are you worried about?” Honey asks. “I mean, he likes you, clearly. You like him. Take everything else out of the equation– what’s stopping you from being with him?”

Bea stares at Honey, chewing her fajitas until they’re mush and wiping her lips with the napkin before she replies. She’s sheepish and shy when she speaks, almost embarrassed. Honey has never seen Bea look embarrassed, in all seventeen years of knowing her.

“I am so afraid,” Bea breathes out, her eyebrows furrowed as if in disbelief. She presses her lips together, licks them, and shakes her head again. Slower, this time. More sad. “Of– losing him? And, no offense, but of being as sad and ruined as you were when you lost your first… love? Boyfriend? Whatever we call him nowadays?”

Honey snorts. “No offense taken.”

“I keep getting stuck on the idea that our relationship can only work here, and now. He has a whole life out there. He didn’t know that I existed two months ago– who’s to say that he’ll remember me two months after he leaves?” Bea shrugs, scoffing slightly at her own imagination before she speaks. “Maybe I’ll just be the girl he was hooking up with for a summer. A funny story for his friends and teammates– that he was sleeping with me, but Jack was too.”

“He wouldn’t talk about you like that,” Honey tells her, reaching a hand out to touch hers across the table. “And you know he wouldn’t forget you.”

“It’s not just that,” Bea mumbles. “You know how I get. I had a plan.” She blinks, eyes a little wet. “I’m not in Litchton to fall in love with some guy. I’m in Litchton for you. My relationships are a little treat along the way.”

Ah, yes. Bea’s plan– to spend her time in Litchton trying to teach Honey how to let herself have fun again. It’s why she joined Honey when she moved, and not just because Honey asked. Bea saw how upset she was over Thomas, how completely broken and shattered it left Honey (although Bea used the words “sad” and “ruined”), and vowed that the same thing would never happen again on her watch. She tried to lead by example, by living her life and getting dates and dragging Honey out and having fun, always giving her the option to join in but never pushing. The boys this summer were a twist of fate– for both of them.

“You know, Trevor’s really great,” Honey says softly. “He gets me. Your plan worked. You don't have to stay in town just for me.”

‘Home,’ he had said the other day. He had meant it. Honey thinks that Litchton, without Trevor, isn’t home anymore. Her house, without Trevor in her bed, isn’t home anymore.

“Quinn gets you,” she continues. “I believe it, that he loves you. I think you could love him back. Things can change, you know– I want you to be happy.” Honey feels her throat start to close up with the threat of tears. “I don’t want you to miss out on him because you’re still determined to help me.”

Bea nods. She’s biting her lip to stop it from shaking– and failing.

“I really think you should let him love you,” Honey says. “You can’t keep ignoring him. At least talk to him– you don’t have to stop what you’re doing now, but maybe you could keep in touch with him when he leaves.”

Bea winces. “I can’t,” she mumbles. “I bawled in House of Pizza about it. The waiter had to ask Cece if I was okay. You should see the way he lights up when he talks about Vancouver. He loves it so much but I just can’t move there, not now. I can’t uproot my life for a guy. But– knowing that he’s so far away… and not being able to be with him… I’ll fall apart either way, but especially if I hear his voice through the phone. I think talking to him when he's not here would just make me miss him more. It’s cruel. That I got a taste of him and he’s going to be my One That Got Away.”

“I can’t do anything to change your mind?” Honey asks, feeling helpless. Her face has certainly crumbled, ugly lines marring it as she feels for her friend.

Bea blinks a tear away and purses her lips, shaking her head. “I know myself,” she says resolutely. “It just wouldn’t work. And then he’d be the one that I…” A breath. “Well, I'd just rather be here and have you with me, to help put me back together when it ends.” She takes another breath, sharper this time. She straightens up and pushes her hair back, wiping under her eyes. “Fuck, so serious,” Bea says, changing the subject abruptly, signaling that she's done with this topic. “I hate it when tequila makes me emotional.”

Honey isn’t happy with where the conversation has ended, but she understands what Bea’s saying. Losing Quinn would be a heartbreak she can’t bounce back from, but letting Quinn go? That Bea can live with.

Honey suddenly realizes that she and Trevor have a lot to talk about over the next few weeks. No– she doesn’t want to have this conversation with Trevor and realize that he’s someone who is rapidly slipping through her fingertips, even though she has him now. She likes him and she wants to keep liking him. She doesn’t want to think about what will happen when he leaves every single time they’re together, not the way that it seems Bea is doing whenever she’s near Quinn.

Honey will have to make the most of it. Trevor’s departure– well, she’ll just have to see where the wind takes her. She’s got over a month left with him. She’s going to make the most of it.

53:90 – TREVOR

“No, dude, there’s no fucking way we miss out on the playoffs this year,” Cole argues, waving his fork at Jack menacingly. “I don’t care if there are two Hughes brothers on the Devils. Habs are going all the way to the Cup this year.”

“You fucking wish,” Luke chirps. “Montréal hasn’t won the Cup since ‘93, bro. We won the Cup more recently than you and we’re a better team. Ask anyone.”

“Ask anyone?” Cole demands, scoffing. “Let’s talk legacy, bro. The Devs are nothing.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jack says through a bite of his steak. “The Habs were bottom-five last year, dude. Arizona was better than you, and they don’t even exist anymore. The only one here who’s worse than you is Trevor.”

“Hey, we’re in our rebuild,” Trevor argues. “And we’ve been trading our good players, too.”

“You’re just still upset that your boyfriend isn’t on the team anymore,” Jack laughs. “At least you have Turcs nearby. Can’t believe he’d rather hang out with his girlfriend in LA this summer than with us–”

They all jolt as the front door swings open upstairs. The boys look around at each other. Even Quinn, who had been stabbing at the steak and salad on his plate silently while the boys bickered, snaps his head up to meet their eyes. Cole points to each of the boys, counting them off silently. They’re all here, so Trevor’s alarmed– who could possibly be at the door. 

He grabs his steak knife, gripping the handle of the utensil like he’s ready to use it in self defense. The boys listen as footsteps travel across the floor above them. They near the basement door and that, too, swings open. 

Cole, probably with the best self-preservation instincts (or a “flight” response compared to Trevor’s “grab-a-knife-and-fight” response), scrambles out of his chair and books it toward the glass sliding door. He doesn’t seem to remember that the glass door is the only door that they keep locked when they’re all home, so he tugs at the handle fruitlessly as the footsteps grow nearer. At the last second, he crouches for cover behind the pool table.

The other boys are not so concerned. Yes, Quinn’s got a light hand on his fork, equally ready to use that as a weapon, and Luke has his phone in his hand like he’s ready to call someone. Jack, however, just squints at the base of the stairs and continues to chew his food, even lifting another bite to his mouth. 

The improvised weaponry and Luke’s phone are deemed unnecessary as the intruders descend into the basement. It’s just Honey and Bea. 

“Oh,” Luke says, blinking in surprise and putting his phone away.

“‘Sup?” Jack asks, then lowers his eyes back to his plate and chooses another piece of steak to bring to his mouth. Even worse, he stabs a few pieces of lettuce from his salad, smothered in ranch, and pops those in his mouth before he’s done chewing the meat. 

Trevor curls his lip in disgust. He’s all for scarfing a meal down– but ranch and steak? No thanks.

“Hi, boys,” Bea greets calmly. “Good dinner?”

Jack nods, humming. He’s still chewing. “Yummy,” he mumbles. “Q outdid himself.”

Quinn returns to his food as well, shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly like he can brush the compliment away. He pushes the salad around his plate, avoiding Bea’s eyes.

“Well, he’s the best cook in the house,” Bea replies. “Without him, you guys would be lost.”

Trevor frowns in confusion. This is new. It’s the first time that she’s acknowledged Quinn since Sunday– since Trevor told her to take a break. 

Quinn seems to realize the same thing, setting his fork down and blinking up at the girls.

Honey is trying to hold back a smile, her arms crossed over her chest. She hovers slightly behind Bea, who is wringing her hands and chewing on her bottom lip. She swallows, clearing her throat. She makes eye contact with Quinn briefly, then looks down.

“Um– can we talk?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. She presses her lips together like Quinn would ever say ‘no’ to her, nervous for his reply.

Trevor thinks Quinn isn’t quite sure what to say, since his answer is just a stilted nod and a disbelieving exhale of laughter, sparking a slight smile. He nods, clearing his own throat and moving his plate away. He sets it on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his shorts before he gets up. 

Bea is beaming to herself. Trevor watches her throw a glance at Honey, who tilts her head forward and sets her fist under her nose, covering her grin. She nods.

So it was Honey that solved this thing– Trevor can’t help but swell with pride for his girl. He might have gotten them into this, but she got them out of it. She’s the one erasing this completely unnecessary break between Bea and Quinn. She’s saving his butt, but she’s obviously helping Bea because she loves the girl and she wants her to be happy. 

Quinn takes a few steps towards Bea, then stops and turns back. He approaches the mantle below the television, plucking a small item that Trevor hadn’t noticed from the surface. He turns it over in his hands, then walks over and holds it out to Bea. It’s the birthday present he bought her, the one he wrapped so carefully and hadn’t given to Bea at her birthday lunch. 

“For your birthday,” Quinn says awkwardly, pushing the gift into her hands. “I left it down here in case you’d find it.”

Bea’s expression softens. “You got me a present?” She asks, letting her hand linger over his skin when she takes the box. “You didn’t have to.”

Quinn shrugs. “Wanted to.”

Jack snorts out something that sounds like “simp,” but he chokes down the last few bites of his food like he said nothing at all. Quinn tosses him a glare as he sits back in his chair and brushes his hands together, ridding them of any lingering crumbs. Jack smiles at Quinn, tight-lipped and kind instead of shit-eating like his jokes normally are, and Quinn lets it go.

Bea unwraps the present carefully, trying not to rip the paper, which makes Honey giggle behind her. She moves around Bea, drawing Trevor’s eyes. 

Honey comes to sit in Cole’s abandoned seat, the boy having finally risen from behind the pool table when Honey and Bea revealed themselves, but he still lingers there. He’s grabbed a cue– Trevor thinks he’s trying to cover for his fear by pretending he was playing pool all along. It doesn’t work, but maybe because Trevor saw the whole thing happen.

Luckily, his empty seat is next to Trevor, and Honey plops right down. She’s still watching Bea, but her index finger finds Trevor’s thigh and traces the seam of his pants briefly before pulling away.

A gasp comes from Bea, stealing Trevor’s gaze again. She blinks, touching the item inside the box reverently. Her bottom lip pokes out, head tilting to the side as she looks up at Quinn. Her hand comes up to her mouth, covering her pout. “Quinn,” she manages before her face folds with tears.

“Oh, baby,” Quinn sighs, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her torso, holding her close. 

Bea’s arms go around his shoulders, her face buried into his neck while she sobs. She’s spewing some incoherent whines into Quinn’s skin. Trevor understands one of her sniffled sentences: a repeated, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” It’s hard to watch, to be honest. Bea looks tiny in Quinn’s arms. He rubs her back, soothing her with murmured words and cooed shushes. He brings his hands lower and lifts her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. 

As he walks toward the basement stairs, Bea clinging to him like an octopus, he sends a glare towards the dinner table that offers a clear message. Don’t ever bring this up again.

On the couch, hidden in plain sight, Honey presses her thigh against Trevor’s and crosses her arms over her chest again. With the hand that’s hidden behind her bicep, she nudges him with her knuckle. It’s subtle.

Trevor sees a smile on her face when he turns to look, knowing that it’s directed completely at him, even as she stares at the stairs that Bea and Quinn ascended. 

“What was that?” Luke asks Honey, placing his napkin on his empty plate and sitting back on the loveseat.

She shrugs with a shoulder. “They’re back together.” Honey looks over to Jack and grins, not sounding as sorry as she says. “I’m sorry that she won’t be fucking you tonight.”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, waving her away. “This is Bea and Quinn we’re talking about. That’s kind of a big deal.”

Honey’s surprised laugh has Trevor grinning, up until Jack winks at her.

With his wink, he adds, “Plus, Quinn told me that he said something pretty serious to Bea and she’d need time to digest it. I figure she told you?”

Honey nods, sealing her mouth shut with an imaginary key. She tosses it over her shoulder.

Jack nods too, sharing a secret smile with the girl that Trevor doesn’t like one bit. “We’ll talk about it later.” He stands, collects the empty plates on the table. “Coley, are you done?” He asks, turning around and facing the boy. 

Cole has racked a set of balls for a game. He nods at Jack. “Yeah, I’ll just eat a late-night snack. Who wants to play?”

Honey lights up. “Me!” She springs up from her spot next to Trevor and bounds over to the pool table, snatching a cue from the rack and assuming her place at the head of the table.

“Who said you were breaking?” Cole protests, shoving her out of the way with his hip. 

Honey’s head falls back, her laughter bright. 

She and Trevor don’t talk much, but she hangs out with them until the sun has long since gone down and the stars are twinkling in the sky. 

At the end of their evening, Trevor meets Honey at the front of the house and kisses her goodbye. She promises to see him tomorrow and presses a pair of cheap earplugs into his palm with a murmured “in case you can’t sleep over the noise coming from the honeymoon suite,” snickering at her own cleverness before offering him another kiss and heading home.

Every time he watches her go, his heart feels like it’s bursting, waiting for the next time he’ll see her again.

54:90 – HONEY

Apparently, Luke went walking in the woods today instead of doing his laundry shift and discovered an old basketball hoop in a clearing, so the boys forgave him for his transgression and now they’re playing ball. 

Honey and Bea have been sitting at courtside since they left work that evening. Bea hadn’t made it to the Nook in time to open the store– she owes Honey a few mornings off now– and she hadn’t even wanted to go home to glam up. She was too eager to see Quinn again– her boyfriend, officially. 

Honey isn’t sure if she would’ve gone as far as to make Quinn her boyfriend, if she was in Bea’s shoes, considering Bea is certain that their relationship won’t last outside of the summer anyway. 

Still, the label seems to give Bea a new twinkle in her eye. She rarely lets Quinn out of her sight and he’s no better. If she’s within an arm’s reach, his hands are on her body, claiming her as his own. Honey would be annoyed, but their joy is infectious. Honey is so drunk on the joy that she almost forgot that she and Trevor are a secret, because she nearly tilted her chin up for a kiss when he came over to greet the girls. 

Honey thinks that the news has been broken to Jack, Cole, and Luke that Bea is officially off-limits. She’s almost certain that Jack decided to rib Quinn by pouting and asking if he could just have a night to say goodbye, given the red Indian burn above his wrist– then, Honey briefly wondered if kids have changed the name of an Indian burn since she was on the playground as a child. It has to be an offensive term, but she can’t imagine what else to call it. 

She’s actually supposed to get all the information tonight from Jack. When she gave Quinn her phone number after crying in his car, Honey wasn’t expecting the other boys to hijack his phone and steal her information. Yet, this morning, she received a text from an unknown number that read, Need to discuss the big ILY w you. 2nite? and then, Btw this is J$$$!!!

J-Money, he said. No one has ever called Jack ‘J-Money,’ but he said it with the confidence of a man who has been called J-Money for his whole life. Honey had to look up his area code to make sure it was really Jack, but she should have known just by the way he typed. It was typical Jack.

The basketball game seems to be dying down– the boys are panting and starting to dish out lazy fouls. When Cole gets backhanded in the face by Luke, he declares that the game is officially over and he quits. The Hughes boys, dressed in Alvin and the Chipmunks colors in what they swear is a recreation of an old photo, join Honey and Bea at courtside while Trevor and Cole gather the basketball and the water bottles strewn on the ground haphazardly. 

“Good game, Q,” Bea says with a fond smile. When he sits on the ground beside her, she climbs onto his lap and makes herself comfortable. She pecks his lips before returning to the group, giggling at the side-eye Jack and Luke share.

“H, wanna go chat?” Jack asks, extending a hand to her. 

“Pulling her for a chat?” Bea interjects, referencing her favorite show– the one they’ve been watching because Cole is just as obsessed as she is.

Jack eyes Bea again. “Going to talk shit about you, bud.”

Bea laughs.

Honey takes Jack’s hand and he pulls her to a standing position. Honey wipes over her backside, clearing it of dirt, twigs, leaves, or whatever else she might have been sitting in. “Yeah, J, let’s go.” To the others, she asks, “Do you guys want to start a fire when you get back to the house? We’ll join you when we’re done talking about Bea.”

“You’re really going to talk about her, huh?” Quinn asks, a laugh tinging his words. 

“Not just her,” Honey promises with a little wink. 

Jack laughs, then he loops his arm with Honey’s and starts to head back towards the house. She marches along with him, pretending like they’re wooden nutcrackers in a Christmas movie. It was Jack’s idea and it made her laugh, so she played along.

They make it back to the house, only getting a little bit lost in the maze of identical trees. Luckily, Honey has always had a good sense of direction when it comes to the woods, and she finds the path out of the greenery after only a minute or two. 

Jack takes her up to his room, which she’s never been inside other than the peek she stole during Cole’s initial tour of the house. His bed is just as big as Trevor’s and he’s got a wicker rocking chair in the corner, which Trevor doesn’t have.

She moves to occupy the chair, but Jack pushes her toward the bed. “It’s not comfortable,” Jack says. “You’ve been sitting on the ground all night, bro.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Honey says, shrugging. “Really, I don’t mind.”

Jack narrows his eyes at her. “I do. Plus, you’re giving me all the dirt. That means you get the good seat. What happened on Bea’s side?”

“Tell me Quinn’s side first,” Honey replies, crinkling her nose.

“I asked you first,” Jack argues. 

“Well, I’m prettier than you, so you have to do what I say,” Honey says snidely, trying to hide the smile that creeps onto her face every time she jokes with the boys and they, gullibly, take her seriously.

Jack’s mouth drops open and he scoffs. “Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

Jack switches tactics. “Tell me about Bea,” he whines, elongating the girl’s name. “I wanna know what happened.”

“I don’t know what they talked about last night,” Honey laughs. “She didn’t tell me. I was hoping Quinn told you.”

“He didn’t tell me either,” Jack says, frowning. He snaps his fingers. “Darn. Just when I thought he and I were getting somewhere.”

“So we have nothing to talk about?” Honey demands.

“No.” Jack shakes his finger. “He told me that he said he loves her. That’s it, though. You know more, don’t you?”

“I do,” Honey tells him.

Jack brightens. He clasps his hands together and rubs them excitedly. “What did she say?”

Honey laughs, curt and short. “That she couldn’t deal with that right now.”

Jack makes a face. “What?”

“I mean, they were on a break, Jack. She was upset, too, and then he follows after her and tells her that he loves her? Of course she didn’t know what to say,” Honey says.

“Ugh, how frustrating,” Jack sighs. “I thought she’d be down for that.”

“It’s not that she’s not down for that,” Honey says. “Obviously, since they’re boyfriend-girlfriend now. But, like– can you keep a secret?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head, his answer resolute. “Never been able to do that.”

Honey rolls her eyes, her expression flat and annoyed when she looks at him. 

Jack breaks into laughter. “Not from my brothers, dude. From Trevor? Sure, I can keep a secret. From Cole? That’s easy. But not Quinn and Luke.”

“Yes, because Quinn doesn’t already know what happened,” Honey replies sarcastically. 

“Hardy har,” Jack fake-laughs at her. He reverts to a normal tone of voice. “Seriously, though, if Luke asks me, I won’t keep a secret from him.”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Honey says, dangling the information above Jack’s head. She crosses her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows. She stubbornly keeps her mouth shut, waiting for him to make his decision.

Her phone rings.

Now, it’s Jack’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Are you going to answer that?” He asks after the fifth ring. 

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Jack shrugs. “Okay.”

The rings cease and they continue to stare at each other, waiting for the other person to break. Wow, she thinks, he really doesn’t want to keep a secret from his little brother. I wonder what that’s like.

She never had siblings, so she’ll never know– except that she doesn’t like to keep secrets from Bea, who is basically a sister.

Her phone rings again. The first time, it could’ve been anyone. The second time, however, Honey knows who’s on the other end. She never receives calls from different people back-to-back like this, which rules out any spam calls or appointment confirmations. Plus, it’s night now, so fraudulent messages and legitimate calls from businesses are out of the question. It’s obvious. The person on the phone is Trevor.

Jack grins, looking more devilish. “Are you going to answer that now?” He repeats, smug. “Someone’s popular.”

Honey flushes red. “Shut up,” she hisses, fishing her phone out of her pocket. Sure enough, Trevor’s code name (the wolf emoji– he chose it himself and she was just so glad to be rid of his real name that she didn’t ask questions) flashes across her screen. She taps the green button to accept his call and brings the phone to her ear. “Yes?” She snaps.

“Where are you?” Trevor drawls. “Saw you leave with Jack. What are you doing?”

“I’m busy,” Honey tells him. “I’ll see you later.” She hangs up.

Jack snickers. “Hot date tonight?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Honey shoots back.

“There are a lot of things I’d like to know. One: Bea’s secret. Two: who you’re seeing tonight. Three: if water is really wet, because, well, do you remember that trend from a few years ago when people said water wasn’t wet? It really fucked with my head and now–”

“You’re probably the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Honey interrupts.

Jack wears the insult like a badge of honor. “Thanks! Tell me Bea’s secret. I will try not to tell Luke.”

Honey glares at him.

Jack holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s the best I can do for you.”

Honey relents. “Fine. She’s never been in a big relationship before, just a bunch of little ones. She likes to date people and hook up with them, but she doesn’t really like to commit to people. She likes to use the word “ex-boyfriend,” like, a lot, but none of them actually qualified as boyfriends when she was going out with them.”

Jack hums, furrowing his brow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Honey confirms. She considers telling Jack the whole story– how Bea wasn’t interested in being in a lengthy relationship while they were in school, how Thomas fucked her over at the end of their time together, how Bea was there for her through it all and how it affected her own views on relationships. While Honey was hurt because such a thing happened to her, Bea was paranoid that something similar would happen to her if she wasn’t careful. After a minute, she decides not to. There’s no reason to bring Thomas up where he’s not relevant. 

“So, Quinn is Bea’s first real boyfriend?” Jack asks.

Honey nods.

“Quinn says that she doesn’t want to stay together after the summer ends, though. I thought it was because we were all hooking up with her.” Jack shakes his head, still looking confused. “But now they’re together, so they’re… staying together?”

“Um…” Honey trails off. She takes a breath, groaning a little bit as she tries to explain herself. “I don’t know what they said to each other last night–”

“Not much, judging by the noises that kept me up,” Jack interrupts.

“–but Bea said that she’d miss him too much when he leaves, so for her own sanity, they’ll probably still end it,” Honey finishes.

Jack snorts. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know,” Honey says.

“Why would they get together for, like, a month, just to break up?” Jack continues. “Quinn’s done long distance before, I’m sure he’d be happy doing long distance with Bea. I mean, it would be better if it wasn’t long distance, but I feel like long distance is better than nothing.”

“Bro, you’re telling me,” Honey laughs. “I said pretty much the same thing.”

“I don’t understand them,” Jack adds, his rant resuming. “Also, why are you– Quinn, I mean– telling a girl you love her after knowing her for two months? Less than that. He got here late.”

“Time passes differently in the mountains,” Honey explains with a shrug.

“Does it?” Jack questions, punctuating his sentence with a grimace. “I mean, yeah, it seems like we’ve been here for ages. Still, check the calendar– it’s only been two months. Quinn telling Bea that he loves her is like… love-bombing.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Honey asks with another laugh.

“Yes, I know what love-bombing is,” Jack snaps defensively. “I have been accused in the past!”

Honey laughs aloud, throwing her head back. “Of course you have,” she cries out, a little too loud for the quiet bedroom. 

“I was a teenager,” Jack explains himself desperately, clearly upset that Honey is laughing at him. 

“I just think it’s funny that you know what love-bombing is because you’ve done it,” Honey continues, still giggling to herself.

A knock at the door interrupts them. Jack stands to go answer, opening the door to reveal the boy that Honey just hung up on barely five minutes prior.

Trevor’s face turns cloudy when he sees Honey over Jack’s shoulder, sitting comfortably on the boy’s bed. “Fire’s ready,” he says, words clipped.

Jack doesn’t notice. “Okay,” he says, grinning. He turns to Honey, nodding at her. “Ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” Honey agrees. She has very little else to say to Jack, although she had fun chatting with him and gossiping. It’s funny– at their core, each of these boys eat up the drama just as much as a girl would. They claim that they don’t care, but they really, really do. Not only do they care, but they crave the information. 

She hops up from Jack’s bed, walking towards the door. She touches his bicep and squeezes, just to tell him that she enjoyed herself without saying anything at all, then brushes by him. She smiles at Trevor briefly, while her back is to Jack so he can’t see it, but he doesn’t return it. 

Jack follows behind her, then Trevor. They go all the way outside, where the fire is crackling a few hundred feet from the house. The boys have pulled chairs from the porch and brought them around the fire pit, leaving extras for Honey and Trevor. Quinn and Bea are bundled in a blanket, Bea’s head lying back on Quinn’s shoulder. She looks up at him, yawning every so often. Luke has a blanket too– he wears it like a hoodie. 

Cole is tending the fire, tossing leaves onto the stack of wood and lifting his eyes to watch the particles burn while they dance on the wind. Upon hearing Honey, Jack, and Trevor, though, he bounces up. “Don’t take my seat!” He warns unnecessarily, nearing his chair way before any of them get close. Jack tries to tug him out of the seat anyway.

Honey takes the empty chair next to Bea and Quinn. 

Bea turns her head and lazily blinks at the girl. “What do you think about a lake day tomorrow?” She asks, her words running together as a result of her exhaustion. It’s been a long day. 

Honey smiles at the girl, a private smile just for her. “Are you sure you can make it? You look sleepy, babe.”

“‘M just comfy,” Bea denies. Her face looks a little puffy from how tired she is. Honey reaches over and thumbs over her cheek. Bea scrunches her face, disrupting Honey’s movements. “Q will wake me up for lake day if I sleep in too much, anyway.”

“You’re staying over?” Honey asks. Her tone isn’t judgmental, just curious. 

Bea nods, humming a confirmation. Quinn reaches out from under the blanket and tucks her hair behind her ear, out of her face. She blows him a kiss in thanks. 

“Do you want to sleep over, too?” Quinn asks. “We’ve got the extra room. With the bunk beds. Well, Luke moved in this morning, but you could sleep on the top bunk with him and tell scary stories like it’s summer camp.”

“No scary stories,” Luke grumbles. “I’m too tired for that. I need to sleep tonight.”

“Aw, what kept you up?” Quinn teases, smirking to himself at the joke. 

Luke doesn’t laugh. Instead, he ignores Quinn after throwing him a mean glare, turning to Trevor on his right and starting a conversation.

They split into groups unintentionally– Luke and Trevor, Jack and Cole, and Bea and Honey (with a side of Quinn, although he doesn’t jump in often). 

The night turns colder and the cicadas raise their voices, chirping in the trees and adding a backtrack to the mix of voices in the backyard. There are fireflies floating around. One of them lands on Cole’s shoulder, which initially startles him so much that it flies away, even as he begs for his “new friend” to come back. 

Honey and Bea’s conversation dies out eventually. Bea turns to her boyfriend, pouting her lips for a kiss and never letting him part from her for too long. Quinn peppers her face, planting extra kisses on her lips. Everyone ignores them, but they’re all aware of what’s happening.

Honey stares across the circle, letting her gaze fall out-of-focus. She’s tired– Bea and Luke aren’t the only ones who are yawning. She twists a strand of hair around her finger absentmindedly, feeling the way the individual pieces move and bend with her movements. 

She forgets that that’s their secret code, her and Trevor. She remembers when she feels eyes on her, finding Trevor. He looks at her, then to her hair, then he looks away. 

Honey doesn’t want to fuck tonight, so she stops her movement and picks at a hangnail next to her index finger instead. She’s feeling sluggish, and quite frankly, she just wants to go home. She’d better get on the way before she starts to worry about falling asleep at the wheel. It won’t happen, but Honey would rather be safe than sorry.

She bundles herself in her own blanket, standing from her chair. Through a yawn, she says, “I’m gonna head home, guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A litany of goodbyes follow her, but for the first time since they started hooking up, Trevor does not.

Honey doesn’t realize until she gets all the way home and all the way comfortable in her bed. She’s just about to fall asleep when it dawns on her that she didn’t get a goodnight kiss. He didn’t even react when she accidentally used their sex-code, just looked away. Honey stares at the dark ceiling, blinking to herself. 

Her final act before falling asleep is sending Trevor an ‘xoxo’ message, just so he knows that she’s thinking about him. He’s probably not awake, but it soothes Honey enough that she can drift off and start to dream.

55:90 – TREVOR

A truck horn sounds outside, breaking Trevor’s concentration. He had been staring at the potatoes in his breakfast bowl, trying to count the pepper flakes that season it. He’s rapidly running out of things to do in Litchton– it’s always been a problem, but he’s tired of scrolling aimlessly on his phone and waiting for TikToks to load. He hasn’t been to the Nook in a week or two, which means he hasn’t had anything to read. Quite frankly, he’s not like Quinn; he doesn’t want to dust off the books in the living room and crack them open. Books in vacation homes are just decorative. 

Jack comes bouncing down the stairs, completely bypassing the kitchen and heading for the front door. Luke isn’t far behind him, although he comes up from the basement carrying the inflatable raft that the two brothers had bought a few weeks prior. The door slams twice behind them, then once more as Cole makes his way outside. Trevor catches a snippet of a creaky old engine running while the door is open.

No one told him they were doing something today. He’ll just sit right here and eat his breakfast bowl until they invite him personally.

He scoops up a spoonful of eggs, cheese, potatoes, and leftover steak from the other night. Upon eating it, he realizes that there’s not enough hot sauce in that bite. He picks up the Texas Pete sauce and douses his bowl, using his spoon to mix everything together and make sure it’s all coated. He hopes it wasn’t too much. His tolerance for hot stuff is moderately high, but too much sauce can ruin his breakfast. He’d hate to have to make it again.

“Trev, c’mon, let’s go,” Bea calls as she bounces down the stairs in twos, just like Jack did. 

It’s hardly an invitation. 

Quinn goes down the stairs behind her, glancing at Trevor where he sits at the counter. His eyes pass over Trevor, then return to the girl in front of him. They leave the house with the door cracked open behind them.

Trevor allows the cool AC of the house to escape, making no move to get up from his seat. “What happened to ‘Trevor, we’re going out, would you like to come?’” Trevor mocks in a high voice, just to himself. He continues grumbling under his breath as he pokes at the contents of his breakfast.

“No, I said I’ll get him!” comes Quinn’s voice after a minute, becoming more clear as he comes back into the house. He walks into the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. “We’re going to the lake, come on.”

Trevor takes another bite of his bowl. He doesn’t move from his seat.

Quinn sets his jaw. “Are you coming with us or not?”

Trevor shrugs. “Don’t know. Wasn’t invited.”

“This is an invitation,” Quinn snarls. “So are you coming or not?”

“I’d like to finish my breakfast,” Trevor says. “Can it wait?”

“You can take your breakfast in the truck,” Quinn says through his teeth. “I don’t think Earl will mind, especially if you’re sitting in the bed with the rest of us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make a mess in Earl’s truck.”

“If you do, I’ll wash it.” 

Trevor’s enjoying this a little bit– Quinn is trying so hard to keep his composure that his nostrils are flaring and his eyes are flashing. Trevor kind of wants to see how much it takes before he snaps.

“We don’t have a hose,” Trevor points out. 

Quinn takes a breath. “Then I will buy one.”

“Do you even know where the spigot is?”

It apparently doesn’t take long to find Quinn’s last straw. His patience dissipates when Trevor insults his intelligence.

He walks away. The door slams behind him and Trevor giggles through another bite of his breakfast.

A car door slams shut, then the front door. Good, Trevor thinks. Here comes Bea. I’ll get to chew out both of them. He smiles to himself.

It’s not Bea. He’s not so lucky. It’s his girlfriend, not Quinn’s, and by the looks of her, she’s pissed off. 

She nears him and approaches the counter, reaching out and snatching his bowl and dumping the rest of it in the trash can. She practically throws the bowl into the sink, the ceramic clattering louder than he’s ever heard it before.

Honey takes a deep breath, eyes steely as she stares at him. Her hands are planted on the counter, bracketing the sink. She squints, then licks over her teeth, debating how best to deal with this– the scene that Trevor is causing.

“So what, you think I slept with Jack?” Honey snaps. “Because I went upstairs and gossiped with him about Bea and Quinn? Because I sat on his bed, on top of the covers, completely clothed? And that’s why you’re sitting here, pouting.”

“I don’t think you slept with Jack,” Trevor grumbles. 

“Good, because that’s deranged,” Honey continues. “I’m not sleeping with Jack. I’m sleeping with you. Well, actually, I won’t be sleeping with you for about a week because you’re being a dick. Get in the car. We’re going to the lake. Or don’t! I don’t give a fuck. I’m driving away from this house in one minute and you can either come with us, or you can sulk all day.” She folds her arms over her chest and stares at him for a few seconds, then turns on her heel and stomps away.

He was so busy going speechless over her little tirade that he didn’t notice that she’s wearing a hot pink bikini top and her daisy dukes. It contrasts her skin nicely and the string in the back leaves little to the imagination. 

Yes, Trevor was upset the night before. Yes, he was jealous that Honey went upstairs with Jack and laughed and squealed with him in a way that she’s never done with Trevor. She also completely brushed him off on the phone, saying she was busy and that she’d see him later. She hung up on him. He’s supposed to be angry.

But, then again, he doesn’t want to be in a fight with Honey. It was complete torture to ignore her ‘xoxo’ text message last night, especially since she doesn’t give out affection that often. At least, not where it can be traced back to her. Not when there’s a paper trail and text messages are part of a paper trail– so Trevor really should’ve taken a screenshot of the rare, sweet message from Honey and printed the picture out to put in his wallet.

His minute is almost up. In the interest of making up with Honey, and in the interest of seeing her in her little, hot pink swimsuit, Trevor goes. Honey is literally shifting the car into drive by the time he makes it outside, leaving the front door unlocked because he didn’t have time to grab a key. The car is rolling forward when he manages to hop onto the tailgate, joining the group in the nick of time.

“Nice of you to join us, buddy,” Cole say, clapping Trevor on the back. “No swimsuit?”

“I didn’t know we were going to the lake until five minutes ago,” Trevor says. 

“Yuh-huh,” Cole insists. “We talked about it last night. You were there. Glowering.”

“You don’t even know what that means,” Trevor says, partially because he’s not sure what it means. It sounds a little bit like ‘glaring,’ though, so he thinks he’s got the gist of it.

“I do too know it it means,” Cole says. “I asked Bea after she said you weren’t listening because you were too busy glowering. It’s my word of the day.”

“Whatever,” Trevor says, brushing him off and looking over the edge of the bed of the truck. He watches the trees pass and the curve of the road, how the edge of the pavement crumbles off sharply after years of wear and tear. 

The rural roads probably haven’t been paved in, what, fifteen years? He’d ask Honey, but she wouldn’t know. Maybe he’ll ask Earl when he sees him in town next. The old man certainly has a gripe about the roads being closed for roadwork– he probably remembers the exact date and how long he sat in traffic in this old truck, cursing at the workers. 

They arrive at the lake shortly, piling out of the bed. Honey’s parking job is slightly crooked, but Trevor doesn’t say anything. No one does, considering how hard she slammed the door to the cab of the truck.

She helps Luke carry the tube down to the docks while Bea and Quinn rent a boat. Jack and Cole ask about renting a wakeboard, since they forgot theirs at the house. Trevor trudges after Luke and Honey, his shirt already starting to stick to his back from the heat. 

It takes a few minutes, but the other members of the group join them. One of the workers, a teenage boy that reminds Trevor of Quinn the summer before he started at UMich, drives the boat up to the dock and hands the keys off to Quinn. They pile onto the boat and Quinn starts to drive off. Jack ties the raft to a handle on the back of the boat, then the tow-rope to the awning above the console. 

Everyone else kind of does their own thing. 

Trevor drives the boat because he’s still a little pouty from earlier. 

Honey sheds her daisy dukes and lays out at the front of the boat with Bea, tanning her back. Trevor has a nice view of her butt and how her swimsuit doesn’t offer as much coverage as it should, given Quinn is right there. It’s cheeky and Trevor wants to swat at her skin just to watch it bounce– he’s sure that any of the other boys would be thinking the same thing. 

On the bright side, Quinn’s got a hand on Bea’s upper thigh. He seems preoccupied, trying to keep his hand in that exact spot until there’s a pale imprint on Bea’s skin. He wants her tan to be uneven, but only in the shape of his hand.

Jack is the real culprit– if anyone was going to look at Honey, it would be him. He’s actually getting ready to toss the raft out behind the boat, so he doesn’t pay any mind to Honey. Cole is with him, donning a life jacket, and Luke is reclining somewhere behind Trevor, soaking in the sun just like the girls.

Trevor slows to a stop and Cole jumps off the back of the boat to swim towards the raft. “Don’t hold back, Z!” He calls as he swims, catching one of the handles of the raft and dragging himself onto the floating device. Once he’s got a good hold on the raft, he tells Trevor to go, and Trevor takes off.

Cole falls off within minutes. Trevor launches him off the raft, but Cole comes up laughing. He tries to outlast his previous round each time he gets on the tube. 

They waste over an hour on the tube, switching riders when the current person’s hands get too tired from gripping the handles and trying to stay float. Trevor drives the whole time because, well… he didn’t have time to put on a swimsuit. He’s just got his joggers and his t-shirt, as well as the underwear beneath his joggers. He’s fine with staying clothed all day.

Then, Jack tells Bea and Quinn that they have to do a pairs-run on the tube. They don’t last for more than a minute, maybe, not with Trevor swinging them around and forcing the tube to jump over the wake like a skateboarder in a half pipe. Bea shrieks and falls off the tube first, Quinn following after her to act as her own personal buoy.

Trevor knows that he can’t escape for long. The second Bea climbs back onto the boat, she turns to him. “Trev, you haven’t gone in the water today. C’mon. Switch with Quinn.”

“Honey hasn’t gone in the water either,” Quinn points out.

Honey’s jaw drops and she stares at Quinn, completely aghast. “I didn’t know it was a requirement to get in the water.”

“It’s not fun unless you do,” Quinn replies. “Let’s go. I’ll drive. You guys can do a pair and you’ll get it over with.”

Honey grumbles about it, but Trevor has to admit that he’s right. Lake days aren’t truly fun unless you’re able to swim around. 

“Sure, let’s do it,” Trevor agrees, waiting for Quinn to get a hand on the steering wheel before he stands from his Captain’s Chair and sheds his shirt. He looks at Bea when he asks his next question, because he knows this doesn’t matter to the other guys and it’s not like Honey’s never seen him in his underwear. “Do you mind if I wear my briefs?”

Bea sputters out a laugh, blowing a raspberry to wave him off. “I don’t care. As long as you’re not buck-naked, I’m fine. Honey? Do you mind if Trevor wears his briefs? You’re the one who’ll be on the tube with him.”

She covers for them well, making sure that the other girl on the boat gets to voice her opinion. Again, Trevor, Bea, and Quinn all know that Honey wouldn’t care, but in order to save face, they ask anyway.

Honey shrugs. “I don’t care. Just don’t put your dick near me.”

“It’d be kind of funny if he was naked, though,” Cole says. “I’m not saying I want to see it, but it’s a funny image. Tubing with his bare ass out.”

Jack curls his lip. “Yeah, but then his dick would get all over the raft. We’d never be able to use it again.”

“Oh my God, I’m not stripping,” Trevor interrupts. “I’m wearing my underwear, dude.” To Cole, he adds: “Stop thinking about my bare ass!”

Cole gives him a shrug and a smirk. “Is it as smooth as a baby’s bottom, Z? Are you Katy Perry from Teenage Dream? What aesthetic are we going for?”

“I’m going to hit you in the nuts if you don’t shut up.”

“You’d love that.”

“That’s enough,” Honey says. “Stop talking about genitalia. Let’s get this over with. I want time to dry off.”

She dives off the back of the boat, entering the water much more gracefully than Trevor does. No, he gets pushed by Cole after removing his joggers. Does it count as a push if Cole was just trying to pants Trevor and force him to skinny dip, making Trevor fall off the boat while twisting away from his prying hands?

He swims towards the raft, where Honey is already treading water. She’s got a hand on the handle, ready to pull herself up. 

“Don’t look at my butt,” Trevor says.

Honey glares at him from the side of her eye. “I wasn’t going to look at your butt. Don’t look at mine.”

She pulls herself onto the raft and Trevor looks anyway. Then, he drags himself up and clenches his fingers around two of the handles. Honey takes the one next to his right hand, just inches away from touching him. Trevor misses her, even though she’s right there.

He takes his hand from the handle and loops his arm around Honey’s. 

She turns her head and glares at him again.

“So we don’t fall off,” Trevor supplies.

Honey rolls her eyes and faces forward again. She yells to the boat. “We’re ready!”

Quinn takes off, starting slow, then he speeds up rather abruptly. They’re being jostled by the waves, their knuckles white as they nearly start cramping from holding on so tight. 

Honey starts shrieking as they jump over the waves, the lake water blowing in their face. Her hair is whipping around in the wind, smacking Trevor in the face, but he’s smiling so hard that his eyes are crinkling. The sun hits him right in the eyes too, just like the water droplets and Honey’s hair, but it’s so fun. Their arms are linked and they hold on tight.

Eventually, Honey gets a faceful of water and she splutters, using Trevor’s skin to wipe her eyes. She buries her face into their intertwined arms, laughing briefly. 

Trevor wishes the other boys knew about them, so that he could kiss her face while they ride the waves– although it would probably be a bump of his chin against her forehead, one that results in a nasty bruise on her skin and a little blood in his mouth from biting his tongue. 

After a particularly nasty wave, Honey loses her grip and drags Trevor with her. 

They plunge into the water together, fully soaked when they resurface. Quinn drives along, a few hundred feet away before Bea bops him on the side of the head and points at the empty raft. He drives in a big circle, looping back. 

Trevor touches Honey’s arm as they tread water, their fingers brushing. She finds his hand again and squeezes his fingers under the water, out of sight. 

“Think you should go wakesurfing in a bit,” Honey suggests quietly, just for Trevor to hear. He knows that sound travels over water, so it makes sense that she’s speaking so quietly. “I’m mad at you for being so stubborn, but your thighs look really good in your undies, baby.”

She starts to swim toward the boat, which is finally close enough that they can return to it. 

Trevor grabs her ankle. “I told you not to look at my butt!” He exclaims.

“It’s so big, I just can’t help it!” Honey calls back, splashing him with a big kick. 

He goes under the water to fix his hair before he finds the boat again and joins the group again. He’s got a new attitude now, like the water was an actual rebirth.

56:90 – HONEY

When Bea and Honey were little, Bea’s oldest sister, Trixie, became obsessed with daily holidays. For Christmas when Bea and Honey were five, she received a calendar that detailed all the fun, quirky holidays that fall on any given day of the year. 

July 21st is National “Get Out of the Dog House” Day. When Bea and Honey were that young, they didn’t know what getting out of the dog house meant. They thought it meant that they had to get out of the dog’s house– and Bea’s father regularly referred to her childhood dog, Bronco, as the king of the house.

They insisted on sleeping in tents in the backyard that year. Ironically, Bronco came with them and spent the hot summer night outside, getting a bout of the zoomies that had Honey and Bea yelling and exiling him from the tent until he calmed down. It was so much fun that they’ve tried to recreate the night every year since. 

Bronco joined them every year until they were eleven, easily the worst year of all the ones they spent outside. It was very lonely without the massive, fat, entirely non-intimidating Rottweiler to protect them. The following year, they were joined by Bruno, the McLean’s new Rottweiler puppy, named aptly after Bruno Mars when he howled along to one of Mars’ songs on the drive home from the adoption center.

Their best July 21st, after the first, was when they were 16. Trixie had bought a bottle of Smirnoff for Bea for her birthday, but Bea was saving it for her night with Honey. They drank about half the bottle together before they both decided that they felt too nauseous to continue. They giggled and felt warm from the inside out, which really wasn’t necessary considering how hot it was in Charlotte in the middle of the summer. They talked about everything under the sun– reminiscing, talking about boys even though Honey had been in a relationship for months at that point, singing songs, doing dances, everything. Mr. McLean came out to the tent around 2 a.m. and told them they needed to be quiet. Bea threw up in the garden the following morning, trying to hide their sneaky drinking under the cover of leafy plants, and if Bea’s mom ever noticed the vomit, she never said anything.

Even since they’ve been in Litchton, they’ve spent National “Get Out of the Dog House” Day outside. They bought hammocks and strung them up in Honey’s backyard the first year, finding a few trees that were perfectly spaced out. It was one of the traditions that made it out of Charlotte when they left. 

Now, their night isn’t complete without a shared bottle of red wine and a charcuterie board, to start. They eat a bunch of terrible snacks as the night goes on and usually drink a warm mug of Bea’s sleepytime tea once the wind picks up and they decide that they need to bring their sleeping bags out, as well as the blankets they use like tortilla shells around a burrito.

This year, they have five new additions to the tradition.

Honey almost wishes that Bruno was here instead. He peed in the tent when he was a puppy, and that’s still more preferable than having five twenty-something year old boys in her backyard and in her house. The only blessing is that they can use the outdoors as their bathroom– so Honey won’t need to disinfect the seat each time she walks inside to use her toilet.

Six bottles of red wine sit on her counter, ready to be shared by seven people. Quinn came over early with Bea and commandeered Honey’s oven, searing steaks and plating salted ham for a homemade charcuterie board and baking chicken breasts that were to be shredded and thrown into her crockpot to make a soup for a late night snack instead of Bea’s sleepytime tea.

Honey doesn’t mind having a personal chef, which is what Quinn basically is, but she wishes they could just eat bag after bag of buttery microwave popcorn until their stomachs hurt. 

Honestly, her discomfort is probably rooted in sharing her home for the first time, well, ever. The only people that have come to her house are her parents– who lived there first– Bea, Ada, and Trevor. Sometimes Bea’s ex, Griffin, will come and mow Honey’s grass. That’s only really once a month, and he never comes inside, so it doesn’t count.

Her driveway is full– her car, Bea’s car, and Trevor’s car. Now, there are five boys in her backyard, hanging up their own hammocks in the trees, drinking wine from plastic cups because she’ll be damned if the boys use her good glassware in the outdoors. 

They’ve gone through two bottles already, just with the first round of drinks. Cole has a heavy hand and they chilled the bottles for 20 minutes before they left the rental house, which Honey thinks makes the alcohol easier to drink. 

It’s been probably thirty minutes since the boys got here. They’ve already taken a tour of her house– she doesn’t like that they went into her bedroom and Cole jumped on her bed– and they’ve started a fire in an old fire pit that hasn’t been used since her dad vacationed in the house. 

It’s such a caveman thing to do– I cook food. I build fire. I provide for woman.

Right in line with Honey’s thoughts, Quinn calls to the group from Honey’s back door. “Dinner’s ready!” He announces, returning to the kitchen.

Luke agrees to watch the fire while everyone gets food, saying that he’ll go last.

There are vegetables and dipping sauce like ranch and bleu cheese on the homemade board. There’s steak, salted ham, and all sorts of cheese. There are crackers and different kinds of bread. Even Trevor, who Honey has noticed avoiding Quinn for the past few days, compliments him on the presentation. 

“It wasn’t just me,” Quinn replies. “Bea helped too.”

“No, I didn’t,” Bea laughs, grabbing a stack of cucumbers and putting them on her paper plate. “I just sat there and looked pretty.”

“You found the meat thermometer when I couldn’t,” Quinn reminds her.

“Okay, fine,” Bea relents. “I helped with that. But everything else was all you.”

Honey and Jack make eye contact as the two continue to insist that the other was partially or wholly responsible for the meal. Jack widens his eyes like he’s trying to send her a message– ‘They’re making me sick.’

“The meal is nice either way, guys,” Honey offers. “Let’s not make it a whole thing. It’s Get Out of the Dog House Day, not ‘argue about who’s right until someone is thrown into the dog house’ day.”

Trevor laughs, which is nice of him. It wasn’t a particularly good joke, either. 

He’s in a better mood now, but that doesn’t mean that Honey’s not still mad at him for being so rude and stubborn the other day. Sometimes, Trevor seems to get so frustrated and annoyed that he either acts out or he completely shuts off. All of it is for attention or to make his presence known. 

She and Bea watched some of the boys’ highlights last week at the Nook when there was a lull, and Trevor’s a good player, but he can snap easily. Honey doesn’t like that. She likes it even less when it’s directed at her or her friends– which is exactly what happened yesterday morning.

She likes Trevor a lot, but yesterday, she wanted to rip his hair out of his head and scream at him for acting stupid.

Luckily, it passed. He’s being sweet again, sharing fond little smiles with Honey when he thinks no one is watching. She doesn’t take full credit for solving his bad mood, but once he found an excuse to touch her (“So we don’t fall off,” he said), he was back to himself.

They circle around the fire pit again. Luke goes to get his food. They chat until the golden hour of sunlight disappears into the darkness underneath twinkling stars. 

They stargaze when it hits midnight, heads bunched up together as they lay back. They’ve all but finished the bottles of wine; the final one is being passed around in the circle as Trevor points out constellations that the boys seem to have trouble mapping out. Luke and Cole especially complain that all they can see is a blob. 

Bea and Quinn are the first to peel off. After drinking the equivalent of 80% of a bottle of red wine, Bea is tipsy and handsy. She had rolled into Quinn’s side and started touching his lower abdomen, sliding her hand under his t-shirt, very clearly signaling to him that she wanted something. Honey had to tell her to stop or leave, and Quinn decided that they would just go to bed. They’re sharing a hammock, which feels like a recipe for disaster. What if one of them rolls over in the middle of the night and rocks the hammock, eventually tipping it and sending them both to the ground, all while dead asleep? That would be a terrible wakeup call.

The fire is already dying out, since they haven’t been tending to it. The chill from the air sends Jack into Honey’s house to find one of her big sweatshirts, since he’s a fool and didn’t bring one. He returns in one of Bea’s big sweatshirts that she left at Honey’s one morning after a sleepover and with the throw pillow from her couch wrapped around him. Cole fights him for it, winning the blanket after he knees Jack in the gut.

Jack starts cussing like a sailor, growling at Cole like he’s cursing him. 

“I think you’re overtired, Jack,” Luke interrupts, shooing the boy away. “And drunk. You already got your sweatshirt. Go to your hammock.”

Miraculously, Jack listens and stumbles away.

Luke turns to Honey. “Do you have any other blankets? I’ll take one if you do. I’ll bring one to Jack, too. I’ll make sure everyone gives them back in the morning.”

“Yeah, darlin’,” Honey agrees. “I’ll go grab a few. I think it’s time for us all to go to bed, so I’ll come around and hand off the hammocks. You need anything else?” Her question is directed at all three remaining boys, not just Luke.

Cole shakes his head, grinning smugly as he wraps himself in the blanket. He spins like Dracula, blanket flowing out behind him like a cape until he covers the lower half of his face with his forearm, side-eying Honey as he retreats into the darkness of the woods. He backs away suspiciously, until he backs into a tree and stumbles, nearly falling down.

Honey laughs at him. Luke goes to help him into his hammock, saying that it’s unlikely that he’ll be able to climb into the hammock with all that red wine in his system. Trevor tells Luke to protect his goods because Cole might be just as horny as Bea is after all that red wine. Luke whacks him on the head in reply, which is deserved. 

Honey goes into the house to find more blankets. She’s quick to realize that they never even ate the soup that Quinn made– but that’s fine with her. It looks like she’ll have lunch for a whole week. She vows never to bring it up, unless someone– probably Bea– remembers and whines about not getting to eat some of Quinn’s cooking.

She finds four blankets in her linen closet– one for Luke, Jack, Bea and Quinn, and Trevor. Honey tends to sleep better when she’s cold anyway, so she’ll be fine without one. She’s got a makeshift sweat-suit on anyway, with leggings underneath her sweatpants just in case. She’ll be fine. 

After making sure all of the doors and windows in her house are locked except for the back door, she makes her rounds with the blankets. Jack is already asleep, somehow, so she just drapes the blanket over his sleeping body and takes a moment to hope that he won’t fall out of the hammock overnight. Honestly, he’s the one that would.

Luke is next, who thanks her quietly. He even tells her that he appreciates that she’s hosting them tonight. He also mentions that he likes her house. Honey loves him like a little brother– he’s so sweet and he behaves so well, even as he’s grown more comfortable around her and Bea and come out of his shell. She can’t wait for Gillian’s granddaughter to arrive tomorrow– Luke’s date with the girl on Tuesday will be so cute. Maybe she and Bea can go spy on him– surely he’ll tell Quinn where they’re going. Even if he doesn’t, there are only so many places in Litchton that he could go. They’ll find him.

She’s hesitant to approach Bea and Quinn’s hammock. Although Honey isn’t religious, she’s positively praying that they’re asleep when she walks up.

They’re not. She can hear the sounds of them kissing as she approaches, cringing because she really doesn’t want to interrupt that. 

“Hey,” she hisses, stopping about three feet from their hammock.

Quinn pops his head up, finding her immediately. 

Honey holds up the blanket.

His mouth forms an ‘O,’ then he looks down at Bea. “Do you want a blanket?” He asks.

Bea sits up as best she can, looking at Honey. “You can just drop it there,” she instructs. “Quinn’ll come get it in a second. His hands are a little busy right now.”

“I didn’t need to know that,” Honey replies, tossing the blanket to the base of the tree next to their hammock. “Have a good night!”

“Just trying to cross something off my Rice Purity Test,” Bea calls after Honey, laughing when Honey raises her hand and flips Bea off. 

Only one blanket remains and it belongs to Trevor. Honey approaches his hammock with a few butterflies in her stomach, just at the thought of seeing her boy while he’s all sleepy and drunk. It’s not the first time she’s seen Trevor like that, but he’s so affectionate when he’s drunk– it makes her feel really special, every single time.

“Trevor,” Honey whispers when she’s just an arm’s length away from the hammock. She reaches out and touches it.

The hammock rustles and nearly flips as she startles him. “Christ, baby,” Trevor replies, sounding louder than he actually is in the darkness. His hammock is farther away from the other boys, at the final pair of trees that are close enough to create a good space for a hammock. “You scared me.”

“Sorry. I brought you a blanket.” Honey holds it out for him. 

Trevor takes it, his hand brushing Honey’s. “Thank you. Did you already get everyone else?”

Honey shows him her empty hands. “Yeah.”

“You wanna sleep with me?” Trevor asks. “Bea and Quinn are.”

Honey chuckles under her breath. “They’re boyfriend-girlfriend, Trevor. Also, our relationship is a secret. I can’t be crawling into your hammock and cuddling all night. It would be so weird.”

Trevor pouts. “Everyone is too drunk to care, Hon. They probably won’t even notice.”

“Nice try, but no. I’ll see you in the morning. Stay warm.” Honey touches his hair, fluffing the ends for a moment before she goes off to find her own hammock.

She climbs into the broken-in fabric between her two usual trees. Bea is pretty close by, so she can hear her best friend and Quinn murmuring about something, although she can’t hear what. Luckily, it doesn’t sound like anything dirty is happening anymore, so Honey can sleep peacefully.

So she thought. Perhaps it was the wine that she drank, or the copious amounts of steak and ham that sit like an anvil in her stomach. Regardless, Honey lays in her hammock, waiting for her eyelids to grow heavy. They never do.

She left her phone inside, next to her bed, so she can’t even scroll aimlessly. Not that she’d want to do that necessarily, but she downloaded the Kindle app and hacked into her old account, so she’s been rereading the books she bought years ago and mostly forgot about. It would be nice to read something while she waits to fall asleep, but it’s so dark outside that there’s no hope of being able to see the words in a physical book. She could go inside, but that defeats the whole purpose of getting out of the dog house.

She turns over and tries to sleep for a few more minutes. It feels like forever. 

Honey tries her hand at echolocation, trying to figure out which of the boys are snoring in the distance. She eventually decides that the snores that are closer to her are Luke’s, while the ones that are father away are Jack’s. Then, she takes a few minutes to listen out and see if Quinn snores too. He must not, because she can’t hear anything coming from the joint hammock belonging to Bea and Quinn.

She turns onto her back and stares at the stars. She was better at identifying constellations than Luke, Cole, Jack, and Bea. Quinn actually had a knack for identifying the connections between the stars, just based off of Trevor’s words. It’s a shame they’ve never been close friends– Bea and Honey think that they have a lot more in common than they think, although their main difference (that Trevor likes to talk and Quinn does not) keeps them apart.

Honey is so tired, but unable to sleep, that she could cry. She’s so frustrated that she wants to scream.

And she’s getting cold. She thought she would fall asleep before the chill really set in, but here she is. Frustrated, brisk, and tired.

Honey rolls out of her hammock, getting her feet on the ground and standing up. She pulls her long sleeves down, covering her hands and rolling up the ends in her fists to keep the warmth inside.

She creeps over to the hammock that’s farther away from the rest. She touches Trevor’s hammock, trying to keep it stable as she shakes him awake. She feels bad waking him, especially since he looks so cozy and like a sound sleeper.

“Trevor,” Honey whispers, tapping his cheek. 

“Mm,” Trevor grunts, turning his head away from her. He’s still mostly asleep– probably a solid 90/10 asleep-or-awake split. “No, Jack. Go ‘way.”

Honey releases a quick breath from her nose, unwilling to laugh aloud at his slurred, sleepy speech. “Trevor, wake up. I don’t want to knock you out of the hammock by accident.” Like a child, she lifts one of his eyelids.

That succeeds in waking him, if only partially. Just enough that he understands where he is and who’s talking to him.

“What, baby?” Trevor slurs, reaching a hand up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

“I changed my mind,” Honey says. “Can I sleep with you?”

“C’mon in, gorgeous,” Trevor invites, spreading an arm out so that Honey can climb in and snuggle up to him.

Honey smiles a bit at being called ‘gorgeous’ in her terrible groutfit, especially in the middle of the night after tossing and turning for… hours? 

She finds her way into the cot without tipping them over. She’ll have to wake up at first light, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem. She’s a restless sleeper. She usually wakes up early anyway– likely before any of the other guys would. Definitely before Bea would. It’s a recurring problem.

Trevor smells nice and more importantly, he’s warm. His chest is strong under her hand, and Honey uses his bicep like a pillow. She intertwines their legs and presses a kiss to his side, tickling him. Honey’s already so much closer to falling asleep with Trevor than when she was alone. 

“Thanks,” Honey murmurs, burying her face into Trevor’s shirt. 

“You couldn’t sleep?” Trevor asks.

“Mm-mm,” Honey replies, her face still hidden against his body. She shakes her head ‘no’ and throws an arm over his stomach instead of resting it on his chest. She pulls him closer and Trevor chuckles, shaking her.

“Well, sleep tight, baby,” Trevor says. 

Honey doesn’t reply. He’s like a furnace next to her, pushing her closer to dream-land with every passing second. She just cuddles up next to him and breathes as evenly as she can.

A few minutes later, Trevor interrupts her near-slumber with a quiet question.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” Honey says.

“After the fruit stand, do you want to get dinner?” Trevor asks.

Honey feels her head sag for a second with sleep, coming back to herself after a brief falling sensation. “Mm, ‘kay,” she agrees with a one-shouldered shrug. “I want pizza.”

“Okay, baby,” Trevor says with another laugh, shaking her. Honey whines, tugging his shirt until he stops laughing. “We’ll go get pizza.”

“Good.” Honey feels Trevor kiss her forehead, then face the sky again. She tells him, “Go to bed. I’m sleepy.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Trevor teases. “Don’t drool on me in your sleep.”

“You would be so lucky.”

It doesn’t take long for them to fall asleep after that. Honey feels just one more kiss on her forehead from Trevor. She has only good dreams.

note: I love HoneyTrev. I love Beaquinn. I hope you all loved this chapter too. Now I am moving onto 13 or so oneshots that I am determined to write before I even THINK about Chapter 9 of STG (but let's be real– I like HoneyTrev and Beaquinn too much to ignore them. They're always on my mind.)

ok love you guys, as always, pls hit me up with your feedback and thoughts on this chapter!! i love to talk about stg and it makes me feel really happy when you all give me something to talk about– otherwise i feel like i'm posting this for The Void and that's no fun. ok. bonsoir.

[yellowbunnydreams]

The Blood Runs Thicker (part 14) ~vampire!William Afton x F! Reader~

~*Zombie noises as I crawl from the Christmas grave and back into university*~

Tag-List; @ruh--roh-raggy @randymeeksisafinalgirl @sleepy---head @robin-the-enby @hungrhay @likoplays @slxsher-whxre @nicolezghostz @spiderlilytengu

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Want more or something different? *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

CW:Minors DNI, (18+ ONLY), Female Reader, legal age gap (Reader- 20's, William - 50's), graphic acts of violence, biting, knife-play, blood, blood-drinking/licking, mention of dead children, anaemia. Mentions of torture. Drama. Possessive behaviour. Very, very heavy smut. Cunnilingus, fingering, riding, mating press.

William pinned you so easily, barely using any strength behind his grip as he felt the already slick fabric of his pants become damper with your friction against his thick thigh, breaking the kiss as he grabbed your wrists and chuckled as you yelped when he wrenched them behind your back, forcing your back to arch into his chest as his head settled into the crook of your neck. Muffling his ragged breath with the warmth against your skin.

His free hand moved up onto one thigh, stroking the warm skin, pausing at the knot of scar tissue he had made before continuing, slipping his rough fingers under the hem of his shirt on your body and groping at your hip, slowing the roll of your hips against his as he planted soft kisses against the delicate skin and fluttering pulse.

Your fingers strained to touch him, touch anything as your heat burned against his thigh, the warmth of his breath against your neck making little whimpers of desperation fall from your lips. Some might have called you a monster for enjoying a murderer in the way you were, but you didn't care. If this was the punishment you received for leading a life to it's end, then you were all too happy to lead more astray and bow your head to the dark. Legs trembling either side of his thigh, you tipped your head back in pleasure as you felt a small knot of pleasure building in your stomach, trembling in his iron grip. There was no doubt that you were at his mercy.

Cold air hit your skin all too fast as it took you a second to register the sound of ripping fabric, gasping as you felt all too hot and freezing all at once as William balled up what was left of his t-shirt and threw it somewhere into the room. His silver eyes scanned you hungrily, drawing lazy lines across your body, watching your chest rise and fall with each shaking breath, the faint flutter of your heart visible above your left breast. He twisted his body to lay you across the bed, his predatory eyes never leaving your body before his hands rested on your thighs, squeezing them tightly as a wicked smile crossed his face.

Your brow furrowed as he planted nipping kisses across your neck and collarbones, kissing down the valley of your sternum and then over each breast, gasping loudly as his teeth found your nipple, biting at the sensitive bud as his thick fingers pushed into your dripping pussy, making your back arch into him as he set a brutal pace after only a short pause to let you adjust to him. His hips rocked against the air slightly as he felt your slick walls clenching around his fingers, the burning heat to rival his own, the lewd sound of him moving your slickness meeting his ears like music as he let out a possessive growl. Making sure that the nipple in his mouth was thoroughly tender and paid attention to before he moved onto the other, eliciting another sweet moan.

William Afton, even in un-life, could never get enough of hearing the sweet noises people made. But this was the best sound he had encountered since his transformation, and he wanted more of it. More of you.

The knot in your stomach grew tighter and tighter as he spread your sensitive walls, only worsened as he used his thumb to bump the sensitive nub of your clit with each curling motion of his fingers, as his trying to meet his fingertips through your body. A whimper of disappointment left your body as he removed them though, and your eyes finally wandered to his smug expression as he sat back on his heels, the bed groaning in protest beneath you as he seemed to inspect the mess you made under the low light before he slowly pushed the digits into his mouth. Moaning loudly as he tasted you against his skin, your cheeks heating up as you watched him clean you off of him with his tongue before his eyes opened again, pupils blown out as smirked at you.

"If I'd realised that something this sweet was in my bed this whole time," he growled, the low tone raising the hair on the back of your neck as you found your gaze glued to him, watching as he practically ripped off his t-shirt and threw in somewhere else. "I might have helped myself sooner."

His broad chest as lined with pink scars, silvery sheen to the new skin as his chest rose and fell with the deep breaths he was taking. The dark hair smattered across his chest tinted with a little grey as your eyes naturally wandered down his body, following the trail across his stomach and following where you imagined it led to as the waistband of his pants got in the way. William chuckled as he realised where you were looking, palming the tent in his pants as your cheeks heated up, looking down at you on display for him.

"You'll get your taste soon enough bunny, I'm not done with you yet."

For a man of his age and stature, such fluid movements shouldn't have been natural, but they were somehow and you found yourself reminded of a big-cat as he hooked his arms around the backs of your thighs, rough fingertips biting into your hips as his tongue licked a stripe up your folds. A drawn out moan escaping you as your hand instinctually moved into his hair, holding him loosely as he hummed against your sensitive skin. Long tongue continuing it's path as he repeatedly warmed your already slick folds with his tongue, making sure to catch your pearl with each motion with the tip of his tongue, enjoying far too much the way that your body jolted with pleasure beneath his ministrations.

With almost feverish abandon, his tongue pressed between your folds and opened your walls for him, making you moan more as his grip on your hips forced your back to arch for him. Wincing as his nails left crescents in your supple skin, matching the bruises he was sure to leave behind as his tongue invaded you. The vibration of his moans moving through his tongue and into you, stoking the fire inside as your fingers curled tighter into his hair, holding William closer as he managed to locate the soft, spongey texture inside where your eyes rolled back and breathing hitch rapidly, only serving to encourage the vampire further as he pressed further into your body. Fangs pressing against your skin and sending a jolt through your body.

The knot wound tighter and tighter, sure that your wetness was spreading over William's lips and into the slightly burning stubble as it rubbed against the inside of your thighs, breathing hard and fast as you chased your high, whimpering William's name as his tongue was joined by one of his thick fingers, focusing on your swollen clit as he used his digits to stretch you open for him. Focused intently on the spots that elicited the whimpers and moans, chasing your high for you.

Coming undone on William's fingers were all too easy, shaking and pulling him close as his name fell from your lips in a prayer-like chant, a thought that amused him greatly as he listened to your pulse pounding through the arteries either side of his head. How easily he would be able to rip life from you in that moment, so vulnerable and weak from your intense orgasm. There was a reason the French name for it translated to 'the little death' after all.

He kept his fingers lazily moving inside you, stroking your clenching, soaked walls as he sat up slightly, licking his lips and your slick off of his face. The smell of you, your taste filled his senses and overwhelmed them as the symphony of your overstimulation filled his ears. Squirming, releasing his hair and gripping the sheets below you as you gazed up at him, eyes welling up with tears as your body tried to squirm away from the pleasure still being forced onto your body, William's predatory grin in the low light sending shivers down to your core.

"William..." You breathed, eliciting a low growl of approval from the man as he slowly pulled his fingers from your trembling body, admiring how your arousal coated them before he reached into his pants, clearly stroking himself under the material and denying you the pleasure of watching him. His breathing turning ragged as his silvery eyes became half-lidded, biting at his own lip for a change as his free hand moved to brush through his salt and pepper hair. Muscles flexing just under the scarred skin.

"Am I going to have to undress myself bunny, or are you going to continue being good for me and touch me?" Voice gravelly and low, dangerous. Full of barely contained nature that could so easily consume you.

You nodded eagerly, shakily bringing yourself onto your knees and trembling fingers struggling with the button and zip of his pants, especially as he continued to stroke himself beneath the taunt material. His breath stirring your hair as your focused on the task before your, roughly shoving them down his hips and your fingers finding the pink scars on his thighs naturally. Raising an eyebrow as William sharply breathed in, his eyes fluttering slightly as you looked up at him. It was your turn to smirk at him, pressing a little closer and letting your stomach brush against his tip, bringing the vampire a small shiver as your warmth was so close to his almost naked body.

"Does it hurt?" You asked, voice laden with lust and watching his gaze turn back to you, lip curling into an animalistic snarl as one hand moved across from his hip, wrapping around his thick, hard cock and replacing his own rough fingers. The softness of your touch, fluttering and light, his cock slicked with your arousal and his own pre-cum making him feel as if his control was slipping more and more by the second. The other touch on his hip pressing and stroking over the sensitive new skin that made your touch feel like it was a deliciously burning fire through him, breathing heavy and ragged as he tried to restrain himself.

"The only thing that hurts right now, little bunny, is how fucking hard I am." he growled, his large hand slowly tracing up the curve of your spine before grabbing the back of your head roughly, making you gasp as you were forced down, no time to breathe and barely enough to brace yourself against his thighs as William shoved his cock into your mouth.

Afton moaned loudly above you, his head tipping back as his hips bucked into your warm mouth. The plush lips wrapped around his shaft felt heavenly, and your tongue exploring him sent spasms of pleasure through his large body. Barely listening to the chokes and slight gags from your smaller, frailer body as he allowed his control to slip slightly, fucking into your mouth with a tight grip on your head, his free hand running back over the curve of your back, rough fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as you struggled to take all of him so suddenly into your mouth. Your soft, muffled, whimpering moans sending tiny vibrations through him and driving him even crazier.

But as sinful and heavenly as your mouth felt, just as you grew used to his taste, the saltiness of his precum coating your tongue as you were pulled free. Silvery strands of saliva connecting his throbbing cock to your puffy lips as he snarled and pressed you back into the mattress, making your yelp as your head was wrenched back and leaving your neck exposed as William crawled ontop of your body. Reaching between you and pressing his cock between your folds, making you whimper and moan as he rutted against you, his tip bumping into your sensitive clit as he used your own arousal as lube to thrust against you. If the image wasn't so ridiculous with a predator about to fuck you, you would have thought of his wild eagerness more like a teenager desperate to fuck his prom-date.

Though all thoughts were quickly wiped from your mind as William roughly shoved his cock into your gummy walls, making your back arch. Your hands finding his back and scratching over the sensitive springlock scars, making William growl as he slowly sunk himself into you, panting with pupils blown out as he looked down at you, the arm supporting his weight by your head trembling slightly with the effort to keep himself above you and not crush you under his larger frame as he hilted himself in your pussy. You could feel how much he throbbed inside of you already, how your walls tugged against him tightly as he rolled his hips into you and felt his tip bumping into your cervix.

"Fuck." He breathed, biting his lip before closed his eyes and hung his head slightly, breathing hard but deeply as he held himself as deeply inside you, trying to reign himself back in as to not break you. "Bunny, I...I'm not sure I am going to last all that long with how you're squeezing me." A dark chuckle falling from him as he managed to bring himself to look at you again, meeting your half-lidded gaze as he held your head back, able to see how your pulse throbbed under the thin skin of your neck, how pleasure had dilated your eyes and turned them into inky, carnal pools.

"Y-You going to give out already, old man?" You teased, earning a growl and a sharp tug on the back of your head as he slowly lowered himself to your body, making you whimper as he stretching you out, somehow cramming more of himself inside of you as his lips skimmed over your neck. Breath burning against you as he brushed his lips against your ear, whispering softly into the shell before his long tongue licked over it and sent a shiver through your body.

"Old man? And here I thought we were being civil, bunny...One might even say I was considering calling you a lover. MY good girl." Thrusting into you sharply and making you gasp as he bumped into you, slowly dragging his length back out of your trembling body, as if threatening to withdraw completely and stop giving you pleasure. Threatening to retie the knot in your stomach, the fire stoked under your skin as you whimpered.

"I'm sorry William, I-I didn't mean....mean to...please don't..." You managed to gasp out, breathing hard and fast as he paused, leaving his tip barely inside your tight, clenching walls. Your body begging him not to leave, to continue stretching and filling you.

"Now that isn't quite a proper apology, is it?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Afton, sir." you breathed, although your regretted it as any breath was knocked from you as William smirked down at you and slammed his hips against yours, hilting himself once more into his prize as his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he rutted into you. Moaning into your ear before his lips found your neck, planting soft, nipping kisses there.

"Good girl. You're mine, bunny. You hear me? Or am I going to fuck you dumb and have to teach you this again?" He asked, though he grinned against you as only his name fell from your lips, mixed in with heavy moans and the sound of shaking, unstable breaths as he claimed you.

The feeling of William stretching your pussy around his thick cock was almost painful, but the pleasure took over your mind and left you gasping as your eyes rolled back into your skull. The lewd sound of him slicking in and out of your wetness filling the room and mixing with your combined moans, your fingers pressing into and scratching at his back, feeling the muscles flex and strain as he fucked you into the motel mattress.

His fangs found your neck, digging in quickly and moaning against your skin as he left your reeling, body shaking as the knot in your stomach tightened again, his fast, deep thrusts hitting all the spots inside you that made you see stars as he sucked on your neck. You swore his teeth scraped against your skin, trying to give you a hickey despite the fact you could feel small pearls of your own blood run from between his lips and down over your shoulder, staining the bedsheet beneath you.

William picked up his pace, feeling how your pussy tightened around him, how hard he was throbbing inside of you already. There was part of him that was glad he was as he was, allowing him a small modicum of control compared to when he had been fully human, although even in his mortality, William Afton had been a very controlled and measured man in most aspects of his life.

The taste of you on his tongue was heady and nothing that he had had before, but something he craved more of whenever he would get the chance. Iron, musk. Blood and sex and salt as your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he fucked your delicate body. The feeling of your fingers pressing into and touching his back and the scars of the springlocks sending pleasurable shivers through his body, encouraging him to fuck you faster as the force of his hips smacking into yours with the lewd sound of wetness and skin on skin filling the small space and cloying air forcing your legs to raise and hang over his hips. There was part of him that wondered how you'd enjoy feeling him fill you in the mating-press, whether he would even be able to fufill its purpose and there was that dark and twisted part of him, the animalistic side of him that wanted to test it over and over again.

"W-William, sir, I...I'm going to-" A sharp gasp cut through his wandering thoughts, growling against your skin as he rutted into you harder, releasing his grip on your back and your neck and head. Watching the crimson streak against your skin, blooming on the white pillowcase behind your head, hair messily sprawled across it as he snarled. His large hands planting on the back of your thighs and pressing them towards your head, making you gasp and whine as he seemed to plunge deeper into your body. Eyes rolling back and body shaking as your hands relegated themselves to the sheets, unable to focus as your orgasm crept closer and closer as the man above you snapped his hips to yours with an almost animalistic pace.

"Cum for me," He demanded, his forehead wet with effort and focused on watching your expressions and his cock plunging into your depths, angling his hips so that he could hit the spots that made your body spasm and whimper with ecstasy. "Let me fill you up, little bunny."

He growled demands snapped the burning knot in your abdomen, a breathless scream escaping you as your back arched severely. Body spasming and clenching around William, feeling him throb as he fucked you harder through your orgasm, making you see stars and the edges of your vision turn white before he pressed his full weight into you. Growling your name through gritted teeth as he hilted himself inside of you, throbbing hard as he unloaded thick, hot seed deep inside against your bruised and batterer cervix. Hissing, shaking breaths escaping through your gritted teeth, as he felt himself filling you, being milked desperately by your body as your second orgasm ripped through you.

The sudden silence in the room, apart from both your laboured breathing, almost left a ringing in your ears. William being the first to move as he moved his hands from your thighs, wincing slightly although feeling a pang of pride as he saw the fingertip shaped bruises across your delicate skin, planting soft kisses there before he lowered your legs slowly. Feeling how they shook as he lowered himself to you again, remaining inside as he wrapped his arms around you once more, licking up the side of your neck to clean you up and leaving you whimpering softly in the overstimulation of two orgasms and the heady bloodloss.

"You did so good for me bunny...But make an old-man comment like that again and I'll teach you the lesson you deserve." Chuckling darkly as he kissed up your neck and cradled your to him, letting you feel the heat and careful weight of his body as you trembled beneath him.

"I...If that's punishment.. you can punish me anytime." Giggling as he brushed his lips against yours and planted an almost tender kiss there. His grey eyes crinkling slightly as he grinned wickedly.

"Oh, that was far from punishment. That was part of your reward for being such a good little thing for me."

"Part of?"

"I'm more than mortal, bunny," he replied, looking at your raised eyebrow and smiling as he kissed you again, feeling how your lips trembled under his with a sense of primal satisfaction. " and as long as you're good, I plan on giving you far, far more than what we did here."

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"Can't it be both?"

He remained curled around you as exhaustion hit you, eyes fluttering shut as William buried his face into your neck, breath washing over your skin and his body keeping you warm. Wrapped up in strong arms, knowing that somebody was dead was because of you, and somehow knowing that it was the safest place in the world in that moment in time.

You hoped he wouldn't tired of your own mortality, at least not yet.

[writella]

In the Meadow

So I meant to start + post a Daryl fic (and it’s 50% there, I’ll finish it soon!!) but I was just obsessed with Rick and the reader in their little spot in the meadow in Moments Behind His Eyes, and I wanted to write another story in that setting. I was actually trying to keep it ‘porn, no plot’ lol but then I added a bit of plot, one day I’ll try to keep it super short, I promise!! But what I added is fun.. at least I think lol!! You can read it as a prequel to mbhe or not if you don’t want to picture the age gap dynamic that is in this fic, your choice. c:

Rick x fem!reader, age gap relationship (reader is in her 20s), Alexandria era, smut / 18+ (I marked the area with a heart where it starts and then three hearts when it really starts to get serious), oh and one use of the word “daddy.” This is my second fic and I would love to hear some feedback, so please comment or make an ask on my blog about it or about twd, rick, or daryl related things or literally anything about whatever you’d like— you would make my day. ♡

You hate to admit it, but you still felt uncomfortable having sex with Rick at home. It’s ironic how becoming the woman of the house accidentally made you more promiscuous than you ever were before. You were unbuttoning his shirt and he was taking off your pants under the sun, above the grass, in a meadow— a MEADOW, near water, that literally anyone could walk into.

Well, that was not exactly true. In probability it was— you were outside— but in actuality, almost no one visited this slice of heaven you and Rick called your spot.

“Have you been near the meadow today?” Rick, in this variation or another, would ask on occasion. “I saw a pretty little flower growing there this morning.” His smile was sweet, but you knew better. “It was your favorite color,” there was mischief in his eyes as he shrugged nonchalantly, “reminded me of you.”

It was typical that if he added some detail or new observation about the meadow, whether it was made up or not, that he wanted you. Now.

It was exciting, but also reassuring that you had a place like this to call your own. Having a gorgeous house was a luxury you would never take for granted, but Rick’s house was almost like an hq. You were pretty sure Daryl’s spot was in the garage or basement. You didn’t bother asking if that’s what he considered his room, or rooms, or not. Daryl was always welcomed, no questions asked, and no need for him to get self conscious about his ways— you loved him. And you were also pretty sure he slept outside sometimes, just because it’s what felt natural, or on Carol’s sofa, and who knows where else. He didn’t say and no one asked. And as for everyone else, especially those of the pre-Alexandria group, coming by unannounced, asking Rick questions, or sitting for a cup of coffee was common. You guys even had small meetings there. To say the least, this home wasn’t always a private one, and you did like that, that the place you lived in was a safe meeting area for others, but as your relationship with Rick advanced, slowly moving from this unspoken partnership to a more outwardly romantic one, you enjoyed having an area that felt like no one was watching.

You were a little younger than Rick. Maybe a little too much younger if you asked some. It was only a little more than nearing toward a decade into this new world, yet you still had your before brain. If this was then, you knew there would be family members who absolutely would not approve. He was the father of a teenager after all. But now, with your found family, you were one of the leaders in Alexandria. You were even a part of the group before Alexandria. Searching for a home, out in the wild for what felt like well over half a year. Surviving a hardship like that brings people together, shows them their strengths, their resilience. Everyone was an equal. And you pulled your weight more than you ever imagined of yourself, as both a fighter and friend.

It’s part of what made Rick captivated by you. You were strong, and more than capable of holding your own, but so endearingly kind. You weren’t a natural at anything, but a quick learner well enough who always had interesting stories to tell. Only you could make a seemingly basic tale about how you got lost on your way to a concert sound so entertaining. You still had the beauty of the past in you. You loved to read and write and you missed watching movies, but you never minded retelling what you remembered of the plot from one of the groups favorite films to lighten the mood on another sleepless night where you hadn’t found a home yet. And in the day, when it was time to scavenge or kill the walkers on your trails, you were always prepared to do your part as best as you could. Following example of how to use a gun or your knife. Daryl even taught you how to use his bow, and no one touches his bow. But you liked making a special, intimate connection with everyone, so becoming close to each member came naturally to you. It was individual to you and that person of course— your gentleness and lighthearted charm was truly your own— but in a way, they trusted you like they trusted Rick. Without realizing it was this precisely, he felt an unspoken connection to you because of it.

You felt it too. He always gave credit to his group when it was due, never down playing their strengths or intelligence, so hearing a quick compliment about your ‘good work’ or him placing a hand on your shoulder, patting your back, or that one time he called you a ‘sweet girl’ because of the way you knew how to make Carl smile, wasn’t exactly uncommon— well maybe that last one— but nonetheless it doesn’t mean it didn’t touch the deepest parts of your heart every time you heard or felt it.

Honestly, you found it silly how obsessed you were with the littles things about him. You loved his beard, how his hair remained a rich brown, yet his facial hair was a mix of brown and grey and white, and how he looked stunning with any variation of it. You knew you would take him with it at its longest, but even with none at all. And his eyes, those potently colored blue eyes. The ones that had little crinkles that formed around the corners when he smiled, it made you wonder if that meant he smiled a lot before all of this. Those eyes reminded you of the sky and what could be. The future without fear or as close as you could get to it. You were inspired that someone who had taken control and fought against oppressors, didn’t become one himself. He always remains so deeply loving and even vulnerable at times. He could be untrusting, that’s true, but in the end, he was always ready to accept more people into his life or his community if they showed their humanity.

Thinking about the things you loved about Rick made you excited for a future with him, but then there was Carl whom you loved so deeply. It’s not that things were exactly secret, you knew that was true, but you still wondered how aspects of your relationship with him might change when kisses were openly exchanged at the breakfast table, or how it would look to everyone else if you held Rick’s hand more freely when people were around, maybe it a moment where you felt he needed it to remember you were there in times of stress.

Though it’s not like everyone isn’t aware of the fact that Rick doesn’t talk with, or take the advice of, or even argue at times with others the way he does with you. Rick respected his group, but it was no mystery that he respected you in a way you do with a significant other. Not to mention, you lived in his house for god’s sake; you called it ‘home’ when you referenced it.

You kept teetering with your thoughts, you liked your current home dynamic. You got to be Rick’s partner, everyone’s friend, plus you were also Carl’s confidant. You even liked to write him little stories, knowing how much he loved his old comics from your time at the prison. You’d call them ‘comic books but in word form,’ always handing them over to him excitedly.

“Comics have words,” he’d tease, but he always loved reading them, all of ‘em. He was obsessed. What you would call his ‘little emo boy soul’ would constantly ask if you could write something a little darker, but you couldn’t help but make the endings positive. In truth, writing them was an escape for yourself too. This obviously wasn’t the life you expected to live after all. But you also loved the Grimes’ and you couldn’t picture your life without them now. And you loved that ever since you moved to Alexandria and ever since the original clan started moving to their own respective houses, Rick never asked you to leave and Carl continually asked if you were around.

Your care for him danced over the fine line of being protective of him like a guardian, but always, more likely than not, engaging in conversation with him like an older sister. You liked that he trusted you to tell him things that he felt he couldn’t always casually talk to his father about. As endlessly giving as Rick is as a father, he was also a leader living in the aftermath of an apocalypse— he was a busy guy.

Although you give him the benefit of the doubt, your handsome and strong but obviously oblivious man, has yet to realize or at least acknowledge, that his own son has a girlfriend, or whatever Carl and Enid’s relationship was, you didn’t ask too many questions about the actual definition. From your time with Rick before Alexandria, you understood romantic friendships and blurred lines well enough. But you did know Enid’s favorite color, that she knew how to roller skate, and you even helped Carl make her a bracelet from a box of beads one cute little five year old girl in town lent to him.

-♡-

That’s why as you took quick breaths in between kisses, Rick’s tongue quickly peaking in and out of your mouth as your heads moved left to right and back again, he kissed you once more, slowly humming into the kiss, then letting go to ask, “When are we going to do this in our bed?”

Our bed. That’s the first time you heard him call it that.

Sure, the amount of times you’ve tiptoed to Rick’s door has increased as the weeks have gone by, but you still had your own room. As much as you liked how our bed sounds, is it bad that you still liked how things were? All your books were in there. And you liked when he surprised you in your room too.

“I think at this point you know Carl better than anyone, you don’t think he has eyes?”

“I’d say what we have has been undefined, but not discreet,” you reason. You take a beat, “I just want to be respectful.”

“I’m ready for you,” his words are firm and loving. “I don’t think anyone is going to worry. And if they do, they’re going to have to realize they’ve probably noticed all along.” Then a curious smile appears on his face, “And did we ever know how old Abraham was in comparison to Rosita?”

That made you giggle far too much, but it also surprised you and you could tell by the look on his face, it surprised him too. Rick was kind, and he could be smug, and liked to laugh but he wasn’t the joking type, especially about a lost loved one. It’s one of the first times he’s mentioned Abraham in the context of his life, not his death.

“I’m sure Abraham would have thought that was funny too.” You think for a moment, “Something like, ‘there ain’t enough donuts to choose from in this crumbled up box of life to stick your twinkie into. Beggars can’t be choosers. Fuck the plain or get none.’” You guys both share a look of shock and laughter at your terrible impression. Imperfectly derogatory for sure, but not quite the same as the bizarre but surprisingly understandable verbiage of the charismatic guy you used to know. “Rosita is like a strawberry with sprinkles, or a boston creme though. You know, something special; I was just saying whatever came to my head first,” you explain shyly, eyes away, still giggling.

Rick is hysterically speechless, the most confounding look on his face as he tries to process the fact that that pseudo-Abraham phrase came out of your mouth.

“I just didn’t want you to get sad.” Your voice is tender and sincere.

-♡ ♡ ♡-

He nods, acknowledging the gesture, saying softly, “Silly girl,” his thumb and pointer holding your chin. “My pretty girl.” He pecks you, but his lips go in between yours as he does, it feels so deep for something so quick. “My sweet girl.” Another kiss, and that fire builds in your heart again, you’ll never forget the first time he called you that and you’re never getting over how much you love it. “My sweet baby girl,” his voice is sultry, even though he says it low, it sounds thick and sharp opposed to his lips that feel warm and soft, though his beard scratches up against your skin as he kisses you once more, tongue going into your mouth.

When Rick kisses, it feels immersive. He’s the man who always has the right words to say, so when he can’t speak in a moment like this, all of the conviction he would display verbally, comes out orally by way of how his mouth feel against yours, it’s as if it touches every corner.

Closing your eyes as you lean in, it feels like sunbathing: there is a peace at the feeling of brightness and heat as your eyelids lower. It’s just like how everything about being with Rick feels right. You feel embarrassed to admit you might worship the man. You’d give in to anything he gave you.

You were already in his lap, but now your hips move closer to his own until there is no more space. Your knees are bent and your shoes are flat on the ground, helping you grind against him with more control. You push in, up and down, and his hands are on your lower back, nearing your ass helping you go faster.

Rick catches your lips and your tongues twist into one another. Your arms are over his shoulders, they’re straight and you have your hands crossed over the other. As you continue to rock, one of his hands slowly trails up your back, caressing your neck and then he pushes into your hair. It guides your head exactly the way he wants to kiss you, controlling it, every feeling making you moan into his mouth. Heaven really could be a place and it was your spot, in the meadow, where you and Rick loved and touched exactly how you wanted to.

Rick lets go of you completely and pushes his hands to the ground and slides back as best as he can, moving the two of you closer to a tree to support his back. You both push off your shoes, his shirt was discarded long ago, but now you undo his belt and he’s taking off your shirt.

He’s pulling his boxers down, his hardened cock springs up, and you notice a vein on the side, precum at the tip, you were this close to kissing it but then he pulls your underwear over to the left, not taking it off. You don’t question it because he’s quick with his movements, checking how wet you were with his fingers, despite there being an obviously large wet spot on the fabric, and then he pushes himself in, bottoming out immediately.

Your sigh is angelic, and his groan is guttural, it almost makes you moan again.

You rock against him, this time feeling so full and euphoric. You hadn’t had sex in the before time, but there was that one time where you did lose your virginity to a nice guy back at the prison, and then another time a year later when you decided to try again with someone else. It was fun, but meaningless. You didn’t think you’d be the one night stand type, at least not for your first times, but back then you sometimes felt like everyday was your last day, and as much as you always admired Rick, he was heavy in mourning in the early prison days, and you were trying to be a good friend by keeping your distance, talking to him platonically.

Alexandria was different though, you felt a new hope here. And then there were Rick’s more forward gestures, leading you to follow his new energy, and now you think he has probably ruined everyone else for you, not that there would be anyone else. Who else could there be now that Rick called you his?

You started to pump up and back down, bouncing happily. You were always the kind of person that was so worried about everyone else’s feelings, and as much as you smiled it wasn’t all the time that Rick saw you so carefree. So much so in fact you kept switching from bouncing to rocking, not knowing which you liked best, both feeling so good, “you just feel so big,” you admitted, stretching out the syllables, making him groan again.

It amused him too, laughing lightly as he opened his eyes, watching your face tilt, mouth agape, pants and quiet “ahs” coming out of you. Your eyes were closed, you looked as if you were in an amazing, intoxicating place.

He liked that this was a new way he got to know you that other people didn’t. You never admitted it, but he knew now that sometimes you like being on top. It made him chuckle, just watching you do as you pleased. He liked giving you what you wanted, but now he wanted to speed things up.

“Alright,” he said, kissing you quickly, “my turn.” He pulled you off and almost threw you to the ground. You thought nothing of it, all you did was take off your under garments in anticipation.

He was between your legs now, on his knees, staring at the glistening of your folds that was seeping just a bit at the bottom, the hand on your lower stomach, then your tits, noticing you had discarded your bra— you really were becoming dissolute, weren’t you? But really you were just absolutely drunk on Rick. Finally, he noticed your swollen lips and your teeth that softly bit down on your finger, your eyes entranced by the man above you, the sun creating a halo over his messy curls. “You really are my beautiful girl, aren’t you?”

You shook your head bashfully. “And you’re my handsome man.”

“Oh yeah?”

You hum, you meant it sweetly, but it comes out seductively.

He comes closer, “Does that mean you’re going to let me do exactly what I want?”

“Yes, daddy.” The phrase comes out without thinking, your eyes scrunch, your cheeks are roses, your hands cover your face, but Rick has the widest grin, pushing your hands off to meet your eyes.

“Okay,” he nodded curiously, eyes smiling wickedly now. “If that’s how you see it, baby girl.”

Then suddenly, your head was in between his hands, flat on the grass and he pushes in completely, no stopping. You felt entirely split open. There was no mercy here.

He noticed your eyes and nose scrunching up again at all the pain and pleasure. Your breaths kept coming out as quick and harsh pants, then he watched the tension release as he slowed down, moving his cock in and halfway out a bit, rocking his hips into it. Your pants turned into moaning sighs, and then he switched on you. Totally disrupting the system as he quickened up again. Your mouth opened wide. You tried your best not to shout his name, but nonetheless a loud, “Rick!” came out and your face tightened again.

“Let go,” you were squeezing his arms for dear life at this point, but you listened and released him, reaching for his back. His forearms laid on the grass now so you could put your arms over him. His balls were slapping against you as he went hard and deep, kissing your neck until he couldn’t hold in his grunts and moans that fell directly into your ear. The speed became almost unbearable as he said your name and then he came, but even after he did, his stamina never faltered.

He took your bent leg and placed it over his shoulder, and took the liberty to thumb your clit. Tight circles going fast, fast, fast. But he did make sure to slow down the pace, only a little for you, going in and out saying, “Your turn, pretty girl. You gonna be good for me?”

“Yes,” you said desperately.

You two moaned in unison, thrusting up into each other, until Rick changed the position of his thrusts to curl up inside of you. It makes you drop your leg from his shoulder, digging into his back, “Right there.”

“Yeah, there it is,” he felt you close, he smiled knowing he’s got you exactly where you needed it, “You’re a sweet girl, you know that?” He looked at you when he said it but your eyes were closed. His words alone snapped the knot inside of you and took you over the edge. You felt it everywhere as he pumped vastly once again allowing you to ride your high, hand coming to your jaw, starting to lightly cover your neck as you did so, he did it without thinking and then let go.

Once you came down, he pulled out, putting your underwear and bra back on for you and taking his boxers. He laid flat on his back and pulled you over until you were on top of him.

His arms extended over you, you both laid in peaceful silence for a moment until he said your name, making you look up at him. He took one of his hands to fix your disheveled hair, running his fingers through it lightly. Your eyes doting as your fingers trailed his face in return. You really were his sweet, beautiful girl.

“Tonight,” he started, “After I put Judith down, I’m going to open my door and call out for Carl. I’m going to say goodnight to him and then I want you to come and stand with me by the door. Then you say goodnight too.” He was stern in tone, but gentle in sentiment. “It’s time.”

“Okay,” you responded obediently. “You’re right, it’s time.”

[sundew199]

Random Reiner HCs (sfw)

A/n: a mix of relationship and non-relationship, some are modern day. Again these are just my headcanons, and just for fun :)

Will sing girly pop songs with you in the car, does not care.

Cannot sit on the couch for longer than 5 minutes or he’ll fall asleep and stay asleep for the rest of the day, you better hope and pray y’all don’t have plans

Has a HORRENDOUS farmers tan 💀, looks like he’s still wearing a shirt when he takes his off

Will only play videos games if Gabi and Falco ask him too, other than that he doesn’t play that often, but does like to watch you play your games. It’s like having your own narrator/commentator :)

Sets at least 10 alarms to get up for work in the morning but doesn’t wake up to any of them, you have to wake him up after the nth alarm by practically shoving him off the bed

Garbage disposal, will eat anything you cook without hesitation and don’t even think about buying snacks because they’ll barely last a day

Physical touch is one of his love languages 100%. If you don’t feel like cuddling in bed he’ll still find a way, like making sure his foot is touching yours 😭

He’s Bob the builders long lost brother, you’ll mention wanting a piece of furniture vaguely and he’s already putting together a mental list of the materials he needs to build it for you

Naturally fit, doesn’t need to go to the gym often to maintain his physique

Bisexual. (And I will not be elaborating)

Doesn’t mind doing skincare with you or letting you use him as a makeup canvas you just gotta convince him first,

Ironically isn’t that great with money, not extremely irresponsible but you have to hold onto his wallet or he’ll buy the entire store if he feels like it

Played sports in school, but never got that into them. He was naturally good and coaches loved him but couldn’t find the passion

Old man trapped in a younger body, swears he feels 50 when he’s only in his early twenties

He snores but SWEARS he doesn’t

Lowkey really bad at texting people back, prefers to call. And if he does call, clear your schedule cause it’s not going to be a quick one (you don’t mind hehehe)

He can be sooooooo dramatic if he wants to be. Over little inconveniences mostly he just wants to be babied, baby him >:(

Drives a truck and I mean like a 90s model Chevy pickup that he’s had since high school that he’s fully restored and is insanely proud of. Has not even considered getting a newer truck because he just can’t let go his older one (first big purchase he made, so it’s sentimental, leave him alone)

Very rarely has a filter, and not in that kinda way, he just sometimes says what he thinks out loud and you have to pretend you didn’t hear him and move on 😭

Is so blind to flirting, like total blindness. You had to finally spell it out to him that you LIKED him and not as a friend for him to realize what you were doing. It’s gotten worse since you and him have been together because he still doesn’t realize when other people flirt or throw themselves at him (he can be such a himbo, I love him)

Cat person

Very in tune with his emotions. Wasn’t always like that since he had a rough childhood but after going to therapy after high school he doesn’t conceal his emotions anymore and can be upfront at times

Does NOT play about you. Reiner is a very sweet caring person but the second he notices you’re uncomfortable around a guy/girl a flip switches and he turns into the intimidating beefy dude that no one wants to fuck with. (It’s lowkey so hot)

Worships you, (obviously) by buying flowers at least every week or two so that way they never die. Date nights, weekend trips, the whole nine yards. He loves spending time with you and showing you how much you mean to him

Grew up catholic, doesn’t practice anymore due to the conformity pushed onto him. Isn’t really religious in general but does believe in a high power.

Wants a big family. At least two kids, maybe more if you’re willing. Doesn’t like the idea of his child not having siblings like him and also just loves family orientation in general. Definitely a big family guy. 

Good with kids 😈

If you use any lingo around him like say: girl, girly, pookie, bae, dawg, homie, bro, etc. he will eventually start to use it unironically until he can’t stop. (I may be projecting but it’s funny so idc.)

[worksby-d]

Give me a dilfy 17

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Prompt: Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

Warnings: Just cutie bf!Andy 🤭🫶

Word count: ~350

50 types of kisses prompts

When he peeks into the bathroom, you’re right where he left you twenty minutes ago. He got antsy waiting for you to get ready, so he went out to “shovel snow” off the driveway instead of pacing around.

You’re leaned over the counter to apply your mascara when you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. 

His cheeks are rosy from the cold, but it’s not precious enough to keep you from rolling your eyes at him. 

“Did you get the two snowflakes off the driveway?” There was only a dusting, you knew he was just going out to waste time. “Will we make it to dinner?”

“Hey now.” He squints at you, pushing off the door frame to step behind you. His hands rest on your waist. “There was more snow out there than you think.” 

“Whatever,” you chuckle.

You take your eyes off of his in the mirror and turn your head to look back toward him. He leans to meet you halfway but pauses. You can tell he’s looking at your lips. 

“What?”

He raises a brow at you. “No lipstick yet?”

You’ve yelled at him enough times for being a pest and messing up your makeup that he knows to check now. 

“No lipstick yet,” you laugh. 

He gets the kiss he wants, albeit ironic that he’s the one distracting you now, prolonging the delay that had him anxious a couple minutes ago.

Lifting a hand up to his cheek, you feel his cold skin against your palm, but it’s nothing compared to the icicle of a hand you feel on your hip when the hem of your shirt rides up.

Your gasp forces a break in the kiss. “Brrr, Andy!”

“Sorry,” he laughs, quickly moving his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s cold out there.”

“No shit,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away so you can finish up. “Go warm up. I’m almost ready.”

Tag list: @patzammit @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @astheskycries @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @la-cey @turtoix @harrysthiccthighss @tvckerlance @mrspeacem1nusone @murdcox @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @white-wolf1940 @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @livstilinski @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @gitasor @chaeycunty @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21 @mrsgweasley @pandaxnienke @brandycranby @cutedisneygrl

[lakesbian]

anyway what i was going to say about why redditors are wrong about shipping aisha and alec is they always want to turn them into some like. functional established relationship between two 20yos in terms of dynamic when they are in fact two 14-15yos with nightmarishly bad relationships to sexuality and the busiest deadliest lives on the planet. that's a lie taylor has the busiest deadliest life on the planet but aisha and alec are up there.anyway my point is i think you can decently textually support & am endeared to the idea of them being First Ever Best Friends (i think aisha has had elementary school best friends before but not middle school ones and the junior high genre of best friend hits different. alec has never had any close friends at all though so it's doing things to his brain like you wouldnt believe he's out there texting her memes like his life depends on it for the dopamine hit when she responds) with tiny little crushes on each other that theyre traumatized-teen strange about. but its crucial that neither of them want nor are capable of the typical trappings and mores of a romantic relationship. like i think in aisha's 1am falling-asleep daydreams about the Cool Supervillain Future they're ambiguously together but all she's actually doing is putting her hand on his hand when they're hanging out sometimes and then immediately casually pulling it away if he actually does anything acknowledging that she's doing it. and alec has like 50 psychological walls in place to keep him from ever acknowledging that he likes anything because he's used to having anything he likes too much taken away. so he'd never admit to himself that he likes her and he's only capable of directly complimenting her if he's ironic about it. but he would still rank the night they stayed up watching bad reality tv (aisha's choice) together & then he woke up at 4 am and realized she was asleep leaning on his chest and drooling all over his t-shirt as his favorite night in the past 15 years. do you see my vision. i'm not tagging this one as worm spoilers this is targeted aisha alec propaganda for tumblr user taylorhebertstherapist.

[misscammiedawn]

One little thing that always warms my jaded heart in the topic of kink communities is how responsibly we tend to play with pop culture.

One of my vivid memories within the hypnokink community was in 2014-2015 when Jessica Jones was being adapted for Netflix and David Tennant had been cast for Killgrave.

Communities began discussions in earnest with a tone of legitimate worry that we would start attracting a younger crowd of people who saw scenes from the comics adapted and seek hypnokink with the same misguided zeal that the BDSM community had seen years prior when 50 Shades came out.

It's easy to look at the show as it came out and think that was an overreaction but Superwholock was still very much a thing back then and though the show as released was good at depicting Killgrave's abilities as gross and an extreme violation Bagley's art in the comics was fairly...

Well:

So we didn't know what to expect and we opted to take the lessons learned from the 50 Shades influx in BDSM and apply it in advance. We created how to guides for beginners, educated on the lines between healthy expectations and danger and tried our hardest to ensure that anyone who came looking would find a wholesome and welcoming environment of people who enjoyed the fantasy of mind control and the very real allure of hypnosis.

Every time I see drama in the community I remember that period of time and get a warm feeling.

Another thing that just delights me is the way we talk behind closed doors about pop culture figures who are likely into our kink based on the coded way they communicate, the things they reblog or the shirts they wear that can only be obtained from a specific website that is 100% Just For This Kink (plausible deniability says it could be ironic/aesthetic though).

We NEVER out them in public but we kind of chat in walled gardens about how We Know What You Are and it's pretty much official policy to never be a dick about it, especially as they could easily be among us at any given time (and if they are then it's none of our business but they're welcome and we're sorry we live in a society that prevents you from joining us in earnest).

Albeit if there is a shitty celebrity who makes us look bad we may disown them within our circles, whether they be a newspaper cartoonist with rancid political views who is open about his kink or a Hollywood sex pest who includes mind control tropes/themes in all his work.

I always wonder if other communities have that same culture. I have no desire to get involved in it or find out who is the "pop culture figures most likely to be Into This" lists because that's kind of gross and invasive. But it's a part of this whole kink life thing that I feel is just so normal that it must be true of other circles.

Anyway. This is merely a ramble to say I adore how communities tend to be fairly pleasant and welcoming spaces in most regards and we are fully aware that we are a parallel universe from polite society but the way polite society is reflects what exists within our circles and we do our best to have a polite and positive rapport with it.

It's such a bright and positive thing. At least in my opinion.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

more trans colm? Maybe some headcanons for him? (Also, side thing, what are you opinions on trans Kieran 👀)

*sweats* okay so most of my HC are nsfw because I like my trans characters nasty but I don’t post nsfw to tumblr so let me challenge myself and come up with some sfw headcanons.

— SFW Trans Colm HC —

- do not ask me how but Colm has access to testosterone shots. He takes shots because it’s a bit of a sadomasochistic pleasure. Something so great about feeling a needle go into skin.

- he had been openly trans for a while. Risky, yes, but he has a level of arrogance and actual survival expertise to allow him live life that way. People who would wanna get him for being trans should have higher priorities.

- he is pretty thin by man standards, but has muscle on him. He works hard and his emphasis on upper body balances out his hips and makes him look overall boxy, like a cis man.

- Dutch is trans in this too because I say so and so Dutch and Colm had some trans man solidarity.

- colm is strictly T4T.

(Additionally…. I feel Colm kinda dislikes cis people. He doesn’t care much about anyone, but he felt even less remorse for killing Annabelle because she was Dutch’s cis girlfriend).

- Colm’s brother is cis because I like the diversity of a trans brother and cis brother pairing. People who don’t know who’s who will guess which one is the trans one (it’s a 50/50 chance.)

- Colm can grow stubble but not a strong mustache, let alone a beard. He was clean shaven in his younger days but as he got older, the messy graying stubble just fit his silver hair.

- Colm has been serving cunt since before he was passing as male. He has always been a Tom boy in the sense of he could never stand dresses and never wore them in his youth or teens. Always had to be a shirt tucked into his pants and a polished gun on his hip.

- he looooooves his big furry jacket. Colm rarely gets dysphoria (he is just so confident and has passed for years of his life), but when he was younger and would, he’d wear the jacket to conceal his silhouette. Still keeps the jacket because it’s bad ass.

- don’t question me. The fingerless gloves make him even more trans to me.

- he maybe cut his hair real short early in his transition, but since then never cut it very short. He’d let it grow out since he didn’t care a whole lot about his hair. He could tie it into a pony tail at this point, he passes so solidly that even long hair wouldn’t make people question his gender.

- <3 he surrounds himself with booooooys. Because he likes feeling like he is one of the booooyyyyys. When you’re the gang leader you can do anything, like brewing yourself in the wonderful (disgusting) environment of an all men space.

- ^^ addition to above: having the iron hand over all the men is empowering for him. Pre-transition, he had the guns and silver tongue to get his way, but it is a different kind of power when he can command people and have respect on the basis of being a man in a man’s world.

- ^^^addition #2: some of the men likely do, don’t, or are unsure if they believe colm is trans. He is so old, and look at his face! His voice too, so deep and raspy. How could a woman sound anything like him? Discussion of the rumors is restricted to only distant O’Driscoll camps where Colm isn’t around to punish (execute?) them for the banter.

- does Colm actually care that much about living ninja? I doubt it. He is so rooted on the throne of the life he built that people thinking of him as a woman would only work in his benefit. His enemies would underestimate him, expecting a country girl in some boots. Then, BLAM, a fuck ass slay old grandpa blows their head in.

- he has top surgery! What kind? I say fans can decide. I’ve drawn him with inverted T top surgery scars just because. He likely blackmailed or threatened a surgeon to operate on him. Had some trusted O’driscoll boys (or his brother) with a gun to the surgeon’s head to make sure the man didn’t do anything funny and try to kill Colm.

^^ additionally, Colm’s brother took the brunt of the gang leading while Colm recovered. Swag brother! ((if you’re curious I imagine Colm had small breasts already but he still wanted to be flat flat)).

- Colm could have a phallus (ignoring the history of what trans surgeries did and didn’t exist at that time). I personally think he has bottom growth and just packs sometimes. ^.^ 👍 t-dick is nothing crazy.

—Trans Kieran Thoughts—

I love the headcanon. I have seen like…. One artist make art about it so a lot of what I have thoughts on is just what they drew.

- mysteriously has testosterone. How it is administered is up to audience. I can see him being a gel kind of guy. Just imagine that man all moisturized and happy with his t gel.

- patch facial hair but it’s getting there. He used to dream of having a beard but he’s coming to accept he’ll likely always have patchy facial hair.

- long hair because he actually vibes with it. Makes him think of when his ma would call him her beautiful daughter. While it causes his dysphoria, since her passing he now thinks of it more fondly.

- his da would bond with him over horses and little Kieran cling to that because it made him feel good and he couldn’t explain why (it was a more “boyish” interest/activity and it gave Kieran gender euphoria).

- his fashion is a little bit of jackets to hide his body shape and breathable comfortable clothes (autism.. sensory.. uhh).

- doesn’t have top surgery or bottom surgery but he binds. Is it healthy binding? Likely not…. Idk how easily Kieran could be ninja in the O’Driscoll gang if he had to take breaks to let his puppies breathe. He undoes the unhealthy bandage binder and it’s red from soreness. anyways he has chest puppies and I love them. I think he used to sneak off and find a creek to wash in and make sure he still has sensation in those poor crushed things.

- his voice cracks are mostly just how he sounds. His DIY vocal training is smoking cigs.

- is scared Mary-Beth won’t like him for being trans. Imagine his surprise when she is also trans. T4T for the win.

- wears all black and green when was with the O’Driscolls but in the VDL gang / afterwards he wears more colors and feels better about letting a little chest mound be visible. He doesn’t bind as severely anymore.

- doesn’t wash his horse-pattern chest binder for fear it might shrink or something.