#this is the most old men thing ever. like when old people set their phone text size to max so only 2 words fit in a screen

[around-your-throat]

insane person posting again but the new fob setlists are so ugly.. all san serif 48pt left aligned no colors no lines no formatting no nothing not even a dotted line for the encore. what is this girl

[maiamore]

PASS THE SALT, MR MILLER

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak Rating: 18+ | W/C: 4.5k

Summary: Joel finds out the hard way that leaving a pretty girl with blue-balls isn’t the smartest.

Or, Joel fucks you in his garage.

Tags: christmas-y vibes, fucking on Joel’s car, implied age gap,unprotected p in v, grumpy!joel, lots of yearning, squirting, sexual games, brat taming, outdoor sex, creampie

A/N: merry christmas folks! tbh this is just a game of how many fics can I write that has to do with (a) joel's truck or (b) joel yearning. side note, looped Disease - Lady Gaga track on repeat while writing this oops

MASTERLIST | MAIN STORY

Holidays have never really been something you celebrated. Fuck it, your own birthday even. It just wasn’t a priority you considered worth fussing over. Admittedly, your lack of enthusiasm for these events was probably why you ended up avoiding them. You would do the most for the people you loved but never for yourself.

Take Halloween for example. Your friends from Columbia were begging you for a slutty girls' night out, but you’d opted to stay home to help chaperone your younger brother Oscar’s party. Even so far as to set everything up, you’d made sure Oscar had a shot at being the coolest damn guy in his school. Fret not, jobless big sis is there to help ya. 

Of course, it hadn’t gone unrewarded, to put it loosely. All that really happened was some broody hot middle-aged dad jerking off in front of your face. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You found yourself staring at the pale green piece of paper your younger brother, Oscar,  handed you when he came home from school that evening. Eyeing the morbidly cliche design that screamed of some bored old receptionists' handiwork, you tilt it to get a better read.

Oak Ridge High School Annual Christmas Potluck.

Great. Another one. You were often the stand-in for his PTA Meetings in place of your ever so busy parents. While you had your fun with the free buffets and whatnot, you were getting tired of people asking how old you were when you “had” Oscar. 

*Calling all Parent Volunteers. Please Contact Joel Miller at +1 (512) 555 XXX for details. 

Now that got your attention.

Joel Miller. The man who, after that night, weaseled his way into your glorious collection of mental spank bank. Evident in the plethora of stolen nudie mags your mom stashed underneath her mattress—you’d gone as far to dog-ear pages of men who had the slightest resemblance to him. 

You couldn’t get him out of your mind. By him, his dick. All eight fuckin’ inches of pent-up old man dick. 

The desperation in the way he thumbed his slit, coaxing his milky cum into your waiting mouth in your bedroom flashed in your mind like post-traumatic-sex-disorder. You were robbed of a good fuck.

The beeps of your dial-pad echoed embarrassingly loud while you dialled the number on the flyer before fully seeing the idiocy in this move. The line connects after a few rings. 

“Miller. Who’s callin’?”

A shudder runs down your spine. His voice hit you like a freight train, low and gravelly, cutting through the faint clatter of what sounded like construction work on the other end.

Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hang up. Hang–

“Hi.” You blurt out, forcing a higher register in your voice in a desperate attempt to disguise yourself. “I’d like to register. For the Christmas…thing.” There was a pause, followed by the clunk of something heavy and the sound of boots against a hard floor. 

“Right. You’re the parent of…?” 

You clutched your phone tighter when Joel’s voice rang clearer than ever, throat dry as you scrambled to speak. “Oscar.”

He repeats your last name when you offer it, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to place it–a flicker of recognition almost.

“Alright then,” he finally says, the faintest edge of suspicion still lingering.

 “Guess I’ll see ya there.”

—

Impulsiveness was something that fucked Joel over most times. 

Messing around with someone he’d consider uncomfortably closer to his daughter's age than his own settled within him like poison. 

It’d been two whole months since the incident at halloween and he was still hung up over you. He was certain that a pretty girl like you had far better prospects than a washed up crotchety shit like him. 

You plagued his mind every time his fist wrapped around his cock. Every time he’d tried to fuck the stress of working long hours of grunt work at the site. Your soft and sweet expression offered him instantaneous, sticky reprieve. 

Guilt, or something he should’ve been feeling over using your face as masturbation material didn’t quite blare the alarms in his head through post-nut clarities. 

He knew he had fucked up the second he had you on your knees that night. 

You parked your sedan in front of a navy chevrolet in the driveway. Hopping out of the car as you looked up at the quaint home, clean white siding, neatly trimmed lawn. 

You figured by the bustling noise from the backyard that a volunteer offered up their home and all. Generous, you thought. And then you catch it. The worn down navy mailbox that sprawled the letters–

M I L L E R

The swirl that was now your mind dragged painful throbs in your head. To be in his own backyard felt stalker-ish even for you. 

With a weary exhale, you click open the boot of your car. Worrying had to come later, you had to formulate a game plan for the boxes of fairy lights you somehow had to haul into Joel’s backyard.

With a heaving effort, you propped up two boxes into your arms when the shuffle of footsteps catches your attention, coming from beside the opening garage. 

“Hey! Sorry, could use a little help...” You call out instinctively. 

Only managing to catch a glimpse of a hand bracing against the rickety garage door to shove it all the way up with a loud metallic clang. 

The sound startles you, but not as much as the sight when one of the boxes lifts from your hold, revealing your apparent savior.

The both of you pause, staring at each other in slight shock. Well–for him at least. You had ulterior motives that came delivered to you all wrapped up in worn-out denim.

Joel’s expression was less than welcoming, which in his defense—he wasn’t quite expecting to see his ghost in his own yard. 

“What are you doin’ here?”

The curtness of his voice throws you, but it’s too late to think of turning tail and driving off.

“I’m…one of the volunteers.”

“Sweetheart,” Joel begins, lifting the last box out of your arms like they weighed nothing. “You signin’ up under your mama’s name just to come sniffin’ round’ me? That it?”

“What? No. She couldn’t make it,” you shoot back, a little too quick, a little too defensive. Joel wasn’t buying it, his unimpressed stare making you shift on your feet.

“Uh-huh,” he mutters, already stepping over to your car. With a grunt, he hefted another box from your trunk, the effort drawing a low sound from his chest. 

The bitterness (and arousal) pools in your mouth at the noise he makes. 

Yes. You’d admit. You sniffed out Joel’s trail like some stray, chasing after the smallest crumb of him. It wasn’t irrational for you to think that you deserved some sort of closure. 

His voice cuts clean through your spiraling thoughts. “If you’re expectin’ somethin’, you best stop right there. I ain’t messin’ around.” You grimaced, fumbling for words. 

“I’m just here to help—” 

“S’enough outta you. Stay out of trouble.” He interrupts, not quite looking at you. 

Joel wills himself to flick his gaze anywhere but at you, one look at your face was enough to remind him of the fact, one look was probably enough to pop a damn boner. He sets the boxes down by the patio, knees cracking as he stretches back up with a grunt.

“Get someone to hang ‘em up. ‘Cause clearly,” he says, eyeing your sweater and skirt, “you ain’t dressed to actually help.”

He gives you a short, dismissive nod before turning away, leaving you standing there. Warmth pools your cheeks, feeling foolish to have gone this far for the attention of a man who made it clear that he didn’t seem to give a fuck whether you were here or not.

—

Joel spends the better half of the afternoon hovering around you. 

Approaching you normally was out of the question now that Sarah and the other kids began to flitter into his backyard to help with preparation. His daughter’s presence acted like a highly effective cock-block. Not that he had any business entertaining those kinds of thoughts in the first place.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Risky didn’t begin to describe it, so he kept his distance. That resolve went straight out the window when he spotted you, half-balanced on a ladder, hanging Christmas lights along the edge of his roof. With candy cane printed panties peeking out from under your skirt—god almighty, Joel nearly doubled over.

You could feel Joel's eyes on you while attempting to hang the lights over the siding. Purposefully going against what he said, purposefully giving everyone a goddamn show. 

"You ever learn how to listen?" 

“I can do it myself.” You shot back. Coyly soothing the back of your skirt. A proper fuck you to him at his insinuation that you’d been here just to man-trap him. Not that the notion did much. 

You felt the ladder steady with Joel’s hold. Effectively blocking everyone else from seeing what you were flaunting. 

"For the love of christ, darlin’, get down." 

“For the love of christ, I’m almost fuckin’ done.” You parroted his words back to him with an annoyed huff. It was hard not to let Joel infiltrate your mind but lack of his attention was eating you up–making you do crazy things, evidently.

With a satisfied huff at the placements, you brought your arms down.

Why did that…feel heavy?

A sharp crackle and metallic clatter fills the air before you fully completed your thought, the chains of lights comes tumbling down. You froze. Lowering your gaze to see the single goddamn twine snagged onto your sweater that you’d effectively yanked down with you. 

The bulbs burst into chaotic pops as they hit the ground, shards of glass scattering like tiny fireworks across the patio, drawing everyone’s attention.

Joel doesn’t hesitate, his hands found your waist as he lifted you off the ladder and set you firmly on the ground to safety with a grunt, his eyes snaps to the shards of glass glinting in the light and the fresh scratches marring his freshly varnished patio.

"You gotta be shittin' me..." He mutters, the irritation sharp in his drawl.  

“Mr Miller…”

Joel held up his palm as a sign to get you to be quiet so he could speak. Damn if you calling him Mr Miller now of all times didn’t make him want to haul your ass up to his bedroom.

Which he might add, seemed conveniently close.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, pinching the bridge of his nose. "D’you think before you do anythin’ at all? Or do you just act on impulse?" He asks in a sharp and biting tone, looking directly at you as he spoke.

You cock your brow at his words. Surely he wasn’t seriously reacting this way to a couple of broken lights. To mention, your lights.

“What? Think about being a decent person to help?”

"A decent person would've listened the first time when I told you to leave it the hell alone," he snapped, stepping closer. "A decent person wouldn’t have shot me attitude n’ thrown a damn temper tantrum when I told you to get down."  

“What are you getting so bent out of shape for?”

“For starters, you wrecked my patio, darlin’.” He grumbles. Rubbing the back of his neck in the slightest amount of awareness that he’d overreacted, though he’d rather chew rocks than admit it. 

You don’t answer him. Humiliated as is. Your pouty-ness showed in the way you stomped over to get the broom that lay in the corner. He watches you regardless, arms folded taut.

“Goddamned train-wreck.” He mutters under his breath after a long pause, not even giving you the chance to let an apology leave your lips before he turns his heel to leave.

—

You didn’t take it well when people spoke to you like you were stupid. 

An Ivy League degree hung the walls of your room for fucks sake. Who the hell did Joel think he was? As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, you’d tucked your tail between your legs to sweep it all up without a word. The embers that lay dormant were further fanned as time passed. You were pissed.

Joel, on the other hand, begins to feel guilt at the way he’d reacted. Even in the corner of his eyes, he sees you helping set up with the rest of the parents. It wasn’t the behaviour of some reckless nympho he imagined you to be when you stepped foot into his yard. 

You didn’t have to stand there to stand under the sun in the unforgiving Texas heat, refilling lemonade for the parent’s committee. Or entertain Sarah and the rest of the kids. You’d turned his backyard into a damned Christmas Wonderland by the end of the night.

You were a good girl, he figures after a long while of brooding.

And he tries. He tries to approach you to apologize but you didn’t seem to be having it. Going out of your way to swerve at the slightest sight of him near you. Which he gets.

You were over it, really. Chalked it up to his personality being generally the way it was. But what really helped you get over your humiliation? Seeing Joel Miller fucking grovel. 

Which you were acutely aware of with the way he lingered around you, waiting for an opening that you deprived of him.

—

The skies grew to a dusky violet, the backyard gently lit up with the soft twinkle of the fairy lights you’d painstakingly hung up (and re-hung). Lull of familiar Christmas classics playing by the speakers. 

The warmth of the chatter and laughter surrounding the table tugged at your edges, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips. You weren’t ready to admit it, but the festive mood was infectious.

You sat near the end of the committee’s table, the seat next to you conspicuously empty. The kids–Oscar, Sarah, and their friends were huddled at their own table. You briefly wondered if you should join them instead, given that the current hot topic at your table being mortgage rates.

The thud of a melamine crystal glass landing next to your plate broke your train of thought. You flick your gaze up, your expression hardening the moment you caught sight of Joel dragging the empty chair over next to you and lowering himself into it with a creak.

Without a word, he slides the glass closer to you, taking a sip from his own. His movements were deliberate, careful, like a man trying not to step on a landmine.

Joel wasn’t quite well-versed in apologies, as evident by Sarah’s constant reminders that one of these days he was going to piss a woman he actually fancied. His hand stretches over your lap, unfurling the napkin on the other side of you to drape it over your thighs. 

“Could you pass over the salt, sweetheart?” 

You tilt your head, arching a brow, not moving a muscle. Instead, you shot him a pointed look.

With a heavy sigh and a muttered curse under his breath, Joel stands up, his knees popping audibly as he leaned across the table to grab the salt himself. He slumps back into his chair, setting it down with a huff. How could a little thing like you hold so much anger?

“Done torturin’ me yet?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. 

“Who said I was?” 

“I’m tryin’ to apologise, sweetheart.” You shudder at the manner he whispers the words out. As though it was a secret reserved for just you and him. 

You rest your cheeks on your palms, shooting him an uninterested look. Joel’s eyes darts down to your plate that you were pushing to him. He doesn’t hesitate, reaching over and starts loading your plate up again with generous portions of the dishes spread across the table. The sight of him doing so, quiet and almost reverent, made your chest sing.

Oh this. This you could get used to.

For the next twenty minutes, you’d milked Joel’s newfound contrition for all it was worth. Needed a refill? Joel was already reaching for your glass. Running low on napkins? He was up and grabbing a fresh one before you even asked. You’d even braced yourself for him to snap when you made a fuss over your creaky chair, but to your delight, he stood up and swapped it out without so much as a grumble.

Unfortunately for you, your luck does runs out.

The flutter of your napkin onto the makeshift mat spread across the lawn catches his attention, his eyes darting to the rogue square of fabric before slowly flicking back up to meet your gaze. You leaned back in your chair, looking at him expectantly, lips quirking just enough to toe the line between innocent and insufferable.

Joel’s jaw twitches.

“Fuckin’ pick it up on your own, sweetheart.” his voice was laced with just enough irritation to make your smirk widen. Still, you couldn’t resist one last little prod.

Your legs shifted, one crossing over the other, the toe of your shoe brushing lightly against the denim of his jeans. His eyes darted down to the motion before snapping back up, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to apologise?” 

Joel shifts in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he gave you a look that sent a shiver down your spine. “Think I settled my debts, crackles.”

You roll your eyes at his taunt, the warning laced in it only served to burn in your gut like uncontrollable lust. You felt yourself grow bored now that he’d ruthlessly cut you off from your only source of entertainment. 

The thrill begins to wane, you’d grown impatient at Joel’s lack of well, giving in. Though the idea, a possibly stupid one, that you might’ve needed to give him a little push crosses your mind. 

With a deliberate stretch, you rose from your seat, leaning over the table to reach for the salt shaker resting comfortably on Joel’s side with a hand placed on his thigh. It was perfectly positioned for him to hand it over to you–if you’d bothered to ask. But that wasn’t the point.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the faint tick of his pulse. Slowly, you eased back into your seat, dragging your fingers in a slow deliberate curve as you went.

The sharp grip of his hand on your wrist came next, firm enough to make you gasp. Joel’s dark eyes locked on yours, his nostrils flaring as he tried to keep whatever storm was brewing behind them at bay.

You pressed your tongue against your cheek, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. He’d taken the bait all right. The unmistakable rise against where your hand was placed told you what you needed to know. Hook, line, and sinker.

It doesn’t quite matter to him whether you’d forgiven him anymore. 

With a sharp tug, Joel pulls you up with him. “S’cuse me. This one isn’t feeling too well.” 

The protest dies in your throat when Joel practically hauls you across his yard, away from the nosy glances from the rest of the parents. 

You frown at the dusty old garage he leads you to up front where you’d parked your car. A hand comes up the back of your head to force you to duck underneath the half opened door, cringing at the loud sound it draws. 

You tip your head up to watch Joel grab the edge of the half-opened garage door to full slam it down shut.

Fuck. You felt your cunt clench with the way his sleeves tightened around his forearms, wetting your lips subconsciously at the sight.

“This where you murder me, Mr Miller?”

His jaw ticks at that. There it was again. Mr Miller.

“Shut up.”

You mouthed the words wow as you looked to the side. As though there was a camera you were monologuing to. Joel approaches you tentatively. Backing you up until you feel sturdy metal stop your path. 

A firm slam against the hood you were backed up against causes you to jolt. 

“You’re fuckin’ with me.” He begins. Shifting closer until he had you snug against him and the truck. “You’ve been fuckin’ with me.”

You tilt your head up. Neck stretched uncomfortably to its limit. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel sighs. Looking towards the side, as though he might back off and run away again. 

“This ain’t right.”

You frown. Why was he getting cold feet now? You gaze darts to the side, following his line of vision. A frilly pink bicycle parked in the midst of the dusty old boxes stacked up against concrete walls. Some labelled with years of mementos of his daughter growing up. 

Joel groans when he feels a much smaller, soft hand cup against the growing strain on his jeans. “Judging by this, I think you’re full of shit.”

His restraint teeters on the edge. “Don’t.” He grasps around your wrists to stop you, though, he half asses it, barely with the amount of strength he could’ve used if he’d really wanted you to stop.  

You palm against his erection, feeling it quickly harden beneath. You suck in your breath at the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the slight twitch of his lips. A whimper leaves your lips at how receptive he’d been to your touch. 

“You’re trouble.” He manages. Finally meeting your gaze. You can tell he’s conflicted, but the way you cupped around his balls through the denim has him keeling over with a rough exhale. 

He finally gathers enough strength in him to force your hand away from his cock. Just as you were about to whine about it, he flips you over. You steady your palms against the hood of his truck. 

“Gotta be quiet. You understand me?” You nod quickly. Not daring to speak considering how his voice already echoed in the garage even at its softest.

Your elbows move to rest against the dirtied metal. Folding it so you could comfortably rest your head on it. 

Joel lets out a low whistle at the way you bend your hips. Hiking your skirt up slowly. “Fuckin’ hell sweetheart.” He mutters. Thumb swiping against the growing dampness of your panties. 

A dull noise from his zipper is the only other thing you hear when you feel him grind his clothed cock against you. 

“Mr Miller—please.” You breathed out. Your thighs tenses, wiggling your hips higher to relieve the ache you felt. Feeling his hardness prod against your folds. 

Joel sighs softly, thumbing against your clit before you curl into yourself. “Don’t need it.” You breathe out quickly. There’s a pause in his movements before you feel a thumb hook around the waistband of your panties. Dragging it down to your ankles. 

The sound Joel makes at the sight of your slick stringing down the gusset of it makes him wince out audibly. Two fingers gather the slick of your folds, messily dragging it up and down your clit in a repeated notion. His fingers dipping in and out of you with a squelch. You groan out. Hips stuttering at the sensation. 

“Hurry.” You urged.

You feel his other palm carefully twirl around the back of your hair. The breath knocks out of you when he heaves you backwards into his chest with a sharp tug. Fingertips entwined with your locks.

“Been patient with ya all fuckin’ day and ya think you got the right t’rush me now?”

Tears threaten to prick in the corners of your eyes at his tone. You grip around his wrist where he holds your hair. “…hurts” , you whisper, guiding his other hand back to your clit, “..here.”

Joel swallows thickly. He clenched his jaw so damn tight you audibly heard just how hard he ground them. How could he deprive you further when you were begging so sweetly? 

He shucks his jeans down further, guiding his twitching cock out from his boxers. A drawn out groan leaves your lips when he nudges the head of his cock against your soaking pussy. Your moan echoes loudly into the space around you both. 

He growls into your ears. Before you could apologise, your voice gets muffled around the heavy palm that comes to cover your mouth. You whine against it. “Told t’be fuckin’ quiet.” He grits, voice hushed against the side of your head. 

Your eyes nearly roll back at the way he begins to thrust into you with the tip in an effort to get you used to his size. But it didn’t matter. The way his cockhead stretched your pussy out stung. But it was quickly replaced by the nauseating need to be fucked full. 

Joel leans down to trace kisses up your neck before he fully sheathes himself into you. The muffle around your mouth grows tighter to suppress the loud moan. “Shh shh…you’ve got it.” He praises, breathing heavily into your ears. 

The tears trickle directly over his knuckles. He releases the grip he had on your hair, looping around your abdomen. Snapping his hips into you at a punishing pace. You babble incoherently, practically slobbering into his palms, whining about how deep his cock was pounding into you. 

The obscene slaps of where the two of you connected fills the garage, only spurring his need to fill you deep with his come. 

Joel lets out a groan when you clench around his dick like vice. “Fuck. Pussy’s chokin’ me.” His head drops to the dip of your neck. Pressing kisses onto your pulse point. 

“Don’t think I can last much longer.” He admits, dragging his hand–slick with your saliva down to your throat. His head flush against your shoulder blade. He takes a moment to breathe you in. Joel isn’t quite the man he used to be and coming this embarrassingly fast wasn’t on his docket. Least of all tonight. 

You squirm a little at the sensation of Joel’s stubble against your shoulder. A deep exhale leaving your lips. 

“M…me too..” You pant out heavily. Resting your head back against his chest. Joel’s free hand slides underneath your sweater, yanking your bra down. 

A rough palm kneads the softness, tweaking your hardened nipples in a circular motion. “Shit. Mr—…Miller.” You manage. Squirming at how his palm gropes your tits clumsily. You give yourself the final push you needed, your fingers coming down to rub against your clit. 

Joel’s hips stutter at the sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock, following your orgasm soon after. But he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Both his hands firm around your hips. 

Your hands hastily come up to grab around his wrists. “Wait—stop—…stop.” You gasp out. Joel doesn’t quite register your pleas with how his mind was whirring around wanting to fuck his come deep into you until he feels a warm splatter of your release trickle down his thighs. 

Your bated breaths fill the garage. Mortified, you watch the liquid drip from the radiator grill of Joel’s truck. 

“I’ll be damned.” He muses, earning a warning look from you. Joel shakes his head, a low rumble from his chest makes you feel a little less embarrassed about squirting onto his truck. He turns you around to press a kiss onto the apple of your cheeks. 

“Been meanin’ to get er’ washed. Guess I don’t gotta anymore.”

[mulloey]

the new girl • ateez

ateez gets a new pet

warnings: bdsm au. dom!ateez, sub!reader, use of bdsm terms but they’re not hard to figure out, more experienced ateez, rewards and punishments, bdsm training, impact play, pet play, praise and degradation, cocky & patronising ateez, implied bisexual reader, orders, naked female & clothed males, finger blasting, anal play, oral (f receiving), mouth fucking (with fingers), voyeurist ateez at times, taking turns, no penetrative sex. everything you’d expect from a bdsm au tbh

—————

A few days ago you could never have pictured yourself in this situation, or any like it, for that matter. But here you are, in a private room of a bar in Gangnam with eight men who seem genuinely interested in making you their submissive. How their even knew you were into that kind of thing is a mystery — or would be a mystery, were it not for your smug looking best friend behind the bar who’s been talking for months about setting you up with some of the people who patronise these rooms and make little secret (to the staff, at least) of what they use them for. But to your friend’s credit, she’s managed to pick, out of what you’re sure has to be scores of creeps and weirdos, eight extremely attractive, extremely interested men.

“We usually find our partners through matching sites and meet them here for the first time,” they’d explained, “but we’ve been out of luck recently, so we thought we’d try to find someone the old fashioned way. And when your friend behind the bar told us what a natural submissive you are, we knew we had to meet you for ourselves.”

You’d blushed at that, both at their words and the fact that your friend had so wantonly offered you up like that. But it’s true that you’re naturally submissive, and she has reason to know it; in college you’d done casual scenes a few times with her, and though you never ventured much further than whips and chains and yes ma’ams, the little you had explored was enough to show you and her just how submissive you are, and want to be. And if she trusts these strange men, who surround you like predators and stare at you like prey, then so do you.

They seem to have heard the stories too, of just how easily you’d caved when she praised you or ordered you around, and they definitely seem to like those stories. And even though you’re essentially being interrogated for your suitability as what some would call a sex slave, you feel comfortable and at ease with them, which you didn’t even know was possible in a scenario like this. So when they ask if you’d like to meet again to explore this further, you don’t even bother to blame the wine for how quickly you agree.

They offer to squeeze you into their cars to drive you home but you decline, insisting it’s not worth the trouble. With a half-joking you won’t be ordering us around for much longer they call you a cab, bidding you farewell with a quick hug each. The leader, Hongjoong, adds his contact to your phone and slips a black business card into your back pocket.

“I’ll see you soon, puppy,” he smiles.

Over the next few weeks you text and call back and forth with the men. They’re kind, unexpectedly patient and gentle considering the type of relationship you’re quickly moving towards with them. In just your luck, their schedules take them out of the country two days after your first meeting, and by the time they’re back and have enough time off to give you the attention they want to, you’ve known them for a couple of months, and like them, you’re impatient to start.

But ever the careful and responsible dominants, they insist on a few more in-person meetings with each individual member — “for your safety, puppy, and ours,” they say — before you finally get the call you’ve been waiting for.

“Hi, honey,” Hongjoong greets. “Are you ready to start?”

——————

Days later, you meet them again in a cafe in Gangnam. It’s a pretty unique set-up for a cafe, a little darker and more ambient than most, but it suits the purpose of your meeting well. You spot them quickly, huddled around a table in the far corner of the room and they see you too, waving you over. It’s only four of them, you note, not the eight you’d met the last time. They stand to allow you the choice of where to sit and you choose a seat at the edge. You know them fairly well and have no doubts of their intentions, but you know you’ll feel more at-ease knowing you can get up and leave quickly if needed. The others settle in, Yeosang next to you, Seonghwa and Hongjoong opposite, and Jongho at the end. Their gazes are fixed on you and just as intense as you remember them.

“Uh…” you start. “Where are the others?”

“We thought it’d be better if less of us came this time,” Hongjoong explains. “To make it less overwhelming for you.”

“It’s something we should have considered last time,” Seonghwa adds. “We apologise that we didn’t.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine,” you say.

“It’s not,” Jongho says, “but it won’t happen again. Did you bring everything we asked?”

You nod, reaching into your jacket pocket to pull out a crumpled sheet of paper with everything you’d been told to pack. “I think so,” you say as your eyes move down the list. “Yes, I think I remembered it all.”

“We’ll see later,” Seonghwa smiles. “It’s not a problem if you didn’t, though. You tried your best and you’re new to this.”

The others hum in agreement and you smile nervously.

“You even wrote it all out, didn’t you?” Jongho says, gesturing to the list in your hands. “Good girl.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Would you like me to explain the plan for this week?” Hongjoong asks gently.

You nod, staring down at your hands as they fiddle in your lap. A larger hand comes to rest atop them, holding them still and you look up to meet Yeosang’s firm gaze on you. “Look at him and answer him properly, sweetheart,” he says, gentle but stern.

You nod, feeling stupid and look up at to see Hongjoong staring expectantly at you. “Yes please,” you say and he smiles, easing up.

“Good girl,” he praises. You blush, bowing your head in embarrassment and Yeosang clicks his tongue, wordlessly chastising you. You mumble an apology and meet Hongjoong’s gaze, who praises you again. “Think of it as a trial run, yeah? We want you, we know that, but we need to see how it will work. What kind of arrangement will suit you best.”

You nod in understanding. Yeosang releases your hands from his grip but you grab his arm as he starts to move it away, needing someone to hold onto while you digest it all. He smiles and takes your hand back in his, squeezing it gently. “Good girl,” he mumbles.

“Are you with us so far?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Good,” he smiles. “So for this week, we’ll all be getting to know each other and getting used to our new dynamic. We’ll start figuring out the kind of submissive you are and the kind of training you’ll need. That make sense to you?”

You nod a little dazily, starting to feel overwhelmed. None of these words are new to you, of course, even in this context, but they’ve never been so real to you before. To be spoken about like a pet, a submissive in need of training, is a lot to take in. It’s also strangely, embarrassingly thrilling. “It makes sense,” you confirm. Your voice catches in your throat at first but if they notice, they don’t care. Maybe they enjoy it.

“What, um…” you trail off, feeling awkward, but a nudge from Yeosang encourages you. “What happens at the end of the week?”

The men share a look that you can’t quite decipher. “Well,” Hongjoong says, “it’ll be up to you. If you’re happy with how things are going and want to commit, you can stay with us. You’ll keep your own place, of course, but we’ll move the things that you’ll need to our place and start making it your main residence.”

“But if you want to take it slower,” Jongho continues, “which is always an option, I might add, we’ll take you home and continue getting to know you more casually, just like how you would in a normal relationship.”

“And of course, ending our arrangement entirely is an option too,” Yeosang adds. “At any time.”

The others voice their agreement and you smile gratefully. “Thank you,” you say. “I’ll remember that.”

The oldest two smile, sharing a look before Seonghwa speaks. “If you’re ready,” he says, “there are four people at home waiting very patiently for your arrival.”

—————

Their home is large, in a nice, quiet area of the city where little could disturb — or be disturbed by — you. Your bags are carried by Jongho as Seonghwa leads you by the hand to the front door. Before he can even get the keys out of his pocket, the door swings open, revealing an excited looking San standing eagerly in the doorway. “Hi, baby,” he beams at you.

“Were you watching from the window?” Seonghwa asks. San nods unashamedly and the elder mumbles something that he ignores.

“Come in, baby,” San says. “We’re waiting inside. Can I take her in, Seonghwa?”

“It’s up to her,” Seonghwa says, smiling down at you. “She can make her own decisions. For now.”

For now. His words dizzy you slightly and you can practically see the evil plans forming behind San’s eyes. He offers his hand and you take it, turning to Seonghwa. “Are you coming too?” You ask.

He smiles fondly, shaking his head. “We’re gonna get everything set up in your room for you first, honey. San’ll take care of you.”

You nod with slight uncertainty but allow San to lead you through to the living room. The set up is… interesting, you think. A massive TV, typical for a house of men, surrounded by black leather couches and chairs arranged almost in a circle. The coffee table’s been moved from its spot in the middle, leaving it, or so you have a funny feeling, open for you to be displayed to them. Just the sight of the arrangement has you feeling like prey, but what’s more intimidating is the man on the couch who looks up with interest when you walk in. He smiles kindly as he stands to greet you, but you see the look in his eyes. Without them saying anything to you, it’s clear what your place is just from the way these men look at you. You’re their toy, and they’re your owners.

“There she is,” the man — Wooyoung, you remember — breathes. “Hi, doll.”

You wave shyly at him and he smiles. “Cute,” he says.

“You remember all our names, right?” San asks and you nod. “Good girl.”

“Bring her over here, Sannie,” Wooyoung says. San nods and guides you over to sit on the couch, sandwiched between him and Wooyoung.

“Can I touch you?” Wooyoung asks. You nod and he smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek. Without realising and almost instinctively, you nuzzle into his touch and he coos, stroking your cheek gently. “You’re such a puppy, aren’t you?” He hums. If you’d been confident enough to meet his gaze, you’d have seen the dark, predatory look in his eyes.

“Wooyoung,” you whine, embarrassed. He coos again and you blush deeper, hiding your face from view.

“She’s going under already,” San chuckles. “Such a natural, aren’t you baby?”

“Already toying with her, are we?” Someone interjects. You look up to see Yunho in the doorway, staring amusedly at the scene in front of him. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“I can’t help it, Yunho,” Wooyoung replies. “She’s so pliant.”

Yunho cocks an eyebrow, taking a few steps towards you. “Is she?”

“Just so easy,” San affirms, running a hand through your hair. “Such a darling puppy.”

You moan softly at the sensations of the men on each side of you running their hands over your body. Yunho chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m sure,” he smiles. “Do you think she’s ready?”

San and Wooyoung share a look and you stare at them quizzically. “Ready for what?” You ask quietly.

Wooyoung smiles down at you fondly. “Don’t worry, baby,” he says. He looks up at Yunho. “I think she is. Where’s Hongjoong?”

“Here,” comes a familiar voice. Hongjoong emerges from behind Yunho, his eyes finding you the moment he walks into the room. “Hey, bunny.”

You like that name. “Hi,” you squeak.

He smiles like you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen before turning his gaze to Wooyoung. “What did you want me for?”

“I didn’t,” Wooyoung says snappily. Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “We were wondering if you think she’s ready yet.”

His older’s eyes widen slightly but he seems to consider it for a second. “If Seonghwa agrees,” he decides. “Then so do I. I thought we’d wait a few more hours, but…”

“Yeah, not happening,” Yunho says. “It’ll be a tall order keeping these two off of her until then.”

The men beside you glare at him but don’t refute his words. You still don’t know exactly what it is you’re meant to be… ready for, but it sounds important. You wonder what it is that Hongjoong won’t agree to without the elder’s assent.

“Do you know where Seonghwa is?” San asks. “And the others?”

“In her room, I think,” Hongjoong says. “Just finishing up. Should we call them down?”

The three share a look, silently deciding before they nod, small smiles on their faces as they give Hongjoong their agreement. He nods, and you can see he’s smiling too, but in a different way than he’d been smiling at you earlier. There’s something behind it, a desire maybe, or an intention, that you can’t decipher. You’re not entirely sure if you want to. But you’ve willingly put yourself into his hands, all of their hands, and you’re desperate to see what they do with it.

When he calls the others down they come separately, but soon enough all eight of them have gathered in the living room with you. Even as they talk to each other about things you don’t understand, their eyes are set on you. You feel tiny and describable but also oddly safe. They stare at you like a toy, sure, but a fragile one. One they want to cherish and protect as much as play with. You already feel comfortable and warm surrounded by them in a way you didn’t know you could.

After a short and indecipherable discussion with Hongjoong, Seonghwa briefly moves his gaze from you to give him one final look. When his eyes return to you they’re even darker than before. Deep down you know that something, or someone, has just flipped the switch.

“She’s ready,” he says. “Let’s start.”

You hear your breath hitch, feeling your heart begin to race and Wooyoung hushes you, stroking your head. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s nothing to be scared of.”

“It’s really not,” San assures. He turns his gaze to Seonghwa who keeps it briefly before he shrugs, a small smile on his face. “We’re just gonna play with you. But the first time is always special.”

You nod, a little less nervous but still, your first time playing with them, being their submissive, is no small thing. It’s a moment you’ve been playing in your head for weeks, months — what it would be like, what they’d be like, what they’d expect, how they’d do. In the days leading up to this meeting you’d been kept up with nightmares of failing them, of falling short and being kicked to the curb despite how often they’d reassured you that they’d never, ever do that. And now that moment’s here. Time to prove yourself — or not.

San and Wooyoung stand up, pulling you to your feet by each of your arms. They each press a kiss to each of your cheeks before walking away to join the crowd, leaving you alone and watched, completely surrounded by them. Truly a prey among predators. They regard you silently for a few minutes, eyes running up and down each inch of your body before Hongjoong speaks.

“We’re going to give you a little test, pet,” he says. “It’s not to see if we want you, because you’re already ours, but to see how much training you’ll need.”

You nod in understanding and he clicks his tongue, already displeased. “The first lesson is verbal answers,” he says. “Unless we tell you not to speak, you respond to everything we tell you in words. Yes sir or no sir will do. Do you understand?”

You nod again, but realise your mistake quickly and squeak out a weak “yes sir.” Hongjoong smiles approvingly.

“Strip down to your panties,” he says. “Put them on the chair then come back to stand over here. Do it now.”

You breathe out another “yes sir” and do as he commands. You turn away from the men as you undress, too embarrassed to face them but you can still feel their eyes burning into you. Your hands shake as you unbutton your shirt, folding it neatly before placing it on the chair as instructed. Your bra quickly joins it, then the skirt and tights until all that’s left are your tiny white panties, clinging to your hips as you turn around nervously.

You feel exposed, clad only in one flimsy garment and surrounded by eight fully-clothed men. Their gazes are dark and intense on you and you’ve never felt more vulnerable. But they look pleased, which eases your nerves slightly.

“Very good,” Hongjoong says approvingly, gaze fixed on your chest. You blush, hands instinctively reaching to cover your chest but you think better of it before it’s covered. Just in the nick of time, you think, if the scowl on Yeosang’s face is anything to go by.

“Smart girl,” Seonghwa chuckles. “Are you ready to start?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. He smiles gently and beckons you towards him. As you approach him, the others move to form a circle around you. You gulp, somehow feeling even smaller than before. You’re truly trapped now.

“Right then,” Seonghwa says, clapping his hands together. You flinch at the sudden sound and you hear a few of them chuckle. With your eyes cast down, you miss the glint that crosses each of their eyes at your obvious fear. “We’ll start by seeing which commands you already know. We’ll teach you the ones you don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“Look at me,” he says. You look up, meeting his gaze nervously and he smiles.

“Down,” he says.

It takes you a moment to register the command, and by the time you do it’s clearly too late. Seonghwa sighs, looking disappointed. He nods to a man behind you and before you can register it, five hard slaps are delivered to your ass. You yelp and try to lean away but the man snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you backwards into him.

“Disobeying already,” he breathes and you recognise the voice as Wooyoung. You whine and he slaps you again, this time reaching around to hit the front of your thigh.

“Don’t complain,” he grumbles.You breathe out an apology and he hums, rubbing the pink mark on your thigh with momentary tenderness. “And no more talking. You’re a puppy now”

You nod, and your first instinct is to apologise but you think better of it, literally biting your tongue to keep your words in your mouth. Wooyoung notices, chucking lowly before he steps back from you.

Jongho steps forwards, commanding your attention as he approaches you. He gets close enough to kiss you, close enough for you see the small details of his face, but that face is emotionless. Focused.

“This is your second lesson,” he says. His voice is even lower now, with a new quality you don’t recognise. But you know exactly what it is — dominance. Control “When we say ‘down’,” he says, “you get on your knees. Instantly and without question. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. So let’s try that again. Down.”

Desperate to obey, you let your legs give out, falling to your knees with hopeful eyes on him.He smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek and letting you nuzzle into it. “Good dog,” he says. “Up now.”

You spring to your feet without thinking, basking in the pleased looks on their faces. “Clever girl,” San praises. You smile shyly at him and he smiles back. For the first time since you’ve met him, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Then Jongho steps away, leaving you alone and surrounded again. You do your best to stay still, figuring that’s your best bet to avoid Wooyoung’s heavy hand for now.

They let you stand there, exposed and vulnerable, for a few minutes before moving on.

“Come,” Yeosang says. You start to walk towards him but he stops you with a raised hand. “Crawl.”

You gulp, shakily lowering yourself to your knees and crawling towards him. It’s only a few feet, but the thick silence and the feeling of their stares on you makes it feel like miles. It barely registers with you exactly what’s happening right now; you’re naked except your skimpy panties, surrounded by eight fully clothed men, crawling towards one of them at his command. You can’t think of anything more humiliating. Or arousing.

When you reach Yeosang he reaches to stroke your hair. “Sit,” he orders. You sit back up onto your knees and he smiles. “She’s learning fast,” he says.

The others hum in agreement. “She’s clever,” Mingi says, sounding proud.

“She is,” Yeosang agrees. “ Alright, pet. The next commands are easy. Eyes up.”

This time they give you a second to figure it out and you do, meeting Yeosang’s gaze with hopeful eyes. He nods. “Eyes down.” This one is much easier to figure out — you drop your eyes to your lap, contrite and humble. “Good girl,” he says. “Isn’t she good?”

“The best,” Yunho purrs. You don’t notice him creeping up behind you until you feel his big hands wrap gently around your throat. After a few more commands, properly obeyed depute your shaky start, he speaks again. “Shouldn’t we reward her now, Joong? She’s done well.”

A few others chime in their agreement and Hongjoong hums. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come here, baby.”

You crawl to him, slightly faster as you begin to get to the feeling of it, and Hongjoong crouched down to your level, holding his arms out for you to crawl into. He lets you snuggle into his chest for a moment before pulling away, moving his hands to gently hold your face.

“Tell me,” he whispers. “How do you want to be rewarded?”

The answer slips out before you can consider it. “Fuck me,” you say. At his raised eyebrow, you tack on a whispered, “please, sir.”

Hongjoong smiles, running his thumb over your lips. When they part slightly he slips it into your mouth, letting you suckle at it. He looks enamoured by the sight. “No, honey,” he smiles. “You’re not ready for that yet.”

“I am,” you insist, nodding fervently.

Silence briefly abounds before Hongjoong slaps you across the face, quick and wordless, like this is a normal way for him to express his displeasure — which, when it comes to you, it probably will be. “Don’t disagree with us,” he snaps. “What you think doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not ready.”

You bow your head. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not ready.”

Hongjoong nods. “Turn around and show me your ass.”

You obey, turning slowly on your fours until your ass faces him, leaving you facing the rest of the men. They stare at you with fascination and scrutiny. Hongjoong runs a hand down your ass cheek with feather-light touches. You feel electricity prickle up your spine, fearful. You’ve displeased him and spoken out of turn and you worry about the consequences. His hands aren’t the largest in the group but he mentioned he works out and he’s still much larger and stronger than you, so you don’t doubt that he could cause you a lot of pain if he wanted to. A few cracks of his hand against your ass would no doubt leave it stinging and you shiver at the thought.

But the harsh, punishing strikes you’re expecting don’t come. Instead he runs a long finger down the centre of your ass until it lightly grazes across your pussy. You squirm at the feeling. The others smile at the sight as their leader pushes your panties to the side to press a finger into your heat. “How does she feel, Joong?” Seonghwa asks.

“She’s perfect,” comes Hongjoong’s voice from behind you. It’s slightly strained and raspier than before. He’s clearly just as affected and you feel proud. “Tight and warm like we thought she’d be.”

You make a noise of surprise and he shushes you. You knew they’d have talked about you in your absence, but you hadn’t considered that they’d have talked about…this specifically. And the way they talk about you like a thing, like you’re not even there, is objectifying in the best way. Everything about this is hotter than you could have imagined. Even the slightest touches set your skin alight and they know it.

Hongjoong curls his finger slightly and you jolt forward a bit but he quickly pulls you back, wrapping an arm around your neck to put you in a near headlock. “Easy, baby,” he whispers. “Easy.”

You look up to see the others have inched towards you, surrounding you completely. They each look thrilled in a different way, and you’re desperate for their touch — any of them. All of them.

“Please,” you gasp. You can barely speak through Hongjoong’s grip on your neck but they hear you.

Seonghwa comes to kneel in front of you, cradling your face in his palms. “Oh baby, baby,” he whispers melodiously. “So pretty like this.”

Mingi and San join Hongjoong behind you, running their hands over your ass and their fingers through your wet folds as Hongjoong adds a second finger to your hole. With the two fingers inside you he spreads you open, allowing the other two a perfect view of your stretched out pussy. “Fuck,” they both breathe. “The prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,” Mingi says and San agrees.

Jongho and Wooyoung and Yunho and Yeosang take their places on either side of you. Wooyoung reaches to play with your tits, grabbing and squeezing them and slapping them where they hang below you. His hits are hard like the ones he’d delivered to your ass earlier, and soon your pretty tits are decorated with red marks. The other three seem content to watch and palm themselves as Hongjoong works you open and Wooyoung abuses your sensitive tits, while Seonghwa pushes finger after finger into your mouth, lazily fucking your throat with his long digits. You gag and choke when he pushes them deeper but you do your best to suck them. Seonghwa tuts when you choke particularly violently but he seems pleased with your efforts. “You’ll make such a perfect cock sucker,” he muses. “You’re such a natural already.”

You whine around his fingers, stuffed into your throat and covered in your drool. He presses a kiss to your forehead before he pushes them in deeper. You choke but keep them in your throat and you hear Yunho whistle. “She’s dedicated,” he says admiringly.

“She was born for this.” Seonghwa speaks through gritted teeth and you look down to see his hard cock straining against his pants. You’re not sure what you were expecting exactly, but you’re surprised by its thickness. You’re not quite certain how it will fit inside you.

Returning your gaze to his, you’re met with total, almost feral darkness in his eyes. “Don’t tempt me,” he grunts. “I’ll ruin you.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, slapping you across the cheek a couple of times until your face is red and covered in your saliva. Hongjoong’s keeping a steady pace as his fingers pump into your pussy, but there’s so many sensations, so many strong hands on you, that you can’t quite process it all. Your awareness of each man goes up and down with each movement they make and you’re completely overwhelmed.

Painfully quickly, Hongjoong pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty for one merciful moment until the men next to him take their turn. Mingi presses a finger to the edge of your asshole, not penetrating it, just gently and softly teasing the rim, but the feeling is enough to make you buck against him. His other hand grabs your waist, holding in place. “Have you never played with this hole before, baby?” He asks.

You whine, shaking your head and he laughs. “You’ll be used to it soon enough,” he says. “It’s Jongho’s favourite hole, isn’t it?”

Jongho laughs and though you know he’s right next to you, he sounds distant and out of reach. You gasp at the feeling of another, thicker finger on your asshole. Unlike Mingi, Jongho doesn’t hesitate, pushing his finger into you. It’s a completely foreign feeling, much different to the feeling of your pussy being penetrated, but in some weird way it almost feels… better. Maybe it’s the resistance your tight hole puts up against him, stretching around him then sucking him in; or maybe it’s the degrading, humiliating feeling of knowing every one of your holes is being used and explored by these men. Either way, you’ve never felt like this before and you don’t want it to stop.

While the two men play with your asshole, San dives into your pussy, latching his mouth onto it and exploring it with his tongue. You’re fairly certain Hongjoong’s fingers have already made you cream but if San notices, it clearly only spurs him on as he eats you relentlessly, pushing you quickly towards the edge.

“Fuck, San!” You scream and he growls, landing a hard slap against your already red cheeks.

“That’s not my name,” he snarls. His voice is muffled by your pussy like he couldn’t bear to pull himself away from it even for a second. You must taste good, you think with pride, but another harsh slap reminds you to respond.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say.

You feel San smile against your pussy, large hand soothingly rubbing the red mark where he’d slapped you.

While you were distracted by the three men playing with your holes, the other five have stood up, retreating to the surrounding couches where they’ve somehow even served themselves wine without you noticing. You look up to see them watching you intently, small smiles on their face as they lounge around, taking in the sight in front of them. You must look pathetic, you think; face covered in your own sweat and drool, entire body littered with red handprints and three men stretching and playing with your holes. But you can see from the faces, and bulges of the men on the couches, that they love it as much as you do.

San pulls his mouth off of you, replacing it with his fingers before you can complain or even register the absence. He works you open a little more gently than Hongjoong, but the pumps of his fingers are strong and precise. On their side of him, the other two have started a game of how many fingers they can fit in your asshole. They do it carefully, wetting their fingers and inserting them slowly, with each finger they add you’re stretched a little more and it burns. Deliciously.

Your mouth hangs open, breaths strangled as you lose yourself in the feeling. You feel your eyes roll back as San speeds up, pumping three fingers in and out of you. Mingi and Jongho pull theirs out, rubbing your loosened asshole almost soothingly as San keeps going, faster, harder, deeper, until all it takes is for him to press this thumb firmly against your clit for you to let go, coming all over his fingers.

As soon as you’re done you collapse, letting your body fall to the floor in exhaustion. Mingi and Jongho pull their fingers out of you with moaned praises, gently stroking your back. With his fingers still inside you San lifts you up, pulling you back to lie against his chest. His fingers don’t move inside you, just sitting there like a comforting presence as he adjusts you to a comfortable position. He pulls them out slowly, hushing you when you whine softly at the loss, and settles you so your head is resting on his chest, just under his neck and chin so he can easily lean down to whisper to you. “Didn’t know you were such a squirter, baby,” he mumbles.

Too fucked out to respond, you just groan and he chuckles. “I’ve got you, honey,” he says. He starts to sway, rocking you back and forth soothingly. You hear him say something to someone else, you think Jongho, who laughs and hands him something. You look up to see San wiping his hand, wet with you slick, onto a towel. He sees you watching and smiles down at you, pressing a kiss to your head before reaching down to move your panties, still bunched to the side to expose your dripping hole, back into place.

You hear other voices around you as your eyelids start to droop. With San’s hand rubbing comfortingly up and down your back, you let yourself fall asleep, snoring softly against his chest. He watched you with a fond smile. “She’s asleep,” he announces to the others.

“Good,” Yeosang says, “she deserves it. She did well.”

Hongjoong hums. “Better than I thought. I’m so glad we found her.”

“I’m gonna take her upstairs,” San says. The others agree and he slowly stands, holding you carefully in his arms as he carries up to your new bedroom. They watch as he leaves before turning to face each other. It’s silent for a few long seconds before Wooyoung speaks.

“This is going to be so much fun.”

—————

hi! thank you for reading my first full-group fic! if people enjoy it i plan to make it into a series, but i deliberately wrote it so it can be left as a standalone as well. so please comment and let me know what you’d like! i really appreciate seeing everyone’s feedback or thoughts on my writing, and it encourages me to write more too. so please let me know. if you want this to continue, i’m also happy to accept requests for it as well as my regular requests. just specify☺️! thank you for reading as always! please reblog & comment, i can’t wait to see everyone’s thoughts on this! my seonghwa fic will be coming soon as well. please forgive any errors, i have proofread but things may have slipped through. love🖤🖤🖤

[alphajocklover]

I’m a 20yr old guy from the UK, I’m 6’2 and I’ve managed to put on some muscle but I still struggle losing a small layer of fat, any chance I can have an Oreo style protein bar? I love the cream filling!

You had to admit, you weren’t really sure that the entire ‘random magical candy bars’ thing you had heard rumors of online was remotely real, much less that it would extend to protein bars. It all sounded like a ridiculous fantasy, and most people treated the stories like they were nothing more than a joke, but… you were getting rather desperate. You had grown up a beanpole, shockingly tall and embarrassingly skinny, but had recently decided to dedicate yourself to putting on some weight, sick of being seen as a weakling by other men your age. The problem was you had put on far too little muscle and far too much fat, and it was driving you absolutely crazy. You had been dedicated to your workout routine, and had followed the diet you had set out to a tee, but after 6 whole months of this you somehow hadn’t seen anywhere near the progress you were looking for. You couldn’t help but seethe with jealousy as you thought about the guys you had gone to school with, the ones who seemed to gain muscle without even trying. You couldn’t stand how easy they had it, while you kept struggling. That was why you reached out online, trying to find some sort of source for the stories, to see if it really was possible for a single protein bar to change your life. You looked and looked, but found nothing. You had almost given up hope, when a strange package ended up on your doorstep, one holding a single protein bar inside. 

You had been convinced it was a prank at first. Someone had seen your post, and thought it would be hilarious to send you what you had been looking for. They’d probably poisoned the damn bar or something for a laugh. But as you held the protein bar in your hand, you found you couldn’t quite let it go. You recognized the brand as Oreo flavored Grenade protein bars, a popular type of protein bar in the UK. It looked like any other protein bar you could get at a shop, but something about it just felt special. As if in a trance, you stripped off the wrapper and took a large bite. It was like nothing you had ever tasted before. You had tried different protein bars before, including this brand, but for some reason the flavor of this bar seemed to just explode in your mouth, no pun intended. As you reveled in the chocolatey flavor, you could feel the stubborn fat that had been clinging to you for months start to melt away, replaced by hard, beefy muscles that were now fighting for space on your body. You almost moaned in bliss as you watched your biceps grow into cannonballs of strength, your pecs shooting out into a shelf and your shoulders broadening into an intimidating, manly figure. The growth traveled downwards, turning your chubby stomach into solid abs, growing your average sized dick into a soda can thick, footlong beast of a cock, and finishing off by leaving you with a set of beefy legs and solid feet, you felt so overwhelmed that you almost didn’t notice that your clothing had changed too. Instead of your regular plain outfit, you seemed to be wearing a full set of camos, and looked like you just walked off a military base. You smirked as your mind was filled with new memories, memories of growing up big and strong, like all those jocks you used to envy, of ruling your university as the big man on campus before joining the military and thriving there, shooting up the ranks with ease. Your new memories were a little hazy, but you could tell they were filled with more fun and sex than your old life had ever been.

As you finished off the protein bar, you smirked slightly, knowing it would probably be your last treat for a while. You didn’t get a body like yours from eating surgery shit like that, even if it was a protein bar. Still that didn’t mean you couldn’t treat yourself in other ways. You took out your cell phone and texted one of your many hookups, a twink that lived nearby. You tried not to get too attached to any of the slutty men who you constantly fucked, having long ago decided you perferred playing the field to settingly down, but this one had become somewhat of a favorite for you. He never made you wear a condom, and you loved filling his juicy ass with your ‘cream filling.’

** Hey there everyone! It's been a while. I've been taking a break for my own mental health, but I'm hoping to start working though my backlog of request, starting with the Pick Your Treat TFs. I know it's well past Halloween but I hate to let a good story go to waste! Stay tuned for more, and thank all of you for being so patient!**

[shugarbunni]

kitty!reader x professor!james pt.2 ...enjoy :p

"hang on hang on- you've been sleeping with potter? as in the professor ive been rightfully pining over? you bitch!" barty squawks, hands flailing around as you all take your seats at a booth in a dark corner of the pub.

no one wanted to get sloshed tonight, so you all decided on getting..relatively pissed at the local pub. ('all' referring to the best group of people anyone will ever meet. you, of course, barty, evan, regulus, dorcas, marlene and the ever lovely pandora!)

"you have a boyfriend, barty." Marlene snorts, smirking at the eye roll Evan gives.

"shurrup, im allowed to have crushes-" barty starts, only to be cut off by you.

"that isn't the point!" you huff, plucking reggie's cigarette from his lips and taking a drag, leaning against him "point is i do not want to end things with him, not anytime soon." you trail off, before lifting your gaze to barty "and he's more than good sex, you bellend." you scoff, pointing at him "hes like, really sweet. and funny. if you overlook the fact that he's...painfully millennial, sometimes."

"what did you two even talk about?" pandora asks, trying her very best to hide her judgement with the situation, bless her heart.

"y'know..normal shit! couple shit!" you struggle, taking an anxious puff of smoke.

"couple shit?" regulus parrots flatly, a questioning quirk to his brow.

"yes, regulus, couple shit. y'know..getting to know each other." you sigh, sinking into the booth.

"okay, so like what? give us an example, kitty cat" evan chuckles, wrapping his arm around barty

"ooo, do y'know his favourite colour?" dorcas giggles, cheek resting on marlenes shoulder.

"you lot are such idiots." you grumble, taking a sip of your bloody mary "...and its red."

"im not going in a bloody nightclub, sirius" james groans as his best friend drags him along the street.

"come on, prongs!" sirius huffs, about to go on a rant about how they never have 'fun' anymore, when remus interjects.

"how about we go to the pub? act our age, for once?" he huffs, giving sirius a pointed look and pries him off of james, running a hand through his husbands salt and pepper hair.

"alright." he grumbles, rolling his eyes at lily when she laughs at his sulking.

the group strides across the street, remus' arm slung casually over sirius' shoulder. petes been quiet, checking his phone every ten minutes - no doubt texting Emma. like a bastard teenager, he is.

james stays quiet too as they all chatter, his brows creased in distracted thought whilst he follows along into the pub.

he only snaps out of his daze when sirius heckles him from the bar, "James! what ya wanting, mate?"

"just a pint, pads" he says, forcing out a smile as he slumps in the booth, followed by the others whilst sirius gets everyones drinks ordered.

"cheer up, would you?" lily sighs softly, leaning her elbows against the table "we're meant to be taking your mind off of her, James."

"i am cheered." james mutters, giving her a sarcastic smile, earning a swat on the arm.

sirius scurries back to the table, setting everyones drinks down. hes always had a strange talent for carrying a bunch of glasses at once - must've been all the dorm parties back when they were students.

"right! cheers everyone" he exclaims dramatically, getting the group to clink their beers together "heres to healthy relat-"

"right!" a barman's voice interrupts, echoing through the pub "karaoke machines on, you lot. have at it."

most of the pub-goers (absolutely mortal middle aged men) dont seem to care all that much, but two groups seem to get elated at this news.

sirius gasps, immediately up and tugging on a begrudged peters arm (they've been karaoke partners since they were 17, believe it or not) "come on, wormy! we have to do starman!"

"sirius, mate-"

its then, that come on Eileen blasts through the pubs old speakers.

sirius shuts up - for once.

and james? well, james looks like hes seen an angel, to put it lightly.

there you are, giggling through the lyrics with Barty whilst you pathetically attempt the famous living room routine.

your whole group are creased watching, evan's filming of course. the people in the club clap along, energy up.

"come on, come on!" you wave over the others, the whole group crowding over the dingy microphone as you drunkenly shout the lyrics.

its when the song ends and your group stumbles away, clinging onto each other through bouts of laughter that you spot him. well, really you spot lily first. but then the others came into view. they all look anxious, sirius trying to tug james out of his seat. he doesn't budge.

oh christ, this is gunna be a long night, isn't it?

this feels so messy but like..ive had this idea for ages and i wanna get it out there. let me know your opinions! more parts to come<3

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: teen and up cw: they get a little hot and heavy but nothing you wouldn't see on prime time tv tags: rockstar!eddie, regular guy!steve, apology tours, epic munson tantrums, not so hidden secrets, late night chat shows, steve harrington is good at what he does, steve harrington is a bit of a tease, eddie really likes that, getting together after all these years, modern era, use of tiktok, implied/referenced sex word count: 6360

written for @steddiebingo's Kissing Booth Card; prompt “surprise"

read it on ao3

-

Let it be known that Eddie hates doing talk shows. 

It’s always a bunch of pretentious and phony assholes with the same desk and stupid sidekick asking questions that have nothing to do with the music. They all think they’re the funniest thing to stand in front of a microphone but wouldn’t know a good story if it smacked them in the face. If Eddie had his way, he’d show up, sing a song, and hold up the album while the host patted him on the back and pretended to know who he was. Like the old days. 

Instead, everyone wants sound bites and embarrassing stories. They want to talk like they care but ask what the favorite chain restaurant is to stop at on tour. Neither Eddie or Jeff handle this well so they let Gareth answer most of the questions. He’s charming, quick with an anecdote, and quicker at noticing when Eddie’s ready to explode. Hosts seem to like him better too, Eddie doesn’t get that part but why question it when it benefits him? 

A weird solution to a necessary evil here. If Eddie wanted to play sold out shows in major venues, he had to play the talk show game too. 

Unfortunately for everyone, tonight Eddie was flying solo. Part of see-he’s-not-such-a-bad-guy press tour Eddie had to embark on after making some comments about the state of music today. Innocent ones that still had rabid pop fans ready to kill him, the band, everyone who’d ever worked with the band, family, and pets. 

It wasn’t an apology tour because Eddie wasn’t going to apologize. He had nothing to apologize for. All he’d done was have an opinion. The fans were making enough death threats that Corroded Coffin had security for the first time in their career. Something management hoped to stop if Eddie went around looking charming enough but it meant he wasn’t the one to be worried about here. 

A problem he wasn’t allowed to address. These people had dug up Wayne’s information. A man who didn’t want a cell phone because the government would track him and there were paparazzi ass pictures of him in Melvards with insults typed on them because they knew he raised Eddie. Yet Eddie couldn’t tell them to stop or He’d be the bad guy. 

This wasn’t something he should be doing solo but there’d be no leaning on Gareth. He had to do this alone. His mouth got him into this mess, it had to be his mouth that got them all out of it. 

So he had seven talk shows in four days. It was a nightmare. Eddie had even threatened to walk on these sets naked because wasn’t that a common thread in everyone’s nightmares? Appearing naked in public. Eddie wouldn’t be fazed and they’d stop talking about the comments he made. Yet the idea was shot down. No one knew how to have fun anymore. 

Least of all these cookie cutter bland men in their weird suits, dancing like monkeys for the crowd looking like every other host that did the same thing. Eddie didn’t even remember whose show he was on tonight. Thankfully he could toss around enough “mans” and “dudes” to not have to learn where he was or who this clown was. 

It’d started out like the three before it. Jokes cracked about the stuff Eddie said, asking what pop music he did listen to, real softball shit that Eddie had been prepped to answer. That was it though. A few expected questions the guy must have had to ask and then he went off script in a big, big way.

Eddie could roll with the punches, he could improvise, but he was also supposed to be on his best behavior. The further they strayed from the expected, the higher the risk that Eddie made this worse. Yet he didn’t have a choice. He was on this ride.  

Apparently, pop music fans are a little more…thorough than metalheads. And not everyone was burning his records down at the local city hall. Though, Eddie kind of wished they were. How bad ass would that be? Not to mention, they’d buy the album to burn so it was win-win for him. Would have made a badass album cover but whatever. Tweets were cool too. 

The ones that hadn’t started online campaigns and harassing venues had started to listen to Corroded Coffin. Which didn’t make sense to Eddie here but, again, it benefited him so what did he care? All of it brought on a noticeable difference in steaming numbers. Eddie should thank them but that sounded worse than apologizing right now. 

Those that were listening weren’t just headbanging in their garages though.Social media quickly moved from “hey, this isn’t that bad actually” to deep, deep dives on the lyrics. From there it was artful edits on tiktok of their favorite lines. These new fans devoured everything they could and spit out high quality appreciation that Eddie wished his own media team could manage. 

He could have done without the analyzing of everything but fans had always done that. Secret messages in album covers and words from the devil if played backwards. Corroded Coffin had spent too long in the sweet spot of fame where people paid attention, they did alright, but they weren’t saying The Freak died and was replaced by a lookalike. 

There was no wrong way to enjoy music, Eddie would champion for that until his dying breath, but this was new and he hadn’t had time to adjust. Not to the stuff he’d known about or fell into his orbit but watching the edits and videos live on television wasn’t the way to learn exactly how deep it all went.

Without Gareth to navigate Eddie through it all, he floundered as the host cued up the montage. Before he could get his head above water, the host and audience were laughing at jokes that wouldn’t be heard on air. All of it was uncomfortable but no one seemed to mind. It left Eddie wondering if this was what interviews were now. Putting up other people’s work and turning it into a segment seemed like a downgrade but no one was interested in anything other than ratings. 

Whoever edited it had done a good job. There was a story and while Eddie wished he’d learned any of this before now, it was easy to follow live. The videos shifted from appreciation to pointing out recurring themes. Something Eddie thought he was sneaking by his fan base. 

Obviously, he saw the connection in the lyrics immediately. As his entire life flashed before his eyes in front of a live studio audience, Eddie listened to a seventeen year old blonde girl do her skin care routine and speculate on the subject of these songs. Talking at length as she stuck weird things to her face and used a mini steamroller about Eddie having a crush on some girl. Her eyes literally turned to hearts, thanks to a filter, as she pined for someone to love her enough that they wrote all these songs. At her ripe old age, though, she’d given up on that ever happening for her. Eddie rolled his eyes for no one but it was unstoppable. 

Then a 20-something did a “get ready with me” video, parading in front of the camera in different outfits, and waxing poetic about how lead singer Eddie Munson wasn’t singing about a woman like most people thought. She was smart, Eddie had to give her that but nothing else because her outfit was shit. 

Opinions that were shared by the next video. Someone was sitting in a recliner, covered in blankets as the TV changed the lighting in the room constantly. They argued with whoever was behind the camera about the gender of who Eddie was singing about in songs Eddie wasn’t sure his fan base had clocked as love songs at all. It ended without resolution but Eddie didn’t need it. He knew. 

At that point, Eddie sat silently. Too stunned to do anything, too embarrassed to think. To his credit, the host didn’t say anything about that. He simply told whoever was in the control room to play the next video. There wasn’t even a warning about what was to come. Everything about this was awful. Some of it was unprofessional. This wasn’t the sort of torture Eddie liked. 

It had to have been a slow night. No one better to bring on the show. Eddie rarely got this much screen time and he certainly never had a whole produced segment before. It was something he never wanted again either. Ten minutes. In and out, steal all the food from craft services he could fit in his pocket. That was the deal. 

More videos played though. TikToks were short and they weren’t playing them in their entirety but a rather large collection of people had much to say about the content of Corroded Coffin songs. Each took the speculation a little further and some ten clips later it got too specific.

Death threats were nothing at this point. He almost hoped there were some of those type fans in the audience. Someone to put him out of his misery so that he didn’t have to confirm or deny the accusations made in the last thirty seconds. 

This was information kept so close, so under lock and key, that Eddie wasn’t just hiding it from his fans. The band didn’t know. If any of them knew they were playing love songs for former high school jock Steve Harrington, they’d have thrown themselves off cliffs or chopped their own hands off to never play music again. Which was why Eddie had written all these songs like he had but that information was out of the bag, it seemed. No putting it back because who cares about people. Ratings are number one. 

What this host didn’t know was the damage currently being done. Sure, yeah, maybe Jeff saw some TikTok about it. Maybe someone tagged the band’s official account asking for answers or something but it would be so easy to dismiss. To lie and say there’s no way that a bunch of teeny bopper internet sleuths were right about this because Eddie would never fall for a guy like Steve Harrington. 

Even if he’d written dozens about the very high school crush that represented so much more to Eddie. A hopeful time of discovery and all that. It could have been anyone but it had to be one of the most popular guys they’d all gone to school with and that just wasn’t cool. It wasn’t very metal. 

A well produced video essay by one of late night’s biggest names was going to topple everything Eddie had hidden too. He was barely watching the videos anymore. Lost in his own head as he crafted the needed apologies to the band, to his manager because this surely made things worse, and maybe to one Steve Harrington. After, of course, Eddie found a way to get ahold of the guy.

At best, Eddie was penning these songs about a crush. In reality it was this feeling he’d been chasing since he was fifteen and thought he’d fallen in love for the first time. Steve had helped Eddie up in gym class after his friends had pummeled him in dodgeball and it was the sort of things that made birds flutter around the room. That or the red rubber ball based concussion but who had the money to investigate which?  

It was the one and only time they spoke. Not long after that, Eddie stopped focusing on school and when he did show up, the jocks weren’t a real threat anymore. What were they going to take from him? Even still, when the loudest of jocks needed some credibility and tried to challenge the “freak”, Steve was never involved. They existed in the same place but never together. 

Eddie never once thought it would come back to bite him. The songs were vague, they could be about anyone! If his band hadn’t figured it out, what hope did anyone else have? Of course, Eddie underestimated what technology put at people’s figure tips. With a bit of dedication and teamwork they could ruin anything. Fantastically, they chose to ruin Eddie’s life.

The humiliation was thorough but not done. Dipshit host number five here said they had a surprise for Eddie, one which he refused. Eddie actually got up and tried to walk off the stage despite knowing it’d get him in trouble. He’d sat politely and endured this torture for long enough but there was a limit and this was it.  

The late night talk show turned into an ambush situation with the wave of his hand. Camerapeople came from every direction, ready to follow, and though Eddie wasn’t what anyone would call “media savvy” he knew enough to know this would become the sort of thing no apology tour could fix if he didn’t sit back down. Not that he went happily or quietly. 

Maybe he’d get lucky and it’d be the boys in the band. They’d all be pissed and come out hot talking about what bullshit it was to play songs for a guy like that but Eddie could handle that. It was coming regardless so rip the band off and entertain a few folks with a glimpse behind the scenes. Maybe these TikTokers could find Jeff a date or something. 

He wasn’t that lucky. Kids on the internet had done the detective work but major network television had a budget that these vloggers didn’t. If the teenagers and fashion divas got a camera in front of Steve Harrington to see how he felt about it all, it’d be a polite clip, a thirty second video, and nothing Eddie needed to participate in. 

A major network, though, could bribe Steve to come in and make a fool out of Eddie. The music industry put too much focus on pop music. Saying something was bad did not need to be something worth punishing over. Least of all with public humiliation. 

The blue curtains pulled back to reveal an uneasy and slightly embarrassed Steve Harrington (looking impossibly better after all these years), because nothing was more entertaining than an awkward reunion. One they could bill as a love connection. Worst case, they’d make Eddie answer for the lyrics, to sit there and face the music. Almost literally as the house band played a jazzy version of the one song everyone had latched onto as the love song for Steve. 

Eddie shook his head, he wanted no part in this, and immediately apologized to Steve. Sorry wasn’t going to fix this, in any direction, but Eddie wasn’t going to stop saying it. Maybe if he’d started saying it in the first place, he wouldn’t be here, but he was going to get mileage out of the word now. Him and “sorry” were about to become best friends. 

The update about Steve’s life entertained the crowd as he and Eddie stood there like aliens figuring out their human bodies. Embarrassment tinted both their faces pink, bright enough that the make up couldn’t hide it. Even as they were led back to the couches for an interview that Eddie would have to watch back at some point. 

Hopefully he didn’t say anything stupid. It was all a blur as he flipped between plotting murders and plotting his own death. He landed somewhere in between, becoming some mountain man type recluse. Wayne would love it. They could buy a huge plot of land in some unknown town, live miles apart from each other and nowhere close to any civilization. Live off the grid and spend their days whittling. Far away from internet service and guys called Steve. It was perfect. 

First he had to survive tonight though. Something the universe was making too hard. Sat on this uncomfortable, ugly couch and knowing it would be broadcast nationwide that Eddie had to awkwardly sit next to his childhood crush while some other musical act played their hit track. A song that was also currently big on TikTok. 

They could have debuted a heavy metal We Are the World and Eddie wouldn’t have noticed. The only thing he cared about was the stage manager coming to drag him to his dressing room, to get him out of this new layer of hell invited for him. 

A reprieve that eventually came. Some handshakes, goodnights, and Eddie was led backstage. Only not to his dressing room like he so desperately wanted. Whatever this room was, it was so far from Eddie’s phone, from the help he needed and the apologies he owed. If Eddie stayed in the biz, he was rewriting his contract to never, ever make another television appearance. If it was necessary, one of the other guys could do it. Eddie was done with this trickery. With being a pawn in someone else’s entertainment. 

He paced the new room like a caged animal, ready to attack his trainers at the slightest movement. To show that, Eddie kicked over one of the hideous hotel-like chairs and let out a scream of a million unsaid words. He’d always dreamed of trashing a hotel room but thought it would be under much cooler circumstances. 

It was a tantrum the all knowing kids on TikTok must have also warned the show about because they kept Eddie there and alone until long after he was breathing normally again. Once the calm was sensed they shoved some enrichment in the form of Steve Harrington. For a brief second, Eddie entertained using his fist to find out what these walls were made of. A little too certain he could punch his way through. 

Slinking to a corner, putting as much distance between him and Steve as he could, Eddie puffed up. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Or quietly. So hopefully everyone was ready for this spectacle. 

“I’m sorry, man. Truly, I am,” Eddie said, arms folded over his chest. He refused to look at Steve but didn’t know where to rest his eyes. 

“Why? For what?” Steve asked, looking directly at Eddie. 

“I don’t know. I guess for writing all those songs. The rest of this shitshow was not me! It’s a mess I’ll never be able to clean up and, fuck, I’m going to sue literally everyone involved.” 

Steve laughed and for a half a second, Eddie forgot why he was mad. 

“Or maybe just for talking shit about that one singer. I sort of thought it was my right, ya know? Low hanging fruit, if you will. The metal guy mocking a pop princess, it’s a tale as old as time. The world’s changing though, I guess.” 

That didn’t earn a response. 

Eddie dared to look at Steve directly and he still had a hint of that sort of awkward guy that was on the sound stage. Not quite knowing how to stand or how much space to take up. It mixed well with the guy Steve became, whatever that was. Hopefully it was an improved version because physically, he was a dream. Not to mention, he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring either. 

“They had to convince me to come here, ya know?” Steve finally said. 

All Eddie did was nod. Of course they did. Who would come willingly? Shit, he hadn’t even come here willingly. Something he likely should have said but it would have unleashed a rant neither of them had time for. 

“I took a lot of calls from a lot of strange people involved with this show. All of them explained why I should come. So many of them sent me video after video after, way more than what they played out there. It’s a bit weird, isn’t it.” 

“No,” Eddie scoffed. “It’s incredibly fucking weird. The most weird anything has been in the history of time, perhaps.” 

Again, Steve laughed. The smile stayed on this face and Eddie wondered if someone flipped on another light. Eddie let out a breath and dropped his shoulders. It was so rare that the reality of someone surpassed the memory but wow. Wow. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Steve said. 

“Because everyone had a crush on you in high school?” Eddie snapped, letting a sneer stay on his face even after he realized that was a bit harsh. 

“I also doubt that but if they did, they certainly didn’t write songs about it.” 

“Who says I really did?” 

“Besides the thousands of people on the internet who may or may not need to get a life?” 

Eddie huffed, glaring at the floor and wishing that wasn’t a true statement. Those people did need to get a life but Eddie didn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction of making a good joke right now. He wasn’t sure how to play this but best friends seemed the least likely choice. 

“Exactly,” Steve said in a way that had Eddie wonder if he’d said all that out loud. “That’s what brought me here, though. That and the fat fucking paycheck I’m getting. I had to know, from you, if you’d really written all those songs about me.” 

For a fleeting moment, Eddie thought about lying. He had nanoseconds to do so and sell it. If he hesitated even a bit, it wouldn’t work. In that short bit of time where Eddie had a choice, he couldn’t find a reason to lie. 

Maybe Steve deserved the truth for all his trouble, for all this embarrassment. Better still, it might be good for Eddie to say it after all these years of keeping it inside. Steve didn’t fly all this way to kick Eddie’s ass and, plus, he already kind of knew. Confirmation would just mean they could both move on. 

Plus, it was in high school. He wasn’t still dreaming of a life with Steve. Okay, he wasn’t writing songs about it but sometimes Eddie would think about if they’d found a happily ever after or whatever. Usually after a real bad break up. Something to mentally chew on as he recovered. A perfect life that he never got. 

Still, it was a reluctant confession when Eddie pressed his lips in a straight line and nodded his head before saying “Yeah.” 

The carpet in this room was beyond interesting, Eddie couldn’t quit staring as he braced for what was to come. They’d grown up enough to see a ten year reunion come and go but a piece of Eddie was still that same teenager. Still squawking and showing off and giving the jocks and popular kids a reason to hate him because it was better than the made up rules and false hierarchies. 

Eddie wanted to do the same here. To insult Steve immediately after saying all the songs were about him. To give Steve a reason to be mad other than Eddie’s affection because there was no way in hell a guy like Steve wanted that. 

Things stayed silent for several eternities. Cycling through the expected and the uncomfortable to something that had Eddie curious. He looked up to see what was going on, what the other half of the room was doing. Maybe Steve left, stormed out or something. Eddie wouldn’t blame him if he had. 

Instead, Steve was a few steps closer with a soft smile on his face like all he was waiting for was Eddie to look at him. Nothing about him said he was angry, offended, or even annoyed. Eddie would take a risk here and say Steve looked happy even. 

It left Eddie blinking and confused, desperate for Steve to say anything else to help Eddie know what move to make next. 

“I listened to the songs, you know? After I agreed to come here.” 

“Oh god, no. Why,” Eddie whined. 

There was that laugh again. Why did Steve laugh so easily? Why did it sound the way cotton candy felt after a day at the amusement park? 

Obviously Eddie could never ever write another song about Steve again. He probably couldn’t write another love song despite there being other romances in Eddie’s life he could pull from. Real ones even. Not that it’d matter. Everyone would assume the songs were about Steve now. 

And yet Eddie could sit down right here and fill an entire album up from the butterflies building in his stomach as he listened to Steve laugh. Something was happening in here that Eddie hadn’t felt before. He was supposed to be furious, out for blood and fielding calls from everyone connected to Corroded Coffin. Not being disarmed by the guy who’d become the representation of every bit of love and affection Eddie had ever felt. 

As mad as Eddie was supposed to be, he couldn’t find it. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and still backed into a corner a little but not angry. Not that he was angry with Steve but anger was better than whatever this mess was. 

“Well, if they were really about me, shouldn’t I be hearing them?” 

“Fuck no. You’re the last person that should be hearing them!” 

Steve took a couple of steps closer, “Shame, I kind of liked them.” 

Eddie could have thrown up then and there. An awful response that showed his body was betraying him. In the worst ways. Common sense kicked back in though and Eddie glared at Steve. No way the guy wasn’t fucking with him right now. 

Steve took another step toward Eddie. Instinctively, Eddie took a step backward. He was still trying to figure out what was going on here and had mentally been at a disadvantage from the start. The whole apology tour alone meant using less of his brain than normal but no one could think clearly in these conditions.

“I’m going to catch so much shit for all of this. I’ll be lucky if it doesn’t break up the band, I’m not really finding the humor in any of it,” Eddie said, pulling up some walls as he desperately fought to understand what was going on. 

“Who’s joking? I liked the ones about the knights the best. I had to call a friend to find out what orcs were and he gave me, what felt like, a fourteen hour explanation. I didn’t like that part but the rest? It was great.” 

The smile on Steve’s face was the worse part. It screamed of trouble but there was a sincerity in it. What it didn’t say was that Eddie was in danger and he’d seen more of those smiles than ones sincerely glad to see him. Still, Eddie kept the walls up to be safe. 

“I really thought that was subtle,” Eddie tried not to sound defeated. 

Steve pressed forward again and Eddie took a step back which crashed him into the wall with a far from knightly “oof”. 

“You aren’t the knight though, are you? My best friend and I tried our hand at song analysis. Probably not something we should have done with a bottle of wine but she says you are the knight and she’s the smartest person I know but I think she’s wrong. I think I am. Which, of course, she blames on my ego but I don’t think it’s that.” 

Eddie shook his head. 

“I knew it! I’m the knight? I rescue you?” 

All Eddie could do was nod. Fuck that sounded so pathetic. Why did he write these songs? Hell, why was he in a band? It certainly wasn’t for all this humiliation. 

There was one step between them, one chance for Eddie to sneak to the side and get out, but as he grappled with the regret of his cheesy love songs Steve took another step closer. They weren’t touching but Eddie could smell Steve’s cologne now and see what looked like a tattoo peeking out under the sleeve of his shirt. He could take in all the little details as his heart tried to punch a hole in his chest. 

With no place left to go, Eddie pressed against the wall. For the first time in his life he tried to steer his mind back to the worst case scenario. Steve was going to punch him in the gut or slam his head into the wall right? Something bad was going to happen, that made some kind of sense. It had to be what happened. 

Everything felt too electric for that. Time still slowed but fight or flight wasn’t activated. Instead Eddie thought about his hotel room and the huge bed inside. He wondered where the nearest bodega was or if he had any condoms rolling around in his suitcase. More than twice he thought about dropping to his knees right here to show Steve exactly how a knight is thanked for rescuing someone. 

Dwelling on the best case scenario was unavoidable if not weird. Eddie wanted to enjoy it but all he could think about was when this all went to shit it was going to hurt that much more. Maybe he could turn that into a song and then tiktok detectives could leave him alone to write whatever he wanted again. 

“God that’s so disgustingly sweet. Why do people hate your music? It’s way sappier than the pop shit you complain about.” 

“It is not,” Eddie tried to fight the point but wound up sounding like a child being told they didn’t do their chores. 

Steve, on the other hand, made kids at Christmas look morose. He was so giddy. It almost felt unnatural. Especially because what Eddie remembered of Steve was catty comments and snide commentary. Here he was almost…dorky. 

Except sitting right under that dorkiness, which Eddie didn’t think was supposed to show and was likely sincere, was this confidence and control that lined up with what Eddie remembered about Steve. Or the version of Steve he’d made up over the years. Something he was desperate to learn more about, see if reality lived up to the fantasy. 

“You basically wrote yourself as a fair maiden being saved by a handsome prince,” Steve pointed out far too accurately. There was too much truth in that joke and Eddie hated it. 

“Uh, I was definitely noble and rugged, not a fair maiden. I think maybe you’re adding that in.” 

Steve stood a little taller, his smile shifted to a smirk but settled back as the same doofus grin a second later. A grin that didn’t follow anything else that happened next but did make it better. In a quick move, he planted a hand on the wall above Eddie’s shoulder. Suddenly every high school wet dream came back to Eddie. He’d been in this position before, if only in his mind. 

“Rugged,” Eddie repeated, swallowing hard and reminding himself he was a full grown man. He was better than these high school moves. 

Except he wasn’t at all, not even a little bit, and if he hadn’t said anything, he would have squeaked or, worse, whimpered. Saying something stupid was definitely the better choice here. 

Licking his lips, Steve thought things over. An artful prolonging of events. “You know, I had a thing for you in high school too.” 

Eddie stammered, far too confused, and looked up at Steve in hopes more words came out of one of them. 

“I just didn’t know I liked guys too. Well, that’s not true. I thought all guys kind of felt like that sometimes with other guys. I didn’t get the scope of it. It’s a lot to explain, I’m realizing here. I was a big fancy college dropout before I put it all together and you were nowhere in sight.” 

“Dammit,” Eddie whispered. 

“That’s a lie too,” Steve said as the cheery retelling of old feelings took a turn into something that Eddie would almost call lustful. “Your band was kind of taking off. I paid attention back then but things sort of fell by the wayside.”

“Adulthood, right?” 

“Yeah but you didn’t stop thinking about me, did you?” 

“Well, it’s not, it’s–” 

Eddie’s words were cut off as Steve eased his knee between Eddie’s legs. It brought them so much closer and gave Steve all the control. Something Eddie didn’t fight. 

“I didn’t want to come on the show because I thought this was some sort of prank thing. I couldn’t figure out why or for whose benefit but I thought no way Eddie Munson is out there writing songs about me. But you were.” 

“So many. Yeah, man. God, yeah. I was. I will continue to after this too if you want. God damn.” 

The laugh that followed that promise could only be called wicked. Compared to the playful, possibly nervous one of before it made Steve sound like a villain and it sent a shiver up Eddie’s spine. 

Ignoring the pathetic rambling, Steve asked, “So what are we going to do about this then?” 

“My hotel or yours, yeah?” 

Steve adjusted his knee with enough purpose that Eddie knew it wasn’t an accident, it was torture. And this time it was the kind Eddie enjoyed. His head fell forward with a sigh and he gave Steve the show he wanted. 

“I’d guess mine,” Steve said, smoothing a hand over Eddie’s head to guide him back up so he could look at Steve. “Everyone’s going to be watching yours. Especially to see if I go in.” 

“Yeah but I have a hot tub.” 

That had Steve pause, he pressed his lips together in comical thought, “Okay, yeah. Yours it is. Leave a key at the front desk.” 

“Of course, yeah yeah yeah. Easy peasy, man.” 

That brought back the happy go lucky laughter as Eddie cringed. Why would he say that? He’d never said “easy peasy” in his life. A part of him was thrilled he didn’t add the “lemon squeezy” but it was still horrible. 

Steve stood up and Eddie nearly fell to the floor, unaware of how much he’d been leaning on Steve (or how weak in the knees he’d truly been). Thankfully he was able to recover. If he’d said something that lame and fallen in the span of ten seconds, Steve was going to fly back to wherever home was and not cash the checks they’d just written. And Eddie wouldn’t blame him. 

With a hungry look up and down, Steve took in everything he’d just done. It left Eddie a little thankful that things had kept them apart. There was no way high school Steve had this level of experience to pair with that confidence. It was even less likely Eddie would have known what to do in the presence of this.

Celebrations stopped there because Steve moved toward the door. Eddie stood up, a sound of indignation filling the room immediately as he tossed his hands out at his sides. “No fucking way, man. No, no, no.” 

Steve turned around, faux shock on his face. “What?” 

“No way the knight would ever,” Eddie was careful not to tell Steve what he needed to do because he knew that would backfire. It wasn’t the time to take back control but there was no way Steve was putting on that show and not at least kissing Eddie.

The hesitation was brief as Steve weighed his options. Eddie could guess a few choices based on what he’d do if the tables were turned but there was only one correct path. No amount of clever lines and “saving the good stuff for later” was going to work here. It would cost Steve everything he’d built in this dynamic and that wasn’t worth it. 

A conclusion he arrived at on his own. Eddie did kind of want to tackle him in the hallway but leaning in the chivalrous knight thing felt better. It felt right. Something they’d both been waiting for, wanting, for far too long. 

Steve walked back to Eddie and stopped just before their bodies were pressed together. “I slayed the dragon, or the hydra, right? You’re safe.” 

Eddie’s own shit shouldn’t work on him like this but Steve delivered the line so well that Eddie didn’t have to fake his sigh. He did fake batting his eyelashes though as he said, “My hero.” 

One of Steve’s hands reached up and cupped Eddie’s cheek, as it slid down to rest of the back of Eddie’s neck, Steve leaned in. Eddie didn’t wait, he met Steve halfway and planted a kiss on his muse, his very own knight in shining armor. 

They didn’t linger there for long, they shouldn’t. It was very much supposed to be a taste of what was to come but had Eddie thinking about getting on his knees again. They didn’t actually have to wait, right? The show had provided two chairs, it was more than enough for a few fun positions. 

“You can thank me properly later tonight…in my chambers. Your chambers. It doesn’t matter, you get it.” 

Steve stepped away again and Eddie didn’t want to let him go but he knew he had to. Once they got back to Eddie’s hotel, they’d have four days of togetherness to enjoy, Eddie could spare another hour apart. 

When Steve got to the door, he turned back into the room. “For real, though. I’m going to punch that asshole host for this whole set up. It was shitty to do even if I’m glad he did it. Kind of a messed up thing to do for people’s entertainment so hopefully your room has a big tv. We can see how good the make up department is at hiding black eyes.” 

Eddie fought visibly swooning and simply said “Get him.” 

Okay, maybe it was kind of obvious Steve Harrington was the knight in all those songs. A promise of retribution just because that’s who he was, noble and out there righting wrongs. He set off to fight for Eddie’s honor for no other reason than someone needed to. Eddie certainly couldn’t. 

Though Eddie would thank him for it. Over and over and over again.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Will & Monique Chapter 3

You can read the rest of the series here

Here’s the next chapter guys. Let’s warm things up a little bit. I am still searching for a title if anyone has any suggestions.  

Monique was cursing herself for the millionth time of the night. What had she been thinking trying to date again- and online dating at that? The man was decently attractive but had a superiority complex that surpassed most of the surgeons and doctors she worked with. What was worse he springs boarded that complex by talking down to her.

She knows she should get up on leave. Instead, she sits quietly fiddling with her anxiety ring. Monique was sober so there was nothing to combat the roughness of his remarks. She wasn’t much of a drinker but she really didn’t like to partake with people she didn’t know well. She wanted to have complete control of herself.

She promises herself she will never put herself in this position ever again. Honestly, it was Dr. Charles's fault. He was the one who had been pushing her to go out more, meet more people, find more friends, and date. Or maybe it was her fault she had complained to him about being lonely in her last few sessions.

“Monique there you are.” The blonde turned abruptly jumping in her chair as a warm hand made contact with her shoulder. Her vision was filled with a familiar head of fiery red hair. His face was unreadable as he glanced over at her date. “Did you not get the message? We all got called to the ED. All hands on deck.” Monique brows furrow as she stands. She had turned the ringer off her phone and hadn’t felt it vibrate in her pocket.

Will picks her jacket up from the back of the chair and helps her into it. “Sorry, man. Emergency, you understand.” Will’s words sound polite but his tone is sharper than she is used to hearing- dismissive. His hand finds her lower back leading her out of the bar as she calls out a rushed goodbye to the man.

When they break free of the door, she looks back to Will. “What happened- is it mass casualties-?” Monique starts fishing through her purse grappling for her phone. His hand comes to her forearm stilling her movements and regaining her attention.

“The only emergency tonight was that date. You looked like you needed saving.” Will’s brown eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Was I wrong?”

She shook her head giving him a grateful smile. “No, thank you, Will.” Monique pauses unsure what to do next. Probably was time to call a cab and go home. Monique bit her pink lower lip as her hand unconsciously started to fidget with her ring.

“Anytime,” He applied soft pressure to her back and she followed him down the steps and around back to his car. Monique didn’t object when he opened the passenger door for her. “Do you want me to drop you off at your apartment or are you still up for a drink?”

Monique felt more comfortable at the small table in the back of Molly’s. She had never been to the hospital staff's go-to bar but it reminded her of the bars she used to go back home. Hole in the walls with character and a comfortable atmosphere. Relaxed. She sits down but Will stays standing. “What’s your poison?”

“Um, can I,” Monique hesitates weighing her options. Will is patient throwing his jacket over the back of the chair in front of him. She presses her lips together before biting the bullet. “Can I just get a Shirley Temple?” She had a lot of men give her hell for drinking mocktails but it took a certain level of trust to be able to drink around people- hers was just lower than most.

“Sure thing,” Will agreed easily before heading to the bar. She let out a breath, that had been a lot easier than she expected. The music was old-school rock and it was a pleasant white noise that left her feeling calm. She felt herself relax in her chair.

A pretty red drink was set in front of her two cherries resting on top. “Thank you,” Will gave her an easy smile as he took a sip of his beer and sat across from her. He took a moment to really look at Monique Lawson. It was the first time he had ever seen her out of scrubs. The dark jeans and simple green top clung to her curves that were usually hidden by her baggy uniform. Her blonde hair was curled and slightly wild around her face from being blown about in the wind. Her green eyes popped behind her dark lashes and her lips were painted a soft inviting pink. He watched those lips wrap around the straw of her drink taking a generous drink, her eyes lighting up when the flavor hit her tongue.

“So, I have to ask where did you meet that charmer?” Monique winced and Will’s eyes caught her playing with her ring. He noticed it was something she did quite frequently. He was still trying to figure out if it was a nervous tick or just a habit.

“Online,” She shakes her head at herself, “But I think I learned my lesson. I won’t be doing that again.” Her tone surprised Will. It wasn’t frustrated, exasperated, or even sarcastic. It was even, accepting even. A lot of people said they wouldn’t touch online dating again but he had a feeling Monique was genuine in her comment. Her words were always genuine- she wasn’t the type to say something just for a reaction.

The two of them fell into a comfortable rhythm. Will spent his time trying to find out more about the blonde while she seemed to expertly dodge the depth of the questions by giving just enough information without giving away anything too personal.

“Where did you move here from?” Will asked popping a peanut from the basket on the table open. She stirred her drink with her fluorescent straw. It was mostly just ice cubes now. She was more relaxed now smiling at him. She had dimples when she smiled that widely.

“Michigan,” She offered simply.

“Do you do that on purpose?” Monique tilted her head at the question. Will popped open another peanut dropping the shell onto a napkin before offering the nut to her on his palm. She considered it for a moment before plucking the peanuts from his hand.

“Do what?” She pops the peanuts into her mouth. The salt went well with the sweetness still left on her tongue from her drink. She hummed in satisfaction. She hadn’t eaten on her date. Was it too much to ask for a date to just go get ice cream or a milkshake and fries? Dating had to be so much easier in the 50s.

“Answer questions about yourself in one word?” Will looked at her over the rim of his second bottle of beer.

“No,” He raised his eyebrows and she shook her head with a small laugh. “I never realized I did it.” She offered. He tilted his head forward and she took it as a cue to expand. “Northern Michigan- born and raised. I lived in a small town about twenty away from the closest Walmart. I think we had four stoplights in the entire town. ”

“Small town girl,” He took another swing of his beer. “What made you move to a city like Chicago then?”

“Med offered to pay back my student loans if I worked there for ten years.” Will chuckled then waited for her real reason. When her bright green eyes held his gaze evenly, he realized she was serious. “You were born here, right?”

“Yeah Canaryville, South Side third generation,” Monique noted the pride in his voice. She tilted her head unfamiliar with the neighborhood. “It’s a blue-collar neighborhood. Lower middle class and very tight-knit. They aren’t big on outsiders there. Grew up Irish Catholic like most of the residents there, even attended a Catholic school.” Monique’s green eyes went to his hand wrapped around the bottle. The dark black ink of a cross tattoo stands out against the pale skin on his middle finger.

“Will!” They were interrupted by two firefighters Monique recognized but didn’t know the names of. She watched feeling slightly awkward as the three men chatted. It didn’t take Will long to introduce her but she felt missed placed within his group of friends. She smiled and chatted with them for a few minutes before looking down at her phone screen and noting in surprise that it was almost midnight.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” She smiled at the two men that Will had introduced as Joe and Otis. “It was nice to me you guys. But I think I should probably head home.” She had barely stood up when Will was on his feet and helping her back into her jacket.

“I’ll drive you home.” His warm hands linger on her shoulders. Monique reaches back to untuck her hair from her jacket.

“You don’t have to do that. I can get a cab. I’m sure you want to stay and-” She gestured to the two firefighters she was sure he would like to hang out with.

“Monique,” His tone was firm, “I brought you here. I’m not making you take a cab home.” Her objections died on her lips. She knew that she wouldn’t win. And if she was being honest with herself, she liked Will's company. She wouldn’t mind spending more time with him.

[thesymphonytrue]

WIP Wednesday err.. Sunday

Thank you @penna-nomen for the tag!

SOOO I have an idea for Mozzie Mania...although I will admit my creative spirit has been low lately. I don't know how to fix it. My desire to write, sing, or create any kind of art is gone right now and it feels like a heavy weight is on my chest and like I want to rip my insides out. I hate it so much 😭 I feel like I'm just being absorbed into the books I'm reading and any unique creative energy I used to have is nonexistent.

BUT ANYWAY in an effort to spark that again (and since I haven't worked on my Mozzie story) here is another little excerpt from my "Old Man AU" (lol aka Peter and Neal as senior citizens):

Sandra was tired. Two coffees in, her eyes were not staying open any better than they were an hour ago. And it was only nine am. She blinked and pushed the stapler a little further away from her computer. It hadn’t been her life’s dream to be a receptionist at the Catskills Memory Care, but here she was. Despite the atmosphere of death and smell of old people, the visitors normally were kind (if there were any) and the pay was good. 

The buzzer rang, notifying Sandra that there was a visitor. Her eyes brightened and hope filled her chest. Which lucky patient was getting an extra dose of love today? Smiling, she smoothed her pants as she stood. 

However, when she glanced down and looked at the video monitor to see just who had rung the bell, she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. 

Mr. Caffrey, she thought as a headache began to form behind her temples. 

Rolling her eyes, she pressed the button to unlock the front doors and Neal Caffrey strode in. He walked with confidence and if it wasn’t for his gray hair and fine lines, he would have seemed ageless. She’d seen pictures of Neal as a younger man and, well, Sandra had to admit, he was just about the most handsome human she’d ever laid eyes on. 

Nonetheless, his youthful spirit trapped in an old body still somehow managed to make Sandra’s life more difficult. Neal was always sneaking in items that were not allowed: things like strong-smelling paint sets, fancy wine, or once she caught him with FBI-grade handcuffs. 

“Eccentric old man,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head as Neal leaned onto the check-in desk. 

“Goodmorning, Sandra!” Neal said chipperly, blue eyes sparkling. 

Sandra could see how women (and probably men) fell to Neal’s feet in his prime. The man was even charming at seventy. 

“Hello, Mr. Caffrey,” she said, looking up the family-approval phone number linked to the patient Neal Caffrey always came in to visit. 

“Ah it’s Neal,” Neal said, smiling warmly, “Certainly we are on first name terms at this point?” 

Sandra couldn't help but smile. 

“Alright, Neal,” she said folding her hands, “I still have to call the family member on file and let them know you are visiting, given your history…”

“Oh come on, you know he doesn’t like to be bothered. I will be in and out in five minutes. Just have a little…” he hesitated… “gift. He doesn’t even have to be awake to–”

Sandra’s smile dropped. 

“The last time I let you in without calling, you gave him a beer and you were drinking wine and we have a no-alcohol policy here.” 

She picked up the phone and dialed. 

“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

“Hi Mr. Burke, I have a Neal Caffrey here to visit your father. Do you approve?” 

The line was silent for a moment.

“Can I talk to him?” Mr. Burke said.

“Your father?” 

“No, Unc—" he cleared his throat, " To Neal, please?”

Sandra looked at Neal and narrowed her eyes, “Sure sweetheart.”

She passed the phone to Neal. 

“Hey there! Just bringing in a little something for–” Neal started, then frowned.

Sandra wished she could hear what was on the other line.

“Today’s going to be a good day, I can feel it—” Neal said and then paused to listen, “Okay I promise, buddy. No breaking the rules.” 

He hung up. 

Sandra sighed and waved to the door. 

“Go right a head, you know where he is. Mind you, he’s been worse lately. I doubt you’ll get any words out of him at all.” 

[callsignspark]

Mar[r]y Me - part 8.5.2

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, extreme fluff, like soooo much flirting, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 3.6k

previous part | series masterlist | main masterlist

note: happy Friday! I hope everyone had lovely holidays and 2024 is going well for you so far! I did have some issues tagging people so apologizes if you didn't notified! I really loved writing this chapter, especially since it's going to help set the stage for the rest of the story! (only 4 more parts to go! isn't that crazy??) please be safe if you have snow coming towards you this weekend, and enjoy these two pining and yearning for each other more than ever.

part 8.5.2 - rambling and rings

Friday, April 16, 2021

Mary waves at the obnoxiously large SUV as Slider honks and drives away. Leaning against the entryway table, she slips her heels off and wiggles her painted toes at the feeling of the soft runner beneath her feet. Shuffling over to the entertainment console, she hums as she connects her phone, choosing the song that was on in the car.

The dreamy guitar intro floats through the air, making her smile. And the last beams of golden sunshine disappear as she dances through the living room, enjoying the peaceful feeling that’s settled in her chest and closing the blinds in between twirls.

Good things are happening at work, rumbles that there’s a promotion coming on the horizon. The monthly call back home to her parents hadn’t ended in tears for the first time in months. Most of her evenings are spent in the company of at least one Dagger family member, helping Kris and Dani with their kids or enjoying the adult-only life with Aaron and Flora. Bradley is messaging her as often as he can, every email making her heart flutter, increasing her joy with every sentence he types.

Everything is coming together in ways she had never even dared to dream about.

An early dinner with Ron, Mav, and Penny was the cherry on top of a great week. The four of them laughing and telling stories the entire time, taking advantage of the warm spring weather at the patio table Pete had reserved for Slider’s birthday. As stories and photos were traded across the table, Mary felt like her heart could burst learning about baby Bradley. The only quiet moment of the evening was when their waiter brought an unordered round of drinks to the table, prompting the men to venture inside and thank the old Navy buddy that had spotted them through the window.

“Thank you, Matt; it was getting just a tiny bit too windy for us.”

“No problem, ma’am.” The young man smiles over his shoulder as he finishes turning the outdoor heater on. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

“I think we’re good for now, thank you,” Penny answers, glancing at Mary, softening at the sight of the younger woman lost in thought as she stares out at the ocean with a content smile.

She watches as brown eyes drift from the water to the table, gentle fingers tracing over a copy of a photo that’s older than the girl studying it. Penny stays quiet, letting the sound of waves crashing on the sand accompany the slight furrow that creases Mary’s brow as she brings the photo closer to her face.

“He looks just like his dad, doesn’t he?”

“He does; he acts a lot like him, too, more than he realizes.”

“You knew him?” It’s not a surprised reaction, just curious.

Penny hums, “We weren’t close, but I knew him enough to see how much Bradley has turned out like him. He’s a good blend of both his parents.”

“Did you know Carole very well?”

“More than Nick, by default, but for the most part, we were at different stages in life. She was older than me by a few years. I was in college and she was a widow raising a toddler. But, as you know, the aviator community is pretty small, so we were friendly. I would even babysit Bradley sometimes when the guys were deployed.”

“He was a cute baby,” Mary says softly, eyes back on the last photo taken of the whole Bradshaw family.

“He was… turned out to be a handsome man, didn’t he?” Penny asks, taking advantage of the moment.

She smirks as the younger woman looks up at her through her lashes, a shy smile stretching her pink cheeks. “He did.”

“Can I ask you something while they’re still inside?”

“We’re not together. But we are going on a date the week after he gets back.” Now it’s Mary’s turn to smirk at how Penny’s eyebrows rocket up to her hairline. “That is what you were going to ask me, right?”

“It’s close enough. Are you excited?”

“I am. I really like him.”

It’s the first time she admitted it out loud to anyone other than her best friend. She revels in the encouraging energy and words Penny gives back, both of them still giggling like school girls when Pete and Ron return.

“What are you two laughing about?” Slider asks as he slips Mary’s wrap over her shoulders.

“Oh, nothing.” When Penny winks, she has the overwhelming urge to cry. The knowing look accompanying those two words is more affectionate and maternal than anything her mother has done in years.

Their hug goodbye lasts a few seconds longer than expected, and the gentle hands that smooth some stray hairs back make her throat tighten. Slider is quiet on the ride home; familiar with the many moods of Mary, he lets her work through her thoughts with the radio on low.

“Y’okay, kid?” He doesn’t speak until he pulls into her neighborhood, giving himself a five-block buffer to determine if a pit stop to the closest ice cream shop is required.

“Yeah. Just-” Mary pauses, trying to figure out how to best explain. “Just still getting used to it.”

“To what?”

“To how easy it is to just be me out here. Surrounded by people who have just folded me into their lives with zero hesitation, like I’ve always been here.”

“Mary, were you happy in Florida?”

“I was content. Getting to know you helped with that a lot, but let’s face it; if I was happy, I wouldn’t have been so excited to leave.”

“And you’re happy now?”

“I am. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

It's a cheesy line, but true. She knew that when she said it, accepting the light teasing that followed with a smile. One that hadn’t left her face as she said goodbye to her mentor, one that grows as the song starts again. She can’t help how big her grin gets. This song always reminds her of Bradley.

“I'm in love, I'm alive. I belong to the stars and sky.”

Letting the song stay on repeat, Mary stops in the kitchen for some water on her way to the bedroom. It’s still early - not even eight yet - but a full night’s sleep is calling her name, eyelids feeling heavy.

She slips her clothes off, folding the jeans for tomorrow and tossing her shirt in the laundry. A small groan of relief accompanies the unclasping of her bra before she slings it into the hamper. Turning the bedroom speakers down slightly as she enters the bathroom, a grimace instantly creases her face when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

“Jesus…” Her disbelief echoes in the room as gentle fingers rub over the harsh red lines where her clothes dug into her skin. It’s evident where the waistband of her jeans sat all day. And the tender spots under her arms lets her know it’s time to look for better-fitting bras, again. Mary tugs the leg of her panties up, relieved to see at least one piece of clothing hasn’t left its mark.

She’s massaging the sore spots on her chest, letting her warm hands diminish the pain, when her phone rings. Her eyebrows furrow deeper at the unknown number flashing across the screen.

Usually, at this time of night, she’d ignore an unknown number and let the other person leave a voicemail, but something in her gut tells her to pick up before it’s too late.

“Hello?” There’s a muffled response, and she scrambles to disconnect her phone from the speakers. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Hello, ma’am. Can I speak to Mariella Vertucci?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“This is Lieutenant Corso in the communications bay on the USS Roosevelt. Can you confirm your identity with your full name, birthday, and the eight-digit code given to you by Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?”

Mary’s heart stops for a second. This is it. Bradley is calling. She’s going to get to talk to him after forty-eight days. Hear his voice. See his face.

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry. Mariella Theresa Vertucci, born March 14, 1987. The code is 0125-2020.”

“Thank you, ma’am. One minute, please.” The soft clacking of a keyboard filters through the phone, the Lieutenant's tongue clicking as he types. “You’ve been verified. Does the phone you’re using have video chat capabilities.”

“It does, Lieutenant.”

“Excellent. Stay on the line, and in a few minutes, a video chat will come through with Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw. You have been allotted 30 minutes today. I am required to remind you that communication is not secure. This means, for security purposes, you cannot ask what time of day it is, what location, or how any missions have gone. Please confirm that you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you. I am also required to let you know that this video chat is conducted in a private area and will not be monitored. However, the audio will be recorded, so any lewd acts are discouraged but not forbidden.”

Mary can’t help the snort that escapes. “But not forbidden?”

“Uh- the uh-” She smothers a chuckle at how the kid trips over his words. “The Navy understands that loved ones are apart for long periods of time and can’t forbid any uh- urges that couples may wish to act upon during their chats. But we are legally required to inform everyone of the recording.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“No problem, ma’am. Please stay on the line, and your loved one will be joining shortly.” She giggles at how quickly the hold music starts, humming along to Anchors Aweigh as she clips her hair up, ready to take her makeup off. She’s about to wet a washcloth when the music cuts, and the video call comes through.

Taking a second to look herself over, Mary admires the tendrils that have escaped, perfectly framing her cheeks that are still flushed from the wine she had with dinner. The slightest bit still tipsy and a little frazzled about Bradley, she realizes just in time that she’s still only in her underwear, hitting the accept button and dropping the phone on the counter.

“One second! Just- oh, come on! Fuck!” She curses under her breath as she struggles to slip into her bathrobe. “Hang on, Bradley!”

Finally getting both arms in, she ties the robe, eyebrows raising in surprise at how it cinches her waist, before eagerly grabbing her phone.

“Hi, Mary.”

“Hi, Bradley.”

She greedily drinks him in. It’s been 48 days since she’s seen his handsome face or heard his warm voice - the longest since they met - and she’s missed him. Her heart clenches at how tired he looks, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever.

“Hi, honey.” The sweet name hits something deep inside, and she can’t help the tears that immediately form or the way her bottom lip wobbles. “Oh, shit, Mary. Please don’t cry, honey.”

The emotional reaction surprises even her; she was expecting to be a bit overwhelmed, but nothing like this. It makes her feel a little ridiculous, crying about a man she’s barely even kissed. But you love him, her brain chimes in, sending more heat to her face.

“This is your uncle’s fault!” She laughs, swiping tears away and propping her phone against the mirror.

“Mav?”

She can’t help but giggle at his disbelieving tone as she reaches for a tissue. “No, Slider. He’s in town this week, and he may or may not - but definitely did - get me tipsy at dinner, like he always does!”

She trills on about dinner, telling him about the childhood stories that were shared and the baby photos that now live on her phone, not noticing the look on his face until he interrupts.

“You getting in the shower, Mary?”

The husky tone immediately grabs all of her attention, a shiver running down her spine at the smoldering look on Bradley’s face. She follows his eyes down, surprised to see how much her robe has come undone. The valley between her breasts is completely visible, and the fabric is threatening to expose her belly button - and more - if it’s not fixed.

“Oops…” She mumbles to herself, tightening the robe so much it pushes her cleavage together.

Normally, this is where her insecurities would ruin the moment - flooding her brain with terrible things. Make her spend the rest of the call analyzing how she looks in the tiny corner box, agonizing how prominent her double chin is from this angle. But the soft fuck that crackles through the phone squashes the anxieties before they can take root, shifting her attention to admire the man looking back at her.

And god, he is a man.

Bradley Bradshaw has always been gorgeous: tall, strong, and deliciously tan. But mid-deployment Bradley Bradshaw is a vicious attack to the senses. And the hormones.

His broad shoulders have gotten broader, filling the little privacy cubicle in the communications room so much that he’s brushing both sides of the walls. His curls are more golden than usual, clear evidence of time spent flying in the Pacific tropics. His tan is deeper, too, glowing even in the harsh florescent lighting, the bridge of his nose slightly sunburnt. His neatly trimmed mustache moves with his lush pink lips, warmth building in her core as her thoughts drift to the memory of how they felt pressed against hers.

“Mary?” She hums, eyes focusing back into the present and away from her favorite post-deployment reunion fantasy. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“You.”

It's clear he wasn’t expecting that answer from the way he drags a hand over his mouth to muffle a cruse, his eyes scrunching shut.

She wasn’t expecting it either; the effects of the wine have mostly worn off, leaving her with flushed cheeks and apparently a slightly looser tongue. She can’t bring herself to be embarrassed about the overly honest answer. Communicating exclusively via email for the last month and a half has allowed Mary to gain confidence in Bradley’s feelings. It’s hard to wonder about his intentions when every email ends with him telling her how many days are left until he’s home.

“Your lips…” She continues, emboldened as the last remnants of wine soften the sharp edges of her insecurities and the pink working its way up his neck. She loves how easily Bradley blushes for her. Their few kisses have always ended with his cheeks a lovely, rosy shade. “How soft your hair is. Your mustache. How strong you are. How much I miss you…”

The words make them both pause. It’s not an uncommon phrase, every email containing some variation of the sentiment, but hearing the words out loud makes it real. Cementing the longing in their chests.

“I miss you, too.” The words are quiet, echoing against the tiled walls. She chuckles, throat thick with emotion, and Bradley can’t look away from her soft smile. His heart pounding at the emotion on her face, something he can’t quite place. He can’t stop staring as she picks the phone up and flicks the light off, “Where are we going?”

“Couch.”

He smiles as the familiar walls of her living room appear, grin going slack when she props him up on the side table, and the slit of her robe reveals a thigh that he’s dreamt about as she shuffles pillows. Bradley manages to pull his mind out of his post-deployment fantasy as she plops on her couch - that damn pink couch - and smiles at him over the arm, her eyes almost closing she grins so hard.

“I’m sorry I missed our call.”

“It’s okay, Bradley. I knew it was a possibility, and Mav let me know what was going on. I understand.”

“I want to hear about your birthday.”

“I told you about my birthday! We’ve discussed it extensively.”

“I still want to hear about it. I want to hear your voice.” He revels as she softly whines and smooshes her face into a pillow, thrilled to cause that reaction. “C’mon, please, Mary?”

“You’re not fighting fair.” The muffled complaint comes back, making him laugh, but she does as asked.

Bradley listens, humming along as she recounts her birthday for him and insisting for the hundredth time that it was his pleasure to give her presents. He lets her lead the conversation as it shifts to what’s happening in San Diego, content to watch her as she shares stories of what he’s missing at home. Happy to just admire her and occasionally ask questions.

It’s so easy to get lost looking at her. Dark hair swishing around her shoulders, just slightly shorter than it was in February. Her brown eyes look darker than usual, the low light in the room making them almost black instead of the warm brown he’s used to staring into. And despite resecuring the robe, it’s coming loose again, enough that the top curve of her breasts are visible; freckles dotted all over, disappearing beneath the baby blue fabric. Bradley thinks about what it would be like to connect the dots on her soft skin, tracing invisible lines with his fingers or lips. He imagines there’s more hiding behind the waffle material. He wonders if she’d let him find out.

The fantasy of how wonderful it would be to memorize every mark on her body is interrupted as red nail polish grabs his attention. He loves her hands, smaller than his but so strong when she’s working on a jet. Steady as she calls out instructions to her team, grease smeared up to her elbows and her nail color of the week shining through the black sludge. Mary insists that she doesn’t talk with her hands, that she managed to avoid that stereotypical Italian-American trait, but Bradley smirks as her hands swirl through the air. He’s about to interrupt the story she’s giggling through - something about the latest swear word that Danielle accidentally taught Annie - when something sparkly on her finger distracts him.

A ring.

A diamond ring.

A simple silver band lined with tiny diamonds.

On her ring finger.

On her left ring finger.

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to study the never-before-seen piece of jewelry. Mary must notice his confusion because she cuts her story off and flashes her hand at the camera. “I bought this for myself when I got promoted for the first time. I went from EI to EII, which is entry-level engineer to associate engineer. It was $50 from this little shop that was on the same block as my first solo apartment in St. Louis.”

Relief sweeps through his body, thrilled that Mary hadn’t gotten engaged with him.

“That’s awesome. Have you done that every time you’ve moved up?”

“Kinda? I always buy myself some sort of gift - last time, I splurged and got that big blender we used at the Christmas party. But I’ve only done jewelry a few times. I think I’m going to get a necklace next time, something to match this.” She explains, wiggling her fingers so the gems shimmer in the camera.

“It’s very pretty.” Bradley compliments, feeling bold enough to go further. “You look good with a ring on that finger.”

“Jesus, Brad-”

She’s cut off by the two-minute alert popping up. They had been so distracted they weren’t paying attention to the countdown timer.

“Already?” Mary pouts, forehead crinkling as she frowns. “But I didn’t get to ask you about carrier food.

“It’s bad, honey. Yours is so much better.”

“Or how you’re sleeping.”

“Reuben’s snoring has somehow gotten even louder since last time we shared a bunkroom; Bob, Mickey, and I owe you for the extra earplugs you sent.”

“You’re sunburnt.”

“I’m wearing the sunscreen you gave me; the sun is just strong.”

“I knew I should have sent the SPF 75!” Bradley smiles as Mary throws her head back in faux despair. “Oh well, now I know for next time, I guess.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah. You didn’t think I’d only send you a care package one time, did you? I gotta make sure you have everything you need. I know I missed some stuff this time, but I’ll get better in the future! I promise.”

I love you.

He just barely holds the words in.

“God, I fucking miss you.” He stares at the screen, watching the prettiest brown eyes in the world fill with tears at his words. “Oh, honey, please don’t cry. I’ll be home so soon.”

“But twenty-four days is such a long time, and I miss you so much.”

“I know, but we’ve already done 48 days. Twenty-four will be a breeze to get through.” The timer starts blinking, the last 60 seconds counting down. “I gotta get going, Mary. But you keep sending me flirty emails so I have something to read and think about.”

He chuckles at the little surprised noise she makes. “You noticed that?”

“Did I notice that? Mariella, in the kindest way, you are not subtle.”

“Well- I-” She splutters. “Neither are you!”

“I’m not trying to be, baby doll,” Bradley revels in her reaction to the pet name - mouth dropping open as she blinks at him, cheeks pinker than he’s ever seen - one he didn’t even mean to use.

The flustered hand she waves at the camera while yelling at him makes him laugh. “Bradley!”

“I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be safe. Only 24 days.”

“Only 24 days.”

“I miss you, handsome.”

Bradley's face feels hot, choked up at the look in her eyes, the softness of her words. “I miss you, too, baby doll.”

They don’t say goodbye, choosing to admire each other as the final seconds tick away.

5…

I can’t wait to see you in person.

4…

God, you’re so gorgeous.

3…

I don’t want to hang up.

2…

I miss you.

1…

I love you.

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fic tag | credit for dividers here

[the-badger-mole]

AU Bot Plots: All the Single Parents

It was a terrible idea. Zuko asked himself for the thousandth time that evening how he had allowed Haru to talk him into it, but still, he checked to make sure his blazer was on straight and his hair (shoulder length now that he didn't have Mai pushing him to keep it cut) was pulled back neatly into a low ponytail. He'd just spritzed on his cologne when there was a timid knock at his door. He saw it crack open, and Izumi, his precocious seven year old, poke her head through the door.

"You look nice, Daddy!" she said. "But why are you so dressed up to go fishing?" Zuko turned to face his daughter, his brows drawn down in confusion.

"Fishing?" he repeated. "Who told you I was going fishing?"

"Uncle," Izumi said. She clambered onto Zuko's bed and sat crosslegged on the foot. She had a serious look on her face that was much too old for her chubby-cheeked face. "He said that he has been telling you to get back out there for years and that there are lots of fish in the sea."

"Is that so?" Zuko asked, scooping his daughter up into his arms and kissing her cheek. "Well, I'm not going fishing. Uncle was just being silly. And he shouldn't discuss things like that with you."

"He didn't say it to me," Izumi said. "I heard him talking on the phone with Uncle Haru."

"Izzie," Zuko chided gently. "What have I told you about listening on other people's conversations?"

"Not to," Izumi replied, sullenly. "But Uncle talks so loud!" That got a chuckle from Zuko.

"Be nice," he told her. "Uncle's hearing isn't what it used to be. He doesn't always realize when he's being loud."

"My hearing is just fine, Nephew." Iroh rounded the corner from the living room and stared sternly up the stairs at Zuko and Izumi. Zuko and Izumi grinned at each other, then Zuko turned back to Iroh with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Uncle," he said. He set Izumi down and let her run down the stairs into Iroh's waiting arms.

"You're forgiven." Iroh cast a magnanimous gaze up at his nephew. "You should get going. You wouldn't want to be late."

"Wouldn't I?" Zuko groaned. He vowed never to speak with Haru alone ever again. His friend was deceptively convincing.

After saying goodbye to Izumi and Iroh, Zuko made the drive to the cafe bar in midtown where the city's most desperate divorcees were gathering to find their next failed relationship. It was just for practice, Zuko told his reflection in the rearview. It had been three years since his acrimonious divorce, and now that his daughter was in elementary school, Iroh and Haru had convinced him that it was time to get back on the dating scene. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Zuko wasn't exactly dying of loneliness, but he felt the absence of someone to hold and kiss acutely sometimes. And he saw how Izumi looked longingly at mothers with their children occasionally. Mai was a rare presence in Izumi's life. Even rarer since she started dating and eventually gotten engaged to Kei Lo, the man she'd insisted she wasn't having an affair with during the last days of their brief, tumultuous marriage.

Zuko had tried dating over the years, but he'd never met anyone who lasted more than a few months at most. And it had been over a year since his last attempt. This time would be different. He was 34, in therapy, and doing pretty well for himself. Despite the large scar covering a fourth of his face, he knew he was generally considered pretty handsome. He was ready for this. He was open to it. He was...regretting his decision to leave his house.

The crowd in the cafe bar was...grim. First of all, it was mostly men, and even if Zuko had been interested in men, they all looked tired and miserable. He seemed to be among the few who'd made any sort of effort with his appearance. The few women present were a good ten years older than he was, at least. The best looking among them was around 50, if Zuko had to guess. She spotted him and eyed him with interest. She really was very attractive, with a challenging smirk and a dangerous gleam in her eyes. She showed off her voluptuous figure in a curve hugging red cashmere sweater and pencil skirt. Her name tag introduced her as Jun. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take a chance on such a large age gap, but he figured a flirty conversation over couple of glasses of wine would make this evening not a total waste of time, anyway.

He was still contemplating going over to start a conversation, when the door to the bar opened again, and caused the bell drilled into the back to ring. All thoughts of wine with the woman in the red sweater left Zuko's mind, when he saw the newcomer. She was around his age- maybe slightly younger- in a blue dress with grey sneakers. She stopped at the welcome table and filled out a name tag, like the other attendees of the single parents' meet up, and stuck it onto the outside of her white cardigan. Zuko was close enough to read her name. Katara.

Katara seemed to be as reluctant as he was to be there, but she took a breath put on a smile, and stepped into the crowd of suddenly eager looking men. Then Zuko hung back for the next ten minutes, watching as she fended off advances from the men brave enough to approach her. Zuko couldn't blame her, even though this was the point of the evening. The men who approached her were the pushiest, leeriest and in many cases, oldest of the group.

Someone came up beside Zuko and cleared their throat. He found Jun at his side, smirking at him over a glass of whiskey on the rocks. Zuko thought she'd decided to approach him after all, but instead she nodded in Katara's direction.

"You'd have a good shot," she told Zuko. "Why don't you go introduce yourself?"

"Oh...I...I...um," he stammered. That was humiliating. When was the last time he'd gotten tongue tied?

"Articulate," Jun purred, her smirk widening. "Listen, this is a pick up scene for people not looking for someone to introduce to their kids. You and she are clearly still unjaded enough to be looking for romance, so why don't you save you both the time, and rescue her from that guy who's old enough to be her father?" Zuko looked over to where Katara was being chatted up by a wiry man who was still clinging to his receding hairline for his life. She had a wry smirk on her face and seemed to be handling herself just fine. She caught Zuko's eye over the man's shoulder and raised her eyebrow ironically, as if sharing a joke with Zuko. His mouth went dry, and he felt the back of his neck heat up. He turned back to Jun.

"And what if I told you I was hoping to get to talk with you tonight?" he asked. Jun's dark eyes sparkled with mirth and her mouth slid into a slow, sultry smile.

"Oh, honey," she chuckled, brushing his cheek with her knuckles. "You couldn't handle me. And you've been staring at her since she came in. Man up, and go say hi." She passed Zuko the rest of her drink, which he drained in one gulp before he squared his shoulders and made his way across the room to Katara and her suitor.

"Excuse me," Zuko interrupted. "I just wanted to...to come introduce myself." The man who'd been talking to Katara turned to Zuko with a scowl.

"We're in the middle of a conversation," the man snarled. Katara rolled her eyes at him.

"Actually," she said. "I think we're good. Thanks so much for the information, but I'm not that interested in stocks. It was nice meeting you, though, Niko." Katara pushed off of the wall she'd been leaning against and walked off, with Zuko not far behind.

"Are these things always this boring?" Katara asked.

"I wouldn't know," Zuko told her. "My friend talked me into this."

"My sister-in-law threatened to stop fixing my car if I didn't come," Katara sighed. She looked around at the crowd appraisingly. "Maybe I should have just taken my chances. The bus isn't so bad."

"I don't know," Zuko said with a shrug. "I think the night just got interesting." Katara smirked up at Zuko, and his breath caught in his throat at the way her bright blue eyes caught the light.

"I saw that cougar you were chatting up," she said. "I'll bet tonight has been very interesting for you." Zuko's face went beet red, he could tell without a mirror.

"That wasn't...what that was," he tried to explain.

"Really?" Katara shrugged. "Gee, that's too bad. She's pretty hot. But... maybe her loss, my gain?" Katara smiled coyly at Zuko. Agni, was she flirting with him? Zuko cleared his throat.

"We could grab a couple of drinks and see how it goes," Zuko suggested. Katara's smile widened.

"Sounds good to me."

[gwopijon]

Donald Trump has won the president four years after he sat for months on Covid being deadly and after he incited an insurection.

He's an abjudicated rapist. He stole classified documents. He's a traitor. He is personally corrupt but it meant nothing to voters.

He hid the fact that Covid was deadly for months. We had empty shells and long lines at food banks but it meant nothing to voters.

He had zero ground game. He’s a felon. He incited an insurrection less than four years ago. But he was running against a woman again, and if there’s one thing Americans hate, it’s women.

In 2016, I still had some sense of hope that whatever happened during a Trump presidency, we could find a way to survive and recover. I don’t have that hope this time. Not after everything that’s happened, not after the past nine years of this utter sh-tshow. This is the American electorate looking at this orange clown and saying “that’s my guy.” This man spewed the most despicable, hate filled rhetoric and someone who is clearly declining physically and mentally. They heard “mass deportations” and they said “anything to bring down housing costs.” They heard every single warning about Trump’s authoritarian fascism and they said “sounds amazing.” They heard the promise of authoritarianism and they said “sign me up.”

What’s especially crazy is that Trump doesn’t even want to be president again. He was just running to avoid prison. This senile, hateful, disgusting 78-year-old man was exhausted and phoning it in for most of the campaign. He kept disappearing for weeks at a time to golf and sundown in peace. When he went to vote in Florida yesterday, he sounded almost resigned to losing. Even he underestimated the stupidity of Americans. Even he can’t believe that people fell for it again.

Kamala Harris was a great Democratic Presidential Candidate. She still lost.

In 2016, in the hours after Hillary Clinton lost, I was partly in a fugue state, half-numb and half-enraged. Accusations flew across the political spectrum – what if Hillary had done more in the Rust Belt, what if she did this or that differently, why did she run given the “Clinton Fatigue,” why did James Comey f–k her over in the final weeks. There’s really none of that eight years later. We couldn’t have asked for a better candidate than Kamala Harris. Kamala Harris was disciplined, joyful, wonkish, fun and cool. She energized the base and she had widespread cross-party appeal. The only things “wrong” with Kamala Harris were: she’s a woman, she’s a Black woman, and she isn’t Donald Trump.

This isn’t even because of one particular demographic – white women, men of all races, Latino voters, suburbanites, they all swung wildly against Kamala Harris.

I hope Kamala knows that she did the best she could with the hand she was dealt. The numbers don’t reflect a failure on her part, in my opinion. The numbers reflect a failure of the American electorate. Good news for the American electorate: Donald Trump promised that this would be the last votes you would ever have to cast, that he will “fix” everything so no one has to vote anymore. Congrats on making it count.

I’m terrified as a woman. As a biracial woman. As someone with complex healthcare needs. As a gay woman. As the friend of many LGBTQ+ people. And I’m genuinely scared for the many Republicans who had the courage to speak out against Trump, particularly Liz Cheney, Fascists do not deal lightly with perceived disloyalty.

Bibi and Putin are celebrating today. Gaza will be nuked into oblivion and Ukraine will be handed to Russia just like Taiwan will be handed to China. YOU did that!

I am struggling with my faith with feeling anger and hatred towards those ingrates who came and found the table set from the blood, sweat, tears, whipping, lynching and jailing of my ancestors and threatened us with a Trump/Vance/Heritage Foundation/ Project 2025 has Harris not tap danced on Gaza knowing full well, she was doing her job as VP she could not supersede the sitting President of this country. Some of ya'll knew she was personally against arming Israel and has always been for a 2 state solution. For those voters: FUCK YOU!

FUCK you if you voted 3rd Party.

FUCK you if you didn't vote at all while you could and should have.

In order it went white men, white Latino men, and white women who overwhelmingly voted for Trump. We should stop with “economic uncertainty” again as a cover.

Sam Alito and Clarence Thomas will fucking retire and this motherfucker will nominate who Leonard Leo orders him to nominate and the fucking Supreme Court will unleash on our asses for the next 40 years. Roe vs Wade and the overturning of Affirmative Action will be nothing to what is next to come...

We black people have no fucking allies. Folks been piggybacking off black blood, sweat and tears for too fucking long. We're tired. We're fucking done. DON'T fucking expect us anymore

What hurts most is, this is apparently who we are as a country. Racist. Misogynistic. It doesn’t happen twice unless that’s just who the fuck we are. The rest of us will continue to fight against it, but it just got a lot harder. I think MVP and others will still help guide us but DON'T fucking expect black women to fight our battles and YOURS. FUCK that. We're done. We're gonna fight our battles nowadays .

I will not protest anything Trump wishes to do. DON'T expect us black women to play Mammy and clean shit after you anymore. We're done playing Captain Save a Hoe for you ingrates. I think he should have full reign to do whatever he plans and America should get it good and hard. It's what they asked for.

This country is not the Eutopia some of you are foolishly hoping for. IF you think a unqualified backbench like AOC or corrupt Nina Turner (the OPPO dossier on her is out there) or Katie Porter or Warren would have fared better or will ever become president; think again. It will NEVER happen. NEVER gonna fucking happen!

We black women as of last night have done what Pontius Pilate did and to wash our hands with America:

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Six

I have Deja-vu when I return to the Tullamore stadium where I spent countless Sunday afternoons as a teenager, forced to sit at pitch side as Kelly roared her support for the players with a ferocity that always kind of pissed me off. She wasn’t into sports, not really, she just pretended that she was because she had this fantasy of one of the players spotting her by the barriers and coming over to ask for her number. Of course, none ever did, but eventually, when she was sixteen she talked her way into one of their after parties at the club house and kissed six of them one after the other with the same efficiency as a local politician handing out fliers at a shopping centre. She didn’t get any phone numbers either, just a crusty cold sore that hung around on her lip for two weeks.

Today, for the first time there is no Kelly by my side, and I realise upon entry that it’s been almost four years since I’ve set foot in this place. I don’t know why I thought it’d look different, but everything is the same, from the sun bleached plastic seats to the mud, grass, and leather smell in the air. I’ve changed but all these old places, they stay exactly the same. Claire links her arm with mine and we head down the steps towards our seats near the front. She’s wearing a Tullamore jersey. Most people on our side are too, painting one whole side of the stadium in blue and white. I’m just wearing a grey jumper. I had a matching jersey years ago, in fact I even went to the trouble of digging it out of the bottom drawer of the chest in my childhood bedroom earlier, but it’s girls size 13-14. It won’t even go over my chest anymore. 

“Are you excited?” I say to Claire, who I expect to be beaming, but isn’t. 

“Yeah I suppose.” She says. 

“It’s a bit mad to be here together, isn’t it? Like, how many of these matches would you say you go to?”

“Oh God, like, probably all of them, I’m always stuck in these seats watching him.”

“You’re very supportive.”

“I’m a saint.”

My smile falters a bit, she doesn’t seem excited in the least. When I imagined her coming to these games I always had a picture in my mind of her cheering him on with voracious enthusiasm, hanging over the railings, chanting his name, but by the rather stoic expression on her face today I’m starting to doubt my own assumptions. “Not pushed about the match, no?” 

She sighs. “No, it’s fine, I just… this has been a touchy subject between us lately.”

“Football?”

“It’s how much he wants to play it.”

I frown. “But he’s made it onto the senior team, surely it’s normal that it’ll take up a lot of his time.”

“Yeah it’s just like,  he’s in fourth year in UCD now, I wish he’d just study or something, focus on his degree.”

“Oh.”

“There’s no future in football, like, he’ll never get paid for it and I just don’t want him to throw away his science degree because he’s too caught up with an amateur sport. There’s good money in pharmaceuticals if he works hard enough, and then we could start saving for a mortgage or a wedding, or I don’t know, kids or something.”

I nod, though it’s incredibly weird to hear her talk about such things now, at twenty one years old, when they seem lightyears away for me. A mortgage? I don’t even know how that works, never mind how I’d go about saving for one, but Claire has always been eager to settle. 

“Is he struggling to balance both things?”

“Well, he isn’t really trying to. He’s just not doing his college work.”

“At all?”

She shakes her head. Her mouth becomes a thin line as she stares out over the pitch where the players have begun to filter out, shaking the hands of the other team, and I spot Shane for the first time, dressed in a blue jersey with stripes across his shoulders. He is powerful looking, even amongst all of the others. Two men in Helly Hansen fleeces and caps walk straight through my line of vision and settle into the seats directly in front of us, blocking out the view momentarily. By the time I regain my view of the pitch the players have all settled into their starting positions. 

“I assume you’ve talked about this with him.” I say to Claire. 

“Yeah of course, but I might as well be speaking to a brick wall. You know how he is with talking about things. At all. Ever.”

I hesitate. “He can be a bit withholding, for sure.” 

“Never go out with an Irish man.” She declares. “They’ll only wreck your head.” I want to tell her that men from other countries haven’t been much more straightforward in my experience, but then the whistle blows and the match begins. 

It’s true what they say in the newspapers about Shane Healy. He’s like a bolt of lightning on that pitch. He’s big, he’s quick and he’s aggressive, and yet there is something about his style of play that I didn’t expect to see. He’s like a child out there. The way that he practically skips along with the ball, lobbing it up into his hands and kicking it up the pitch makes it seem like he’s mocking the players around him, the ones who can’t catch him, can’t stop him. 

I watch him possess the ball once again, drop it onto his right foot and neatly slot it through the goalposts for a perfect point. The crowd erupts into euphoric cheers, including me and Claire, who both laugh ourselves onto our feet and start yelling out for him. I’m not close enough to see him smiling, but I know he is, jogging around in a wide circle, clenching his fists in celebration. 

The two men in front of us are muttering about something when we sit back down, and the only reason I tune in is because I hear them say his name. “Healy. Number fifteen. ” I nudge Claire and mutter “They’re talking about your boyfriend there.”

“What are they saying?”

We try to listen in, but the stadium is too loud to catch anything but the odd word. “I can’t hear.” I admit. “Are they Australian? Hardly.” The idea of a person coming all the way from the continent of Oceania to find themselves in a shabby Tullamore stadium, of all places, would be markedly strange. 

“Oh, foreign men?” Claire drawls. “Maybe I should give one of them my number.” She slams her sunglasses onto her face, shielding her eyes from the sharp October sun, and we both put our focus back onto the pitch. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 20

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Angst

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

My Mastlist        Series Masterlist

Three Weeks Later: 

“Well, how soon can you get it here?” Dean’s voice echoed through the shop office that he’d been working diligently at setting up since about a week after they’d moved into Dean’s home. Y/N had stuck close to him through the whole process of getting the shop in order, and ready for business; mostly because she was afraid, he’d overdo it again like he’d done when they’ve moved a few weeks back, but he seemed to be more aware of when it was time to stop. 

Right now, he was on the phone with someone that was supposed to be delivering some sort of lift machine that was to lift the car in the air so that oil could be changed. He’d called the name of the machine over a thousand times in the last week, but honestly, she couldn’t remember what it was called. 

It had been a bitch to get this thing delivered too. Probably the most aggravating thing they’d done this far. They kept changing the delivery and setup date. The thing is, that's what the holdup WAS this machine; it was the last piece they needed before they could open for business. He’d even hired three guys to work in the shop, so all he had to do was light work and supervise. 

“Fine, fine,” Dean growled into the phone’s receiver. “But if it’s not delivered and set up by the end of the business day tomorrow, your boss is gonna hear from me, and I will be getting a refund, and I will be using another company altogether. You guys are taking way too long, and you’re holding up my business. I’ve already had three people come in today wanting work done, and I just can’t do it efficiently without this equipment.”

Y/N hadn’t seen this side of Dean since he was hunting. He was so calculated, and focused.  He finally found something to focus on that he liked, and she was grateful to see it. He needed this. He needed to get up and get his life back and not just wallow in what happened to him. Which can be very easy to do when someone goes through something as dramatic as Dean did. 

Dean hung up the phone and tossed it down on his desk, mumbling something about ‘incompetent moron’, and Y/N tried not to smirk as he did so. It was such a ‘Dean’ move that it was comical. 

“They will get it here Dean, just be patient,” Y/N said as she watched him pinch the bridge of his nose in an attempt to force his blood pressure down to a normal level again. 

“I know, I know, I just want to strangle the mother fucker.”

Y/N snorted and shook her head just as Jacob, one of the young men Dean had hired to work in the shop, knocked on the open office door. 

“We’re done with that tire rotation boss,” he said, and Dean nodded at him with a heavy sigh. 

Jacob was young, only 19 years old, but he kinda reminded Y/N of a young Dean Winchester. Honestly, he even kinda looked like him, or at least what Y/N would have imagined Dean looked like as a teenager, she had never seen an actual picture of him when he was that young; it wasn’t like John’s top priority was taking family photos after all. 

“You guys go ahead and take off for the rest of the day,” Dean instructed him, glancing at the clock over the door frame Jacob was standing in like a puppy, waiting for someone to toss him a ball. “It’s already after five, and we really don’t need to do anything else today. They’re not gonna bring the equipment I ordered until tomorrow, so there’s no need to hang around here and wait on it.”

“Okay,” Jacob chirped, “I’ll tell the other guys, see you all tomorrow!”

Jacob waved as he scurried back towards the inner parts of the shop to tell everyone else they could leave, and Dean watched him go at a jogging pace with a thin lined mouth. That’s when Y/N knew Dean was starting to get in his head. She could always tell;he would just get this look. That’s when she knew she needed to distract him. 

“You know, it’s probably not a bad idea for us to head home too,” Y/N tried, “not like we can do much else here tonight that wont wait until tomorrow. Let’s go home and get something to eat.”

Dean didn’t move, he just continued to stare blankly out of the door that Jacob had just left from, rubbing the light beard on his chin with his palm, his mind a thousand miles away from where he was sitting. 

So, she did something she’d not done before with Dean, but it felt like an impulsive moment that needed to be taken. It was sure to distract him one way or another, she just hoped against hope that it wouldn’t backfire on her, but rather serve to get him out of his t treacherous thoughts. 

She stood from her seat across the room, and slowly walked over towards him. She then sat herself down on his lap, careful not to put too much weight and pressure on his back which was being supported by the chair he was sitting in, and wrapped her arms around her neck. To her surprise, Dean’s arms immediately circled around her, and he pulled her into him even deeper, deeper than she would have been afraid to lay against him out of fear of hurting him, but he didn’t seem to be all that much bothered by her weight against his solid chest. Instead, he seemed to rather enjoy the closeness. Which surprised her all together because she figured he would have just pulled away from her. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that you know,” she said after a long moment, and Dean sighed heavily. 

“Doing what?” 

“Getting all in your head like that. Letting thoughts take harbor where they shouldn’t. It’s not going to do you any favors whatsoever. It’s just gonna open the door for shit like worsened anxiety and depression.”

Dean hid his face in her hair, inhaling deeply as he tried to settle himself. 

“Am I that obvious?” he questioned, and Y/N chuckled to herself. 

“Just a little bit Winchester. You’re like… the king of self-loathing.”

“I resent that,” Dean laughed, “I mean, it’s true, but I’m still gonna resent it.”

Neither of them moved because neither of them wanted to honestly. She’d be a liar if she said that having him this close to her with his arms wrapped around her didn’t affect her. She’d be an absolute lying hypocrite to say that she didn’t crave him close to her the way he craved her. The affection aspect is something that had always been missing from their relationship, not without good reason, but she still missed it. Here, she felt safe, like for once everything was gonna be okay, and all the hell they had been through at least might have a light at the end of a very long,  dark, treacherous tunnel. 

True to her own luck though, she didn’t get to enjoy it long at all; because no sooner had she let herself relax enough to enjoy being this close to Dean, a knock sounded once again from the door, and she nearly jumped off of him, but he held her there, refusing to let her go completely. 

“What Jacob?” Dean asked, without even looking up. 

“Cathy just called your neighbor, she said she tried to call your cell, but you must have been on the phone and didn’t answer. She said there’s a new looking Dodge Charger parked out in front of your house, been there for a while, a man and a woman are just sitting there like they’re waiting on you or something.”

Dean did sit up there; his whole body became tense and rigid as he did. 

She should have known that her happy little bubble would get popped by some anxiety-inducing drama appearing out of nowhere; just waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. 

“Okay,” Dean said, his voice calm despite the stiffness of his body. “Tell her we’re about to head that way.”

Jacob nodded, and made his way back out of the shop, letting the door close with a loud, metal bang as he retreated back out to his car; eager to get off work, surely to go see that little blonde he’d been seeing for the past few days. She wished Dean’s relationship with herself was so simple, but it never would be. 

Still, her mind was thinking the worst. Surely their past had come back to haunt them; they could no longer run from their demons that they thought had been extinguished with Chuck’s defeat. They must have been fools to think they could carry on a normal life after the life they’d led; they couldn’t just leave it all behind. 

Dean’s hand came up to the side of her face, and had she not been careful, she probably would have screamed out of the sheer surprise of it. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean said, “calm down sweetheart, you’re gonna hyperventilate.”

She hadn’t even realized that her breathing was erratic, but Dean had, he’d seen it right off, concern etched deep in his handsome features as he searched her. Guess she had some scars of her own she needed to deal with after all. She’d been so focused on Dean’s recovery, she’d neglected her own inner demons. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t go home Dean, what if it’s literally Demons or some other shit that has found us here?” Y/N hissed, afraid that Jacob or some of the other guys were still hanging around the shop. 

Dean shook his head, running his thumb along her cheekbone, his pale green gaze softening even more. 

“It’s not a monster sweetheart, It’s just my brother. That life can’t touch us anymore, okay?” 

Y/N, sat there, stunned for a moment, she had so many questions, and fears. 

“And no,” Dean cut her before she could even open her mouth to ask the obvious question. “I talked to Jack while I was in the hospital; he came to see me, asked me if I wanted more time, or if I was ready to get to the ‘there’ll be peace when you’re done… part of the song’, and I told him I wanted to stay.  He promised to keep it all away from us, a gift, even though he said he wouldn’t intervene.”

“Dean… Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N questioned, in a state of pure shock and disbelief. 

“Well,” Dean continued, his gaze faltering as if he was afraid he’d messed up by divulging that little bit of information he’d been hanging onto. “Jack said I’d live, but he didn’t tell me  what shape I’d be in when I did. He just said I’d live. I didn’t want to tether you to me if I was going to be horribly crippled. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

Y/N just shook her head and buried her face in his throat, relieved, but exhausted from her mild panic attack earlier. She’d be mad at him later for not telling her sooner. Right now, she was just grateful that he was still here with her arms around him, and that Jack saw that Dean deserved this just as much as she did. 

“But… how do you know for sure it’s Sam?” she questioned as the pair stood to make their way to where Baby was parked out back of the shop; closer to his office than the front doors were.

“Because, I’ve seen Sam drive stuff like that before, trust me it’s his style. The boy never did know how to appreciate the classics,” Dean revealed with an annoyed tone. 

That’s when a new set of anxiety hit her all together. If Sam had come here to pick a fight with his brother for starting his life over in Lawrence; well that was something she wouldn’t stand for. Dean deserved this chance, even Jack saw that; and she wouldn’t sit idly by and let Sam ruin it. She refused to.

Forever:

@britnwinchester​​​​​​

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat​​​​​

@wittysunflower

@demongirl1996​​​​​​  

@as-lost-as-sams-shoe​​​​​​

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@nancymcl​​​​​​

@christycreature​​​​​​

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@deandreamernp​​​​​​

@forgetthisbull​​​​​​

@miraclesoflove​​​​​​

@slamminmine​​​​​​

@deanwanddamons​​​​​​

@rvgrsbrns​​​​​​

@chevyharvelle​​​​​​

@i-love-superhero-movies​​​​​​

@lyss-dw79​​​​​​

@magssteenkamp​​​​​​

@lemondropirwin​​​​​​

@squirrelnotsam​​​​​​

@hobby27​​​​​​

@spnbaby-67​​​​​​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​​​​​​

@defenderrosetyler​​​​​​

@thecreatiivecorner​​​​​​  

@vicmc624​​​​​​

@busy-bee-angel-misska​​​​​​

@justanotherwinchester​​​​​​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​​​​​​

@idksupernatural​​​​​​

@lyarr24​​​​​​

@emoryhemsworth​​​​​​

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​​​​​​

@flamencodiva​​​​​​

@itmejado

@thoughts-and-funnies​​​​​​

@teresa-67​​​​​​

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@deans-baby-momma​​​​​​  

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@perpetualabsurdity​​​​​​

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@akshi8278​​​​​​

@love-jackles​​​​​​

@irmcpar​​​​​​

@pink-sparkly-witch​​​​​​

@deans-spinster-witchs-favorites​​​​​​

@herstarburststories​​​​​​

@mimaria420​​​​​​

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@pascal-rascal424​​​​​​

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@jxackles

@lassie-bird​​​​​​

@samsgirl93​​​​​​

@shawnie74​​​​​​  

@kaz11283​​​​​​

@mlovesstories​​​​​​

@ladysparks78

@sarahgracej​

[crucibleknight]

revolver ocelot for the character ask meme :3

give me a character and i'll break their ass down

How I feel about this character

the stars and planets and galaxies were aligned to make this gay old fuck my favorite character ever and he WAS for a hot second until that other guy clawed his way in. sad. he's still my phone background but it feels a little inauthentic

i LIKE ocelot i think he's really interesting because he is like absurd from an aesthetic perspective (russian cowboy) and in his mannerisms (the gun thing) but he's also like a master manipulator or whatever so you do kind of end up questioning what's genuine and what's part of whatever act he's got going on. i am also a sucker for the sort of trope that he fits into which is guy that's so loyal to someone he'll do whatever they want. he might be a like quadruple agent most of the time but at least he has that one central and pure drive to hang onto

also i love love LOVE his quote from the end of mgs3 -- 'you're not a snake and i'm not an ocelot. we're men, with names' like. man.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

that's just gonna be big boss i fear. he met that man when he was a young impressionable fag and never ever looked back

My non-romantic OTP for this character

hrmm. does wanting him and kaz to hatefuck once or twice count. ohALSO i think he and quiet have an interesting friendship(?) that develops

My unpopular opinion about this character

i literally don't know what the popular opinions are. i go into the mgs tags to look at fanart and i don't tend to read analysis lest i find something annoying. so i'll just take a stab here--i actually don't love ocelot in mgsv, which is something my fiance teases me about. i think its a combo of the weird accent he picked up and the fact that he's not as like ...... crazy? as the other games. like he's freaking it the least in that one. and ok maybe im a little mad that he ends up the more reasonable of the two court advisors in like every possible situation so i have to side with him instead of my bitch wife

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

MAN I SURE WISH THEY MENTIONED HIM IN PEACEWALKER. LIKE EVEN ONCE. all the tapes we get and not even an offhand comment about him. even a vague one. i just think it would set up mgsv better. like i booted that game up and found my two pet blondes had teamed up without me which would be mildly less wild if big boss had mentioned ocelot even like. once. to kaz

[harryleatherfit]

Upper East Side || A.U || Frankie Morales

Chapter 11: Opening Night

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count: 7.8K (i was gonna keep going but Warnings: mentions of fucking bad family, unprotected p in v (um), oral f receiving, mentions of sub space (when you squint at the end), spanking, hard fucking, tit sucking, some fluff, performance on stage, lmk if i’ve missed any

Authors Notes: let me know what you guys think! genuinely this is the longest thing i’ve written but i fear i’ll be hated for the next few chapters 😵‍💫 i love you guys ♾️

Chapter Playlist

Jungle Fever- The Chakachas

Somebody Like You- Bree Runway

Lust For Life- Lana Del Ray

🪩Main Master List🪩 Series Master List🪩

Opening night, electricity filled your body. You woke up with light peeking through your window, you stared at the dust particles floating around, you wish you could stay here forever. Both nights were sold out, your heart racing thinking you had to be on stage tonight. Performing in front of thousands excited you on second thought. You loved the crowd, the air, the excitement as you smiled. You had gotten leads at UNCSA, but nothing could compare to this. You didn’t know where you lay in the acting world at all, but you had to remember that no matter what you would be yourself on the inside.

You had gotten up before Laylah, Rose, and Hannah, making coffee and staring at the sun. You were hoping Frankie was up looking at the same sun. You did breath exercises, prepping your lungs for the amount of talking you had to do for the next few days. Setting your headspace was most important to you. You were scrolling on your phone and Frankies name popped up in the corner of the screen.

New Message:

Frankie: Can you come early to the theater? Somethin I wanna show you.

You: My call times at 3, want me to come at 12?

Frankie: 11.

You: Okayyy, need me to bring food?

Frankie: No, assistants already brought a shit load, I need to see you.

You: Packing my bags as we speak🥱

“Hey hotstuff,” Laylah walks out of your room, yawning, “Smells good. Ready for your big day?”

“Ready as I can ever be.” You shrug, embracing the heat of your coffee cup. The mornings were always so cold.

“Anything planned for the morning?”

“Well, he asked me to come in early, something to show me.” You whisper.

“Oh shit, damn ok,” They get excited, “Have fun gettin old man dick.”

“Laylah!” You laugh.

“Nah, I bet it’s good. Look at him.”

“Believe me I know.”

“Have you guys fucked yet?” They nudge.

“No, but I'm not even sad. So many times guys just want to immediately fuck and it’s such a massive turn off.” You explain, “He’s soft and gentle with me, never in a rush.”

“Yeah me and Bryce haven't done the deed yet. Have high hopes for him. And he also uses my correct pronouns so yay men!” They cheer.

“Well here’s to fucking men I guess.” You click your coffee in the air, “Is he treating you right?”

“We haven’t done much aside from hangout during rehearsals and stuff, so after we’ll actually have time to be with each other.”

“You should go with him after the show tonight, get dinner and walk around the city.” You suggest.

“I think that’s what I’ll do.” They hug you, “My beautiful astonishing Lady Macbeth, I’ll see you tonight.”

-----

You arrive at the theater, New York Streets bustling with people at this hour. Broadway never fails to have thousands of people in and out. Tonight was going to be a big one. Book of Mormon was on, but that show was always on broadway and Macbeth was only on for two nights.

You wondered how many stars were going to come, how many people you loved that would come to see your show. How many playbills you were going to get to sign.

Your interaction with Wes Anderson made you think about your spine, your eyebrow conjecture, the way you present yourself and your character on stage. Everything had to be different. Mattias had a pep talk with you before you left the theater, no matter what happens on this stage, we both know we have put our souls into this show.

It was true, there’s no need to stress about impressing people.

You set your bad down at the entrance, seats already blocked off, ushers clocking in their hours.

“Hey, up here.” Frankie calls up from the theater's booth, “It’s set up a little differently here, Broadway has way more money than our school could ever imagine,” You walk up the steps, “I know so much bigger than our little shabby room at the school.” You take in the scenery of the room.

“I bet you’ve worked here a lot though, right? I mean this is like your job, to do shows for the college, teach the building basics of theater, and fucking work Broadway shows.” How could he act like this wasn’t a big deal.

“Honey, my job is cool and all but doesn't mean I enjoy it. Long hours, having to meet people's demands, spicy celebrities, whiney actors.” He purrs.

“Hey! I’m not whiney, you’re the whiney one, arguing with everyone who pisses you off.”

You hug him, he’s sitting on a stool in front of the lighting board, “I wanted to be an actor actually, but never went through. I never had the courage to do bigger roles and my dad was always focused on my brother. So I just went into tech, it’s easier anyways.” He mumbles.

“Sometimes I wish I went into tech, being an actor is fucking hard,” You stare at him, “Why’d you quit acting? You could never be second to anyone.” You rub his face, hands lingering on his porno stash, his scruff felt like lightening under your fingers.

“When we were in our twenties, he’s a little bit older than I am, he was breaking through the stock market and everyone was shocked. I mean he broke through after 9/11 so he was everywhere.

My dad was disappointed that I wanted to do theater and acting and not anything business related. I was doing mini side jobs for Broadway and small film roles. I went to Spain for some time. Until I started doing this I was finally important to my family.” You back off from him, circling the room.

He hasn’t talked to you about his family too much, he said he’s an open book but you didn’t want to push him too much.

“Sad boring people want to go into the stock market. Margot Robbie was the only interesting thing about Wolf of Wall Street by the way,” You chide, “You're not a fucking disappointment, you’re motivated. You create worlds for people to see, you have so much passion. I wish I was you.”

He moves from his chair, standing up, he’s way taller than you

“Smart girl, go turn off the lights.”

“Frankie,” You stare at him, “We can’t, you know we can’t.” Even though you fucking want to.

“We’re not,” He laughs, “Just go turn them off, I want you to see this.”

You do as told, flipping the switch and returning to your sanctuary.

“Lay down and look up, cmon I’ll do it with you.” He instructs.

You find your way in the dark, glimmer from the ceiling illuminating the room. You lay down as you feel his body next to yours.

“See the ceiling? It’s stars, they painted stars in here for the actors to relax before shows. I’ve done shows here before and they always help me even before a long tech run.” He whispers, the ceiling reminds you of a galaxy, calming and beautiful. He moves to your neck, smelling your hair. You could bathe in his after shave, bask his cologne. He always smelled so expensive.

“Don’t get too comfortable pretty girl, someone could walk in.”

“Then don’t smell so fucking good.” You shove him away, laughing to your side. The pain in your lower abdomen could never subside when you were around him.

“I have something to give to you now, but would you wanna come over to my place later? We could get food, or walk around, or if you want to go back to your place after the show home then we can go there, orwecanjustleave-”

“Shhh,” You shove your finger to his lips, “I would love to go to your place tonight, please. We can finally be alone. Finally be with each other without anyone interrupting us.”

“Ok, ok.” He shakes his head like a giddy boy, “ Oh baby you’re gonna do amazing tonight.,” He kisses you quickly “Before I set up, I wanted to give you these.” He fumbles into his jeans pocket, pulling out two VIP Caroline Polachek tickets.

“No fucking way, you did not do this. Frankie, you did not spend this money.” You squeal.

“Stop, I didn’t spend any money gorgeous. I pulled some strings and magically got them.”

He hands them to you, they were metallic with black printing of the venue and time, with her name in this beautiful ceryllic, you couldn't imagine being in her presence. You’ve wanted to see her since the beginning of college, but you never had the money to go. Since her breakup from Chairlift, you fell in love with her artistry. She was meticulous about what she exposed to the world and you wanted to be like her.

“A little something for an opening night present, and the concert’s before your recital. A win-win.”He looks at you, “I know her new album came out and I know her producer, maybe you’ll get to meet her.” He winks. Get to meet your fucking idol? You were shocked but it was Frankie, of course he would do something like this.

“Don’t worry about tonight darlin,” He holds you, “This weekend is gonna be amazing.”

------

Is this the real life, is this just fantasy caught in a landslide. No escape from reality.

Bohemian Rhapsody was blaring throughout the dressing rooms, never able to run away from Freddie Mercury.

After your soiree with Frankie, you had gone to freshen up, prep your hair and skin. Ate a protein bar and met with Mattias. You blindly went over your scenes, and then he offered some cigarettes You shouldn’t have, but you did.

You fled out the back, door checking to see if anyone would see you. Not that it would matter but felt too familiar. You found a cozy spot, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket the team gave you and lit one up with him. You felt like you were a teenager in high school again, smoking before a show to ease the nerves.

Passing on local tradition.

“You’ve got any family coming tonight?” He opens his zippo lighter.

“Nah, just my friends, I don’t have family up here. You?”

“Mom and dad, they weren’t too happy I came to this school but it’s starting to grow on them” He taps his cigarette, “Anyone special coming tonight?”

“Something like that. It’s recently new with him and I, but he’ll be here.” You blow smoke,“You?”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend so probably not. We’ll see.”

“Ahh Mattias, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, just means I’ll be clubbing fucking extra tomorrow night at the afterparty, are you excited?”

“Fuck I forgot about that, I haven’t clubbed in years.”

“It’s at this hoity toity place in the Upper East Side, not The Box I promise but it’ll be fun as fuck. The directors are supposed to come, like the whole school is going to show up.”

The fucking Box. Frankie being there.

Flashbacks of Frankie fingerfucking you agasint the bathroom counter race through your mind, you couldn’t understand how bad you wanted him. The one person in your life that has changed your entire being.

You guys finish your cigarettes, small talk with him was so easy. Giggling about the shit you’ve seen in high school and college as theater majors. Mattias knew what the struggle was like, he knew the difference between stage anxiety and general anxiety. You guys were the perfect pair on stage.

“You go head on in Ms. Macbeth, get your shit done and I’ll see you soon sweet cheeks.”

-------

“So at 3 tomorrow the whole cast has an interview with The New Yorker.” Ms. Roylance announces, it’s an hour before show.

“And the main 2 have an interview with Vogue at 5.”

Vogue, what the shit.

Tech crew, all the actors and directors were in a circle, saying a couple final words before curtains would go up.

Across from you, Laylah and Bryce are holding hands and Frankie is talking to Mr Miller.

You were trying to calm your heart rate, you felt comfortable with everyone around you, but if you sit in a dark closet and rehearse for the last hour you would.

“I want us to hold hands, close our eyes and say one word we're feeling, and the last 30 minutes before show we can just roam in the back, hows that sound?” Roylace gages the group. Everyone agrees, clasping hands, shutting eyes and embracing each other's energy. It’s the best you can do.

“I’ll start, pleased.” She finishes.

“Happy.”

“Elated.”

“Horrified.”

“Worried.”

“Terrified.”

“Thrilled.” Bryce bellows.

“Overjoyed.” Laylah says.

“Light.”

“Captivated.” You immediately knew that was Frankie, his voice, the utmost bass in his voice. Shakes you alive. You open your eyes, looking at everyone around you, soaking up your last minutes with everyone before you break apart.

“Wondrous.”

“Flamboyant.”

“Flustered.”

“Scared.”

It’s your turn, you’ve had the whole circle to think about this, “Content.” Your eyes closed, the mid stage lights shining on you, the murmurs from the full crowd behind the red curtain, the smiles on all your faces, you’re ready.

“Happy.”

“Petrified.”

“Euphoric.”

The last words slip into the air, opening your eyes exasperated.

“Places in 40.” Frankie says.

Everyone separates, straggling across the stage, getting to their righteous spots but you stay. It only feels right and you know he will stay with you.

As soon as everyone is out of sight, he gets closer to you, but not daring to touch your hand. You watch him go to the middle of the curtain, he opens it slyly only to peek through to the crowd.

“Wanna come see?” He asks.

You walk downstage to him, setting in stone to his exact steps, letting one eye peek through the red fabrics and the whole crowd is lively, everyone is dressed so elegantly. The laughs, the people finding their seats. Ushers smiling. House lights dimmed sensually. This is what Broadway is about. Your jaw drops, but you wouldn’t let this dare scare your heart, you’re fucking ready for this.

“See, they are all here for you and Mattias, they are here to see the most wonderful production of the year and because of you, you bring the feisty energy they need.” He whispers into your ear. You shudder, almost tears of happiness, you had no stage fright anymore. “Now fucking blow there minds away baby.”

-------

The raven himself is hoarse, that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan, under my battlements. Come, you spirits, that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood, stop up th’ access and passage to remorse, that no compunctious visitings of nature, shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between, th’ effect and it. Come to my woman’s breasts

And take my milk for gall, you murd’ring ministers, wherever in your sightless substances, you wait on nature’s mischief. Come, thick night, and pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell, that my keen knife see not the wound it makes, nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark

To cry “Hold, hold!”

Make me fucking human.

For more or less, there was no crowd in front of you. Just Mattias holding your hand. Rebirth. Refinery. Frankie watching you from the booth, admiring every step you take. Acting is simple, people pleasing is simple, it’s melodic from making up the emotions on the spot and zoning through the waves of the artistry. It’s for the people, acting is a service. You’re giving your heart out to the world.

You follow your footwork with Mattias, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, husband and wife. Forcing your husband to follow through with your plan, killing the king. So detrimental.

You rush to the wings, dipping your newest costume with blood. Lady Macbeth is a woman of thrill and duty, she would do anything for her husband, and you know how that feels. You soak yourself with the sticky substance, getting it all over your face, fingerprints of deadly sins.

Hands so poignant with red, your heart could be falling out and no one would notice. Cue.

My hands are of your color, but I shame, to wear a heart so white, I hear a knocking

At the south entry, retire we to our chamber, a little water clears us of this deed, how easy is it, then! Your constancy, hath left you unattended, hark, more knocking, get on your nightgown, lest occasion call us, and show us to be watchers, be not lost so poorly in your thoughts.

You move the rest of the act, sit down through act 4, nothing involving you and finally act 5.

You mess around your hair, flick blood on your lips and action.

Out, damned spot, out, I say! One. Two. Why then, ‘tis time to do’t. Hell is murky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?

Instantaneously you have flashbacks when you were a child. In your cold room alone, dad and mom are fighting. This always fucking happened. The yelling would make you cry, but you learned how to get over it, you accepted that was your life. But now you’re safe, now you’re with people who love you and want the best for you. Men could never have control over you, ever again.

Do you mark that?

The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne’er be clean? No more o’that, my lord, no more o’that. You mar all with this starting.

Go to, go to. You have known what you should not.

She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that. Heaven knows what she has know.

The moment you’ve been waiting for,

Here’s the smell of blood still. All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand-

You don’t hold back, you dig into the crevices of your voice box, finding every follicle in your body to scream. To scare this crowd. You aren’t a little girl. Lady Macbeth is a story to never be let down. You drop to the floor, shrieking your mind away, begging for air and life. Letting the blood on you trickle with slobber and tears.

The exhaustion mixed with the heat of your scream made your head spin, but the crowd was silent- you lay there hiccuping for a minute, letting the waves of grief pass by.

What a sigh there! The heart is sorely charged.

I would not have such a heart in my bosom for the dignity of the whale body.

Well, well, well.

Pray God it be, sir.

The disease is beyond my practice. Yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.

You shiver, shaking over to the edge of the stage,

To bed, to bed. There’s knocking at the gate. Come, come, come, come. Give me your hand. What’s done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

You exit, and the audience erupts in roars. They quickly sit back down, as there’s more dialogue with the doctor and gentlewoman, but not one moment did you hesitate to throw yourself into your monologue. It felt so powerful, unbelievably life changing.

The show finishes, sitting in the wing as your castmates finish the last monologue. Opening night was one for the books. You all line up for bows, tech right behind you, the curtain opens up and finally the moment you’ve wanted. Not the applause, but able to see Frankie in that chair, just staring at you. All you’ve wanted today is to be with him, but your performance was truly dedicated to him, he was the one that shocked your headspace, he’s the one that makes you want this all. You each take your singular bow, your feet wobbling, walking to the end, tearing up with this crowd, the graciousness you felt.

The standing ovation of the crowd was magnificent, every section clapping for minutes, no soul daring to leave their seats. New York, what a beautiful city. The strong whistles, the numerous claps, the chatter warmed your heart. Roses being sent your direction, hearts shown with hands.

Your crew was instructed to go back to your dressing rooms, clean up, hang your costumes and prepare everything the same for tomorrow, then you could go greet people if you wanted to.

Before you knew it, Mattias was dragging you out to the street, to see all the fans lining up on the street waiting to get their playbills signed.

You only wanted to find Frankie and Laylah, but you didn’t have one second to revive for yourself.

Mattias thrashes with your hand, opening the back door to the cold howling air, embraced by cheers,

“We love you guys.”

“I cried at your performance.”

“We’re coming tomorrow night”

“Lady Macbeth saved me.”

“I love you.”

Screams and shrieks were surrounding you, it’s not that you couldn’t believe it, but your heart was overpowered and overjoyed. So much in one sitting, your head turning in every which way, grabbing sharpies and scribbling your name as fast as possible.

One lady stands out, she’s quiet but vigilant, waiting for it to be her turn, and the closer you get you notice,

“Ms. Kim?” You could barely recognize her, it’s only been 4 months.

“My honey sugar, look at you!” She hugs you, tighter than a mothers hold, “Your teacher Mr.Miller gave me a shout and I booked my flight immediately, I couldn’t miss your Broadway performance.” She shakes her head.

“Ms. Kim, you didn’t have to do this, I could’ve sent you a picture, or a notecard, or a playbill.”

“Now that’s nonsense honey and you know that,” She swats your shoulder with her playbill copy, “Besides I know the whole team here, no need to worry I’m here for a week, so a coffee catch up is on your list after this weekend.”

The things that you could tell her.

“I miss you, I miss North Carolina.” You hug her again, breathing down her back, trying to not let people see your tears. She was there for you when you missed your mom, she was North Carolina in a summary, and you missed it so much.

“It’s okay sweetie, you were meant to leave that state it had nothing to offer, look at this,” She pointed at all the people, “This was your destiny.” She kisses you on the cheek, “I’ll text you for a coffee date, but go spend the night away.” She smiles.

“I love you!”

“I love you too honey.”

You leave her in the crowd, finding Mattias taking a picture with a group of girls. You tell him you’re gonna head back in to get your bag, to check your phone and possibly run into Laylah, find Frankie. Unlatching the door, the air rushing in your face, Laylah was already there with Bryce waiting for you.

“You did amazing! These flowers are for you,” They smother you, “The shock in the audience when you dropped to the floor, you stretched all of their hearts out.”

“Thank you.” You laugh, holding their hands, best friends working on Broadway together, your 16 year old selves would be thrashing down right now.

“My guys in the booth couldn’t believe they were at a college show, you and Mattias rocked it.” Bryce says.

“Thank you, that means the world. Seeing all the full seats was just fucking mind blowing and I’ll have to say that a million times to process.”

“We love you, were gonna get dinner now,” They wink, “See you tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

“Same time, same place.” You agree.

They grab your arm, pulling you close, “Get that dick tonight.”

You laugh so loud it refracts around you, we’ll see.

They leave you, content with the night. Smiling dumb because now finally you get to be with the man you’ve been itching to see.

You call him,

“Hey pretty girl, I was waiting to hear from you.”

“Sorry I was out signing playbills with Mattias. Working the night off.” You respond.

“Don’t be sorry, s’busy night for you. How d’you feel?”

“Good, Frankie, I feel amazing.” Seducing him over the phone, itching for him.

“That’s my star girl, shining so bright on that stage.” He smiles in the phone, you can feel it.

“Where are you right now?” You ask.

“In my car, just watching the sky.”

“And where would that be?”

“Behind the theater and the crowd, come find me princess.”

“Ok Playboy, I’ll see you in a second.”

You end the call, chucking your bag behind your back. You slowly walk to the door, finally entering a world you can’t step back out of. Reminiscing when you had no idea what the fuck you two were.

You sprawl out, no one would be here at this time of night. He’s smoking a cigarette, convertible top down. Collar open and his hat is off, puffed locks chasing every direction. He looks up to you.

“Frankie, an Ashton Martin Convertible?”

“Yeah.”

You stare at him, some fucking longer. “I don’t know, just an Ashton Martin roaming the streets, a really nice car I’ve only heard in books.”

“Would you feel better if you knew I saved a couple paychecks for this.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sure.” So he had money, money. Double shit.

You get in and he stares at you, flickering between your lips and eyes. You could jump him now, but you had to wait. You liked the game.

“Food, bar, coffee, books, my house? What’s your wish tonight?” He holds your hand.

“Hmmm your house remember? Wouldn’t pass that up for a lifetime.” You remark.

He nods, setting the car in gear. You flicker your hands to his cigarette, he lets you take it and the drag of his menthol cigs felt smooth on your throat. Menthol and Frankie just make sense.

He’s playing Pink Floyd, blasting it through the dark streets of the city, and all you can do is smile stupidly. Your hair flying everywhere, hands perpetually finding the power of the wind, eyes closed.

You feel his hand sneak to your thigh, creeping to your body. Speaking to you through your mind. If his hand could do that now, what else would happen tonight? He moves further and further up your leg, eyes shooting open at him.

“What?” He turns to you, stopped at a light.

You grind your teeth, his hand was big enough to almost cover your whole thigh.

“You say something?” He smirks.

You wince as his hand lays on your skin, never moving but lingering so close where you crave his fingers.

A guitar ripple catches your attention from the speakers, he’s strumming to the beat on your thigh, and you can’t move.

“And we’re here darlin, what do you think?”

He parks in front of a modern brownstone, pillars glossing the entrance like a greek house. Bigger brownstone than usual. Everything about him makes sense, the expensive taste made sense, but this house was beautiful.

You take a breath, “It’s beautiful, Frankie. I couldn’t imagine anything different.” You’re scared to get out, but you itch to find what’s inside. He closes the top to the car, running around to open your door.

“Cmon pretty girl, don’t be shy.” He holds your hand out, he walks behind you up the stairs, punching in a code you looked away for.

“3570, didn’t need to look away baby, that codes yours.” He whispers to you, walking into his house.

Your first steps are met with roses, sprawled on the outskirts of the floor. His first floor, open for the world to see. Piles of roses, rose petals begging for your touch, he grabs your hips pulling you to him. “This is all for you.” You stand there with him, holding you. No man has ever gone this far to express something for you.

Grand piano deep into the room, kitchen with a marble island, champagne with two glasses full for you both, one staircase with golden spiraling leading to the top on the side. White columns and archways holding the house.

“And one person lives here?” You poke.

“Yes, but I quite enjoy it,” He lugs you closer to the kitchen to set your stuff down, “This is the house I dreamed of as a boy.”

“Well, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like this.” You ponder around like a child lost at Disney.

The back archway was all glass, you could see a light on outside to his backyard. His dining table to the wall of glass, next to the greenery. He had a conversational pit as his couch, dark green leather with faux fur overthrows. His TV was massive, and next to it were beautiful oil paintings.

He had shelves as a wall, lined with books and vinyls. Years of purchasing and collecting.

You take a peak, letting your hands run across the dusty spines.

“The Chakachas, João Gilberto…hmm Gerry Rafferty” You laugh, “Your music taste…is sexy Francisco.” He’s watching your every move.

“What can I say, I’m a cultured man.” He smugs a smile. He’s behind you, raining his fingers around your waist, you take Jungle Fever out of its sleeve, placing it on his record player.

“Just to set the mood don’t you think?” You snicker, “Have you seen Boogie Nights? You do look like a young Burt Renolds, scary kinda.”

“I get that sometimes, you like that darlin? Like broad-“ Kiss, “Hairy men?”

You dance with him to the music, listening to the women's moans of the song. Letting the dim lights glisten around his living room.

Moaning in his ear, grinding against him. Melting into his body.

“I love it.” You purr, “He was so sexy, don’t you think? That playboy pose he did made everyone in the seventies go crazy. I’d let him fuck me on spot if I was alive back then-”

He laughs, “Hmp, you wanna get fucked?” His head turns to the side, mouth curving open, with his eyebrows falling inward.

Your mouth falls, drooling over his voice. You hold onto his hair, sheething his body into yours, “Fuck me tonight Frankie, fuck me hard.” You whisper.

A lion raptures through his physicality, lifting you up to the closest thing, the Grand Piano.

“Frankie, we can't do anything here, I’ll break it!”

“I don’t care princesa, I don’t care, I’ll eat you out for hours and it could break, I’ll pay for another one.” He growls, “I need to taste this pussy now.” He set you down, looking you in the eyes as a rabid beast. His eyes were blown black, glaring at you for more.

He pulls your shorts down leaving you in just your shirt, your bottom half bare in front of him. “Mmh, no panties,” He chuckles, “What brought you to do this miel?”

“I figured there's no point, you’d rip them off anyway.” You shrug, head slating on the lid of the piano. Goosebumps rising on your body, the cold of the instrument touching your ass, air meeting the gloss of your entrance.

“Perfect fucking pussy, perfect fucking body. My girls so fucking perfect.” He spreads kisses down to your stomach, leaning when he reaches your mound. You grimace, you haven’t shaved in a long time.

“It’s okay baby, see?” He presses his hand on top of your sex, “Hair doesn’t change a thing how I feel about you. Hair doesn’t change a thing about how I want to fuck your brains out, okay?.” He kisses on top of your bush, shivering when you feel the wet of his lips with his mustache, nose bracing your clit. “I’m the only one that gets to touch your pussy like this, understand?”

You shake your head yes, “Only you can touch me.”

“Look at me, look at me while I destory your fuckin pussy.” He pushes your legs closer to him, eye level with your pussy. You wouldn't believe you’ve gone hours without this, without his tongue. He adamantly drives into your cunt, moaning as he shoves his tongue inside you.

He moans, the usual vibrations of his mouth floating through your lower abdomen. Cells inside your pussy sensationally fucked up from his mouth.

The tip of his nose would rub against your clit, he always managed to do it, but this time he was moving his face. His nose was creating circles against your nub, tongue squeezing the life out of you.

“Frankie- ngh- baby- feels so good- keep going-” You plead. Instead of grabbing his hair, you wrapped your hands around the edges of the piano, keeping your body from contorting due to the immense pleasure.

Your request followed through, he kept circling, shaking his head between your thighs. He would never let up, swallowing everything your cunt had for him.

“Pussy on my tongue, so tight. Pussy walls are quiverin for me baby.” He groans, dancing his hands to your stomach, legs dangling over his shoulders.

“Hold onto my hands dirty girl, I know you’re strong, cum in mouth.”

He raffles inside you more, squeezing his hands so your body doesn’t escape from his touch. Your clit suddenly buzzes, repeatedly shaking. Your walls come crashing on his tongue, he doesn’t stop pushing into you.

You scream for help, violently shaking against his hold. You couldn’t control your voice, begging for more. You can’t do anything other than yell because the movement form his tongue

“I’m gonna cum Frankie, I’m gonna cum on your tongue-” You cry.

“Give it to me, drip into my mouth.” His sinister base flows through your pussy, the room spins and you shriek against the piano. He sucks you clean from your orgasm, releasing his hold from you.

“Breathe baby, breathe.” The fuzziness of the lights die down, and his face comes in contact again.

“Your tongue- is fucking magical.” You drunkenly smile, “But I want more tonight. Please.” He pulls you off the piano, leaving a sweat mark on the top. You plant your feet to the ground, he holds your body up.

He chuckles, “Tell me what you want mi amour, what is it that you want?” He taunts.

“Fuck you, you know what I want.” You seethe.

“Ok,” He nods his head, “If you think I know, then fuck yourself for me. Go down to the couch, take your shirt off, and fuck yourself with your fingers.”

He had your full attention and you feel small, you’ve never done anything like this in front of a man.

“Go on princess, I’ll be right here.”

You faintly walk to his couch, slipping past the steps. You sit down at the edge of the couch, taking your shirt and shifting your bra off your chest. You’re completely naked in front of him, nipples begging for his touch.

“Play with yourself for me, pretty girl.”

You snake your hands down to your entrance, fiddling with your slick. You touch your clit, but it feels nothing like his hands.

“Frankie please, I need your cock.” You whine.

“You should’ve just said that, now look at you, yeah?” He walks to the steps, sitting down, “I need to you to cum on your fingers before I fuck you, I wanna see it.”

You hum, discoing your fingers on your clit, you imagine his cock finally slipping inside of you. What you’ve wanted since you’ve laid eyes on him.

“Push those fingers inside, think of my cock dirty girl.” He growls, looking you up and down.

You plunge your fingers inside, moving your hips against your hand. Wishing to have his thick cock inside you.

“Frankie, I’ll be so good, please. I want you inside me. I want you holding me down, I wanna be filled with you.” You mumble, terrorizing your hand.

“Wanna be a good girl for me? Fuckin tie you down, fuck you until soak me.” You shovel your fingers inside your cunt faster, imagining yourself restrained against his bed. His cock pushing into you at an unforgivable speed. “You’d like that huh dirty fuckin girl. Not able to move while I fuck your cunt, fillin you up til you feel it in your stomach.”

You slant your eyes open,” I want you to tie me up one night Frankie, be your-fucking rope bunny. Want you to use my pussy.”

“I wanna do everything with you, dirty girl, so perfect.”

You feel yourself tightening around your hand, his words making you interclose on your hand.

You would never be able to make yourself cum this fast because of your fingers, but because of him, because of his coaxing words, your own orgasm felt stronger.

“I can it hear baby, I see you leakin, cum for me, let go. Then I’ll give you my cock for as long as you want. Shove those fingers in for me.” He purrs.

You fall back on his couch, wavering your body to your orgasm. You gave a final push, laying stagnant from your orgasm. You watch him stroll to you from his steps.

He’s hungry.

“So gorgeous, so wet for me.” He smirks, “Now what do you want, so perfect and plump for me.”

“I want your fucking cock, I need you inside me Frankie.” You tremble.

He licks his lips, sitting down on the couch, “Don’t wanna do anything you’re not comfortable with pretty girl,” He moves your hair behind your ears, “Is this how you want me? Let me get a condom.”

You push him down, you should use a condom but you couldn’t be less botherd, “You could’ve fucked me in that bathroom and I would’ve cared less Frankie, fucking on this couch will be more than heaven,” And it is, “Don’t worry about a condom, I need to feel you bare.” He goes to object, but you shove your fingers to close his mouth.

Your eyes linger on his cock, he’s already swelling, “I wanna do everything with you Frankie, you could never make me uncomfortable.”

You close in to the crook of his neck, kissing him everywhere, praising him for making you feel so good, “I need you to fuck my brains out, make it hurt Frankie.”

Without blinking, he lifts you to his lap, placing your naked pussy on him. He kisses you sloppily on the lips, holding you close so you don’t fall, he growls possessing more of you.

“My beautiful girl, I’ve been waitin for this to happen, been dreamin of you sitting on my cock. I’m so glad we’ve waited, it’s gonna feel so good baby.”

You rub against him, letting your liquid leak all over him.

“I’ve been so good Frankie, I’ve been trying so hard not to think about your cock, when you were down my throat all I wanted was to be full of you everywhere.” And now-” You shimmy his shirt off, kissing his collar bones, rushing to his belt.

He flings it off slamming it to the ground, you look past it as it impacts the floor, making a hard whipping sound.

“Bet you’d like that naughty girl, fucking whip until you’re red. Tie you up with my belt.” You squirm against him, humping his bulge.

Images of Frankie whipping your ass with his belt, slapping your pussy, makes your brain short circuit.

He pulls his pants down with his boxers, flinging his cock out. You don’t remember it being this big. He was uncut and at least 8 inches. How could he fit inside you? The sight already making your pussy leak.

You rush your hands to his head, dangling your legs on his lap, pussy out for the world to see. You pull his foreskin back letting his precum bead down to your fingers.

“Feel s’good baby, fingers feel so good wrapped around my cock.” He grimaces.

You pump his dick, letting him grow against you, he keeps getting bigger and bigger. His tip was so pink, you wanted to suck him off like a lollipop. You wanted his dick down your throat. Embellishing in every way he can fill you up.

You lick his precum off your fingers, and he shoves his thumb in your mouth, “Suck.” He demands.

You enclose, treating his thumb like his cock. Swirling, letting every part of your saliva coat it.

He parts from you, soon attaching it to your pussy to moisten you up. He was going to stretch you so wide.

“Tell me if it hurts baby, please, I don’t want you to hurt.” He requests.

“I don’t care if it hurts Frankie, I need you to push me open. I need your cock.”

You shift until your lips are hovering over the head of his dick, waiting for him to pump into you. The tension was so thick you could barely breathe.

He carnally anchors into you, his cock magnetizing inside your cunt, the moment he surges into you, holding onto his shoulders stronger, you both gasp from feeling each other for the first time.

“Holy fuck, princesa you’re so tight.” He braces.

You try to move up from him but he attaches his hands to your hips and pushes you up and down. The air is eccentric and you’re so grateful you get to be so close to him, clasping on to his figure as he fucks into you.

He nips at your collar bone, lazily kissing you. Your hair disheveled from your body shaking.

“I love your cock, I love your cock. Oh my god- FuFuFuFuck.” You chant in his ear. The simplicity of having sex made you feel safe, this was more than magical. He was almost fucking your heart. He was so deep inside you, your mound was connecting to his base.

You loved when he was so dominant with you, you loved when he was in control, you loved Frankie.

“Fuck me- as hard as- you can. Use- my pussy.” You yelp.

The more you felt your pussy lips gripping onto his cock, the more you seized. The connection was beyond powerful. He aggressively slips into you, his tip touching that perfect spongy wall that would make you lose all will power.

“God darlin, love watchin those eyes roll back. Didn’t know you’d get this cock drunk baby. You love my cock so much?” He rasps.

“Spank me, please, slap my ass and fucking mark me.” You whine.

He lifts his hand, slapping your ass. He grabs onto your love handles, pulling you onto his dick harder.

“You like that? When my handprints on your ass? You want more?” He grunts.

You shake your head, and he continues, the sting firing your pussy up. His animalistic movements make you worship his soul, he matched your sex energy and you couldn’t be more thankful. You relished this moment, so grateful for Frankie.

He lusted over your tits, he slowed to kiss them, suck your nipples to hardened peaks. Somehow your heart hammered, watching him take care of every need your body craved, made you pussy twitch with his cock inside you. Watching his mouth wrap about your tits intensified your lust for him.

“I want you to do something for me,” He releases, “I want you to spell my name.”

“How-”

“Move your hips, move your hips with my cock still inside, ride me.” He stirs.

He intertwined his hands with yours, you back up from his chest preparing. He doesn’t lose your eyes for one second.

“F” You shake, his dick is everywhere inside your walls.

“R” You whine, the contact so slow and vivid, you could almost hear the colors off the walls.

“Keep going, that's it, just use that dick.” He coaxes.

“A” The tip of the A making his cock arch into you deeper than you could have ever imagined, you yell, soliciting for neighbors to hear.

“N”

“K” The ache in your pussy crying to cum, but you weren’t done. You knew you had to finish.

“I”

“E” You whimper, not able to sit straight any longer.

“Such a good girl, knew you could do it. My good fucking girl.” He kisses you, “I know what that pussy wants, I know she needs to cum. Wanna cum pretty girl?”

“Mhm, please Frankie. I-I was so good. I wanna cum on your cock. I’ll do anything, I’ll be so so good.” You plead.

His cock was intoxicating your brain, oxytocin so high you couldn’t think about where you were, only that Frankie was all you cared about in your life right now.

He aggressively hurls into you again, pinning your hands behind your back as he holds them in place. You couldn’t do anything but take his cock, you had to accept that he was gonna fuck you til you saw stars.

“You can do it baby, pussy’s already leakin all over me and the floor. She’s clamping around me. I wanna see that pretty face when you cum.” He finalized.

“Fran-Frankie keep going, I’m gonna cum I’m gonna cum,” You praise.

You couldn’t even process his words, half-lidded and half dazed, all you could focus on was your pussy devouring his cock. Him driving past you until you couldn’t hear. The power to force you knew your voice was giving out. You couldn’t touch him, but him holding your hands back made you grateful, your orgasm so powerful you felt as if you were gonna break his cock.

Your voice box cracks, you immediately fall against his chest, stagnant from movement with the only action you could do was breathe.

He lays there will you, wrestling his heart from fucking you so fast. You couldn’t open your heart, let alone walk.

He picks you up, he leaves his couch area and you sense he’s taking you upstairs. He saunters into a dark room, placing you on top of his duvet cover keeping the lights off. You couldn’t tell what his room looked like, but you felt like a vegetable. He came back to you, cleaning your entrance with a baby soft towel. He has to move your legs, you were unresponsive with the widest smile on your face, eyes slanted to only see that he was getting in bed with you.

He lifts the cover, tucking you in next to him. You snuggle against his chest, embracing your body heat, spooning into him. Your breathing falters, in sync with his.

He rubs his hands through your hair, making you fall asleep faster.

“I love you, mi amor.”

And that's the last thing you remember before sleeping off the best night of your life.

—

i love lady macbeth soooo much. looking into the meaning of her monologues are so powerful and she changed my thoughts on shakespeare 🔁🔁

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taglist: @pastelnap

[anaesthesia-why]

i've been thinking about rewriting a couple of 2000s-early 2010s russian tv shows that i used to like a bit before i became a radfem but with each new glimpse at them after i found rf i found more and more misogyny so... a question. i don't wanna be that hetero that just assumes things so I wanna ask actual lesbians if any lesbians in denial overcompensate by trying to date a lot of men to convince themselves they are "normal"?? or is it just a stereotype?

I just don't want to change the time setting, to keep it more or less realistic, even though the shows ran when i was just a baby, one started before my birth even if i remember correctly, so i don't know everything about the situation then, but i more or less have the grasp on what mentality people used to have. if i were to go all out i'd even research the types of phones and computers that were used/available then and political stuff too but for now i want to focus on the interactions between the main characters. like i've been thinking about the rewrites for almost 2 years??

so considering russia is a bit culturally behind europe and us, let's say 10-15 years, and the characters's birth dates from the first show were like 1970-1975 (the were 30-35 in 2003?? or smth) (or even earlier years) (i always assumed '68 and '72 more specifically though bit sometimes i thought they were the same age so i gotta figure out what works better)

i just. i want to write something but the story i started a couple years ago (and only write like a couple chapters every summer lol) is a naive bl (ye i found rf by that time but. habits). I'm bad at original stuff but i have a lot of passion to "fix" things that have SOME potential or when i want the characters to have justice. bc the way stuff happened in the shows is so frustrating. the amount of misogyny the characters had to put up with. competing for a worthless male's attention. and so on. in the other one turning a goth poet into a housewife and a mom by 19!! and smart girl loving a dumdum guy 4 years older than her and staying to help him in the grade she was in instead of advancing and going through the school program fast bc she's a genius. and then going to a police college instead of like any prestigious uni, also for him. been thinking about making goth girl a lesbian so she doesn't fall in love with the guy she married OR making him a girl with who she can have a normal relationship bcs he was a great character at first they just butchered him so fn much. the other girl should just not make friends with the dum at all and ever. let an intellectual character be a snob when a 17 yr old doesn't know how to write most of the words properly and needs help with every class. she's 13 and just has to formally finish school.

why did i write all this. i'm sorry the question from the 1st paragraph still stands. stereotype or real? can be used for writing or not?