#used sleeper truck

[hangmanssunnies]

Why have they been working on the water line in front of my house since 8pm?? I just woke up to them turning on the water faucet that's attached to my rooms outside wall at 2 am. PLEASE WATER MEN JUST LET ME SLEEP. stop shaking my house please.

[rktruckandtrailersales]

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[allurilove]

Yandere Stalker x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Stalking, blood, non con—he goes down on you without you knowing, fem reader, perverted and lewd behavior, again he’s weird and so delusional, mentions of violence against women.

*Happy Pride month!!! 🫶🏻This fic is influenced by You—specifically season one. I’m trying to give him a joe goldberg vibe. This is also part two, and check out part one and part three! Your stalker doesn't have a name, and this fic is in his point of view. This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: Your stalker decides to celebrate one year of staking you by giving you a little visit.

What’s more dangerous than a lustful and starved man?

You wanna know what’s great about New York? That every apartment seemed to have a fire escape. Yours is tastefully decorated with a rug, and a small chair that has a plaid blanket draped over it. What's also so great about it is that it gives me access to you. You live on the fifth floor of this red-bricked building. It’s somewhat old but has a nice rustic charm. You seem to have an eye for knackered and worn-down things, as I’ve seen you pick up a used vanity and refurbished it. Inside, there’s a lobby with a doorman that is barely awake half of the time, he picks up a huge breakfast and clocks out after having a food coma. He's old, flabby, and not nearly ready to protect you like I am.

I seriously doubt he could jump over his desk and grab the throat of any danger coming your way. It's quite concerning, you know? You often sleep with your window open, and with the current rise in crime...you could get stabbed, kidnapped, bound and tied, and thrown into the back of a truck in a matter of seconds. Trust me, I have seen it happen before.

Don't get me wrong, it's understandable. It’s a hot spring day, and even if the moon gave the city a bit of a break from the sweltering heat, the lingering humidity continued to have a tight grip on everyone. Every crow resides in the trees for shade, every stray cat hiding in the alleyways, and even the rats seem content with steaming away in the sewers. The pavements are hot, the wind is hot, and you can see and smell the stench of people's BO in the air. I mean, c'mon... have they heard of deodorant?

June is just a month that comes before my favorite season.

Summer, and in other words: “An excuse to wear more revealing clothing.” There’s something amazing and titillating seeing you in tiny, tight tank tops, walking around in flip flops with freshly painted nails, and your hair up so I can see a bit of your neck.

And today marks one year since I first saw you. I know how you drink tea since coffee makes your head hurt, how you dance around your apartment after having a good day, and how you always leave your apartment at 12 p.m. for lunch.

I memorized the exact time you close your curtains for bed, just before I catch that perfect glimpse of you in your robe after a hot and steamy shower. I want to be your bath mat so badly. Step on my ribcage for all I care, and let droplets of water from your body fall onto my face. Let me see up your towel and gaze into what I consider to be the gates of heaven itself. Let me lift my head up so I can suck the remaining bathwater on you. Let me get all of my questions and prayers answered, and let me see all of you.

I have reached the top of the steps, my hand gripping onto the window to push it up higher, and I duck down to crawl into your bedroom. The floors seem to creak with every step I take, yet you haven't woken up. A heavy sleeper, are we?

My eyes adjust to the lack of lights. My pupils expand as I drink in your nude form. You look so serene with your soft snoring, your arms splattered, and my gaze traveled over the peaks of your tits rising and falling with your breathing. Your blanket was just thrown to the side, clearly disregarded with a bit of anger, and I could see the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

Your legs were already sprawled wide open-- a reward for my tremendous bravery. I lick my lips. I notice a white string sticking out from your underwear, and I reach out to gently tug on it. It looks stuck, and I wrap the string around my finger and give it an extra hard pull.

What could that be? I know you’re on your period, and I still have your pad that I grabbed from the trashcan earlier. I sort of understand what a period is, and all I really know is that the sight of your blood causes my head to spin. I pushed your panties to the side, and my curiosity piqued as I slowly removed the feminine product out of you.

I inspect the hygiene product I haven't really seen before. It looks different from a pad, and in my opinion it looks like a sperm— well the shape anyways. I put the tampon in my mouth, gently suckling it as if I were an infant. You taste salty, copper-like, and your plasma is warm. It's almost soothing. I then let the tampon fall out of my mouth. I tug on your underwear, pull it down from your legs, and stuff it into my pocket.

I rub my hands on your thighs, and I can feel the slight stubble on your legs. My fingers graze over your sex, and it follows the outline of your pussy. I put your legs on my shoulders, my head then leaning down so my tongue can lick stripes on your slit. The tip of my tongue touches the wet curls of your hair, and a frisson of pleasure runs down my spine. Your cunt is an eesome sight, the hair dampened by my saliva, and it covered your core like it was protecting the most precious jewel. And in a sense it was. I become more brazen, a single finger pushing inside you, and my jaw dropped at the sight of you sucking my finger in. You welcomed it so nicely, and there was a nice pressure of tightness.

I curl the single digit, intently staring at your face for any reactions towards my fingering. I use my thumb to circle your clit. I have read that some women can't come based on penetration alone. Hopefully, my tongue and fingers can help bring you to the brink of an orgasm.

I also hope that you never wake up. How else am I supposed to memorize your body? Would you even think that I am worthy of you? Or would you run away just by seeing my face alone? Would you think I'm crazy, or would you be flattered by the way I devour your cunt like it's my last meal? I hold your hips down firmly onto the bed, you're slowly squirming around and starting to gain consciousness.

It's like I'm drowning in a never-ending pool of crimson, and no matter how many times I swipe my tongue, it just oozes out of you so effortlessly. Your aroma is intoxicating, and it's like your body lured me--the prey-- into your little trap of ...

"Where are you going...?" I instinctively mutter as I miss the presence of your warmth against my mouth. You seem to crawl away, your limbs trying to save you from the repeated administrations of teasing.

My eyes shoot open as I realize that you're screaming. I immediately reel back, my ass landing onto the hard floor and I wince. "Shit-- I'm sorry!"

I scramble onto my feet and I try to duck every pillow you throw at me. I trip on my way out, and the wind gets knocked the fuck out of me as my bottom half got stuck in your window.

"This is literally my worst nightmare...!" I grunt as I try to wiggle my hips. I feel pain coming from my crotch, it's compressed against the window sill, and of course my dick had to be as hard as a rock.

You continue to hit whatever you see-- which means my ass. I yelp as you put your hands on my bottom, and you muster as much strength as you can to get me out of your house.

Why is this oddly arousing?

With one final shove I landed onto my face.

There's nothing dignifying about walking down the street with a clear boner and a bloody nose. I just look like a pervert that got punched after leering at someone. Wait.

No, that's not what I was doing. I'm not a pervert. I just have wandering eyes that are glued to whatever you're doing. I just happened to notice how your chest bounced around when you were running late and had to run out of the house. I happened to carry a tiny vial to collect any fluid and essences that dripped out of you after our encounter. My hand reached into my pocket, and I sighed in relief as I am comforted by the soft material of your panties and of the long plastic tube. I feel a sense of relief knowing that they didn't fall out as you kicked me out.

Am I crazy? No. Am I the only man you'll ever meet that has done this to you? Probably. I am one of a kind, after all.

Allure: Someone slap some sense into him.

[vampireddyke]

.

[us281trktrl]

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[steddiewithachance]

"You Should Date My Nephew"

"433-6296". Wayne mouthes to himself. He visualizes the little slip of lined paper that's taped to the wall above their phone at home. 433-6296. He could call. But he wont.

Wayne grunts as he lowers himself to sit on the curb outside the plant. He got off work --he pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch-- 36 minutes ago. It's 3:36 am and god dammit Eddie how many times did he remind the kid to set his alarm. How many times did Wayne remind Eddie that his truck was in the shop and that he'd need a ride home in the morning. And every single time he'd mention it, Eddie responded "I got it old man! I'll set an alarm" with an exasperated eye roll and would go back to whatever he was doing. Wayne has tried calling the trailer a dozen times already and damn that boy for being such a heavy sleeper.

433-6296. Wayne could probably solve his problem with a single call, but that would be completely inconsiderate and borderline inappropriate, so he wont. A gust of cold November wind hits Wayne unforgivingly in the face and makes his eyes water. He pulls a pack of camels from his chest pocket and with stiff, shaky hands, lights one. 433-6296. He could call or he could walk home. The walk wasn't easy in ideal weather when Wayne was fully rested. Right now it was freezing, Wayne didn't have his good jacket, and he just finished an eight hour shift. 433-6296. Fuck it.

Wayne stands up and hurries toward the phone before he can talk himself out of this. It's insane, and he knows the poor kid barely sleeps as it is. Knows from Eddie that he'll pick up the phone anytime Eddie has a nightmare and drive over to talk him out of the bad dream, keep him company, or fall asleep on the floor of Eddie's bedroom so his nephew doesn't have to go back to sleep alone in a haunted home. 433-6296 Wayne dials and waits with baited breath.

The phone rings a handful of times before a quiet voice greets him on the other side of the line.

"H'llo? Eds?"

"Uh hi Steve. It's Wayne?" Wayne says quietly into the phone. Steve seems to sober immediately.

"Mr. Munson? Is everything okay? Is Eddie okay?"

"Yeah no everythin's fine. I'm sure Eddie's safe and sound at home. Look, I'm real sorry to wake you, kid, and I'm sorry to even be askin' you in the first place. I know it's mighty unfair of me to call at this time but uh- My trucks in the shop and Eddie was supposed to pick me up from work forty minutes ago but I think he mighta slept through his alarm. And it's too far for an old man like me to walk. Was wondering if I might owe you a helluva favor if you could pick me up tonight, son." For a few moments there is silence. Wayne worries he has crossed a line, for a brief moment he fears he might have burnt the most important bridge in Eddie's life. He's immediately regretting waking Steve up for this.

But then he hears the distinct rustling and thump of someone putting on shoes.

"Of course Mr. Munson, I'm leaving now. I'll be there as soon as I can." And Wayne is once again floored by this kid's kindness.

"Steve, thank you. I owe you son. Whatever you need."

"It's no problem! I'll see you soon."

"See you." Wayne mutters in disbelief and hangs up the phone.

And to think... Wayne used to hate Steve. The thing about Steve Harrington is that his name is haunted, in a way. And the thing about Wayne Munson is that he's a stubborn son of a bitch who will hold grudges on Eddie's behalf longer than the kid himself will. There were countless days in high school when instead of shooting through the front door of the trailer after school with a devilish grin and music blasting from his headphones, Eddie would turn the knob slowly and he'd drag himself into the house, giving Wayne a small nod before disappearing into his room quietly. Wayne felt like crying or punching something when Eddie came home in low spirits. He knew how evil the kids at school could be, and he knew the names of all the bad ones. Wayne always gave Eddie 10 minutes of quiet before he'd knock on his door and gently ask if he wanted to talk. It was a routine they had. He'd ask and Eddie would say no. But then like clockwork, Eddie would open up about his day later in the evening usually while they ate dinner and before Wayne left for work. He'd complain about all the kids that made him feel bad: Hagan, Harrington, Perkins, Hargrove, Carver, and so many more.

So imagine Wayne's surprise on March 27, 1986 when he briefly left Eddie's hospital room to get coffee and returned to Steve Harrington, the bully son of Richard and Nicole, sitting next to his nephew's hospital bed. It had been a long week of worrying on Wayne's part, and an emotional 48 hours spent at Eddie's bedside, so Wayne had very little patience for whatever was happening in front of him. In retrospect, Steve Harrington was looking at Eddie... sweet and tenderly, even back then. But in the moment all he could think about was Eddie returning from school with hunched shoulders and his head hung low.

"The hell are you doing here?" Wayne asked using his gruffest and most intimidating voice, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. The way that Steve startled was like nothing like Wayne had ever seen. He jumped a foot into the air and folded into himself.

"Oh! Mr. Munson. I'm sorry I didn't know you were around. Just, uh, didn't want him to be alone in case he woke up." Steve had said rising from his seat. When Wayne didn't budge from the doorway or respond, Steve nervously fiddled with the zipper of his jacket.

"How do you know Eddie?" Wayne asked trying to keep his firm tone.

"From high school sir. But also through a mutual friend. Dustin Henderson? They play DND together. Dustin and I brought him in after we found him like this..." Steve lifted his head again gauging Wayne's still stern expression and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry sir I didn't mean to interrupt anything I'll get out of your hair."

And Wayne wanted to be skeptical of Steve, wanted to accuse him of doing this to Eddie, but the truth is that Steve sounded painfully earnest. And there's no human explanation for the tiny bite marks all over Eddie's body. Wayne stepped out of the doorway and let Steve take a few steps down the hallway before calling out to him.

"Hey, Harrington?" Steve turned around quickly, looking back with a startled expression, maybe surprised that Wayne knew his name at all. "D'ja see what happened? I mean d'ya know anythin about what hurt him?" Wayne asked more softly. Steve looked around the crowded hallway, with nurses buzzing from door to door. Steve shook his head slightly, apologized, and continued down the hallway.

But Steve didn't stay out of his hair for long. The kid was exasperatingly persistent in being around for Eddie. And while Wayne kept a watchful eye on him, he was starting to get the idea that Steve Harrington was not who Wayne thought he was. He cooked for, cleaned after, and tended to Eddie, asking for nothing in return. Often refusing to stay for dinner when Wayne was home, even if he was the one who cooked it, because he didn't want to interrupt family time. If he brought food from out he always brought something for Wayne, and never took the money Wayne tried to push into his hands for it.

"Here, Mr. Munson. I wasn't sure what you wanted from the diner, but Eddie said you're not picky so I brought you a burger and fries." Steve had said that first time, holding out a bag in front of him.

"You brought me food?" Wayne asked perplexed.

"Well yeah, of course. I wouldn't have shown up with dinner for just me and Eddie." Steve set Wayne's bag on the counter when he made no move to take it.

By now Steve knew Wayne and Eddie's order at pretty much every food place in Hawkins and Wayne and Eddie were getting real creative at finding ways to slip money into Steve's wallet.

On top of that, almost every other day, Wayne gets home from work to find a maroon bmw parked outside his place while Steve helps Eddie through bad dreams. So what could Wayne be, besides grateful, for Steve Harrington's slightly confusing devotion to his kid?

He's snapped out of his thoughts when said maroon bmw pulls up in front of him. Steve is wearing a pair of wired glasses and his hair is all ruffled from sleep. Wayne opens the passenger door.

"You were waiting for forty minutes in the cold? Why didn't you call sooner?" Steve asked pushing up his glasses as Wayne closes the door quickly. And well... Wayne doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I- I shouldn'ta had to call you in the first place, Steve. I'm real sorry" Wayne says as Steve pulls the car out of park and starts driving back towards the trailer park. Wayne glances over at Steve waiting for the kid to say something. They sit in heavy silence until Steve breaks it by clearing his throat.

"Just... I know you're probably mad at Eddie but- but don't yell at him. He's barely sleeping so he really just needs the rest. It's not his fault." Steve ends on a whisper.

A tidal wave of different emotions rip through Wayne. Affection for Steve's caring nature, immense gratitude that Eddie has someone like Steve in his life, disbelief that Steve would say something like that after being woken at nearly 4 in the morning. Wayne was sitting and staring at the most selfless kid he'd ever met. Steve fucking Harrington.

"You should date my nephew."

Steves eyes widen and the car swerves.

"Uh- s-sorry- what?" Steve stammers.

"If I could choose someone for him, the best option out there, I'd choose you." Wayne says honestly, and he didn't even know he'd been thinking it until this moment. But it's so true. After so many heartbreaks over truly terrible men that Wayne could never see the appeal of, Eddie deserves someone like Steve. Steve face softens before checking to make sure Wayne was being sincere. Steve cracks a smile and chuckles to himself.

"What, you think I'm jokin'?" Wayne asks defensively.

"No sir! Not at all. It's just Eddie and I have been dating for months already. BUT- but- thank you for saying that! It means so much to me and truly Eddie's the best thing-"

"You- what?" Suddenly Wayne is embarrassed. Blushing. How'd he... how'd he miss that? And well, he did have a few moments where he thought the two of them were awfully close for a pair of young men, at least one of which who was openly queer, but they'd been through a lot together.

"Why did no one tell me?" Wayne asks turning his face away from Steve who is desperately fighting a huge grin and losing.

"We thought you knew. We sleep in the same bed every night."

"You do what now? Thought you were sleepin' on the floor" Wayne knows he sounds like the protective dad of a teenage girl and not the uncle to an adult man, but his world was just turned sideways. Steve laughs at that and adjusts his glasses before stopping at the red traffic light which almost immediately turns green because no one is out at this hour.

"Oh well. Good, I'm glad then." Wayne says after his mind has stopped spinning. "And call me Wayne already, you basically live at my house." He punches Steve lightly in the shoulder.

"Okay." Steve agrees quietly. He pulls into Forest Hills and stops the car in front of the Munson's place. "Mind if I just check to make sure he's okay before I leave? For peace of mind?" Wayne opens the door and steps out.

"Oh so now you're playing coy about sharing a bed? Just sleep here, kid" Wayne closes the door and heads towards the house. Steve jogs a little to catch up. When they open the door, the sound of an obnoxious alarm comes pouring out from the back of the house which concerns both of them. But when Steve hurries to Eddie's room he sees that the idiot had fallen asleep with music blasting in his headphones. Wayne stops the alarm as Steve gently tries to remove the headphones from his ears pausing the tape inside.

Eddie suddenly stirs and blinks up at Wayne and Steve looking down at him.

"'S going on?" He croaks, rubbing his eyes. Wayne and Steve share a look before Wayne chuckles and pats Steve on the back once before thanking him and wishing him a good night on the way out. After the door closes behind Wayne, Eddie looks back up at Steve. "What's going on baby? What happened?"

Steve slips into the bed and scoffs, fondly. He curls around Eddie and pulls him into his chest. Once they've settled, Steve pushes his fingers through Eddie's until they're all intertwined.

"Did you forget something, Bambi? Was there someone you had to pick up from work at 3 in the morning?" Steve whispers into his neck. Suddenly Eddie shoots up and dislodges Steve where he was leaning against him. Steve groans.

"Shit! Shit shit shit shit shit"

"Eddie it's okay c'mere. He's home now, it's all good babe." But Eddie just stares at the wall and pulls a hand through his hair. "No one is mad, just come back here. Let's sleep." And Eddie hesitantly lies back down.

"Did Uncle Wayne have to call you? I'm so fucking sorry Stevie." Eddie asks, sounding embarrassed.

"We had a nice conversation on the way home so it all worked out. You're okay. Sleeeeep."

And right before they both fall asleep, Eddie whispers, "Thanks Stevie, love you."

[baddiewiththebook]

ONE OF THE BOYS [PART 3]

-> While you pine hopelessly over your best friend, Eddie Munson. You hear the sentiment 'one of the boys' one too many times and you've decided to change that. All in the name of the one boy who won't even look at you, or so you think.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language and suggestive themes [no smut]

-> a/n Oh, my god. When I tell y’all that everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. I stayed up all night writing and editing just to get it out today, so you don’t have to wait another week when I’m off from work again. Yesterday, I was going to surprise y’all with a back to back upload, but when my laptop died and all of my content got deleted, I needed a pause. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Part 3 of a series I didn’t know would become a series.

[Part 2] Part 3

-> <-

You decide to wake up at five because your eyes wouldn’t stay shut any longer. Ripping the blankets off your body, the cool air nips at your skin. You shove your toes into your slippers. Tripping over your tennis shoes, you rethink how close you are to your desk. Feeling around for the corner, you find the desk and you begin to aim yourself the other way. You yelp when your waist collides into the doorknob and you silently curse to yourself while trying desperately not to wake your family. Shuffling through the dark, you take mini steps to your bathroom.

Closing the door behind you, you flick on bathroom light. Squinting, your eyes adjust and the shock of the bright room dulls. You use the toilet first, before your bladder combusts. While washing your hands, you meet your own face in the mirror.

Mornings weren’t your best look. Your hair mats to one side because you’re a side sleeper. Sometimes when your sick you’ll lay on your back to keep your stomach from getting nauseous. Instead of drying your hands on a towel, you toss them back into your hair to mold and shape what’s on your head. Massaging your scalp, you forget your worries for a moment. You wash your hands of the hair that sticks to your hands, and then you dry them off.

You bounce back from the shower when you twist the hot water handle. Water splashes in your face anyway. Steam breathes into your bathroom and you almost feel suffocated by the hot air. That’s what wakes you up in the morning. You strip, then step inside allowing the beads of hot water to bake your skin. The soap you use is plain and boring. It moisturizes the layers of your skin without leaving a scent behind. You watch the bubbles drain below you.

Leaving the shower is harder to you then getting back in. Your day will begin as soon as you step out. Going to school feels like a chore. Your classes all have projects due by the end of the week or by the end of the month. Then there’s the obvious boy you are trying to avoid. Before you can imagine any lewd situations between yourself and him (and trust that you have plenty), you switch off the water to your shower.

You don’t like washing your face in hot water, so you wait until your dry and you have a towel wrapped around your body. The icy water pricks at your pores. You dry, and you apply a thick layer of moisturizer to your skin.

Finding yourself vulnerable in a towel, and thrown into darkness once again because you have forgotten your clothes in your bedroom, you shimmy across the hallway once again.

When you choose a lotion, you act as though you won’t pick the same option you have been for as long as you can remember. The label reads ‘Fruity.’ Simple enough. Throwing on an extra spritz of perfume to compliment the lotion. You like to spray perfume while you’re bare to ensure the smell sticks to you, rather than your clothes.

Wrapping yourself in your robe, you want to take a peak at the sky. Rain clouds form above. Gray all day. You happen to, also, see that Eddie’s trailer is dark. Wayne Munson’s truck is on, and he’s in the driver’s seat waiting for the engine to warm. He goes to work early, and he stays late. That’s how you got to spend so many days and nights at Eddie’s growing up.

You’d tell your mom that you were spending the night with your friend Robin, and she would cover for you in a heartbeat. She must have known what was going on before you did. Did that even count - if you didn’t know?

You shy away from the window.

Going through your closet, you find an acceptable pair of denim that’s right on your hips and loose at your ankles. The striped sweater you call your favorite will scratch at you skin all day, so you put on a plain shirt on underneath.

If the you from a few months ago, saw you sitting at your desk whipping out all of the tools and the sponges that it took to apply makeup to your skin, you’d shrivel in a corner and cry. You got used to the feeling of the brushes against your skin. The way your face feels with a bit of foundation. And the sticky feeling of mascara pressing on your eyes.

As you finish powdering your nose, your stomach growls. Your hungry.

The sun is beginning to wake, and you’re able to move through the home a bit smoother. You find yourself in the kitchen pawing through the refrigerator. No one has gone grocery shopping in a few weeks, so your options are limited.

You take the box of Honey Comb cereal off the top of the fridge. A bowl off the drying rack will do, and there’s even a spoon next to it. You pluck out your mom’s cigarettes that she “hides” inside the box. She doesn’t count them when she smokes, so you know that you can sneak one into your pocket for later.

After pouring yourself a bowl of cereal, and stealing your mom’s cigarettes, you grab the milk from the fridge. It’s heavy. When you open the milk the rancid sour odor spoils your appetite.

“Jesus!” You curse.

The expiration reads about a week ago. Gross.

You toss the milk.

Even though you’re completely grossed out, you shovel a few bites of dry cereal down your throat. Dipping your head under the sink for a drink of water, you slurp down the crumbs sticking to the sides of your mouth.

By the time you’ve brushed your teeth, your watch reads seven fifteen in the morning. If you head to school now, you’ll be there by seven thirty.

That’s exactly what you do.

The drive is quiet. Most of the town hasn’t woken yet for their day. Shops still have signs in their window that read ‘Closed.’

You’re allowed into the cafeteria with the other early birds once you get to school. Finding a group of girls you’re in home room with, they welcome you for a study session.

“You look so pretty,” Michelle gushes over your makeup.

You smile. “You too. I love your shirt.”

“I got it on sale,” she tells you the name of the store. “We should all go shopping on Saturday.”

“Girls day out!” Lisa snaps her fingers. “Count! Me! In!”

The three of you small chat for a bit, before you dive into your awaiting assignments. They’re there to help you. You reciprocate the action when they want advise.

The school bell rings.

You pack up, and you wave goodbye for now. But, you’ll see them again in just a few moments when you get to class.

Heading to your locker for the first time in months, you have to try the code twice. The third time’s the charm. You take the specimen in your locker between your index and your thumb. Finding the nearest trash can, you throw the moldy sandwich away. At least the smell hadn’t penetrated through the bag yet.

You’re just zipping up your backpack after ridding yourself of about a hundred pounds of unnecessary textbook weight when someone shouts at the end of the hall.

Petty squabbles between students, you’re usually able to ignore. However, as all the noise is headed in your direction, you hear your name in between cursed and yells. A catastrophic tornado blows your way. Your feet are firm to the ground in terror.

Roxie’s purple, and about to blow a blood vessel judging by the vein nearly popping out of her neck. Hot on her trail is petite Indie, who’s begging for Roxie to just listen to her.

“Hey, you!” Roxie jabs her finger in your face.

Indie tumbled over her own feet, “Roxie!”

You check over your shoulder in hopes that someone might be there. No one is there except a few onlookers she’s drawn in her tirade. Now, you’re thinking. Eddie couldn’t have spilt the beans this quickly. Could he?

“Oh, I’m coming for you, bitch,” she snarls.

You’re toast.

Roxie is larger than you in all retrospects, but she’s especially big in muscle. If she’s about to pummel you, then you’ll be knocked over and split in two like a pin and she’s the ball going a hundred miles an hour.

“Can’t we talk this out?” Indie asks through gasps of air.

You stare between them. Indie isn’t after you by the worried expression she holds. Still unsure exactly what Roxie’s prattling on about, you decide to wait before you interject.

“Is there something going on between you and Eddie?” Roxie demands.

See, you knew their relationship wasn’t casual! Still, you did nothing wrong. Yesterday, you didn’t even express to Eddie that you liked him in the first place. You wanted to drop the conversation, and he kept going. This is his fault. Why isn’t he about to get a fist to the face? Who’s to say he hasn’t already? Yikes.

Roxie sucks her tongue to her teeth.

“Uh-,” you’re still loading in the information, and you hesitate to answer right away. “N- no?”

“Is that a question?” Her hot breath hits your nose.

You bring your hands down to your sides because you can’t let her see you trembling like a leaf. If she smells fear, she’ll know she’s won. Her prey is hers for the taking.

You’re tired of this. “Eddie and I have nothing going on. We’re just- just friends.”

You have a hard time saying that, but not for the reasons that Roxie has in mind. You’re not even sure if Eddie wants to be your friend anymore.

“Okay,” she sticks her tongue into the flesh of her jaw, and then says. “How come last night he moaned your name instead of mine?”

Blood rushes to your ears. Your face is on fire, and you’re sure everyone can see so.

Onlookers jeer and whisper amongst themselves. Rumors are already beginning from mouth to mouth; and, hitting ear to ear.

You would also like to understand what she meant by “moaning your name.” Spare the details. Obviously, you knew what happened last night. You wipe the winner’s smirk off your face, before Roxie even notices.

“I don’t know,” you fold your arms across your chest. “Shouldn’t you ask him?”

Roxie squares her shoulders. She clenched her fists until her knuckles are white. Cursing a few more angry words your way, she’s a bull ready to charge. You might as well be wearing all red.

“What’s going on here?!”

Miss Brown sticks her nose into the hallway and notices the crowd of people. Before anyone can do anything rash, she pushes her way into the center of the chaos. With an ostentatious sort of sigh that suggests she’s better than all of you, she starts breaking up the fight.

“Off to class,” Miss Brown shoo’s them.

“Let’s go, Roxie,” Indie grits her teeth.

Roxie eyes you one more time. “Fine. I’ll be seeing you later.”

You gulp.

It’s time to play a new game around school: Hide from Roxie! Winners get the very rewarding prize of not getting their face beat in.

You dart from class to class all morning. A huge target sticks to your back with Roxie aiming for a bullseye. Meanwhile, Eddie is still no where to be found. He’s probably hiding under his sheets at home, full of shame when he mistook your name for hers.

That’s just fine by you. You still didn’t want to see him either. Or, maybe you did. First, to clear the air about you liking him. A little flimsy crush isn’t going to break a friendship, right? You’ll get over it in time. Secondly, you’re sure that him naming you is a big misunderstanding. He just got distracted or something.

After lunch was over, you planned to sneak through Mr Campbell’s empty classroom. He doesn’t have afternoon classes, and you can easily shoot through since there is a door on either side of the hallway.

“Over there!”

Roxie has the cheerleaders involved now. No doubt they want a piece of judge, jury and conviction too.

Colliding into something solid, you topple over onto the tile. You’re swept away in thought and you forget to watch where your going. Mr. Campbell has that skeleton on wheels that he’ll leave just about anywhere. But, you haven’t knocked over that stupid skeleton.

It’s Eddie.

“Oh, God,” you rub your backside.

Eddie gasps, “What are you doing?”

“What am I-,” you snap. “What the hell are you doing? Your girlfriend almost tackled me like linebacker!”

Eddie shushes you. “Do you want her to hear? She’s not my girlfriend. I told you it’s casual.”

“Casual?” You want to yell, but you also don’t want her to hear. The last thing you need is for Roxie to see you in the same room as Eddie. “Whatever you have is not casual.”

“I messed up, okay?” He rubs his temple. “Jesus!”

Your chin lifts at the familiar brrring of the school bell. Now, you’re skipping class. You’ll get another hour of detention no matter if you stay here or go to class.

“You’re hiding from her too?” You conclude.

Detention doesn’t matter to Eddie. He just wants to ensure you’re okay. Judging by the way you’re creeping through empty classrooms, you’re doing just about as good as he is.

"I'm not hiding," he jumps when someone's locker slams. "Okay, so maybe I am hiding."

"This is so humiliating," you cry.

Eddie apologizes, “I’m sorry-,”

“You’re sorry?”

You’re grateful that the light in the room is limited. Otherwise, you don’t know if you could have a conversation with him right now. Eddie has these eyes that you could simply drown in.

“It was an accident,” he claims. “You’re the one who said-,”

“I didn’t say anything,” you correct him. “You’re the one with the wild imagination.”

“Wild imagination?!”

“Maybe I do like Jeff, hm? Or- or maybe I’ve come to realize that Gareth is a great guy. Did you think of that?” You stand before him, while he scrunches down into a chair. “Eddie Munson you’re selfish - no, you’re self centered. All about Eddie- it’s Eddie’s world and we’re all just there like puppets on strings.”

“You done?”

“No!” You snap. “Yes.”

“How could you call me self-centered when you’ve been prancing around this place like the rest of the guys don’t exist? Everyone wants to know where you are all the time. Why would I know? Oh, because you’re supposed to be my best friend,” Eddie rubs his hands across his face. “God, when did things get so complicated?”

"When you started calling me one of the guys in middle school, and I just wanted whatever you wanted,” you admit out loud. “Why do you think I changed when Gareth mentioned Roxie? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Eddie’s unreadable. Although dark, you can see his thoughts bubble and burst.

“It doesn’t matter,” you continue. “You don’t like me like that.”

“Who’s to say that?” Eddie’s voice comes out barely audible.

You shake your head. “Don’t pity me.”

Eddie kicks the stool from under him, “I’m not.”

“Eddie,” you pick at your nails. “What we have is a great friendship. I’m lucky that you’re in my life. I don’t want to risk messing that up. Are- are you okay with that? Are we okay?”

Eddie doesn’t want to leave the air so broken. While the words are spelled out in front of him, he can’t find a way to bring them out.

“We’re okay,” he says.

-> <-

Flicking a green bean on his plate with a fork, Eddie can’t be bothered to bring the food to his lips. Nothing passes his mouth. He watches the ice crystals on his steak defrost because he doesn’t want Uncle Wayne to worry that he’s messed up dinner, since this is the first one they’ve shared in a while. Wayne told his boss that he wanted to be home tonight for Eddie, and here he is.

“You’re not eating?” His uncle points out because Wayne has eaten half of his meal, and he worries that Eddie is appearing a bit gray and slender.

Eddie replies. “I ate a lot at school.”

“In the years that you’ve been under my roof, you haven’t stopped eating,” Wayne lowers his head to meet his nephew’s eye. “Try again.”

Eddie pushes the microwaved dinner aside. A low hum comes from the television, and he’s not even sure what’s on. Someone’s bobbing around like a baboon trying to make a woman smile. Yet another attempt from Wayne to make Eddie relive his childhood, he guesses.

“That girl your seeing isn’t pregnant is she?” Wayne presses when Eddie won’t talk. “Eddie Munson, I’ve told you to use a condom-,”

“No,” he cocks his head to rethink. “No, she’s not.”

Even if Roxie was pregnant, she’d get an abortion and make Eddie pay for it. Actually, he still owes her for the condoms.

Eddie wants to be done with women for a while. But, there is still this pinching on his ears that reminds him you’re still there. He’s actually wearing a pair of your studs that you forgot at his house one day. Since Eddie is prone to losing just about everything, he’s decided to wear them so they don’t get lost. No one even notices except for him. They hide behind his hair.

“Look,” Eddie wets his lips. “If I tell you, then you have to promise me you won’t do that weird ‘oooh’ thing you do. Got it?”

Wayne claps his hands together. Say no more. He’s solved the case! That little lady across the park has had her eye on him since the day Eddie moved in. Wayne really likes her. ‘Thinks she’s a great ball of sunshine that can keep Eddie under control. He’s been just waiting for Eddie to wake up and smell the coffee!

“Really?” Wayne excites.

Eddie exhales. “Don’t-,”

“Wait,” he lectures. “You’re not seeing both of them are you? Eddie Munson that is wrong, and I won’t tolerate that behavior. I taught you better.”

“No-,”

“Seriously, boy. Wear a condom. It’s not just for you, but her too you know?”

“Wayne-,”

“You can’t be spreading your butter on everyone’s toast.”

“Wayne!”

“I knew it,” he blabs on. “Ever since I caught you two brushing each other’s teeth. Oh, I saw this coming - I did!”

That incident happened once, and Wayne would never let Eddie live that down.

You smoke one joint.

After sitting in his room complaining of boredom, you tell Eddie you had never brushed someone else’s teeth before. He hadn’t either. You wanted to try. But, Eddie would only let you if the offer went both ways. Wayne burst in when you were scrubbing his tongue. You splattered toothpaste all over the mirror, while Eddie tried to keep you from squirming so he could scrub your teeth.

“You need to learn how to knock,” Eddie tries sailing with the conversation his old man is going on about.

Wayne challenges. “You know there’s no closed doors when you have girls over, Eddie.”

“Oh, my God.”

Reliving the memory, Eddie wants to make more with you. Cooking. You’ll cook. He’ll burn food. You’ll tell him he’s doing a wonderful job anyway because you’re too sweet to tell him to get out before he burns the house down. Eddie visions that you’ll teach him a better way to organize his clothes. You’ve already tried to show him how to fold, but Eddie only lasted a week doing your method before going back to shoving the clothes in whatever drawer is the least bit full. He’ll now admit that he only let you teach him because he wanted you close. He wants you close. Always.

It’s not just domestic stuff he sees. He wants to take you on a date. Many dates. He wants to take you out of Hawkins, even if it’s for just a day. He misses your laugh. Seeing you cry today broke him. Knowing that you’ve changed everything for him, and he didn’t notice. Because at the core of all the makeup and the hair, he guesses, that he just didn’t care. He loves all the extra, don’t get him wrong, but all he can see is you.

“What are you going to do, boy?” Wayne wonders.

Eddie replies in a question, “What if everything goes wrong? I- I can’t lose her, Wayne.”

“Son-,”

“What if I just turn out like him? Like my father?”

Eddie’s lip quivers, as he bites back the tears he’s been holding onto for years. Not a day goes by does he not miss his father, even if the years weren’t kind to him. His father is locked away somewhere in State, but he hasn’t visited. They’ll take one look at Eddie and they’ll try to lock him away too.

“That’s not you, Eddie,” Wayne opens his arms. “Come here.”

Eddie drops his head onto his uncle’s shoulder. Tears slide down his cheek and across his chin.

“Deep breaths,” he rubs his hand across Eddie’s back.

He doesn’t cry for long, and Wayne wipes his tears when he’s calmer. This isn’t a usual interaction between them, but neither of them care. Wayne takes away a stray eyelash from Eddie’s cheek.

“You like this girl?” Wayne says as a fact more than a question.

Eddie nods.

“You have to try,” he insists.

“Yeah, okay,” his nephew agrees.

Wayne and Eddie end their conversation there. Eddie eventually eats (after microwaving the food because he could have broken teeth on that steak), and the show that his uncle makes him watch isn’t half bad. Their night comes to a close when his uncle snores.

Mouth agape, head tipped over and his feet propped up, Wayne would be out for the night.

Eddie tucks his uncle’s toes beneath the blanket Wayne was hugging. Tip toeing his way into the kitchen, he puts both forks into the sink along with their drinking glasses. The TV dinners find home in the trash can. While Eddie left the television on to lull his uncle in his sleep, Eddie flicks off the living room and the kitchen lights. He sneaks off to his bedroom, the only bedroom in the trailer. Wayne gave up the space for Eddie to grow into.

Eddie finds that sleep won’t do.

You project onto his ceiling like a film about his life. There you are. Every new milestone. Eddie didn’t think about just how many times you were there for him. His birthdays come to mind, even the ones he didn’t want to be there for because he doesn’t always feel like he deserves to be celebrated. You’d sneak off to get him a beer when his uncle was distracted with all the other kids invited.

When you kept him from going outside, while Wayne drove up in his brand new van that was a gift for Eddie when he got his license. Wayne took on extra hours just for him. That might just have been the night his heart beat a little faster for you. Watching you perform songs in your living room in that ridiculous feather boa and sunglasses, Eddie’s drawn to laugh at the memory of you out of tune and off key. You didn’t care. The hair brush you swore was a microphone was just not working that night. You’re much better performer in the shower, you’d said.

Eddie sits up in bed, and he can see that your bedroom light is still on. Your curtains are drawn, but your silhouette dances about. Bouncing up and down will sometimes get rid of your last bit of energy, Eddie’s witnessed your routine first hand. Your wild, and Eddie finds this fascinating.

When your silhouette disappears, but the light remains, Eddie concludes that you’re reading a chapter book. You told Eddie to try reading sometime because that’s what helped you get to sleep. He bought his first book that very same day.

The Lord of the Rings was your suggestion. Not that he hadn’t found it first, but he wasn’t about to point it out. Eddie sees the book hidden under a lighter he used last night.

Smoking seemed obvious to him. He couldn’t sleep, so he would light up. With Wayne home, though, Eddie didn’t want the smell getting to him. He’s pretty sure Wayne knows he smokes by now, and he doesn’t care. Eddie isn’t a reckless smoker by any means, and he keeps to himself. If Wayne found out he was selling, that would be a different story.

Never the less, Eddie reads page after page of the same book he’s been fascinated by for weeks. He immerses himself into the books wishing he could be the hero, rather than the one who runs in the face of danger.

Eddie hears your front door open and close. This interests him and tips his head up. Tossing the book aside like he’s suddenly been hypnotized, he looks through his window.

You’re on the porch in thin pajamas and a robe. A lit cigarette slots between your fingers. You only smoke when you’re stressed. Pacing back and forth, Eddie understands that you’re talking to yourself. He just can’t make out the words.

This is creepy. Eddie shuts his window, and sinks back in bed. Leaving you alone - leaving you alone.

The words in his book blur into blobs of unrecognizable text. All he can see right now is you on that porch. You’re alone - and you’re probably cold. He has a blanket that he could offer. Maybe he could- no, he is leaving you alone.

Eddie wants to untangle the knot he has in his belly. He even tries to convince himself that he’s still hungry. But, he knows he won’t eat. You’re there. Even if you were caked in mud, you’d still be the most beautiful girl in the world to him. Actually, he has seen you caked in mud before. You were definitely hot then too.

Oh, God. What was he doing?

Pulling open his closet now, Eddie finds a jacket to slip on over his pajamas. He takes an extra blanket with him. It’s a bit torn up, but the blanket is clean. Wayne washed the blanket a couple of days ago, along with Eddie’s sheets which he claimed he could smell from across town. Eddie was not that dirty. It was the weed - but, er - don’t ask about the stains. He doesn’t know what they are or where they came from. Seriously, don’t ask.

Wayne is still snoring in the living room. He mutters in his sleep when Eddie opens the front door, and he doesn’t see Wayne stir once the door shuts.

His uncle stretches, and wakes up enough to take a leak in his bathroom. By the time he returns to the living room, he catches a glimpse from the window in the living room. His boy is with you on your porch making you smile and making you blush.

Wayne doesn’t need to spy. He’s seen this movie before when his brother made moves on his girl. It’d be a few more years until Eddie is born, but the picture is already there.

“Atta boy,” Wayne cheers to himself.

Eddie’s sitting with you, and sharing a cigarette. You’re not sleeping either. Dried black makeup you haven’t smudged off is stuck under your eyes. He wants to swipe it away, but he doesn’t know if he should.

“Is your mom in tonight?” Eddie asks.

You shake your head. “No, but my dad is such a deep sleeper. He’s nothing to worry about.”

Eddie worries about your dad catching him there with his only daughter, then your mom who likes to call you both “crazy kids.” Your dad is stern. Overprotective. He’s jokes about having a gun locked away somewhere, but Eddie still has no idea if he is joking. You won’t tell him because truthfully you don’t know.

“What’s got you up?” Eddie brings the blanket closer to you because he sees your shoulders dance.

You shake your head blowing out smoke to the left where Eddie isn’t.

Eddie takes a drag from the cigarette after he says, “I don’t think I’ve been all that honest with you.”

He reads your face.

“Not like that,” he can’t look at you, so he counts the floorboards of your porch. “I said we’re okay, but I don’t think we are.”

Your heart skips in your chest. “What do you mean?”

While Eddie might not be able to look at you, your eyes are all on him. In the moonlight, he’s like this shiny thing. You can’t put your thoughts into words, but he’s carved by the shine of the moon. He might hide his face with his hair, but when he hunches over you relax a bit.

You haven’t been able to put yourself in bed. Knowing that Eddie was there had wrecked your mind. You’re itching to be near him.

The whole day you thought about nothing, but him. How unsatisfied you are with your earlier conversation. You thought being the one to take charge in the conversation, and assert yourself, might make the blow easier. Truthfully, it hurt even worse.

You spent the evening sobbing in your room like a baby. Friends. You signed your name at the bottom of that contract. But, then, you thought about the day you’ll find a nice boy that will like you back. You’ll get married. You’ll get a house. Everything will be okay. But, as you thought about your life, your mind wondered about Eddie. What happens when he finds a girl? He’ll have a wife and he’ll have a house too.

You’ll be at that wedding. Sitting in a chair that’s not too close to the front, but also not all the way in the back. The band sits in front of you. They might not be able to pronounce the brand name, but their check cashes on their suits. All of your friends are his friends.

Eddie’s fiancé is faceless, but her gown is breathtaking. They’ll say ‘I do.’

You’ll cry along with them, but the tears you shed are ones you let out at a funeral. Are you just supposed to sit there and pretend like you don’t want to throw up?

Because that’s not you standing at the alter.

That’s some chick he’s met on the road while he tours with the band. Sure she’s great. But, the sight sickens you. Maybe that means your selfish, but you can’t do this. You can’t see Eddie with another woman. You refuse to see it because Eddie’s always been with you.

“I’m sorry?” You’ve spaced out while Eddie is speaking.

He begins to say, “please don’t make me repeat myself.”

Throwing the cigarette to the ground, you stamp out the flame. You wrap your hands around his neck, and you pull him forward. Eddie's lips meet yours in an awaited embrace. Longing and passionate. His hands burrow into your hair pulling you ever closer. The tender touch of his fingers fall to your waist to tell you he's not going anywhere.

You can't be sure which one of you pull away first. But, when your eyes open you breathe a sigh of relief. Eddie is still there, and he's about as hot in the face as you feel. You let out a breathy laugh, and he hides his grin behind his hair.

It doesn't take long for him to ask,

"Can I take you out sometime?"

And, of course, you say. "Yes!"

-> <-

tags: @hellfirenacht @queercodedcharacter @ogoc-19 @littlewinchester1 @stardustingold @ghost4love @spenciesprincess @animechick555 @foggyfooz @aactuaaltraash @loves0phelia @sofaritsalrightt @thisisktrying @somethingvicked @sebastiansstanswhore

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[redr0sewrites]

Hii!! Can I request Sevika x fem!reader who is rlly clingy, affectionate and wants to ramble and be close to Sevika all the time, but gets embarrassed and shy abt it?? Tyy!! 🩷🫶

🥀A/n: Sevika is literally sooooooo-

🥀Cw: fluff, a bit suggestive but nothing even remotely explicit!

we all know sevika has a tough persona, but when it comes to you, she practically melts

she secretly adores how affectionate you are, but never admits it!!!

when you first met, she's surprised by how genuinely sweet you are and finds herself becoming protective over you

it takes her a while to recognize that she was catching feelings for you, but once she realizes it hits her like a fucking truck

sevika is confident, but she isn't great at communicating her feelings. there is definitely a lot of mutual pining and "idiots to lovers" going down before either of you actually make a move on eachother 😭 all of silco's cronies literally had a betting pool on when you two would get together (ran and silco won 💀)

sevika is definitely the one to make the first move, she doesn't want to lose you and would probably confess rather bluntly. upon seeing you get so flustered, she almost thinks you don't reciprocate, until you shyly tell her you feel the same

once you two are official??? sevika has never been happier. she makes it her life goal to torture you (in the best ways)

teases you mercilessly about how shy and embarrassed you are around her!!! sevika loves intentionally flustering you, especially when others are around. she isn't big on pda, but sometimes she can't help but grab your face and pull you into a deep kiss, only to pull away and admire your shocked and flustered expression

LOOOTSSSS of flirting, even when you two are officially dating. petnames too, she calls you princess, doll, babe, and hon, but her favorite has to be simply using the word my in front of your name

she adores your affection! as previously stated, she is not a big fan of pda, but in private she adores how clingy you are.

sevika is a very cuddly sleeper, i said what i said. she sleeps on her stomach and hugs her pillows, but once she starts sleeping with you, she cuddles you in her sleep instead!

she gives you lots of forehead and hand kisses, she thinks theyre more meaningful

protective!!!! sevika knows you can handle yourself, but she wants you to know that she's always on your side if necessary. would absolutely defend you against anybody and is your biggest supporter. she's literally your ride or die, and is not the type to play devil's advocate whenever it comes to arguments bc she genuinely cares about your opinions

speaking of arguments, they never escalate too much. sevika is stubborn, but she's also reasonable and is pretty good at compromise. i actually think an affectionate partner would be really good for her, i hc that she doesn't have much relationship experience like at all. she grew up in the undercity and there really wasn't much opportunity for romance outside of a sexual setting, so you're like a breath of fresh air. sevika takes her time when adjusting to receiving (and giving) affection, so that may cause a bit of conflict at the start of your relationship, but once you're over those hurdles and when she fully trusts you she is a lot more affectionate

sevika is very touch starved and secretly clingy herself, but you didn't hear it from me :)

when it comes to rambling and infodumping, sevika is SUCH a good listener. she loves listening to you ramble while she works on her metal arm, and will nod along and agree with you whenever necessary. she's also pretty good at advice, although she can be a bit blunt. she's honest and tells it like it is, and is very open with you about her opinions.

loooooveeesss having you close to her so she can keep an eye on you. she wants to make sure you're safe is all, and if you wanted privacy she would totally oblige, but sevika truly loves having you around! if you also work for silco, sometimes she'll accompany you on your missions so that you won't be lonely and also bc she thinks its hot when her "cute litle girlfriend" kills people... omg what who said that!!!

you both are the epitome of "opposites attract", and sevika loves you because of it!

the familiar sound of the fromt door of your apartment unlocking alerts you to Sevika's arrival.

"Sev!" your voice comes out much more excited than you anticipated, but at the moment you couldn't care less. "your back!!!" you run up to your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her neck and planting a kiss right om her lips. she's so tall you have to stand on tip-toes just to reach her, and your stomach flips as her familiar, booming laugh echoes around you. "i see someone missed me," Sevika chuckles, pulling away to flick you gently on the forehead.

you feel your cheeks heat up, giving her a light smack on the arm before leaning up to kiss her on the cheek again. "oh, fuck you.." you murmur, and Sevika smirks. "i can if you want me to-"

"oh, shut uuup!!" if you haven't already melted into the floor because of how embarrassed you were, you definitely would now. "how was the mission?" your desperate to change the topic, lest you burst aflame from how warm your cheeks feel. "it went smoothly," Sevika replied, sitting down at your guys' kitchen table and kicking her shoes off into a messy pile by the doorway, "but i missed my girl."

you walk over to her and kiss her on the forehead, before she tugs you in by the waistband and pulls you onto her lap. you gasp, giggling as she wraps her arms around your waist. "well, i think you'll be happy to know that your girl missed you too." Sevika hums, wrapping her metal hand around your throat and pulling you into a gentle kiss.

i am unhealthily obsessed with her SHES SOOOOOOOOO AUGHHHH

[vncannyvalleygrrl]

Charlie Dompler Headcanons

includes general, dating, and nsfw headcanons in that order (mdni)

General

He had an interesting childhood. His mom and dad weren't in the picture a lot, so most of the time he stayed with his batshit Uncle or his grandparents. His grandpa died when he was young, but the memories he does have with him are very fond ones.

Him and his Uncle are super close to each other. When he was a kid, he would go dirt biking, hunting, fishing... all sorts of stuff with him. If they weren't family, they would 100% be friends. Only recently though has his Uncle found his love of cars (and hitting pedestrians).

Charlie used to be a massive smoker/stoner all throughout high school. He quit recently, but he occasionally lights up a cigarette or a blunt just to calm down after a stressful day of work.

One of the things his grandma taught him was how to crochet, and while he isn't very good at it he can crochet the hell out of granny squares.

Holds a grudge against every peanut company because peanuts killed his grandma. Straight up glares at any bag of peanuts he sees in a store or in public.

Whenever he sleeps his arms and legs kick around like a dog. Wakes up with random bruises and in the weirdest positions because of it.

Originally joined up with Smiling Friends while he was trying to stop smoking all the time. In high school, he wanted to be a semi-truck driver, but he changed his plans when he went through a massive depressive episode. He decided from then on that he wanted to help others as much as possible to improve their life, using the tips and tricks he gathered to improve his own situation.

He originally met Pim seven years ago when he first started working at Smiling Friends. This is the longest friendship he's ever held, and he secretly wishes they met sooner.

Thunder thighs *chews him up like gum*

Total sleeper build. When he's standing normally and just chilling he looks like a blob of yellow fat, but when he flexes his bicep or his thigh you can really see the muscles.

Charlie is the kind of person that hates being in drama of any kind, but will gladly watch someone else's drama unfold in front of him from a distance. This man cannot mind his own business for the life of him.

Snores like a chainsaw.

He was raised religious, but now he's only catholic when it's convenient. When he's in a life or death scenario, he'll pray and ask for forgiveness, but we all saw where he went in the season one finale.

Dating Him

sorry zoey

Dating him feels like that moment when you wake up with your partner's arms around you. The air around you is cold but you feel comfy under the covers and you juusstt want to sleep for five more minutes... He's just a super chill guy to be around, and that only multiplies when you date him.

Charlie is a portable heater. Puts an arm around you when he sees you're cold. Use his hands as a glove PLEASE he will fall in love with you again.

Loves it when you wear his clothes. Bonus points if it smells like him.

He wants to cook for you! He can only cook mac and cheese but he's really good at it.

Dates at fast food joints, chilling at each other's places, watching movies on the couch, etc. Gifts things like jewelry, video games (if you like playing them), and clothes. Prefers to give things that are practical to your life.

Like stated previously, Charlie tends to kick and shift around the bed when he's sleeping alone, but when he's taking a nap with you he holds onto you like a monkey.

If you sit down on the couch, he lays his head on your shoulder. If you're sitting down on a chair, he leans by your side. Super affectionate but denies it at every chance. The most PDA you'll get out of him is hand holding, maybe a few smooches if he's feeling frisky.

Gets confrontational when he feels jealous. He sees a guy staring at you in public? Either hold him back or hold the camera because it's not ending pretty.

His apartment is literally so pathetic. His mattress is on the floor in the corner, the only table he has is reserved for his gaming laptop and a place for food, his microwave barely works. For the love of God please help him improve his living space.

Has you two together as his phone background, can't help but smile when he gets a text from you.

🚨 NSFW 🚨

Poor guy gets horny so easily. Accidentally brush your ass against him trying to get something? Already semi-chubbed. Start kissing him when you're cuddling and you're a little too firm with your kisses? Hard as a rock. Wear one of his dirty shirts and nothing else? You might as well just bend over.

That being said, he's super into fucking you while wearing clothes. He likes seeing you naked, but something about having sex while wearing clothes makes him feel dirty and he loves it.

Absolutely fucks while wearing his cross necklace. Sorry but it's hot.

Lowkey into semi-public stuff. Obviously wouldn't want to get either of you into trouble, but he wouldn't mind a quick blowjob in a bathroom stall or a car.

Uncircumcised.

One time he tried to shave his balls and it did not end well. Still cringes every time he looks at a razor because of it. Has an absolute bush but he'll trim it when it gets bad.

Prefers to have actual sex and receiving head. Doesn't mind giving you oral, but be patient if you have a dick. He has a bad gag reflex. Besides that he's up for almost anything.

Super sensitive nipples when aroused. It took you awhile to realize this (mostly because he's embarrassed about it), but now it's like your secret weapon. Gets him going when you kiss them.

Gets rougher when he's pissed, leaving bruises and hickeys on your body. Feels bad about it but internally loves it.

Less lenient on using protection, especially if you take birth control. He's had a vasectomy, so he doesn't really think about it much. He will use condoms if you get nervous about it though.

He is a proud ass and thigh man. Especially loves stretch marks, he thinks they make you look hotter.

[morbidology]

This photograph depicts the last moments of 14-year-old Regina Walters, before she was killed by serial killer, Robert Ben Rhoades, who preyed on young women in America in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Regina Walters was a teenager from Pasadena, Texas, who disappeared in February 1990. She had run away from home with her boyfriend, Ricky Lee Jones, hoping for a new life away from the challenges of adolescence. The two embarked on what they likely thought would be an adventure, hitchhiking their way across the country. Tragically, their journey was cut short when they encountered Robert Ben Rhoades, a long-haul trucker with a penchant for violence and cruelty.

Rhoades, who would later be dubbed "The Truck Stop Killer," was a predator who used his job as a truck driver to hunt for victims along the highways of the United States. He had outfitted his truck with a "torture chamber" in the sleeper cab, where he would imprison and torture his victims before ultimately murdering them. Regina and Ricky Lee Jones became two of the many victims in his gruesome spree.

Rhoades abducted the young couple in Texas, killing Ricky almost immediately and disposing of his body, which was later discovered in Mississippi. Regina, however, was not granted a quick death. Instead, she was subjected to Rhoades' depraved cruelty, held captive in his truck for an extended period.

The photograph of Regina Walters, taken by Rhoades, serves as a grim document of her final days. In it, her fear is palpable, and the bleak surroundings underscore the hopelessness of her situation. Rhoades had forced her into the black dress and heels, mocking her helplessness as he snapped the photo in an abandoned barn in Illinois, where he would eventually end her life.

Regina’s body was discovered in September 1990, months after her disappearance, near a desolate rural road in Illinois. Her remains were so decomposed that identification was initially difficult. However, the discovery of the photograph in Rhoades' possession, along with other evidence, eventually led to the confirmation of her identity.

Rhoades' capture in April 1990 came about by chance when an Arizona state trooper pulled him over for a routine traffic stop. The officer discovered a terrified and chained woman in the back of Rhoades' truck, leading to his arrest. Further investigation revealed the true extent of his crimes, and authorities linked him to multiple murders across several states.

Rhoades was eventually convicted of three murders, including that of Regina Walters, but it is widely believed that he was responsible for many more deaths. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

[hardly-an-escape]

sola fide | Buck/Tommy | 1170 words | rated T

tags: Evan Buckley character study, sick fic, mentions of religion, dirty jokes, established relationship, lgbtq identity

“Hey, uh, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you kind of a dumb question?”

“Of course.”

They’re posted up on Tommy’s couch, both with a weekend off at the same time for once. They’d planned to get out of the city, go for a long hike, maybe hit a winery somewhere. But Tommy’s been nursing a cold, so they’re taking it easy instead, and Buck likes that just as much as their adventures. So he’d made chicken noodle soup from scratch and brought over ginger ale and some of the violently red popsicles Tommy kept secretly stashed in the back of the freezer.

Buck’s quiet for another moment, gathering his thoughts.

“When did you know? That you were gay?” he says eventually.

Tommy looks up from the monster truck magazine he’s been leafing through.

“I don’t know that I can point to one particular moment,” he says, thoughtful. “On some level it was something I always knew about myself, even if I didn’t have the language to describe it yet. I guess… hitting puberty was kind of an awakening. Hearing other guys talk about girls we knew, or women in magazines, and realizing I just didn’t connect with what they were saying, like, at all. I guess there’s the fact that the first wet dream I had was about Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise.” He snorts. “That was a pretty big clue.”

Buck smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He realizes he’s twisting his fingers together in his lap and untangles them, rubs self-consciously at the tops of his thighs.

Tommy tosses his magazine onto the coffee table and takes one of Buck’s hands in his own, rubbing gently at the muscle between his thumb and forefinger. “What makes you ask?” he says gently.

“I dunno. I just.” Buck sighs. “I guess I’ve been feeling weird about it lately. Not – not this,” he adds hastily, “not us, not even a little. This is seriously one of the best things that has ever happened to me – you are one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Tommy, I mean that.”

Tommy gives him a sweet little smile, one of the ones that’s just for him, and squeezes his hand.

“I just mean… this feels like such a big thing t-to not know about myself. You know, how did I make it into my thirties before it ever occurred to me, oh, you like guys, you might fall in love with a guy.” His voice rises in pitch a little as he picks up speed. “It makes me feel stupid, and – and out of touch with my own self. Like, what else is really obvious about myself that I haven’t realized yet, you know? Am I actually left handed? Am I secretly an Olympic gymnast? Am I some kind of Russian sleeper agent?”

Tommy squeezes his hand again. “I don't think it's that absurd to come to an important realization about yourself in your thirties, sweetheart,” he says. “I think that's a pretty normal thing, actually.”

Buck deflates a little. “Yeah. I know. I just... I've told you about my brother. That whole situation. Not knowing why I was born, never knowing that he even existed. I think all of this –” he gestures between them “– in a way it kind of reminds me of that? Like, here you go, Buck, here’s another big hole in your life that you didn’t know was there until someone tried to fill it.”

He catches Tommy’s smirk out of the corner of his eye and untangles their hands so he can give him a shove. “I know what joke you’re about to make, dumbass. Don’t even go there.”

“Okay, I’ll ask about filling your hole later,” says Tommy, deadpan, and Buck shoves him again, and for a minute their serious conversation devolves into the kind of ridiculous, juvenile wrestling match that Buck secretly loves, that he knows Tommy knows he loves. That reminds him they’re both strong and okay and in tune with one another.

They settle, eventually, with Tommy lying back against the arm of the couch, and Buck cradled against him, grateful that Tommy’s couch is wide and deep enough for them to press together, side by side.

Buck sighs again. Can’t help it.

“I knew a guy in the army. Jake,” says Tommy out of nowhere. “Very nice guy, not one of the assholes who joined up because he thought the uniform would make his dick bigger, you know? When we were in Afghanistan, he made friends with one of our interpreters, guy named Irshad. Mostly we didn’t get close with the locals, but those two – they really hit it off. Stayed in touch after we got shipped home and everything.” He shifts Buck slightly and absently kisses his temple. “When I saw Jake again, maybe a year after we were discharged, he’d converted to Islam. He said his friendship with Irshad had opened his eyes to something. To this faith. He said he felt like that something had always been there – like on some level, he’d always had that faith – it had just taken a while for it to be revealed to him.”

“Huh,” Buck says. He thinks about this idea for a while, petting randomly over Tommy’s chest and belly with one hand while Tommy’s thumb rubs gentle, firm circles in the meat of his upper arm. He likes it, he decides. He’s not a religious person himself, but faith feels like something… important. Fundamental. Feels like a Big Thing, the way sexuality is. It does feel better, he thinks, just to know there are other people who’ve discovered one of those Big Things as a whole ass grownup. He’s not sure how to phrase it. But it does make it feel better.

“So what I hear you saying… is that realizing I like dudes and getting into your pants could be considered comparable to finding God,” is what comes out of his mouth.

He can feel Tommy try to maintain his composure and suppress the snort that wants to escape. He does his best, abdominal muscles contracting under Buck’s hand, but the laughter wins out and explodes in a kind of barking cough that sounds, frankly, a little alarming. Buck sits them up and thumps Tommy on the back a few times, handing him the mug of honeyed tea that’s been cooling on the coffee table.

“Evan,” Tommy wheezes eventually, “I’m going to need you to never say anything like that again.”

“Sure, babe,” Buck says. “But just to be clear, does that mean you don’t want me to get on my knees for you?”

And Tommy is laughing again, and Buck feels so much better. Feels warm inside, because somehow, Tommy always knows how to make him feel better. How to take the disparate anxious puzzle pieces of him and turn the picture right side up so he knows how to solve himself.

(“Oh, my God,” Tommy gasps between coughs.

“That’s my line,” Buck says.)

read on AO3 >>>

[distantdarlings]

THE SECONDS BEFORE // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 2.2K WORDS

Enzo Berkshire x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - Just before the infamous Battle of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall makes the decision to keep all Slytherin students housed together in the dungeons. The night before the Battle begins, you can’t sleep. You wake a friend to keep your mind occupied. (Romance, Angst if you squint)

+ WARNINGS - Heavy kissing, language, heavy petting, implied sexual material

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

My Love - Sia

-

Your eyes found the ceiling as if waiting for something to happen. Perhaps if you stared long enough, it would burst into swirls of color and light—or maybe it would fold back and reveal the stars that you so desperately wanted to see. You felt like you all had been in the dungeons for years, wasting away. Every time you looked at one of your friends, you felt as if they looked older. Like they'd aged while down here. The odd exhaustion painted bruises beneath their eyes and tore their lips.

You sighed and tapped your fingers on your stomach, attempting to entertain yourself. All of the boys were asleep and there was no way in hell you were going to be joining them anytime soon. Something about this whole situation set your teeth on edge. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that half of the people the castle was currently at extreme odds with were some of your closest friend’s parents and family or that you all weren’t allowed in the dorms, so you hadn’t changed in a day or two, or something else. But you knew you were getting tired of being here. When Professor McGonnagal had suggested using the dungeons to house the Slytherin students until they were sure you all were safe, you thought it sounded smart and would be a good way to keep everyone together and alive for a little while. And it was, it just felt off for a lot of reasons. Nobody but the house elves had been down here in two days. You wanted to know what was going on out there.

You rolled over, tucking your arm beneath your head to remain comfortable. Your eyes found the older boy that slept peacefully beside you. You wondered silently what the boy might be dreaming about and how angry he'd get if you woke him up. There was a pretty large chance considering how the boy felt about sleep, so fifty-fifty?

"Enzo," you whispered gently so as not to startle him. "Enzo, wake up."

When the dark-haired boy did not budge, you resorted to shaking him a bit, hoping the heavy sleeper would wake. You were bored out of your mind and figured that someone should share that boredom with you. If there was one thing anyone knew about Enzo Berkshire, it was that his late-night talks were a world of comfort. His deep, raspy words hit you like a truck, bruising your body. It was an odd feeling with nothing but scratchy phrases and the moon for comfort, but you loved it.

"Enzo!" you hissed, giving him a light slap. At this, the sleeping boy jolted awake. His eyes found yours quickly, giving you a look of disdain. You knew he’d be mad for waking him, but it was too late to go back now.

"Hey, what is it? Are you okay?" Enzo asked under his breath, propping his elbows up behind himself.

You were taken by surprise. You’d honestly more expected Enzo to punch you in the arm rather than ask if you were alright. It wasn't like you were complaining, it was just strange. Something about the domesticated look in his eyes when he was worried about you made your cheeks flush a bit. You’d always had a bit of a thing for Enzo, this much was obvious. Coming to terms with it was the hard part.

"No, I’m fine, Enzo," you whispered, avoiding eye contact. You were a bit embarrassed now. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

"Oh," he exhaled, a tone of relief blowing against your hair. He let his head fall back in a small stretch, his hair tickling the spot between his shoulder blades. You watched the older boy's throat stretch against his flesh and shift as he swallowed a deep breath.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and crossing his legs.

"Actually, quite the opposite," you replied, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "I can't sleep."

"Ah, I see," he spoke. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about—I mean, to turn your brain off? Maybe that's what’s keeping you up, your mind's running too much?"

"Maybe," you sighed. You could only bear to glance up at the older boy every once in a while. The way his brown eyes pierced into you and threatened to steal every secret from your brain . . . It was tantalizing. You let out a small huff of air, hoping that Enzo would make better conversation. The silence was deafening and you had nothing to say.

"So . . . do you think Draco and Pansy are fucking?" Enzo asked. You nearly choked.

"What?" you squeaked, your voice sounding prepubescent. Out of all the things he could have said, that was it? "Oh, um, I don't know?"

"Hmm, I didn't mean to spring that on you, I was just wondering what you thought."

"Well, I mean I suppose they could be," you shrugged. You really didn't want to talk about your friends having sex with each other.

"Yeah, I think they are—they're always hanging out with each other, you know?" he said, running a hand through his hair.

"What, friends can't hang out with each other without fucking?" you chuckled lightly.

"That’s not what I’m saying, you know what I mean," he said, pointing at you. "I know you've seen them, they're so touchy-feely with each other."

"So what if they're fucking? There’s nothing wrong with that—"

"I never said there was, I’m simply observing . . . I know what sexual tension looks like," he spoke a bit quieter. You wondered what made him add that little line onto the end. Maybe he was trying to hint at something? Or maybe you were looking too deeply into a casual conversation? It was likely the latter.

More silence ensued, creating even more tension in between you two. It soon became so thick, it was just waiting for one of you to slash it with a knife. You prayed that he would just do something, but you were almost positive he was not interested in you, like you were him. And god knows you weren’t going to make the first move, because what if he truly had no feelings for you? Your friendship would be wrecked and your self-esteem would be down the drain.

"Hey—"

"I like you,” you choked out.

"What?"

You took a deep breath and calmly repeated yourself. "I like you . . . like, a lot, Enzo."

More silence—a different kind that made your head feel all fuzzy. Your eyes were facing the ground so as to avoid him who had been shocked into submission by your words. You wanted to beat your own head in with a broom. What the fuck were you thinking? You had spent your entire life knowing Enzo, swearing you’d never tell him, not unless he said something first. And what did you do? Fucking tell him. Merlin, you were so stupid.

"Every time you sit there and joke around with Theo or Pansy, I feel like I’m suffocating. And I never knew how to tell you that, so I became desperate for your attention, figured that I was too needy, and started ignoring you. I was hoping you'd catch on but you never did, and, Merlin, Enzo, I’ve never wanted someone so fucking badly . . ." you vented, pressing your fingertips into your temples. You had started to feel a bit more confident when the words had started spewing out but now you felt like you were on a stage in front of the world and Enzo’s silence was only making it worse. Why didn't he say something? At least turn you down or punch you or something.

"You want me?" Enzo breathed, his voice cracking under the pressure of a whisper. You glanced up from your lap and looked at the older boy. His eyes were glued to his hands as he seemed to be processing some things.

"Fuck, I need you, En."

His eyes found yours. The dark-haired boy leaned forward, on hands and knees, and crawled ever so slowly over to you. His eyes were trained on yours until they slipped down to your lips. You shuddered as the boy balanced himself on his knees, towering over your small, huddled frame. He slipped his lower body between your legs and pushed the both of you back. He hovered over you, feeling your heavy breaths mix. Your eyes were dilated and half-closed, waiting for the other's touch.

"You need me?" he spoke barely above a whisper, the gravel in his voice sending shivers up the younger's spine. Your head dipped down to let your nose gently bump against his throat. He could feel your breath there, letting it tease his flesh.

"Please," you spoke, the pitch of your voice had an effect on Enzo like no other. He imagined the way his lips would feel on your skin just before he did so. You weren’t sure if the boy above you would live up to the fantasies you’d created in your mind but it seemed impossible for him not to. The boy's inexplicable scent and the way it filled your senses, his gently cracked lips and the way you’d imagine them scratching along your throat and chest. Everything about him made your heart leap into your throat.

He didn't give you a chance to take a breath before trapping your lips with his own. They were skilled and tasted like the orange soda you both had before bed. You closed your eyes at the taste and feeling of the boy over you. He was everything you could have imagined and more. The built arms that balanced on either side of your head and the way his tongue slipped against yours.

"You sure?" he whispered when your lips disconnected for a breather. You nodded, catching his breath with deep exhales.

He reconnected your lips with no regard for your border-line asthmatic symptoms. You placed a hand behind you and pushed yourself into a sitting position, gently backing him onto his knees. He captured your waistband in his hands and tugged you onto your knees as well, loosening the fabric in the process. Nimble fingers tugged on the tie of your sweatpants, lightly brushing against the core of your body. You hissed into his mouth at the feeling, your lips faltering a bit. You could feel him smirking.

He laid the two of you back down, now much more convenient that your pants were loosened. He trapped your lips again, catching the bottom one gently in his teeth. His hand traced your stomach before slipping between your flesh and the waistband of your underwear, slightly rubbing against the most sensitive part of your body. You moaned aloud at the sensation, feeling his free hand slide over your mouth to hush you up. There was a possibility the other boys and students would hear but you didn't care, all you were concerned with was Enzo’s skin moving against yours.

The black-haired boy severed his lips from yours and found comfort with the skin of your throat. The hand stuck beneath your pants and the one on your mouth never once faltered, staying astutely in place. The sounds spilling from your lips and muffled by his hand only tightened his jeans, making it a bit hard to breathe.

He pulled his hand from beneath your waistband. You struggled to catch your breath as his hips lowered down to yours. Your hips bucked up to meet his, his breath hitching in his throat, his lips faltering on your neck. It was your turn now.

You pushed your hands beneath his tee shirt and splayed your fingers against his warm back. The tips of your fingers traced down his spine, your nails catching his skin every once and a while. His lips on your throat never faltered, his tongue brushing against your skin gently.

You traced your hands down the rest of his back and curled them around his hips to the front of his sweatpants. The tips of your fingers trailed lightly over the small growth of hair just beneath the ties. His lips shuddered against your skin as your hand slowly, slowly slid between his pants and skin. His skin was hot and sharp, your fingers cold and soft. Like snow falling gently against his skin, it being like fire and melting it immediately on contact.

“Please, baby,” he begged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with every pant he took.

The very tip of your finger brushed over his most sensitive area—a whisper of a touch. He choked out a groan into your ear, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling tightly against your scalp.

A shrill scream pierced the pair of your ears. You flinched at the sound, pushing Enzo back as quickly as you could. The two of you stared, wide-eyed and panting.

“The Death-Eaters are here—they’re outside the school grounds!” A young, terrified first-year pushed through the hallway leading into the common-room where everyone slept.

You lept to your feet. Enzo slipped a hand into yours and squeezed tightly.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later,” he joked, his cheeks and lips still flushed. You rolled your eyes but when he looked at you, you both smiled nervously. It would be okay.

[monstrousdesirestudy]

So I forgot that Ao3 makes it so that you need an invite to join and they are telling if I’ll get the invite AUGUST 4th. So. I’m posting my lesbian pirate x selkie romance here lol.

Prologue

From the bobbing ship deck, a small child watched as her home burned. She had long since stopped sobbing, though the tears continued to run freely down her cheeks in silent trails. Flames engulfed the shore, so brilliant and bright it hurt the child’s eyes to watch. But she dared not look away. Not from the smoke that choked the sky, from the monastery which could hardly be seen as it was swallowed whole by fire. Not from the bodies of the clergy that lay limp and still on the dark sand, between the thick copses of trees.

The acrid smoke tore at her throat, the tender skin of her wrists raw from the rope biting into them. A scream was building inside her small body, expanding in her lungs and crashing against the back of her clenched teeth like waves breaking against the cliff sides. The child dared not make a sound.

There, just behind the crumpled body of Brother Eamon was the tree she used to climb at least once a week. Flames consumed it, eating at its pine foliage and thick truck before the great tree snapped with a tremendous crack, hurdling to the ground. She had never seen bodies so still, not even while they slept. Eamon had always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning in his narrow cot. He had never been this still before. Nothing more than a lump of rumpled robes.

All those busy clergymen who had hustled to and fro within the monastery like bees in a hive, their robes flapping around them as they chastised her for stealing from the kitchen or tended to the herb garden, just. Gone.

Beneath the roar of the fire, she could hear a low, unearthly, groan building. She caught glimpses of the monastery through the shifting veil of smoke and fire. Was it a trick of the heat, her own eyes failing her, or was the structure actually shuddering?

A heavy hand speckled with blood and ash clapped her shoulder, causing the child to flinch. She hadn’t even heard the man walk up behind her.

“Come, boy,” the man commanded.

She didn’t move, not yet. Not as she watched the monastery where she had been taken in as a small child collapse. It died much in the same way the clergymen had, giving one last painful breath before folding in on itself and toppling to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“Come,” the man said again, this time with impatience.

She followed, but even as the ship began to sail, she did not take her gaze from the island. She did not look away when the island became small and inconsequential. She did not look away when the island had all but disappeared on that long, lonely horizon.

Chapter 1

There were many places that Síleas could be found: hunched over a table assessing maps and coordinates in her captains quarters; tangled in the unwashed sheets of a random wenches’ bed, her face buried between buxom bosoms or twitching thighs; at the bottom of a bottle, slumped wherever her drunk carcass decided to fall. And since their raid had gone rather successfully that week, if she did say so herself, she would no longer be relegating herself to the perfect, wretched, confines of the Luath.

Tonight—and for a blissful, agonizing, week— she would be free from the unwashed stench of her crewmates; from Cabbage’s poor excuse for cooking; from Crux’s rattling cough that kept everyone up on the ship, no matter their vicinity to his hammock.

She would also be free from the wide open world all around her, the smell of cannon powder coating her nostrils, and the salty wind against her burnt cheeks.

Sìleas stopped short at that thought and peered around her small room, grimacing. It was a room she commonly got at the Fat Goose Inn while they all marauded around the island, drinking, fighting, and fucking themselves into enough trouble that someone inevitably drove them out of Perthlochry and back onto the Luath. Tavern owners who had enough of the gambling sessions her boatswain Santino hosted, and cheated at; the drunken fights her powder monkeys and gunners wound up in, because they were still riding the highs from raids; angry citizens whose wounds got worse after seeing her surgeon Twoosies. And then there were the hefty unpaid tab bills that she and her first mate, Asher, racked up. Even with purses fat with stolen gold, it could never amount to how much they drank together.

Sìleas considered herself lucky she could even count on room and board at the Fat Goose because of her piss reputation, however, her schmoozing of the inn owner’s wife Maggie had helped her considerably. Then again, it wasn’t always a given: she had been tossed out in a fit of jealousy a few times after being caught with another woman.

The room was sparse and worn, but clean enough for it to be a reprieve from her quarters in the Luath, which had begun to take on a stench and needed to be aired out for a few days. Her room had a rickety, wooden chair in the corner; a lumpy but decently-sized bed against the wall; and a bedside table with a melted candle that had fused itself to the surface after years of use. If she managed to find herself in Maggie’s good graces, Sìleas knew she could have a hot meal, on the house no less. Tonight it smelled like some sort of stew and fresh, chewy bread. The cook wasn’t superb, but was certainly better than Cabbage.

Her trunk sat in the corner, ragged like a defeated stray dog. For a moment, Síleas felt an overwhelming urge to tear through the trunk’s innards to find her tin box of cigarillos, buried somewhere under her clothes. Tension crept into the back of her neck, a tremble settling in her hands. She needed a drink; no–she needed to get drunk.

It was always like this after docking. She couldn’t really blame her powder monkeys and gunners for being lawless animals constantly looking for a fight; being on land after long durations on the Luath made her agitated as well. The crew knew to scatter like the roaches they were after pulling into the harbor, far from her dour mood. All except Asher, who weathered her surly glares and grunts. Asher knew that Síleas’ mood was not long-lived and after enough ale and port, she would be back to yelling shanties at the top of her lungs and howling with laughter at bad jokes. It didn’t hurt if a few beautiful women were involved as well.

A knock on the door shook Síleas from her thoughts. Answering it, she found Maggie on the other side.

Ah, Maggie.

Maggie brushed the fringes of her brown blonde hair from her face with fluttering hands. It was as if she couldn’t keep them still as Síleas grinned and leaned up against the door frame. Maggie’s hands oscillated between her hair and her skirts, where she wiped her palms against the stained fabric, trying in vain to smooth them.

“Ah, I see you’re settling in well,” Maggie said, clearing her plump throat. Her eyes darted from Síleas to the room behind her. The perpetual flush in her cheeks darkened.

“Mhm. All thanks to you,” Síleas replied. Maggie stammered out an incoherent sentence, her hands even more restless as they twitched at her hair and clothes. Síleas’ amusement rose. “Where’s Robert?”

Síleas already knew where Robert was: far, far away from the inn, oblivious–or perhaps, uncaring–of his wife’s actions. Robert often left Maggie in charge of the inn while he went to trade for booze and metal goods in the Arasen desert. It left Maggie exhausted as she was to now look after the business of the inn on her own, on top of chasing their three children. It did, however, afford them to have their trysts without having to sneak around and, more importantly, provided Síleas free room and board. Not that Robert was perceptive enough to spot anything so clearly under his own nose.

“Another one of his trips to visit the Yurukhan. He shouldn’t be back for another fortnight,” Maggie said, feigning casualness, but Síleas could see the bright gleam in her eyes. It was a look she knew well, one that normally led to them closing the door and retreating to the darkness of her bedroom, but Síleas found that tonight it made her stomach ache.

Maggie had once been a beautiful woman–she still was a beautiful woman, but life and all of its responsibilities had lay claim to her body: deep-set lines bracketed her pursed mouth and cut between her furrowed brow, her face appearing to sag with a defeated weariness that dulled her brown eyes. She had once asked Síleas if she could leave with her on the Luath, to never come back to the Fat Goose or her children or her husband. And in a moment of weakness, that was less of a moment and more a habit, Síleas had talked her out of it. She wouldn’t have liked it, Síleas had argued, the ship was disgusting and full of farting, vulgar men. It was too dangerous, too uncomfortable.

But the truth of the matter was, if Maggie was with her on the Luath, where would Síleas stay when they docked? She had enough enemies in Marauder’s Cove without adding Robert to the ever-growing list, who would invariably be furious that his wife had upped and left him with their children and the inn. The reality that presented itself in that turn of events was a bleak one: Robert in a probable fit of rage burning down the inn to free himself of it once and for all, and Maggie everywhere on her ship, around every corner. Síleas knew she’d never have a moment to herself after that. Maggie would be waiting for Síleas in her captain’s quarters with hopeful eyes that Síleas couldn’t bear to look at: hopeful that she’d stop drinking so much, stop fighting so much, stop slinking around and fucking so much.

Maggie stepped closer, trailing a finger up Síleas’ shirt, her knuckles chafed from continuous handling of boiling-hot laundry. She forced herself to stay still, to not put distance between them, as Maggie raised her head and gave a coy smirk. “So, you can stay for however long you like. No need to rush back to the Luath. Hope you’re not too tired from your travels.”

It was now Síleas’ turn to feign casualness as she shrugged. “I could definitely eat.”

Maggie’s face fell, her eyes dimming briefly, before she nodded and found her momentum again. “Of course, you must be half-starved after all your travels,” she soothed, her fingers playing with Síleas’ shirt strings. “We can go down to the kitchen and fix you some supper right quick. I’ll join you–”

A loud raucous crash came from downstairs and both Síleas’ and Maggie’s heads swiveled towards the cacophony. Baritone voices were yelling, arguing, the noise cut by the adolescent squawking excuses of children. Children that Maggie immediately recognized.

“What is going on down there?” she yelled, bolting down the hallway and leaving Síleas behind, forgotten.

Síleas huffed a relieved sigh and darted back into her room to grab her cigarillos from her trunk. It took a moment too long for her to find the tin before she rushed from her bedroom, almost forgetting to lock her door.

The fighting downstairs was still ongoing, only now Maggie’s voice had joined the pandemonium. As Síleas crested the staircase at the end of the hallway, she pieced together the scene within the dining room: three, large men, dirty and tired from their travels, were yelling at Maggie with aggressive, jabbing fingers. She stood firm, a barrier between the men and her two eldest boys, who hid sulking behind her. The drama didn’t seem to affect the other patrons within the dining room, who either watched with detached amusement or kept their heads down in their drink and food. From the chaos, Síleas could pick out snippets of the argument, something about Maggie’s children trying to pilfer from their coin purses; which, having known Maggie’s shithead children for some years, Síleas could absolutely believe. Perhaps they were the way that they were because Maggie was more concerned about keeping the inn up and running than raising her children; or perhaps it was because all sorts of dubious figures–herself included–came and went at the Fat Goose while the children grew up. Síleas was suddenly struck with the memory of teaching the middle child, whatever his name was, how to play pinfinger when he couldn’t have been older than six. In her defense, she had taught him with a dull butter knife. Nothing the child could have really hurt himself with.

Apparently the accusation was not far-fetched for Maggie to believe either. As Síleas crept down the stairs, careful not to draw attention to herself, Maggie turned on her boys. Síleas kept close to the wall as she reached the bottom of the staircase and slunk to the left, behind the fighting group. Maggie had turned her back towards the men, new lines drawn in the sand as the men and Maggie began yelling as a unified front at the boys, who had long since given up on their martyred, silent-suffering appearances and shouted in return.

Síleas was so close to freedom, the door a stone's throw from her. She knew that once she left the Fat Goose, it would be easy enough to find Asher and begin their night of revelry. Perhaps she could convince the owner of the Smoking Fox to let them in; she had plenty of gold this time around to cover her outstanding tab. Their ale was cheap and the barmaid was a young woman who thought Síleas was charming, charming enough to fill her glass to the top every time.

Without warning, her stomach growled and Síleas hissed in frustration at the reminder. She hadn’t lied when she told Maggie she could eat; the smell of stew, with whatever mystery meat they put in it, permeated the air. But if she stayed any longer Síleas knew that she would be spotted and pulled into the mess or made to stick around. At the moment, she would have rather danced with Jack Ketch, which meant she would have to skip supper, to her chagrin.

Síleas weaved around the last table, her hands quick as she snatched a piece of bread from the plate of a pock-marked patron who was paying more attention to the escalating scene than her. While it wouldn’t satiate her, it was enough to take the edge off her hunger. Besides, Síleas tried to reason with herself, drinking on an empty stomach was much cheaper.

With the hunk of bread clamped between her teeth, Síleas opened the inn door and escaped into the night without a backward glance.

Read the rest of the first chapter on Ao3 here!

[snoozisworld]

Kung Lao Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

A/N: I love kung lao so much im gonna explode. i hope i did him justice cuz hes been my fav since mk9

SFW:

Talks/brags about you a lot whenever he hangs out with Raiden and friends. Johnny has to cut him off every time just so they can get him to talk about anything else.

Refuses to eat out now that he's met you. "Why do we have to waste money on restaurants when your food is soo much better?". You're totally welcomed to slap some sense into him.

Tells you he doesn't like when you touch his hat, but secretly loves seeing you wear it. Whether it's because he finds it funny how much bigger it is on you or because he loves that you admire his weapon choice.

Will purposely go shirtless while sparing if you're visiting him at the Wu Shi. Swears it's not because of you but Raiden and literally everyone else says otherwise. (Not that you're complaining)

Loves the beach. Owns a surfboard but no longer knows how to use it (Surfed when he was younger but now the Wu Shi takes up too much of his time)

ADORES when you dress up for him. The fact that you were thinking about him while picking out a hot outfit? He's getting down on one knee as we speak.

Shamelessly checks you out. Everywhere, at any time. I don't fully believe he even knows what shame is.

Would pay for you to become his personal hair massager. The feeling of your nails on his scalp, the little kisses you leave on his head every now and then, loves everything about it. Quickest way to get him to sleep.

Heavy sleeper. Like HEAVY heavy, scares the crap out of you 8 times out of 10.

"Babe, the ice cream truck is here" *sigh* "Fine go get my purse"

NSFW:

The type of dude to say he doesn't like condoms cause they're "too tight". Will wear one if you ask him to regardless.

He sweats a lot during it. Its almost as impressive as it is incredibly hot.

Has the stamina of a horse. Round 2? No, round 47 baby buckle up.

Doesn't think to deep about positions, but if he had to pick favorites it would be either doggy style or cowgirl.

You thought he was cocky normally? You haven't seen nothing yet. This guy will tease you so much it will probably be your cause of death.

DO NOT wear his clothes around him. It drives him absolutely nuts and unless you want to forget how to walk, choose your battles wisely.

(IN MY OPINION) Is not a fan of toys. Especially dildos, no silicone replacements around here partner, he wants to be the only one for you.

Is down for practically whatever as long as he gets to fuck. Whenever, wherever, doesn't matter, just say the word and he's in.

Marks you up literally everywhere. Especially in all the annoying, hard to cover up places. Gets a surge of pride whenever you give up on trying to cover up a hickey of his and just end up going out as is.

A/N: Thats it!! Again, feedback is always appreciated! Also about the surfing thing... I had a random thought about it and now its consumed me. Will definitely explore it in the future ;)