#: no nobody saw where you put the fucking car keys :

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

[sasayego]

lazy sundays

prompt — your fiancé, dick grayson, is the love of your life. was. you think he’s dead, but in reality, he’s out there as a spyral agent. meanwhile, you start appreciating the little things more.

tags — reader got out of an ED, mental health issues. angst and comfort, dick grayson x fem!reader. sfw

jason todd was the one who was attracted to you first. he saw you at a wayne gala and thought you were the love of his life. he asked you out, and you immediately said yes, intimidated by the fact that a wayne was the one who noticed you.

dick didn’t even notice you, which you didn’t mind too much. jason was all that you needed. he was kind and funny but he had this really annoying behavior where he would scream at you in fights. like, scream. one night, things got heated and he left into the night, leaving you behind to go outside, no doubt to clear his mind.

you decided to take care of yourself and make it up to him, so, you had finished his laundry. when putting his clothes away, you noticed a very red helmet with another suit with keys in them. you would’ve thought that it was a cute cosplay prop if the keys didn’t open up a drawer with all sorts of guns in the bottom drawer.

you would’ve freaked out if the radio next to his guns didn’t just go static with —“fuck—nightwing here—wounded on fifth—.” and your blood went cold. jason todd? knew who nightwing was?

you didn’t even think about it, think if it was a trap. you took the radio and drove where nightwing said he was injured. nobody responded and you were praying that he was alive.

and that was when dick grayson, really, really saw you. saw your perseverance, your stubborn nature and how you always looked to the brighter sides of things even when he was stabbed in several places with a split rib and a gash to his head.

you were not a doctor, god no, you were in the beginning of your master’s degree, but with strength that rivaled a mother whose child was underneath a car, you managed to pick him up and put him in your car.

“so jason told you who I am? the little shit. he was supposed to talk to bruce before he revealed our identities. that’s what I get for having a love struck brother, huh?”

you stopped halfway and then looked at him in shock, your mouth open in a slight ‘o’. and he realized that you didn’t know, that your boyfriend of seven months was hiding things from you.

“just take me to bruce’s. say you know, and say I need help.” you let out a groan at it and press on the gas.

jason wasn’t to be found for the next few days. dick was though.

when he recovered and appeared at your doorstep with flowers and a sheepish smile, a cast and a boyish smile that felt like infidelity, your face flushed and you took them happily.

“thanks for saving me,” he said, and leaned against the doorway. unlike jason, his mannerisms and way of acting came easy, smoother, a better flow. and you fell so bad just thinking that. “may I come in?”

and against your better judgment, you stepped side. “mi casa es tu casa.”

his eyes twinkled at that. “tu casa es muy hermosa,” he said. “como el tuyo.”

“you know spanish?”

“I know mandarin, spanish, french, romansh, german, portuguese, hindi, japanese, and arabic. well, learning. dami’s teaching me that one.”

your jaw drops. “I just know english, my mother tongue, and high school spanish.”

“still better than 90% of america.”

that was how it started—he met you every so often, taking coffee out, mini golfing, kayaking, while jason grew ever so distant in the corner. you couldn’t blame jason for it, either. it wasn’t like you were making much of an effort to revive the relationship.

but everything changed that one night when jason asked you to go to a wayne gala with him. out of all his siblings, he had chosen the short straw this time. you said no—you didn’t want to go to another one of them and get hounded by paparazzi at this point.

and jason was fine with that. it wasn’t like he particularly liked going to galas anyways, so he understood your denial. until an hour later when on instagram in one of the more popular news sites, a viral photo of you and dick hugging in the rain together and staring at each other after getting a hole in one in a really hard mini golfing course started circling around.

“what the fuck is wrong with you? are you fucking him? don’t even answer that, I can tell. and even if you aren’t, I know you want to.”

“no, jason, what the fuck is wrong with you? I haven’t done anything with dick, nor do I want to. we’re friends.”

“you don’t underhand, y/n. I’m gonna be the guy that the papers make fun of once you leave me for him. so I’ll do what you don’t have the guts to. we’re done.”

your world didn’t shatter because of that, surprisingly. he moved out of your apartment. you watched gilmore girls reruns. you ate a lot of food. some cried tears, but nothing much. until one day, dick appeared at your door out of the blue.

"dick?" you raised an eyebrow, looking at him with an unsure look in your eye. "what are you doing here?" you were wearing your sweats with a dumbed down look in your eye that clearly stated you didn't know what the hell was happening.

"i'm in love with you. i'm sorry—but i can't stop thinking about you. your laugh is infectious and when you smile it's like a cloudy sky just turns back to sunshine—"

you stepped forward and kissed him. you thought the tabloids were full of shit, but you knew that they were right about this one thing.

after two years of dating, he had done a vigilante trip to india to track down some passages. while he was there, he went and bought a shiny ring. you'd marry him with paper rings. he planned a view of a skyline and it went perfectly, thank god.

but he died. he died and now you're sitting here in the apartment, staring at a photo of the two of you. you miss everything about him. the way he'd subtly add more food to your plate when you were having your ED. when he held you throughout the night after a panic attack even though he had patrol that day. when. he defended you from the paparazzi, when he screamed at jason right back when jason found out that you and dick were dating.

don't tell me you're staring at that damned photo. - tim

you look at your phone and sigh before closing down your phone. tim wouldn't understand. he wouldn't get it. how could he? it wasn't like he lost the love of his life. he was a robin. he knew loss. you didn't. he also lost his brother, you remind yourself, and that just makes it all worse.

you grab the photo and curl up in a ball in fetal position. you miss lazy sunday afternoons when you've eaten too much and that food is resting in your stomach. your head would be in your fiancé's lap and his hands would be in your hair and the minute he would move his hands from your hair or your back, you'd wake up, your body discomforted by the lack of touch. that's my superpower, you'd joke.

no, he'd respond. your superpower is being the most amazing and talented woman i have ever had the pleasure of meeting. i would do anything for you. your beauty rivals the stars in the night sky. i love you like how the moon loves the earth.

at the single thought of it, you curl up and sob, the tears racking down as you clench the photos to your heart. five months and thirteen days and you are not a single second away from properly healing. you'll never love again. you know that for a fact.

it's ten in the night when you wake up, and the couch is stained with tears. haley is right beside you, looking sad and sullen. she misses her best friend too, but she always hates it when her other best friend is crying.

"i haven't fed you? fuck," you swear before standing up. everything hurts. your heart feels too heavy. there's cuts on your wrists. you stare at them, the red from the blood dried up.

he also stares at them too. he vows that he's coming back no matter what.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x you #hurt/comfort #richard grayson #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #dc comics

[thelittleliars]

Valentine's day getaway

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Words: 1.6K

Summary: A little roadtrip on Valentine's with your girlfriend.

A/N: a little one shot for valentine's day because I want Nat to be my Valentine 😭

The sun rays shone directly through the window of the car where you sat. You didn't mind feeling the warmth of the first few sun rays on your skin, you actually liked it. What you didn't like was the long sitting, you itched to stretch your legs and get that pain away that your butt got from sitting for nearly three hours. Those two little breaks you already had did not help a bit. You groaned in discomfort. "Tell me, why are we even driving again? We could have borrowed a quinjet." Natasha, your girlfriend quickly looked over to you with a grin before focusing on the street again. "Because I like driving and I love spending time with you." 

"I always love doing something with you Nat, but driving 3 1/2 hours just to a cabin up in Northville is not something I imagined when you say you want to spend time with me."

"Yeah well.. I wanted some alone time with you, away from everyone and it's a cabin nobody knows about." She told you softly. You nodded and then added your thoughts to it. "Nobody but your sister, you mean." 

"Only because she helped me with the final decision." Your girlfriend revealed as it made you even more excited to arrive there. "That's nice of her." Natasha snorted, knowing Yelena only did something nice if it benefitted her. "It's obvious she only did that for her own gains. It'd be another safe house."

"That or so that she could annoy her big sister." You teased but it kind of backfired when you heard more of an angry grumble. "Probably both." You instantly shifted the conversation back to the cabin alone. "I want a whole tour when we arrive." Natasha didn't say anything else, she only gave you a smirk that made you sigh in relief, she wasn't angry or mad. 

The rest of the drive was silent except for the punk-rock radio station that was playing in the background. You became giddy as your girlfriend pulled into the tiny driveway. The cabin looked small but also cozy from the outside. Natasha quickly hauled your duffel bags out the trunk and joined you at the front door. She unlocked it with the keys she had and let you in first. You were too amazed with how pretty it looked that Natasha had hushed past you to even close the door. Only after you heard her cursing further in the cabin, you put your admiration aside and rushed after her. Then there you saw the blond widow, Yelena Belova as she had made herself comfortable on the sofa. 

"I made plans Yelena." Natasha didn't shout or yell at her sister but her frustration was still very clear in her voice. The blonde girl ignored it and smiled at you two. "Great! Now you can include me in those plans." You didn't know if the little widow had the same idea as you, a weekend away from the Avengers or if she knew about the older woman's plans and simply were here to annoy her.

"No." She said it sternly and glared hard at her sister, hoping that the little widow would get a hint. But she did not or she ignores it and continued to fuck around with the older widow. "Why not?" You waved to her as a little hello, she greeted you back with a grin and a nod. "Because that would be fucking disgusting!" Yelena furrowed her eyebrows. "So you're calling me disgusting now?" You were holding yourself back from laughing. The sibling interaction was too funny for you. 

"Let me spell it out for you since you can't seem to get it." Natasha grunted. "I have planned romantic and sexualthings."

"Eww why'd tell me about that?! I didn't need to know it." Yelena made a gagging noise while she shows the disgust with a clear expression on her face.

"As if you would have stopped at the romantic part!" The redhead basically growled out in anger. The younger sister seemed to take it as a direct attack. "I would have!" She countered back with the same amount of passion in her voice as Natasha. "No you wouldn't and I know that for sure because you came along on so many of our date nights." You put a hand on Natasha's arm to calm her, you knew how deeply it affected her whenever her sister came to your dates. All Natasha wanted was to be the hopeless romantic she knew she could be but without getting teased for it and with Yelena in tow it was simply not possible.

Before it got out of hand you decided to speak up. "Yel, it's Valentine's day.. and we really need some time just for the two of us." The younger sibling looked at Natasha intensly. "My god." She groaned and sighed in annoyance. "If you're really that desperate then okay I'll be gone in an hour."

"You better be." Nat's voice was so cold that if you wouldn't drag her away something awful would happen. You took her hand in yours and dragged her outside. Once you were near the water, you sat down on a stump. It seemed like the tree that was once there got chopped off a while ago. "Don't let her get to you. She'll be gone within the hour and we'll be all alone and have a lot of me & you time." A small smile tugged at her lips when you pulled her towards you, hinting that you want her to sit on you. She willingly placed herself on your lap, exhaled loudly as she leaned against your front with her back, your arms wrapped around her waist.

This was heaven for her, being held by you  and hearing you hum soft melodies. "You know, if I knew you'd drag me out of bed early in the morning on Valentine's day then I'd have gone to a flower shop the day before to get you the most beautiful bouquet." She turned her head towards you. "I told you before that I don't need a physical gift for today. Being with you is all I want." She laid her warm hands on your arm, squeezed it gently before simply just holding onto it.

"Do you even realize how much my heart always melts whenever you say stuff like that and with that look in your eyes?" 

"Well now that I know I won't ever stop doing it." She teased you. 

"That is cruel my love." You joked back. 

"Being loved by me is cruel now? Weren't you the one who told me not to stay around toxic people?" Tilting her head to the side she gave you a pointed look. 

"You have way more green flags than red flags so I guess I'm good." You smiled happily at her. "And don't you even start with you being an ex-assassin is the biggest red flag of all time because you my dear black widow redeemed yourself a thousand of times."

"I don't know what to say." 

"Say you love me."

"I love you."

"And I.. love you more." You hugged her tighter. "You know.. I've been here for a hot minute and I can already see how we grow old and settle down in this humble abode."

"Hmm, that sounds amazing. Are we married in your vision?" She bit her lip. You shook your head. "No. I don't have anything against marrying you though." Nat raised an eyebrow. "So you'd want to be married to me?" She asked warily. 

"Oh c'mon Nat, you're an amazing woman. You have skillsets like no other, you're  very intelligent and funny, you're humble and a big soft heart and let's not forget you're beautiful like a goddess. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a wife." 

She turned away from you as she started to blush deeply. "Stop it or I slap you." She threatened as you nuzzled your nose back into her neck and though you couldn't see the redness in her face, you could feel the warmth radiating from her.

"I don't mind being slapped by you. Maybe you'd even do that thigh move of yours to stop be completely huh?" 

"I want you to be alive."

"I trust you to not crush me. Though I wouldn't min-" She cut you off. "Get those sick thoughts out of your head Y/N. I liked you better with a rather innocent mind."

"You definitely won't get that wife title if you stop me from trying to communicate my needs with you." You loosened your grip on her to poke a finger into her side. She turned her head towards you and mumble an 'I hate you' before she leaned in to kiss you. "If I hate you is the new I love you then okay I hate you too babe." You both continued sitting there in comfortable silence. 

A gust of wind blew from time to time, tossing Nat's kinda shortish hair right in your face but you didn't mind that, the birds chirped and the ducks that were on the lake quacked. The soft rustling of trees intruded your ears as if it was a soundtrack playing in the background of a movie. And then there was suddenly the noise of a bike starting and driving off. You guessed that it was Yelena leaving. But before you two got up you to go back inside, you watched some cute little ducks walking on the shore a few feet from you.

The rest of the day contained a lot of giggling, chasing each other around the house and making out. Towards the evening you had a very romantic candle light dinner that you both helped to get it done. To top it all off you two had a very intimate night with the promise of repeating everything at one point in the future.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x you

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A simple dinner party leads to new relations. Eren Jaeger can't keep his eyes off of you.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder, alcohol consumption.

— Notes: I'm so excited to post the first chapter to my new series. I've been wanting to write again for two years now and I finally got hit with inspiration. This is a little different from my usual stuff, but I hope you'll like it. A special thank you to @dreamy-jaeger​ for beta-reading <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

at first sight

Nobody ever said anything about the desperate cries that could be faintly heard from one of the units in Sina Park. Then again, the surrounding houses were occupied by people well into the age when sound just doesn’t reach them as well as it did even just a few years back.  

Sina Park was known for being a peaceful area. With its small and painterly identical houses, and its gardens full of color and floral aromas, it was a picture-perfect community. It wasn’t embedded into its terms to remain strictly as senior-only housing but the great majority of its residents certainly gave off that idea to any outsider. It was to the point where it came as a surprise for one to find out there was someone under the age of sixty living there. But everyone in Sina was well acquainted with each other, and friendliness was practically the norm between every carefree neighbor. 

That was probably why Mr. Shadis didn’t bat an eye when he was enjoying a cup of tea on his front porch and he saw the youngest of the Sina community step out with a duffel bag that was promptly thrown into the trunk of his car, the same night silence reclaimed its territory in Sina Gardens. 

“A bit chilly tonight, eh Fred?” Mr. Shadis asked from his side of the street, raising his hand in greeting when he saw his neighbor walk out.

The young man tossed a boyish smile toward his elder while reciprocating his wave. 

“Just a bit, Mr. Shadis. You probably shouldn’t be out much longer or you’ll catch a cold,” he replied, still smiling as he slammed his trunk shut and smoothly tossed his car key in the air with his left hand, catching it swiftly with his right. 

“Me? What about you?” Shadis teased.

“I’ve still got good bones,” he joked to which Shadis clicked his tongue, feigning hurt feelings as he shook his head.

“You be careful on the road now, eh Fred?” he said, watching the young man disappear into his car, his hand lagging behind to wave goodbye.

The car peeled slowly from its driveway, out of Sina Park, and onto the main road. As the speedometer needle trembled between steady numbers, music flowed softly through the car’s speakers, barely loud enough to disguise the disgusted voice that murmured “That’s not my name, you stupid fuck.”  

The early autumn breeze pins your skirt against your thighs and playfully tussles your hair as you hurry toward the bakery on the corner of the street. You’re welcomed by the pleasant jingle of the bell above the door, as well as Kuchel’s warm interior that puts a stop to the outside’s disturbances on your clothes. 

A slight impatience consumes you as you wait for your turn to order, but you try to keep your booted feet from tapping against the hardwood floor and settle for tapping your fingers on your wallet as you try to assess the available baked goods from your spot in line. There’s a variety of sweet and salty treats — from jumbo oatmeal cookies to pain au chocolat to rolls — but you’ve only got a single thing in mind. A breath of relief escapes your lightly chapped lips when you get close enough to see a neatly stacked pyramid of lemon bars in the display, and a second one after you have a box of them secured in your hands minutes later. 

A satisfied smirk tugs lightly at your lips as you allow yourself to admire the neatly packaged treats. As you make your way to the door, the bell dings, pulling your attention from the box and saving you from clumsily bumping into the man who just walked in. The exchange is brief; he quickly apologizes for the avoided accident and holds the door open for you with a shy smile. 

You don’t reciprocate his warm smile but opt for politely nodding in acknowledgment and thanking him for the gesture before hurrying out the door, not wanting to prolong his act of kindness more than necessary. You take a sharp turn toward the nearest bus stop, completely oblivious to the lingering pair of emerald eyes that steal one last glance at you from inside the bakery. 

Once again, the wind teases your hair until it finds itself locked out by the shutting door of the bus you settle into. Your hand dives into your purse to retrieve your earbuds as soon as you find a seat, yet no music plays throughout your journey. The box from the bakery remains safely in your lap, the contents being lightly jostled now and then when the bus stops to pick up more passengers.  

From the bakery to the bus and for the twenty-minute commute, you go over the names of the people you’ll be meeting in your head. 

It’s not often that you get invited to a coworker’s housewarming party. It’s not often that you form a friendly relationship with a coworker. In fact, it’s not often that you engage with someone at all unless it’s for work or other impersonal things. But Armin Arlert’s nice. Despite being the kind of person who can’t seem to let the purposely lonely be lonely, you’ve taken a liking to him. 

His friends, you think, might be a different story. It’s not that you expect them to be dreadful people, but socializing has never been your scene. You can be pleasant, laugh at jokes, and perhaps even throw one out yourself, but it’s not in you to pursue deeper connections. You’re more at ease keeping to yourself and observing if anything. However, the hopeful look on Armin’s face during your lunch break last week, when he insisted he wanted you at his party, has been popping up in your head at all hours so you feel as though you have no choice but to go beyond your standard pleasantries.  

Your plan for surviving the evening is simple. Get there a few hours early so you can help cook, clean, or anything else Armin might need help with before his friends arrive. Partly because that’s what your altruistic nature steers you to do, but also because you’re hoping you can get a refresher course on what Armin's friends are like so you know what to expect and how to act. If they’re all friends of Armin, maybe it’ll be worth it for you to put some genuine intention behind your courtesies. After all, being friends with Armin hasn’t been difficult so far. You dare to even call it nice. Maybe it’s time for you to make at least one more friend.

Armin’s kitchen is bustling with energy as he and his friends move from one spot to another, swiftly keeping out of each other’s way in perfect sync to finish dinner preparations. 

“I still can’t believe every single one of you bought me a candle… and the same one to top it all off,” Armin shakes his head in amusement, his mind recalling the small cluster of ocean-scented candles he left on the living room coffee table. 

Despite his constant assurance that he’d take full responsibility for the food and drinks — he was the one to bring up the idea of a housewarming party first, so it only made sense —, all of his friends arrived little by little before noon to help out with the cooking. First was Mikasa who, as soon as Armin opened the door, handed him the gift bag with a smile, congratulating him on the move and saying she hoped her present would help make the place a little cozier.   

Then came Connie and Sasha who, despite being roommates, failed to coordinate their gift choices and only realized they bought the same thing when Armin opened Sasha’s bag first and Connie’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. It only got funnier from there. Jean barely stuck the carefully wrapped gift box toward Armin when Mikasa muttered under her breath “It’s a good day for candle sales”. 

“Well, you like candles, and the ocean is pretty much your brand, dude. Don’t blame us.” Jean shrugs, not bothering to peel his focused gaze from the carrots he’s grating. 

“The last time I even talked about the ocean I was, like, fifteen. Almost ten years ago!”

Everyone knows Armin loves the long-term supply of ocean-scented candles, and what may seem like complaints to outsiders is just another bit they’ve all dragged on from their youth.

But Connie still seems a bit lost. His hands pause from sprinkling rosemary leaves on the potato wedges Mikasa neatly laid out on a baking tray.

“So you’re not fucking with the ocean anymore?” he asks with an uncharacteristically serious expression that causes Jean to sputter a laugh before disguising it as a cough. 

“Ignore them,” Sasha prompts, rolling her eyes. Her lips then stretch into a suggestive grin. “Tell us about the girl you invited over. Before she gets here, you have to tell us for real this time, are you into her? Do we need to talk you up? I’m the best wingwoman, Armin. I will make her love you even if it kills me.” Sasha’s hands fall heavily onto Armin’s shoulders as if to back up her conviction.

Armin furrows his brow in mild exasperation. This was the second time he’d been harrowed with that string of questions, which didn’t seem like much, but it took a while for him to get his friends to drop the topic the first time around. He shakes his head and peels Sasha’s hands from his form, fixing them firmly at her sides.

“I already told you it’s not like that. And I don't think human sacrifice is needed, Sash. We’re friends. I just want her to meet you guys… and Eren, of course.”

Nobody picks up on the short pause before Eren’s name or Armin’s sly expression that he’s quick to hide by turning to face the sink.

“She’s a bit quiet but she’s really nice. I think she’ll be a nice addition to our group. You’ll like her, I promise. Just go a little easy, okay?” Armin pauses as he tugs on a pair of dishwashing gloves to whip around one last time. “And don’t say anything weird! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

“Okay,” Jean replies in a sing-songy voice. Armin turns to shoot him a threatening look upon hearing his teasing tone, only to find Jean pointing a stern finger in his direction, “But if you change your mind, I got you, bro.” 

Armin only smiles in response, not willing to spare any more breath in correcting him, and starts washing the dishes. Before he can finish scrubbing the bowl in his hands, the doorbell rings and he rushes to pry himself free from his dishwashing gloves before heading to the intercom, glancing back to make sure everyone is still keeping busy.

“It’s me,” a slightly fuzzy version of your voice comes through the speaker. 

He buzzes you in immediately and steps into the hall to wait for you.

When he sees you round the corner, his face breaks out into a grin. 

“Hey, you made it!”

Your lips quirk into a small smile. Armin makes way for you to step inside.

“I thought I could get here a little early to help you with the food. I hope that’s okay.” Your voice trembles a bit at the end, and you start to worry when you realize Armin’s grin has faded. 

“Actually, everything is pretty much done already. Everyone got here around noon, and they kind of took over.”

As if on cue, a burst of laughter hits your ears from where you assume the kitchen is. 

You manage to let out a slow ‘oh’.

Your simple plan has officially backfired. Since Armin's friends are already here, and since he's had no shortage of hands to help him prepare for his get-together, there's nothing left for you to do. More importantly, there’s no more window for you to ask questions. You hoped you’d be the first to arrive, and each arrival after that would be spaced out so you had enough time to get a feel on every one of Armin’s friends on their own. Now that that’s out the window, you start to worry the dynamics will be a bit too awkward between you and however many there are of them. It’s a battlefield now. Too many factors, too many things to worry about. Headfirst, no safety net, no baby steps.

Almost as if he can sense your panic through your otherwise expressionless face, Armin smiles.

“Don't worry about it, they're nice.”

Your fingers curl tighter around the box of desserts. There's a permanent knot in your stomach that twists further, reminding you of its presence, in situations like this. Your mind flashes a jumble of different scenarios and all the possibilities for outcomes without letting you actually process or make sense of any of it. 

And in the next instant, you're back. 

“I brought some lemon bars from Kuchel.” You raise the box just enough for the movement to catch Armin’s eye.

His face lights up when he looks down at the box in your hands and he immediately takes hold of it.

“I freakin’ love these! Thank you!” 

Relief washes over your previously tensed features. Of course, you already knew these specific lemon bars are Armin’s favorite. He's always bummed out when you go together to Kuchel for your lunch break and there's no more left.

“I actually got the last batch,” you state proudly, the feeling only growing when his fingers excitedly tug at the ribbon tying the handles together and fishing out a pastry, biting into it with no hesitation.

“No kidding, they always sell out. Come on, I'll introduce you to everybody.” He heads toward the kitchen, waving at you to follow him.

You nervously tug at your turtleneck's sleeves, leaving them to cover your hands in an almost protective manner. 

The fact that all eyes fall on you the second you step into everyone's line of vision doesn't help you feel at ease. Your gaze wanders to a distant place in an attempt to lessen the mental weight everyone's stares bear on you. But Armin throws a comforting arm over your shoulder and gives you a light squeeze as he announces your name to everybody. 

When you look up — because you have to in order to properly link names and faces together — each new person in the room has a warmth to their features that gradually soothes your internal distress.

Sasha’s the first name to be called out. She's also the only one who goes up to steal you from Armin's arms and hugs you excitedly, squealing about how exciting it is to finally meet you. You're taken aback by the sudden embrace, but she’s holding you so tight that you can't look back at Armin for help. You're also oblivious to his warning gaze toward her behind your back. 

Mikasa smiles and nods politely at you from the other side of the counter. It's quite the contrast from the first girl, but her gaze radiates kindness.

Jean's good looks are the first thing you notice from him, and he's got a cool energy to match. He raises two fingers in a salute when it's his turn, paired with a side smile as he casually leans against the bar.

Lastly, there's Connie, who proves himself to be as goofy as Armin told you beforehand, by dramatically posing with one arm against the counter and his opposite hand resting on his hip, muscles flexed, head turned low just so he could look up again and say “the one and only”. 

You purse your lips in response to hide the smile that still manages to slip through.

“Nice to meet you all.”

You stand there awkwardly for what you think is a second too long, silently begging to come up with something else to say or for someone else to pick up the task so everyone can move on. 

Thankfully, Armin swoops in, showing off his box of lemon bars on his way to a seat at the bar. He taps the seat next to him, gesturing for you to sit.

“Impressive,” Jean says, nodding in approval as he neatly folds a tea towel. He knows how much Armin loves Kuchel's lemon bars. 

“It's not a big deal,” you reply, waving him off as you scan the room for something to give yourself to do. But there isn't much. 

The counters have been cleared of any signs of ingredient prep during introductions, there's a timer set for the oven, and there's but a small pile of dishes left unfinished at the sink, which Mikasa is already finishing up. So you settle for sitting at the bar and staying out of everyone's way.

However, sitting still doesn't clear you from everyone's attention. It only makes sense that they're curious about you. And with the oven timer still with a little less than an hour to go, you can sense the start of a conversation where you're the main focus. 

“So…” Jean begins. 

Everyone gathers around the bar.

You brace yourself.

The following minutes are a bit of a blur. You try your best to keep up with everyone's questions. Where you're from, your birthday, your zodiac sign, what kind of music you like, if you've been to this and that place, or tried the food at x, y, and z. They're pretty basic questions, but as long as you're a target you're kept on your toes. After each of your answers, there's an exchanged glance or a nod of approval. You know everyone is only trying to get to know you, yet you can't help but feel as though every question is part of a test and your likability is at stake. That is until the conversation branches out to a story about the best taco truck in the next town over, which, in turn, leads to a story about Connie and Sasha getting food poisoning from a different taco truck they decided to try after their favorite one happened to close early that day. Only then can you breathe a sigh of relief. You even laugh a little at Sasha’s colorful retelling of the taco story. 

“So, basically, don't go to Tito's,” Sasha finalizes, giving you a stern look. “You'll be shitting and barfing for a week.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” you laugh.

After that, the conversation flows a lot easier for you. There's less pressure with the decrease in questions thrown your way, which gives you more confidence to chime in with anecdotes of your own. It's hard to pinpoint when the conversation stopped feeling like a test, but you're grateful for it. 

You realize there was never any battlefield to survive. Not here, not with this group of friends. And it’s nice to have several people willing to fill in any silence and steer the flow of the conversation instead of feeling the pressure of everyone's interest in your hands. 

Just as you take a second to wander your gaze across everyone's laughing faces, finally feeling at ease with your place in the group, the doorbell rings, followed by the shrill sound of the timer. 

“Fucking Jaeger,” Jean mutters.

“Just in time,” Armin grins, hops down from his chair, and makes his way to the door. Jean follows him at his heel, mumbling something about “Jaeger” being late. 

You're distracted by Mikasa's voice calling your name. 

“Could you get me the oven mitts, please?”

You nod and offer your assistance in taking out the chicken.

On the other side of the wall, Armin buzzes his last guest in and holds the door open to wait, shooting a confused look at Jean, who leans back against the wall to wait, too.

As soon as he comes in, Armin yells out, “Eren!” and pulls his best friend into a big hug, forcing him to crouch slightly to accommodate his embrace. They both laugh as Jean stands with his arms across his chest and a disgruntled look on his face.

“Hey, man. Sorry I'm late.” 

“Mhm,” Jean hums, expecting Eren to cower under his gaze. 

He doesn't. Jean is completely ignored as Eren sheepishly starts to explain himself, even though Armin didn't expect him until around this time anyway. 

“I wanted to get you those lemon bars you like from that bakery. But when I got there, they were all out, so I went to their other shop across town, but they didn't have any either, and so then I—”

Armin laughs. 

“Relax. You made it, that's what matters.”

“I feel bad, though. I really wanted to get some for you. I know they're your favorite.”

“If you really wanted to do something nice, you could've gotten here earlier to help with the cooking,” Jean scolds. Then he smirks. “Like I did.” 

Eren rolls his eyes, finally acknowledging Jean. 

He then pulls out a small gift box and hands it to Armin with a smile. 

"I got you a candle, though."

Jean snorts and walks back to the kitchen, leaving an annoyed Eren shooting daggers at his back. 

Armin graciously takes the gift, taking the lid off to confirm that the candle is, indeed, ocean-scented.

"Thanks, buddy. I was running short on these," he smiles sympathetically at his friend, patting his shoulder. 

As they walk into the open space of the dining area, you walk out with a stack of plates in your hands to set the table. Armin perks up upon seeing you and excitedly rushes Eren, saying he wants to introduce him to somebody. 

Armin’s voice catches your attention as you carefully set the plates down. “This is my best friend Eren.” 

Your gaze shifts toward the pair of surprised green eyes already set on you while Armin’s voice goes on in the background, repeating your name to his friend. 

“Hey, it’s you.” Eren smiles in recognition. 

Armin’s eyebrows raise in surprise; yours furrow in confusion. Everyone starts filing to the dining area with food and silverware to finish setting the table. You step aside, murmuring quiet apologies as you get out of their way and step closer to Armin and his friend. 

“You two know each other?” Armin asks, his gaze shifting between the two of you.

Before Eren can answer, he’s interrupted by Mikasa walking over.

“Hey, Eren. You’re late.” She looks up at him with disappointment. You get the feeling he was supposed to arrive around the same time she and the others did.

“Yeah!” Connie whines from the dining table, where he’s setting up wine glasses. “We had to work twice as hard.” 

Eren ignores Connie’s flawed math.

“Sorry, everybody,” he replies, yet his tone is more that of a meek kid who’s forced to apologize. 

He returns his focus to his original conversation. Armin is still looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, right! Uh… yeah, we bumped into each other at Kuchel’s earlier,” he finally explains. He looks at you shyly. “I held the door for you.”

Your furrowed brow softens, and your lips shape into a silent ah! when you recall the brief interaction. You didn’t even remember his face, but you nod along now.

“Come on, guys. Let’s eat!” Mikasa’s voice cuts through the silence, putting an end to your conversation.

Throughout dinner, everyone is a lot more chatty than you expected, considering there's plenty of food to get through. Everyone spills out as many light-hearted anecdotes about one another as the bites they take of baked potato wedges, garlic butter chicken, and grated carrot salad. Their stories are clear to have been brought up between them several times over the years, but they're new to you and you appreciate them choosing to share with you.

It turns out, the universe has worked its magic to make sure all six friends remain close since childhood. The fact is a little intimidating when you find out, but you do your best to push it aside.

At first, you're perfectly fine quietly listening as you eat, your voice only adding to the mix in the shape of a laugh, a gasp, or a question for the storyteller — just enough so they don't forget you're there. 

The entire time, you feel a pair of eyes stealing glances at you from across the table even when you're not talking. Whenever you slowly look up to meet them, Eren quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere. When choosing places at the table, Armin insisted on having you across from one another. He didn't outright say it, but he did rearrange everyone else so that it worked out that way. 

Given that he was the last to arrive and you've barely spoken directly to each other since he got here, you're not sure how to feel about Eren yet. He seems nice enough, but you don't feel as easy even looking at him as you do with the others. It's strange, but his late arrival made all the difference. Somehow he seems like a total stranger compared to the people you met just an hour before him. After your awkward introduction, it’s hard to say if you can make the situation better.

Night has settled in by the time everyone is leaning back in their seats with full bellies, lazily sipping wine every few minutes as the conversation eases into a quieter, slower pace. The serving dishes have been scraped clean. The box of lemon bars you brought over has been split for dessert, leaving just one lonely square that you know a slightly tipsy Armin has been eyeing. 

Eren had turned to look at you with surprise when Armin thanked you for the second time.

“Ah, so you're the one who beat me to the last batch,” was what he said. 

A soft apology tumbled from your lips.

So far, you hadn't proved yourself to be big on smiling but, when you did, it was nice to look at. Consequently, he tried to be the cause of at least one. So when you gave him nothing for his weak attempt at teasing, he shrunk in his seat and decided to keep quiet. 

It's not long before Jean suggests moving to the living room to play a game and you take that as your cue to start clearing the table so there's no mess to come back to later. As you slip quietly into the kitchen, you can hear Jean and Connie arguing over whether to play cards or Monopoly. As Connie argues, he doesn't want to play Monopoly with a cheater, to which Jean says it's not his fault he's the better player.

You carefully place the dishes in the sink, adjusting the streaming water to a warm temperature. As you tug the pair of dishwashing gloves onto your hands, you catch a glimpse of a figure stepping beside you. When you look up, you're met with a boyish grin and shy jewel-toned eyes. He's setting down another pile of dirty dishes on the counter.

“Hi.” 

You're not sure how to respond other than with a polite nod and a soft hi back. There's not much else to say, anyway. Half of you hopes he'll leave; you need some space to recharge your social battery. The other half is curious about the kind of conversation you might have to engage in if he stays. 

You focus your gaze on the soaking dishes, waiting with bated breath to see what he does. 

He stays. 

He offers to dry what you wash. 

There's a nervous tremor in his voice. Like a kid scared to ask for permission instead of an adult offering help. It's so small you barely notice it, but it's there. 

You nod. 

You wash, he dries. 

It's quiet save for the sounds of dishes clinking together. 

Then, his voice comes through.

“I didn't mean to put you on the spot earlier when I got here. I just have a knack for remembering faces.” 

An uncomfortable warmth crawls up your neck and pools at your cheeks. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm kind of the opposite. I just don't pay attention to faces,” you explain. 

“Oh.” He forces a laugh. “Yeah, no, I get it.” 

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. It's a bit discouraging for him to see how laser-focused you are on doing the dishes though, and he already feels foolish for making you apologize for not recognizing a total stranger. He tries not to stare at you too much but it's difficult when you're right there beside him. He only hopes you can't make him out looking at you from the corner of his eye.

You, on the other hand, can feel his eyes burning holes into your side profile. Ignoring it is harder than you hope but at least you have something to help. You're not sure if he expects you to reciprocate his efforts in breaking the ice, but you've yet to get a proper read on him. He was mostly quiet during dinner. Whenever a story with him at the center came up, he'd try to sway the conversation in a different direction. He seemed tense and you hate to think he might be uncomfortable with your presence. Maybe he's an anxious person who's easily embarrassed, you think. Or he might’ve thought you were stuck up and rude after you failed to recognize him and that's why the air now feels so thick. That happens a lot. The people around you are mostly a blur until — and if you ever — have a reason to break into friendly territory. 

The next time you hand a dish for Eren to dry, your gaze lingers, carefully taking in his features. His green eyes are striking, but it's not as if the rest of his face falls short of that. He's very handsome. In a more boyish way than you observed Jean to be, but sharper than, say, Armin. His brown hair is neatly cut on the sides, contrasted by the choppy bangs that line his forehead — something that brings more youth to his face. He's got long, thick lashes and plump lips. Faint freckles are scattered along what one might consider to be a perfect straight nose. He's very handsome, indeed. But that's not all. There's a delicacy to his features that blends them all harmoniously, making Eren Jaeger quite… pretty. 

Eren suddenly clears his throat; you take it as a sign to stop staring.

“So… um… how long have you been friends with Armin?” 

You already know the answer, and you didn’t mind the silence at all, but you might as well try to get Armin’s best friend in your good graces. Especially after your dreadful mistake of not recognizing him. It bothers you to think he might have decided he doesn’t like you because of that.

“Since we were six… Um… He had a lot of trouble with bullies back in elementary school and I beat them up for him.”

That part you didn’t know, so you pause your focus on the plate you’re scrubbing to glance at Eren with admiration. 

“I think he might’ve developed a weird hero complex by mistake though,” he laughs to himself. “He wanted me to get into fights every time he saw someone new being bullied.”

You laugh. The sound makes Eren’s chest swell with pride. 

“Did you do it?”

He bashfully nods without ungluing his gaze from the serving spoon he’s drying.

You laugh some more.

“And of course, then he would take them in as a friend. Something about strength in numbers or whatever. To this day he has this thing that he needs to take in anyone who seems vulnerable.”

You laugh through your nose fully aware of the familiarity you feel from Eren’s story.

“That definitely sounds like him.”

You grin as you finish rinsing the plate, excited to have found some common ground to latch onto for conversation. 

Eren admires your happy expression from the corner of his eye.

But when you turn to look at him, he averts his gaze, curling his lips inwards, and he takes the plate from your hands. 

Your lips downturn a bit, thinking you might still have a long way to go before you can make up for your mistake. 

Still, the thickness in the kitchen air dissipates as you each return to your tasks, the corners of your lips perking up in relieved smiles. 

Armin walks in a moment later with the remnants of a laugh on his face from whatever conversation he just left behind. His faded grin resurfaces when he finds you and Eren together, and he catches a glimpse of the pink tint dusting his best friend's cheeks.��

He watches for a few seconds, mildly amused that neither of you seems to notice his presence. Just as Eren finishes wiping the last fork dry, he decides to speak. 

“You didn't need to do that.” 

His statement is directed at both of you, yet his gaze is fixed on you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“You should join the others,” he tells you. “Oh, and uh…” He swipes a bottle from one of the cupboards. “Take this with you.” 

“Let me just help put away everything,” you offer.

“It's okay, Eren and I got it,” he assures you.

You back out hesitantly, only decidedly walking out when Armin gives you a reassuring nod.

Both men watch you leave. As soon as you're out of sight, Armin's lips stretch into a knowing smile. 

“She's pretty, huh?”

Eren's eyebrows upturn in clear worry when he rips his gaze from you to look at Armin. They soften a split second later in an attempt to appear nonchalant before his grinning friend. 

“Um… I guess so… I don't know.” 

He hurries to tend to the dishes waiting to be put away, hoping it's enough to mask the way he slowly deflates.

Plates and forks are stored in silence. An amused Armin keeps glancing at him.

After a while, a soft laugh escapes his lips.

“Relax, I'm not into her.” 

Eren stiffens, unable to remove his hand by will from the cupboard door he just shut, and instead letting gravity take the wheel. 

Before he can reflect on how exposed he feels, Armin's voice comes through again from where he's now leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets.

“But I meant it when I said she's pretty.” He nods along for emphasis even though Eren has yet to look at him.

“She's really smart too. And kind! I mean, she can seem a little cold at first, but I heard some guys are into that. There's just this charm to her, you know? A few guys at work have tried asking her out but they're totally wrong for her.” He shakes his head at the last thought, then side-eyes Eren expectantly.

“If she ever goes out with someone, I hope it's one of the good guys.” 

Throughout Armin's speech, Eren kept his lips pressed together in a tight line, wondering where Armin was headed with all he was saying. At first, he assumed his friend was interested in the new face of the group, which is why he feigned disinterest. But with every word that kept rolling off his tongue, his intentions were blatantly obvious. And yet he still decides to ask, “What are you trying to do, Armin?”

"Nothing... nothing at all," Armin answers with a shrug, playing it off as if any suggestion is all in Eren's head. He straightens up and starts walking out of the kitchen. There's a pause in his step just before he can slip out of sight. Looking at Eren over his shoulder, he leaves him with one last thought.

“All I'm saying is if you just keep staring at her, she’s gonna get weirded out.”

Eren is left alone, blushing profusely and running a shaky hand through his hair. 

“Come on! That can’t be your most embarrassing thing!”

You shrug.

“That's all I've got.”

“What’s going on?” Eren asks as he takes in the scene. 

It took him a while to reason with himself alone in the kitchen. By the time Eren joins everyone in the living room — nerves finally dormant — everyone is sitting on the floor around the coffee table playing a drinking game. He walks over in search of an open space and ends up nestled between Jean and Connie. Jean throws an arm over his shoulders.

“Jaeger, good. Buddy, tell her about the time you tried to do a one-arm pushup.” From his sleepy eyes and the affectionate term toward Eren, one can easily tell he's drunk.

Eren looks up quizzically at everybody.

“We're telling our most embarrassing stories,” you explain. “Whoever has the worst one wins the round and everyone else has to drink. I think it's just a ploy for everyone to get dirt on me though.” 

You pout at your cup. It's clear you're a little tipsy, too.

Eren softly laughs.

“Whaa– we would never,” Sasha pouts.

“You're getting a deal! You get six embarrassing stories for the price of one!” Connie points out. 

As you start to argue that it's not really fair because it's not like you have anyone to tell, Sasha’s phone buzzes in her pocket and a loud groan rumbles from her throat after skimming through whatever text she just got. Her chin falls onto the coffee table, arms stretched out before her so she can reply. 

Mikasa looks at her with concern and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately tapping her nose afterward.

“What's wrong?”

“Kaya's out with her friends and she's asking me to send her money for an Uber. I told her to be careful with her money but she just won't listen.” 

Everyone either sympathetically smiles at her or idly watches her send over fifty dollars. You look at Armin, who quietly explains Kaya is Sasha’s younger sister who's a college freshman. You nod in understanding. 

“That's a little sibling for you,” Connie mutters, softly patting Sasha’s head. 

“That's why I love being an only child,” Jean states matter-of-factly. He stretches his arms over his head, rolling his shoulders back before reaching for the bottle of liquor at the center of the table. “Never had to worry about some annoying little runt.”

“I would've liked to have a younger sister,” Mikasa says. “It would've been fun to hang out and teach her things, you know?” 

A touch of nostalgia dances along her lips as she traces the rim of her glass with her index finger. 

“Oh, do you have any siblings?” Her eyes flit in your direction. 

The question is innocent, but the topic of family causes you to shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“No… I don't.” You try to smile, but it's stiff. 

Jean's loud clapping startles you. He tops off all but Connie's and Sasha’s glasses. 

“Oh yeah, single child gang!” He raises his glass in cheers and downs the contents. You follow his lead, hoping that'll mark the end of that topic. But it doesn't. “You must've been spoiled growing up, am I right?”

You lower your gaze, opting to fiddle with your fingers instead of answering. 

Mikasa seems to sense the fragility of the topic from your side because her eyebrows upturn in concern when she looks at you. 

“Hey, not everyone has a mother like yours. Don't be rude, Jean-boy.” She raises a teasing eyebrow as she whips her head in Jean's direction.

“Didn't you yell at her when she brought cupcakes to our class for your birthday?” Eren scrunched his eyebrows together in feigned thought.

“I was twelve! You can't keep holding that over my head. I'm twenty-five now,” Jean whines.

“And I've yet to see you mature,” Eren mutters.

A hushed giggle escapes your lips. You cover it up by sipping your drink. A satisfied smirk tugs at Eren's lips when he catches a glimpse of your smile.

Contrary to his sober self, drunk Jean craves Eren's approval and affection instead of their usual frenemy-like banter. He looks at him with sad eyes.

“Hey, I've made up for it. Mama Kirstein doesn't need to lift a finger thanks to her amazing engineer son.” 

Sasha’s face contorts in confusion.

“Last time I went to Trost with you, she was still working as a seamstress.” 

Jean waves her off.

“She just likes to keep busy.”

“What do your parents do?” Sasha turns to you.

You're trapped. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see Armin leaning forward with just as much interest as the others. In the past, Armin's asked about your family only once. After vaguely implying you weren't close to them, he dropped the topic. But now, in his intoxicated state, he doesn't do much to keep his level of curiosity under wraps. And knowing you're slightly buzzed, too, he hopes you’ve let go of any inhibitions that have kept you from revealing more of your background. 

Armin likes you. He's always admired your efficiency at work, but you seemed lonely and closed off — which is why he decided to approach you in the first place. To everyone in the office, you were a cold stuck-up woman — yet they still refused to stop obsessing over you. To him, you were just misunderstood and lowkey. Sure, you refused to do much to take up space in a room, but through small conversations here and there, he was allowed to slowly unveil your true self. 

But there was always another hidden wall. Armin wouldn't admit it out of fear of seeming like a creep, but that line you expertly draw — allowing someone in without fully giving yourself away — is part of what makes you alluring. That and your keen eye for reading people.

You wet your lips with a swipe of your tongue, looking for a way out inside the clear liquid sitting at the bottom of your glass.

Eren zeroes in on your face, trying to decipher the distant look in your eyes. The weight on his chest lightens when you finally speak.

“I'm not sure what they're doing now. Last time I checked, my mom was a drug addict, and my dad left when I was twelve.”

The weight in Eren's chest comes back heavier than ever.

Silence takes over the living room. Even the darkness outside the window seems eerily quiet as your abrupt statement courses through the gears in everyone's heads.

There's no certainty as to why you blurted out what you did. Maybe it was a sense of security which you now think was a trick of your mind. Perhaps the alcohol is to blame. After all, you didn't feel any need to be a burden on others on an otherwise fun night before. But the words just seemed to push their way out of your mouth. 

A severe scolding rings in your ears.

You always ruin everything!

You don't expect anyone to come up with an answer. In fact, you'll be grateful if someone simply discards your words and steers the conversation in a different direction. But if nobody does, then you'll quietly make your way home. There’s no use in annoying others by begging them to let you stay, promising you won't cause any more trouble. 

“How long has it been since you saw your mom?” Mikasa's voice cuts through the thickness of the air.

The look in her eyes is sympathetic. Not the fake kind that makes you feel pitied for having endured a rough life. It's the kind that simply matches such an ordinary question.

“About a year,” you murmur. 

Jean hums in thought.

“A year, huh? That's almost how long you've been in the city, right?” He scratches his chin as he retrieves the information you shared earlier from his tipsy brain. 

You nod. “Yup… one year.”

Everyone nods along to your answer. Everyone but one.

You nervously blink toward the left, searching Armin's face. He's slumped in his spot, his eyes lost at a blank point. They flash in your direction, and he quickly composes himself, but not quick enough for his expression to go unnoticed by you.

Despite some things here and there, he thought you were close. He never pressured you to share anything you didn't want to. Just getting along and respecting each other would have sufficed — he’s a giver more than he is a taker. But he feels like he failed to support you. He's extremely dumbfounded, but he doesn't make it a point that you never told him the specifics on something so big. He refuses to make you think he resents you for it. 

But the glimpse you caught of his fallen shoulders and clouded eyes still makes you lower your head in guilt. Just ten minutes ago, you felt accomplished for being on your way to gaining new friends and grateful that Armin paved the way for you. You're embarrassed for having thought that you could juggle more relationships when you've barely been open to the one you already have. It's almost laughable that you thought to leave your comfort zone and give this evening a try.

Before you can issue an apology, Jean's loud clapping startles you for the second time tonight.

"Well.” He tilts his head as he splits the last of the liquor into everyone's glass for one last drink. “In any case... if you hadn't moved here, you wouldn't be drinking with the best people you'll ever meet." 

“Hear, hear!” Armin yells beside you, following Jean's lead and raising his glass toward the center. 

Your eyes meet his. He's smiling, nodding almost imperceptibly for you to join your glass with everyone else's. The corners of your lips quirk into a relieved smile. You raise your glass.

The rest of the group cheers as joyful clinks spread through the room. 

Whatever darkness was squeezing at your chest dissipates. Your eyes crinkle in amusement as you allow your giddiness to take over. 

A pair of mesmerized green eyes linger on your face from the opposite side of the coffee table. His lips part slightly to draw in a long breath, followed by a sip of alcohol. 

A beeping phone sifts through the commotion.

Mikasa looks down at her phone. First, with curiosity, then with worry. 

Levi Don't go out at night for a while. Killer on the loose. SN3

She calls out Armin's name.

“Turn on the news on channel 3.”

The urgency tainting Mikasa's usual steady voice has Armin scrambling to find the remote, though with a bit of confusion. Everyone else exchanges quizzical glances while they wait for him to turn the television on.

A male newscaster is halfway through reciting a report on the police department's recent findings. 

“... The twenty-six-year-old woman's body was dismembered and disposed of in a garbage dumpster behind a local restaurant. Police have yet to report any evidence that can lead them to any suspects. An autopsy is ongoing to pinpoint the cause of death but with the initial report, signs point to a possible case of torture…”

The mood shifts yet again. Everyone stares at the screen, but the words no longer reach anyone's ears. Nobody recognized the girl identified on the screen but it's still unnerving when something so tragic and cruel happens in the city one lives in. Being close in age to the victim just makes it even rougher. 

Eren is the first to look back — specifically at the girls.

You all seem lost in thought. His gaze flits in your direction. You're just as distant, nursing your glass in your hands as you chew on your bottom lip. He turns to Mikasa.

“Was that Levi earlier?”

Eren's voice pulls Mikasa from her thoughts.

She nods.

“Who's Levi?” you ask.

“My uncle,” she explains. “He texted me not to go out at night for a while. They didn't say if this was a serial killer but I don't think he wants to take any chances as long as the culprit is out there.” In a lower voice she adds, “he's in the police.” 

You slowly nod, then suddenly remember where you are.

“I need to get home fast, then.” 

Your eyes land on the digital clock beside the TV. It's well past the time to catch the last bus. You swipe your phone from your purse to look up cab numbers, unaware of the nervous glances exchanged all around you.

“I don't think you should leave now.” Eren stops you from dialing the first cab company from your search results, his eyes wide with concern. He doesn't realize his hand is holding onto your wrist until you look down at it.

He pulls away, embarrassed, but remains firm in his statement.

“Eren's right,” Connie agrees. He has a protective hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Mind if we crash here tonight?” He directs his gaze at Armin. 

“No need to ask. I'll bring out some blankets.”

It's two in the morning. A cluster of tired bodies sleeps peacefully on the living room floor. Lazy limbs stretch out and across someone else's. Light snores and rare mumblings are the only thing that disturbs the quiet. 

The murder on the news had left everyone unsettled. Much so, that everyone felt inclined to sleep together in the same room. It didn’t do much for their comfort given the space, but it gave everyone a sense of safety. 

Eren’s eyelids barely flutter open. They're so heavy, he wishes he could just ignore the uncomfortable fullness of his bladder. But he can't. Begrudgingly, he clumsily rises to his feet and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his temples with one hand and feeling around for any walls and furniture with his other while his eyes adjust to the darkness. 

When he gets back, he catches sight of a lone figure sitting out on the small balcony outside of the kitchen.

It takes him a minute to rid himself of the extra warmth in his face. He takes a deep breath and quietly slides the door open to step out.

“Hey.” 

You look up at him from your chair. Your knees are pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around them for support as your cheek rests on top.

“Hi.” 

“Is it okay if I sit?”

You nod and proceed to face forward, resting your chin where your cheek used to be.

The night is pleasantly warm. You're wearing the sweats and shirt Armin lent you for the night. 

Eren's gaze roams every shape of your side profile. It's the second time you've been alone together and he's racking his brain on what to talk about to balance out the way he's been staring at you all night. He doesn't want to give Armin another reason to tease him. His hands are sweaty and his cheeks start to warm at the reminder.

“Did I wake you?” 

Your voice is gentle and sweet, but it startles him nonetheless. 

“No,” he manages to say. He pauses. “How long have you been out here?”

You shake your head as you look up at the star-littered sky.

“Not long.”

He hums, mulling your answer over. 

If you’re awake at this hour, not bothering to try going back to sleep, something must be weighing heavily on your mind, he reasons. That’s further proven by the way you’re shrinking into yourself, trying to take up as little space as you can. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about you, but there’s a difference in how your quietness manifests itself now than during dinner. It’s comparable to the way you were after watching the news. 

“Are you okay?” 

He watches you hesitate to give him an answer. Your lips tremble, parting and pressing together a couple of times. It’s as if you’re willing to talk but the words are lodged in your throat.

“You can tell me.”

Still no answer. 

“Is it because of the girl on the news?”

Finally, you look at him. Your brows twist with grief. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about her. Her family must be devastated.”

All evening, Eren’s had a hard time holding your gaze. Mainly because he didn’t want to give himself away, but it’s also hard to admire someone when they’re looking directly at you. Once his racing heart finds a steadier rhythm, he finds it’s actually easy to lose himself in your eyes. 

There’s a subtle glassiness to them — one he’d be more concerned about if he hadn’t noticed it as a natural part of you. Your eyes heavily conveyed every emotion, every little thought. And Eren suddenly felt compelled to learn how to read them.

The way you’ve presented yourself so far — gentle and cautious — gives you an aura of delicate maturity in the eyes of others. But for a brief moment, you seem small. Troubled, even. 

“I know it’s selfish for me to be thinking about this, but sometimes I wonder if I’ll have anyone crying for me when I die. I don’t have many people,” you whisper.

It feels strange to Eren to suddenly feel a surge of courage when he’s been nothing but an awkward wreck around you since you met.

“You have us now.”

You don’t show yourself to be entirely convinced. In fact, there’s a hint of amusement shimmering in your eyes. But you appreciate his words no matter how empty they might turn out to be. 

Eren hesitates to ask you the question that’s been gnawing at his brain for hours now. You’ve been sharing such a pleasant moment, that he hates to think he might ruin it all and end up losing his cool in the process. 

“That stuff about your parents… is it true?”

It’s a leap of faith.

“You think I made it up?”

The raised eyebrow and the humorless smile that graces your lips take him by surprise, even more so than the firm tone of your voice.

“No, of course not!” He chokes on his words, frantic he might have offended you. 

But you laugh, and it soothes him instantly.

“Relax, I was just teasing you.” You look away, warmth pooling at your cheeks upon your failed attempt to be funny. “It’s true, by the way. I’m a child of neglect.” 

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips.

He doesn't pick up on your embarrassment — he’s much too focused on his own.

Despite the bitterness lacing your gentle voice, he can’t help himself from wanting to know more. It makes him anxious. Finding you attractive is besides the point. His mind is scrambling at any opportunity to get closer to you. He wants to keep talking. He wants to hear more about what worries you. He wants to stretch out the night and keep the conversation going — even if he’s caught off guard by your unpredictable teasing a few more times. He wants to know about your past. He wants to know you. But you kill off his chances when you suddenly change the course of the conversation. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You look up at him with concern contorting your features. It takes everything in him not to let his gaze drift to your bottom lip that’s caught between your teeth to keep your nerves at bay.

“Huh?”

You clear your throat before explaining and fiddle with your hands as you do. You focus on the moon instead of him.

It’s quite cute for Eren to see you fidget for once.

“It's just that during dinner you barely talked and whenever I looked at you, you would look away,” you explain bashfully. “And then when we were doing the dishes together, you just felt a little awkward. I mean, I don’t expect you to be all chummy with me, but it was kind of like you were forcing yourself to talk to me.” 

Eren wants to smack himself. He had no idea of the message he was sending all this time. All those averted gazes and suppressed smiles must have looked totally different from your end.

“I thought maybe you were uncomfortable with me around.”

Your voice is even softer than before. It might have to do with the people sleeping inside or maybe you're just feeling quieter than usual. Eren has no idea. But it's a nice sound, and his quickening heartbeat isn't lost on him.

The abrupt changes in his system are giving him whiplash. And it’s all because of you.

“I’m not,” he whispers. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

A deep shade of red gradually tints his cheeks, openly defying the pale blue light from the moon. His gaze shies away from you and settles on his lap, where he nervously rubs his sweaty palms just to give himself something to do. When his eyes slowly drift back to your face, he swallows hard. 

It finally hits you.  

Oh, you think. 

Next chapter

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#aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #aot imagines #eren yeager fanfiction #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #tw: alcohol

[swifty-fox]

What Comes After

blacked out. wrote 1.7k fic for @bcolfanfic's Young vets AU.

Fanfic/Sequel of

Tw for aftermath of a suicide attempt and all that may entail

Nobody tells you what to do in the hours after your husband tries to take his life. Nobody says you’re going to be angry.

Nobody tells Gale how much he’ll have to pay for gas to the only Hospital for miles, seven hours tailing the red ominous lights of an ambulance there seven hours back all alone for the first time in a long while (one-hundred-twenty-seven dollars and fifty-three cents).

There’s nobody to tell him how to smile at his husband as he’s led away in a stunned daze. Does he smile at all? Small and painful and fake? 

And who can he ask what to do as he comes home to a now empty home, dawn well past finished and a hole the size of a man's life in the wall. A hole, no bigger than a nickel and just perfectly at eye level. The difference between a happy ending and a tragedy; the scales tipped kindly in his favor this time. 

You never wrestle for a gun. That’s the easiest way to get your own damn self shot.

A coin flip. Heads for John, Tails for Gale. 

“Guess the quarter got stuck in a crack.” he mutters. He knows his thought patterns aren’t quite clear, confused and weighed down by exhaustion and shock. 

Somewhere an animal is in pain. It gasps raggedly; sharp and raw. Someone should put that animal out of its misery, nothing deserved to be driven to sounds like that. Gale knows he is that animal. He swipes at his suddenly-tear soaked cheeks with a rough palm and sits down on the floor hard. 

His phone is in his hand, it’s first instinct to want to call John, hear his teasing voice (it hadn’t been teasing in a long time Gale Cleven don’t you lie). Bucky wouldn’t answer. He knew it would be a day or two before he would get an update on his husband. Not until observation was over, until paperwork was filed and permission was given. The nurse had explained it all through the ringing in Gale’s ears.

“Curt.” Buck says, shocked by the steadiness in his voice even as more tears trail their acidic way down his face. 

“Hey Buck, y’just caught me on break what’s up?” The familiar voice, clipping all it’s ‘T’s  away to nothingness devastates Gale. He lets out a sob with all the violence of vomiting.

“Gale?” 

“Ah fuck Curt, John had a gun.” Gale moans, covering his eyes and trying to breathe. The gun, now tossed carelessly on their bed like a stray shirt. 

Nobody tells him how to inform their friends of what has happened.

“What.” Curts voice is so strangled, so tiny that Gale realizes his fatal error immediately. 

“He’s okay. He’s okay Curt the gun- it went into the wall. He’s at a hospital right now. He’s where he needs to be.” 

Gale had heard that phrase a lot; spoken by people trying to reassure themselves that their loved ones would come home whole and healed. Now he was one of those people whispering the phrase with false confidence.

John needed to be Home. 

Curt devolves into a mess of swearing, punctuated with a passionate “Fffffucking VA!”

“I woke up and he wasn’t next to me. I thought maybe he had gotten out somehow, past the alarms. I’d already gotten my gun out of the house Curt I didn’t think-”

There's muffled voices on the other line, Curt talking to someone else, “- No I’m sick can’t you see? Gotta go Sean sorry. Fuck the client pardon my fucking french I gotta family emergency.” A car door slams, the sound of keys in an ignition. “You didn’t know Buck. It’s not your fault you did exactly what ya should’ve.”

“He had the gun to his chin,” Gale says numbly. 

Is there anyone to tell him how to get that single heart-stopping image out from behind his eyelids? He saw it every time he closed his eyes. 

“Fuck, Gale.” Curt exhales. “He’s okay?” so vulnerable, so sad, needing to double check just in case. 

“He’s in fucking psych ward. I can’t even call him.” 

“Yeah dumb question.” A pause where Gale just tries to breathe, looks up at that hole in the wall. It could be a woodpecker's hole on any tree outside. It was in his home and smelled faintly of gunpowder and terror. “I’m looking up plane tickets right now.” 

“Y’don’t have t-”

“G’fuck yourself, I’m coming.” 

Gale has no strength to argue, he’s got nothing left, really. 

“I almost lost him, Curt.”

“But you didn’t.” Curt still sounds stressed and Gale feels a twinge of guilt for ruining the guy's day just because he wasn’t able to help his own partner. “You did everything right. And you’re going to go to bed, then you’re going to wake up and I’mma be there. And we’ll deal with things together.”

“Together,” he echoes. 

“Get some sleep Buck. I’ll send you a text when my flight lands.” Curt orders before hanging up.

The thought of going into the bedroom; to the bed he shared with John. To have to see that fucking gun again. 

Nobody tells him how to handle that.

Gale falls asleep on the couch instead. 

-*~*-

When he awakes it’s night again and he feels such a violent sense of deja-vu that he has to do a walk-through of the whole house just to make sure that saving John hadn’t actually been a dream. That his body wasn’t lying somewhere with horrifying finality. 

Nobody tells you that maybe your husband's trauma-based decisions might cause a little trauma themselves.

Even though he knows there will be nothing - John's phone kept safely in a plastic bag along with the rest of his personal effects- Gale checks their messages first. Scans them for any sign, any slip that he may have missed that told him what Bucky was planning. ‘Love You’s’ and ‘Be Home Soons’ and ‘Get There Safes’. Bucky had been struggling, but he hadn’t seemed quite that bad yet.

Or maybe Gale just hadn’t wanted to see it. 

There’s a text from Curt showing his seven hour direct flight was only a half hour from landing. 

Exhaustion still claws at Gale as he shuffles out to the truck, clothes rumbled and sweaty from sleep, from stress; from wrestling a fucking firearm from a man determined to end his life and Gale’s in the same action. The truck is too silent. John usually sat to his right, hand on his thigh or the back of his neck; always touching Gale in a way the blonde allowed no other man to do.

He has to pull over to stop himself from hyperventilating.

When he pulls into the pick-up zone at the Airport it’s nearly deserted aside from a short familiar man in a windbreaker and military boots. 

Curt takes one look at his pale face and walks around the nose of the car to the driver's side.

“Budge over.” He says, opening the door and waving an impatient hand at Gale. 

Gale didn’t think he could, felt like his hands were glued to the smooth leather of the wheel. Just twenty-four hours ago he’d driven Bucky to the hospital in this car. He wondered at how quickly he’d gone from seeing the next steps so clearly in front of him to having to remember how to even speak. He was a puppet, his strings cut the moment John had entered the doors of the hospital. Through security guard checkpoints and metal detectors and locked doors. It was like being back in the desert with that level of protective diligence; or perhaps a prison

That can’t be very good for Bucky.

Nobody told him it might have been a good idea to inform the hospital why sometimes the glint of metal in the light made John do a double take.

When Gale still hasn’t moved, Curt lets out a tender sigh and unclips Gale’s seatbelt for him like the other man is a child.

“Come on Cleven, scoot on down the line.” He says gently, gives him a light push.

This is enough for him to move his wooden limbs, shuffle awkwardly over the center console and collapse gracelessly into the passenger seat. Curt hauls himself into the truck with an awkward grunt. He takes a second to maneuver his leg, move the seat upwards and the wheel down, and adjust the mirrors.

Gale sits there, opening and closing his hands. John had sat here last. Cried here not because he was alive and safe like Gale had cried; but for the opposite. 

Nobody told him how to sit in a puddle of his husband’s shed grief. 

“Here,” Curt tosses his phone into Gales lap. “Text Kenny for me will ya? Tell him I got y- got  here safe” 

“Does he know?” 

Curt pulls out of the airport, opens a window and leans his arm out as if he could air out the stuffy melancholy of the truck. “He asked where I was going. I didn’t-”

“John’s gonna hate it.” Gale mumbles “He won’t want anyone to know.” 

“Yeah, well, if he didn’t want people to know, maybe he shoulda woken you up. Shoulda called m-” Curt cuts himself off, presses sturdy boxer’s fingers to his mouth. “Fucking VA.” he curses again.

“Fucking VA.” Gale agrees. And it feels a little good. 

-*~*-

When they arrive back at the house It’s Curt that leads them inside. Curt, who picks up the gun, carefully disassembles it and puts it safely in the lock-box to be gotten rid of later. Curt who makes them a simple dinner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

They stand at the counter, eating silently. Gale feels wired and too awake, his sleep schedule beyond to fucked. 

He’d have to call out of work tomorrow. Maybe take a short leave. How could he even pretend to be okay for the kids?

“This is- In here right?” Curt’s eyes are jumping around the dark room, searching searching. 

Nobody tells you the shame that curls in one's belly when you have to show your best friend the bullet hole that nearly ruined all their lives. 

Curt puts his hands on his hips, bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed. Neither of them say much for a long time. Curt surveying and Gale staring a little blankly and replaying the sound of the gunshot over and over in his head.

“Well,” Curt finally drawls, “That’s an easy fix. You got any spackle?” he turns and smiles at Gale, crooked and reassuring, 

Gale thinks he’d like to tell someone about this part. The part where people show up for you.

#swiftywrites #buck x bucky #cleven #buck cleven #john egan #gale cleven #bucky egan #bitches have too many names #curt biddick #young vets au #suicide tw #mota

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Imagines Edition: Best Friend Number Twos

request: “Sissy and Cole! Okay so, Cole just goes dibs one day? Like rocks up to the lake house of even to Anaheim and is basically like *scoop up sissy* "I'm borrowing this. Mental health day bye." And everyone is like can he do that? That's an option?”

warnings: cursing, we*d (underage)

word count: 1.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST

a/n: when i tell y’all idk timeline of their life, i mean that shit. ik alex lived with them at some point (from what i put together from context clues) and trevor said he lived with them at one point (idk if that’s separate from the 5 weeks) but this is DIY timeline so trevor isn’t living with them but he visits a lot bc he’s dating sissy (duh) during NTDP days

ps i high key hate this and i am so sorry but every time i hate something it does well soooo here it is :) lmk what you think (i wrote in inebriated)

— — — — —

Sunday afternoons tended to be the calmest of all the days of the week. It was mainly spent with catching up on homework assignments, running errands, or just relaxing on the couch with your boyfriend, Jack, and Luke. Today was one of those days.

“Sissy, I love you, and if you weren’t Quinny’s entire world, you’d be mine. But I am—“

“Why can’t I be both of your entire worlds?” you cut him off. Jack tilted his head and gave you a ‘really?’ look, “Shut up, nobody asked you. Anyways, as I was saying, I love you, but I do not want to watch Catching Fire again.”

“But you love it!” you whined.

“Yes, but I don’t want to watch it every week! I don’t care how in love with Finnick you are, I’m picking the movie,” Jack stated. You crossed your arms and pouted, “Fine. Cars?”

Jack sighed and slammed his head down on the arm of the couch, “fucking dammit, fine!”

You cheered and fell into Trevor in celebration when the doorbell rang. Jack got up to open the door, “Oh hey! What are you doing here? Come on in.”

You and Trevor looked over and saw Cole entering the house. You both perked up and smiled at his arrival, “Cole!”

Trevor stood up to greet his friend in one of their weird handshakes they refuse to let you in on, “Hey! Whatcha doing here, buddy?”

Instead of answering immediately, Cole voted to just pick you up right off the couch and into his arms.

“I’m taking her,” Cole stated as if it were the most obvious thing int the world.

Jack, Luke, and Trevor all exchanged confused glances.

“Can he do that?” Trevor asked.

“Well, none of us are Quinn,” Luke said perplexed.

“Can I ask why you’re taking Sissy?” Jack turned to Cole, who was slowly walking to the door to keep conversation.

“I’ve been stressed, so I thought a Y/N day would solve all my problems,” Cole answered. “It works out great for you guys, I thought I’d give it a try.

“She is good at that,” Jack agreed. “Is this just a thing now? We can take her wherever?”

“Not when I’m—“

“With Quinn! Yeah, yeah, we know,” Jack interrupted.

Cole started walking closer to the door with you still i’m his arms. You situated yourself so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Cole! Where are you taking her?!” Trevor shouted at his best friend.

“Anywhere she wants!”

“Can we come?”

“I can’t have a detox with Y/N day with her brothers and boyfriend hanging around!” Cole called out while he opened the front door.

“Bring her back by 6 for dinner!” Jack told him. You saluted him and allowed yourself to be carried out the door to Cole’s car.

“Alright, Caufield. You got 5 hours with me, what’s your game plan?” you asked as you placed your elbow on the middle console to prop your head up to look at him.

“I thought I’d take you out to lunch and then back to my dorm for some video games and maybe smoke a little?” Cole answered.

You quirked and eyebrow, “Where did you acquire bud?”

Instead of answering, Cole reached into his pocket and held up a disposable pen.

“That’s not smoking,” you rolled your eyes.

“Do you want it or not?”

You snatched it out of his hand and inhaled, relaxing back into your seat on the exhale.

“Good?” Cole smiled.

“Hella.”

Cole took you to Chipotle, which you both voted to take it back to Cole’s room to eat so he could rant. You sat perpendicular to the head of his bed and had him lay his head down in your lap so you could play with his hair as he spoke. Most of it was stress handling school and hockey practice four days a week, plus games. Other parts of it was little things, such as missing home and a much comfier bed.

“What if once a week we all get together and do assignments together? And we can get you a comfier mattress topper for your bed to try and make it comfier, and I’d have to ask mom but maybe you can stay in Quinn’s room every once in a while. I sleep in his bed all the time when I miss him so I can confirm it is a top notch bed to sleep in,” you said.

“How do I know if it’s actually top notch or if you just miss your best friend so much you gaslit yourself into liking it?” Cole inquired.

“Do you really think Ellen would let her favorite child sleep on an uncomfortable bed?”

“Good point,” he laughed.

This started to make Cole feel better, so you both decided it was time to play some video games and get a little high for further nerve easing.

“Cole-Baby,” you said after a hit, “it’s time to go.”

“One more round,” he said.

“Uh huh, you are not ten and I am not your mother that you bargain with. Rap it up, pretty boy.”

Cole turned off the game and looked over at you smirking, “you think I’m pretty?”

“I think it got you to turn the game off,” you smirked back and kissed his cheek as you stood up.

You spent the entire car ride practically inhaling water. It won’t sober you up completely, but it’ll ease it. It wasn’t the first time you’d come home a little high, and it certainly won’t be the last, so you didn’t worry. Plus, it wasn’t bud.

You skipped through the door and jumped on top of your boyfriend on the couch when you and Cole walked in.

“Trevy!” you screamed.

“Well hello to you, too, Princess,” Trevor laughed.

“Kiss,” you said, lifting your head up. Trevor gave you a small kiss, since you didn’t like to put on a show when your entire family was around.

Jack eyed you suspiciously. You knew he was onto you, so you snapped twice to signal ‘yes, I am high’ so that he could help cover for you if need be, which was hardly ever needed. He, however, needed it frequently, which is why you two created the signal.

“What was that?” Trevor asked.

“Hugheslepathy. We’ve been over this,” you stated as if it were obvious.

“As your newly declared best friend I would like in on this Hugheslepathy signals,” Cole said.

Everyone looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Buddy, Quinn’s her best friend,” Trevor said.

“Since she was 6,” Luke added.

“They’re Hugheslepathy is so much crazier than ours that I don’t even understand it,” Jack said.

“Plus, I’m your best friend,” Trevor finished the back and forth.

“You can have more than one best friend!” Cole exclaimed.

“Clearly, you haven’t been around Sissy and Quinn enough,” Jack laughed. “They’re a different breed of best friend.”

“You can be best friend number two, Coley, but only if I’m yours!” you exclaimed as you sat up.

“Alright, I’ll settle for number two best friend,” Cole laughed. “Shall we legalize it?”

“We shall,” you nodded. You held out your pinky finger to Cole and he looped his around it and you shook hands. “That’s a pink promise! It’s legally binding!”

Cole smiled and agreed with you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Ellen called out.

Jack walked by you as you got up, “How bad?”

“I barely feel it,” you answered. “My best friend number two does not have strong stuff.”

Cole came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, “Last time I share with you, then.”

You gasped and escaped out of his hold, “We’re best friend number twos! That means something!”

“Best friend number twos?” Ellen asked. “What about Quinn?”

“That’s why Cole’s number two, Mom,” you laughed.

Ellen smiled at Cole, “Best friend number two, huh? That’s a big role to fill. Are you ready for it?”

Cole slung his arm around you, “I think I can handle it.”

#penalty box series #penalty box series: imagines #cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes #cole caufield x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey fic #montreal canadiens

[zerokrox-blog]

'I WAS A CHILD!' the sound cutting through the dining room, all conversation ceased. Steve's voice was furious, and filled with a fury that nobody had ever heard from him. The Hopper-Byers house was full, the Christmas party had been in full swing. The Sinclair's, the Henderson's, the Munson's, the Wheeler's, as well as Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington had spent the day here having a great time. At some point right before dinner Steve's parents, Richard and Margaret Harrington, had surprised them all by showing up unannounced. Steve had barely interacted with them at all.

The younger kids had moved into a different room as the conversation between the adults had turned to their kids and their childhoods. Joyce had mentioned Jonathon's favorite toy had been a red firetruck, and it had broken when Will was two. She had been so pleased to talk about her fond memories. Margaret Harrington had mentioned that Steve's favorite toy had been a stuffed tiger and her husband had smiled and told them proudly that he had 'gotten rid of it'. And the two Harrington parents talked about the three toys Steve had been given as a child that had mysteriously vanished when he was four as punishment, while the other parents had looked uncomfortable and tried to change the topic. Steve had been quiet but the anger was mounting. And suddenly it was too much, and the words he had been holding back burst out of him.

'Are you going to include the part where you beat my ass so bad I couldn't sit for three days? Or the part where you forced me to watch as my only toys were burned? Or the part where you smacked me because I was crying? Is that also included in this fond nostalgia?' his voice was cold.

Richard Harrington floundered for a second, 'well son you had to be taught manners.' he started to say. 'It was-'

But Steve interjected, 'I WAS A CHILD!' he yelled. 'too young to understand why my toys were taken away. Too small to fight back! Too little to understand why my parents were taking away my presents! But that doesn't matter does it? So long as I was a perfect, quiet, obedient childlike doll for you to show off.' He stood up. He glared at his parents, 'Sometimes I wish you had aborted me before I was born. I wish you had thought about abandoning a child would do to it, about what smacking and hitting and freezing out your child would do. But instead I had to pretend to be fine. Never telling anyone because Harringtons don't have emotions and don't cry.' he mocked. 'just stay the fuck away from me.' He walked out of the room and out of the house before either parent could say anything more.

Steve got into his car and drove off. Speeding as fast as he could away from the house.

Once he was gone, Sue Sinclair looked at the Harrington's, in a tone so cold she stated, 'I don't find it funny or cute to beat my children. Especially if they were that young.' Her eyes held a burning rage that nobody had seen before, 'I hope that boy is ok. But you best stay away from him. That's my kid's older brother you were talking about.' Margaret Harrington suddenly realized what they had been talking about and before anymore could be said she grabbed her husband's arm and tried to get him out of the house.

But Hopper's voice, emotionless, stopped her dead in her tracks, 'anything else you want to add? Maybe the part where you left him alone for months and weeks at a time when he was younger? Maybe more about beating him? I, for one, am curious what else you can be put in prison for, being as I am the police chief.' Richard Harrington's face went white. And he stuttered out an awkward reply and the Harrington's left the house.

Eddie waited until they were both gone, he grabbed his keys and slipped out with Nancy, Argyle, Robin, and Jonathan. They drove around in silence, looking for him. As they drove past the quarry, they saw his car parked, but it was empty. They parked beside his car and carefully walked around the area and found him sitting on the ledge, watching the water, fave blank but his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy like he'd been crying.

Robin took the first step towards him and sat down beside him. None of them spoke, nothing needed to be said.

Maybe it won't get better anytime soon. But for now he had his family around him. His actual family. It was Christmas, he'd be ok sometime soon. He slumped against Robin and Eddie, letting his eyes slide shut.

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #zerowrites #eddie my beloved #my headcanons #steve/eddie #i love this #they're too cute #steve's parents are neglectful and negligent #steve harrington and his parents #steve deserves better

[ripleyswrld]

I saw your post where you’re looking for requests, and I have an idea… What about an angst fic where Rhea is always busy/forgets the reader’s birthday. They’ve been together for a few years and maybe this time the reader decides enough is enough and is contemplating leaving her/temporarily breaks up with her? I’m a sucker for a badass woman having to grovel/redeem herself to her girlfriend, no clue why. But a happy ending, pretty please? Sorry if this is too specific — please, feel free to change any details you want! It’s just an idea I’ve had running around in my head that I’ll probably never get around to writing myself. -🦢

An ‘Unforgettable’ Birthday

Rhea Ripley x Reader (angst)

CW: angst, Rhea being an asshole (redeems herself ofc)

You and Rhea had been together for almost 3 years now and since the start she’s shown you nothing but love and affection, always put you first and cared for you like nobody else did. But as of recent her job and other things in her life seemed to being steering her attention away from you. You were fine and understanding with it at first, but as time went on she became snarky and irritable towards you. Nothing was the same as it used to be and it was a hard pill for you to swallow.

It was the night before your birthday, you and Rhea were laying in bed. She was on her phone, almost completely ignoring your existence. You knew how things were between you two right now but you thought she’d at least bring knowledge to the fact it was your birthday the next morning.

“Rhea, Are you even listening to me?” You spoke up as she smirked at something on her phone.

“What is it y/n?” She responded with a rude tone in her voice. “Can’t you see I’m busy right now? Give me a break.”

Rhea rolled over with her back facing you, continuing what ever was so important on her phone.

“You know what, fine.” You said, turning off the light beside your bed. “Forget it.”

It was the next morning, your eyes opened and you turned to see Rhea wasn’t in bed anymore. A bit of hope surged through your body, hoping that she was doing something to surprise you. When you walked to the kitchen and saw that she was getting ready to go somewhere, you spoke up.

“Where are you going?” You asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“I’m going to Damian’s, I won’t be home tonight.” She responded, like last night was on her phone, ignoring you. “So just feed the pets and make yourself useful.”

An anger you have never felt before overtook any other emotion you could have felt in this moment, the 3 years you spent surprising her each birthday she had. Taking hours out of your day to make the day special for her. She used to do the same for you, but something had changed. The rage you felt boiled in your stomach and traveled up your body until it came spilling out of your mouth.

“You’re kidding right?” You laughed in a sarcastic manner. “Like you’re actually fucking kidding?” She looked at you, acting like this was completely out of character. Something wasn’t right.

“Y/n why are you acting like this?” Her voice quiet.

“Why am I acting like this? No why are YOU acting like this?” You took a step closer to her. “You used to make me feel loved and wanted and now you just discard me like shit under your shoe and I’m just supposed to take it?”

“Y/n please just wait a minu-”

“Today was supposed to be my special day, everything I’ve done for you over the years and this is what I get? Discarded, uncared for and my birthday completely forgotten.”

The anger on your face was completely undeniable, something hit Rhea like a ton of bricks as you told her how you felt. You could tell.

“Fuck this and fuck you too Rhea.” You grabbed your coat and car keys, getting ready to walk out that door and never turn back to this. “I’m over you and the shit you’ve been putting me through.”

“No wait please!” She grabbed your wrist with a tight grip and refused to let go. “I’m sorry I genuinely really am sorry, I don’t know why I’ve been doing this.” She told you, swarms of regret flooding her mind.

“You have no reason to treat me this way Rhea, now let me go.” You said trying to fight the grip she had on your wrist.

“please, I know I don’t deserve a second chance with the way I’ve been treating you but I promise you I’ll do absolutely everything I can to make this right.” The look she had told you she was dead serious on trying to make this right. She didn’t cry, she didn’t try to play a victim. She knew she was in the wrong.

You thought for a minute, you loved Rhea. You loved the way she made you feel, every moment you had spent together throughout the last 3 years couldn’t be let go because of this. You didn’t want to let it go.

“Rhea-”

“I know I fucked up, I really fucked up. But I promise you from the bottom of my heart to make this right and fix what I’ve ruined.” She let go of your wrist, letting you make the choice to leave or to stay.

You put down your coat and your keys, staring at the woman you loved unconditionally for the past 3 years of your life. She wrapped her arms around your waist, her face buried in your neck. You closed your eyes as you reluctantly hugged back, but relaxed as the feeling you missed too much came back to you.

“I’m sorry y/n, truly.” She kissed the top of your head as she held you close. “I think I owe you a day out.”

You giggled at her. “Where did you have in mind?”

“Wherever you want love, wherever you want.”

Tysm for the request and I’m so sorry it took me ages to answer it. I’ll be more active now as my job as given me a couple days off!

#rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley imagine

[lovejosephquinn]

Joe x reader smut where they are best friends driving home after a party and Joe just cannot keep his hands to himself anymore omllll

Wait cause how did I not see this gem hidden in my inbox until now? Imagine it

Thank you for your request angel and so sorry for the delay! x

UNDER 18'S DNI TYSM.

You received the call at precisely 11:48pm, you were in your pyjamas ready to get into bed, all curled up underneath a blanket with your book when your phone buzzed, you ignored it at first and then sighed when it did again. Yawning and sitting up to reach it from the coffee table, you begrudgingly answered.

"Hello?"

"Hiiiii, I'm drink." His words stumbled as you heard a hiccup erupt into your ear.

"Hi drink, I'm Y/N."

Your best friend sounded a little intoxicated down the other end and you instantly rolled your eyes. He fell silent for a second then shortly after you'd heard his phone clatter to the floor. Scrambling to pick it up you heard him yell curse words at his action.

"Hello I'm here."

"Joe, are you drunk?"

"Welllll beside the point love, I need you to come pick me up right now and take me home. I think I need bed."

"You need bed? Have you ever heard of a thing called a taxi Joseph? It's almost midnight." You tried your best to play it off, knowing that he wouldn't take no for answer, you teased him letting him go on and on about how he needed you, nobody else.

"Ask nicely."

"Please oh please, my beautiful, considerate, incredible best friend, my everything, come and get me and I-I um I'll make it up to you."

That was enough to coheres you into putting your shoes on, grabbing your car keys and heading out the door to fetch your pain in the arse best friend. Maybe a part of you blushed and internally squealed when he uttered the words my everything, but he wouldn't need to know that. Joe didn't need to know the truth behind your real feelings for him or the fact you'd drop almost anything to be around him.

You parked up to the building the event was held at, and immediately saw Joe was lent against the wall outside smoking a cigarette, you beeped the horn which made him jump due to the fact he wasn't paying attention but the adorable wave and beaming smile that came from him once he'd seen you killed you inside.

The passenger door opened, and Joe flicked his cigarette behind him, clambering into the seat like a small child who had to climb in would. Joe leaned over and planted a sloppy peck on your cheek, his toothy grin noted from your peripheral vision. "You're the fucking best Y/N, I owe you."

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow before you made the route back to his flat. "You promised me you'd make it up to me, that's going to take a lot of work."

"I can do that, easy peasy." He let out a low chuckle as you put the car in gear and pushed your foot down to get the car moving. "Let me know when you think of something, you can't even walk properly so I don't know how you're going to do that tonight, but I'll remind you again when you're sober."

His hand rested on top of your thigh whist you drove, going over speed bumps didn't help his hand moving upward, his balance wasn't the greatest as you'd dually noted, but the closer his hand got towards you, the more you clenched your thighs.

Joe giggled, his eyes following his hand halfway up your thigh "Don't think I can't see that love."

"What?" You gripped the steering wheel.

"You keep gripping your thighs together, did I interrupt something when I called?"

Your cheeks burned red from his ignited gaze and Joe took a mental snapshot of the way you looked right then and there.

"Cause if you were, I can help you y-know. Infact yes- I've got it."

As you hit the brakes at a red light, the gap in your legs spread slightly and Joe ceased the opportunity to move his hand in and caress you where you needed it most.

"Joe, what are you doing?"

"I'm making it up to you love, pull over."

"I can't just-"

"Pull. Over." He stated in a serious tone, you did just that.

Parking in an empty bay off the side of the quiet road, Joe removed his hand for a moment, you both watched each other in silence.

"You know I've thought about this for a while."

"What?"

"I think we both know what." You needed to quit playing dumb. "I've always wanted you, you're so beautiful."

Joe cupped your cheek, stroking along it with his thumb.

"Joey, seriously, you're pissed up, don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow."

"Please. If you want me to stop, just say the word and I'll stop."

You couldn't bare his puppy dog look; he'd mastered that with you. Your breathing hitched as his hand moved back down to your crotch, your legs effortlessly spread out for him, and his eyes immediately darted back to your face.

"I guess that means you won't want me to stop."

You pulled down your pyjama bottoms, leaving only your cotton panties which had a tiny wet stain on the centre, all thanks to Joe's initial touching.

"I need your permission before I do anything, but damn I haven't even seen your pussy yet and I know it's going to look so damn perfect."

You nodded your head vigorously, you seriously considered pinching yourself to see if you'd wake up from this delicious dream, but here Joe was right in front of you, and he wanted nothing more than to touch you, even if he did regret it in the morning when it came down to it, at least you could blag you'd had a drink too and laugh it off.

"Touch me, Joe."

His hand rubbed over your panties as he gasped at the wetness seeping through them, he bit his lip as he moved them to the side and ran his finger up your slit. "You're so wet, is this all for me?"

You nodded again, still a little shy, but your need for an orgasm was beginning to get the better of you.

Taking himself away, tasting the remanence of your juice from his index finger earning a groan out of him. "I knew you'd taste good too."

His hand returned to its rightful place, two fingers expertly found your aching clit and began to trace circles around it. You threw your head back in pure ectasy, gripping the side of your seat.

"Faster." you muttered quietly.

Joe obeyed, fastening up the pace of his fingers, pressing down on the throbbing bud, watching your thighs jolt at the sensitivity.

"Does my beautiful best friend enjoy me rubbing on her pretty little clit?"

The loud moan that caught you off guard was reciprocated by a moan from Joe too and you found yourself lifting forward to give him better access.

"Tell me what you want."

"I-I want your fingers inside of me."

His filthy, drunken smirk couldn't have looked more appealing as he accepted your order, thrusting the two fingers that started on your clit straight up inside of you.

"Is my girl going to cum all over my fingers, just for me?"

MY. GIRL. You could've been sick.

The moans seeping out of you filled the entirety of the car as Joe's fingers curled up knocking the soft spot deep inside.

"Your fingers feel so good. They're so thick, oh my f-"

Without hesitation, Joe pushed a third finger in, leaning forward to create a better speed as he watched you fall apart. His stare was rushing back and forth between his fingers fucking your cunt and the way your eyes rolled back and pornographic moans fell from your lips.

"I want you to cum for me, right. Now. I've imagined this over and over."

Wait what?

You had no time to process his words, the bolt of electricity filled your whole body, making your walls tighten around his fingers as your orgasm hit you. Your back arched, eyes squeezed shut as you squealed out his name, your hand flew onto the palm of his, holding his fingers in place and then moving up to rub yourself ever so slightly to let it ride out a little longer. Joe released his fingers a mere few seconds later and tasted them once more.

"Mmm so good. Did I make it up to you enough?"

You turned back to your best friend, eyeing up his features, his doe eyes sparkled in the same way they always had when he'd looked at you, drunk or sober.

"You did." You admitted, pulling back up your clothing. The burning question of what did you mean when you said you'd imagined it over and over was meaning to be said, but he caught you off guard in his next statement.

"I do love you; you know."

Oh. "I love you too, Joe."

He held his hand up to you, signalling for you to stop. "No, I really love you, so much."

"If you still mean it in the morning, let me know." You stuttered.

#my asks #requests are open #joseph quinn request #joe quinn request #joseph quinn imagine #joe quinn imagine #joseph quinn blurb #joe quinn blurb #joe quinn fanfic #joequinn #josephquinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joe quinn x reader #joesph quinn #joseph quinn character #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x female reader #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn x you #joe quinn smut #joe quinn fluff #chocolate button eyes

[blackroseguzzi]

Heyyy I love ur writings smm!!

I was wondering if u can do a Kai smut where the reader is completely opposite of Kai like she’s happy and bright and sometimes she feels like he doesn’t really love her anymore and she just gets insecure bc of what the ppl in the cult say about there relationship but Kai shows her how much he really loves her (but yk make it rough and a lil sweet or whatevaaaa ;) ) thank u sm bye I love you

Pink Blazers & World Domination

I hope you enjoy this!

You had decided to sneaked into the basement a few minutes after Kai had wrapped up the Cult meeting, wanting to run your hands through his vivid blue hair and ride him like your life depended on it. But what you had found as you lightly descended the stairs made your blood boil through your veins. 

Kai had his hand on Ivy’s knee as they talked on the couch. You cringed as you heard him call her ‘special’ and confess to her that she was important. You knew he told people what they liked to hear, but you were shocked to see that his speech was eerily similar between all of his cult followers. You pressed your lips together and cast a nasty glance towards the view on the couch before slipping back up the stairs, ready to go home. 

Speedwagon was guarding the door as you approached and quietly asked to leave. He scoffed at you, clearly he knew that you had seen Kai with Ivy in the basement. Another reason for him and Kai’s devoted men to look at you in pity. 

“One day you’ll learn,” He sighed and opened the door for you.

“What does that even mean?” You cocked your head, waiting for his response. He looked to the basement door and back into your fiery eyes. 

“Nobody means more to Kai than Kai. We’re all just here to help his plan. You’re not the only special one y/n.” Speedwagon flashed you his crooked grin and you just looked at him in disgust and rolling your eyes walking out the door to your vehicle. You wondered if your involvement with city council and your career in economic development played a part in how important you were to ‘Kai’s plans’. You slammed the door to your car and sticking the key in the ignition before driving to the liquor store. Tonight’s events called for a tall glass of red wine. You didn’t find yourself insecure about your relationship with Kai most days, but when you did Wine usually helped. 

Walking softly to your apartment building from the parking lot you scrolled through your phone messages with Kai. The sexual messages between the two of you made the warmth in your gut spread south. You bit your lip as you thought about Kai’s words to Ivy, and what SpeedWagon had said to you. It was certainly not the first time someone had laughed at your relationship between our one and only Devine ruler. Meadow clearly felt special too before her weak demise. You knew Kai’s plans from the start when he had started fucking that pathetic dumb blonde. You also knew that when you wore a high pony and bubblegum pink blazers to work it made his followers question Kai’s intentions with you- you were smart, but also clearly easily manipulated, right? You hated when the group would giggle and call you Mrs. Woods from Legally Blonde. They didn’t know much about you other than what they saw on the outside, but it didn’t stop them for constantly wondering what the hell Kai saw in you other than a piece of ass. 

You walked down the long hallway towards your apartment, clutching the fancy top shelf wine tightly in your grip as you dug into your Calypso bag for your keys. 

“Hello beautiful.” You gasped, almost dropping your wine bottle as you twisted around to see Kai standing a few feet in front of you.

“Don’t ever do that again, you almost made me drop the wine,” You put a hand to your chest and turned back around walking towards your door. 

“SpeedWagon mentioned you had seen the conversation I had with Ivy tonight,” Kai leaned next to   you, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed as you fumbled with your keys. You looked over at him before unlocking the apartment- taking in his appearance. His hair was down, greasy, and unkept and his all black outfit was topped with a black trench coat. You noticed his eye twitch, and realized he had probably a ridiculous amount of Adderall coursing through his body. 

“You’re getting sloppy. Don’t tell them all the same thing Kai, they’ll catch on.” You pushed open your door and walked into your apartment and turning on the light. Kai followed you as you placed the wine on the counter. You felt his hands slip around your waist and his face nuzzled not the crook of your neck, placing delicate kisses onto it. You closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness. 

“You’re right, I need to get more creative.” Kai whispered in your ear.

“They all think I’m weak. I hear it in everything they say to me,” You twisted around to face him and he reached his hand up to stroke your cheek. 

“You can’t trust anyone but me,” He kissed you feverishly, hands roaming around until they cupped your ass. He always loved when you wore those white dress pants. 

Pulling away you walked over to the other side of your kitchen Island to retrieve a wine opener. 

“Remember that one time in middle school when you gave that kid a swirly for calling me a ‘princess’?” You opened the wine and poured two glasses, handing one to Kai who laughed quietly at your memory. “That’s because you’re not a princess,” Kai took a small sip of his wine, “You’re a queen.” 

“Ive always believed in you Kai, and I know it’s your turn to be a King. Your little followers have no idea how much we’ve seen.” You licked your lips, slowly unbuttoning your shirt to expose the white fishnet and lace Teddy that drove him Kai wild. He took in a deep breath as he soaked in the view of you. 

He always had told you that your spirit animal was a butterfly. You were a magical creature that just floated around in beauty and everyone admired your outer shell. They all saw you and your bubbly angelic personality, but they didn’t see how deep inside that butterfly there was the soul of a hungry, ruthless caterpillar who had twisted its inside to mush in order to fool the word of its ugly truth - presenting itself as a colorful ray of sunshine flying through fresh garden beds. 

Kai on the other hand was like a Goliath spider, using his fangs to capture and inject venom into their prey. He was darkly charismatic, and that charisma is what drew you to him in the first place. He knew just the right words to say and just how gentle or rough to fuck you that you always came back for more. 

“I don’t want anyone to know the real you, I want her all to myself.” Kai walked over to you and grabbed the meat on your hips and pulled you to him. The two of you connected your foreheads, closing your eyes and enjoying the intimate embrace. Kai loved that you appeared weak and fragile to the others, because he knew that mask protected you from things he didn’t dare think of. Nobody would hurt his queen.

“Promise me you don’t think I’m special or important? Your voice was low and Kai could smell the wine on your tongue.

“You’re much too good for such ordinary vocabulary my love,” He responded, grabbing your cheeks and bringing your forehead to his lips for a sweet kiss.

You looked up at him, your face curled into a sweet but sinful grin, “Will you show me how different I am?”

“Get to the bedroom,” Kai growled between kisses. He smashed his chapped lips into your smooth strawberry scented ones. He felt the sticky gloss coat his own lips before he felt you pull always and walk towards your apartment bedroom. You flipped on the light over the bed, giving the all white room a nice golden hue. Kai loved how clean the room always looked and how sterile it felt, devilishly knowing the dirty and sinister things that you two did together inside of it. 

You both undressed as music swirled around them. You had demanded Alexa to play your favorite’s playlist. They were your favorite because each song represented a time the two of you fucked with music on. It turned you on to retrieve memories of your sexual endeavors together in order to make new ones.

Kai walked towards you as you stood there, naked. He loved when you wore that high pony tail, it reminded him of the times in high school when he would sulk behind the bleachers at football games. He would watch as you lead the cheer team in dance. Your skirt too short for his liking, and  when it was halftime he would drag you somewhere secluded, lift your skirt up and fucking you from behind, pulling your ponytail as he thrusted. 

“Show me that you’ll always love me the most, Kai?” Your sweet voice made Kai’s blood travel to his dick. “How could I ever love anyone as much as you?” Kai ran both his hands slowly down your shoulders than grasped your hands as he brought you over to the bed. You laid back, enjoying the feeling of Kai sliding your legs apart and his warm breath hit your clit and you felt the goosebumps run wild on your extremities.

You groaned in pleasure as Kai’s tongue moved in ways that drove you insane, in ways a toy could never satisfy you. The technique in which he sucked your clit while having his arms wrapped around your thighs- fingertips marking the skin made your legs tremble in gratification. 

You felt Kai remove his mouth from your pussy and he started licking you from your navel to your neck.

When you think of Kai you always think of sex-the chemistry between you was so powerful it made your body ache with the need to have him inside you, always. When Kai would fuck you, the part of your brain that had any doubt he loved you was completely destroyed. 

“Are you going to be a good girl or a bad girl tonight?” Kai breathed into your ear, making your body practically scream for him.

“Oh, I think tonight I’ll be your bad girl,” You pressed a kiss to his lips once more before he forcefully entered you. You gasped, taking his cock and digging your hot pink nails into his back making small marks. He growled with pleasure while throwing his head back. 

Kai continued to pump himself in you as you gently placed your legs onto his shoulders so he could go deeper inside of you. You watched him enjoy all of you as he pushed himself in and out of you, his eyes opening to stare at you moments before pulling out and yanking you off the bed. Kai pushed you towards the wall mounted full length mirror and your hands collided firmly onto the glass as Kai bent you over, re-entering you from behind. You watched him fuck you through the mirror and it created that fantastic feeling that built inside of you ready to explode. His lips were pressed together and his eyebrows deepened the stare he had with you as he watched your orgasm build. 

“Im going to cum, Kai,” You managed to squeak out, and before you did he grabbed your pony tail and yanked your head back. You felt your body surge with your sexual completion, screaming in pleasure. Kai also released himself inside of you, his silky load filling you with warmth and that tingly sensation you had craved all night. He ran his hands down your back and lightly squeezed your ass cheeks before exiting your body. 

Kai grabbed both white robes from the bathroom door. He came over to your sweating body and slid the robe onto you. You felt his kiss hit the side of your head quickly before he slipped his own robe onto his naked skin. You felt the vulnerability that always comes after sex, and you watched Kai slip from the bedroom and return with both glasses of wine, handing you your glass. 

“Remember that time I came to visit you at college, and your boyfriend walked in on me fingering you on the kitchen counter?” Kai sat down on the edge of the bed, sipping his wine before watching you relive the memory.

“How could I forget. It’s when I knew that no man would ever show their love to me like you do.” You walked over and sat on the bed next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for showing me that it’s me and nobody else.”

Kai’s smirk made your heart jump. He reached up and brushed back a piece of hair that had made its way out of your pony and into your face.

“Anything for my Queen.”

#kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #kai anderson x you #kai anderson fanfiction #kai anderson messiah #kai anderson smut #evan peters #evan peters smut #ahs cult #kai anderson ahs #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #kai ahs #evan peters imagine #Kai Anderson images #kai requests #kai anderson imagine #evan peters x y/n #evan peters fanfic

[celebtf]

Dressed in Style(s)

It was a late Friday and I sat down in my apartment on the East side. I scrolled the feed on Instagram, when I saw the post

I found Harry so hot, the tattoos, the hair, the muscles, the attitude. It's not that I'm in love with him, I wanted to be him, have his life.

I scrolled om Harry's Instagram and saw that he had a show in my City tonight, I didn't have a ticket obviously but that hasn't stopped me before. I packed a little bag, took my car-keys and jacket and went down to my car and started driving down town to the stadium.

I finally arrived at the stadium and now I only needed to access Harry's lounge, it was still in the afternoon so the Rehearsal for tonights show was still running. I saw a crew jacket and a hat " This is my chance " I said for myself, I put the jacket and hat on and started the search for Harry's lounge where I would hide till he was done with Rehearsal. After some time searching I found his room, the clothes were put on a hanger, some makeup was on the table, some hairproducts too, some water for tonights show " I can get used to thks " I said and laughed.

1 hour goes by and I hear somebody's coming so I hide behind the door. The door open and it's Harry himself entering his lounge, all tired and sweaty from Rehearsal. This was my chance, I slowly locked the door very quietly, I grabbed my bag and take out the handcuffs and ballgag i packed earlier and I jump on to Harry's back when he was facing away.

" Hey, who are you, stop that " Harry said but I was fast and put the Handcuffs on him " I'm sorry Harry, I just want your life so much, you have the money, fame, boys and girls drooling.. I want that, and it's okay nobody will notice you're away anyways ".

I put Harry on his knees and ordered him to start sucking on my dick " Yes Harry, you suck dick so good " I had my hand in his hair and started pushing deeper, the sound of Harry chocking was like music for my ears.

I grabbed Harry from the floor and placed him over the table with the mirror, I wanted him to see this next part. I put the ballgag in his mouth, pulled down his pants and started entering his tight ass " Oooh Harry you're so tight, I love it " .... as I was fucking his ass I started to see my hands grow bigger and tattoos started to appear, arms started to grow bigger and I got more muscular and more tattoos appeared. My hair grew longer and darker and my dick grew a few inches too. I force Harry too look up in the mirror " Look Harry " my voice came out deeper and with a brittish accent, The shock on Harry's face, there in the mirror was Harry Styles fucking Harry Styles. " How does it feel to be fucked by your own dick Harry ?" I asked him inbetween the moans. I shot a few thique loads in Harry's ass and then put Harry on his knees again and took out the Ballgag.

I could see Harry's hair started to lighten and getting shorter, arms got Skinnier and the tattoos disappering and he got shorter too. Harry was now a copy my old self

I took my new phone and I called Steve my Manager " Hey Steve, It's Harry I have a naked Intruder in my room, can you send somebody " . Steve came and took the Old harry away and I went out on stage of 60,000 people and and nobody suspected a thing. After the show I went backstage and Jerked infront of the same mirror, looking at my new body.

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

Hey I'm new to this Writing thing, English is not my first Language, so I'm sorry for spelling and grammar errors. I hope you liked this story and want to see more of them

#body swap #malebody-swap #shapeshift #celebrity tf #celebtf #transformation #harry styles #male body-suit #viral #story #male shapeshift

[soleilceirinen]

Renaissance | teacher!Cillian Murphy x fem!Reader - Part 11

Summary: you are an Art History student in your last year at university. Cillian is your teacher. A/N: in this story Cillian is about 20 years older than the reader. Everything happens in an alternate universe where he is not an actor or famous, he doesn't have a wife or kids like in real life. English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes. MASTERLIST - Part 10

You finally found another apartment, you didn’t love it but it would have to work for a few months. It was a studio a street away from your university so you could literally fall from bed and be in class in less than five minutes, and it was cheaper than all the other options. But the building was old and the stairs smelled a bit like pee. 

Now you were in your empty apartment, waiting for the landlord to return the keys. It made you a little sad to see the apartment devoid of your things, as if you no longer recognized it as yours. For the past two days, you had packed all of your items and memories created over the previous three years into boxes, and had taken them to the new studio. Cillian offered to help you carry everything in his car, although you didn't have that much stuff either. 

After giving the keys to the landlord, you turned around and silently said goodbye to the apartment. Then you walked to the center of the city, where you lived from now on. 

The cold wind hurt your cheeks but the walk felt good to clear your mind. You had planned to spend the rest of the evening with Olivia and Valerie, so they could see your new place. They were waiting at one of the doors of the university when you saw them, from a distance you waved at them and they waved back. You could see Olivia jumping up and down with excitement.  Once you got to them, you hugged each other, as you always did. 

“Have you been waiting a long time?”

“Not really,” said Valerie, as she put her hands inside the pockets of her coat, “but let’s go, it’s cold here.”

“How far is it?” wondered Olivia, intertwining her arm with yours. 

“Not far at all, right on that street”, you pointed to the building and motioned them to walk in said direction. 

After a small house tour, since it was a studio there was not much to show, you all decided to order takeout. When the delivery guy rang the bell, you quickly played rock-paper-scissors and ended up losing, so it was your turn to go down to the door to pick up the order. You climbed the stairs to the second floor slowly, despite the unpleasant smell. Unfortunately, that was your new reality, so you might as well start getting used to it.

When you entered your house again you saw your friends whispering in front of the wall where you had placed the photographs and postcards. You left the bag on the table in front of the couch and glanced at them out of the corner of your eye as you went to the small kitchen area to get glasses and napkins.

“Dinner is ready”, you hummed. 

“Who is this?” Asked Valerie. 

 You looked at her completely lost, not knowing who she was referring to. “Who?” 

Then you realised what she meant. She was holding a polaroid in her hand and you didn’t need to look further to know that it was Cillian’s photograph. You felt your heart racing in your chest and an unpleasant feeling spreading through the palm of your hands. With two long strides, you reached Valerie and took the photograph from her hand. 

“It’s nobody”, you said quickly while Valerie stared at you with a questioning look. 

Beside her, Olivia tried to suppress a smile. 

“Are you fucking him?” asked Val, grabbing your arm. “Does he go to your class?”

“No!” You hissed. This wasn't how you wanted your friends to find out about you and Cillian. 

A series of images began to flash before your eyes, from your friends judging you for dating an older man who was also your teacher, to Cillian losing his job because of you, or you being expelled from the university.

“Why don't we have dinner and leave this conversation for another time?”, suggested Olivia, noticing your distress. 

“If she has a boyfriend we have the right to know, we are her friends”, complained Valerie. This bothered you, so you snapped at her. 

“It took you two years to tell us that you were dating Tom, you always want to know everything and you never tell us anything in return when we ask, so don't come with excuses now.” 

Valerie put a hand on her chest, looking offended. "I notice a certain tone of acrimony towards me and I don't like it at all, Y/N."

Olivia stood between you two, trying to calm things down. "Dinner is going to get cold."

You shook your head, feeling tears forming in your eyes. You didn't like arguing, much less with your friends. 

“It's not that, Valerie. I'm tired of you always digging for information. You always do the same thing, like when you make comments as if you were superior for studying a science degree instead of art. Don't you realise that the things you say hurt others?” You were telling her what you had kept inside for years, but once you started you couldn't stop. “And let me tell you one more thing, it hurt me a lot when you left me alone at the welcome party, and when you told me to stop being dramatic. A good friend does not leave another abandoned at a party, at least you could have texted me telling me that you were going home.”

After a pause, Valerie grabbed her coat and walked towards the door. 

“Where are you going?”

She turned around, avoiding looking at you at all costs. “I don't feel like I'm welcome here, I've heard enough so I'm leaving.” 

And with that, Valerie left slamming the door. Her footsteps echoed as she descended the stairs. You turned to Olivia, who had sat on the couch and was enjoying the food. 

“Do you think I’ve gone too far with what I said?”

She shrugged and swallowed before speaking. “I think you've had a lot of accumulated stress for a few weeks now and you haven't been able to hold it in any longer. You told her the truth and she left because he didn't like hearing it.” Oli patted the couch next to her for you to sit down. 

After dinner you stayed on the couch for a while watching a dating show on TV and commenting on the participants. Olivia caressed your wrist to get your attention.

“Y/N, the guy in the polaroid looks like your teacher. The one we saw in the restaurant that time. It's him, right?” 

You sighed and nodded. “His name is Cillian,” you admitted softly. Your friend hummed in response and bit her lip. 

“I don't know if I should tell you or if it's important to you, but Brad texted me the other day.” You met her eyes listening to what she had to say. “He asked me if you were dating anyone.”

“And what did you tell him?”

She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "I told him to ask you himself. He also said that he saw you kissing someone in a car, or something like that.” 

“Didn’t he tell you who I was kissing?”, you asked under your breath. 

“No,” she shook her head, “but now I get an idea of who could be.” 

You didn’t try to deny it, Olivia wasn’t stupid. The two of you remained silent until the TV program ended and she prepared to leave. Your friend wrapped you in a tight hug that caught you off guard. "Don't worry, Y/N. Just be careful and have fun, if you need to talk, call or text me."

“Sure, thanks Oli.”

She smiled. “Also, next time you want to argue with Valerie, make sure I'm not there, okay?”

After tidying up a bit you went to bed although you were having a hard time falling asleep. You couldn’t stop thinking. Years ago, when you were still in high school, you all got along really well. Including Brad, Valerie and Olivia as well as others who went to study in other cities. 

It was hard to admit that in the span of a couple of months you had lost two of your oldest friends but maybe it was meant to happen one way or another. Likewise, your thing with Cillian couldn't remain hidden forever.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #teacher x student #cillian murphy x y/n #alternate universe #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine

[final-girl96]

My Boyfriend's Back Chapter Four

Thursday 7:30 PM

I stood at the counter flipping through a magazine and occasionally glancing up to the movie that was playing on the TVs around the store. It had been a slow fucking night; nobody wanted to be out while there was a killer on the loose. Randy was in the back where the adult only section was. I don't even want to think about what he might be doing back there besides putting returns back. I had driven myself to work tonight since I had gone home right after school.

*ring…ring…ring*

I sighed and grabbed the phone from beside me. "Bradley Video," I answered. "Hello, yn." I stood up straight, "um…hi. Can I help you with something?" I asked. There was silence for a few seconds before the person answered. Something in my gut was screaming at me that this wasn't someone calling to ask about a movie or how late we were open tonight. "What's your favorite scary movie?" They asked. I sighed heavily, "Barney. Bye now," I said, annoyed.

"Don't you fucking hang up on me or you'll come home to find your sister the same way you found your whore of a mother!" My whole body tensed, "who is this?" I asked. I looked around the store and out the windows. "Better question is where am I?" they said. "Okay, then where are you?" I asked. More silence. My gut was telling me to rush home and check on Sidney. "Watching your sister sleeping on the couch. Let's play a game," they said.

"What kind of game?" I asked. He darkly chuckled, "I'm going to ask you some questions. If you get them wrong Sidney dies and her blood redecorates your living room." I could feel my pulse pick up, my hands were starting to slightly shake. "Fine. Ask your fucking questions," I said. He hummed and I could just see the smirk that probably spread across his face.

"The category is horror movies. First question: Who is the killer in Friday the 13th?" He asked. I rolled my eyes, "Mrs. Voorhees. I thought these were going to be fucking hard," I said. "Looks like she lives for now. Second question: In the Exorcist, what is the Demon’s name?" He asked. I had to think for a couple seconds. The movie wasn't my favorite but it also wasn't bad. "Pazuzu." I heard a low growl? Was this motherfucker growling? "What's the matter? Pissed you can't stump me?" I asked.

"Third question: Am I inside or outside the house?" My stomach dropped and my heart slammed against my ribcage. "Don't you fucking touch her!" He laughed. Like he actually fucking laughed! "Can you get here in time, yn? Let's find out." He hung up after that and I rushed around the counter and ran to the back. I ran into Randy on the way to the break room to get my keys. "Whoa! What's going on? Why are you in such a rush?" I pushed him out of the way and went straight to my bag.

Once my hand grabbed a hold of it I rushed back to the front of the store. "Wait, yn! Where are you going?!" Randy yelled. "I have to go, he's at the house!" I ran out the door and got in my car leaving Randy standing at the door confused. I sped out of town and within five minutes I was pulling onto Elm Street. I pulled into the driveway, put the car in park and rushed to the front door.

"Fuck!" The door was locked. I ran around the porch, up the stairs to the upper deck and to the stairs that lead to the top floor. I tried that door but it was locked too. "Fuck!" I looked up and cringed. "Good thing I don't ever lock my fucking window." I climbed up to the room and carefully made my way to my bedroom window. Pushing it up I climbed in and rushed over to my door when I heard Sidney scream.

I swung my door open and saw someone in a black cloak slammed into her door. "Hey, asshole!" I yelled. I grabbed the baseball bat by my door. His head snapped towards me. I spun the bat in my hand, "three seconds to back the fuck away from my sister's room before I beat your fucking head in." Now don't get me wrong I was fucking terrified and I know I'm being fucking stupid threatening a killer but I was not going to let him near Sidney.

My grip tightened on the bat as my hands started to shake. He turned his body completely towards me. I noticed the knife in hand. The white ghostface mask was fucking creepy. His head tilted like he didn't expect me to show up. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when he bolted down the stairs. I wanted to vomit. I looked over the railing and heard the door slam shut. "What the fuck."

I walked over to Sidney's room after a few minutes when she came running out. "Sid?" She grabbed my arm and pulled me with her down the stairs. When I looked behind me I saw Billy coming out of her room calling her name. We made eye contact and his eyes widened like he wasn't expecting to see me too just like the killer didn't expect to see me. When Sidney opened the door she yelped, making me jump. Dewey was there holding the white ghostface mask in his hand.

We were outside Dewey asking us questions about what happened. Sidney was sitting in the ambulance that was there and I was leaning up against it, the bat still in my hand. Two other police officers brought Billy out in handcuffs, putting him in the back seat of the police car. He kept saying Sidney's name until Sheriff Burke showed up then he was telling him to call his dad. "Oh, my god, Sidney!" I looked over to see Tatum running over to us. "Are you okay? Yn, what're you doing here I thought you were at work?" She was looking between us.

"I was until I got a call from the killer threatening Sindey," I said. Dewey tried to move her out of the way and she pulled away from him. "She's staying with us. Their dad's away for the weekend. And yn too if you want to," she said. "Does mom know?" He asked. She rolled her eyes, "yes, doofus." I put my hand over my mouth to hide my laugh. "Babe!" I pushed off the ambulance to see Stu running over to me. "Stu? What're you doing here?" I asked.

Dewey was leading Sidney to his jeep and Stu watched as the car with Billy in it drove past us. Then Dewey and Tatum left. "I was going to come over and try to convince you to come stay with me while your dad is gone. What the fuck happened? Are you okay?" He asked. He started to look me up and down for any injuries when I saw Gale making her way towards us. "I'll explain in the car, come on." I pulled him towards his car as Gale yelled my name. "Fucknl off!" I slammed the door shut and Stu drove off towards the station.

#stu macher smut #stu x reader #stu x you #stu macher imagine #stu macher x reader #stu macher fanfiction #stu macher #stu macher x you #scream imagine #scream fanfiction #scream #scream 2 #scream 3 #scream 4 #scream 5 #scream 6 #scream x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface fanfiction #ghostface imagine #ghostface x reader #ghostface #billy loomis #billy loomis x sidney prescott #sidney prescott #tatum riley #dewey riley #randy meeks #gale weathers #casey becker

[rayslittlekitten]

I Almost Told You That I Loved You Ch. 11

Chapter 10 | IATYTILY Masterlist | Chapter 12

A/N: It's slowly coming together! This isn't beta'd.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,4k

Pairing: Jax Teller x F! reader

Plot: This takes place shortly after Tara leaves Charming. You start working at Teller-Morrow and an unlikely and messy relationship forms between you and Jax.

Warnings: None

You had scheduled the next two days off of work to focus on school. You have a big exam coming up and a paper due and you want to make sure you pass. It works out anyways because honestly Jax is the last person you want to see and he would be a major distraction from your studies, and not in a good way. You don't know what the hell happened yesterday that made Jax do a 180. Maybe he's just an asshole through and through and nothing he ever says or does actually means anything.

You take a break from studying to go make a grocery store run. As you're digging through your purse for your car keys, you find a strip of folded paper at the bottom. You pull it out and unfold it to see a phone number staring at you. Before making an early exit yesterday, you had ran into Will again and he gave you his phone number. You were never interested in him, but he seems like a nice guy. If there is someone to get romantically involved with, it should be him, but based off your short track record, nice guys are far from your radar. It might be time to change that. You deserve better. You had already decided you weren't going to bother calling him when he had given you his number, but you reluctantly shove the piece of paper back into your purse and head out.

***

As you're strolling down the cereal aisle, you pause to look for the Raisin Bran for your aunt. It's not where you usually find it. Your eyes then spot them up high on the top shelf. You try to reach up for it on your tiptoes. Who's bright idea was it to move them here?

"Hey, you need a hand?"

You turn your head and find Frankie standing a few feet away from you, holding a box of cereal of his own. You're surprised at running into him and the instant shift in his facial expression makes you realize he didn't seem to recognize you either until he saw your face.

"Yeah, that would be great," you flash him a smile.

Frankie walks over and reaches up to grab a box for you.

"Thanks!" You take it from him and put it in your basket.

"No problem. Didn't know you live in this side of town," Frankie says.

"Yeah. You live around here too?"

"Nah, my moms and baby sister does. Just picking up some things for them." He lifts up the box of fruity cereal in his hand. "So how are you doing? I didn't see you at Gemma's fundraiser yesterday."

"Oh, I left early. I wasn't really feeling well," you lie. "Plus, I have some homework to do and a big test coming up, so I wanted to get a head start on studying."

"You're smart. I like that," he nods while tapping his temple with his forefinger. "Don't meet too many broads like you."

You find Frankie charming in his own way, despite his interesting choice of vocabulary.

"Hey, you wanna maybe grab a cup of coffee some time?" You ask spontaneously.

"Nah, I don't do coffee," Frankie shakes his head. "Always gives me the jitters, like I did a line of coke."

You look back at him with a slight tilt to your head, amused.

"Okay, how about dinner? Just you and me..."

"OHHH," Frankie replies with wide eyes, shifting his weight to his other leg, realizing what you meant. "Listen, I'm really really flattered, but you're Jax's girl. You're untouchable." He raises his arms up in defeat.

“I’m not Jax’s girl,” you chuckle. “We're not together, together. We're just... fucking around," you explain.

"Not from what I see and hear. If he hasn't passed you around to any of us, it means he doesn't want nobody touching you," Frankie states. "That man doesn't play when it comes to his property.”

It takes you a moment to process this new information. You have so many questions.

"First of all, I am nobody's property. Second, what did you mean by he didn't pass me around to you guys? He... he does that with all the girls he sleeps with?"

"Yeah, I mean, usually he's wham, bam, thank you ma'am!" Frankie salutes. "And then he doesn't care anymore. Unless someone calls dibs first. He respects that."

You're not sure what to make of all this. It makes you feel uneasy and disgusted to hear all this, but at the same time, it makes absolutely no sense. Jax's actions and words have not matched up to what Frankie has imparted to you, but then again, Jax's actions and words have always contradicted each other.

"Well, I'm not Jax's girl, regardless of what you see or hear," you tell him with your hand on your waist.

Frankie simply shrugs.

"Look, as long as you're still fucking Jax, our interactions can't be anything more than friendly. I don't mean friendly friendly either," he explains.

"I see. Well, it was nice running into you, Frankie. Thanks for the help," you point to the cereal box in your basket.

"Of course. See you around," he nods and  you both start walking away, but you stop and turn.

"Wait!"

Frankie turns back.

"What happened between him and Tara?"

"Sorry, sweetheart. It ain't my story to tell," Frankie shakes his head and walks off.

***

Your first day back at work was pretty standard. It was easy avoiding Jax  all day since him and Opie were out doing club stuff. As you gather your things to get ready to leave, you hear motorcycles pulling into the lot. You walk over to the window to check. Great, the club's back.

You quickly grab all your things and walk to your car. As you do so, you pass behind the row of motorcycles that just pulled up. A few people notice you and greet with a nod. You politely nod back as you continue your way to your car. You accidentally make eye contact with Jax when he takes his helmet off. You instantly look away and focus on your car which is only a few feet away.

When you get into the driver's side you start the car and wait a few moments. You look out the passenger side window to look towards Jax, but don't see him. A sudden knock on your window startles you. You look over and see Jax waving at you. You roll down the window and he leans his arms against the top of the car, dipping his head down in the open space.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hey," you reply flatly.

"Just wanted to give this back to you. You left it at my place." Jax pulls a hair clip out from his pocket and hands it to you.

You glance down at it, staring at it for a moment before taking it from him.

"Thanks," you simply say, then get ready to back your car up.

"Wait!"

You look over to him, waiting for him to say something.

"What are you doing this Friday?"

"Excuse me?" you ask, not sure if you heard correctly.

"You wanna hang out Friday?" he looks away as he asks.

"Do you want to hang out on Friday?" you shoot back.

"Yeah, I do," he nods, then pauses. "Um... Ope told me about your classmate."

When you had bumped into Opie on the way out of the fundraiser, he apologized to you on Jax's behalf and you explained to him the same you did with Frankie - you and Jax are not exclusive. You also mentioned to him that Will was just a classmate and there was nothing going on, not that it's any of Jax's business anyways.

"What about him?" you ask curiously.

"Nothing," he shrugs. "Are we good?"

"Are we good?" you ask back.

"I am if you are," he says.

"What if I'm not?"

"Look I..." Jax looks around as he tries to find the words. "Can we talk about this Friday?"

You look at him for a few moments deciding.

"JAX! COME ON! WE GOT CHURCH!" someone yells out to him.

"Give me a minute!" He looks over the roof of the car and shouts before dipping his head back down to you.

"Okay, fine," you blurt out.

A genuine smile plays upon his face.

"Great. See you tomorrow," he winks, then slaps the roof of your car and back away.

You throw him a smile and he watches as you pull out of the lot.

#charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller #jax teller x female reader #jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fanfiction

[stunnermount]

Feel Better - Mason Mount

Comforting Mason after the FA cup final loss.

Warnings : None

The final whistle blew and you could feel tears brimming in the corner of your eyes. Mason had missed a penalty and you knew the twitter hate had already started. You held back your tears and took a deep breath, not knowing how to react. You were comforted by Sophia and Paula, who themselves were upset as hell. You stood there watching Mason cry on Kepa's shoulder, your heart breaking at the scene. You waited for the boys to receive their medals and went to the common room where the players would meet their family members. You waited for Mason to come out of the dressing room, nervous about how he would react.

Your worries were interrupted as Sophia poked your sides to alert that Mason was approaching you. You quickly made your way to him, pulling him instantly into a hug. His arms wrapped around your waist, head in the crook of your neck as he inhaled your perfume. You stayed in silence and rubbed your hands up and down his back. 'Let's go home, Mase'.

He hummed in response and you took his hand in yours, walking towards the driveway of the Wembley. The car ride was silent as you drove through the streets of London, Mason keeping his eyes closed as he sat still. The silence was terrifying for you as you had not seen him this way before.

You reached home and opened the door, unsure of what to do next. You kept the keys in their place and took off your shoes, watching Mason as he threw his bag on the sofa with frustration. You quickly ran to the kitchen and got him a bottle of water, him muttering an inaudible 'thanks'.

'I'm gonna go take a shower' was all he said as he walked towards the stairs, tiredness clearly visible in his actions. By the time he showered, You quickly took a shower yourself in the guest bathroom and dressed up in Mason's big white tshirt and a pair of shorts. You started gathering the ingredients to cook something for Mason but stopped when you heard him call out your name. You made your way upstairs and saw Mason standing with a towel wrapped around his waist and hair all wet.

'Can you dry my hair for me? I'm just really tired' was all he could manage to say as you heard him sigh. Mason had always dried your hair when you were sick, tired or just lazy and today was your turn to do so.

You dried his hair, feeling a bit nervous as his gaze was fixed on you. You fixed his hair and put the dryer inside the drawer as you saw him exit the bathroom. He put on a pair of boxers and directly went to bed, not saying a word to you.

You weren't sure what to do next, but your worries were put away when you heard Mason call you again.

'Come to bed, baby'.

His voice was low and you could feel how sad and tired he was. You quickly made your way to the bed. He pulled you towards him and put his head on your chest. You started running your fingers through his hair, nails slightly massaging his scalp. His body relaxed as let out a shaky breath. You knew he was crying. You didn't utter a single word, letting Mason pour all of his emotions out. After his sobs had calmed down a bit, you broke the silence.

'Do you wanna talk about it, Mase?'

'There is nothing to talk about. The team lost and its all because I can't score a fucking penalty'.

He didn't stop at this and continued to tell you everything he felt, your heart sinking as he spoke so harshly about himself.

'I had one job and I can't even do that. I just-God! I'm so fucking done with myself'.

You managed to make sound as calm as possible as your tried to encourage him. 'No, Don't say that. Just because you missed one penalty doesn't mean you're bad. You gave everything you could when you were on the pitch. It's not that you missed the penalty intentionally, sometimes it happens and it's not your fault. You are the best player ever. Nobody, not even you can tell me otherwise.' Your words of encouragement made Mason feel a little better as he smiled for the first time in hours. You smiled back at him as he raised his head from your chest to give you a kiss. You kissed him back, earning a silly little giggle from him.

'Thank you'. He mumbled after you pulled away form the kiss.

'For what, Mase?

'Everything'.

You smiled at his words and swiped a thumb across his cheek, sadness still present on his face.

'Go to sleep, baby. You're tired'.

'Yeah'.

He moved and laid down next to you, his arm around your waist as your lay on your sides to look at each other.

'Sleep now. I love you. I am so proud of you. You should know that'. He smiled at you and replied 'I love you' as you gently placed a kiss on his forehead. He pulled you even closer as your lay there listening to the sounds of your boyfriend breathing, comfortable silence taking over the room. All you hoped was for him to wake up tomorrow feeling better.

#football imagine #money mase #mm19 #chelsea #mason mount x reader #fanfic #mason mount fluff #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x you #mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine

[tw-inkl-e-tit-s]

Vance Hopper Masterlist

ran around my bedroom trying to get ready as fast as possible, tripping over books and dirty clothes all sprawled out on my floor. "Y/N Hunny hurry up or you're going to be late!" I groaned, lifting random things to look for my history book. "Where the fuck is that- Yes I found you!" I shrieked running over to my bed and bending down to grab my history book that was hidden under my bed, the bright red edge peeking out just barely.

"Y/N Hurry up!!" I rolled my eyes at my mom. I ran down the hallway Mumbling cusswords under my breath. I walked into the living room grabbing my bag before shoving my history book inside. "Ugh, there you are, what took you so long?" My mom asked walking out of the kitchen with her keys and hospital badge in her hand. "Couldn't find my history book, It was hiding under my bed" She rolled her eyes at me letting out an annoyed huff. "that's why I tell you all the time to put your books back in your bag before you go to sleep" she said walking out of the door, me following after her.

"Oh yeah, I'm gonna be home late, picking up some extra hours at the hospital, So you're gonna be home by yourself for a while, now get in the car I got to get ya' to school or we'll both be late." to be honest I wanted to walk to school today, it was nice out and I may or may not pass by this really cute boy on my way there. "Mom I was just gonna walk to school" she looked at me as she started the car up. "Are you sure Hunny?" I nodded my head. She then started to tell me the rules. No Partying, No answering the door for strangers. "There's money on the counter and my work phone number is on the fridge." I sent her a thumbs up as I watched her pull out of the driveway and take off down the street, I then began my walk to school.

It's been a while since I've seen the cute boy. I saw him a month ago at the popular hangout, the grab n' go. he would always play the pinball machine, and he once carved his name into a kid's arm for bumping into it causing him to lose- and not beat his high score -his name is Vance. Vance Hopper. he was the town's toughest kid- Along with Robin Arellano My best friend -Nobody EVER fucked with Vance, Unless they wanted to die. I shouldn't like him really, but he was just so beautiful, if I ever told him that he would probably bust out laughing and tell me to "fuck off". I believed that somewhere under all of that meanness was a soft caring boy who just needed to be loved properly. now I always think I can "fix" people but I really think I Can help Vance, if he would just give me a cha- "Watch where you're going fuck face" I winced at the harsh tone, I slowly looked up to see the one and only Vance Hopper. I bumped into him, I can't believe it. fuck he defiantly hates me now. "Next time watch it." and with that, he stormed off. well fuck, I just ruined all of my chances with Vance Hopper.

"Hey Y/N/N!!" I looked back to see my friends, Finney and Gwen. once they reached me they tried to catch their breath. "Are you okay?" Finney asked still out of breath. "Yeah we saw Vance push you down and then storm off," Gwen said helping me up. I shook my head dusting off my clothes. "He didn't push me, I was in my head and didn't pay attention to where I was walking and then I bumped into him." Finney and Gwen Shared a knowing look before looking back at me. "When are you gonna tell Vance you like him?" "What!?" Finney yelled right in my ear, "Fuck Finn," I said Covering my ear in pain.

"Sorry, but she can't just go up to Vance Hopper and tell him she likes him, He'll just laugh in her face!" Finney flailed his arms around trying to explain to Gwen why it was a bad idea. before we knew it we were arriving at high school. "I gotta hurry up and get to class," Gwen said running off, "Bye Y/n, Bye Finney!!" we waved at her as we made our way into the loud-ass school.

I made my way over to my locker as Finn followed close beside me. "So What are you doing after school?" Finn asked me, "honestly I have no idea, My mom is out till midnight so I can do whatever." He nodded his head looking off into the large crowd of kids. I Grabbed my Math book out and shut my locker. "Me, Robin, and Gwen are going to the Movies if you wanna go," he suggested. I pretended to think for a second causing him to laugh.

"Hm let's see, Stay home and do nothing orrr go out and hang with my best friends." he shook his head "We know which one you're going to pick y/n" he laughed, "I think I'll stay home" his face was priceless, he stopped walking and looked at me with wide eyes. "What?" I couldn't help but laugh at him "I'm joking Finn, of course, I'll go out with you guys." he let out a relieved sigh as we continued our walk to math class.

♡♡♡

"I don't know I think Bryce is cute, but I also think Rowan is cuter." My friend Sage said. We sat in the lunch room talking about Sage's and Gwen's love life. I love my friends but they fall in love with a new guy every day of the week it felt like, I couldn't keep up anymore. I really couldn't focus when I was too focused on Vance. he looked so angelic just sitting there doing nothing but talking to one of his friends. The sun came threw the big glass windows in the cafeteria, almost blinding all of the students facing it. the way the sunlight played upon his hair made it look like a golden halo. the way the sunlight danced on his beautifully shaped face made him look entirely ethereal, he just seemed too perfect for this world. he looked so warm and cuddly, I wonder what it would be like to hug Vance. His friend caught my lingering gaze on the blond and leaned over to whisper in his ear, his facial features softened a bit as he looked my way, but before he could catch my eyes my friend pulled my attention away from him.

"Hellooo," Sage said waving her hand in front of my face. I looked over at her rolling my eyes. "Were you even paying attention?" she asked crossing her arms. "Yes I-i Was," I stammered hoping that she wouldn't ask me what she was talking about. she rolled her eyes letting out a huff. "She so was not paying attention, she was too busy gawking at Vance," Gwen said taking a bite out of her apple. "I was not!" I defended, "Oh you so were!" she argued back giggling, "Why don't you just tell him you like him?" Sage said. like it was the easiest thing in the world, "Right!? That's what I'm saying, finally, someone agrees with me," Gwen exclaimed throwing her hands up in the air causing us to get a few stares. "Stop, I don't know how I would even tell him, What would I even say!?" I sighed.

"You could just tell him like a normal person, just say 'Hey I like you' Easy peasy?" Sage answered. "Whoah, really genius? thanks," I sassed rolling my eyes at her. Gwen threw her head back letting out a groan. "Just do something cute but anonymous, like write him a love letter and stuff it in his locker, it'll be cute," she said "The word 'Cute' and 'Vance' don't go together" Sage gagged. "Just think about it y/n." Gwen smiled at me. the bell rang for us to go to our lockers and get our books for the next class. "Race you losers!" Sage yelled over the loud students spilling out of the doors, Gwen and I running after her.

♡♡♡

I reached into my locker for my big red history book and a new notebook, I stuffed them into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. I shut my locker to see Finney and Robin standing behind it looking at me with emotionless looks. I gave them a confused look, they weren't saying anything, just staring at me with emotionless faces, it was creepy. "Um Hello?" I asked raising my brow.

"You're not dating Vance" Robin deadpanned, Finney doing the same thing. "Oh my god," I groaned pushing them both out of the way and walking to my history class. "Seriously y/n/n you can't!" Finney said running up behind me. "And why can't I?" I asked. "Because he's bad news y/n" Robin chimed in popping up beside me. I stopped walking for a second to glare at him. "And you aren't?" I asked, "you are no different than him." I walked into my history class hearing Finneys and Robin's protests of disapproval behind me. I walked over to my desk dropping my bag on the ground and sat down. My friend Wesley was usually in her before me and would always greet me with a warm smile and a wave, but his seat beside me was empty which was odd. all his stuff was gone, and the desk looked almost brand new. I furrowed my eyebrows, I looked over to Jess, his sister who shared history with us. "Hey Jess, Where is Wesley?" she looked up at me from her book, "They made him move classes." I nodded at her as she went back to reading her book.

the bell final bell rang and the last student came through the door in a hurry. the teacher took attendance and we began our lesson. as he was handing out tests when the door swung open, and all necks snapped towards it revealing a very angry Vance Hopper. "Ah, Vance! How nice of you to finally join us." Mr.Walsh exaggerated. he pointed to the empty desk beside me. he laid a piece of paper down as Vance made his way over to sit beside me. "Okay class if you look at the papers I just placed on your desks, you should see you're name and a classmate's name. now that's because you are doing an assignment, all of you." I read over my paper, and up at the top right corner, there was my name and Vance's name.

Vance Let out a sigh, I looked over at him seeing him already looking back at me. I sent him a warm smile and turned my attention back to Mr. Walsh who was still talking about some random shit. "No swapping partners like last time," he said looking at Moose. We went on with our school period. Vance kept glancing over at me throughout it. I'm sure he's not happy with the parings and is plotting some way to kill me so he doesn't have to do this stupid fucking assignment with me. "Psst!" I felt something hit my foot, I looked down to see Vance's boot moving a piece of paper over to me. he was looking at the teacher with his arms crossed over his chest, I picked up the paper and opened it.

'Hey stupid where and when do you wanna do the fucking assignment? - Vance'

I frowned at the word stupid but decided to just ignore it, he was Vance after all and he wasn't at all known to be a happy-go-lucky guy. I quickly scribbled on a piece of paper and slide it over to him with my foot. He opened it and I swear I saw him smile a little. the bell rang and all the students rushed out before the teacher could say anything else. I picked up my bag and sent Vance another warm smile before heading out of the classroom.

~Vance's Pov~

'We could go to Bruster's shake shack tomorrow around three, see you then! - y/n <;3'

I couldn't help but smile at the little heart drawn at the end. Man, I've been crushing on her since kindergarten, I always wanted to say something to her, but I couldn't ever bring myself to do it. She started hanging out with some fuck face named Wesley and it was rumored that they were dating. She was pretty, Smart, Nice, kindhearted, and Sweet. So, So Very Sweet. So I know she would never go for a guy like me. I watched as she walked out the door after smiling at me. Fuck This girl is gonna be the death of me.

~Third Person Pov~

Y/n walked out into the crowded hallway trying not to bump into any students. She walked over to her locker grabbed what she needed and left to walk out of the school building. She walked over to the bright red metal tables where she would meet up with Gwen, Finney, and Robin. They would meet up there every day after school and walk each other home. When she arrived at the table her friends were nowhere to be seen. she waited a couple more minutes just in case they were running late, but still, no show. She got up and walked off the school property, her house wasn't far from the school, so she didn't have to walk that far. as she turned down her street, she felt something rub up against her leg. she screamed and jumped forward. She turned back to look at what it could have been. There it was, The culprit. A tiny beige cat, it looked Skinny you could practically see the poor thing's rib cage.

it was looking at her with big doe eyes. it started walking over to her, meowing on its way. She debated on picking it up or not- scared that it might have rabies -She walked backward and it followed her letting out another meow. she grabbed the emergency hoodie out of her backpack and carefully picked the cat up and wrapped it in the hoodie. When she arrived home she dropped her school bag by the door and headed straight for the bathroom. she gave the cat a nice warm bath and dryer it off. she walked over to the kitchen and sat the cat on the ground, to which it just huddled up beside her feet where ever she stood. she cut up some leftover chicken and heated it up, she put some water in a tiny sauce bowl. she put them down in front of the cat and it ate it all up right away. She didn't know if the cat got lost or if it was just a stray. She picked it up to see what it was. A girl. She looked over at the clock and saw that she had to head out to meet her friends soon. she walked over to her room and placed the cat on her bed. it cuddled up in her warm blankets and fell asleep in no time.

~y/n's pov~

I put on some different clothes since I smelt like a wet cat. I grabbed my lipgloss and reapplied it and I fixed my hair so I didn't look so crazy. I heard my doorbell ring and left to go check it. it was Gwen, Finney, and Robin. "Are you ready for some fun!"

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#vance hopper x reader #pinball vance hopper #vance hopper x fem!reader #pinball vance #vance x reader #vance the black phone #tbp vance #⊱ ⤻☁💌Love Letters ‧₊˚ : ♡