potential side effects
pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader
summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy.
word count: 2,143
warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end.
a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!
Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.
He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail.
You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual.
You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk.
The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all.
Soon the time came for him to administer the medication.
“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said.
You nodded and he sprayed.
Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.
“Any difference?”, he asked.
“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.”
“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.”
He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open.
“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’.
“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer.
“I feel all warm inside.”
He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”
“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.
“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”
“Does it go away?”
“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.”
He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”
“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed.
“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it.
It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.
You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it.
“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.
You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“
“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”
You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?”
“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand.
“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly.
You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”
He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.”
He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around.
“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.
He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do.
You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.”
He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek.
“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said.
You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you.
He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open.
A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that.
He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win.
You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants.
Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.”
“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.”
Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you.
He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his.
The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried.
Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers.
He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”
You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”
This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”
“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.”
“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”
“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods.
He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.
He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.”
You looked at him wide-eyed.
“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you.
“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.”
You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“.
A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back.
“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”
The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you.
“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead.
He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror.
Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you.
You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.
You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.
Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”
He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire.
“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”
“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you.
“Our next session.”, he replied.
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Link to Part One
Link to Part Two
TW mentions of human trafficking, rescue, injury, trauma
Steve locks Eddie in the car which, yeah, okay, it makes Eddie jump a little reflexively at the quiet click of the lock. And it might just be habit, or whatever, because it’s a really nice car.
Or maybe he’s even doing it for Eddie’s safety.
It still feels like he’s been locked in, though, and Eddie finds he’s...really not a fan of how this feels.
Either way, when Steve comes back less than ten minutes later and opens Eddie’s side of the car, Eddie’s still not sure how to feel about it. Suspicion is hard to shake.
Steve kneels right there on the floor of the lot, “swing around,” Eddie does, watching as Steve pulls antiseptic wipes out of the bottom of the bag, opening a packet and lifting Eddie’s foot. Eddie hisses when the wipe makes contact, it’s cold and, even though surely most of the wounds have scabbed by now, it still stings quite a bit, “sorry.” Steve looks up at Eddie earnestly, big eyes and floppy hair and, well, the moles are cute.
And having an Alpha kneel on the floor for him, that’s kind of nice too. Maybe Steve really is that good looking.
He wraps Eddie’s feet in a bandage, some tube bandage over the top, Eddie still slurping on his peanut butter chocolate shake. He’s going to have the absolute worst shit later, he knows it, too much rich food all at once, after a really long time of non at all, but honestly, so worth it.
“When we get home, I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms, and maybe we can order you some clothes?” Steve pulls the bandage comfortably tight around Eddie’s foot, a nice gauze pad wrapped around the sole for cushioning.
“Errr, I mean, I, before, I was usually a good will kind of shopper, you know? Maybe Target on a good day?”
Steve just blinks at him for a second, before that clearly sinks in, “don’t...don’t think about the money, if that’s what you mean, we can get you some clothes, really, I don’t mind.”
And Eddie’s sure as fuck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve’s already broke the bank on Eddie, what’s a little more, right?”
Eddie whistles, he can’t help it. Objectively, obviously, he knew Steve was loaded. There’s a difference between knowing that and…seeing it. This is like a fucking mansion. Well, it’s not like a mansion, obviously. It is a mansion.
Automatic electric gates, a drive that’s got to be a half mile long...and lawns. Trees. Land stretching off into the distance.
The house is fucking nice. It’s kind of sprawling...just the garage looks fucking massive on it’s own.
Steve sort of hovers around Eddie as he limps over the threshold, and, yeap, just as nice inside as it is outside. Very sleek and modern, big open spaces, lots of glass. Dark wood and bookcases filled with leather books and big paintings that look impressive but aren’t...well. Eddie’s not a fan, really. Eddie spies a building out the back, also lots of glass...Eddie’s money is on indoor pool.
“Something smells good,” Eddie says, as he limps further into the house, “smells kind of homey.” Which is true, something here smells vaguely relaxing. Kind of...comforting. Safe.
Eddie looks around as he gets further in, and the place is so big it is kind of a walk, it’s...really nice, but also kind of soulless. It doesn’t look lived in at all. And, Eddie frowns, something occurring to him for the very first time. Steve’s a good looking Alpha, and he’s fucking loaded, “will your, erm,” Eddie flounders, “partner, mind me being here?”
Steve laughs, seeing Eddie through to the lounge to sit on the couch, “don’t think I would have been able to play my part today if I were in any kind of serious relationship. Hagan would have known if I was seeing anyone, the press loves that shit.”
And yeah, all of that makes total sense, and Eddie feels kind of stupid for not putting that together. But it...doesn’t really make sense, considering Steve is, still, clearly, very hot and very loaded.
“Okay,” Steve plops a laptop into Eddie’s lap, open to a clothing website. “just open tabs on some stuff you’d like, and then give it back to me when you’re done. You’re going to need some clothes while Hopper tracks down your uncle, okay? I’m going to go and set up a room.”
Eddie’s just sort of rolling with it at this point, so he nods and smiles and then blinks down at a Tom Ford Slim-Fit Button-Down Collar Checked Cotton shirt...that’s nearly seven hundred dollars.
And Eddie would never, in a million fucking years, be caught dead in it. Honestly, he thinks he actually prefers the white nightdress.
Eddie looks at the drop down menu, clicks on ‘cashmere’ for shits and giggles, and then laughs to himself when the very first listing is a black turtle-neck...for over a thousand odd dollars. Fucking rich people are batshit.
Eddie manages to find a drop down that lets him filter out everything over two hundred and fifty dollars, and then he searches by lowest price first. He starts opening tabs, mostly inoffensive lounge wear – a large portion of which is very, very unfortunately beige.
Eddie hears Steve coming before he sees him, “just do it please Carol,” and he sounds...exasperated by whoever Carol is. Steve comes back and takes the laptop. He very very briefly frowns at Eddie over the top of the screen, but it’s over so fast Eddie’s not entirely sure he saw it, “you think you’ll want something more to eat later?”
Eddie did eat his weight in McDonalds a couple of hours ago...but he hasn’t been really full for years, “uhm, yeah, in a bit, maybe?”
“Sure, I’ll see what we have.”
And then Eddie just...sits there. He can’t actually remember the last time he just...sat on a couch. The only place the Omega at the ranch are allowed to sit is either the floor, when they’ve been told to, the table, but only when eating...and probably their beds in the dorm.
Sitting here feels kind of naughty, actually, sitting here, relaxing, comfortable and warm. Eddie touches the lush, velvety feel of the couch, it’s really nice, really soft-“chicken and pasta?” Eddie nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. Like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Logically, he knows that isn’t the case, but his feet are tingling regardless.
Steve can actually cook, who knew? Well, it might only be a simple dish, browned off chicken chunks in something creamy and mushroomy, sitting on some pasta, but it’s absolutely delicious.
“We should probably get someone to look at your feet tomorrow.”
Eddie shrugs, nearly vibrating with excitement at the sight of garlic bread and trying his best to hide it, “always been fine before.”
“Still, I wouldn’t want them getting infected. Do you want me to tell Hopper anything about your uncle? I presume he will be busy for a little bit but…?”
Eddie swallows but...nods, Steve getting his phone and Hoppers card, “he’s called Wayne Munson, he’s my dads brother. He lives in a trailer park in, uhm, Hawkins. Indiana.”
Steve taps at his phone, “that’s not actually that far, we could...probably drive that, maybe in a day, once you feel up to it. I’ll see what Hopper says, see if he gets back to us tomorrow, I figure we've both had a long day.”
And that sounds...well. Eddie's running out of reasons to be suspicious, to question this, to question Steve. He has a little kernel of hope, real, genuine hope, growing inside him now...that this is true. That he's going to be free. That he's going to see Wayne.
Eddie nods, keeps eating, is thrilled when Steve offers him a beer, nodding happily. Steve withdraws it at the last second, “wait, just how old are you?”
“Errr…twenty one?”
Steve laughs, “try again,” but he does hand over the beer.
“Eighteen. I was there for a couple of years, maybe a bit longer, they got me walking home from school. Pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have, you know, noticed, probably best I don’t go back there, anyway. Quite a few Omega came through in the time that I was, you know, there...”
Steve’s staring off into space though, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, clearly not listening.“-oh.”
“Errr...Steve, you okay?” Steve looks like his brain has just stalled. Like completely shut down, “Steve, man, you’re freaking me out a bit here.”
Steve frowns, finally showing some life, his fork still literally hanging in air, half way to his mouth, “Tommy Hagan is probably being arrested.”
“I, err...I mean, yeah? I fucking hope he is?”
As Eddie watches, a bit of chicken falls off Steve’s fork and splats onto his plate, “right now, other than me, you, and the FBI...no one knows that. That Tommy’s being arrested, arrested for something fucking terrible.”
“Riiight…”
“He’s being arrested for something he can’t come back from. It’ll got public. His names about to be mud. His stocks are going to tank. Every part of everything Tommy owns is about to go up in flames.” Steve’s fork clangs onto the plate, “I’m so sorry, I have to go to work.”
“I...what?”
Steve’s already picking up his phone, his keys, sliding on his jacket, “help yourself to anything you need, I’ll be back...at some point.” Steve’s already calling someone, “I need you in the office, right now. I want Wheeler, from legal, make sure finance is there, actually, make sure Henderson has availability tomorrow,” Steve comes back from the front door, sliding a business card in front of Eddie, “no, right now, I’m on my way, twenty minutes.”
Eddie looks at the card; it’s Steve’s, has his email, office number and mobile on it, presumably so Eddie can get hold of him. Eddie’s pretty sure he just witnessed the first steps of a hostile take over, or something.
And now he’s in this massive house, all alone.
Link to Part Four
@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer
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The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]
Read on Ao3
Rating: Explicit
Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)
Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).
Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.
Words: 7,895
A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.
Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3
Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.
Until now.
There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.
Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.
And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.
Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.
He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.
It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.
When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.
"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.
"What's that?"
"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."
You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.
"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."
"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.
He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"
"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.
"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.
"FBI, I investigate art theft."
"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.
"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.
"And what is it that you do?"
"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."
"Sounds complicated."
You shrug. "I'm smart enough."
"You look good, too."
You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"
"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.
"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."
Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.
His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.
He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.
Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.
He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.
He clears his throat. "Good morning."
Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."
"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."
"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.
"I don't mind."
"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.
"Okay, well... I had a good time."
"I did too."
Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.
"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.
"Yeah?"
"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"
Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."
"Well?"
"What?"
"Did I do it well?"
"I think so."
You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"
"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."
"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.
"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.
"I'd like that."
You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.
Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.
Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.
One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.
"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"
"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"
"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.
"Enjoy."
"You too, you going somewhere nice?"
"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."
There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.
"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."
"I don't want to bother you."
"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."
He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.
You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.
"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.
"Work doesn't break your heart."
"That, too."
"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.
"Not one for relationships," you shrug.
"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"
"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."
Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."
"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.
"Yeah?"
You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.
"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."
"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.
"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"
"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."
Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.
You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.
You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.
"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.
"That's a good start."
He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.
"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.
"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.
"Of course."
"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.
"Their loss."
He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.
"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."
"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.
"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.
"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"
"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."
"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.
"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.
"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.
"Need to fuck you."
He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.
"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.
"Can I be on top?"
He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.
"Oh, that feels good..."
"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.
"What?"
Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.
"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.
"You looked like you had something to say."
"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."
His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."
You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.
"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.
"Mmmfuckyes..."
You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.
"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"
"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.
"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."
"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"
"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.
"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:
"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."
"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.
"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.
You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.
"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."
He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.
"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."
You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."
The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.
"Faster, please, Marcus."
He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -
The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.
"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.
Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."
"I didn't know I could do that with a man."
"You haven't before?"
You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.
"I'm honored. Was it good?"
"Yeah. How about you?"
"So fucking good."
You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.
"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.
"Yeah?"
"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"
"I don't."
He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.
"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.
"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."
Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.
Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.
It is, in short, the perfect set-up.
Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.
You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?
He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.
You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.
When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.
You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.
"Welcome home."
"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."
"My pleasure."
The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.
In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.
"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."
Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."
"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."
"Does your family support your choices?"
You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."
"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"
"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."
"Wow."
"Exactly."
The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.
"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.
"No problem."
"You have any plans for tonight?"
He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.
You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.
"You missed me that much?"
"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.
Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.
Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.
"Lemme get that."
Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.
"Thanks."
You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.
"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.
"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"
"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."
"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"
"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."
"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."
"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"
"Not that I know of."
"Do you maybe... want to do something?"
"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"
"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"
You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."
His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."
He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.
That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.
Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.
You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.
You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.
Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/
You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:
Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.
You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.
It is what it is. Early night for me.
He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.
Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.
Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)
You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.
I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.
The reply comes almost immediately.
I'll be back before you know it.
Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.
You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.
You up?
You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.
It's two am.
Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.
"What's up?"
"Sorry to wake you."
"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.
"I'm outside."
"What?"
"I'm outside your door."
You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"
"Just open?"
Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.
"Hi."
"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.
"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.
"Did I... fuck this up now?"
You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.
"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."
You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.
Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.
"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."
"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.
"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."
"That's just because you haven't unpacked."
He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."
"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."
“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.
“I had to try.”
You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.
“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”
His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.
“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”
You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.
“Your ex?”
“Yeah. Teresa.”
“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.
“I don’t want to burden you with that…”
“I want to know, Marcus.”
He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.
You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.
“What a cunt!”
Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.
“You know I’m right!”
“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.
“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”
He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”
You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.
“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”
He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.
“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”
“Yeah, she did.”
His stare is suddenly relentless.
“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”
You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”
He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.
“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”
“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”
You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”
He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.
“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”
“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.
“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.
“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”
“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.
The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.
“Fuck, you’re amazing.”
“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.
“Happy Christmas, baby.”
The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.
“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”
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B- bu- bud... idk if requests are open but....
B- be- bear bakugou who loves climbing trees but hates the winter cold on his paws. So he starts climbing things in the house😔. Just you scolding him while he's sitting snug on top the bookshelf because he left claw marks and splintered the wood...
BAHAHAHA MUG I LOVE THIS
“Katsuki.”
“Fuck off.”
“Katsuki!”
“Fuck off!”
“Get down from there now!” You scolded your hybrid as he glowered at you from the top of the bookshelf.
“Fucking make me, human!” He sneered, claws digging deeper into the wood, splintering the precious heirloom.
“Katsuki please, you’re damaging the bookshelf!” You pleaded. Katsuki huffed whilst continuing to glower.
“No. I like it up here. Now piss off!” He demanded, leaning forward to get his point across. The bookshelf was beginning to tip slightly, causing you to worry.
“What happened to your other climbing equipment?! Why does my poor bookcase have to suffer?!” You whined, cringing at the groaning of the bookcase. Huffing, you look at your companion.
“Okay. What would it take for you to come down?” You tried from a different perspective. Katsuki stared at you.
“Salmon bowl. But, I eat it up here. Then I’ll come down,” he said, positioning himself to get comfortable.
“Oh god fucking damnit Suki, fine! I’ll make your damned fucking bowl of salmon and fucking rice,” you grumble under your breath, muttering about how you hate winter as much as he does. Katsuki triumphantly smirks before falling asleep to the sounds of you grunting in the kitchen.
“Oi, wake up you stinky brat,” you grumble, pinging the chopsticks against the bowl as Katsuki’s eyes cracked open. His mouth delved into an O shape as he yawned, pointy toofs on show.
He reminded you of a kitten; so sleepy in the winter and hibernating anywhere he can. He could barely keep his eyes open during winter, so you were surprised that he managed to even climb up the damn bookcase.
“Mmmm, don’ wanna wake uuuuuuup,” he sleepily mumbled, getting comfy again.
“Oh no you little bastard, I made you the bowl so you would get off my bookcase. You promised, so get your lazy ass up and eat,” you scolded firmly, ready to throw the bowl at him when he sticks his middle finger up. You huff before smirking; time to bring out the big guns.
“Fine then. No more kisses for a week,” you said, going to leave. Katsuki’s head snapped to you.
“What?” He asked, sleepiness depleting.
“Yup, and no ear rubs whilst you’re napping too,” you list off, about to leave the living room when you hear conflicted angry grunts.
“Ugghghh fine, shitty mate. But, I get to lay on your lap and you have to feed me. Deal?” He answered cheekily, sleepy smirk slapped on his face.
You sigh.
“Deal.”
“Was this really so hard, sweetie?” You murmur to him softly, petting your sleepy bear boy after he demolished his bowl of salmon and rice. Katsuki cracked an eye open.
“Mhm, totally. Natural instincts an’ shit, plus I like being up in high places. Is too cold to do it outside,” he mutters, head nestling into your tummy. Your fingers trail softly over his cute little brown ears, giggling when you see his pompom tail wiggle.
“Stop moving, human. Your laughing is disrupting my sleep,” he mumbles, nosing your tummy as you wrap a blanket around him.
“Sorry, my love. Well we can look into constructing something a bit more practical for you to climb until it’s not as cold outside. I think the attic might be a cool place for some more climbing gear, plus the alcoves could be padded out for your naps,” you ramble quietly, gentle tracing of his ears never ceasing until you hear the quiet rumbly snores of your mate.
You stop talking, wrapped the blanket higher around his neck and kissed the space between his fluffy ears.
“Goodnight, my bratty cub.”
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meant to be | javier peña
-> pairing: javier peña x f!reader
-> wc: 1645
-> content warnings: 18+ blog; domestic javi, established relationship, unprotected p in v, fluff, talks of starting a family, reader has zero descriptive features
-> a/n: this was posted on my other account and i am moving it here now. it is also a rewrite of an older fic i did with frankie.
masterlist
Fall is settling in nicely in Texas. The days are still warm, but the weekends no longer hold as much daylight as they did weeks ago.
Everything transitioning into its autumnal journey, your yard drenched in rustic hues and sunshine.
You and Javier both loved taking advantage of the nicer weather, wanting to soak up as much of it as possible before the shift into a colder season, deciding to spend your evenings on the patio as the days wound down and the sun set behind the pasture on the west side of the ranch.
Chores were the first thing that needed to be tackled. Divide and conquer seemed to work well for you both. You took on the inside duties of laundry, dusting, and food prep, while Javier managed the outside— mowing, tree trimming, truck washing.
Bed made with clean sheets, a load of dirty clothes placed into the washer– the previous load hung in the backyard on the clothesline, dinner prepared and waiting– your list of to-do’s dwindling as the day went on. Now you find yourself planted at the sink of dirty dishes, your kitchen window a front row seat to the old barn, your eyes glued on your husband as he washes his truck.
His striped sky blue shirt encapsulates every detail of his back, sleeves tight around the bulk of his arms, muscles flexing as he scrubs the soapy sponge back and forth across the metal surface– and you thank whoever designed his well-fitted jeans. A week's worth of dirt slowly slid off the sides of the old ranch truck, a prized possession that had been passed down from Chucho when Javier had decided to take on more responsibilities around the ranch.
It has been two years since moving into the home Javier grew up in, wanting something big with the hopes of starting a family in the future. Chucho insisted you both move in, stating the house was far too big for just him— he moved into the ranch’s guest house down the dirt road. Memories tucked to every corner of the house, old family photos still hanging in the very spot his Mama placed them.
Javier must sense he’s being watched when he turns towards the kitchen window, catching your eyes on him. His gaze lingers a bit, soap and water dripping from the sponge in his large hand. He shoots you a wink with a smile that makes you instantly weak.
“Shit!” The mug you had been washing slips from your soapy hands into the water below, water splashing back at you, soaking the thin material of your dress, your attention drawn back to the sink and the remaining dishes. Somehow Javier still makes you flustered after all these years with just a simple look thrown your way.
Glancing back out the window again to find Javier is no longer there, the suds freely dripping off the truck door and sponge discarded on the ground. The creak of the screen door lets you know exactly where your husband is as you proceed to dry the drinking glasses and place them in the cupboard. His shuffling around in the living room does little to help you know what he’s up to.
“Javi?” You call out to him as you finish putting away the last of the plates and bowls, wiping the counter off before you go in search of your husband.
The slight crackle of a record starting makes you aware of his location– the living room. His old collection of records and record player had been boxed away in the attic after he moved away. Last Spring, while you were putting away the winter blankets, you stumbled upon his music collection– something from nearly every genre. You pulled everything down one weekend while he was busy in town with Chucho, having everything set up on the bookcase and a record going when he got home. It became a habit that one of you would slip on a new record, windows open allowing the breeze to carry the songs throughout the house.
A familiar tune begins, it instantly brings a smile to your face.
“Wise men say...”
The low timber of his voice sends a tingle down your spine any time he sings your wedding song. For such a reserved man, who refuses to indulge in karaoke, he jumps at any chance to serenade you within the walls of your home— one of the many things you love about him.
A set of arms wrap around you, welcoming you back from your walk down memory lane, pulling you against his chest as he begins to move about the kitchen with you. Your bodies swaying together as the music continues, his face nuzzled in close to your cheek as he hums along with the song.
“Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling, so it goes
Some things are meant to be…”
Your body leans into him, the rest of the chores fully abandoned as you both waver about the kitchen, savoring how easy it is to create new memories in your home.
“You sure know how to get out of chores Peña.” You tell him just as he spins you around so you’re facing him, looping your arms around his neck while his hands settle on your back— Javier singing along completely ignoring your comment.
“If I’m not mistaken Querida, I’m pretty sure you were hardly putting an effort into yours.” He teases you before grabbing your hand to send you twirling around. You can’t contain your laughter, living for these spontaneous moments of ease with the man you’re so completely head over heels for. Your body is pulled back into his, resuming the energetic flow between the two of you. A sweet rhythm of bliss now strumming through your body as you melt into his arms.
“Hmm, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Hiding your smirk into his warm neck, knowing full well what he’s referring to.
“That wasn’t you gawking at me through the window—“
“I was not gawking, Javi!” As you playfully pat his chest. “I was just admiring the view.”
“You were in fact gawking. I think I clocked you at 10 minutes from the first moment I noticed you hadn’t moved.”
“You are so exaggerating!” He’s definitely not wrong though, it’s hard to pull your eyes away from such a thing of beauty.
“How about we take this to the bedroom, Querida– and I’ll show you exaggeration!” He taunts into your ear.
“Javier! Your truck is half washed in the driveway— and I know you’re going to be pissed about the soap drying on it right now. Plus, I already made the bed.”
He’s dragging you back towards the stairs that lead to the bedroom, his infectious smirk displayed across his stupid handsome face, your body doing little to stop itself from his magnetic pull.
“I’ll just wash it again. I’ll even set a chair up for you to admire up close. Get you one of those ice cold beers too.” He says as he falls back into the bed, pulling your body on top of his.
“And I’m pretty sure this won’t be the last time we dirty these sheets this weekend…” His voice muffled against your neck, his lips planting kiss after kiss as he pleads his case– you easily succumb to his antics.
His hands work at the line of buttons that trail down the front of your dress, your own undoing his buckle before working at the button and zipper of his jeans– he hisses as your hands hastily move over bugle straining behind his jeans.
Your dress is open and hanging off your shoulders as you slowly sink down on Javier’s cock, the stretch of him a welcomed adjustment, his length hitting something delicious as you settle at the base of him.
“Fuck, Javi!!” Hands splayed over Javier’s firm chest for support, your head thrown back as a rapturous whine pours out into the room, a slight bounce to your breasts as you move— the cups of your bra pulled down, the cool air has your nipples pebbled and tight. Javier is taken by your angelic state— you're a sight to be seen.
Javier’s fingers are digging into the meat of your thighs, the slow stuttering roll of your hips as you move over his cock has him worked up faster than he has anticipated.
“Querida— Shit! Baby, I’m not gonna last— you look so good riding my cock like that!” His hips bucking up at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him.
“I’m right there with you, Amor!”
A few swipes over your throbbing clit and a string of quick thrusts, both of you cresting the euphoric peak in unison.
You collapse on top of Javier, a strong arm wraps around your waist, a hand cupping your neck, Javier determined to keep you as close as possible— you fully melting into his touch.
Breathing ragged and hearts racing— bodies perfectly satiated and filled with an intense love for each other.
“I should probably get up and get dinner started. That should be plenty of time for you to rewash the truck.” You don’t show any signs of actually doing so, too relaxed to care about finishing the rest of your chores.
“Or— we can just lay here a little longer. Save the food and truck washing for tomorrow. We can go into town later and get dinner instead.”
“A man after my heart. I’d marry you if I wasn’t already.” He rolls you off him onto your back, hands roaming over your dewy skin as he kisses you slowly.
The lull of the record player echoes through the house as the music fades out, clothes and sheets are thrown about the bedroom, the day’s plans forgotten as you both seek out a more exhilarating afternoon.
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Headcanon: Dating David Von Erich
Requested by @unforgettble420 !
To be completely honest, Kerry was always my favorite BUT honestly David is replacing him because he’s complete husband material. That man is a Cancer so you know he cares deeply about a family, taking the role as a provider seriously, responsible and protective and sentimental, etc.
He would have first spotted you at one of the WCCW shows in the crowd and been distracted during his whole match. Kevin would have to yell at him to get his head in the game, and Kerry would catch on that you were the reason he was distracted after one too many looks in your direction.
After the show, Kerry and Kevin encouraged David to approach you in the parking lot. They both realized David wasn’t normally like this. He wasn’t nervous, but he did his best to shoo his brothers away to not ruin the moment. Little did he know, Kerry and Kevin were watching from around the corner of the Sportatorium.
He would be casual and calm as he approached and wasn’t afraid to compliment you in front of your friends.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt anything, but I just had to tell you I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
Not only were your friends impressed, but you were already smitten.
You would both keep talking, and he would eventually ask you out. You weren’t expecting much, maybe dinner or a movie, but he brought you to his family’s house where they had acres of land full of beautiful big trees. He had a picnic set up for the both of you, and was eager to get to know you.
Things would progress between the two of you pretty quickly, because David isn’t really the type for games or wasting his or anyone else’s time. He would know immediately that you were the one for him, and it would get serious pretty quickly.
He would ask your opinion on things like kids, what your goals and dreams were, if you minded him wrestling and traveling. He would be willing to make compromises, such as taking you with him on the road when you were able, and making up for the times he had scheduled matches.
If you didn’t know wrestling or weren’t so familiar with it, David would teach you about it patiently, explaining the in’s and out’s, the characters, the training. He would always be amused when you worried over him getting hurt, but secretly, he would be thrilled that someone really cared about his well-being.
David would show you a new way of life, taking you to the lake with his brothers, riding with the windows down in his truck, tending to his horses with him. In turn, you softened him a bit with all the neck rubs and scalp massages. He wasn’t used to someone taking such care to buy him new socks to replace the ones with holes, or soft blankets on the bed.
David would love knowing you were taking time and care to make your house a home, and in turn he would always provide everything you ever needed; there was never anything you ever wanted because David made sure you had it.
You mention you would like to learn how to ride a horse one time? David would get you your own and explain why he picked the breed and teach you himself. You mention you would like to paint? There would be an easel, paint, and different sized canvases in the spare room. You’re a little extra chilly when winter comes around? There’s a new fur coat in your closet. You like reading? He would literally build you your own bookcase.
He trusts you entirely; as soon as he gets paid from wrestling, the money goes straight into your hands.
He would take your wishes into account, but David was eager to have a family of his own. If that wasn’t something you wanted, he was prepared to be the best uncle to his brother’s kids and have them over often.
You were that couple that everyone thought had been together for 20 years; it was as if you had known each other your entire lives. David knew you better than himself. He knew all your moods, every look on your face, every answer to every woe.
Naturally, all of his brothers were extremely supportive.
Kevin, being the oldest and already starting to establish his own family, was very grateful and appreciative that David found someone so perfect for him and made him so happy. He would do a lot to make sure you felt comfortable within their family, always asking how you were doing, what you’ve been up to.
Kerry would treat you like the sister he never had. He would keep you company while you watched David wrestle, ask your opinion on everything from how his hair looked to how his own match went. He would also tease you, but never maliciously.
Mike really adores you. He would gravitate to your side during family occasions, he would show you songs he had been working on first, and was always eager to talk about music with you. He nearly cried when you got him a new record player for Christmas.
Chris took a while to warm up to you, but pretty soon, he was your biggest fan. He would always be at your side asking you to help him build a puzzle he was working on, or asking you and David if he could tag along. You basically adopted him together, always taking him with you when you went to get lunch or see a movie.
Doris normally held the belief that no one would ever be good enough for her sons, but then she met you. After watching the joy on David’s face around you, and how apparent it was that you genuinely cared for him and got along with everyone else, her mind changed almost immediately. She would love to chat with you about your future plans with David, and it would soon turn into lazy Sunday afternoons, you and Doris drinking tea on the porch while she painted–after your encouragement.
Fritz was less than thrilled when he found out another one of his sons was in a serious relationship, believing that it would damage the fanbase David and his brothers had established, but David wasn’t budging. As a result, he and his dad got into many arguments.
“She’s just like every other woman out there; they’re just interested in your money and want someone to take care of them!” “I’m not gonna let you talk about her like that. Unlike you, I want to take care of someone!”
David didn’t let his father sway his feelings. He proposed barely a year after you started dating, taking you for a horse ride around his ranch and out towards the pond where he had flowers waiting for you and the ring in his pocket.
Doris and his brothers were overjoyed; of course they were all excited and thrilled. Doris couldn’t wait to plan everything with you. Fritz finally came around, admitting you weren’t a bad person at all and realizing the relationship was more serious than he had thought.
Your wedding was quite a huge deal, with the whole ordeal being mentioned on World Class on TV, with snippets being shown from the wedding. You had flowers from fans being delivered the entire month.
David was sure to never leave your side the entire night of your wedding. It was important to him to start the marriage off with the most important thing–being together.
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Lingerie: Robin Buckley x reader
Robin Buckley x Reader smut
I got kind of carried away with this one, and originally it was just going to be something cute… but I guess it’s smut now lol
Also if you can think of a better title for this please let me know because I struggled, big time I’m talking 20 minutes of me staring blankly at a wall
“I’m just popping out to the store to gets some bits for dinner” your mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. “You girls have fun!”
“Okay mom!” You shout back from your room. You lay on your bed, watching Robin snoop around your room. Running her fingers across the spines of your books, blowing the trust of her finger tips, her eyes lighting up pulling one out.
“I didn’t realise you liked spooky books” she flicks through the pages of pet semetery. “You haven’t even finished it” she says in disbelief. You sit up and bring your knees to your chest.
“That’s because it was too scary” she nods, putting it back in a different place before looking at your little trinkets. You had a handful of porcelain cats, that she made sure to poke eachone before leaning against the bookcase to face you.
“I’m learning so much more about you y/n”
“Like what?” You were intrigued.
“You’re a wimp for starters. Second you really love pus- Holy shit! Is that your diary” she rushes over to your desk holding up a beat up pink journal. You bite your finger to stifle back your laughter. Her eyes dart around each pages, scanning throughyour deepest darkest secrets. Nothing she didn’t already know. A smile tugs at her lips. She continues to read, before holding up a Polaroid picture, it was a picture of her with big pink heart snapped sunglasses on, in the passenger seat of your car. She flips it over and grins. “My love” she reads out loud. “You are such a cutie babe” She beams.
Robin then opens bedside drawers. Holding up a battery, placing it on top. Before pulling out a few more, confused. You hide your face, waiting for her to realise. “You have a lot of batteries” she laughs, before sliding them back in and shutting it. She then pulls open the top draw of your dresser, pulling out you baby pink lingerie.
“Oh- wow- I… are these?” She struggles, swallowing. You watch her shift uncomfortably on her feet. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, it wasn’t very often your girlfriend was speechless. You just nod, encouraging her to say something, but instead she stayed quiet as you watch the blush creep up her neck to her freckled cheeks. She takes a breath and tries recomposes herself. Now even more curious, she looks and pulls out a red pair, her face almost a matching colour, taking a second to feel the material through her fingers, quietly appreciating them.
“Robin baby, if you keep rummaging through there you’ll find what those batteries are for”
“What?- oh!” Her eyes wide, the dime had finally dropped. She carefully places your underwear back in there, pausing. “This is super irrelevant but how long until your mom is back” she didn’t look back at you
“About half an hour” you say looking at your watch, you get of the bed and snake your arms around robins waist.
“No reason- it’s- uh” you loved it when Robin gets flustered.
“Go on” you encourage, sliding your hands down her stomach, your fingertips toying with the elastic band of her panties,
“I- Fuck y/n” she leans against you, your hand travelling futher south, your hand cupping her heat, immediately feeling how wet she was.
“The sight of my underwear really got you that worked up huh?” You question teasingly, pressing a wet kiss below her ear.
“Please” you remove your hand, Robin letting out a small whimper. You lay her down, knelt on the end of the bed, as she unbuttons her jeans, discarding them on the floor with her underwear. You pull off your T-shirt, chucking it to the floor, you grab her legs pulling her down the bed and she lets out a squeal.
Trailing wet kisses teasingly on her inner thighs.
“You’re so wet for me” you whisper against her folds.
“How can I not be y/n knowing about what you’re wearing, fuck please fuck me” her voice was so raspy and so needy. “When we’re at work, and you bend over, all I can think about is how your ass looks in that red thong. Please” you run your tongue, swirling around her clit, sucking before letting it go with a pop. “Y/n stop teasing me”. You sit back on your knees, lewdly spitting on two fingers.
“Can I?” She quickly nods, closing her eyes. You slide your fingers into her wet pussy, slowly in and out, curling them, and watching how her face twist with pleasure. You continue at the slow pace, her hips grinding against your fingers, her bottom lip between her teeth. You lean forward, your tongue darting across her clit quickly as you speed up, your fingers slamming in and out of her wet pussy robins whiny moans, filling the room, as she grips the sheets.
“Y/n” she repeats over and over, closing her legs around you. “Don’t stop” you feel her pussy tighten round your fingers, ignoring the burn you continue. The sounds of her angelic moans made your stomach flip, feeling your own panties grow wetter. Robin throws her head back a high pitched cry leaving her mouth, as her legs begin to shake. “I’m coming” she chokes out, curling her toes. She whines, as you pull away, sitting up against your head board, watching you, her mouth slightly open as she watches you lick your fingers clean.
“You taste so good Robin” you moan, your clit throbbing, grinding against the duvet, desperate for any kind of friction.
“Come here, let me help you” before you could oblige youre internally scream as you hear the front door shut.
“Can you two come help me with the groceries!” Your mom shouts, the worst cock block im maybe all of history.
“Just a second” you groan.
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"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene," PART 3
Vox x gn reader (Alastor's child)
Note: sorry for the rickroll guys, I promise I won't do it again. It's a little shorter but I really wanted it to end where it did because dread. Part 4 will be around the same length as 1 and 2. Also for anyone wondering this takes place before Alastor's 7 years abscence. It's not canon compliant anyway but this does give you a bit of a timeline.
Word count: 2784
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5
After thinking about it Y/n had reluctantly agreed to start 'dating', even thinking of it made them want to smash their head into the wall. And of course their father had already heard about, probably from Rosie or, even more likely, Paris himself. Alastor wouldn't shut up about it and they had to just nod along. This did mean, however, that Y/n was able to use this as a cover up for when they were hanging out with Vox, which is exactly what they did the day after.
Y/n had put on a big jacket, covering their fancy fit, and rushed out the door while rambling about meeting with Paris. Alastor just let them go, only asking for them to be back by ten.
"Hey Vox!" Y/n jumped in to give the man a big hug, getting a strong whiff of his cologne.
"You look dazzling tonight love." He kissed their hand. "I hope you'll like this place, I know it's not of your usual tastes."
"Oh, don't worry about it."
The night went well, the two love birds laughed and cried and gazed into each other's eyes in their private booth.
"You know, I thought it was very sweet you tried to eat demon for me. I was always scared that most people would think it was a dealbreaker."
" I mean I don't mind it but next time we'll go to a restaurant where they have options for the both of us." Vox laughed. "I don't find it a deal breakers, you shouldn't be scared. Besides aren't there a bunch of bachelors in Cannibal Town, like Paris."
"Don't remind me," they sighed, "Vox I... uhm I need to tell you something." Y/n thought back on yesterday, when they smiled in front of their father only to ball their eyes out in their room. "Something happened yesterday with Paris and... Just promise you won't do anything reckless."
"I promise." The TV Demon stared into their eyes with worry. So many thoughts about what this fucker could've done to them swirled through his head.
And so Y/n told him everything; the blackmailing, Paris' smug face, how he practically was an annoying Radio Demon fan wannabe and worst of all Alastor's positive reaction to the news.
"I know I lied to him... I-I know I tried to hide it from him, but somewhere deep down I hoped he would realise I was lying, that it was a facade." They cried. "I'm so selfish, aren't I?"
"Dearie, you aren't. And evening you were, this is hell, so who cares?" Vox tried to console them. "But if this bothers you so much, maybe we should tell him?"
"NO!" They yelled " He will KILL you."
"Alright... We'll find a solution, I promise."
The rest of the night went relatively well. They were able to joke around again. When Vox was walking them back, they complained that their feet hurt, so he swiftly picked them up. Y/n's face was buried in his neck while he held them close.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
When Y/n got home, they looked through their bookcase looking for a certain story. It wasn't there, they checked once more, then again, one last time... And nothing. They walked downstairs and saw Alastor sitting in the kitchen preparing for his next broadcast.
"Hey dad? Have you seen one of my books, it's called Demio and Cannette?" They asked.
"Hmmm, yes I did," he answered, "I didn't think that book was appropriate for you, so I got rid of it."
"What? WHY? You've never checked them before? Why all of a sudden..."
"I know you got the fairytale idea of 'falling in love' with my rival from that wretched story." Alastor stood up from his seat and came over to them. "But you don't need it anymore. You're now with a civilized man and I don't want you to change your mind because you are being influenced by frivolous stories. Speaking of Paris, how was your date?"
"Oh, it went well." They lied. "Don't just switch to a different topic! I STILL want my book back!"
"Not happening."
"YES IT Į̷͙̫̲̣̼̠̹̼̟͑̃̀̾̇̚͘͠S̵̻̪̠̔!!!" Y/n yelled back.
"You can throw a tantrum all you want, you aren't getting it back." His antlers grew. "I WILL do A̸͓̦̿̓̆N̶̻͑Y̶͚̅̓̄̕T̸͙̫͕̥̎͝H̴͈̙̘̮̋̕Î̷͊ͅṊ̵̪͖͕̆̅͒̄G̵̠̯͉͛̄͊ to protect you. Even if you disagree, U̶̢͚͚̲͕̎̇͂͝Ń̶̟͖̥̪̙̿̀͜D̴̹̯̩͓͘͜E̷̟̔̚R̷̬̫̜͛̋̒͗̕S̷͎̺͉͕̥̼̐͆̌̈T̴͇͓̠͈͈͐͆̒̂A̵̳̘̮̩͛̌̄̉N̷͇͚̻̥͖̂̌̇͗͋ͅD̸̡̺̀̔ ?"
"I... I understand." They walked back up the stairs, their head down.
Alastor sighed. He didn't like speaking at his child like that but it was necessary. They needed this, he needed to protect them.
A week and a half went by, on some days Y/n secretly met up with Vox while on others they were forced to meet with Paris. Their 'dates' got more and more uncomfortable. Paris got more daring and daring, he even tried to kiss them once, Y/n quickly shut that down, still they couldn't keep him away forever, he might get sick of their unwillingness and spill the beans.
Y/n and Alastor hadn't talked much since their little fight.... They had never had fights before and now they seem to have become a regularity.
Vox had noticed a difference in them and one day, late in the night, while the two were facetiming, he mustered up the confidence to ask what's wrong.
"Love, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself for a while."
Tears filled their eyes. "I had a fight with dad, he... I don't think he would ever except us..."
"Love, you know that I'm not the biggest fan of your dad but he does care a lot about you. I'm sure once he sees that I truly love you, he'll be fine with it."
"I don't think so... He is just to overprotective, since... I died. It was my fault, I was being stupid reckless and was killed. Before I knew it dad was down here with me and took care of me, sheltered me." Their tears fell down onto their bed. "He cares too much, he won't hesitate to get rid of you to protect me."
"Fine, but just know, I can protect myself against that old fuck!"
"I'll just have to take your word for it," they laughed.
"How about we go to that old school pub around the corner tomorrow?" His speakers started playing a nice tune from their time. "I can show you my dance moves."
"Ughh!! I can't, I have a dinner with me, dad and that asshole!" They complained. "I wish I could come! We're going to that restaurant we went to back then? What was it called again?"
"Heartie's, I will never forget that place."
The two continued to talk into the night. Little did they know, someone eavesdropped on their conversation.
"Heartie's huh?" Valentino held up his gun, loading it with angelic bullets. "Once that bitch is gone, he'll shake out of this and then we'll take out the Radio Demon together."
Y/n was looking through their gallery. Modern phones were so intriguing, those little devices could hold hundreds upon hundreds of pictures. Most of theirs were of Vox or them both, a few were of hell's scenery. Their favourite was by far a certain picture with the two of them. They were hanging out at Vox's place, he introduced them to Vark, his pet shark, and ended up watching a movie. Y/n could still remember the warmth they felled cuddling up, the smell of the pyjama-shirt they borrowed from Vox, everything was amazing.
That's when a knock came from the door. Y/n quickly shoved their phone in their pocket.
"Fawn, it's me." Alastor opened the door. "I know we haven't talked much since our little... disagreement but please put that aside for now. We have a guest, please come down."
Waiting downstairs was Paris, of course. They wanted to groan but kept their in a smile.
“I was wondering if I could take you on a late-night stroll?”
Y/n took his hands and left the house with him.
“What do you want to talk about?” Their voice was direct.
“You really don’t do small talk do you?” Paris quipped.
They looked to the side. “Only with people I don’t like.”
“Hah! Yeah, you’re going to have to learn how to like me. You see, I know it’s been only been a week but I think we are both ready to tie the knot.” He pulled out a little box. “I mean, can you imagine? Me being the official son-in-law of the Radio Demon?”
“What?” Y/n’s ears pulled back. “What makes you think I will EVER marry you?”
“It’s simple, you don’t want that box to die.” A disgustingly smug smile decorated his face “One wrong move and his fate will be sealed.”
“I-I..”
“One more thing.” He put his hand in their pocket and pulled out their gifted phone. “You won’t be needing this anymore.”
“H̵̱̱̖͛́͛Ḙ̵̯̖̭́̆̅̕Ỷ̶̨͚̣̮̆̅͠!̸̦̜̜͈͖͆̆ ̷̯̈́T̵̨̹̙̻̤̎̈́̂́Ḫ̶̦̥̃Ă̷̙̯̐̑͝T̷̳̝̆̑̕’̷̹̠͔̈͋̏̆S̸͉͚̊̒̊͐̕ ̷̡̧̲̹͒̊̚M̶̭͔̳̣̈͆̌I̷͕͉̬͚͖͠N̸̟̾̄͋͊È̵̛̟̬͖͉̦!!!" Y/n’s eyes glowed, their stature grew and a they scowled.
“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, think about your paramour.” With one squeeze the thing crumbled up. As he let go, the now destroyed, device fell on the forest floor.
Vox was pacing around his apartment. He was contemplating going to the restaurant too, just to keep an eye on them.... But Alastor would recognize him. What to do? What to do?
That's when a call popped up on his screen. At first he got excited thinking Y/n might be calling him again but when he swiped it over to one of his set-up screens, he realised it was Velvette.
"Velvette, what do you want? I'm busy."
"Busy my ass! The only thing you've been doing the last two weeks is fawning over them." She held up her middle finger as if that'll prove her point. "I've been picking up YOUR slack, you piece of shit!"
"And that's why I've decided to send you out for a nice dinner tomorrow with all your friends. How about it?"
"This isn't some kind of trick is it?"
"Of course not." Vox's left eye took over most of his screen, circles spiralled his Z-shaped iris. "Just accept."
"Fine, but you NEED to get to work again. All this work has been driving me crazy and Val is doing jack shit." Her eyes drifted to something off-screen. "WHAT THE FUCK! Put that down you worthless BITCH!" She quickly left the call to deal with whatever was going on.
It's true that Vox had been somewhat slacking since meeting them, but can he be blamed? Anyone would if they were THIS head over heels for someone. He pulled up his digital to-do list. He wanted to try to get everything done by tomorrow, this way if something were to happen at the restaurant he'd be available and ready. So he dove into his documents and blueprints.
Vox looked over the different product proposals from his team, when one of them caught his eye.
The Voxle E-reader
A VoxTech take on the older, popular kindl E-readers. A market VoxTech hasn't tapped yet and is overdue for a new revolutionary product.
The proposal came from a newer employee, whom Vox had already been considering demoting. The young demon barely brough anything to the table and an E-reader? It's true VoxTech never brought one out but it wasn't necessary, people could already use their V-pads which had many more uses. Besides, this is hell, how many demons actually read? Only those of higher status and they prefer paper books, like Y/n. Like Y/n... Would they like one? Before he could really think about it, he put the proposal in the approved pile. He couldn't wait to gift it to them.
Vox continued on working late into the night. He was so concentrate, the overlord didn't even notice he hadn't gotten any messages from his lover.
Morning came around and with that the dreaded day. The day went by like a blur for Y/n, eating, showering, reading, changing. They felt numb. This was happening, in a few hours they would be engaged to a slimy, shoe-licking bitch and there is nothing they could do about it. They couldn't even complain to their actual lover, their Vox. For the first time since dying, it actually felt like they were in hell.
They wore a beautiful green attire that showed their little deer tail with a matching hat they got from Cannibal Town. Walking downstairs, Alastor was waiting on them. He was wearing a fancier suit than usual.
"Y/n, I apologize for my role in our dispute." His apology was diplomatic and stiff, anything but sincere.
"Start actually meaning it and I might actually forgive you." They walked past him out the door.
Both Rosie and Paris were waiting outside. The whole way there was awkward. Y/n refused to talk with Alastor.
"Why don't you two head inside already?" Rosie shoved Paris and them towards the doors of the familiar establishment. "I want to talk to my dear old Alastor over here." Once the two were out of earshot she began, "So Al, what's going on?"
"There is nothing to worry about, Rosie. Me and Y/n simple had a bit of a disagreement nine days ago, nothing for you to worry about."
"You two never have fights, especially not those that last THIS long." She moved to stand closer to him. "And you're hating it. I see right through that smile of yours."
"I just, miss my little fawn... Ever since that wretched party, they seem to hate me..." For once in a decennia his ears fell back. "And they're hiding something from me, I know it! And it's troubling them, but Y/n refuses to come to me."
"Well... Maybe they're scared for your reaction. You can be a bit... Much when it comes to them. How about this? After dinner we'll have a good talk and lay everything on the table."
"Why not? Now after you." He opened the door for Rosie and followed suit. "Let's get to our table, I haven't been this hungry since the time my hunting rifle broke, hahaha."
Vox woke up on his desk, he had fallen asleep with papers and pen in hand. Looking at his computer it was late in the morning. His deer must have been worried about him since he hadn't texted them all morning, right? Right?
No, not a single text from them. They must have been nervous for the dinner.... But usually when they were nervous they would come to him for comfort. He was just being paranoid, just paranoid little Vox. It was just new for him not to have control over someone, the other two Vees often called him a control freak with how he hypnotised used his hypnotism powers...
Maybe he should've used it on Y/n after all? NO! he shoulder think like that! They were his partner, his equal.
He picked up his phone and messaged them:
Hey love!
How are you?
I know this day is stressful for you
No, answer. Y/n didn't even receive it. What was going on?
"Vox!" Velvette walked into his office. "I'm going to go get ready with the girls, don't forget to pick us up at the salon!"
"Don’t worry about it, I'll have it handled." He said smugly.
"You better! So make sure you don't fall asleep on your work again!"
Velvette took her leave again while Vox looked over everything he still needed to do. It was a LOT. So much he forgot all about his previous paranoia.
"So they're going to be at this restaurant?" An unknown voice asked.
"Yes, there're probably going to be one or two overlords with them," Valentino answered, "just get that whore and get out of there."
"Got it, don't worry. This isn't the first time I've dealt powerful demons."
Velvette and her girl friends had enjoyed their day at the salon and got picked up by Vox. The limo was fancier than usual, she guessed that he must've really felt bad for the slacking. Not surprising considering how much of a workaholic he was. She guessed wrong though, she guessed very wrong.
"Vox, what the FUCK are we doing back here?" She shoved her middle finger in his face. "This is about Y/n, isn't it?"
"Well, yes." Vox smiled. "Please Velvette, Y/n got a dinner with that Cannibal. They were really nervous about it, but the Radio fucker would notice me too fast."
"Fine, but you OWE me! GOT IT!!"
"Got it, whatever you want."
"Come on girls, we're getting dinner." She begrudgingly made her way inside.
Vox stepped back into the car just in time, because when he was on his way back, he saw them walking by. Y/n looked beautiful. How he wished he could be there.
Part 4
Masterlist/request guidelines
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.☼︎. 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫; 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦
— Mattheo Riddle x Reader
— Summary: y/n goes to a Flourish and Blotts with her aunt Janice, and there she meets a boy who's going to play a big part in her life later on.
— Word Count: 1.8k
— A/N: This is the prologue to my new Wattpad book that I've just started. My Wattpad is @/eunoiathewriter on there too and the name of the book is "Alwasy, Forever"
The smell of books, old and new, was strong as she walked into Flourish and Blotts. The smell of books had long been her favorite. During her nine almost ten years in the world, y/n had always loved whenever her aunt, Gail Wittiher, would come home with new books and they smelled just like books did or more like they should, according to the young girl. Earthy and woody.
On long days when she would be at home, her aunt Gail, out for work, and her second aunt, Janice, working in her office, little y/n would go into the small library her aunts kept in the small flat. Closing the doors and just sitting down on the floor.
The smell of books and candles seemed to have been embedded into the wallpaper of the room as it never seemed to become less strong. She would sit on the rug in the little home library and just listen to the grandfather clock tick each second by.
So, entering the cozy bookshop in Diagon Alley was always going to be one of her favourite things to do with her aunts.
Aunt Janice held onto the young girl's hand gently, just to make sure she was by her side and wouldn't wander off into the busy alley. It crawled with Hogwarts students getting their robes, books, wands, cauldrons, brass scales, and so much more needed according to the shopping list students got from the school.
Janice Wittiher knew that her wife's niece had a love for books. Whether it was reading them, the smell of them or just being around them, the nine year old loved them. This was why she had decided that instead of teaching the girl what every child growing up in a wizarding family needed to know before Hogwarts she took her on a little trip to Flourish and Blotts.
"Now," Janice turned to the y/n who excitedly looked around. "I have to get myself a few books for work, you're allowed to get two books today. I'll be down here if you need me. Understood?"
"Yep! Two books, no more." The h/c girl answered as she loosened her grip on her aunt's hand to go and look around.
"Remember, be respectful of other customers and for the love of Merlin, be careful." Janice sighed as she knew the girl had a tendency to be a bit of a clumsy kid.
"Understood, aunt Jani!" y/n immediately padded away towards the stairs that led up to her favorite section, astronomy. Janice stood up from her crouching position and shook her head, but still a smile adored her face before she went to find her books.
y/n found that the astronomy section of books always had her marvel. It was aunt Gail that had happened to mention something about supernovas during dinner which had her ask more. Having both her aunts read books for her about the wonders of the universe. Everything from galaxies to asteroids.
Her eyes skimmed over the bookcases, for such a young girl she knew how to read very well and therefore found it easy to search for that one book. Atlas of Celestial Anomalies was the book she desperately wanted to own and have her aunts read for her.
The floorboards creaked as she walked over them on the upper level, even though her young mind closed out the outside world, she could still hear the bell to the door go off whenever someone entered or exited. She could hear people talking in the background on the lower level.
"Ah, haha!" y/n cheered lowly for herself as she found the book. Thankfully it was on a lower shelf which made taking it easier. It was a hardback, bound with a blue color. On the spine The name Atlas of Celestial Anomalies read in gold. She looked at it with big eyes and hugged it to her chest. Happy to finally have it.
"What is that?" A voice broke her inner cheering. A boy's voice. She turned with a confused face to where the voice had come from.
She came face-to-face with a boy, around her age, if y/n were to guess. He had curly dark hair, pale skin and dark brown eyes, like dark chocolate.
"What?"
"What's that? What you're holding." The boy pointed towards the book she still hugged towards her body tightly.
"Oh, a book." The boy's face turned up in confusion at that. Were books new to him? No it couldn not, everyone had heard about books, y/n was certain about that.
"A book? Those are boring." He then told and it almost made y/n drop her jaw.
"Nah ah, they're the best."
"Not really."
"Yes they are. What is so much better then?" She was not about to have anybody disrespect books like that. They were her absolute favourite thing invented, except muggle TV.
"These," The dark haired boy pulled out two comics from behind him to show her. It made y/n shrug. She didn't exactly have a problem with comics, they were quite fine in y/n's mind to read when her aunts and her were on a train on their way somewhere. Since the two women then usually were not that very up to reading and explaining some things.
"They're okay, but I still prefer books over comics."
"What's that even about?" He was truly interested in what she was reading. And even more interested since the book was at least about four hundred pages from what he could see.
"Astronomy or astrology, I'm not really sure which." y/n furrowed her brows and tapped the book.
"Sounds cool," He actually didn't exactly know what either of that was. "What's your name? I'm Mattheo Riddle."
y/n smiled at him as he held out his hand for her to shake, something Mattheo had seen many grown-ups do when greeting each other. She happily took his hand in hers and shook it. "I'm y/n, y/n Wittiher."
Mattheo and y/n then proceeded to both look through each other's finds at Flourish and Blotts. Sitting down next to each other on a bench on the upper level.
Mattheo would flip to one side of his comic and both would gasp at the amazingly done art as it moved, then y/n would flip to a side in her book where drawings of different constellations were displayed. Both of them marvel at each other's finds.
It was that typical thing for most children, you meet someone your age, talk a little and then it's like the two of you are best friends, even though you've just met.
It had been quite a while now, maybe a good thirty minutes since y/n and Janice entered the shop. Janice had just found all the books she needed for her research but when she tried to locate y/n it was near impossible.
"Excuse me," A man in his late thirties walked up to Janice and tapped her on her shoulder. She turned and put her books down on a stool close to her.
"Is there anything I can help you with?" Janice asked with a sweet tone.
"Well yes," The man scratched his nose. "I am looking for a boy, you might not have seen him?"
At the face Janice pulled the man sighed and instead got more detailed. "He's nine, almost ten, about this tall," He held a hand to show the boy's approximate height. "Dark hair, pale and dark eyes?"
"No, I haven't seen him. I'm sorry." Janice smiled apologetically. "I'm actually looking for my wife- eh friend's niece."
The man scratched his nose once again and looked around. Odd. It was very odd according to both adults. But at least Janice knew she y/n were in the shop, it was just exactly where she was.
"Oh, well, I'm thankful-"
But he didn't have time to fully thank Janice for listening before he spotted the curly haired boy and h/c girl walk down from the second level. "Mattheo Riddle, what on earth are you doing?"
The mention of the name Riddle made Janice turn in a rush with a gasp, that last name was something Gail had mentioned a lot about ten years ago. But when she turned, she was shocked to find y/n standing next to a curly haired boy, confusion written all over her face as the boy, who had to be Mattheo Riddle, looked like a deer caught in headlights.
"I ehm... Mr. Martin.." Mattheo trailed off and quickly tried to hide the comics.
Mr Martin did not hesitate to walk promptly up to the Riddle boy and snatch the comics out of his hands. y/n was quickly pulled off to the side by Janice who held her close to her side. They both watched as Mattheo protested to the man about the comics, claiming he had enough money himself to buy it but Mr Martin was not having it.
"You, boy," Mr Martin placed a hand on the back of Mattheos neck and held him steadily. "Do not argue with me. Now, lets go."
His voice was firm as he started to lead Mattheo out of Flourish and Blotts. But the curly haired boy, though in slight pain from the man's grip, casted a last glance at y/n.
y/n smiled at him sadly and waved. But she was quickly stopped by Janice who grabbed her hand to stop her from waving, Mattheo sent her a last small smile. "Stop that." Janice told her off.
With that, Mattheo was out the door with Mr Martin leading him. And now Janice was quickly in front of the girl and looking her over like she was a lunatic. "What in the world were you doing with that boy, y/n?"
"He just asked me about my book and showed me his comics." y/n said helplessly, not understanding why this was such a big deal or why Mr Martin was so angry at Mattheo.
"I do not want you to speak with him ever again if you see or meet him."
"Why, what has he done?"
"That boy is trouble," Janice moved to pick up her books to pay, then grabbing y/ns book and inspecting it before moving towards the counter.
"How's so?" y/n were not finished with her questioning as she followed towards the counter.
"He just is. Now, you ought to forget him."
And she did forget him. She forgot how he looked, how he sounded, how nice he was to her and most of all, she even forgot his name. But not willingly or what others would call the "natural" way.
Obliviate
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Goose on Film pt2
Part 1 Masterlist
The big photo albums that Goose kept all of his pictures in, took up the majority of the bookcases in the Bradshaw's study, lining at least the two bottom rows. Goose on Film Volumes 1 - infinity for all Ice cared. He never really bothered to count them, cause whenever he had tried to, Goose had produced another one, adding it to the shelf after making a whole show out of it. Goose would get out the projector and made all of them sit in his living room while telling them a story about each and every one of the photos he's taken for this album.
Ice would be lying to himself and everyone he knew if he didn't admit that he at least enjoyed those evenings just a little bit. In fact he loved them, together with everyone he cares about, Mav by his side laughing and smiling.
Today was another evening like that, celebrating Goose on Film volume 30-something. Mav's last mission, him and Bradley smiling and laughing as they had made it out alive, BBQ at their place last summer and much more.
Ice stared at the cork board with a faint smile, looking at the things Goose and Carole had deemed as important enough to hang up on there. Two post-it notes, one with an airplane Goose had tried to draw that came out looking more like a fish, the two photos he had to steal back from Mav and Slider's wife, a negative to a picture of him and Mav from the 90s and of course their entire pride and joy, a picture little Brad Brad had drawn them. Not being able to draw planes seems to run in the family.
Ice smiled like he only did in private, looking at all the memories the Bradshaws had kept over the years, their entire house a testament to a life full of memories worthy of being stored out in the open.
Goose on Film Vol. 5, open on the floor, first page showing Mavericks sloppy all caps handwriting in a pen that had already seen its best days by the time Goose made his husband write the title with it. The photo to the negative that was on the cork board, gleamed at him in mint condition, like it had never been touched or seen the light of day. Maverick never seemed to look at the camera when he was so most of the photos they have together are of either him or Mav looking at anything other than the camera pointing at them. Nothings changed there.
Sometimes Ice doesn't know which exit ramp on which highway he took to end up here, but he won't question it.
"Ice come back! Carole's getting the ice cream!"
His smile grew, bidding the albums and the cork board a last goodbye. "Until next time", Ice whispered and turned back around to his family.
Listen I know I promised this thing to you guys at least a month ago, I apologize. My apprenticeship is beating my ass right now, time wise mostly.
Thing is I've also been writing on an icemav ff. I'm not going to promise you ppl any time frames, cause I know it won't work out, but it'll come.
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Fairy Lights (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)
A Merry Fic-Mas - December 23
Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Pedro Boy Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.
Follow my writing blog, @ladameecrit, and turn on notifications to keep up with my fics.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Word count: 1450
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Established relationship; fluff central; no use of Y/N; no physical descriptions of reader; Frankie is a girl dad
A/N: Can be read as the same relationship/pairing seen in ‘Sweets’ and ‘Candles’ from this series.
When you’d finally made the decision to move in together, Frankie had one stipulation: his little girl should have her own room, for when she came to stay.
You’d both agreed that moving into your place was best - you owned it, it was a proper house, as opposed to Frankie’s small rental apartment, and it had a large back garden that you just knew Frankie was scoping out for a swing set and summer barbecue parties.
His lease ended in early December, so it made sense to move in then - but you could tell he was anxious.
“It’s my turn to have her at Christmas,” he explained, “and I’m just - I dunno, I’m just worried she won’t feel at home here, not yet.”
“We don’t have to do this, Frankie,” you’d offered, trying not to let your own anxieties show. “If you feel it would be better for her not to.”
He shook his head and took your hand, bringing it to his mouth and covering it with kisses. “I need to wake up beside you every day, baby. I want this so much.”
“Me too. Frankie - does she like me?”
“C’mon, baby,” he’d sighed, pulling you to him for a hug. “You know she loves you. You know that, right?”
You nodded as he continued. “It’s just…no matter how much she loves you, it’s a new environment. And with Christmas and all, it might be a lot.”
“And that little room isn’t in great shape,” you’d added, cursing your decision to put off decorating the smallest bedroom. “It’s a little…bare.”
Frankie’s dark eyes searched yours as you sucked thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek. “You plotting something, bebita?”
***
Frankie and his daughter’s mom agreed that it would be best to have a couple of trial sleepovers in the weeks leading up to Christmas, just after he’d moved in with you. Better that than expecting a five year old to feel comfortable spending the biggest holiday of their year in an unfamiliar house.
You found him staring into the little box room a few days before his daughter’s first visit. With limited funds, you’d had to make the best of the basics in sprucing it up - a simple white bedframe, with pink and purple bedsheets; a matching nightstand, and a wardrobe. There hadn’t been much left for little touches, save for a pink fluffy rug on the hardwood floor and some brightly-coloured curtains. Frankie’s old place had come fully furnished, so he’d only been able to add a few familiar items from her room there: a small bookcase filled with copies of her favourite books, as well as her toys and dolls that lived with her dad.
You’d tried. He’d tried. But you could tell from his downcast expression that he was still worried.
“She’s got her own bathroom at her mom’s,” he said, eyes revealing how hard he was trying not to offend or hurt you. “That’s Gavin, though.”
Gavin, Frankie’s ex’s partner, was a successful local businessman with a home to match: large, comfortable, perfectly decorated and wanting for nothing. You knew it grated on Frankie, no matter how often his little girl - or her mom, for that matter - reminded him that he was and would always be her daddy, her number one - huge room or no huge room.
“She loved her little room at your old place, Frankie, and this is even more hers - we can paint it and decorate it however she wants, we don’t have to worry about asking for the landlord’s permission.” You reached for his hand and squeezed it. “What matters is that she feels at home here, not how big the room is.”
He’d nodded before changing the subject, asking when you wanted to finish decorating the house for the holidays. As he meandered off to take down a few boxes of decorations from your loft, you stared back into the little room and tried to think.
***
On our way over now. She’s looking forward to seeing you! xxx
On the day of her first stay at your place, Frankie and his little girl had spent the morning hanging out with his mom, doing some Christmas shopping, and visiting their favourite diner for lunch. You sip your coffee at the kitchen table as you wait for them to arrive, hoping this will work out - for Frankie and his daughter’s sakes, above all.
They arrive in a flurry of shopping bags and chatter, the little girl racing into your living room to look at your Christmas tree with her dad. You pop your head around the door frame to say hi, your heart melting at just how like him she is: thick, curly dark hair, olive skin, and those beautiful, sparkling dark eyes.
She smiles her usual sweet, shy smile and runs over to give you a hug. “I’m excited for our sleepover,” she mumbles, voice muffled by the fact that her face is pressed against your leg. “Daddy said I have a whole new room here.”
“And he’s right,” you add, bringing yourself down to her level. “We made a room just for you, for when you come visit here.”
Frankie rubs the back of his neck nervously. “After the holidays we could look at painting the room however you want, mija,” he suggests, pre-empting a less-than-enthusiastic reaction to the little bedroom.
You stand up and offer your hand. “Would you like to come see the room?” Her small hand slots into yours and you trot down the hallway together, the little girl detailing exactly what her abuela had for lunch while her dad follows closely behind.
Frankie had affixed a name sign for her to the bedroom door, and she points at it excitedly. “Maybe Daddy can open the door for you?”, you prompt, and with a deep breath Frankie turns the handle.
You’re not sure who’s more dumbstruck by what they see: Frankie or his little doppelganger. While she starts to wander around the room, mouth slightly open as she takes everything in, he stands just inside the door and keeps looking from the room to you and back again.
“How did…You…How?”
The walls and basic furniture and decor haven’t changed at all, but the room has been transformed since Frankie saw it last with a few simple additions. A stack of folding plastic crates in complementary shades of pink and purple, picked up for a couple of dollars each, stands in the corner, providing storage for art supplies and her toys. You have added a set of stick-on mirrored squares to one wall, creating a sort of full-length mirror that the little girl is already twirling around in front of, her favourite teddy bear in hand. A beanbag with a pink cover is neatly positioned beside the little bookcase, ready to be a perfect reading nook.
But what makes all the difference are fairy lights. One set has been affixed to surround the mirror, entrancing Frankie’s girl as she admires her reflection. Another, this time with pink lights, is wound around the head of her bed, casting her pillows in a warm, rosy glow. And as a seasonal touch, you’ve strung a set of gingerbread man-shaped lights along the top of her wardrobe.
She spins to look at you and Frankie before racing over to him for a tight hug. “Thank you, Daddy. It’s like a magic room.”
He scoops her up and looks at her. “A magic room?”
She nods, expression serious. “With the twinkly lights. It feels like it’s magic.” She wraps her arms around his neck and tells him he is the best.
***
Frankie settles her to sleep that night and returns to flop beside you on the couch. You’re about to pour him some wine when he sits up and mutes the sound on the TV.
“Alright, you didn’t correct her when she thought it was me who did that but I need to know - how.”
You smile as you sip your wine. “What do you mean, how?”
“You know what I mean. The room. The fact you made it look literally magical to her with no budget. How?”
“You just gotta know where to look for bargains, baby,” you explain, thinking about how excited you’d been to find the crates for next to nothing in your favourite bargain store. “And the beanbag is my old one. I just had to get a new cover. Oh - and little girls love fairy lights.”
He shakes his head, amazed and affectionate. “You did all that in a few hours, and for her.”
“For her. For you. But mostly for her. And I’m so glad she likes it.”
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Promptober: Day Three
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
786 words.
Steve knew he’d find you there.
You’d once told him that apart from his room, Hawkins library was your favourite place to waste time. And like his bed, it was almost impossible to drag you away from it. That’s why he had a plan.
He found you easily in the big brick building, the high ceilings and old patterned tiles on the floor making his footsteps echo in the quiet. But Steve spotted your green raincoat on the back of an empty chair, a small pile of books on the table. So he trailed down an aisle of two, the smell of pine and old books filling the air.
There was a dull roar from above, the constant patter of heavy rain on the roof and when he spied you at the end of a bookcase, head in another Stephen King novel, he grinned and moved towards you.
You didn’t hear him, didn’t see him, too busy with killer clowns and small towns eerily similar to your own. So you jumped a little with a sharp gasp when a pair of arms wound their way around your waist, pulling you back into a solid, warm chest.
Lips found your cheek, a little chapped from the cold but still so sweet, pressing little kisses to the line of your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
You were grinning, a happy sigh leaving your lips and the heavy book faltered in your grasp when Steve’s fingers slipped under the knit of your sweater, sliding along the waistband of your jeans.
“It’s three o’clock,” the boy murmured as a way of greeting.
When your boyfriend had offered to pick up from work, you’d expressed your gratitude through kisses pressed to his lips but you’d told him you’d planned to swing by the library after you shift, desperate to find some new books to read now that fall was tumbling into town, slowing the world down, making things sleepy.
Steve had simply smiled, told you to tell him a time and he’d pick you up there instead.
You hummed, a happy noise that Steve loved, one hand abandoning your book in favour of curling around his wrist, stealing his warmth. You tilted your head to the side, a silent invitation for him to press his mouth there, teeth and tongue grazing over your throat.
“It is?” You replied, voice already a little gone. You were well aware that you were in the library, hidden behind the stacks, but still very much in public. “Already?”
Steve nodded against you, fingers slipping further into the denim waistband of your jeans and you squeaked, almost too loud.
“Steve!”
The boy only grinned, his arms leaving you abruptly, only to spin your around to face him. He was all smiles and messy hair, the October wind messing it up in a way that you adored. He took the book from your hands without you even realising, pushing it into the wrong space on the shelf that he then crowded you up against.
“I really like it when you say my name like that,” he whispered, voice a little taunting, sticky sweet for you. “But that was a little loud, baby.”
He didn’t give you an opportunity to reply, moving into you with a slow laziness that had you on edge, pushing onto your toes to get a little closer. Your hands found the front of his sweater, fingers curling into the soft material to pull him down to your height.
He resisted just a little, just enough to tease, enough to make a small noise of protest sound from the back of your throat and then he was on you.
Warm, slow, sweet, lazy. Steve kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to savour you, like you were the best thing he’d ever put his mouth on.
He kissed you until you were faltering against the books behind you, fingers curling tighter into his shirt, breath coming a little harder and faster than before. When you finally pulled away from him, you were both dark eyed and flushed, lips glossy and parted.
“Let’s go home, yeah?” you prodded, nose sliding along the length of the boy’s the start of another kiss lingering between you both.
Steve grinned, smug. “D’you not wanna check out your book?”
It took you a second or three to remember what he was talking about. And then you realised. You were in the library, with people, and books. Stephen King.
Fuck.
You shook your head, cheeks flushed with heat as you unfurled yourself from your boyfriend, grabbing his hand in yours so you could lead him back to pick up your jacket.
“Another time.”
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Doesn’t it make you mad?
They have been together for over a year now and Steve is restless. He is so used to being obvious and shameless with his affection that the whole pretend we're just friends so they don't lynch us gets under his skin and sits there like a barbed wire. He doesn't want much, just kiss Eddie without checking the whole street and darkened windows like a private detective. He wants to hold his hand and not drop it the second someone comes round the corner. To reach out when Eddie's hair gets stuck on the nearest tree branch, fence or anything, untangle them and not have to move his hands away like his skin'd peel off if any part of Eddie touches him for too long.
It all boils over one day when they come back from a grocery run. Some of their former classmates are there, smooching the life out of each other and Steve feels a pang of jealousy. He doesn't want to hide what he feels for Eddie, he wants to show him off for the whole world to see. "He chose me!" he wants to scream in their faces. Instead, he grabs a box of Honeycomb behind the girl's head and mutters "wow, breathing is sure overrated, huh?", not even attempting to cover up his annoyance.
"Doesn't it make you mad?" he asks, slamming a milk carton on the counter of their shared home. They even lied to their landlord because god forbid that two men love each other. They have two rooms, two beds, as if they need them. The kids, however, see the extra room as their personal sleepover zone and Steve already knows they're never getting rid of the little shits. Especially since Eddie has a special bookcase for his Dragons and the other thing right there.
Eddie just quirks an eyebrow and gently wrestles the milk from Steve's grip. "Easy, Stevie. One would think you're trying to apply enough pressure to turn this into butter." He haphazardly tosses a few items into the fridge before turning back. "Sorry, what is supposed to make me mad?"
"All of it. Hiding, acting like we're doing something wrong. All while those sleazebags swap spit in the middle of the store and no one bats an eye."
He blinks and crosses arms in front of his body. "I thought we talked about this, Steve. That you knew what you were getting into. It's just not the same, can't be." He opens the fridge and starts actually sorting the groceries with fidgety fingers. "I hope you're not having second thoughts, big boy," he forces his voice to sound casual when the question is anything but.
"Oh no, no no no. Eddie. Not in a million years." The door slams shut and the bag is left forgotten on the counter as Steve spins Eddie around, gently removing a strand of hair that is somehow again stuck to his lips. "It's the opposite," he breathes and mindlessly strokes Eddie's cheek.
Eddie's brow furrows. "Oookay? You'll have to clarify that because I'm not sure what you're getting at." He doesn't move away though.
"It's just..." Steve is fumbling over his words, trying to gesticulate and hold Eddie's face at the same time. "I want better for you. I don't want to give the impression that you're a dirty secret I'm ashamed of. I want to...I don't know. Have my arm around you. Give you my jacket when you get cold. Because you always get cold. All those things. And it's just so fucking frustrating that I have to choose between keeping you safe and showing you how I feel." He looks at the ground, Eddie's shoes suddenly very interesting. "It's stupid, I know."
And Eddie just beams at him, radiant as ever, and covers Steve's hand with his. "You hopeless romantic," he teases and gives Steve a gentle peck on his lips. "Seriously though. It's fine."
Steve gives him a doubtful look. "Fine? Really?"
The long hair tangles everywhere as Eddie furiously shakes his head. "Ah, no. It totally sucks. What I mean by fine is - even if you're allowed to do something or if it's accepted, it doesn't mean you'll do it. I know you would," he quickly interrupts Steve when he hears a sharp intake of breath. "But many people don't. God, I hate even mentioning them, but take your parents, Steve. Holding hands in public, so sweet, so perfect," he mocks, "but as soon as they don't have an audience, they drop the charade. It's crazy common. So I'd much rather have this," he gestures between them, not-so-accidentally brushing Steve's chest in the process. "I'd rather have us. Sure, sometimes it's like navigating a minefield out there, but maybe it will change one day. Maybe it won't. But even now, there are so many little things you sneak in in public that show me that I might be dirty," he snickers and Steve smacks his thigh in retaliation, "but I'm definitely no secret. When you light my cigarette, or pick me up after work...it's real and it's ours."
There is a comfortable silence between them and Steve relaxes against Eddie. Just when Eddie thinks the fridge door is becoming a bit uncomfortable, Steve speaks again. "I get it. That's...that's true." He pauses for a second. "I still want to kiss you silly on the street though."
Eddie laughs and pulls him closer, comfort be damned. "Me too, Stevie. But how about this. You can still fuck me silly right here. No streets needed for that. Although kissing is strongly recommended."
That completely breaks the tension and Steve howls in laughter, his fingers already sneaking underneath Eddie's t-shirt. "Those are some impressive negotiation skills, Munson."
"Thanks," Eddie grins and returns the favor. "I'll have you know, my boyfriend loves them."
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This is why you shouldn’t scare your wife...
Summary: Max decides to pull a prank on you. Let’s just say it didn’t go as planned...
Hope you’ll enjoy this part. Let me know in the comments section! And to support me by tipping me!
Little information, I will, for now, only post on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Thank you, and Enjoy! :)
Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover
WARNING: Clown mask, angst
You have been looking for the Ikea toolbox you bought on purpose to build his furniture from hell for several minutes in the garage. On a whim, you decided to build a new TV cabinet, but in the end, you had to create three bookcases for your book collection. In your search, you find small frames to hang on the wall you bought several months ago but still need to do something with. Determined to take advantage of this quiet Sunday to do all this, you take them with you.
Max went to play with friends on the console, so you never thought you'd be bothered. You just bought your first house together, and it was weird at first to live in a big house alone most of the time, but you got used to it, and then you travel a lot too with Max.
You head for the door to return to the living room. You take the time to close the light behind you. When all of a sudden, a scream to your right makes you jump in fear. You start screaming murder and do the first thing that comes to mind. You throw the hammer you have in your hands toward the noise source.
A sound of breaking glass is heard, and you burst into tears when you notice that it's Max with a bloody clown mask.
“What did you do?” You scream, and you cry at the same time after him.
You drop the hammer in amazement and continue to scream in fear. Max immediately regrets this prank he wanted to play on you and tries to take you in his arm.
“Am sorry! I'm sorry,” he exclaims, hiding his laugh as best he can.
“My god,” you cry in disbelief.
“Sorry, sorry…” he tries to take you in his arm, but you push him away.
“My mirror,” you declare, looking at the damage you have done.
He exploded into a million pieces on the floor and against the wall. He laughs harder at your reaction, but you're angry and scared. He doesn't realize how frightened you were and how badly you could have hurt him. You push him to let you pass and lock yourself in the bathroom. You are shaking so much that your emotions are intense. You burst into tears again once the pressure fell.
“Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you so much.”
“Go away!”
“Get out of there. Come, I'll make you a hot chocolate,” he says softly against the door.
“Please, Max, leave me alone.”
“I know that you are angry and that you were terrified. I apologize.”
“No, you don't know! I thought you were a thief or, worse, a murderer. I could have smashed your skull with my hammer. You are very sick.” You keep crying and screaming your words.
You hear Max through the door sigh and get up. You listen to him pick up the glass and remove the mirror from the wall. You don't want to be mad, but you are. You don't understand why he had this stupid idea to scare you.
You feel your phone vibrate, and you grab it. You see dozens of messages appearing on your Instagram account. You don't understand, and you open Lando's message. "Are you okay? I saw Max's live. »
You don't have time to answer him when he sends you the video. You watched it several times before finally pausing it. Now you know how he got that stupid idea.
Hundreds of comments appear on the screen, and you read some.
« He nearly went to heaven for a joke…. »
« « What did you do? » She almost killed you, and she’s worried about the mirror??!!! I love her. »
« Hammer Time »
And the list goes on.
You can't hear anything behind the door, so you get up and slowly walk out of the room. You look around to see if Max is still there, but no. You take a deep breath and walk towards the kitchen. You drink a large glass of water, drying the tears in your eyes.
You take a deep breath and turn around. He is sitting on the armchair in the living room. He watches you from afar. You know he doesn't know what to do anymore. So you do it for him. You look at him before you walk toward him. Fear shows on his face before he says anything. You push him back into the chair and bury your head in your neck, wrapping your arms around him.
A sigh of relief escapes his lips.
“I'm still angry. It will take a lot to be able to redeem yourself. And I saw the video. We'll soon already have a million views,” you say, putting him back in his place. “Come on, get up! You’re going to help me finish my bookshelves for once.”
“You shouldn't just...” he says, following you towards the Ikea boxes.
You glare at him, and he shuts up. He takes you in his arms and gives you a soft kiss on the lips, apologizing again.
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Hmm…I have a green banner on my iPad and a purple one on my phone. Why there are different images saved on tumblr on different devices is beyond me, but we’re going with this one so I don’t have to go find my phone.
I am off work this week and HOPING that means I get some words down. I did get a good chunk of a scene for Depth of Reason written on Monday (let’s hope third times the charm for getting this next chapter up and running!) so here’s a little something from that:
“Ok, one, I most certainly was not a teacher’s pet,” he says with so much defensiveness I bark out a laugh at how ridiculous he is. “Two,” he goes on, ignoring my outburst, “Not everyone was a fan of my mother and her policies—”
“And I’m sure you know exactly who loved working with her. So don’t go acting like it’s some big obstacle,” I say, cutting him off.
“And three,” he plows on, “I was only top of our class because Bunce wasn’t there to claim the crown.”
There’s no crown. Only a stuffy old sash the top student wears while giving their speech that they don’t actually get to keep. And a plaque that they do. (I’ve seen it, casually displayed on a bookcase in Baz’s living room, close to where his certificate from Oxford hangs on a wall. The prat.)
Is certificate the word for it? Instead of diploma? Is my American-ness showing? 😅
I’m heading to a cafe later today to write more. Same place I banged out the bulk of the first chapter last summer. Wish me luck the good writing juju is still there!
Thank you for the early tag today @ic3-que3n! Tagging @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @captain-aralias @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @facewithoutheart @raenestee @thewholelemon @yellobb @theearlgreymage @blackberrysummerblog @ebbpettier @johnwgrey @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @palimpsessed @larkral @hushed-chorus @whogaveyoupermission @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @toonysart @forabeatofadrum and anyone else who sees this and wants to share 💛
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random ej caswell headcanons because he's one of my favorite characters:
(these all make sense, i promise)
plans intricate and cute dates (his favorite type of dates are picnics in the park)
his love language is acts of service (because i said so)
knows how to braid hair due to ashlyn teaching him (he can do every style of braid there is)
^so he won't even flinch if his partner (or wildcat friends) asks him to do their hair
would've 100% become a big brother figure to emmy if they had met earlier
either has 20/20 vision or desperately needs glasses (and either refuses to get them or he wears contacts at all times)
he loves broadway shows and kept a collection of playbills hidden in his room so cash wouldn't find them (now he has them in his dorm room, on a bookcase, cause he's organized)
^the water polo boys didn't care for broadway so he regularly infodumps on the wildcats (mainly ricky because he's never seen a broadway show)
because he has light eyes, the sun bothers him a lot so he regularly wears baseball caps or tries his best to stand under trees (the latter doesn't work much, because he keeps hitting his head on branches)
^carlos has been trying to introduce him to the concept of bucket hats and has gifted him a few
absolutely hates water polo, he was only on the team because cash said he had to find a sport to play (he can play almost every sport the school had to offer though, he just didn't care about them as much as theater)
can speak fluent french (he gives that vibe) and is working on learning the other romance languages
he's 1/4 latino (his mom is half and passing and was adopted by white people so cash thought none the wiser because you can't tell me that cash isn't a little racist) but either doesn't know or doesn't think it's worth mentioning
hates playing truth or dare but loves hearing about things that went down when others play (basically he loves gossip but not if it's about him)
can either cook like gordon ramsay or burns everything he attempts to make
he's great at faking like he knows what he's talking about UNLESS he's stressed and/or people absolutely know that he doesn't (so season 3 with the director nonsense)
has never gotten a pimple a day in his life (the wildcats are not happy about this)
this is getting long so i'm gonna stop here but i'll do a part 2
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