#and i have! i just have more to read oh hey it's midnight my paper's due haha

[skrunksthatwunk]

thinking about when guts sent a bunch of his men directly into zodd's meat grinder without even knowing demons like him existed. and that moment after the fight where casca runs to griffith unconscious on the floor and tells guts it's all his fault. and the time gambino tells him he's bad luck and should have died instead. and about how he tells griffith he cares about his men, and how casca doesn't seem to see it. and the time guts is thinking about casca telling him it's all his fault (after he got griffith hurt) and then griffith comes to him and says (like it's nothing) do i need to give a reason every time i come to save you? or whatever. like he's worth it. like he's worth dying for, and like it can be a choice people make because they value you. like he's a good luck charm, like griffith needs him to reach his goals, his full potential. like griffith is not enough to make it without him. like griffith finds out when guts leaves. fuckin.g gnawing someone else's legs off because i still need mine to run into traffic

#so guess who's rewatching berserk 1997 lol #berserk #i hate griffith i hate him i hate him he's bad i hate him (<- deeply tragically attached to him. im so not normal about him it's fucked) #aghhh can't wait until break so i can read more. i've ended up just consuming the golden age arc over and over for various reasons #and it's so good it fucking rules i just need to keep reading past that too bc that's Also good #and i have! i just have more to read oh hey it's midnight my paper's due haha #(it's fine it doesn't matter genuinely i will be fine) #anyway my older sibling's been buying those bigass tomes they sell and he got a bunch more a while back so like. more to read more to read #also side note but they smell so fucking good it's actually unfair #but anyway i keep on being like nooo i gotta go start over so i can get the momentum and then i get brainstuck/distracted and don't actuall #get very far past the lost children subarc (which i've read i think 1.5 times now) #ANYWYA. berserk good. no i don't ever make content for it but every like 4 months or so it infects me quietly

[r0ttenhearts]

inconvenience

alhaitham x reader

sypnosis: after alhaitham fails to show up for your birthday “party” things seem to go worse between you as well as your best friend kaveh

warnings: angst, no comfort, arguments

the clock chiming felt taunting with every minute that passed. every minute that passed with alhaitham nowhere in sight. every minute that got closer to midnight. a gentle sigh left your lips, the thickly frosted cake sat in front of you untouched. you were sure if you had lit the candles they would have been nothing but melted wax by now.

you weren’t sure why you wanted to believe things would be different tonight. with alhaitham’s busy schedule it made moments between you two scarce and few. only speaking for a few minutes in the morning, knowing he’d be gone all day. you didn’t blame him for it, no. how could you? he was busy doing his job as a scribe! piling onto his already busy schedule felt nauseating. but you trusted his promise he made to you only two weeks prior. a promise to come home early on your birthday, to celebrate together.

it felt so long ago now. the clock reading 11:46 and he still wasn’t home. the sound of the door opening perked you up, a wide smile on your face as you got up, ready to greet alhaitham.

“haitham! i- oh.”

the blonde haired architect smiled softly at you, your shoulders slumping. “hey kaveh, why’re you home so late?” you spoke softly as he came inside.

“i just got caught up with things, figured i’d rather finish them here.. where’s alhaitham? i thought you two would be together right about now?”

you shook your head softly, “i guess he got caught up with things as well.”

kaveh studied your face for a moment before smiling sadly, “happy birthday (y/n).” you whispered a quiet thank you as he walked to his room, the door shutting gently behind him.

a silent storm brewed in your mind and you couldn’t help but feel so defeated. your boyfriend of four years couldn’t bother to show up for your birthday? did he really think his work mattered more than you?

you remembered every time you passed up something with your friends or an event you had wanted to go to, just for alhaitham. considering his feelings and knowing he didn’t like those things. only wanting to spend time together even if it meant missing out on things you also deemed as important.

always taking his feelings and thoughts on certain things, but he couldn’t even come home for your birthday? your sigh was much more aggravated than it was before, your patience as thin as paper.

just as you were about to put the cake away the door opened, the clock reading 12:24. no words were said as you closed the fridge door, making your way past alhaitham before he stopped you. a firm hand on your shoulder.

“what, alhaitham? it’s late, i’m going to bed.” you attempted to shrug his hand off but he held his grip. “you’re angry, why are you upset with me?” alhaitham spoke cooly and composed.

you scoffed loudly, angry tears were trying to escape your eyes but you wouldn’t let them. you wouldn’t cry over him.

“oh, i wonder! i really do, alhaitham. maybe because it’s my birthday and you didn’t bother to show up? just a reminder since you seemed to have forgotten, or do you just not care? i don’t think i want to know the answer.” you spat out like poison. a look of annoyance crossed alhaitham’s face.

“are you serious? you’re behaving like a child over your birthday? i was busy with my work, you know this. don’t go pouting now because i forgot one meaningless day.”

he didn’t care. he didn’t care how much this meant to you, even after telling him stories of how you always went out of your way for others. only to be disappointed in return. the one day of the year you wanted to feel like you mattered, and he didn’t care. he was more bothered with you being upset than anything.

“you can’t be serious alhaitham. you promised me!”

“then i suppose that promise didn’t mean much as i don’t recall ever making one.”

any argument you had in your mind now died. he wouldn’t care for any reason to justify your anger, he had made up his mind. and he wasn’t sorry for any of it.

you didn’t say anything as his hand left your shoulder, walking past you to the kitchen for a late night sandwich. you quietly made your way to kaveh’s room, shutting the door as quietly as you could behind you. kaveh spun around in his chair, a look of confusion on his face.

“kaveh.. alhaitham didn’t care! he just didn’t care at all. i waited all night, you know? i waited and waited and blew off invitations to spend my birthday with dehya and the girls and he just.. just didn’t care! he called me a child and i-“

“(Y/N)!”

your emotional rambling stopped at the yell of your name. kaveh held the same expression alhaitham had when he looked at you not too long ago.

“you are being an inconvenience right now, i have so much to do and i can’t deal with this right now. we can talk about it later but i’m busy right now. so please, get out of my room.”

you didn’t say anything as you left his room. alhaitham scoffing as you two saw each other before he made his way to his own room. the door shutting behind him.

you had never felt so unwelcome in a place you had grown to love and call home. but if you weren’t wanted, you knew better than to stay. to fight for a place that wasn’t yours. with that, you quietly slipped away into the night. texts and calls being missed from the both of them as you made a new life outside of them.

taglist: @sakiimeo @astrolomona @dearsumire @saeism @shoheartluv @0kauy @lelemnh @aqualesha @linkookie197 @xiaonscaraswife @foxlover1144 @reblog-crazily @sparklylanddetective @gh0sts0up @darliingyu @maxineslair @kenmabfasf @samarill @whorerificstuff

#genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin x reader angst #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham angst #alhaitham #al haitam x reader #al haithem

[nhlclover]

fight club | rutger mcgroarty

summary: your boyfriend and his friends drunkenly create their own little fight club, in which he winds up getting hurt.

warnings: blood, mentions of fighting, mentions of drinking, slight angst, indications of nsfw content.

note: fun fact this is what my brother and his friends do for fun. they have their own walk up songs and everything.

word count: 0.9k

It was somewhere around midnight, or around when you finished page 4 of 8 of your paper, that you heard the crash and shouting from downstairs.

You needed somewhere to get your paper done, and with your roommate's boyfriend in town and the library closed at this hour, you turned to your boyfriend. He lended you his room while him and his roommates hung out downstairs.

They had been relatively quiet until a couple of minutes ago when the shouting started. You assumed they were playing video games, getting competitive as they normally do, however the crash was making you think something was wrong.

You set your laptop down, making your way out of Rutgers room and down to the living room where the boys were hanging out. As you turn the corner, you run smack into Ethan, coming out of the kitchen holding a wet rag.

“Oh, hey y/n!” He says, his voice louder and higher pitched than normal.

You are immediately suspicious, narrowing your eyes at the boy. “What’s going on? I heard a crash.” You ask.

“Nothing, just… spilled a drink is all.” Ethan says. You almost want to believe him but a sudden shout from the living room that sounds like your boyfriend makes you hesitate.

“Ow! Don’t touch it!” Rutger shouts.

You push past Ethan, going into the living room. On the coffee table are several bottles of beer, along with hockey helmets and boxing gloves. Sitting on the couch with a bright red gash on his left cheek, is your shirtless boyfriend, Dylan on one side and Frank on the other.

“What the hell is going on in here?” You ask. Ethan comes in after you, walking to Rutger to hand him the rag.

“Busted.” Mark says, standing beside the fireplace, sans shirt but wearing boxing gloves and a hockey helmet.

You look around noticing all of them shirtless, some wearing boxing gloves. “Okay what the fuck is going on?” You ask, now concerned more than anything.

“Hey babe.” Rutger smiles. He winces as his cheek muscles move. “How’s the paper coming?”

“Don’t change the subject.” You say.

“Okay, we had this really great idea that we would box but wear hockey helmets so our faces wouldn’t get fucked up.” Gavin explained. “But Roger here didn’t attach his helmet properly cause it slipped off, cutting his cheek when Mark gave him a sweet right hook.”

A look of horror appears on your face as you recognize the situation. “So you guys got drunk and decided to form your own fight club?” You ask.

There’s a beat of silence then all the boys nod, exhibiting a chorus of ‘yeah’s.

You shake your head in disbelief. “I am fully convinced none of you graduated kindergarten because what is wrong with you guys?”

They sense your disappointment, all of them hanging their heads slightly. You walk over to your boyfriend, taking the damp rag from his hand.

“C’mere.” You say, taking his hand and bringing him to the bathroom.

You re-wet the rag, dabbing it against the cut. He winces, pulling away. “Oh don’t be a baby, it's just water.” You say.

“Yeah…but it still hurts.” He mumbles.

He meets your eyes, reading the disappointed look on your face. “I’m sorry.” He says.

“Yeah, you should be!” You say, the fear that had manifested into anger spilling out. “Do you know how stupid this is?”

“It was just… a drunk idea.” Rutger shrugged.

“Exactly. What are you going to tell coach Naur when he asks where you got the cut on your cheek from? Are you gonna tell him that you got drunk and fought your teammates?” You ask.

“I didn’t plan to get my face all chopped up!” Rutger counters.

You step back, sighing. “I just… please be smarter?”

Your words seem harsh but Rutger understands what you’re saying. “I know. I'm sorry.” He says.

“I’m sorry too.” You say. “I was too snappy.”

“No it’s warranted. We were being idiots.” Rutger chuckles.

“You were being such an idiot.” You laugh, going back to cleaning his wound.

“I may be an idiot but at least I’m your idiot.”

You snort. “You really know how to talk your way out of trouble.”

“Hey, it works.” Rutger says, throwing his hands up in defense.

You clean away the rest of the blood, dabbing it dry. “You’ll need to go and get a proper bandage for it tomorrow.” You say.

“Or I don’t and I get a cool scar out of it.” Rutger says, checking out the cut in the mirror.

“No. No scar.” You shake your head.

“What? I thought scars were hot and mysterious?” Rutger asks.

You find yourself not being able to disagree with his statement, biting the inside of your cheek. You turn on the sink, cleaning the rag of your boyfriend’s blood.

“Oh I knew it.” Rutger smirks. He snakes his arms around your waist, making eye contact through the mirror.

He slowly places kisses up the nape of your neck, leaning around to place more on your jaw. You tilt your head, giving him better access.

His lips unlatch from your skin, you whimpering from the lack of contact. “How about a break from your essay?”

The pair of you exit from the bathroom, you sticking your head into the living room. “Sorry boys, the fight club is over. We’re heading to bed.” You tell them.

Rutger barely waits for you to finish your sentence before he hands your waist, yanking you back into the hall and towards the stairs. You let out a shriek as you’re pulled into his arms.

“Are you guys switching to wrestling now?” Mark shouts after you.

You guys ignore him and the rest of the boys jeering after you, stumbling your way up the stairs.

#rutger mcgroarty #rutger mcgroarty x reader #rutger mcgroarty imagine #umich imagine #umich #university of michigan #nhl #umich hockey #hockey #nhl imagine

[daisyvisions]

✦ Day 19 - Face F*cking

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: academic rival!Changmin x afab!reader

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 1.8K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), will consider this a dark fic, face fucking, blowjob, blackmail (sexual favor - don't read if triggering) , mean!changmin, slight fingering and mentions of it, slight handjob and ball massaging, dacryphilia?, some graphic descriptions, names used (sweetheart, whore, slut, good girl - wow that's the whole quad), a bunch of swearing, reader is basically being used here, let me know if I missed any more! Proofread once, will edit later if needed.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: Did not expect how this one turned out if I’m completely honest, but here you go! This was fun to write, different tone than what I usually do! Fun fact, story was based on this little Tumblr game I did long time ago.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

✦ Kinktober Masterlist ✦

“Love me or hate me, both are in my favour.”

A picture quote you mindlessly scrolled pass as you were on your phone taking a break from a paper that was due at midnight. It’s not that you procrastinated this specific essay. In fact, you could even do it in your sleep. That’s just how fast your brilliant brain works.

Today just seemed like any other normal day. Wake up, go to school, come back home, the usual routine. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. But not even your brain could conjure up the events that were about to unfold in three… two… one…

Ding dong.

You looked up from your phone, eyebrows knitting together in confusion from the sound of your front door ringing. Who could it possibly be? You didn’t plan any hangouts with friends nor did you order any takeout for dinner. You think for a moment to check if you had any deliveries coming in-

Ding dong.

You got up from your chair and placed your phone down on the desk to answer the door. As soon as you swing it open your eyes slowly look up to meet another pair of eyes you were definitely not expecting to see at all.

His figure leaning against the doorframe like the men you read in your books. But only this time, you wanted to punch him.

“Hey sweetheart. Missed me?” He smirks down at you.

“Changmin? What the hell are you doing here?” You question.

“I could ask myself the same thing-” He suddenly walks into your hallway uninvited. You scoff at his rudeness (not that you were surprised, he’s always like this with you anyway.)

“Cozy-” His eyes survey the room. “-didn’t expect you to live in a place like this especially with that icy attitude of yours.” He turns his heel to face you, you roll your eyes as you close the door and walk towards him, meeting in the middle of your living room.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“No need to get aggressive, just here to collect that favor you owe me.”

“Favor? I don't owe you any favors what the hell are you talking about?” Your patience wearing thin as his words dance around you instead of getting straight to the point.

“Oh… you don't remember?” His eyes gleam with a hint of mischief. “Let me refresh your memory then-” He turns his back to you as he walks towards the couch and plops himself down, instantly manspreading and getting comfy as if were his own home.

“If I can remember correctly, you owe me a favor from helping ward off that jackass during Younghoon’s party. Grabbing my arm and pretending I was your boyfriend so that he could fuck off. Ringing any bells?”

“Yeah, and I thanked you for it-”

“No no no. You didn’t thank me.” He interrupts you. “You said ‘Never doing this again but I owe you one.’”

“That counts as a thank you-”

“C’mon now sweetheart. You’re smarter than that.” His black orbs staring you down, slowly making you feel unsettled. He suddenly gets up from his seat and walks towards you like a predator, slowly walking you backwards until your back hits the wall.

“Enough stalling. I’m here to cash in my favor now.” His hand resting at the side of your head.

“W-what did you have in mind?” Your voice slightly shaking. His other hands lifts to hold your chin before the corner of his lips slowly curl upward.

“On your knees…”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes widen. Did he just-

“Are we speaking two languages? On your knees. Or else…”

“Or else what?” You try to play it cool and hide the fear coursing through your veins.

Suddenly, Changmin pulls out his phone, plays the video in his gallery, and shows it to you. You were like a deer caught in the headlights as soon as you saw the figure moving through the tiny screen. Said figure was moaning and playing with themselves like some kind of homemade porn.

It was you. It was a video of you touching yourself.

“Give that to me!” You try to reach for his phone, but Changmin already anticipated your moves by holding the phone high up beyond your reach.

“Nuh-uh. I didn't say you could touch my phone now did I?”

“Where the fuck did you get that?” Panic and anger radiating from your body.

“I have my ways.” He smiled at you as if he surprised a friend at their birthday. But this was not a gift at all.

“That was for my ex’s eyes only. How. Did. You. Get. It?” You attempt to reach for phone once again.

“Well, he's not the smartest of the bunch. Seriously you dated that idiot? Expected more from you.” He says with a disappointed tone.

“Changmin this isn’t funny. Delete that NOW!” You demand him.

“No can do sweetheart. Grant me my favor and I’ll consider. If you don’t, this hot as fuck video will be played in the auditorium for everyone to see. How will the whole school think of their precious little valedictorian now?”

As you look into his eyes, you could already tell he’s not playing around. You would know this, you see that look every time he would try to win against you. And you can’t put your whole reputation down the line. Not like this.

You gulp down the saliva in your throat and let out probably the biggest sigh of defeat you’ve ever uttered your life. You pulled the hair tie out that was on your wrist and hastily tied your hair as you sink down to your knees, looking up at him with the face of disgust.

“Such a good girl. Was that so hard?” He coos at you. “Now, get to it before I change my mind.”

You hesitate for a moment before you reach out your hand to touch his bulge. Your eyes widen in surprise and confusion as soon as you touch his already hard member.

“But you’re alrea-”

“What? You think I didn’t already touch myself watching your video?” He says this like it’s common knowledge. “Needed something to work with. And trust me, it fucking worked.” He smirked down at you.

“You’re disgusting.” You grimace at him.

“And you’re taking way too slow.” Changmin unbuckles his pants and instantly pulls out his cock from his boxers.

If anyone told you your rival’s dick was rock hard right in front of your face, you would’ve vomited. But here you are, in this exact scenario. His cock flushed pink with a hot mushroom tip oozing out with what you probably thought was the most delicious pearls of precum you’ve ever seen.

“If you want this done quick, you better listen to what I say got it?” He raises his eyebrow. You nod your head in response.

“Good. Now kiss it.” You immediately hold his length in your hand and close your eyes before giving the tip a light peck, already tasting him on your lips. You give another peck to his tip before kissing the under side of his cock. Planting each kiss gently but firm at the same time.

“Fuck that’s it. Keep kissing my cock.” Changmin hisses at the feeling of your soft lips. His hand resting on the wall the balance himself. He groans suddenly when he feels your other hand massaging his balls as you continue to leave hot kisses on him.

“You’re such a little tease you know that? That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Getting me so riled up all the time just wanna fuck the brat out of you.” He mumbles as he watches you.

You’re not gonna lie, hearing him dirty talk like that sends your core throbbing like a bitch in heat. You keep kissing his cock until you’re suddenly licking it, practically making out with it at this point.

And somehow you don’t even realize that you’ve stopped massaging his balls just to snake your hand under your skirt to rub little circles on your sensitive clit, trying to relieve the ache down there.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Changmin however, making him smile from ear to ear at the sight beneath him.

“Touching yourself now are we? You were always a selfish one.” He tuts.

“But that’s alright. I’ll allow it. Just thank me. Say it-”

You pause kissing his member to look up at him with a raised eyebrow, replacing it with your hand jerking him off.

“What?” You slightly tilt your head to the side

“Go ahead sweetheart…Thank me.” He holds your face with his free hand and places the pad of his thumb on your bottom lip.

“Thank me. Like the dirty little whore you are.” You scoff. Of all things, he’s still looking for that? His eyes go wide at your response.

“No? Rather take my cock instead of saying two simple words?” He pulls your bottom lip with his fingers, making you whimper from the slight tug.

“If you aren’t gonna thank me, then might as well treat you like a fucking slut.” As soon as Changmin says this he swats your hand away from his cock and grabs it firmly and squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth with is other hand and shoves his whole length inside.

Before you even have the time to process what’s going on, both his hands are grabbing your face as he fucks himself in your mouth.

Gluck gluck gluck.

That’s all the sounds you can hear ringing in your ears as Changmin groans in pleasure. He fucks your mouth with raw aggression, you’re sure your throat’s gonna bruise after this from how his whole length goes in and out. He’s bigger than you anticipated, making you slightly gag as small tears from fall from your eyes.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, especially when you’re like this.” He continues to fuck himself into your mouth. The way he manhandles your face as he quickens his thrusts has you getting wetter by the second.

And without warning he instantly shoots his hot load down your throat as his hips stutter. Swallowing the warm salty liquid as it infiltrates your taste buds… and it’s intoxicating.

You cough out and try to catch your breath as he pulls his cock out of your mouth, tucking it back inside his pants before letting out a sigh of relief.

“Such a good girl.” He looks down at you with a post orgasm haze in his eyes before zipping his pants up and walking towards the front door. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“W-where are you going?” Your raspy voice calls out to him.

“You didn't think I was gonna stay did you?” He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Before he sets a foot out of the door he looks back at you over his shoulder and smiles one last time,

“You really should've just said ‘thank you’ instead…”

#deoboyznet #ji changmin #changmin smut #tbz smut #tbz fics #tbz scenarios #tbz #tbz hard hours #the boyz drabbles #the boyz hard hours #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fic #the boyz smut #kpop smut #the boyz fanfic

[strangemaleswaps]

Strange Leather Bar Swap

Today's my 21st birthday and you know what that means! I'm finally able to take my first sip of alcohol…well legally anyway! But I didn't want to go to just any gay bar, I wanted to go to a leather bar in the city! I'm a leather fetishist for sure, even though I don't own any real gear. The only leather item I own is a jacket I got at a thrift shop awhile back. I want to buy better gear, but it's not the best idea since I'm still closeted to my judgmental family in the small town I live in. I do have a car and license though, so I'm happy to be able to escape all that when I need to.

I drove to the nearest city to find the leather bar, a super tall building that you could see from the distance. I've always wondered why it was so tall; it had to be at least 5 stories! If it's just a bar, it shouldn't have more than two floors though right? I was about to solve the mystery because, proudly wearing my leather jacket, I walked up to the bouncer at the door.

"Hey kid, can I see some ID please?" I was a little intimidated, but knowing that I am in fact old enough, I was reassured. I proudly presented the ID to the bouncer. He gave one long look at it, then beamed at me.

"Hey, happy birthday kid! Hope your first legal's good."

"Thanks!" He opened the door for me.

"Enjoy Swap Night too! It's really fun."

"Oh…yeah I will!" I had no idea what Swap Night was, but it must be some kind of event.

Walking in was amazing. Everywhere I looked, there were hot leather guys in all shapes and sizes, with the fresh scent of leather in the air. I felt a little awkward though. Not only am I the youngest one there, but lots of guys were wearing kinky fetish gear too. When it wasn't a BLUF type uniform, it was harnesses and jockstraps. I really wish I owned their gear!

Walking through the crowd of sweaty leather men, I arrived at the bar. I sat on the stool and the bartender came over.

"What'll it be kid?

"Hmm." I'm not really sure actually. Thankfully he seemed to have read my mind.

"I get you, it's your first time right? Simple margarita it is."

"Sure." As he poured, he made eye contact with me.

"So, you excited for Swap Night? Should be starting pretty soon."

"Er, what exactly is it anyway? I didn't know about this."

"It's a whole lotta fun. Everyone in the bar swaps bodies with a partner."

"Really? Body swapping? That's so cool! Do you get to choose who?"

"Unfortunately not, it's random. But you do get to choose who to fuck!"

"Wait you can fuck?"

"Yep! It's an amazing experience."

"That sounds so cool! How do I sign up?"

"Over there." He pointed at the nearby table that had a stack of papers on it, along with a box. "Just sign there and put it in the box."

"Alright!” I finished my margarita, paid, and quickly headed over to the table. I filled out my information, signed the paper, and placed it in the box. A few minutes later a really hot guy walked onto the stage and took a microphone. He was wearing a leather jacket over a harness, along with a pair of chaps over his leather briefs. I swear he looked directly at me. I really hope I'm able to swap with him - or at least someone as hot as him!

"Hey all you leather men! It's time for Swap Night!" The crowd cheered. "Now if you just walk through that door, you'll find a bulletin board with a room number listed next to your name. In these rooms, you'll find the body swapping helmets. Put 'em on, wait until everyone's ready, and boom! New body! Now if you wanna fuck, there are plenty of playrooms to have some fun in, as well. You'll be body swapped until midnight, so when the clock strikes twelve, you'll automatically be put back in your original bodies. Any questions?"

Nobody had questions so we headed over through the door. We all crowded around trying to look for our names and I found mine - Room 503. The map on the wall nearby indicated that 503 was on the 5th floor so I walked in the elevator, standing behind a few other guys. The smell of leather and sweat filled the air and I could feel myself getting hard.

I reached the floor, found my room, and walked in. It was about the size of a typical hotel room but without furniture. There was a large window in the back. Looking through, I could see a good portion of the city. I turned to my left and saw the helmet sitting on a small side table, so I grabbed it, pushed the only button on it, and placed it on my head. Nothing happened at first but after about a minute, it started lighting up, and making buzzing noises. A blinding flash of light hit me in the face and when I opened my eyes, I was in another room.

I looked down to see my new body, excited to be swapped with a hot guy, but was met with a surprise. I was wearing a leather shirt with light blue stripes down the side, but it was bulging out in a ball shape. The blue tie I was wearing highlighted the curve even more, by arching over a shiny black balloon. I have a fucking ball gut! I poked it with my newly gloved hands, to prove it was real and…it was real all right! I grabbed it with both hands and shook it up and down, feeling vibrations throughout my body.

I'm fat! I've never been fat before, not even a little bit! At least I'm wearing leather gear. I took one hand and put it up to my nose to smell the glove. It was fucking amazing…the leather scent made me go stiff immediately. I couldn’t even see my own dick past the gut, but I sure could feel it! As I held the glove closer, I noticed my face felt a little fuzzy. I brushed under my nose and felt some facial hair. Oh god, I have a mustache! I looked around to find a mirror and saw one on the wall.

I looked at my reflection and was shocked at the sight. I'm not only fat, I'm old! I inspected my face closely, touching the mustache that spread across my face in an arch shape. This is weird but incredible! I’ve never been able to grow more than peach fuzz before and now I have a whole damn mustache! I had wrinkles under my eyes, on my forehead, and under my chin…actually no. That's a double chin! Even though I was grossed out, I started playing with it, pinching both my chins and neck. It was surreal.

I can't believe out of all the hot leather men I saw, I had to end up in the body of some fat old guy! Is this really supposed to be random? I couldn't have had worse luck! I've always wanted to own new gear but not like this! I turned to the side, staring at my new belly and holding it, jiggling it slightly as I grimaced at how far it stuck out. The leather shirt hugged it tightly in a way that no matter how much I tried to suck it in, it was still obvious. I took a moment to check out my entire leathered up body. In the mirror I could finally see the leather pants and boots I was wearing, along with a muir cap on top of my head.

So is this what it feels like wearing full gear? It really hugs my body…though maybe that's because I'm so big. I started to feel stiff, but this time, I think I was turned on by my body instead of the leather. That's funny though. I'm usually into younger to mid age fit guys, not silver daddies and bears, even if they're in leather. There's no ignoring the horny urges, though. I may not be able to see my dick but I can feel it! Maybe the body swapping causes an increase in sex drive? Well, whatever it is, I can't wait to try out this senior bod on some other guy…

#strangemaleswaps #body swap #male body swap #leather body swap #leather tf

[zepskies]

Devour Me - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: This is a two-part sequel to “Midnight Espresso!” I would read that one first before you dive into this one. (It’s fun, I promise!)

Word Count: 3,800 Tags/Warnings: Supernatural shenanigans, tiny bit of body insecurity, hurt/comfort, fluffy fluff, and a cliffhanger...

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 1: "A Takeover"

When Dean asked you to move in with him, he really didn’t think it would come to this.

Clearing a nightstand for you, half of the dresser, a section of his closet. Those things are reasonable. 

But this is a total takeover, he thinks, as he surveys the sheer amount of crap you’ve brought into his room.

Mind you, despite this still being a bunker, the décor is nice. You brought in sturdy, but stylish wicker baskets for his pile of cassettes (and your CDs) next to the TV, filing bins for the haphazard shuffle of papers on his desk, installed dark wood shelves on the wall for his various weapons and your collection of books. 

But he’d had his music organized—not alphabetically or chronologically, but by his own personal rankings of awesomeness. Now they’re all shuffled together by band name. 

Plus, he likes having his shotgun on the floor by the bed, within reach, not three feet above his head. And where the fuck is his collection of…magazines?

The point is, every time he looks for something, you’ve put it in a different place. Not to mention the damn bathroom (don’t get him started on all your shea butter lotions, makeup brushes, frilly-smelling soaps, and the army of hair products now taking up space in his cabinets and drawers). 

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to figure out where the hell his cassette of Zeppelin IV is, when you breeze into the room he now shares with you. You’re dewy with sweat in a Guns & Roses shirt and some yoga pants you reserve for cleaning. 

And that’s another thing. You’re more anal than Sam about having the bunker smelling like Pine Sol. However, as you’ve expressed before (after nagging him to pick up his dirty, and occasionally bloody clothes from the floor), while you like a clean house, you are not in fact the maid.

“Hey, baby. Can you fold these for me?” you request. “I need a shower.”

He raises a brow as you dump a new basket of fresh laundry onto the bed. It looks like you washed your clothes mixed in with his, which he actually doesn’t mind. He fishes out one of your red, lacey thongs with a hint of a smile. He bought you these last week, and they already have a tear. (His fault.)

“By the way, next time you move one of my things, mind leaving me a post-it note or something?” he dryly remarks. “It’s like a scavenger hunt in my own damn room.” 

You pop your head out of the bathroom, though he can tell by your bare shoulders that you’ve already gotten undressed. Your mouth is quirked at the corner. 

“It’s called organization,” you tease. “Apparently a foreign concept to you.”

You disappear back into the bathroom, giving Dean the privacy he needs to grumble almost inaudibly to himself. But then he hears your voice behind the door.  

“Oh, by the way. Your vintage collection of smut is in the bottom of your nightstand,” you call out. “That 1996 edition of Busty Asian Beauties is particularly classy.”

Dean hears the wryness in your tone, and his face actually heats up in embarrassment. He frowns at the bathroom door, his jaw tensing, but he takes a breath. Deciding to let it go with a roll of his shoulders, he puts on the TV to catch up on Dr. Sexy M.D. He also neglects the task you gave him, just for a little while.

When you’re still in the bathroom an hour later, Dean starts to get curious about what the hell you’re doing in there. The shower isn’t even running anymore.

That’s when he hears the hairdryer go on. 

He knows he’ll never be able to concentrate on his show with all that noise. So with a sigh, he clicks off the TV and eyes the pile of laundry. You probably cleaned the whole freaking bunker this morning. Despite his annoyance, he figures folding your clothes along with his own is the least he can do. 

Dean scoops up the pile back into the basket and takes it elsewhere. 

He finds his brother at the kitchen table and joins him with his basket. Sam’s gaze raises from his laptop to meet his brother’s grumpy face. He watches in mild curiosity as Dean plops down across from him and dutifully begins folding one of your shirts. 

“You okay?” Sam hazards the question. 

“Fucking peachy,” Dean replies. “Looking for a new case?”

“Yeah. Nothing yet.” Though Sam raises a brow when Dean all but tosses one of your girly sundresses on the table after it’s folded. (It’s yellow, and it happens to be his favorite on you.)

“Everything all right?” Sam asks. 

Dean glances up, finds his brother’s knowing eyes, and doesn’t have it in him to lie. He lets go of a breath, as well as one of his undershirts to rub at his forehead. 

“She’s nosey, Sam. She’s all up in my business.”

“Your girlfriend?” Sam clarifies, with raised brows. “Of six months.”

“Yeah, that one,” Dean quips, with all due sarcasm. “Ever since she moved in, she’s been going through everything, moving my crap every which way, making it so I can’t find a damn thing.”

Sam’s mouth edges at a smile. 

“I’m tellin’ you, Sam, she’s damn near taken over,” Dean insists. 

“You done?” Sam teases. Dean just leans in, like he’s about to level his brother with a secret. 

“Matter of fact, she locks herself in the bathroom for like, forever. I just heard the hairdryer go on, meaning another hour at least. What the fuck is she doing in there, getting ready for prom?”

Sam finally has to chuckle. “Clearly it’s been a long time since you’ve lived with a woman, Dean.” 

Dean scoffs. “Right.”

“And she’s actually been a big help in cleaning up around here,” Sam says, with a growing smirk. “Which is, quite literally, a refreshing change.”

Dean snorts at that. 

“Of course, you’re happy,” he says. “A new damn dish rack turns you on.”

Sam shoots him a wan look. “The question is, are you happy?”

That manages to take Dean by surprise. He hesitates to answer…

But he’s saved when he hears someone approaching. He knows it’s you because he can smell the mix of your floral soap and coconutty shampoo; it’s a scent that often lingers on your pillow and has unconsciously infiltrated Dean’s nose. 

His reply to Sam dies on his tongue when he sees you.

“Hey,” you greet both men, all bright and smiley with your hair in wild curls down your back. 

A lot of the time you keep your hair straight or loose and wavy, so it’s rare for Dean to see your natural look. It’s a good one for you, he thinks. Along with those jean shorts hugging your curvy hips, and the V-neck top you’re wearing, which offers a nice peek of cleavage. 

Your hand falls on his shoulder, with your thumb stroking his neck. You then brush that hand across his back as you pass by on your way to the kitchen. If possible, you’ve become even more touchy since you two got together.

Dean holds fast to your hand, stopping you in your path. 

“So that’s what you were working on in there,” he remarks. “Thought I was gonna need to break out the fire extinguisher.” 

You grin in amusement and do a little twirl under his hand, shaking out your curls a little.

“You like?” you ask. Dean tugs you back over. He reaches out and fingers at the soft ends of your hair. 

“Beautiful,” he says.

“Looks real nice,” Sam adds.

“Why, thank you.” Your smile is contagious, and Dean can’t help reciprocating. You drop a hand on his shoulder again.

“I know you’re our resident Gordon Ramsay, but I kinda feel like cooking today,” you say. “Is Cas coming home anytime soon?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, he called this morning. Probably dropping back in tonight.”

You nod. “Good! I’ll make plenty then…oh, wait, he doesn’t eat.”

“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks. 

“Well, I know you guys haven’t had much Cuban food, so I thought you might like to try some ropa vieja,” you reply. Sam’s brows knit together. 

“Old clothes?” he translates. His two years of high school Spanish can give him that much.

“Yeah! But it’s basically shredded beef with onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and a bunch of other good stuff,” you explain. Then your eyes brighten. “Oh! And I can make my grandma’s famous black beans, white rice, some bread with crushed garlic and olive oil…”

By the time you finish listing the things you plan on making, Dean is already salivating. 

Later that evening, when Dean actually gets to sample said food, he’s eaten enough for three men in the span of forty-five minutes.

“Jesus, man. Going for a record on indigestion?” Sam cautions him, despite his amusement. 

Dean pointedly ignores his brother to look over at you. After he swallows another forkful of beef stew, he says, “Not for nothin’, this is probably the second-best meal of my entire life.”

“Oh, yeah?” You giggle. “What’s number one?”

“Diner called Slammies in Alabama. Best fucking pie on Earth,” he easily recalls. “Double applewood bacon cheeseburger, chili cheese fries, brick oven pizza. Bar none.” 

Sam inclines his head, remembering the food coma he and Dean had that night. They’d hit the rock-hard pillows at the motel and slept like they’d been on an all-night bender. 

“But this is like, right there,” Dean says to you, leveling his hand up by his head. 

“Well, let’s see if this moves the needle,” you reply as you get up from your seat. You answer the question in his eyes. “Forgot something, hold on.”

But before you can leave the table, Dean reaches over and takes your hand. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. For all of this. I mean it,” he says. 

A soft, genuine smile grows across your face. You lean down and press a tender kiss below his hairline, stroking his cheek before you go. 

Dean quirks a smile. It’s taken him time to get used to how open you are with your affections, but he likes it. All of it. Every time you reach for him, touch him, brush against him, intentionally or not. He always has.

Though he has to resist embarrassment when he notices the way his brother is watching him. Sam raises a brow, smiling that irritating smile of his. 

“Oh, yeah. You’re not happy at all,” he intones.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Dean says defensively. But he perks up when you return. Maybe you’re bringing more garlic bread. 

Instead, you’re holding a tin pan.

“What’cha got there?” he asks.

“Dessert,” you announce. It’s a Cuban flan: creamy, rich custard with a consistency smoother than cheesecake, and thicker than pudding.  

You haven’t even sat back down yet when Dean carves himself a generous slice. He moans when a large forkful melts in his mouth. You start to blush as you watch him with crossed arms and a hand over your smile. You don’t know whether to be amused or flattered.

Sam watches his brother stuff his face with a subtle shake of his head.    

“You’re enabling him,” he tells you. You shrug, but then you rest your hands on both Sam and Dean’s shoulders. 

“Now I have someone to cook for,” you say. You have tears in your eyes, but you quickly blink and try to turn away. Frowning, Dean takes your hand. 

“Hey, where you going?” he says, and aims to pull you into his lap. You hesitate, knowing you’re not going to be able to squeeze between him and the table.  

“It’s okay, these hips don’t fit,” you chuckle wryly, with a sniffle. But Dean just backs his chair up from the table a bit to make room. 

“What’re you talking about? You fit right here,” he says firmly, and he tugs you down. This is the one thing Dean has tried his damndest to break you out of—that self-deprecating streak of yours. 

You finally accept being guided into his lap, where you indeed fit snugly across his thighs. His arm comes around the front to hold you close by your hip, while his other hand rests comfortingly on your back.

Looking up into his eyes, you draw enough courage to be honest. 

“I was mostly raised by my grandma,” you begin to explain. Your father wasn’t ready to be one, and so wasn’t in the picture. Your mother died when you were in high school. So when your grandmother also passed away a few years ago… 

Well, you’ve been alone for a while.

You sniff and wipe at your face, but your eyes close as Dean’s lips press above your brow. When you next open your eyes and cautiously look between the brothers, Sam’s sympathy warms you. 

“If it isn’t obvious, you have a home here,” he says. “We can never replace what you’ve lost, but…we’re your family too.”

You know that Dean feels the same way by the way he brushes the tears from your cheek, thumbing at your bottom lip.

"You're right where you need to be," he says, with a hand squeezing your hip. His sincerity is in his even tone, in the firmness in his eyes.

You’re able to smile a bit.

“Ah…I’m interrupting, aren’t I?”

The three of you turn to the kitchen doorway, where Castiel stands awkwardly. He clearly senses emotional tension, but it breaks the moment you turn to him with a tearful laugh. 

“Hey, Cas. Have you ever eaten ‘old clothes?’” you ask. 

His puzzled expression is absolutely priceless.  

When Sam finds a possible hunt in Hope, Indiana, Castiel agrees to go with you all. It’s a small, corn-fed town in the middle of nowhere, and five people have gone missing over the course of a year. 

The latest is a nine-year-old kid named Andy Campbell. That alone upsets you; if you have one weakness, it’s for kids.

“Local farmers have been reporting dead cattle too, drained of blood,” Sam says from the passenger seat in the Impala. “I’m thinking vampires trying to keep a low profile.”

“Sounds about right, if a bit sloppy,” Dean remarks. They are in the Midwest though. If this is a coven, or even a rogue vamp who’s been here a while, maybe they got lazy. “So what, police station first? Get any details they might’ve missed.”

“I want to talk to the kid’s mom,” you say. It earns Dean’s gaze at you in the rearview mirror. “We can get the last time she saw him, where he went missing, anything she might’ve held back from the police.”

He nods and shares a glance with Sam. “I’ll go with her. You and Cas scope out the station.”

The angel has gotten better at pretending to be a Fed, but not by much. Sam agrees, even though Dean sees in his face that he’d rather be taking his brother. Dean tempers a smile and keeps driving to the closest motel in this dusty town. 

You don a sensible pantsuit to match Dean’s Fed suit, along with your badges: Agents Buckingham and Nicks. 

When Andy’s mom, Rachel Campbell, opens the door of her modest home to you and Dean, he lets you take the lead. You’re good at this part, connecting with the victims and getting them to talk. He sometimes worries about you though—that your soft, sympathetic heart will get the best of you. 

“How long has Andy been missing?” you ask, accepting a cup of tea from the woman. 

Rachel is around your age, maybe a few years older. She looks run down, a shell of a human as she looks at the carpet rather than at you or Dean. You can’t know exactly how she feels, but you have a vivid imagination. 

And from the various pictures of her and Andy on the wall, just the two of them, you deduce that she’s a single mother. Just like your mom had been.

“Almost four months,” she admits. “The police station doesn’t even return my calls anymore.”

That upsets you, but you keep a lid on your emotions to focus on the woman in front of you. 

“Andy’s father, he’s not around?” Dean asks. Rachel shakes her head, confirming your suspicions.

“No, we split up shortly after he was born,” she replies, her tone tired and resigned. “I was at work. I uh, I work at a doctor’s office. Andy was supposed to come home on the bus, like any other day…but he never did.”

She sucks in a shaky breath as the beginnings of tears make her eyes red and glassy. 

“His school couldn’t tell me why he wasn’t on the bus. But one of his friends said he was late getting out of class, so he must’ve tried to walk home. Even though he knew he could call me when that happens…anyway, somebody must’ve grabbed him.”

Rachel looks away as a tear streams down her cheek, followed by another. You feel your throat tighten with a sympathetic burn behind your eyes, but you keep it at bay long enough to set down your tea. You reach out and lay a hand on the woman’s hand. She meets your steady gaze. 

“I promise, we’ll find your son,” you tell her.

“What?” you ask Dean as the two of you leave the small house, walking back to the Impala in the driveway. You just know there’s something up with him by the stoic look on his face. It isn’t so stoic to you. 

He waits until the two of you are in the car before he levels you with a raised brow. 

“Look, I know you want to find this kid. I do too,” he says. “But watch out about making promises you can’t keep.”

You frown back at him. “What’s better, letting that poor woman have no hope at all?”

In his mind, Dean thinks it’s worse to give her false hope. But he sees how stubborn you’re getting, so he doesn’t push it. The fact that you care about people like Rachel is part of what drew him to you in the first place, but there’s a line, he thinks. A point where you can care too much. 

When you two eventually meet up with Sam and Castiel, they’ve been able to confirm from the body of a recent Jane Doe, with a row of lethal bite marks on her wrist, that this is definitely a vamp case. 

After narrowing down where each of the victims were taken, the four of you sketch out a perimeter of where the monsters could likely be hiding. It’s Dean who finds the old barn on the verge of a corn field, about three miles away from the school where Andy was taken. 

You all wait until high noon the next day to scope it out. Looking into the front windows is useless; all evidence points to an empty home.

The back of the barn is another story. Cracking the barn door open reveals a large storage area, where a nest of vampires are sleeping in their beds. Some are coupled off, but you note a few on single beds.

Then, your eyes narrow on the humans sleeping piled together in the corner—three women, a young man, and Andy Campbell on a twin-sized bed of his own.  

Dean carefully closes the barn door, and the four of you regroup back to the Impala.

“It’s a bigger nest than we thought,” Sam says, though he keeps his voice quiet. Dean is already opening the trunk for his favorite machete. 

“First, let’s get those humans out,” he says. You agree with a nod when he hands you a weapon.  

Dean shoots you a wink. “This one’s Brenda.”

“What happened to Lucille?” you ask, taking the knife from him.

“That’s the bat wrapped in barbed wire. Matter of fact, I should break her out.”

Dean reaches into the trunk and pulls out the blood-stained bat. He rubs the handle fondly. 

“Ahh, Dad loved this thing.”

You sidle up next to him and glance over wryly. “You want some alone time with your big stick, there?”

Dean flashes you a smirk, giving you a long once over in your form-fitting shirt and jeans. “Well, you’re certainly welcome to join me, sweetheart.” 

You snort in response, bumping into his side with your hip. Dean teasingly bounces one of your curls in your face. You smile and swat his hand away.

Sam subtly rolls his eyes, despite a small smile as he shares a look with Cas.

“All right. Can we go, please?” Sam says in amusement. Castiel awkwardly straps on a machete to his belt. He doesn’t believe he’ll need it, but Sam and Dean are always prepared. He wants to be as well. 

You’re ready to go, but Dean holds you back by your shoulder. You look up at him curiously.

“Hey, follow our lead on this one, okay?” he asks. 

You sense that he’s hedging at something more specific with that request. 

“What do you mean?”  

“The kid. I know you wanna beeline for him the second we get in there, but hold off,” Dean says. His gaze is serious. “He could be turned.”

He got a good look inside, the same as you. The kid was lying on a bed while the other humans were chained up on the floor. Still, you shoot him an incredulous look. 

“Why would they turn a kid?” you ask. “They have the others.”

“Yeah, and they were chained up. Why not him?” Dean asks, imploring you to think logically. He shares a look with Sam, who silently agrees. You look between the brothers with pursed lips. 

“Maybe they don’t give a fuck, because they’re cocky assholes,” you retort. And you walk past them to head back towards the barn. 

The brothers and the angel share one last look, with Dean letting out a subtle breath before he follows you.

You creep back into the barn, as quiet as possible through the room of snoring vampires. The brothers and Castiel go to the sleepy women in the corner. They look dirty and malnourished, wearing threadbare clothing. Sam feels the pulse of the man prone on the floor, but he’s already dead. 

When one of the girls wakes with a whimper, Dean holds his finger to his lips, warning them all wordlessly to be quiet. He looks over and doesn’t find you next to him. He nearly curses out loud when he sees you heading for Andy’s bed across the room. 

Meanwhile, you touch the little boy’s shoulder and shake him a little. He wakes with a small sound of reluctance, but you shush him gently. 

“Andy?” You grasp his shoulders. He nods, though his blonde brows are furrowed with confusion. 

“Who…who are you?” he asks. He rubs at his sleepy brown eyes. 

“I’m here to help,” you reply in a whisper. “I’m going to get you back to your mom, okay?”

After a moment, he nods and lets you pick him up into your arms. You hazard looking over across the room, and you find Dean’s annoyed gaze. Despite the uncomfortable churning in your belly, you ignore him for now and head for the back door.

You’re only able to take a few steps when you feel a hand wrap tightly in your hair and pull it away from your neck, just for rows of several razor-sharp teeth to sink into your neck.

AN: 😬 ...Sorry. If you don't know me by now, I love a cliffhanger. But how'd you like Dean getting used to sharing his space? (And having someone to occasionally put him on his toes.)

Part 2 will feature a good old fashioned "you should've listened to me" fight, some angst, some making up, some salsa dancing, and a healthy dose of smutty smut.

Next Time:

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

Keep Reading: PART 2

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#Devour Me #Part 1 #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean x you #dean winchester x latina!reader #dean winchester x plus sized!reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x poc!reader #dean winchester fic #poc!reader #latina!reader #plus sized reader #sam winchester #castiel #midnight espresso verse #zepskies writes

[lionlena]

I'll protect you... (bc you're mine) JavierPeñaxchubby!f!reader

OMG. I can't believe I managed to write this. It's almost past midnight (in my country) but I had to finish this. Inspired by a wonderful oneshot DESERVE IT  by @creedslove​ I wrote something similar.

It wasn't supposed to be smute but I blame it on you @creedslove​ (You are wonderful and thank you for helping and listening to me)

So chubby!reader accidentally had a date with Escobar's man. While talking to her boss and agents, one of the CIA agents insults her. Javier comes to her defense. She thinks Javi is only doing it out of pity, but... Hmmm... Read this ;)

Warnings: +18, NSFW, angst, fluff, some swearing, derogatory comments about a woman's appearance, mild anxiety, oral sex, dirty smut, possesive dark!Javier (but just a little bit) implied unprotected p in v

*

When you entered the embassy in the morning, you were in an excellent mood. You had a great date the day before. At the bar you met a nice Colombian who bought you a drink. You danced with him a few times and he promised you that you would see each other again soon. However, your good mood was quickly ruined when your boss summoned you to a meeting in his office.

You didn't know what you did wrong. You were an ordinary administrative worker and you did your job very conscientiously. Your mouth went dry as you walked into your boss's office. There were two CIA agents there, but there was also Javier Peña. He was leaning against the desk in his skinny jeans and navy blue shirt. Oh god, that man was so hot. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have a crush on him. The truth was, you were crazy about him. Every time you brought him some papers to sign, you got butterflies in your stomach. At the same time, you felt that you had no chance with him. You knew his reputation. Besides, you didn't think Javier was attracted to women of your type.

Sure, you were beautiful. But you knew you had more pounds than other women. You weren't tall or thin.

"Y/N we need to talk."

Your boss's stern voice snapped you back to reality. What have you done wrong? You mixed up the documents? Maybe you gave something that belonged to the DEA to the CIA. Or vice versa.

"What happened?" you asked with a slightly trembling voice.

CIA agent Josh showed you a photo of you and Leonardo outside the bar.

"So what, are you dating Escobar's sicario?!"

"What?!"

You felt weak and your heart was beating like crazy.

"This man works for Pablo Escobar."

You heard Javier's voice. Unlike Josh, he spoke calmly to you. And you were really grateful to him for that.

"I... I really didn't know." You looked at your boss. "I swear... I met him a few days ago at the store... He was kind and helped me get something from the top shelf" You heard Josh snort and felt even worse. "Yesterday... He recognized me, he bought me a drink... That's it..."

"Did you tell him you work at the embassy?" asked Adam, the other CIA agent.

You shook your head in "no".

Josh slammed his hand on the desk and you jumped. You didn't even notice that Javier was standing right next to you.

"Then he must have known that. Otherwise why would he be hitting on you. Look at you?! What other reason would he have?"

Tears stung your eyes and you couldn't say anything. Fortunately, you didn't have to.

"Hey! Aren't you exaggerating?"

You heard Javier and looked at him surprised. He looked really pissed off.

"Is it so strange that he approached a pretty woman? I don't blame him."

"You go for everything, Peña." Josh barked back.

"And you, you're blind and stupid! And you're waving your little dick..."

"Gentlemen! Enough!" Your boss's scream interrupted the argument. "You're acting like children." His gaze fell on you. "Y/N you can go for now. If there's any doubt I'll call you back."

 You almost ran out of the office. You had to hide. You weren't able to sit down at your desk and work normally after all that. Of course, you chose the women's restroom as your hiding place. You locked yourself in the cabin and let the tears run down your cheeks.

You knew what your body looked like and for years you learned to accept it. You were on the right track, but... One asshole ruined everything. You heard a knock and screamed

"Occupied."

"Everything's all right?"

You couldn't believe whose voice you were hearing. You quickly wiped the tears from your cheeks even though Javier couldn't see you anyway.

"This is the women's restroom, agent Peña"

You heard a soft sigh on the other side, and though you couldn't see him, you had the impression that he leaned against the door.

"Josh is an asshole, but he's right about one thing... That sicario might know you work here. You need to be careful Y/N. Don't go to that bar again."

"Ok." you whined. "Can you leave me now?"

"Yeah, but... You just know where to find me. And... There's no point in crying over a dick like Josh."

You didn't answer, and Javier stood outside the door for a few more minutes. You finally heard him leave and breathed a sigh of relief. You didn't want his sympathy, but also... He seemed so nice and sincere that you felt a little better.

*

You couldn't concentrate for the rest of the day. Josh's words came back to you like a nightmare. You couldn't even eat anything. Because of all this, you didn't make it with the documents and stayed overtime.

When you left the embassy in the evening you saw Javier leaning against the car. He looked like he was waiting for someone. As soon as he saw you, he threw out his cigarette and quickly made his way towards you.

"I'll give you a lift." - he said.

You were really surprised by his behavior.

"I'll be fine." You replied a bit coldly.

"Y/N, this really isn't a good idea. Personally, I wanted you to get protection."

You snorted and said:

"From whom? Leonardo? Josh? Or you?"

You didn't want to be mean to him. But you were tired and sure that Javier just felt sorry for you.

"Hey, I really just want to help you."

"But I don't need it. I don't need your sympathy!" You groaned and just walked past him.

 But you soon regretted it. The streets seemed strangely quiet and somehow darker. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you passed the alcoves. Colombia was a dangerous country. People were kidnapped straight from the streets... Sometimes even during the day. You saw a group of young men in the distance and you thought Leonardo was among them. You stood still and started shaking.

What if everyone was right? He knew you worked at the embassy and wanted to get information out of you? Paranoid thoughts ran like crazy through your head. You decided to run towards the embassy. But when you turned sharply, you hit in a solid body. You screamed as you felt a grip on your shoulder.

"Y/N, relax, it's me, Javi!"

You opened your eyes and instinctively grabbed his leather jacket.

"What is wrong?" he asked, his hand going immediately to the gun.

You glanced behind you at the group of young men and realized that most of them were kids. "I thought I saw Leonardo." you whispered.

Javier sighed and pulled you closer. He put his arm around you protectively.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry. But will you at least let me protect you now?"

You nodded your head and snuggled closer to him. You were really scared, and his body felt like a safe place. He slowly started to lead you towards where he left his car.

 "Did you follow me?" you asked after a moment.

"Well... I was more like protecting you. I wanted to make sure you got home safely. And to tell you that I didn't stand up for you because I felt sorry for you. I did it because I thought you were an attractive, hot woman."

 You were in shock. You felt your cheeks burn. As if that wasn't enough, Javier's hand gripped your hip tighter.

 "And I would do anything to prove it to you."

"Everything?" it slipped from your mouth.

Javi stopped, looked down at you and licked his lips.

"Everything, mi dulce"

He cupped your chin with his hand and then bent down and kissed you deeply. For only a split second, you thought you should push him away. But he was so sweet. When he pulled away from you, he shoved his knee between your legs, and you looked around nervously. You were still on the street. It was empty, but you were still worried.

"I want you to ride me." he whispered close to your ear. "I want to eat you, bite you and lick you. I want your whole body."

"Javi" you groaned.

His words and the pressure of his leg made you wet. You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you from drowning.

"Come on, baby. Say you want it too. I'll obey your every command."

"I want...I want you to take me to your place."

You didn't need to say any more. He hugged you again and began to lead you quickly to the car. Like a real gentleman he opened the door for you and waited for you to sit down. Who would have expected that from Javier? As he took the driver's seat, you could see he was already half hard. You also couldn't wait. As if that wasn't enough, he grabbed your thigh with his free hand and began to travel up your leg.

You felt a little anxious. Now that you're in his car... with hot Agent Peña. You started thinking too much. He's had so many women before you. What if you fail him? You didn't even realize you were so nervous until he spoke up.

"If you've changed your mind, no problem. I'll drive you home." His voice was so gentle it was hard to believe.

"I... It's nothing."

 You looked down at his hand. Your skirt was pulled up and exposed your plump thigh. As if reading your mind, Javier began to gently stroke your leg and said:

"There's no reason why you should have a complex"

Then he took your hand and placed it on his bulging crotch.

"If you don't believe me, at least believe my dick. He doesn't lie."

 You couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Javiert smiled smugly when he saw that he had made you feel better.

"As soon as you're in my bed, I'll make all those bad thoughts disappear from your mind, hermosa."

 At his words, you felt yourself warming up again. When you finally arrived, Javi clung to your back. He hurriedly opened the door and began to undress. He threw aside his jacket and shirt. He took off his shoes then sat on the couch and pulled you onto his lap. He started to run his hands under your shirt. He squeezed your breasts and covered your neck with kisses. He grabbed your shirt and looked at you with his brown eyes.

"Can we get rid of this?" he asked gently.

You nodded and he took off your bra as well. You saw how his eyes sparkled with delight when he saw your naked breasts.

"You're so delicious, baby. I don't know where to begin."

He started licking and kissing your breasts as you writhed on his lap. He teased your nipples, pinched them and bit them gently with his teeth. You grabbed his hair and started moaning. He pulled away from you and hooked his thumbs up the waistband of your skirt.

"Can we move on?"

"Yes!"

He laughed at your reaction.

"So impatient. Relax, I'll give you everything."

 You got up from his lap and he helped you get rid of the rest of your clothes. You felt so exposed for a moment, but the way he was looking at you... Oh god. He looked like a hungry animal. He ran his hands over your body in awe. He grabbed your hips and pulled you to him. He kissed you deeply and then switched places with you. You sat down on the couch and he knelt in front of you. He placed his hands on your knees and spread your legs apart.

"So pretty." he said to himself and started kissing your thighs.

 After a while you felt his warm breath on your pussy. You threw your head back as his tongue began to curl around your clit. You grabbed Javier's head. You didn't know if you wanted to push him away or hold him. You've never felt like this before. His mustache tickled your sensitive labia, stimulating you even more. You started to squirm, but his strong hands gripped your thighs. His fingers dug into your skin. You knew he'd leave bruises all over you, and you had no problem with that. You felt yourself leaking as his tongue began to dig inside of you.

"Javi... I..."

"Yes, cum for me. Feed me."

You groaned deeply as the shock ran through you. Your legs were shaking and Javi continued to lick you as you slowly came out of your orgasm. As you tried to catch your breath, he rested his head on your thigh and looked at you like a puppy. Your juices were running down his chin and he looked so pleased you almost forgot he was still wearing his pants.

"Javier?"

"Hmm, cariño?"

"You said I'd get anything I want."

He smiled and nodded.

"What do you want, princesa?"

"I wanna ride you."

His eyes turned almost black with desire. He immediately got up and extended his hand to you. Seeing the question in your eyes, he said:

"I don't think you want to do it here. The bed will be more comfortable."

You nodded your head and grabbed his hand. As he led you to the bedroom, he immediately took off his pants and his penis popped out and stood proudly. Droplets of pre-cum glistened at the tip. He was wonderful and you were not surprised that women were so eager to return to his bed.

"Do you like what you see?"

You nodded and he walked over to you and gripped your hips tightly.

"And you know what I like? Your body marked with my marks so every fucking sicario knows you're mine."

You shivered hearing his possessive voice. You screamed as Javier bit your arm.

"If any more of Escobar's men come near you, they'll find his body dumped in a ditch with a bullet in his head. From now on, I'll protect you because you're mine."

His words made your pussy clench around the emptiness.

"Javi please..."

"Say it!"

"I'm yours."

"Yes, you are mine. And I am yours. And now you will get what you want."

He pulled you onto the bed. He lay down on his back. You sat on top of him and he placed his hands on your lap. He bit his bottom lip and kept his eyes on you. You slid your fingers into your pussy, collecting the moisture and then smearing it on his cock. He gasped and moved his hips. You felt you had complete power over him, but you didn't want to tease him. You were so on fire that you needed him inside you. You got up and grabbed his cock in your hand. You were slowly going down. You moaned as it filled you up. You placed your hands on his chest to gain some leverage and started riding him. His moans mingled with yours. Javier's hands were squeezing your breasts and you felt yourself getting closer to your second orgasm of the evening.

"I'm close..." you groaned.

"Yes, yes honey... I'll be right behind you."

You threw your head back as the electricity from your pussy shot through your entire body. Javier got up and wrapped his arms around your body digging into your pussy. You clenched around his cock and he let out a growl and felt his cum fill you. You fell on the bed together.

After a few minutes, Javier sat down and reached for a cigarette. As he smoked, you rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. His hand was stroking your hair and he was right about the bad thoughts. He threw them all away. You forgot Leonardo, Josh... Everything. Javier was the only thing on your mind. You felt sleepy. Javier covered you with a blanket and whispered:

"Sleep, mi amor. Tomorrow I'll drive you to work and make sure no one hurts you."

"Thank you Javi." you whispered.

The last thing you felt before falling asleep was a gentle kiss on your head.

*

A few days later, you heard an amazing rumor. You immediately ran to Javier. He was just making coffee. When he saw you, he smiled widely.

"Princessa"

"Javi, do you know what happened?" Without waiting for his response, you added "Apparently someone called Josh's wife and told her about his hooker trips. Do you know anything about that?"

"I?" Javi looked awfully proud of himself. "Who could have done this? Some really bad man."

He walked over to you and grabbed your ass with one hand, squeezing tightly. You jumped slightly.

"Javi" you hissed. "Not here"

Not caring about your words at all, he whispered directly into your ear:

"Mine."

*

Next part: Part 2  (but be warned, Javier will turn into a toxic asshole who will control the reader)

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #chubby!reader #hurt/comfort #javier is so sweet #pedro pascal characters

[ppcocainislifeee]

Carl grimes x fem reader -comic books 

Hi, this is my first fanfic. This has been in the drafts for a while. I made this like a couple months ago at like midnight so if there’s any thing you don’t understand I am so sorry or if there’s some thing that you can’t read I’m really sorry💋💋

___________________________________

you and Carl have been friends since the farm but best friends since the prison. It’s been a while since you and the group got to Alexandra.

something in the friend group started changing. instead of just staring at a distance you would actually go up and talk to him.

you were really talkative and he love that about you.

After everything happened with Negan and he lost his eye. You were one of the only ones there who helped him along with his dad, Michonne, and there’s a part of the group.on your 19th birthday.

He got you a necklace but not just any necklace, a necklace that you seen in a store but felt too bad to take. he was a great friend like that(was he really just a friend tho) so on his birthday, you decided to surprise him with something special to him.

A Deadpool comic you haven’t seen him read.As you walk up to the door to the house The door flies open and it’s Mr.grimes leaving on a hunt to see what they can find.

“Oh hey I did see you there” Rick saus surprisingly.”ah sorry I was just about to knock is Carl here? I have something to give him you know he actually got me something for my birthday!” You say surprised but also excited. “Umm i’m pretty sure he’s in his room at this time-“ he looks behind you and says” all right sweetheart I have to go tell Carl I’ll be back” he says to you as he walks past you and put his hand on your shoulder as he walks away. you smile at the way that you think Carl would react to the gift.

as you walk in the house, you put it all behind you, and you basically make a sprint to he’s room, when you got there your food with your jean belt loops and waited a little bit before heading him. “Huh? Who is it?” he says, in a confusing manner, “it’s me ( ) can I come in?” The door Open quickly , “( ) you know you could’ve just walked in right??” he says he ushers you to come in.

As you do you get the slight nervous feeling in your stomach.”so I got you something” you drag the so out a little as you say that and pop down on his bed. “What? why?” He says, as he sits down next to you“ because you got me something” you say smiling.

He brushes at the site of you smiling, you gave him the gift that was poorly wrapped him, and whatever paper you could find.” don’t question me on my rapping abilities. OK I did my best.” you say laughing a bit as he opens it you seen his face light up,”hole shit! No way you got me this! How? where? I don’t have this one yet, and I’ve been reading them out of order…what how did you know I don’t have this one?” I asked you in an excited voice.”wellll I had to snoop a little bit” you say biting your lip, he looks at you for a moment, staring into your eyes.

You’re getting embarrassed little bit ”is there something on my face?” You say because using someone in a movie say that.”omg can you-“ “Can I kiss you” he says Breaking you from your speech, use at there a moment, stunned. I thought about it for a minute(actually, more like two seconds) “oh shit my bad I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable” he starts profusely apologizing as do he stands up

Stand up quickly after him”no! I mean no you did make me uncomfortable I was actually perfectly fine” you say trying to calm down”Noo i’m sorry do you want my closest friends I don’t wanna ruin th-“

before he can finish a sentence, you kiss him hard. you kissing passionately as his hand moves to your waist and up your back. “Mhm” you can prove you more seconds, until you need to pull back for air. “i’m perfectly comfortable with you right now” he looks at you in disbelief and you see a shin in his eye, “sooo does that mean you like me?” he says grinning wide “nooo not at all” you say, hugging him tightly laughing at yourself “awww man y guess I’ll kiss you again and try again”

__________________________________________

AHHHH I can’t believe I’m gonna post this, but ykk YOLO anyway, just a reminder you’re beautiful anyway you are and if you don’t think so, kiss me💋💋

#carl grimes x reader #no use of y/n #carl grimes #the walking dead #woowww #carl x reader #fluff #💋💋💋

[givemea-dam-break]

Hey! Can you write some george karim x reader fluff?

Literally write anything, I’ve read everything that’s on here lol.

a/n: of course! i haven’t written for george yet and, although i love lockwood so so much, there’s a special place in my heart for nerdy boys lol

warnings: none gn reader

"I got you a book."

George looks up from his notebook, splayed out on the kitchen table curiously. "You did?"

You nod, placing the thick hardback down on the thinking cloth. "I was out and popped into a bookshop. I know you've been wanting this one for a little while."

His eyes carefully scan the book, and he takes it in his hands, flipping it over and reading the covers. For a minute, you think he's disappointed. Maybe he already bought it, or maybe you misheard him and got the wrong one...

Then, a smile appears, his eyes sparkling as he looks back at you. "Thank you. You didn't have to get me it."

"I wanted to," you say with a shrug. "You mentioned it a few days ago, and I just wanted to do a nice thing."

Also, I've hidden little notes in it, you think, but you don't say it out loud. That's part of the surprise.

"What are you doing just now?" you ask, moving to make yourself a brew. "Looks... confusing."

"Research for that new case we've got booked," he says, turning back to his notes. "You know, the old lady from the other day who said her grandkid heard voices in the attic?"

"Oh!" You take a bite out of a biscuit you just plucked off the plate. "Mrs Thurmon, right? I'm still convinced it's some birds stuck inside, but could well be a ghost. Lockwood thinks it's a Type One."

George shakes his head. "I think it's more than that. Maybe..."

He looks back at his notes, and he doesn't speak again. If anyone else did the same, you'd consider it rude, but George gets like this sometimes. In his mind, he probably thinks that he's still speaking to you when in reality he's gone quiet. It makes you smile, and you can't help but watch the way his eyebrows crease in concentration and he silently mouths the words he's written haphazardly.

You feel content just looking at him, as strange as it sounds. The way his dark hair falls over his face, or the way his fingers run underneath the words he's paying particular attention to. Sometimes when he's writing things in his notebook, he won't realise he's reached the edge of the page and will continue onto the thinking cloth, leading to some very obscure phrases seen at midnight after a case.

"So, you see, I don't think it's just a Type One. There's something -" He looks up and sees the smile you're trying to suppress. "I wasn't talking, was I?"

Laughing, you shake your head. "No, you weren't."

He looks down, flushing red slightly.

"I'm going to head down to the basement," you say, lifting your mug of tea from the counter. "I'll get the chains oiled and prepare our bags for tonight. Give me a shout if you need anything, yeah?"

--

Over the next few days, George begins a daily routine of spouting out random facts at the kitchen table over breakfast. Some are relatively normal, like the fact that crocodiles can't stick their tongue out, but they become stranger and stranger as the days pass. Each time, he reads them off a little ripped piece of paper, each in your handwriting.

Lockwood and Lucy seem thoroughly amused, but you only grow more and more apprehensive. As the little facts come to their end, your heart begins to race in anticipation.

You don't regret giving George the book. You do, however, regret leaving a note expressing your feelings for George at the end a little bit.

It's hell waiting for him to get to it. It gives you too much time to worry. Will he reject you? Will he admit he feels the same? George has never been very openly expressive about his feelings outwith his interests, hence why you've admitted the fact that you're, oh, well, in love with him in a note rather than to his face.

But, then, finally, the reply comes in the form of an envelope slipped under your door while you're sleeping. You awake to find it the next morning, the brown envelope trembling in your hands.

It's stupid, honestly, getting so nervous over a guy. A year ago, you would never have believed that you'd be here, sweating profusely as you sit on your bed, trying to muster up the confidence to open the envelope.

Finally, you do.

"(name),

Thank you for the book. I didn't know that you had heard it was one I wanted, but I appreciate you getting it for me. You didn't need to, but it means a lot. It was quite good, actually. Possibly one of my favourites.

As for the little notes - funny! I didn't know chef's hats had 100 pleats, but I'll be sure to stash the fact for future reference. Maybe I'll confuse Kipps with it one day, just to throw him off.

As for the last note."

Your heart feels like it's going to implode. Taking a deep breath, you continue reading.

"I don't like talking about my feelings much, which is why I'm assuming you wrote yours down (I also appreciate that), but I'll try my best.

I've liked you since the day you walked through the front door for your interview. Your haircut was weird, and you looked a bit like a lost puppy, but you were patient with me, even when I was being a prick. You make the best tea out of the four of us, but, please, never cook dinner again. You can't do that to save your life."

You laugh, hands still trembling. Your cheeks feel hot.

"I like the way you laugh, and the fact that you stay and 'listen' to me when I think I'm still talking instead of just leaving. You pay attention to little details, and you remember things about me that I've never thought were really that important.

You're the first person who hasn't made me feel like a weirdo, really. Around you, I'm myself. You let me talk for hours about stuff you probably don't care about. You get this look on your face when I'm talking too fast like you're struggling to keep up, but you're trying your best. And, when you make us tea, you're always smiling, like it's the greatest thing you could do in this world.

I'm sorry none of this is being said in person, but the fact you've given me the opportunity to do it like this tells me everything I need to know. No one has ever cared for me the way you do.

To simplify, I like you a lot, too. And, yes, maybe we could go to the bookshop together if you aren't too busy trying to pretend like you're not looking at me (yes, I'm very aware of that).

-George :)"

The grin that splits your face is the biggest it's ever been. You're most definitely blushing, and, if Lucy wasn't sleeping on the other side of the room, you'd be jumping around, squealing like a madman with excitement.

You place the letter under your pillow, fighting to soften your smile, as you hurry down the stairs to the attic door to put some tea on.

Upon opening the door, you're met with a face that's all too familiar. Hair curling softly and glasses perched on his nose, George stands in the doorway, fist raised as if he were about to knock.

"George!" you say before remembering that Lucy is sleeping. You hush your tone a little. "Hey, how are you? Sleep well?"

A small smile plays on his lips, a little awkward but it still makes your heart soar. "I, uh, I slept fine. I'm good. I was just coming to ask if you wanted breakfast."

"I was actually about to come down and put some tea on."

"Oh, good." He takes his glasses off, rubbing the lenses on his jumper. "Shall we -?"

"Yes! Um, yeah."

You pass him, closing the door softly, and you break out into a grin again. He feels the same. He feels the same!

"I was going to go to the bookshop today," he says. "Maybe you'd like to come with...?"

It's hard to contain your excitement, but you nod, glancing back at him. "I'd like that."

"You would?"

"I would."

#george karim x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #george karim #george cubbins #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #fanfiction #x reader #givemea-dam-break

[lesbians4kurt]

when you know, you know

happy holidays, @luckynumber4 @ronald-speirs @lena-basilone idk which one to tag :3 i was ur secret santa, here to feed u sledgefu!!!!!! i hope u like it :D

word count: 13.4k

summary: Eugene, a burnt-out Ph.D. candidate, finds himself carpooling with Snafu, a complete stranger, on their way to Burgie's wedding.

The humid evening air of May had long since swept over Auburn as Eugene pages through countless notes, the sound of rustling paper permeating his apartment. It’s month three of researching for his Ph.D. dissertation, and although he knows this is only the beginning, that in a year he’ll most likely still be working on it, he’s already experiencing all the warning signs of burnout. He’s managed these past few months to follow the strict schedule he’d created, keeping himself fully on track with every scrap of discipline he possesses, but an itching restlessness had begun burrowing itself in the back of his brain last week, and his concentration has been off ever since. He needs to find a new angle, take a little break, and approach the daunting process with new eyes. He just needs to hold out for another week: Burgie’s wedding. 

Burgie is a close friend from Eugene’s undergrad days, they had even shared an apartment for a few semesters. They meet up every few months for a drink and catch up, texting every other week or so. Eugene wishes they could meet more frequently, but he hardly has time to see his family, let alone friends. Burgie had gotten engaged about a year ago, and Eugene is looking forward to his upcoming wedding as a chance to wind down. He’s happy for Burgie too, of course; no one deserves happiness as much as him, the most kindhearted person Eugene knows. 

Eugene closes his eyes and sighs. He can’t stay focused at all. He just needs to hang on to his last thread of motivation for a little longer, but every task seems impossible. He sits back in his chair and rubs a hand across his face, figuring he’d close his eyes for a moment before continuing. Maybe he’d take a break for a snack in a minute, drink some water, turn on a meditation… 

Bzzz. 

Eugene jolts awake 40 minutes later, curled up in his chair, back stiff. He silently thanks whoever is texting him. That was stupid, if he had kept sleeping he might not have woken up until his morning alarm. He almost drops his phone trying to unlock it and squints his tired eyes as he tries to read the screen. Weirdly, the text is from Burgie. It’s well past midnight and Eugene has never known him to stay up so late. If it was someone else, he might ignore the text, but he decides to open it.

Hey, call me when you see this.

Oh? Eugene’s skin prickles with worry and he immediately presses the call button. 

Burgie spares Eugene’s nerves by picking up immediately. “Hello?”

“Hey, what did you need?” Eugene asks, hoping nothing has gone wrong with the wedding.

“Hey, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor.” Burgie’s cadence is upbeat, melting away the icy worry that had frozen over Eugene’s chest.

“Sure, anything,”

“Okay, so, one of my best friends lives in New Orleans, and his car gave out on him a few days ago. I was wondering if you could pick him up on your way here. I assume you’re driving?” 

Burgie’s right, he would be driving. Eugene has had an extreme phobia of airplanes ever since childhood, making the numerous family vacations he went on a humiliating ordeal. He would get sick or start hyperventilating a few minutes after take-off like clockwork. Logically, he knows he’s safe, but fear isn’t logical. The combination of heights and confined space is just too much for him to handle. Despite his phobia, his mother insists on going on trips that require a plane ride and is offended that he refuses to go on these vacations in adulthood.

“Yeah, I’ll be driving,” Eugene half chuckles before getting more serious. “So, who is he?”

“His name’s Snafu. Well, it’s Merriell Shelton, but we all called him Snafu, anyway,” Burgie says, a fondness so strong taking over his voice that Eugene can recognize it even over the phone. “He can’t really afford a plane ticket. I know it’s probably out of your way, but it would mean a lot to me if you could drive him.”

Eugene has to keep himself from sighing. He knows this detour will add about an hour or so to his drive, and he’ll have to drive over eight hours from New Orleans to Fort Worth with some guy he doesn’t even know. What will they talk about? Will it be awkward silence all the way? Will he have to drive him back too?

“Of course, Burgie. I’ll drive him for you,” Eugene ends up saying before thinking about it any further. The favor is simple, really, and he wouldn’t want Burgie to be missing one of his best friends at his own wedding. Plus, Burgie has been an amazing friend to Eugene, never giving up on him no matter how busy he is and never letting things become awkward between them. 

“Thanks, Eugene! Really, thank you.” Burgie sounds elated, putting a soft smile on Eugene’s face. “I can’t wait to see you. We’ve barely talked since you started your dissertation research.”

“I’ve barely talked to my own mother since I started,” Eugene jokes. “And you know how she is about phone calls.”

Burgie laughs and Eugene is reminded of how much he misses just talking to him.

They chat for a few more minutes before Burgie decides he needs to get to bed. After hanging up the phone, Eugene stretches before standing up and pacing for a few minutes. That short nap and talking to Burgie rejuvenated him, and despite it being past one in the morning, he decides he has enough energy to continue working for another hour before going to sleep. He pours himself a glass of water and grabs a few crackers before sitting back down at his desk, resuming. 

The next few days pass similarly: Eugene eats every meal at his desk as he researches and researches and researches, staying up late every night. He leaves his apartment every morning to meet with his professors or attend a class, but otherwise, he spends every waking moment on his research, his newfound motivation from the phone call sticking to him. He’s almost disappointed now that he’ll be leaving for the wedding soon as it will interrupt his productivity, but he reminds himself that upon his return he’ll probably be even more inspired. 

Four days before the wedding, Eugene realizes he hasn’t bought gifts yet and spends six frantic hours online shopping. If there’s one thing he’ll be eternally bad at it’s picking out gifts; he spends hours overthinking every purchase only to feel the gift he chooses is shallow and impersonal. Of course, this time proves no different. He buys Burgie and his bride-to-be, Florence, a set of matching watches and a bottle of champagne. He knows people normally buy small kitchen appliances or home decor, but he eats TV dinners every night and the white walls of his apartment are blank, so he’s not very experienced in either of those departments. Plus, he has no idea what they already own or what they might need. As he plugs in his credit card information and confirms his purchase, he sighs and thanks God for two-day shipping. He lays awake in bed that night wondering if his gift properly conveys his love and appreciation for Burgie, and frets about it until the early hours of the morning before deciding to write a heartfelt card for good measure, drifting off to sleep. 

The following night, Eugene finds himself increasingly curious about this Snafu character he’ll be driving with for eight hours. Merriell “Snafu” Shelton, huh? He bites his lip as he opens his computer, quickly googling the name. The only relevant result is from one of those sketchy phonebook websites, and he immediately feels stupid and guilty. But not guilty enough to stop him from stalking Burgie’s Facebook for any signs of the guy. Again he finds nothing, and the wave of shame hits him again. He should be working anyway, but his curiosity is slowly morphing into anxiety and he really wishes he had asked Burgie a few more questions. He calms himself by rationalizing: Burgie wouldn’t be friends with some insane weirdo. Everything will be fine. He closes the tabs he was using for stalking and continues his work.

Two days before the wedding is the day Eugene decides to depart. He knows his mother will be upset if she finds out that he drove right through Mobile without stopping by, so he’ll visit his parents first and spend the night there. Tomorrow he’ll leave Mobile, drive two hours to New Orleans, and then drive eight hours to Fort Worth, so he better be well rested. He spends his morning and early afternoon packing up a suitcase and waiting for his parcels to arrive in the mail, practically jumping the postman when he rounds the corner. He wraps them carefully in gold paper before placing them in a gift bag, then struggles to write a heartfelt card for about 40 minutes. He’s ready to leave the house at 3 PM and packs the gifts into his backseat, perhaps being overly cautious when he buckles the bag in with the seatbelt. As he sits down in the driver’s seat, he thinks he should probably call his mother to let her know he’s coming. He quickly shakes this thought out of his head, knowing that any phone conversation with her gets strung out for several hours and ends with him nearly tearing his hair out with stress and annoyance. Instead, he shoots his father a text as a warning and puts his phone on silent in case his mother ends up calling him in response before starting his car and taking off. He’s the type of driver others get angry being behind, the type people assume are old ladies and scream at angrily as they pass. He likes to say he’s meticulous and cautious, but any passenger he’s ever had groans at his slow pace. It occurs to him that Snafu will probably complain about it too, and the thought somehow embarrasses him even though he hasn’t even met Snafu yet.

He arrives in Mobile four hours later, mentally preparing himself to face his parents as he pulls into the driveway. The house of his childhood stands before him in all its grandeur. It’s an old manor house built in the 1800s, with the rest of Mobile slowly rising around it. It stands only one story high, but to Eugene, it’s always been an imposing structure that never quite felt like home. There’s no denying it’s a beautiful house; tall willow trees frame the wraparound porch and its accompanying Greek revival-style pillars, and large flowerbeds color the ground below. A large, freshly mowed yard stands between Eugene and the front door. He takes a deep, shaky breath before taking the first steps. He never likes visiting here, everything is so suffocating.

As he approaches the large, mahogany door he has the same debate with himself he always does when he comes here. Does he knock or just walk in? The further removed he becomes from living here the more the answer to that question becomes knock, but his mother always makes a comment about him knocking, about how this is his home. Regardless, he decides to knock and waits anxiously as he hears rushed footsteps approach the door. It swings open aggressively and there his mother is, a huge smile splitting her face in two, every tooth on display. Before he can even tell himself to smile back, she pulls him into a tight embrace. He drops his bag to the floor before awkwardly wrapping his arms around her and squeezing his eyes shut. It begins.

“I’m just so happy to see you, Eugene,” she gasps into his ear, and for a moment he’s scared she’s going to cry. She pulls away from him and brings her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks.

“I missed you too, Mom,” Eugene says sheepishly. It’s not that he doesn’t. She can just… be too much. Too hot and cold.

She rubs his arms a few times before taking his hand and leading him through the door. “Well, let’s get you inside. You look exhausted. I can tell you haven’t been eating properly, Eugene. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

He doesn’t reply and merely lets himself be dragged inside, resigning himself to his fate. She’d probably make him eat three meals worth of food now. 

“You didn’t have to knock, Eugene. You’ve come home,” she says, clasping his hand a little tighter as she speaks, leading him through the hall. 

Eugene suppresses an eye roll in response. Of course, that comment. It’s like clockwork.

She stops once they enter the dining room where his father is seated at the head, reading a newspaper as he waits for dinner. A genuine smile softens Eugene’s face when he sees him.

His father puts down the newspaper. “Hey, Fritz!” he says, standing and making his way up to Eugene to properly greet him. Fritz is an old nickname from when Eugene was a little boy. He’s not sure where it came from, or when it started, but his father has affectionately called him that for as long as he can remember.

“Hey, Dad,” Eugene says softly, pulling his father into a hug.

“It’s good to see you, son.”

They hold the hug for a good minute, just swaying back and forth with the occasional pat on the back. If this house isn’t home, his father’s embrace is. He’s filled with a sense of comfort and ends the hug with the strength he needs to get through the rest of the visit.

“Dinner’s just about ready, Eugene. Have a seat and I’ll be out with it in a minute,” Mary Frank says, rubbing his arm again before walking off toward the kitchen.

Eugene turns to his father, who holds out a hand toward the table. They both take a seat, Eugene to his father’s left, the same place he always sat as a boy. His mother will sit across from him to his father’s right. The table is already set and Eugene feels a little bad that he interrupted their dinner preparations, or that he didn’t arrive early enough to help. 

“So, Fritz,” his father begins. “How’s the research?”

“It’s been… overwhelming,” Eugene replies earnestly. “I enjoy it and everything but… The fact that it’s been three months and I’ve barely even started…”

“I know, it’s a long road ahead of you. I remember those days myself.” His father reaches out and places a reassuring hand on Eugene’s own. “I know you’ll make it through. Just keep persevering.”

Eugene’s soft smile from earlier returns as his eyes almost glaze over with tears. He hadn’t realized, but he’d needed to hear those words. Especially from his father. To feel like someone was proud of him.

The moment is gone when his mother returns, placing a shepherd's pie in the middle of the table. “I wish I’d known you were coming earlier, I would’ve cooked more,” she says. “We need to fatten you back up. Remember when your brother first lived on his own? He didn’t eat right and almost landed himself in the hospital!” She’s exaggerating. Sure, Eddie hadn’t been eating properly, but he just felt lethargic and lightheaded. He hadn’t even gone to the doctor, let alone the hospital.

“Mom, I’ve lived on my own for the good part of a decade now,” Eugene deadpans, pushing his food around with his fork.

“Has it really been that long? And still no girlfriend?”

Oh. Now she’d struck a chord.

“Mom,” Eugene says firmly. “We talked about this.”

She doesn’t look up at him, merely takes a bite of her dinner as she answers, “Well, I haven’t accepted it.”

“Now, Mary Frank–” his father begins.

Eugene all but throws his fork down on his plate. “I’m gay,” he seethes out through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, do you have to make an argument out of everything, Eugene?!” She slams a hand on the table, making her plate clatter in its place. “Am I not allowed to hope for your happiness?”

“But you’re not! And you started it!” Eugene can feel his face flushing as his hands clench painfully into fists. “I…” He makes brief eye contact with his father and wills himself to calm down, knowing this isn’t worth it. She’ll never understand. She doesn’t want to. “I can’t… I’m gonna go out to Deacon’s spot.”

Eugene wipes his mouth with a napkin and has to force himself not to throw it down on the table. As he stands, his mother calls out to him to finish eating, but he ignores her as he makes his way out the back door. He shuts the door behind him and takes a moment to close his eyes and enjoy the evening air. The sun is setting, painting the sky a beautiful pink, and he can smell the bay in the breeze. Even if he doesn’t miss this house, he does miss Mobile. The flatlands and plains of northern Alabama just don’t hold the same charm as the gulf. He turns his gaze from the sky to a group of willow trees across the expanse of the backyard and begins walking toward them. As he approaches, a small bench comes into view, along with a sizable rock that protrudes from the ground: Deacon’s grave.

Deacon was Eugene’s childhood dog, a birthday present from his father the day he turned nine. He was the best dog anyone could have asked for. He slept in Eugene’s bed, comforted him when he was sad, and followed along when he went on bike rides. Leaving him behind when he went to college was one of the hardest things Eugene’s ever had to do, no matter how silly that sounds. Deacon was hit by a car two months into that first semester and Eugene was devastated, not leaving his dorm for anything but class. Burgie spent weeks trying to cheer him up enough to go out and have fun again. Eugene went home a few weekends later, and by then his father had buried Deacon under the willow trees. He spent nearly the entire visit just sitting at the grave. The next time he visited, his father had placed a bench there. Eugene’s never thanked him for it, an unspoken favor with unspoken gratefulness. 

“Hello, boy, it’s me,” Eugene whispers to the ground at his feet. He sits on his haunches for a moment, stroking the grass in front of the stone with a hesitant hand, before sitting on the bench. He lets silence overtake him and tries not to think of the argument at the table. He wishes he hadn’t risen to his mother’s comment. He wishes she hadn’t said anything at all. He wishes he never came. Guilt burns in his chest for admitting that thought, but he knows it’s true. Everything will be fine. He can go to bed early, and tomorrow he’ll be on his way. It’s fine.

Too soon, Eugene hears the back door swing open and footsteps approaching. When he looks up, he sees his father, and his shoulders drop a little. Small mercies. 

“Fritz… Eugene, I’m sorry for what your mother said back there,” he says, sitting down beside his son. “I just spoke to her, and–”

“It’s okay, Dad,” mutters Eugene. “I know how she feels. It’s never going to change, no matter how many talks you have with her.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair, son. She’s making progress–”

“No,” he interrupts. “No, Dad. It’s been years. I don’t want any excuses anymore. All I want... All I want is for her to just love me. Love me without all these conditions.” Eugene’s voice cracks a bit on the last sentence, and his eyes lock on Deacon’s grave, not daring to look at his father in case the tears in his eyes are obvious.

They sit in silence. Eugene hears his father’s mouth open a few times as though to speak, but it closes again after a few seconds each time. Ultimately, he places a hand on Eugene’s shoulder in comfort, and they just sit in each other’s presence for a few moments. Eugene feels numb. The tears have gone from his eyes and an empty cavity opens in his chest like quicksand. His father couldn’t deny anything. A small part of him, an inch of his being, had hoped that he’d been wrong, that he’d just been misunderstanding his mother, that she loves him fully and has his best interest at heart, just with a funny way of showing it. But no, he was right all along, and this silence is all the proof he needs. 

As the silence sinks into awkwardness, his father squeezes his shoulder and stands up from the bench. “Give me a minute, I’ll be back with a check for you.”

“Dad, that’s really not necessary. I–”

“Just let me do this.” His father turns away without another word, walking back toward the house.

If there’s one thing Eugene dislikes about his father, it’s his generosity. His parents are paying what scholarships and grants don’t cover for his education, and his father insists on paying half the rent for his apartment. Eugene has tried to tell them that between his stipend, tutoring, and being a teaching and research assistant, he can pay his own way now, but they refuse to listen, especially his father. He’s a grown man, and it makes it uncomfortable to think he’s still dependent on his parents. 

His father returns in a few minutes, check in hand, and Eugene reluctantly accepts it but makes a mental note to shred it without depositing it later. He doesn’t want to take any more of his father’s money. Afterward, they say a tense goodnight, and Eugene finds himself staring up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom. It’s early, only around 9 PM, and he feels restless, especially in this environment. The room is mostly barren, picked apart over the years. All the books on the shelf had been donated or taken to his apartment, all his old clothes given away, and some of his furniture sold in a yard sale. The room he used to spend all day in couldn’t make him more uncomfortable. 

Eugene tries to concentrate on falling asleep, knowing he has a long day ahead of him. He tosses and turns for what seems like hours before his thoughts land on Snafu. Oh, yeah. He almost forgot he’s supposed to pick him up tomorrow. Will they get along? Being trapped in a confined space with someone you can’t stand for eight hours seems grim, so he hopes for the best. What does he look like? What did he get Burgie as a gift? Will it make Eugene’s gift look stupid? These thoughts carry him to sleep.

Eugene’s mother wakes him the next morning, opening the bedroom door and calling out his name. He sits up and rubs his eyes before making sleepy eye contact with her. She gives him a weak smile before walking away. He groggily pries himself out of bed before getting ready for the day. It’s early, just past 6 AM, meaning he’d slept for maybe eight hours after all of that tossing and turning. He can’t fathom how his mother wakes up this early every day. She’s always had this habit for as long as he can remember, waking up with the sun and making breakfast. He can smell it now, the savory scent of eggs frying as he dresses himself. The thought of sitting down to eat with his mother is daunting after the events of the previous night, but he figures if she’s dead set on pretending nothing is wrong, he can play along.

Eugene greets his mother as he sits down for a breakfast of over-easy eggs and cheesy grits. It’s one of his favorites, and he figures maybe this is her way of apologizing. He’s grateful for the food, of course, but he has no appetite. Regardless, he takes a bite, determined to avoid giving the impression that he’s still upset. The two eat in silence until his father enters the room, sitting down at the table and pouring himself a mug of coffee. 

“Good morning,” his father greets, and the two murmur replies between bites of food. “Eugene, you mentioned in your text you’re headed to a wedding today?”

“Yeah, my friend Burgie’s wedding. From college,” says Eugene, staring down at his food. “He lives in Fort Worth, so it’s quite a ways.”

“Why didn’t you fly? It would’ve saved you some trouble,” his mother chimes in. She’s entirely serious and Eugene once again has to battle an eye roll.

“I’m terrified of flying, Mom,” he says flatly, taking a brief moment to close his eyes and quell the rising anger in his chest.

“You need to get over that childish fear, Eugene,” she almost snorts. “It’s a plane ride, not skydiving.”

“I felt like a drive,” asserts Eugene loudly. He bites back the argument that’s attempting to claw its way out of his throat and goes back to eating.

“Alright,” is all his mother says in reply, and the three of them lapse back into a silence that continues for the rest of the meal.

When 7 AM rolls around, Eugene decides it’s time for him to leave and is filled with relief. He can’t stand the stuffy atmosphere of this house for much longer. Even the idea of being in a car with a total stranger is more appealing than spending even one more minute in his mother’s company. He gathers his things and meets his parents at the door, bag in hand.

“Well, I’ll be off,” he says, discomfort clear in his voice. 

His father hugs him first. “I love you, son. See you soon.”

Eugene leans into the hug, calmed slightly by the embrace. “I love you too, Dad.”

Eventually, they separate, and Eugene is forced to face his mother, whose eyes appear to be filling with tears. She hugs him abruptly, sobbing into his shoulder, and he’s left frozen in place.

“Come visit more often, Eugene. Please,” she whispers, a fist full of Eugene’s shirt, squeezing him so hard it hurts. “I love you.”

He’s not sure how to react and merely rubs her back, forcing out a numb, “I love you too.”

They say their final goodbyes, Eugene’s mother still sobbing, now in his father’s arms. He gives them a wave and steps outside, quickly shutting the door behind him. His stress is immediately alleviated after leaving his mother’s presence, and he is left with a bittersweet longing for human connection. For someone who will understand. He finds solace, however, in the bright morning sky as he steps back across that large yard, toward his car. Time to get this shit done.

Eugene opens his texts from Burgie and plugs Snafu’s address into the GPS on his phone. Once he begins, he can fully concentrate on driving, still at his cautious snail’s pace. Focusing on the road and the directions keeps him from thinking about the visit with his parents, his mother’s crying face, and how the two of them will never understand each other. Well, maybe he thinks about it a little and has to shake the thought from his head, but he mostly focuses on driving. 

The drive goes smoothly, except for when Eugene struggles to stave off a panic attack crossing over Lake Ponchartrain. He hates driving over any body of water, let alone on the five-and-a-half-mile-long, 30-foot-high Twin Span Bridge. He pants for air as he inches forward toward the high-rise section, cars beeping behind him. His sweaty palms clench the steering wheel tightly as the road elevates beneath him, gritting his teeth. Once he’s over the hump, he breathes a sigh of relief and feels a bit better about the remainder of the bridge. He drives on smoothly but wishes the water would stop reflecting the sun into his eyes. At least he wasn’t forced to go over the Causeway. He considers that bridge a deathtrap and has always avoided taking any route that includes the nearly 24-mile-long monstrosity.  

Once Eugene is past the bridge, he continues down I-10. He’s officially in New Orleans East. Slowly, the area around the road transforms from unkempt trees and shrubs to a neighborhood. Duplexes with chainlink fences roll by, some surrounded by empty lots. The area had clearly never fully recovered from Katrina all those years ago, as Eugene remembers taking a day trip to an amusement park that was in the area as a child. The GPS announces that he’s arriving at his destination on the right, and he pulls into the driveway. The house is identical to many others he’s passed by, with white panels that could use cleaning and a porch covered in chipping paint. A lump of anxiety rises in his throat, which he swallows with guilt. How childish to judge someone he doesn’t know based on where they live. He double-checks his text message from Burgie to confirm that this is indeed the correct house and to find out which apartment in the duplex is Snafu’s. Knocking on the wrong door would embarrass Eugene so thoroughly that he might never recover, so it’s worth it to be sure.

After quelling his anxiety with a few deep breaths, Eugene steps out of his car and heads up the stairs of the porch, cringing as the steps creak loudly under his feet. He stands in front of Snafu’s door motionless for a second, gathering courage, before knocking. He waits and waits, ninety seconds passing with no response. He battles with himself internally on whether or not it’s too soon to knock again before deciding he has to as there’s been no noise from inside. He thumps the door louder and longer the second time around, hoping that doesn’t come off as rude. There’s no response again and Eugene begins to doubt himself. Maybe he had read the address wrong or the apartment number, or maybe he hadn’t been loud enough. Just as he raises a fist to knock again the door flies open and he jumps back, heart racing. 

The man at the door is approximately Eugene’s age, a few inches shorter with dark, curly hair. His eyes are squinted and his face is puffy, and his tan skin is on full display as he’s shirtless. Eugene’s knocking must have woken him from a deep sleep. He blinks slowly a few times before grumbling out, “Who the fuck are you?”

Eugene shuts his mouth, which had been left agape, and straightens himself out. “Um, I’m Eugene Sledge, Burgie’s friend. You’re Snafu, right? I’m here to pick you up.” He reaches out to shake hands but avoids eye contact. In fact, he avoids looking at the shirtless man altogether and feels his cheeks burning a dusty pink. He hopes he doesn’t seem like an idiot. God, why does he always have to make a fool of himself around attractive people?

Snafu looks down at Eugene’s outstretched hand for a moment but ignores it, instead replying, “Yeah, that’s me.” 

Eugene stands in silence for a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets clumsily when he realizes his handshake has been rejected. Still staring at a spot behind Snafu, he waits for him to continue speaking. He doesn’t, and Eugene's skin crawls with discomfort. He clears his throat and makes accidental eye contact with Snafu, whose eyes are now wide, gazing directly at Eugene’s face with a smirk. Eugene’s mouth goes dry under that gaze, those piercing blue eyes making him feel small. He’s not sure whether Snafu’s smirk is playful or cruel, but either way, he’s sure the intention is to make him uncomfortable.

“Um, did Burgie not tell you I was coming?” Eugene finally says, licking his dry lips, not looking away from Snafu’s eyes. He feels trapped in the eye contact, almost hypnotized. 

“He did, I’m jus’ surprised you’re here so early,” Snafu replies. His smirk dissipates as he lets out a catlike yawn, fully exposing his angular jaw. 

Eugene swallows hard, finally looking away from Snafu’s face. “Well, um, long drive ahead of us,” he says. “Burgie wants to get together for dinner tonight anyway, so we should get going.”

“Okay.”

Before Eugene can even contemplate a reply, Snafu slams the door in his face. Not sure what to do, he reaches for the doorknob before realizing that’s probably a bad idea; he can’t just walk into the guy’s house. He hears a faint rummaging from inside and slowly presses an ear to the door, curiosity getting the better of him. Snafu must be packing up, and by the sound of it, he’s in a hurry, smashing things about. After a minute or two, the noise dissipates, and hasty footsteps take its place. Eugene jerks away from the door, nearly taking one too many steps backward and falling down the stairs behind him. As he regains his footing, the front door swings open, and he pretends to be examining one of the porch columns intently.

Snafu emerges, fully clothed now with a duffle bag over his shoulder, and raises an eyebrow as though Eugene is the crazy one. “Let’s fuckin’ go. I thought you were in a hurry or whatever,” he says, pushing past Eugene toward the car.

Eugene stares at his back, confounded at Snafu’s audacity. As he follows behind, he realizes this drive might be even worse than he realized. Out of every possibility he had considered, he never imagined Snafu being this rude. Or attractive, but mostly the rude part.

“Where should I put my stuff?” Snafu asks once Eugene reaches the car, waving his duffle bag in front of him. 

“Just a second,” Eugene says. “Let me pop the trunk.” He feels Snafu’s gaze on the back of his neck as he unlocks the door. He feels awkward like a kid having to read aloud in class. Can’t this guy look at anything else?

Snafu snorts. “You were standin’ a few yards away from your car the whole time an’ you still locked the door?”

Eugene just lets out a shaky fake laugh, not sure what to say. He’s an anxious person who locks his car when he pumps gas. He presses a button and hears the trunk pop before getting up out of the car.

“Typical,” says Snafu under his breath, and Eugene can hear the smirk on his lips. It’s like Snafu’s provoking him, but Eugene has no idea why. Maybe just to be an asshole.

Eugene helps him find a spot in the trunk for the duffle bag, having to shove aside his own giant suitcase. Once they finish, they get settled in the car, Eugene in the driver’s seat and Snafu sitting shotgun. As Eugene buckles in, he realizes Snafu didn’t seem to have a gift with him, unless it was in the duffle bag. Maybe he just got them a gift card. What if Burgie asked for no gifts and Eugene just forgot? The anxiety surrounding gift-giving consumes him for a second, and he even considers asking Snafu about it before reconsidering.  He discreetly turns to look at Snafu, who’s staring blankly ahead as he bites his thumbnail. Eugene shakes his head with a sigh, starting the car and the GPS route. Forget that notion he had about Burgie not being friends with any insane weirdos, there’s one in the seat right next to him.

Eugene backs out of the driveway and they begin the long drive to Fort Worth, the car filled with an awkward silence. After Snafu’s behavior at the house, Eugene hadn’t anticipated him keeping his mouth shut like this. The silence is crushing and unbearable and Eugene is almost tempted to start some small talk, but then figures that it might be for the best that they stay quiet. Snafu is off-putting and Eugene can’t read him at all, has no idea how to respond to him. Yeah, silence is best.

Around ten minutes into the drive, Eugene sees Snafu move in his peripheral vision, and the car radio begins playing. Snafu flips through the stations before landing on 90.7 and turning it up. The smooth beats of an RnB song fill the air and Snafu slumps in his seat.

“Hey,” snaps Eugene, glancing repeatedly from the road to Snafu. “I don’t like listening to the radio when I drive. It’s distracting.”

“I’ll turn it down real quiet,” Snafu says, hand already reaching for the dial.

“No, this is my car.” Eugene reaches over and turns the radio off himself, bumping Snafu’s hand out of the way. He can take some rudeness and maintain cordiality, but distracting him while driving is where Eugene draws the line. 

“Jesus, then, okay.”

They lapse into silence again, and, if he didn’t know any better, Eugene would say Snafu is pouting. He pulls his legs on the seat with him, hugging them with one arm, the other propping his head up as he stares intently out the window. As Eugene peeks at him, he realizes in horror that Snafu has taken off his shoes, but decides not to say anything. As long as he’s not being distracting, it doesn’t matter. Eugene just needs to get through this drive, then he can come up with some excuse later as to why he can’t drive Snafu back. Maybe he’ll say his mother is seriously ill or something.

“Listen,” Snafu starts, and Eugene almost jumps in his seat. “I can’t handle sittin’ here for eight hours in silence other than that damn GPS, so…”

Eugene groans internally as he realizes Snafu is about to make conversation. Great. “So, what?” he grunts in response.

Snafu snickers, puzzling Eugene. “How d’you know Burgie? Let’s start there.” Eugene doesn’t have to look to know that smirk is back.

Eugene sighs, resigning himself to his fate. There’s no way he can avoid talking now. “Um, we went to college together. What about you?”

“We served together when he was on active duty. Both got stationed in Australia,” Snafu says. Eugene should’ve guessed this. He’s been wondering how Burgie would’ve been such good friends with someone from a different state, especially someone this weird. The Marine Corps makes perfect sense. Burgie had attended Auburn on an ROTC scholarship and paid it back with four years of active duty service, meeting Florence along the way during his time in Australia. And Snafu, apparently.

“Wait, have you met Florence, then?” Eugene asks with genuine curiosity, the dread that had previously been present in his voice gone. “The timing was never right for me. I’ve gone to visit him and vice versa, but I didn’t get to meet her yet.”

“Oh yeah,” says Snafu. “I was there when they met. She’s real sweet, her and Burgie are perfect for each other.”

Eugene glances at him again and sees a soft, pure smile gracing Snafu’s face. The earnestness of it is startling, starkly contrasting with the grouchiness and arrogance of before. He’s beautiful.

Realizing he’s been staring, Eugene clears his throat and looks away. “I’m really glad Burgie met his person. He deserves it.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Snafu says, and Eugene can feel his eyes again, but different this time. No smirk.

Silence returns, this time with a different flavor of awkwardness. Snafu is just staring at him, his body fully turned to face Eugene, and Eugene has no idea what to do. Snafu had been leading the conversation before, perhaps he’s now expecting Eugene to continue it?

Eventually, Eugene can’t take it anymore and caves. “So, um, what do you do?”

“I’m a truck driver,” Snafu answers. “Y’know, I just got home from four days on the road this morning. Y’woke me out of a dead sleep.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Eugene mumbles, cringing internally. “You can sleep now if you want…”

“Naw,” says Snafu, leaning closer to Eugene over the center console. “Then I wouldn’t get to find out more ‘bout you, would I? What d’you do?”

Eugene blushes, not sure where this change in attitude is coming from, why Snafu is suddenly so interested. Also, he knows he’s about to sound like a rich kid, which he is, but still. He tries his best to edge away from Snafu without obstructing his driving, saying, “I’m working toward a Ph.D. in botany. I’m going to be a professor.”

“Oh, so you’re smart, okay,” says Snafu.

Eugene clenches his hand on the steering wheel, wanting to change the subject.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Snafu continues. “I could barely finish high school, I hated it so much.”

“Oh, well, I just really love botany,” says Eugene, trying to relax. “Once I started learning more I didn’t wanna stop.”

“So you’re gonna be a doctor, huh? Doctor Eugene?”

“Sledge, Doctor Eugene Sledge.”

Snafu merely hums in response, and Eugene feels strange. He really can’t tell what Snafu’s thinking, his asshole façade is impenetrable. Eugene can sense something underneath, but it’s well hidden. “Snafu.” Not Merriell. What does Snafu mean anyway? Eugene wants to ask where the hell that nickname comes from, but doesn’t want to come off as offensive. Maybe he’ll ask Burgie later.

“Can I smoke in here?” Snafu asks nonchalantly, jolting Eugene from his thoughts. 

He glances over, making brief eye contact, and Snafu shakes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter at him. “Um, sure,” Eugene responds without really thinking, taken aback by the sudden question.

Snafu rolls his window down and lights a cigarette, taking a long drag. Eugene has to stop himself from wincing at the smell, instantly regretting his quick decision. He tries his best to ignore it and focus on the road, but it’s ten times more distracting than the radio. At least maybe this will make Snafu like him. Not that he gives a shit. He glances at Snafu only to find the other man staring back, smoke spilling from his nostrils.

“You smoke?” he asks, holding up the cigarette box again.

“No,” says Eugene. There’s a beat of silence before he decides to attempt humor, “I would be a bad almost-doctor if I did.”

Snafu snorts. “That’s bullshit; you’re gonna be a fuckin’ plant doctor.”

“Hey, a doctor’s a doctor,” Eugene says, smiling without even realizing.

“Ain’t smoke like plant food anyway? And ashes fertilizer?” 

“Not if your cigarette butt catches plants on fire.”

“Who the fuck’s doing that shit? I never burned no plants down.”

Eugene gives him a look, a grin still on his face, and they both laugh, and Snafu doesn’t seem like such an asshole. It’s like when he was talking about Burgie; his smile lights up the whole car. Eugene has to remind himself to look away, eyes back on the road. The banter feels good.

Silence returns, but this time more comfortable. Well, aside from the suffocating cigarette smell. Snafu continues chainsmoking and Eugene is all but retching. The smell has always been something that easily bothered him, even passing a smoker on the street sometimes makes him nauseous. His temples pulse with a fierce migraine, which worsens with each passing minute, not aided by the fatigue of his early start this morning. When it becomes too much to bear, Eugene suggests pulling off the highway to eat at a rest stop and fill up the tank. Snafu agrees, and they drive another few miles to the next exit.

The rest stop isn’t very big, just a Popeye’s, a McDonald’s, and a local chain gas station Eugene doesn’t recognize. 

“Where d’you wanna eat?” Snafu asks as Eugene pulls into a parking space.

“I don’t eat McDonald’s,” says Eugene.

“What d’ya mean you don’t eat McDonald’s?” Snafu sounds almost offended.

Eugene looks over at him in confusion as he shifts the gear to park and turns the car off. “I’ve never eaten there. Ever. I just want to keep my streak.”

“Somethin’ about that jus’ feels classist,” Snafu says. “I don’t know if I can trust someone who thinks they're above McDonald’s.”

Eugene has no idea if he’s being serious. “If you really want to eat there it’s okay, I’ll just get a pretzel from the gas station or something.”

Snafu snickers. “Naw, I’m jus’ playin’. I don’t even want McDonald’s anyway.”

“Then.. What?” Eugene shakes his head in confusion before sighing. Why bother? He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand this guy’s sense of humor. “Anyway, so, Popeye’s then?”

“Sure.”

They cross the parking lot and enter the fast food joint. Eugene’s legs feel stiff and weak after all that sitting, and he tries to shake the pins and needles off without making it obvious. He fails, and Snafu stops to ask if he’s alright, causing him to flush in embarrassment. At the counter, they order their food. Eugene glances at Snafu out of the corner of his eye. He really is attractive. With the proximity, he can smell the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, but now, really looking at him, it doesn’t smell so bad. Suddenly, Snafu looks back at him with those startling eyes, and Eugene realizes it’s his turn to order. He sputters for a second, tripping over his words as he tells the employee what he wants. 

“Somethin’ on my face?” questions Snafu as they walk to the pickup counter.

“No,” Eugene answers, face beet red. He doesn’t turn to look at Snafu, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And he knows that smirk is back on Snafu’s face anyway, he could hear it in his voice.

Once their order is ready, they pick up their trays, Eugene letting Snafu lead him to a table. They take the first few bites of their food in silence. Eugene feels strangely shy about sitting face-to-face with Snafu now; they haven’t been properly face-to-face since they spoke at the door, and that seems like ages ago.

Snafu takes a loud slurp of his soda before asking, “So, where are you from? Burgie mentioned you drove out from Alabama.”

Eugene immediately swallows the food in his mouth, despite having not properly chewed it. He narrowly avoids choking, but his voice is still weak when he replies, “Oh, I’m from Mobile. I live in Auburn, though. Drove from there to Mobile yesterday, then down to New Orleans this morning.”

Snafu raises an eyebrow at his strained voice, but nods, continuing to eat.

Realizing it’s once again on him to continue the conversation, Eugene returns the question. “What about you?”

“I’m from New Orleans East. Lived in Baton Rouge for a while, y’know, after the storm, but… That city has a way of calling people back.” There’s something bittersweet and melancholic about the way Snafu speaks about his hometown, captivating Eugene. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt that strongly about Mobile.

“I haven’t spent much time in New Orleans,” says Eugene. “I’ve only been on a few day trips as a kid, to museums and stuff.”

 “I love it,” Snafu says without a pause, shrugging. “Shitty place, but… Yeah, I love it.” That glimmer is back on his face, the serene expression reserved for Burgie, banter, and now New Orleans. Eugene wonders how many other things can make him smile like that, and a part of him wants to try to find out.

“You must have missed it when you were in the Marines,” says Eugene.

Snafu laughs, “Let’s not get dramatic now.”

Eugene feels immediately embarrassed for asking, turning to look at the food on his tray and picking at it. He wishes he could throw a chicken tender at Snafu for being so annoying. Or that the booth would swallow him whole. Either one.

“Yeah, I did.”

Eugene looks up. “Huh?”

“I did actually miss New Orleans, though. Me and Burgie used to jus’ sit around on base and talk ‘bout home. Used to go to the grocery store and look for hot pockets, y’know. Somehow, they made us feel less homesick.” Snafu has a far-off look for a moment, then catches Eugene’s eye and they share a laugh. 

“Burgie and I used to have similar conversations in college,” Eugene says, smiling again. “Neither of us left the South, and I wasn’t even that far from home, but everything was still unfamiliar. Now I haven’t properly lived in Mobile ever since, and Burgie’s been all over the world...”

“Time flies, huh?” Snafu sighs.

“Yeah,” Eugene says. “Feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time. And now he’s getting married!”

Snafu hums again, the same hum he gave in the car, and Eugene’s chest feels light for a reason he can���t place. They continue eating in silence. Eugene feels Snafu’s eyes on him repeatedly but decides not to return the eye contact. He wishes Snafu would at least stare less blatantly. He’s been doing it all day, just looking at Eugene. He’s not even trying to hide it; he doesn’t care that Eugene knows, it’s almost like he wants him to. Any normal person just looks away when they’re caught staring, but not him. Snafu’s just odd, and his behavior keeps Eugene on his toes. 

Once they’re done eating, Snafu reaches into Eugene's space and transfers the garbage onto his own tray. Eugene is puzzled by the unexpected favor but doesn’t dwell on it. They stop by the trash cans and make their way out to the car. The tank still needs to be filled, so Eugene backs out of the parking space and drives up to the gas station.

Before he steps out of the car, Snafu stops him. “Hey, why don’t I drive the rest of the way? You look like shit, you could use some sleep.”

Eugene’s heart drops. Does he look like shit? Is that why Snafu was staring at him this whole time? Does he have huge, ugly eyebags, is that all it was? He comes back to reality. He can’t let Snafu drive his car. “Uh, no. I’m fine,” he replies.

“C’mon, I don’t mind. Go ahead and sleep,” Snafu insists.

“No, uh, my car can be um. It can just act a bit weird, it’s best if I drive.” 

Snafu raises an eyebrow and Eugene can tell his words are less than convincing.

“Do y’think I’m a bad driver or somethin’?”

Okay, maybe Eugene does, but it’s only because of Snafu’s off-putting demeanor. He just seems like the type of person to tailgate someone and flash his high beams at them. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but Snafu cuts him off, saying, “I drive for a living. I’m a truck driver, remember?” 

Oh, yeah. Eugene had forgotten that detail. He can tell by Snafu’s tone of voice that he’s offended, and Eugene doesn’t blame him. He feels bad for assuming but is still apprehensive. “I don’t like other people driving my car,” he says. 

Snafu rolls his eyes obnoxiously. “Whatever, just don’t fall asleep at the wheel or some shit.” He sinks into his seat, pouting again. “You drive like my grandma, by the way.”

Eugene glares at him before finally stepping out of the car to fill the tank. He thought Snafu was going to spare him the grandma quip but he should’ve expected otherwise. As he stands at the meter, his eyes ache with fatigue and he feels a little woozy. The food has done nothing to help his tiredness, and all he wants is to curl up in the passenger seat and wake up in Fort Worth. Snafu’s offer almost seems tempting, but he only met the guy a few hours ago. It’s out of the question to trust him to drive Eugene’s car, even if he’s Burgie’s best friend. He jumps at a noise behind him, realizing he’d been closing his eyes and dozing off at the pump, with the tank already full. Snafu has stepped out of the car and is standing next to him now.

“Oh, alright,” Eugene gives in. “You drive the rest of the way.”

Snafu has an insufferable smug look on his face and immediately sits down in the driver's seat. Eugene returns the nozzle to the pump and makes his way to the passenger’s seat. Once he’s seated, he takes his keys out of his pocket and waves the one to his car at Snafu menacingly. 

“If you have even the slightest bit of road rage, I’m taking over,” he says, making direct eye contact.

Snafu snatches the keys from Eugene’s hand and rolls his eyes again. “Oh, please,” he grumbles under his breath. “I’m gonna get us there a lot faster than you would.”

To Snafu’s credit, he actually is a good driver. He’s completely focused on the road, finally using those big eyes of his for a good cause instead of just harassing Eugene. Snafu clicks on the radio again, still playing 90.7. The voice of a female soul vocalist floats through the car and Eugene’s eyelids grow heavy. He doesn’t want to leave Snafu’s driving unsupervised, so he attempts to fight sleep by repeatedly blinking, but it’s useless, he’s too tired. He’s had a long past two days. Weirdly, he feels more comfortable falling asleep in a car being driven by a stranger than in his childhood bedroom. Through heavy-lidded eyes, he gazes at Snafu, all jaw and tan skin. From this angle, Eugene can see the firm muscles of his arm as it rests on the steering wheel, his other lying on his thigh. He could feel Snafu’s eyes earlier; can Snafu feel his now? Does Snafu know that he looks back? His thoughts become foggy and he’s sleeping soundly within minutes.

He wakes around five hours later, 5 PM, with a severely dry mouth. He licks and smacks his lips as his eyes begin to focus. He tries sitting up and groans at his stiff neck, turning to the backseat to reach for a water bottle. 

“Hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Snafu laughs, turning and grinning at him. “We’re in Texas now. Gettin’ real close to the finish line. Only ‘bout an hour left.”

Eugene ignores him in favor of chugging the water, pausing every few seconds to swish it around and wet his lips with it. His mouth tastes terrible and he hopes his breath doesn’t stink.

“Y’know, I was thinkin’ while you were asleep,” Snafu prattles on. “Why d’ya have a gas car? Ain’t you all obsessed with nature? Shouldn’t you have an electric car or some shit? Lovin’ the Earth an’ stuff?”

Eugene scoffs internally but keeps ignoring him, choking as he downs the rest of his water. He hacks out a cough as his throat burns. Snafu keeps talking, not even taking notice. Tears fill Eugene’s eyes as he attempts to breathe normally. He clears his throat loudly in a final attempt to get his lungs working again.

“Are you okay?” Snafu finally stops ranting.

“Oh, I’m just great,” Eugene says shakily, rubbing at his watering eyes.

“I got super fuckin’ bored while you were asleep,” Snafu says. “Once we got to Texas I turned off the radio ‘cause none of the stations were playin’ soul no more.” He turns to Eugene and fully looks at him for the first time since he woke up. “You got a red mark on ya face from the seatbelt.” 

Eugene is too groggy to be embarrassed and feels around his face for the indent, massaging it when he finds it. “You crash into anything while I was asleep?”

“No,” Snafu deadpans, not taking the bait. Clearly, he doesn’t like this line of humor. 

“Shocking,” Eugene returns in the same flat tone. “Do you want some water?” 

“Sure,” Snafu says.

Eugene tries to hand him a bottle, but he waves it away with his free hand.

“Open it for me.” Snafu’s not asking, it’s a command. 

Eugene looks from the water bottle to Snafu a few times before complying. He tries to hand it to Snafu again, but instead of grabbing it he puts his free hand on the steering wheel and opens his mouth.

“No,” Eugene says with a sigh, not even bothering to be shocked at this point.

“Was worth a try.” Snafu turns to him with a smirk, reaching for the water bottle. Their fingers graze as Eugene hands it to him and Eugene is forced to consider if he’s doing this on purpose. Is all this weird behavior Snafu’s way of flirting? The staring, the smirking, the teasing? Snafu takes a long gulp of the water and Eugene watches as a droplet rolls down his chin and onto his throat. It wouldn’t be so bad if that was the case.

The remainder of the drive to Fort Worth is uneventful, just some casual banter here and there as Snafu follows the directions of the GPS. As they close in on their destination, Eugene realizes that he has no idea where Snafu is staying. 

“Wait, the GPS is set to my hotel,” Eugene says. 

“Okay,” Snafu replies blankly.

Eugene rolls his eyes. “Well, where are you staying?”

“With Burgie.”

“Let me change the destination, then.” Eugene hopes with every fiber of his being that they don’t have to backtrack too much. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take. Yeah, Snafu’s hot, and he… doesn’t mind him, but being trapped in a tin box with anyone for this long would drive him insane. He needs to be alone. Luckily, the change of course only adds about twenty minutes to their ETA, and Eugene pats himself on the back for having the foresight to book a hotel close to Burgie’s apartment. He shoots Burgie a text to let him know they’ll be arriving soon.

As they approach Burgie’s apartment, Eugene wonders about Snafu. He must be closer to Burgie than Eugene himself. He’s staying with him, it seems like he didn’t get a wedding gift, and Burgie went to all this trouble to ensure Snafu was able to come. Some part of Eugene is sure that Burgie might have driven out to New Orleans East himself to pick up Snafu if Eugene wasn’t able to. It’s not jealousy, but there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s disappointed, filled with the dismay that comes with realizing the person you feel closest to feels closer to someone else. It’s silly, the kind of thing a kid gets upset about, but he can’t help it. 

When they arrive, Eugene quickly exits the car and walks to the driver’s side, ready to switch places with Snafu.

Snafu’s laughing as he opens the door. “You look like some kinda butler tryna help me out of a carriage standin’ there like that.”

Eugene snorts, then feels awkward as they now stand face to face. He’s not sure what to say or if they should shake hands. “Uh, see you for dinner later, then,” he ends up saying.

Snafu grins a real smile, the one reserved for Burgie, banter, New Orleans, and now, Eugene. “‘Course,” he beams and gives Eugene a pat on the shoulder before walking away. 

Eugene stands, frozen, and watches him be buzzed into the apartment building. If he feels Eugene’s eyes, he doesn’t react. Once the door closes, Eugene snaps out of it and sits down in front of the wheel. He plugs his hotel into the GPS and hazily drives his way there. Once he’s safely inside his room, he smacks himself down on the bed and lets out a sigh. It feels good to properly lay down after all that sitting. Alone and staring up at the ceiling, he still can only think of Snafu. If he was flirting, was Eugene doing it back without realizing it? I mean, he was immediately attracted to him, so maybe subconsciously… He wonders if it’s wise to entertain this flirtation. It might be a good distraction from all the pressure of his dissertation. It’s just flirting, it’s noncommittal. He wonders if he made the whole thing up in his head. He tries to clear his thoughts but instead starts imagining his mother meeting Snafu. He snickers at the thought. They would hate each other.

He feels himself getting drowsy again and bolts upright. He’s supposed to meet Burgie at the restaurant in only about an hour, he can’t let himself drift off. He checks his breath and his suspicions from earlier are confirmed. He definitely needs to brush his teeth before he leaves. He hopes Snafu didn’t notice. He checks himself in the mirror to make sure his clothes don’t look too wrinkled. He decides to change from a t-shirt into a button-down to look a little more proper before freshening up in the bathroom. He’s ready a little too early, so he kills the rest of his time by rummaging through his suitcase and reorganizing it.

He confirms the address of the restaurant with Burgie, picking out a route on the GPS, and stands, ready to leave. Of course, as soon as opens the door, Eugene’s anxiety decides that he must pee before getting in the car. Luckily, he decided to leave early, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s on his way in a minute or two, stepping out of the hotel into the humid, late spring air. The sun isn’t setting yet, but it’s circling its way around the horizon, getting ready to descend. 

The restaurant is only thirteen minutes from the Comfort Inn Eugene is staying in, and he arrives 10 minutes before the agreed time. He looks around the parking lot, searching for Burgie’s car, but he can’t remember what it looks like for the life of him. Does Burgie have a truck? That would seem in character. But maybe it was a hatchback? Or a sedan? Maybe he should go inside and say Burgie’s name as the reservation. But he can’t get there first and be alone at the table, that’s weird. Two figures crossing the threshold interrupt his thoughts: a sturdy frame he immediately recognizes as Burgie and a curly head that can only be Snafu. They seem to be laughing about something, and Eugene’s chest feels light. He’s so happy to see Burgie after so long, he’d missed him so much. And Snafu’s face… If he’d smiled when talking about Burgie, he was beaming now. The look on his face is infectious, and Eugene finds himself smiling despite being alone in his car.

Eugene waits a few minutes for the pair to get settled inside before getting out of his car and following behind. The restaurant is a typical steakhouse with a bar and TVs playing various sports on every wall. He searches the tables until he finds Burgie, who makes eye contact and starts waving. He tells the hostess that his friends are waiting before walking toward them, trying to maintain a normal pace despite his excitement. Burgie stands, grinning, and gives him a warm hug, patting Eugene’s back firmly a few times.

“I missed you!” Burgie coos into his ear. 

“I missed you too,” Eugene says as they part, face glowing. 

Burgie turns and holds out an arm toward the booth.  “You’ve already met Snafu.”

Snafu gives a mocking wave and smirks. “Oh, yeah. We know each other very well now.”

Eugene blushes. What’s with this guy? Why’s he making it sound weird? All they did was talk! Burgie gives Eugene a look as they sit down and he has to stop himself from explaining that nothing happened, it wasn’t like that. 

“So, uh, who else is coming?” he says instead, clearing his throat.

“Just a few more guys, friends of mine from work,” Burgie replies. “They should be here soon. Anyway, I didn’t get to properly talk to you on the phone last week, how have you been?”

“Well, nothing much. Just my dissertation,” he shrugs. It seems evasive, but it’s the truth. Eugene’s life is boring, all he does is research these days.

“Nothing new?”

“Honestly, no.” He gives an empty chuckle before continuing, “It’s exhausting. It’s like I’m working on something impossible to finish. I’ve been really burnt out lately…”

Burgie reaches across the table and gives his arm a quick pat. “I know you’ll succeed,” he says. “Just remember that you love botany. Return to that passion, the reason you wanted to do this in the first place, then you’ll have the strength to persevere.”

Eugene smiles. “You sound just like my dad, he said something similar.”

“Well, he’s a doctor, he must be right,” says Burgie with a laugh.

There’s a lull in the conversation and Eugene becomes aware of those eyes boring into him yet again. He’d almost forgotten Snafu was there, which is odd. In Eugene’s experience, he’s not usually such a silent person. Eugene glances at him. He’s just sitting there, curled up in his corner of the booth, observing with those wide, blue eyes. His expression is blank, but he slowly grins as they make eye contact. Eugene looks away, back down at the table, but he knows Snafu hasn’t and is continuing to stare. 

Burgie’s friends arrive within the next fifteen minutes, and they have to get a waiter to push another table up to the booth. There are three of them, all working at the same contracting company as Burgie. They’re loud and rowdy, watching and reacting to the sports on the TVs. Eugene only meets each of them briefly to shake hands, but he can immediately tell that his nature doesn’t mesh well with theirs. The three steal away Burgie’s attention throughout their meal, leaving Snafu and Eugene alone together on their end of the booth. 

“You don’t like them,” Snafu states as he eats his steak. 

“It’s not really that I just… I don’t know how to talk to them,” Eugene says between bites. “They’re not my type of people.”

“D’you know how to talk to me?” Snafu says, not looking at Eugene but instead focusing on his steak. He’s attempting to hold the entire thing up with his fork and rip the meat off with his teeth instead of cutting it.

Eugene watches him play with his food with slight disgust but ignores it. “No, I don’t. You’re weird.”

Snafu snorts at this. “Am I not your ‘type of people’ then?”

Eugene’s face splits into a playful grin. “Hm, I don’t know. Maybe if you stopped playing music in the car.”

They both laugh but are interrupted by louder laughter next to them. Burgie and his work friends have all ordered shots. They offer some to Eugene and Snafu, but both decline.

“Designated driver?” Eugene asks.

“Somethin’ like that,” Snafu replies vaguely, avoiding eye contact. He’s abandoned his plate by now and is leaning over the table with his chin in his palm. 

Eugene can tell that he’s approaching a sore spot, so he changes the subject. “So,” he starts. “Did you get all settled at Burgie’s apartment?”

“Yeah, it’s like my home away from home or whatever.”

Eugene nods, unsure of what to say next. He doesn’t know why Snafu does this, letting the conversation die. It’s like he wants to put Eugene on the spot. 

“I’m goin’ out for a smoke,” Snafu says, interrupting Eugene’s thoughts. He stands slowly, then asks, “Wanna come?”

“Sure,” Eugene says, looking up at him. In the dim light of the restaurant, his features are even more harsh and pronounced.

They maneuver their way out of the booth, trying not to bump into Burgie and his friends at the adjoined table. The others don’t even notice they’re leaving, too invested in a drinking game. Outside, the sun has fully set. None of the stars are visible in the sky, and there’s no grass for fireflies to blink in. Eugene doesn’t like heavily urbanized areas like this, where nothing lives but people. He needs the plants and the birds and the stars to be happy. 

Snafu reaches into his pocket, retrieving a box of cigarettes and a lighter. He offers them to Eugene, who again refuses, before lighting one up and taking a long drag. His eyes close for a moment, seemingly in some sort of bliss, as he holds in the smoke, before exhaling away from Eugene. The odor hits Eugene’s nostrils and he has to keep himself from making a face. He distracts himself by watching Snafu take another drag, sucking on the cigarette, cheeks hallowing slightly. At least he looks pretty, even if it smells.

At this moment, Eugene feels oddly close and familiar with Snafu. Maybe it’s their proximity throughout the day, or how attractive Snafu is, or the smoke messing with Eugene’s thoughts, or maybe just the moonlight. He thinks about his antics in the car and how they seem almost charming in retrospect, despite being annoying at the time. Maybe they were charming then too, but Eugene was too obsessed with feeling awkward to realize.

“I have a heart condition,” Eugene says out of the blue.

“Huh?” Snafu says, eyebrows raised. In a few seconds, a look of understanding washes over him, and he drops his cigarette, stomping it out. “Why didn’t you tell me before? I don’t wanna kill you or somethin’.”

“No, no!” Eugene’s cheeks are flushed red in embarrassment. What is he doing? “I meant, that’s why I’m not drinking. Not just because I have to drive. I don’t drink. Sorry, I don’t really know why I’m telling you this.”

Snafu laughs again with that earnest smile, and Eugene almost doesn’t mind embarrassing himself if he gets to see that face. “What the hell are you talkin’ about, boo?”

Eugene’s chest warms at the pet name. He normally hates when people call him things like that, but somehow Snafu is an exception. “Sorry, I guess I was just thinking about it because of earlier.”

“You’re funny, Eugene,” Snafu says, looking serene in the moonlight.

They’ve inched closer toward each other throughout their conversation, shoulders almost touching as they stand side by side. Eugene, slightly taller than him, can look down at his face from this angle, and he looks perfect. Suddenly, Eugene knows that if he doesn’t reach out to Snafu now, he’ll regret it later. He can’t let his anxiety or apprehension get in the way of his own happiness. He bumps his hand against Snafu, knuckles grazing, who turns to look at him. Their faces are only two shoulder widths apart, and Eugene can see every eyelash, every freckle on his face. He takes Snafu’s hand fully, entwining their fingers.

Snafu smirks and turns so they face each other.

“Why do you keep smirking at me?” Eugene whispers. “All day, that smirk.”

“For an almost doctor, you’re so stupid,” Snafu says with a roll of his eyes.

Eugene is about to respond but is interrupted by Snafu cupping his neck with his free hand and kissing him. His eyes flutter shut, hand drifting to Snafu’s jaw. The kiss is sweet and warm, and when they part they leave their faces close for a second, just breathing in each other’s air, before returning to their shoulder-to-shoulder position. 

“I’ve been flirtin’ with you all day,” Snafu says, and now the smirk in his voice doesn’t seem so evil. 

“I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you were just being an asshole.”

“To me, that’s flirtin’.”

Eugene snorts. 

They stay out there for a few more minutes, just chatting and basking in the moonlight and each other’s presence. The barrier Eugene had set up, that fear of awkwardness, had melted away. He’s not sure where this thing with Snafu is going, or if it will go anywhere, he just knows that right now, it feels good, and that’s what matters. He spends too much time worrying about his past with his parents and his future with his dissertation; the two press against each other until the present is all but gone, a sliver of its former self. It’s time to finally live. They kiss again before reentering the restaurant, this time more lingering, parting with a smile. When they sit down again it’s like they share a secret, something only for them to know, and they can’t help but knowingly grin at each other from across the table.

By 10:30, Burgie and his work friends are all at varying levels of intoxication. Burgie is the least drunk, mostly just buzzed, to avoid a hangover on his wedding day. The three others are properly drunk and talking about continuing at a bar down the road. Eugene frowns at them, finding it difficult to hide his disdain. Aren’t they going to the wedding tomorrow? He makes eye contact with Snafu who looks as disgusted as he is. 

They say their goodbyes to the three, which for Eugene is just a curt nod of the head. Burgie pays the bill, which Eugene protests but Burgie insists the host should pay. Snafu keeps entirely out of the conversation, but looks off to the side guiltily when Eugene glances at him. He’s able to convince Burgie to let him leave the tip, placing a fifty-dollar bill down on the table. The poor waitress had a lot to deal with, a huge order and three annoying, rowdy drunks. They make their way out to the parking lot, Snafu now walking with Burgie, and Eugene trailing behind.

“It was so good just to hang out,” Burgie says to him, pulling him into another hug. “Sorry I wasn’t able to talk much, those three can be overwhelming.”

“It’s okay, we’ll talk tomorrow.” Eugene gives him a tight squeeze before letting go. “I can’t wait to meet Florence.” 

“Speaking of which, I should go call her and warn her I’m coming home,” says Burgie, smiling softly. “I’m sleeping in the living room with Snafu tonight. Don’t want any bad luck.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Eugene pats Burgie’s arm, nodding him off. “Don’t keep Florence waiting.”

Burgie walks off, phone in hand, leaving Snafu and Eugene alone again. Their previous goodbye had been uncomfortable at best, but all of that was gone now. 

“Guess you’ll see me tomorrow too, huh?” Snafu drawls, each word glazing over Eugene like honey, hand reaching out to palm Eugene’s shoulder. 

“Guess so,” he replies, mirroring Snafu’s movement before pulling him into a hug. “I’m glad I decided to pick you up today. Even if you were a little insane at first.” He brings a hand up to Snafu's hair, petting it softly and running his fingers through the curls.

“Sorry about that,” Snafu chuckles, leaning into the touch slightly.

They part and say their goodbyes, Eugene turning and walking toward his car, this time Snafu watching his back disappear. Once alone in his hotel room, Eugene can hardly believe himself. He doesn’t regret anything, but normally in social situations, he feels overwhelmed, especially by people like Snafu who are hard to read. He finds it difficult to act in such situations, to do anything. Today he acted, and he was happy with the result. He goes to sleep thinking of Snafu and what the next day may bring. He won’t need to lie about his mother suddenly becoming ill now; he’ll gladly drive another eight hours with Snafu being annoying in the passenger seat as long as it means they get to kiss again. 

When the morning comes, Eugene is buzzing with excitement. He feels slightly ashamed that this is mostly because of Snafu and not his friend’s wedding, but he can’t help it. He arrives early, sitting alone in one of the church pews behind those reserved for family and the procession. Only a few others are here so early, and he sits in contemplation, the excitement from earlier suddenly washed away. Churches will always remind him of his mother. Maybe he should feel bad for his outbursts two days before, but he can’t force himself to. She chooses to never understand. She wants him on that altar with a woman one day, saying his own vows. She’ll never get that. He’s filled with a melancholic feeling as he stares at the cross.

He sits there, unaware, for an hour as the church fills around him. His wallowing is interrupted by the sound of the pianist playing a precursory song. Within a few minutes, the procession starts. First Florence’s mother, then Burgie, who looks nervous. He takes his place at the altar, and Eugene tries to find his eyes, to give him a consolidating look, but Burgie’s gaze is fixed on the aisle. Next, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, Burgie’s three brothers, walking arm in arm, with the maid of honor and… Snafu at the end. For some reason, Eugene didn’t expect him to be the best man and almost feels offended that he wasn’t offered a spot as at least a groomsman. This is all quickly forgotten when he gets a proper look at Snafu in a suit. His hair is neat and gelled back, a grin on his face. He meets Eugene’s eyes with a smirk as he walks by. Florence is next in the procession, and she looks beautiful. Eugene has seen pictures of her before, but they couldn’t do her justice. She is radiant in her gown, and he sees Burgie’s face light up as soon as she begins her walk down the aisle.

The ceremony proceeds without a hitch, Burgie picking up Florence and spinning her around once the pastor tells him to kiss the bride. Everyone makes their way to the reception hall, with what would normally be a ten-minute drive turning into a twenty-five-minute drive with all the traffic. Eugene puts his anxiety-inducing gift down on the table designated for presents then finds himself a table in the corner, waiting for the wedding procession to be introduced and the party to start. 

When they arrive, the dancing begins, and the food is set out. Eugene grabs himself a plate and is moving down the buffet when someone touches his shoulder, He nearly jumps, but turns and sees Burgie, giving him a half-hug with his free hand.

“Congratulations, Burgie,” he says. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Burgie beams at him, then steps to the side, revealing Florence, who leans in to give Eugene a half-hug as well.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” she squeals. “Burgie just loves you! Thank you so much for coming!”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Eugene says. “Congratulations, Florence!”

“I have to go greet the others, but I’ll talk to you later, Eugene. Bye!” She turns and walks off, a bounce in her step.

“She's lovely. I’m so happy for you, Burgie.” Eugene actually feels like he might cry. In a strange way, he feels like he’s saying goodbye to Burgie today. With him married and Eugene getting his Ph.D., they’ll have even less time to see each other. But Burgie means the world to him, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep their bond from fading.

“So, how did you feel about Snafu?”

“Huh?” If there was anything Eugene was expecting Burgie to say, it wasn’t that.

Burgie looks at him knowingly. “I just thought you might like to know that he’s playing for your team, that’s all.”

Eugene sputters, “Did you plan this? Is that why you called me in particular?”

“I just thought you two might click,” laughs Burgie. “And by your reaction, I’m guessing you did?”

“Well… maybe a little,” says Eugene, unable to stop his cheeks from dusting themselves pink.

“He’s right over there watching us, by the way. I think he’s waiting for you,” Burgie says, motioning his head behind him to where Snafu is standing in a corner. “I won’t hold you up.” He begins walking away but then turns back. “Oh yeah, don’t worry, I sneaked a look at your gift and I love it. I know you’ve probably been letting that torture you the whole time.”

Eugene snorts and Burgie gives him a clap on the back before going to join his wife. With him gone, Eugene can clearly see Snafu across the room. He shakes his head, smiling as walks over.

Snafu – no, Merriell greets him with the usual grin. “Wanna dance?”

fin.

p.s. i also made this playlist of songs i think snafu would listen to in the car :)

#girl omfg i hope u like it cuz my heart is racing rn #did not end up changing it to take place during christmas my bad! #winter weddings just aren't common so that why it takes place in may #hbowarsanta23 #hbo war #sledgefu #the pacific #eugene sledge #merriell shelton #snafu shelton #mutuals #hbowardaily #Spotify #my fic

[mlm-writer]

Well, That’s Fruity (Peter Parker x M!Reader)

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spiderman (TH ver.) x Male Reader (trans-friendly) For the pride prompt: And they were two closeted roommates trying to figure out if the other is gay without exposing themselves Rating: Mature for one gay porn reference Words: 609 POV: Second Summary: Your floormate is cute and you want to knwo if he is gay or nah. Peter also has a cute floormate and also wants to confirm if he is gay or nah. Notes: Happy Pride! See all works for pride 2022 here. I know a lot of things are based on stereotypes, but listen- most of them are true Tags: gay stereotypes, one gay porn reference, fluff, college AU and could be read as platonic 

There were many things you were ashamed of; not being straight was not one of them, but that did not change the fact that being in the closet was just safer, especially when you just moved in with a bunch of strangers in a dorm. Faith would have it though that one of your floormates was this perfect twunk with a nice butt and a cute face. And you swore it was not like you had wishful thinking, but there was something fruity about Peter Parker. Your gaydar always tingled around him, but no full on alarms were raised just yet. 

You found him one late night in your shared living room. He was on the couch, slouched and folded in some position with a printed article in his hands. You could see some sentences highlighted in the same colour as the marker he was holding between those soft-looking lips. Sitting gay? Check. 

“Also burning the midnight fuel?” You inquired, before sitting down on the couch across from him with your laptop. He looked up from the paper in his hands and slowly pulled the marker from between his lips with an affirmative hum. Was he trying to make you think of those lips doing things elsewhere? He pulled out one of his earphones as well.

“I got an essay due at the end of the week and I am not even halfway,” Peter huffed as he put the marker on the table with his other stationary. “So what are you working on?” He nodded towards the laptop. You looked down at it, seeing that empty presentation staring back at you. 

“Something that I should have started a week ago,” you sighed. You both got comfortable on your respective couches. “What are you listening to? I could use some new jams to study to.” He plucked his phone out of his pocket, showing he was listening to a song of Ariana Grande, which you knew was not a title track. That was fruity, but straight men listened to her too. 

“You know the song?” He inquired. You nodded. He hummed in reply. A silence formed between you two as you got to work. After an hour, Peter stood up. “I’m gonna make some coffee, do you want some too?” You gave him a thumbs up, without looking up from your screen. “I’ll take mine iced. Do you also want it iced?” 

“Hell yeah,” you replied without thinking. It took a good few minutes before you realised what he had said and asked. Iced coffee? While it wasn't even that hot outside, nor an appropriate time for it? Well, that’s fruity. When Peter came back with a glass of iced coffee, you decided to throw caution to the wind. “Hey, I need a fake name for my presentation. John Doe is a little overused, so I was thinking of making up something.”

“You may use my name,” Peter offered as he sat back down and sipped his coffee. 

“No, it needs to be fake. What do you think of Sean Cody?” That made Peter spit his iced coffee all over his once white shirt. 

You gasped and pointed at him. “So you are gay!” 

Peter coughed and gasped for air. “So are you!” He wheezed out, pointing right back at ya. 

You started laughing. “Oh my god we are like that Spiderman meme,” you tried to say through your giggles, while Peter was still recovering from choking on iced coffee. 

“Wait, you know I’m Spiderman too?” He spoke, strained and red in the face. 

You stopped laughing, mouth hanging open as you turned your head towards him. “Excuse me, what?”

Please reblog to support me and motivate me to write more content

#peter parker #tom holland #mcu #pride #pride month #pride 2022 #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x male reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x male reader #gay reader #male reader #mcu x reader #mcu x you #MCU x Y/N #mcu x male reader #mcu x ftm reader #ftm reader

[soft-for-them]

My dear, tell me what’s wrong? - Humphrey Bone x plus size reader

Summary: You're just a shy Victorian ghost sad about your undead life, Humphrey is always there to listen to your worries and cheer you up. Reader being plus size is hardly mentioned but is there.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/n: This is some self indulgent stuff right here for I'm Humphrey brain rot at the moment. Also someone please make more BBC Ghosts GIFs, I need them badly.

To most the scene of Alison doing some paperwork in the living room whilst a whirlwind threatens to blow off all her hard sorted papers stacked on the table would be a supernaturally peculiar thing to see but to Alison it's yet another day in the ever so haunted Button house.

Alison barely looks up from her stack of bills as a Victorian ghost straight out of a ghost film or an episode of most haunted flurries around the room looking around for her dear friend’s detached head whilst muttering obscenities about how modern day people portray Victorian era ghosts.

“Oh, I must wear a night gown to bed to blend in with the Victorian ghosts just in case I die in my sleep.” You mock as you look around for Humphrey’s decapitated head, “Alison! I hate this!”

“Hey!” you here Humphrey call from somewhere in the room.

You stand straight up in all your white laced glory, the pure white gown you died in drowning your plush figure in a stereotypical ghostly glow.

“I don’t mean searching for your head my dear-“ you seemly float towards the sound of Humphrey’s disgruntled mutters, “-I mean I hate being in THIS for eternity.”

You tilt down in the most dramatic way as you carefully pick up Humphrey’s head. If you were alive your back would have clicked from dramatically draping yourself down and certainly if your friends from the Victorian era were in the room they’d tell you to use your knees instead of your back picking up your dear friend.

Who, cares though, you’re dead.

For a moment you pause. You're now fully back up, Humphrey’s head safely in your hands, his neck and cheeks softly being held by your dead hands, your eyes trained on his. It’s almost like you’re caressing the Tudor man’s face but alas if you move one wrong move then the head that is your friend will drop on to the floor.

Humphrey smiles up at you with a oh so soft smile.

Normally the other ghosts don’t treat his decapitated head in such nice ways. For the last hundred or so years you’ve been one of the few ghosts who’ve not used him as a make shift football.

If only he wasn’t at odds with his body, then you could hold his face in such tenderness without the threat of dropping him. Maybe he could do it back, maybe caress his thumb from your jaw to your lips like he always wants to do, maybe just maybe he could bend down or perch up (depending on the height difference) and kiss you on the lips.

Alison does not interrupt these intense interactions that normally happen between the two of you, she doesn’t move out the room to give you both space, it happens too much for he to be bothered.

To most of the other ghosts they don’t realise Humphrey and you have a close relationship, most of the ghost don’t even know you exist. Even if they did Julian would be joking about it every five minutes or Fanny would be judging you both.

Alison doesn’t know much either about the two ghost in front of her looking like an ethereal version Hamlet but what she does know is that she is routing for the two of you to get together.

At first when Alison came to Button house (and subsequently started seeing ghosts) she didn’t know you were even there, let alone that you normally walked around with the decapitated head of Humphrey.

( A high pitched sound that can only be described as an eek had left Alison’s lips as she tried to get to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

It was the first time she’d seen you, a glowing ghost wearing a flowing over the top nightgown and a slightly sad look to her face.

“You were not supposed to see me.” You had said in an anxious voice, “I- well-I was just looking for my friend, he’s called Humphrey.”

“You’re a ghost.”

You had choose to ignore that statement, both because it seemed rhetorical and you were very shy at the time, instead like you always seem to do, you had begun looking around.

 “Why haven’t I seen you before?” Alison asked.

“I like hanging out in the basement and attic.” A muffled and quiet call of the name (y/n) had been called out none other by Humphrey which had gotten you to float away, “Also I died in the garden.”)

Now that Alison knows that you reside where most of the main ghosts don’t go, that your resting place is in the plants and grass instead of the brick walls of the manor, she’s been trying to get you to introduce you to everyone.

That and she’s been trying to get you to confess to Humphrey but either one would be very nice.

Alison carries on watching the two of you lovingly look at one another.  It’s sickly sweet, so sweet until the bickering of ghosts gets closer.

Alison, like the good friend she is, finally gets up and says “I’ll short this out” before leaving the room.

You pause there like a dear in head lights as your hear Alison heard the two ghosts, the Captain and Julian you think, away from you and Humphrey. You’re still ready to bolt even when the voices fade and Humphrey tries to grab you attention.

“There’ gone now.” Humphrey whispers.

You look down at your friend worry still chiselled on your face. If a ghost could cry, then you’d be close to crying. With eyes magnified by salty water and your sweet sweet smile turning down into a soft frown Humphrey just wants to hold your face like you’re doing to him and comfort you.

“Sit (y/n).” his voice is neither harsh or demanding it is only soft and kind, if it was anyone else you’d not listen but you sit down. Paper surrounds the two of you, the spot where Alison once sat warm making you feel almost alive.

“You’ve been down all day.” Humphrey begins his voice soft as he speaks, “You don’t have to but do tell me what’s wrong?”

His head still held by your hands, his stump neck balanced on the soft curve of your thighs, Humphrey look up to you with pleading eyes.

“I-“ you pause not knowing what to really say, “-Humphrey my dear?”

You voice just a whisper graces his ears like a sweet song, if Humphrey could he would have nodded at you but instead he just whispers back a small ‘yes’.

“I-I’ve been feeling down lately. I-well-I never really had someone like you when I was alive, someone so kind and patient with me-“

Your head hangs low partly of sadness but partly to be closer to the decapitated head that is your friend.

“-I’ve been thinking a lot about my death and how sudden it was, how I never got to do many things with my life despite all I had.”

You head almost touches Humphrey’s as your voice becomes a whisper in the wind. You want to tell him everything you ever wanted to do with your life, how you wanted to get a job despite being a woman, own a fancy dress and go to a ball, even fall in love but all you are now is a woman covered in layers of unflattering white cotton with your hair a mess and feet bare forever destined to end up sleeping in the shrubbery.

You want to say that to Humphrey but instead you just press you forehead to his and sigh.

“I don’t think I ready to speak just yet my dear-“ your eyes connect with his, “-but for now I’d like to be in your company if that’s ok, I find you a comfort.”

“As do I”

Eye still connected and soft smile on each other face you peck the smallest and most chaste kiss on to Humphrey’s cheek before going back to leaning forehead to forehead, somehow there’s a subtle warmth on your undead face, Humphrey’s own face even going a bit pink.

Alison walks into you both silently looking at one another and she smiles. Without disturbing you both she sits back down and carries on with her paper work, the house quiet for just a moment more.

#not proofread #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts x reader #bbc ghosts humphrey #humphrey bone #humphrey bone x reader #x plus size reader #plus size reader #x chubby reader #chubby reader

[renmackree]

For the prompt game - 126 for college!Stiles using Derek's insta DMs as a notes app

I was a Teenaged Mothman part 4 of ???? One day, one day this will be a fic.

Prompt me up!: Open

126. “we’re quite literally fugitives of the state.” - “so no pizza?”

Stiles was laying on his bed with the packet of paper in front of him. He flipped another page open and began circling words in bright red ink and adding little notations on the edge of the paper. He glanced up at the clock, sighing even deeper as he tapped the pen against his lips. It was nearly midnight and he still hadn't heard anything from Lydia on if she was coming home tonight. His roommate had found a new 'fresh face' at the bar and was trying them out before seeing if they were worthy of the great Lydia Martin ride. He had been thinking about just texting her, but the last time that happened the partner she was with had suggested a threesome.

Stiles loves Lydia to death, but no. He was far more interested in someone else right now anyways.

"We’re quite literally fugitives of the state," Steven Dex said on the TV, Stiles' eyes moving to the screen. He had put on one of the Mothman movies (specifically I Was a Teenaged Mothman Too) and couldn't help but smile as Derek Hale's character came on screen.

"So no pizza?" Erik Weizer asked, Stiles mouthing the line along with the actor. 

Stiles tossed the Dissertation from one of their potential candidates to the side and grabbed his phone. While he might not be able to text Lydia, there was someone else he could try. He wasn't sure if the man would even answer, they had only just began texting in some strange turn of events.

SS: Why did Erik Weizer always want Pizza? Did the writers just say hey, that's your one trait? Like pizza and get slammed into walls by Steven?

Stiles went back to watching the scene where Steven and Erik were tracking down where the Alpha moth had gone. It was one of the most quoted Sterik scenes in the franchise and had actually been the part where Stiles himself had started shipping them. He had actually been a little jealous of Jared Ormly who played Erik. To be that close to Derek Hale at ALL times? Yeah, that was the dream.

He heard his phone go off, checking to see if it was Lydia. Stiles jumped up in surprise, seeing Derek had texted him back. He rolled over his bed clutching his phone and kicking his feet in the most awkward and foolish way he possibly could before reading through the texts.

DH: Jared actually said a lot of those lines off the cuff. Most of our lines were improv between the two of us. DH: What movie are you watching?

Stiles grinned, typing back as fast as his fingers could go.

SS: I was a Teenaged Mothman too. 

DH: Gross, that's the one where they used Jello instead of fake blood.

SS: I couldn't eat my dad's Jello salad for a year without thinking about it. He stopped making it because I laughed too hard every time he brought it out. I kept thinking about that stupid line.

DH: "His weakness is the light, quick shine it on his blood?"

SS: That's the one. Do you remember every movie's script?

The phone started to ring, Stiles sitting up and holding it out in front of him with an almost confused look. "Oh my god, who the hell calls in the year 2023?!" The name read "Derek Hale FOR REAL" and Stiles cleared his throat as he answered the phone.

"H-hey, what's up?"

"What was the last line?" Derek's voice was soft, almost like he was trying to keep quiet while talking to Stiles. 

"Uh, Erik just said 'I hope you know what you're doing.'" Stiles looked up to the movie, watching as the scene shifted to a close up of Derek's character contemplating.

"I don't think any of us know what we're doing." Derek was saying the line in almost perfect sync with the TV, Stiles hearing the young 19 year old and the now 30 something murmuring in his ear. "We're teenagers, Erik. We shouldn't have to deal with this. But we will. And come morning, there will only be one Mothman left. It's him or me, and right now, I'm going to do my damndest to make sure it's me."

Stiles whistled low, letting out a chuckle. "Bravo. You're truly a thespian. Such a riveting line."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic, but thank you." Derek chuckled. God it was like bells ringing on a clear day and stars falling from the sky. Stiles was a fucking mess when it came to Derek Hale. "It's not the first time you've said that."

"I'll tell you you're a good actor every day. Not many people stick through a series like this and come back from the grave with a new boyfriend."

"I made them write that in to my contract. If Steven Dex is resurrected, he has to end up with Erik." Derek's phone rustled a little and he sighed. "Just like I made them remove my social media restrictions so I could answer you."

Stiles swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he licked his lips. "You.., did what?"

There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Derek sighed. "I couldn't respond to you because my original contract I signed when I was 15 said I couldn't respond to private DMs on social media. Laura thought it was a good idea since underage and in Hollywood, but I really was glad you found me again. I didn't think you would remember."

Again. Found him AGAIN? Stiles wracked his brain, trying to remember when in his whole life he had met Derek Hale. Wait. He met Derek Hale?? Derek Hale knew who he was the whole time???

"Uh, yeah! Of course. I was wondering why you weren't responding but. Glad we could talk now."

"I have to go, we have a press conference tomorrow. Hope you finish your paper."

"Yep! Have a good night, thanks for the call!" Stiles hung up the phone and stared at it, looking over the screen. "When the fuck did I meet Derek Hale?"

#i was a teenaged mothman #welcome to the hale mouth #inbox fanfiction #sterek #yes yes we are now getting into meat and potatoes

[crystallizabethine]

Dance With You: A Lavashipping Oneshot

Happy White Day!!! I had Cole/Kai A pairing for the @ninjago-valentine-exchange event!

Summary: Kai and Cole go to an LGBT dance and are cute together. Also Kai hasn't told Nya they're dating...

(2,531 words)

“Hey Kai guess what!”

Kai looked up from his phone as Cole came over and plopped down next to him on the couch. His boyfriend’s eyes were bright and he looked very pleased about something.

“What?”

Cole thrust two slips of paper towards Kai, “There's a LGBT+ dance happening at Laughy's Karaoke Bar tonight, and I got us tickets!”

Kai took the tickets from Cole and examined them. They were thicker than he thought they’d be. A glittery overlay shimmered over their surfaces as Kai read the words Admit One: Pride Prom! Food! Drink! Fun! 7:00-Midnight (ID required for alcoholic beverages)

Kai rubbed his thumb over the smooth, shiny slips, doubt in the back of his mind. “Cole, this is… really sweet of you, but you do know I don't know how to dance, right?”

“That's okay, I can teach you some moves! Besides, there's no one right way to dance, you just got to feel the music and let yourself move with it.” Cole let his arms wiggle around as he said that, and Kai smiled despite his initial qualms. Cole was just too adorable to resist.

“If you say so,” Kai answered, then immediately followed up with “Oh shoot, what should I wear?”

“I don't think it really matters,” Cole replied. “I mean it is a pride event, so, something gay?”

“Alright, Kai, something gay, something gay… something…gay…” Kai stared at the jumble of shirts on his unmade bed. So far all he’d found were some t-shirts, old ninja ghis from past seasons, and a sweater vest that he was pretty sure was actualy Zane’s. Despite that possibly being the gayest piece of clothing in the room, Kai didn’t even consider it. It was a bit too dorky for his taste.

Kai sighed and rubbed his chin in thought. Cole had said that dressing fancy wasn’t a requirement, but he’d forgotten one small thing about dating Kai: He was dating Kai, and Kai didn’t go anywhere looking only half his best. Kai turned back to the messy bed, rubbing his hands together, “Let’s do this!”

“Do what?”

Kai’s hands produced a sudden startled spark of flame, and he felt his insides shift as he whirled around to see Nya in the doorway, one hand on her hip, looking at him in curiosity.

“Oh, uhm, nothing! It’s nothing!” He started gathering up the shirts while still maintaining eye contact with his sister, “Just getting rid of some old shirts! Gonna revamp my wardrobe. Can’t have Jay owning more nice outfits than me, amiright?” Kai hoped his unsuspicious smile didn’t look as fake as it felt.

Nya puffed at some stray bangs that had fallen over her eye, “Are you going clothes shopping with Cole then? He mentioned you two were going out later.”

Oh he did, did he? Kai nodded, “Yeahp! Gonna drop off our old clothes at a thrift store, shop around, hit the arcade—bro stuff.”

“Ok, have fun! Jay and I are going out later too, so maybe we’ll run into each other!”

I highly doubt that.

Before Nya could say anything else, Jay’s voice rang out from across the hall, “Nya, have you seen my Miku binder?”

“Did you leave it in my room?”

Before Kai could question why Jay’s binder would be in her room, Nya had disappeared, leaving him alone with his sorry pile of unfancy clothes.

Kai picked up a red hoodie he hadn’t noticed before. The fabric sported a scaley flowery pattern, and there were flame designs going up the back and down the arms. Kai held it up to himself. “Welp, it could be gayer, but it’s the best we got.” Kai pulled the hoodie over his head and checked himself out in the mirror. He looked more cozy than fancy, but Cole was always telling him how cuddly he looked anyways so he supposed it wasn’t the end of the world. Though now that he looked closer at the pattern, he was reminded of one of Nya’s outfits, which gave him an idea…

“I can’t believe you stole Nya’s clothes!”

“Ah—hey, no, I borrowed them. Bor-rowed. There’s a difference, babe.” Kai checked his reflection in the rearview mirror of Cole’s car to make sure his eyeliner hadn’t smudged. It hadn’t and Kai winked at himself, grinning. “What do you think, Cole, Do I look pretty enough for you?”

Cole kept his eyes on the road, “I already told you you look amazing, but yes, Kai,” he stole a quick glance before looking ahead again, “Who knew a boob window would look so good on you?”

“I know!” Kai answered, “And she just had it in the back of her closet! I’ve never even seen her wear it before!” They paused at a stoplight. Daylight was nearly gone by now and the red glowed pleasantly on everything.

“You know,” Cole hesitated, “She probably would’ve given it to you if you’d asked.”

It was Kai’s turn to look ahead. His boyfriend was right, of course Nya would have. But she also would’ve wanted to know what he was dressing up for, and that… He sighed; he just wasn’t ready to tell her. He wanted to. He wanted to tell her everything about him and Cole, about how much he loved him, about the special times they spent together. But any time he imagined telling her there was a weight in his stomach that wouldn’t leave.

The strong warmth of Cole’s hand on his pulled him out of his thoughts. Cole squeezed gently, “It’s gonna be okay, Kai. Whenever you’re ready to tell her, she’ll understand.”

Kai smiled softly and held onto his hand the rest of the drive.

A giant rainbow banner hung above the entrance to Laughy’s, and balloons floated on either side of the doors. The music could be heard from outside and Kai hoped it wouldn’t be too loud in there.

“Fun fact, I’ve never been to a prom before,” Kai said after Cole had turned in their tickets.”

“And I’ve never been to one with a guy before!” Cole replied, eyes shining with excitement.

“Wait, really? Handsome guy like you?”

Cole shrugged, “I wouldn’t have gone at all if Dad hadn’t made me. He’d say that ‘no son of mine will miss an opportunity to outshine potential dance competitors under my watch!’”

"Pfft" Kai knew that Cole’s dad was trying to be better, but stories like these made him lowkey want to fight him.

“Him expecting me to go with girls didn’t help either.”

Kai winced in sympathy. Not there was anything wrong with girls, girls were amazing, cool, and pretty! But it must have sucked for Cole if he’d wanted to ask cute boys out instead.

Inside, the music was even louder, and the bar was decked out in sparkly streamers and colorful, rotating neon lights. There were people in different outfits standing around, dancing, and getting food from the bar. Kai saw Dareth serving drinks and vibing to the music when there was no one to be served. Near where Kai and Cole had entered, there was a photo setup with a cute background and a table to the side that was filled with silly trinkets and accessories to be used as props.

Kai tugged his boyfriend towards it excitedly, “Come on!” Once they were over there, Kai pulled out his phone to take some selfies of them. His breath hitched in surprise when Cole kissed his cheek for one of them., and Kai poked him in the ribs in the spot he knew was ticklish in response. This made Cole squeak at a higher pitch than either of them were expecting, and they both cracked up. Kai then remembered the props and grabbed some fancy glasses. Cole donned a hat that looked like a rotisserie chicken and handed Kai a sign that said “I can't dance” in a silly rainbow font.

After many, many more silly pictures, they turned their attention to the dance floor where a dozen or so couples were throwing it down to upbeat disco music. Cole looked at Kai excitedly and pulled him onto the floor.

Kai was elated to finally be there, but the music was extremely loud and pounded in his ears uncomfortably and he worried that he wouldn't be able to do this after all.

No, you can do this. This is really important to him.

However, the pounding in his skull needed to stop. “Hey Cole, could we move a little further away from the speaker?”

“What?” Cole asked over the noise.

Kai pulled him closer and repeated himself.

“Oh yeah sure!” Kai guided him as far away from the speakers as he could while still keeping them in the dance area.

Once they’d established their place in the room, Cole immediately started busting out moves. Compared to him, Kai felt stiff and awkward. He was still vibing with the music, but he couldn't help feeling eyes watching him from all around.

Don't focus on that, he told himself, focus on Cole. Focus on us. This is our night; it shouldn't matter what others think.

He found himself captivated by the way Cole danced. He did it so naturally, letting his body move to the beat and letting the music flow through him. It reminded Kai of how he looked when he was connecting with his powers, except more elegant and fluid. Cole was one with himself and his movements, and he was beautiful. Kai imagined that it was just the two of them there, and felt himself loosen up significantly.

“Feel the music and let yourself move with it.” Cole’s voice echoed in Kai’s head and he closed his eyes, leting himelf get lost to the current song’s beat.

His eyes flung open again when Cole suddenly decided to grab his hands and spin him around like a top and dip him. Kai found himself supended inches from the ground as his boyfriend’s golden brown eyes stared into his own.

Kai grinned, “Hello there!”

“Pfft, you’re a dork,” Cole responded with a small laugh as he pulled Kai back up to a standing position and held him close.

Kai’s heart melted at how cute Cole looked when he laughed, and he had half a mind to kiss that smile of his. Their faces were already so close… Cole seemed to have the same idea, because his eyes fluttered shut and he and leaned in, his lips parted slightly. Kai was about to meet him halfway, but right before he closed his eyes, he caught sight of two familiar figures entering the bar.

“Cole, there’s a problem,” He whisper yelled, feeling panic claw at his insides.

Cole looked at him in concern, “What, does my breath smell or something?”

“No, Nya and Jay are here!”

“What?” Cole glanced past Kai and his eyes widened in recognition.

Kai squeezed Cole’s hand, “What do we do?”

“Welp, face the music, I guess, cause Jay is waving at us.”

“WHAT?”

Kai’s mind was racing. He had to leave; he couldn’t let Nya see him. He wasn’t ready—oh my gosh they were coming this way…

“…and I mean now that I think about it, if they’re here at a pride event then there’s really nothing to worry about, right?” Kai barely heard Cole’s attempts to reassure him, because he’d locked eyes with Nya, who was giving him an unreadable look. Kai gulped, those looks were always the most worrisome with her.

Jay waved again as they got closer, “Hey, Kai! Cole! Didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Jay, bro!” Cole replied, and fist bumped him. Nya eyed Kai intentionally as their respective boyfriends continued talking, and Kai followed her to a quieter part of the bar, bracing himself for whatever his sister was about to say.

Nya looked him dead in the face, “Why haven’t you told us you two were together? Why didn't you tell me? I'm your sister. We’re supposed to tell each other stuff like this!”

“I dunno,” Kai mumbled, not making eye contact, “I guess I was worried you’d be upset for some reason.”

“Where did you get that stupid idea?” Nya asked, indignantly. “I’ve known you and Cole have been dating for months now, and you are perfect for each other! I’ve been waiting for you to tell me, but apparently you don’t trust me enough! Again, I'm your sister! I support you no matter what.” Nya pulled her brother into a hug, “I want you to be happy, Kai, you deserve it, especially after all we’ve been through. And I’m here for you if you ever need to talk about this stuff.”

Kai felt a bit of moisture in his eyes and returned the hug, holding onto Nya tightly. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. You really are the best sister, you know that?” He whispered.

“Oh, I know it.”

Kai snorted in amusement and Nya let go first. Kai then remembered, “I am confused though, why are you and Jay here? Aren't you straight couple?”

Nya looked at him funnily, “Jay is trans man Kai. It's an LGB-T prom, not just a gay prom.”

Kai slapped his hand against his forehead, “I don't know why I keep forgetting that. You are totally right!”

“Also, if you ever steal my clothes without my permission again, I will bust out your baby pictures to show Cole.”

“Oh no, anything but that!” Kai responded, half-jokingly, “but noted.”

A more calming, romantic song began to play, and Kai was suddenly pulled away from Nya and found himself face to face with Cole, who put a hand on his waist and began guiding him through simple dance steps. They swayed from side to side, gazing into each other's eyes. Cole was smiling at him with the cutest look of adoration on his face.

“What are you smiling at?” Kai asked him with a raised eyebrow and a curious smirk.

“Just about how gorgeous you are,” Cole answered.

Kai felt his face flush and he sputtered, “Yeah? Well, you are... really… rockin’?” Kai winced at how lame that sounded, but it just made Cole laugh.

“Oh my gosh that sounds like something Jay would say.” He snorted.

Kai looked Cole in the eyes, “Come on, give me a break. I’m used to being the one saying the smooth pick up lines, not the one getting them said to me!”

“You’re adorable. Hey, how’d it go with Nya?”

“She said she figured it out months ago.”

Cole chuckled, “Of course she did, can’t hide anything from her.”

Kai looked over at his sister—who was totally stealing the spotlight with Jay as they did their special dance routine—and smiled, “She also said we’re perfect for each other.”

“Damn right we are!” Cole pressed a kiss to Kai’s temple, “I love you so much, Kai!”

Kai knew that he would never get tired of hearing Cole say that to him. He pressed his forehead against Cole’s and replied, “I love you too, more than anything.” Then Kai kissed him on the dance floor, surrounded by people just like him, finally unafraid of what anyone would say.

Thank you for reading!!

The art I based the fic on was made by the talented @ninjapolis and can be found HERE.

The A03 version of this fic can be found HERE.

#ninjago valentine exchange #ninjago oneshot #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fluff #kai x cole #cole x kai #lavashipping #ninjago lavashipping #hallo i'm here i'm queer i've fallen down the lavashipping hole and don't mind it here #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #ninjago jay #trans jay #gay cole #bi kai #buncha fruit ninjas lmao

[invisibleraven]

"It's December and you're eating ice-cream?" for Julie and any of her himbos. Plz and thank you

Julie stretched, sighing as she felt the kinks pop in her shoulder, scowling at the history paper that caused it. Too many hours slaving away over Charlemagne, but now it was done, triple proof read and saved so she could hand it in to grumpy old Mrs. Jenkins the following morning. Then the semester would be over and she could enjoy her winter break, finally.

She glanced at the clock and figured it was still the right side of midnight for a snack, creeping down the stairs and wondering if she wanted the fuss of making a grilled cheese or if a simple PB&J would suffice.

Only when she got to the kitchen she saw three familiar figures siting on the island, passing a pint of Chunky Monkey (Carlos's favourite, not hers) around, each with a sticky spoon in their grasp.

"Really guys?"

Alex, Luke, and Reggie all looked up a little guilty before jumping off the counter. "Julie!" they chorused.

"It's Decembe and you're eating ice cream?" she asked, hands on her hips, eyebrow arched in judgement.

"Hey, I'm happy enough we can eat again at all," Reggie said, scooping out another hunk of the frozen treat.

"You'd think we'd be put off eating given the whole dying of food poisoning thing, but nope!" Alex added, swiping the pint to dig out his own share, then passing it to Luke.

"Plus it's not like LA gets overly cold in December, so really any time of year is fit for ice cream," Luke concluded, draining the pint of the last of it's delicacy and tossing it into the garbage with a swish, fist pumping when it went in.

Julie rolled her eyes, and moved around them, gone were they days where she could walk through them. Sure they were still ghosts, but they were tangible now, and apparently, hungry after being denied for so long.

"Well you three are the ones explaining to Carlos where his favourite treat went when he comes looking for it after his game tomorrow," she replied, pulling out the bread and fixings for her sandwich.

"Aw, little dude won't mind," Reggie said, licking the sticky residue still lingering on his digits. "He loves us!"

"And Alex, aren't you lactose intolerant?" Julie asked.

The drummer shrugged, then paled as his stomach let out a loud gurgle. "Oh come on! I'm a ghost it shouldn't count!"

"There's Lact-Aid in the medicine cabinet," she called as Alex rushed off, wrinkling her nose at the thought of what dairy would do to his system.

"We'll replace Carlos' ice cream with some of our gig money boss, promise," Luke assured her, sending her that boyish smile of his and Julie let her annoyance melt.

"See that you do," she replied, hip checking him out of the way as she constructed her sandwich.

"Can I get one of those too?" Reggie asked, his best puppy dog eyes on display.

"Reggie you're allergic to peanuts!" Luke protested. "And I know for a fact you do not wanna go get your very expired EpiPen from Alex's fanny pack right now."

Reggie stuck his tongue out at Luke. "Julie's using sunflower butter!"

"Julie is also not making you a sandwich," she stated.

Reggie shrugged. "Fine, I'll make my own later."

Luke batted his eyes at her in an exaggerated fashion. "What about me boss? Do I get a sandwich?"

Julie rolled her eyes once more. "No. Maybe try that move on Reggie and he'll make you one. I'm taking this to my room and eating it before I hit the hay. It's a school night after all."

"Oh did you finish your paper after?" Reggie asked, opening the fridge once more, but merely to hand her the orange juice so she could pour herself a glass, receiving a nod in thanks.

"Finally," she replied. "Now it's just handing it in and a day full of teacher's putting in minimum effort until early dismissal."

"Then we can work on our new song!" Luke exclaimed.

"Or we could let Julie relax and have the girl's night she planned with Flynn," Julie piped up. "Saturday we'll do some song writing before our gig at the Toys for Tots drive."

Luke grumbled but nodded while Reggie bounced a little on his toes. "I can't wait! I've got my antlers ready and everything!"

"Dude, you know we don't have to dress up right?" Luke asked.

"Tis the season!" Reggie protested.

"You're Jewish!" Luke retorted back.

"Well yeah, but Chanukah is already over, and I celebrated the secular Christmas stuff with my dad's side of the family too," Reggie replied.

"Reggie you are more than welcome to dress up, I have a festive dress picked out, the other two Grinches can wear what they like," Julie assured him. "Now, I'm off to enjoy my snack, please keep the fridge raiding to a minimum, and one of you check on Alex in like five."

"Night Julie!" the boys chorused, and as Julie passed the bathroom she heard a weak echo of it from Alex.

Her guys might be weird, and a little self destructive Julie thought, but she loved them all the same and she couldn't wait to spend the holiday season with them-though she was gonna make sure to keep Alex far far away from the eggnog.

#filled prompts #ficlet #julie and the phantoms qpr #julie and the phantoms

[fluffydavey]

Roommate prompt: “so, uh… how’d your date go?”

roommates to lovers || prompt

Jack's laying down on the sofa, one arm hanging low whilst the other holds a book he's trying to read. He's itching to paint, an idea that won't leave him that he knows he definitely can't start with a paper due.

He's not able to concentrate on a single thing that he's reading, his mind wandering every second word to where his roommate is. Or better yet, who he's with.

Davey had hurried out of his room dressed in his figure-hugging jeans that sends Jack wild every time Davey wears them, and a pink shirt. Jack almost missed it, too focused on how fucking good Davey looked, when Davey slipped out that he was going on a date, with some guy in his journalism class called Darcy.

Jack admittedly doesn't know much about the other guy, but he knows that he hates him. He's just finished FaceTiming with Race, who's been helping him find any trace of Darcy in Davey's social media, feeling like he was going mad in their apartment alone.

It's nearing midnight when Davey returns. Jack looks up surprised, expecting to hear Davey coming home much later. He drops his book, already giving up on the prospect of being productive, and trying his absolute hardest to pretend he hasn't spent the better half of an hour of his life tonight scouring through Darcy's Instagram and Twitter with Race. "So, uh...how'd your date go?"

Davey shrugs his jacket off, taking his time hanging it up. "It didn't."

Jack knew Darcy didn't look like someone who could be Davey's type. He tries to hide his relief, as he sits up to take a proper look at Davey. He's putting on a stoic face, but Jack knows Davey too well to know it's a front. "Sorry, what did you say?

Davey makes his way towards Jack, pointing at Jack's shoes which are now on the sofa. "Feet," he chastises, and Jack sheepishly takes his shoes off. Still, he takes the seat beside Jack, facing the wall. "He never showed up, so there was no date. Go on, make fun of my tragic love life."

"Hey, I wouldn't do that," he says, kicking Davey gently to get his attention. Davey finally looks at his with an exasperated look in his eyes, but Jack sees the smile that's threatening to show. "Look at it this way, you're better off without that asshole. He's an idiot."

"Oh shut up, you just have to say that," Davey says with a roll of his eyes, and he throws his own legs up on the sofa, finally facing Jack now.

"I don't," he begins, watching Davey intently. He knows his friend too well to know that Davey's probably been beating himself up on his way home. "He wasn't right for you, he was an idiot."

"You don't even know the guy, what makes you think that?" Davey asks.

"Because he wouldn't have bailed on a date with you if he had any working brains," he answers, moving closer to Davey. He watches as the other boy swallows thickly, not breaking eye contact. "Anyone would be lucky to be going out with you Davey, you're a real catch."

He knows he's stepping over the careful line they've established, one they've nearly stepped over far too many times, into new territories. Only this time, he's entirely sober and he'll be damned if he has to wait any longer. He's tired of denying himself what he wants the most.

"I didn't want you to go on that date. I don't want you to go on any more dates, not unless they're with me," Jack tells him, watching as Davey's cheeks turn a delightful shade darker. Davey leans forward above Jack, and Jack doesn’t think he’s able to breathe. Davey kisses him, and it’s like the whole world stops.

He wraps his arms around Davey to pull him closer, and Davey's hands are everywhere, poised on his waist, tangled fiercely in his hair and tugging and pulling and Jack is gasping for air, fuck, pressing his mouth as hard as he possibly can to Davey's without losing the ability to breathe entirely, until they finally separate their mouths to let out a choked breath.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to confess," Davey grins, flushed and glorious and breathtakingly happy, as he cups Jack's face.

And this, this is where their friendship has been leading the whole time, Jack thinks. He kisses him again, and again, taking all the time in the world to explore Davey, the way Jack's dreamed of for so long.

#jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #my writing