#for some reason i'm feeling a bite nervous about posting this one

[sempersirens]

raising hell all over town

pairing: best friend's dad!joel x f!reader

summary: you've been a friend of sarah's since you were old enough to steal bottles of her dad's whiskey for parties. sarah was always the sensible one in your friendship, getting you out of the trouble you usually started. but now sarah has gone off to college, who else but joel could pick up the pieces?

content/warnings: 18+ mdni. alcohol. drugs. age gap. violence/fighting. smut: unprotected p in v, spanking

a/n: inspired by this gif set, and the wonderful @amanitacowboy & @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for introducing me to that yellowstone scene kind of nervous about this, my first proper smutty fic - i find smut really difficult to write for some reason (weird because i'm feral horny 24/7) so this was kinda out of my comfort zone but i hope you all enjoy! PSA: i no longer have a taglist! feel free to follow my updates blog @breakfastupdates and turn the post notifs on to be notified when i post a new fic :)

Friday nights in Austin felt incomplete without Sarah by your side.

For years, she had been the epitome of your partner in crime; dragging you back to her place or putting you in a cab before the cops were called.

Had it not been for your fierce loyalty and protectiveness over Sarah, you're sure her dad would've barred you from the house years ago. Sarah was smarter than you in almost every way. Academically, emotionally, you name it.

Joel knew this, and he trusted the two of you together knowing you both balanced the other out. Watching the two of you reminded Joel of a younger version of himself and Tommy, always thankful that Sarah had followed in his footsteps as opposed to her uncle's.

Your relationship with your parents was rocky, to say the least, and the Miller's house had always been a safe haven for you. Joel had patched up your split lip or bloody nose more times than he wanted to admit for a girl your age. He swore he'd kill your old man one day for the states you'd turned up to their house in.

Still, he couldn't help but feel the urge to grab you by the shoulders and shake some sense into you from time to time. As much as his heart broke for you, it was also in your nature to be a damn brat. Joel had endured countless stifling days spent by the pool forcing himself to not let his eyes linger on the curves of your hips. He struggled to look you in the eye when he saw you sat on the kitchen counter waiting to leave for a party, your mini skirt riding dangerously high on your thighs.

There had been times when he had been reckless. Times that he'd had to pull himself away from your invisible grip on him and relieve his tension in the bathroom, fisting his cock onto the shower floor, biting down on the shape of your name on his tongue.

When he'd re-emerge into the living room, he knew that you knew. You'd look through your eyelashes at him and smile. His cheeks flushed, shame setting in at the speed at which he'd cum from the thought of your pussy clenching around his shaft.

He would never let it show, but something would rush through his body when he'd ask Sarah what the hell she do this time? He remembered one time in particular, as Sarah relayed the events of the night that had led to your bloody nose, he'd looked over at you perching on the counter. With blood leaking down your cupid's bow, you'd locked eyes with him and ran your tongue across your lip, revelling in the remnants of your victory.

Still, you had fine enough nights out with the girls from work. They just didn't get you the way Sarah did. They would shoot you judgemental glances from across the bar that lasted until the Monday back at work for whatever you had done this time that they disapproved of.

"They're just dull. You should see the way they look at me for literally just hooking up with guys." You had lamented to Sarah over the phone while you were both getting ready for your respective nights out on separate sides of the country.

"It's probably because they've seen you get through an entire friendship group before your second drink."

"Well, they should be taking notes. Tell me nobody at college is as fun as me." Jealousy tore through your chest at the thought of Sarah spending her time with new friends.

"Nobody here is as fun as you. They're very... reserved." You scoffed at her politeness.

"Babe, just say they're boring."

"I'm giving them a chance. Anyway, gotta go. Text me tomorrow and tell me the damage. Love ya!"

"Don't have too much fun without me. Love you too."

Despite their judging looks, you were always the first person they called upon to finish any mess they had gotten themselves into. Still, you were happy to oblige, even if it meant a few awkward minutes of silence at the coffee machine on Monday.

The group of you had poured out of an Uber into the busy bar around nine o'clock, buzzing with the confidence of your pre-drinks. Rounds of shots were ordered and consumed at a dizzying pace, and soon enough, bags of powder were discreetly distributed across the table.

"Bathroom?" Hannah, one of your closest and least judgmental co-workers nudged you.

"Thought you'd never ask." The two of you sauntered away from the table, hand-in-hand, quickly bundling into a tight cubicle.

The bathroom filled up as the two of you tried to be as silent as possible, scooping your pinky nails into the small bag.

"Hurry the fuck up!" Someone from outside the cubicle called, thudding her fists against the door.

"Get fucked." You called back, muttering this bitch under your breath to Hannah.

As the two of you packed your things back into your handbags, the cubicle door jolted half open, smacking Hannah in the shoulder.

"Are you fucking serious?" You shouted at the small brunette on the other side of the door, checking Hannah over for injury.

"You hit me, you bitch." She straightened herself up, rubbing her shoulder.

"I'll do worse if you don't fucking move." The brunette hissed in her face.

You screwed your face up and shoved her, making her stumble backwards into the sink. The other girls in the bathroom grabbed their bags and scurried to the exit, evidently not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

"Apologise." You said, moving toward the girl who was now pulling herself up with the help of the basins on either side of her.

"Fuck you." She spat, saliva hitting your cheek before she lunged forward.

Your fist connected with her nose before she even had time to swing, and your right hand secured a tight grip on the back of her hair.

"I said, apologise to my friend."

"I'm sorry." She choked, pathetically. Her face shrivelled in fear and pain.

"Not so fuckin' big now, are you?" Hannah said, which was ironic, considering the girl who had bruised her was now quivering under your fist.

Content with her apology, you released your grip on her and re-entered the bar with Hannah trailing behind you. As you both rejoined your table, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Our friend said you just attacked her in the bathroom." Another petite girl looked up at you, one hand on her hip.

"She hit my friend, here. Was just trying to teach her some manners."

The entirety of your group was now turned to face you, exchanging harsh whispers of your name followed by just leave it.

"You broke her nose!" The girl shrilled. You looked over her shoulder to the girl doubled over, clutching her bloody nose with an ensemble of people crowding around her.

"No, I think it just looks like that."

You grinned at the rage growing behind her eyes, your smile unfaltering even as her fist collided with your cheek.

"Harder." You shouted, rolling your neck from side to side.

"What?!"

"Come on, hit me harder. I know you got it in you." She didn't take much convincing; her next punch knocked you backwards onto the table as everyone rushed to tear the two of you apart.

You stepped forward to finally let her have it when a pair of strong hands pulled you back.

"Get off!" You shouted, kicking against who you assumed to be security throwing you out. You just hoped they weren't calling the cops, too.

"C'mon, doll. You've had enough fun for one night." A familiar Southern drawl cooed, dragging you out into the warm night. "Now, that wasn't very ladylike of you, darlin'."

He let you go from his grip and you turned to face him. To your surprise, you were met with the smirk of the younger Miller brother.

"Tommy." You breathed, "I didn't see you in there."

"Well, lucky I noticed you ain't it." He grinned.

Spending so much time at the Miller's had you well acquainted with Sarah's uncle Tommy. He'd seen you in much worse states than this, and in turn, so had you.

"Didn't need you to swoop in and save me, Tommy."

"Wasn't saving you, sweetheart. Was savin' that poor girl." You both smiled at the tone of pride in his voice.

"You got somewhere to go, trouble? Don't think you should be hangin' round here for too long."

"Can't exactly go home bleeding from my face." You sighed, realising you probably hadn't thought this through. You missed Sarah.

Tommy fished around in his pocket for his phone before raising it to his ear.

"Hey, big brother." Your stomach flipped. "No, no- it's not me. Joel, listen." You could almost hear Joel on the other end of the phone, witnessing it in person more times than you could count. It's not even ten o'clock yet, don't tell me you're locked up already.

"Our favourite little troublemaker needs a place to crash tonight. I'd drive her over but I've already had my fair share of beers. Okay, great. I'll tell her."

Once he'd hung up, Tommy told you that Joel was on his way to come and pick you up. You could feel your heartbeat in your stomach. You'd never been alone with Joel for longer than a couple of hours at most, let alone spending the night at his while Sarah was out of town. Something inside of you twitched in excitement, a warm rush settling deep in your belly.

You told Tommy to go back into the bar, that Joel wouldn't be long and you'd walk down the street to meet him in case those girls came out looking for another round.

As you made your way underneath the streetlights toward the direction of the Miller's house, you pulled your compact from your bag and touched up your make-up, re-curling your lashes and dousing a thick layer of clear lipgloss onto your lips, not bothering to tend to any of the blood trickling down your skin. You spritzed yourself with perfume and ran a brush through your hair, smiling at the thought of Joel seeing you waiting on the curbside for him.

Right on cue, his truck pulled around the corner. You raised your hand and wiggled your fingers, a small smirk spreading across your cheeks.

You were grateful for your earlier decision to wear your knee-high boots with a denim mini-skirt, adding a little extra sway to your hips as you made your way to the passenger side of Joel's truck. You climbed in and turned to face him, flashing him a toothy grin, well aware of the blood staining your teeth.

"You're a damn mess, princess." Something deep inside of you came to life at his words, causing you to visibly clench your exposed thighs together. "S'there I was, thinking to myself how thankful I am for a peaceful night after workin' lates all week. When my phone rings, just as I'd sat down and made myself comfortable."

"Peace is overrated." You replied.

"So, what did you do this time? Steal another cop car? Break into a hotel pool? Make out with someone's husband?"

You played with the hem of your skirt as he spoke, blushing as he listed a few of your past activities he'd either bailed you out of or heard about from Sarah.

"I didn't start this one." You said, a slight whine in your voice. "Someone hit my friend, I was just looking out for her."

"Your friend can't fight her own battles?"

"You never have a problem when it's Sarah I'm throwing punches for."

He scoffed. "Now, you know I've always taught her to never start a fight but always to finish one. You on the other hand, I don't think nobody's taught you anythin' of the sort."

"And are you gonna be the one to do that, Mr Miller?" You mimicked his Texan accent, which was much thicker than yours, and parted your legs in your seat ever so slightly.

"If I didn't know you better, darlin', I'd think you were tryin' to get me in some sort of trouble."

He pulled into the driveway and switched the ignition off before jogging to your side of the truck and holding the door open for you, as well as offering you an outstretched hand.

"Always such a gentleman." You smiled, looking at him through your eyelashes as you stepped out, hand in his.

He exhaled out of his nose, shaking his head softly as he slammed the door shut behind you. His hand moved to the small of your back, guiding you into the house.

"Sarah's bed is all made up, I'm sure you know where her clothes are f'you wanna change into something more... comfortable." His eyes trailed down your figure, your clothes hugging all the right places.

"Do you not like my outfit?" You pouted, holding your hands behind your back and sticking your chest out, swaying from side to side.

"Course not, y'look real pretty. Just thought you'd wanna watch TV before going to sleep is all." Joel brought a hand to the back of his head, rubbing his neck nervously as his eyes shifted to the floor.

For such a handsome man, he was so damn insecure. Maybe it was the gentleman in him, thinking that it was wrong for someone his age to want someone the same age as his daughter. He knew you didn't think like that, Sarah had told him multiple stories about the older men you'd hooked with at the bar.

He'd even caught you making out with a kid from your school's dad a few years ago when he'd come to pick you and Sarah up from a party. Joel had seemingly known the man, and you remembered how he'd stalked out of his truck and toward you both, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and warning him that his wife wasn't going to like hearing about this.

So, you kicked off your boots and took yourself upstairs into Sarah's bedroom. Not bothering to close the blinds, you peeled your clothes off and looked at yourself in the full length mirror.

The warmth of your earlier drinks still coated your inhibitions. You knew you looked good in your black lace set, breasts sat perkily on your chest and your ass cheeks the perfect handfuls.

Fuck it. If he wasn't going to be ballsy enough to make the first move, maybe you should.

You kissed the tips of your fingers and pressed them against a framed photo of you and Sarah giggling at whatever was going on behind the camera.

"Sorry, Sarah." You whispered, before making your way down the stairs.

Joel heard you coming but was too preoccupied fighting with the TV remote control to turn around and face you just yet.

"If I can get this damn thing to work I think they're showin' Scarface at ten, I know you said you ain't seen it so thought we could watch it."

"Sounds good," you spoke, your voice more honeyed than usual. "Hey, Joel. Do you think this will be comfy enough?"

He whipped his head around quickly, ready to give you the same kind of answer he did whenever Sarah asked for his opinion in a changing room. It took a second for him to register what he was looking at, but when it clicked he dropped the remote to the floor and turned his whole body to face you.

"What the hell," his face turned bright red, unsure what to do with his hands. You could give him a few ideas.

"You not like it?" You asked, voice low as you walked slowly in his direction.

His trousers began to tighten around his hardening cock and you smiled, glad that you were indeed on the same page.

"Course I- I, what the hell are you playin' at?"

"Come on, Joel. I gotta make up for interrupting your peaceful night somehow."

You closed the gap between you both and placed a hand delicately on his chest, tracing circles with the tip of your long, manicured nails.

Joel swallowed hard.

"This ain't right." He said weakly, his eyes betraying his words as they devoured the sight of your body before him.

"Cut the shit, Joel. I know you want me, and I want you."

He didn't answer, but instead threw you over his shoulder and carried you up to his bedroom, placing a couple of firm smacks on your ass as you wriggle against his strong grip. Your stomach did backflips, exhilarated at the prospect of what was about to happen.

Upon entering his room, he threw you roughly onto the bed and worked at undoing his belt as you scrambled onto your back, resting on your elbows.

"Y'know what I really thought when Tommy called, tellin' me I needed to come pick you up?" He said, although it didn't sound much like a question. "I thought, this dumb slut needs some sense fucking into her."

You moaned at his words, basking in the side of him that you knew always existed.

“Thought t’myself, she needs teachin’ some fuckin' manners f’once.”

Joel stalked around the side of the bed and sat and patted his lap. Wordlessly, you shifted your weight next to him and dangled your legs over the side of the bed.

He brought his right hand in between your thighs, making you shiver at the feeling of his coarse fingers grazing your skin. He ran his fingers up and down the length of your thigh, each time stopping short of the hem of your skirt.

"This is what you want, ain't it sweetheart?" He spoke lowly, voice gravelly and as rough as his touch. Each night spent tangled and alone in your sheets, fingers grazing your soaked folds with his name on your lips felt redundant. Nothing could come close to the feel of his skin on yours.

Pulling you from your trance, he slapped your inner thigh hard when you didn't respond. "Need t'hear you say it."

"Yes,' you moan through gritted teeth, surprised you can even find your voice. "This is what I need."

Sick of his incessant teasing, you clamber onto his lap and hook your fingers around the back of his neck.

"But I think you need this just as much, Mr Miller. You must get so lonely in this house all by yourself. Sarah always tells me how you never have any lady friends hanging around."

You straddle his lap and grip his neck for support, softly grinding yourself on the hardness of his lap. He moves a hand from your waist to roughly seize your chin, tipping your face down to meet his gaze.

"Your old man must've forgot to teach you some manners, little girl." His low voice tore through your body.

Joel hoists your skirt up to your waist and flips you underneath him in one swift motion. His body looms over yours, fingers trailing a rough and jagged line down to where you need him most. He moved at an antagonising slow pace, but you can't bring yourself to give into his little game by begging for more.

"Here's what we're gonna do, darlin'. You're gonna be a good girl f'me and tell daddy exactly what happened tonight." The mouth on him.

The way your body writhed and squirmed at his words didn't go unnoticed. With no warning, he plunged two thick digits inside of you and held them deep in place, his face inches away from yours.

"N'if you stutter, or lie, or say anythin' I don't like for that matter, you'll be over my knee, red-raw," his fingers curl inside of you and you bite back a moan, desperate to not let him have the upper hand.

"No matter how much you cry those pretty little eyes out, I won't quit 'til you've learnt somethin'. Understood?"

You suck a breath in through your nose, a sharp sting reminding you of the open wound still decorating your face.

"Yes, sir."

part 2 coming soon

taglist: @cool-iguana @nostalxgic @chaotic-mystery @beardedjoel

#my fic #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #dee rambles #pedrohub #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel x reader #no use of y/n #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou #joel miller smut #the last of us series #tlou series #dee writes

[penvisions]

coffee and candor {one shot}

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: Frankie picks you up for date number three and he's got it all planned out. Unfortunately, you're a little out of your depth with what he has in mind...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: insecurities, frankie being excited and adorable gets it's own warning, competence kink, kissing, matching clothing, this is so fluffy and soft, um i think that's it tbh

A/N: while i'm still taking a short break from regular fic updates, this was a commission by the lovely @whocaresstillthelouvre. the prompt was 'nervous frankie x not outdoorsy! reader go on a hike early in their relationship'. i rather like how this turned out! i am still taking commissions even if i'm not working on wips at the moment. anything helps, please check out this post and this post to know more about what's goin' on in my lil corner. no pressure all all lovelies, i know things are tough for everyone! love y'll and hope the day is good to you ♡♡

ao3 link || navigation || main masterlist || ko-fi

Body tingling with anticipation, you wait on for the rumble of a truck engine to round the corner. You were nervous, this is only your third date with the man you had met by chance at a coffee shop. A mix up of to go cups and you found yourself placating a very tired and embarrassed Frankie Morales.

He had picked up your drink by mistake. But if you were honest, it was totally okay that you had to wait an extra few moments to get it remade before you blipped off to work, because it gave you the chance to chat with him and scrawl your phone number onto the cup that was supposed to be yours. His kind smile motivating you to be a little bolder than you normally would.

The truck does indeed rumble around the corner and within minutes you’re sat in the passenger seat with the radio playing low and cruising down the highway.

“So what did you plan for us today? The truck looks suspiciously empty.” You eyed the cooler sitting in the extended cab, lid propped open and empty. Then the simplistic backpack beside it, it was always in the foot space between the two front seats. Frankie had admitted to you that it helped to ground him to know he had essentials within reach at all times, just in case. You hadn’t pushed for more of an explanation, knowing he had faced more than a few situations he felt less than prepared for.

But the rite in the rain notebook with the matching pen he had in his pocket along with his wallet at all times told you he was good at preparing for anything within reason. The situations he faced out of his control had not been shared with you quite yet but you would be content if they weren’t, only wanting for him to tell you if he was comfortable enough to do so.

With pink tinged ears he turns to you with a lopsided smile.

“The pack has everything we need, don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“Not worried, just curious.” Your tongue peeks out from between your teeth and you see the way his adam’s apple bobs in response. His eyes snap back to the road and you feel a giddy sense of satisfaction at having flustered him a bit. He’d been the perfect gentlemen, his large hands only skimming around your body to lead you through doors, a tentative palm on your thigh as you sit beside him. No kissing, at least not yet. You were hoping today would be the day.

“I figured we would get out of the city a bit, go on a hike. It’s a really short one, only a few miles. Not too bad of an elevation gain, cleared out of poison oak, leads to a view I really think you’ll like. It’s an easy looped hike, so I figured we’d have a bite to eat at the midpoint. I packed up some snacks too, plenty of water. Even got some bugs spray and sunscreen.”

He rambled on, excitement obvious as he detailed the plan for the day, his face lighting up in the most endearing way. He was totally in his element and you….you were not. When you didn’t quip back immediately, he loosened a curled fist from around the steering wheel and reached for your thigh.

“That okay?” He jostled you slightly, worry seeping into his voice.

“Oh, um, y-yes.” You tried to muster up a smile, but it paled in comparison to the one he had only moments ago.

“I knew I should’ve run the idea by you. You don’t seem as excited now,” His bottom lip was taken between his teeth, worrying the skin of it as he regarded your profile. The slight furrow to your brow, the way your hands were wound around the flaps of your open overshirt. You had picked out a tank top and shorts outfit, tossing on casual button up over it, not sure what he had planned initially.

The first date had been coffee: to make up for him stealing yours. He had been nervous, his energy spiking and waning as he admitted he didn’t do this often. Date. Get random phone numbers. Have a lot of free time. He was a dad, to a bouncy and energetic seven-year-old. Nothing to worry about on the baby momma front, she wasn’t a part of the picture. A story you didn’t push on either, just making it as comfortable as possible between you two for him to want to tell you.

The second date had been dinner, with him in an ironed outfit and you in a slinky dress. It had been so much fun, the excitement obvious as you both hoped for another chance to see each other.

And now, the third: a hike.

You did not hike. You didn’t do anything considered outdoorsy if you were being completely honest. You were a lazy, take the day off to look through thrift shops kind of person. A curl up on the couch with a cup of steaming coffee or a cocktail and a book kind of person.

“Hey,” He breathed, soft brown eyes watching the way you had closed up. “It’s okay. We don’t have to, I promise I won’t be mad.”

“You’re so excited, though.” You move a hand to tangle your fingers with is, hand still on your thigh. Your stomach flutters, his skin is calloused and warm.

“I get excited about spending time with you, hermosa. It doesn’t matter what we do.”

“I want to do the hike.” You insist, wanting him to go back to the enthusiastic way he had talked about his plans.

“Please don’t feel like you have-“

“I don’t feel like I have to, Frankie, I want to. Because you want to. Simple.” You squeeze his hand in yours, placating him along with a soft smile.

“Simple.” With a lopsided grin and a press of his lips to your knuckles, the tension eases.

Gravel crunched underneath the tired of the truck as Frankie maneuvers off the secluded highway. Tall trees and various shades of green surround you. You both sat and listened to the clinking of the engine cooling down, taking a moment to breathe in the pine and cedar.

“I, uh, got you something.” He huffed a little as he reached for the back and hauled it into his lap.

“You didn’t have to- oh my gosh!” It was a hat, a baseball cap just like the one atop his head. Dark navy blue, emblazoned with a ‘standard heating oil’ patch. Your stomach fluttered at the implication.

“To help keep the sun off your head and outta your eyes.” He plopped it atop your head, the stiff thing just barely resting over your hair. “We’ll have a lot of tree coverage, but better safe than sorry.”

“We’re matching.” You can’t help the teasing smile that took over your lips, heat blooming in your cheeks as you realized you would look like an official couple to any onlookers. Something you had thought about more and more as Frankie filled your thoughts and messages.

“Yeah, would you look at that.” A dimple in his right cheek had you reaching out to caress it, silently thanking him for his thoughtfulness. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted one like mine, but I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do like it! I like matching with you, Frankie.”

His smile was dazzling as he looked back at you over his shoulder. You perked up a little, not wanting him to see the way it was hard to catch your breath or the falter to your steps as your legs began to ache from the incline. The slight brush of the long grass and reaching limbs full of leaves tickled but you tried your best to ignore it, opting to focus on the broad set of shoulders carrying a backpack.

Another bout of time passed, allowing for sweat to dampen your brow and the small of your back. You had removed your overshirt, tying the long sleeves around your waist. The stray pieces of your hair that had escaped from your hat floated around your face as you puffed out a deep breath.

Frankie seemed to pick up the moderate pace he had been keeping, his boots thudding the ground as he turned to pivot from the path as it began to curve.

“Uh, the trail goes that way.” You pointed over your shoulder, having followed the man’s lead regardless.

“I know, got a map in the pack if it makes you feel better.” He tossed you a reassuring smile, over his own shoulder. His eyes alight underneath his cap.

You were about to respond when he took another step and suddenly the trees fell away from around you, leaving you stood on an overlook. Valley open and wide in front of you, the view took your already short breath away. Frankie looked from the view to gauge your reaction. And he broke out into a wide smile as he saw how much you were taken off guard by the beautiful view.

Removing is pack, he set it down and reached to turn you toward him.

“This last month or so has been so amazing. Getting to know you has been some of the best parts of my life, hermosa. I was worried dating again after so long and not even looking for it would’ve been another lesson learned but everything with you is just so….”

“Simple.” You allowed him to caress his hands over the small of your back, your own reaching for his shoulders. The bills of your matching hats bumped, easy laughter bubbling up from you both.

“Simple.” He agreed, tongue swiping out to wet his plush lips. His eyes flicked down to yours briefly and your heart fluttered as warmth blossomed in your chest. Pressing more into his space, your chest bumped his, giving him the nudge he needed to close the gap even more.

Out on that ridge where you never would’ve trekked to on your own, you shared your first of many kisses with the man who had taken you completely by surprise. His lips soft and pliant against yours, his warmth seeping into you much like the sun on your skin underneath the open sky. You were the one to lick into the seam of his mouth, something he readily allowed you to do. The slid of his tongue on yours like heaven.

Breaking away, Frankie peppered kisses over your face. Lips tasting the salt from your sweat but he didn’t seem to mind one bit. Turning side by side, he kept his hand around your waist and you mimicked him.

Maybe hiking wasn’t so bad.

dividers by the lovely @/cafekitsune

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @littlemisspascal

#dev writes #fic: coffee and candor #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie morales one shot #frankie morales fluff #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #fluff #ao3 link #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #first dates #dating

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?��

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

#fuckyeahgrays2 #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales twoshot #frankie catfish morales fanfic #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales #frankie friday

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 16)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

You glanced at Cillian who was staring at his phone incredulously, his face crinkling in disbelief, seeing that someone had snapped a photo of you, together, holding hands, before posting it on Twitter. 

The tweet went viral in the span of minutes and sparked rumors about your relationship and Cillian knew that this would make things worse again for him when it came to gaining custody rights for Max. 

His eyes scanned the screen feverishly, desperation welling up inside him. How could this happen? Who could have taken such a compromising photograph? The questions swirled in his mind, fueling his frustration and anger.

"What's wrong?" you asked anxiously, your eyes darting between Cillian and his phone. "Is everything ok?"

Cillian took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "I've just received a message with a photo of us," he revealed haltingly, his voice strained.

"Someone took a picture of us, holding hands, and posted it online. It's gone viral," he uttered disbelievingly, a sense of dread creeping over him.

You peered at the screen, astonishment clouding your features. Your heart pounded against your chest in a frenzied rhythm, panic surging through your veins. 

"This looks bad," you managed to utter, struggling to maintain composure. Cillian swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.

"Danielle knows me too well," he rasped throatily, his voice betraying an edge of bitterness. "She will use this against me," he groaned miserably, his hands balling into tight fists.

"I can only imagine what kind of twisted spin she could put on this. She will twist the narrative to fit her own agenda," he lamented, his voice quivering with fear.

"Cillian, listen to me," you interjected, grasping his trembling hands. "I will give evidence about the assault and whoever overseas the case will be able to see that she has anger issues, which is something that is not good for a child to be around," you reasoned calmly, attempting to ease his mounting anxiety.

"I know," Cillian sighed, lifting his head. "But she will use this photo, and twist it around to prove that, clearly, I am lacking some morals. She will argue that I'm irresponsible and unreliable," he feared, his voice trailing off.

"Cillian," you began, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "Look at me," you commanded gently, and he did, his gaze locking onto yours. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself.

"You are none of those things, not when it comes to Max anyway and that is all that matters," you assured him soothingly, your voice softening.

"Now, you should probably take me home. I have to work tomorrow," you proposed cheerfully, reaching for your purse.

"I don't like you staying in this area by yourself. It makes me nervous," Cillian confessed hesitantly, his blue eyes twinkling with concern.

"I will be fine," you reassured him, brushing aside his worries. "I am a big girl, remember?" you teased playfully, flashing him a bright smile.

"I know, but I...," he began softly, his voice cracking slightly. "Maybe you could stay with me tonight and then, tomorrow, we will find you a place to move into right away. Somewhere quiet and safe," Cillian proposed tentatively, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I don't know, Cillian," you replied apprehensively, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. "It doesn't seem right, considering the circumstances," you added, voicing your concerns.

"I am not hitting on you, Y/N. I have a few spare rooms, and I would feel much better knowing that you are safe," Cillian persisted, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability and you paused, weighing his request carefully.

"I...," you stammered, your thoughts racing furiously. "Well, alright," you conceded, biting your lip nervously. "I guess I could stay with you for one night," you agreed, a hint of hesitation tainting your voice.

"Great," Cillian breathed in relief, his shoulders relaxing visibly and, with that, you went back to your apartment so that you could grab some clothes and jump into Cillian's car.

The ride was silent, both of you lost in your thoughts, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions churning within you.

As you arrived at Cillian's townhouse, located in a secluded cul-de-sac, he halted his car in front of the gate. 

"My God, Cillian, this is beautiful," you gasped, gazing at the traditional style home with all its charm. 

"It's a nice and perfectly safe area and, maybe, I can get you a house not far from here," Cillian said proudly, opening the door and welcoming you inside.

The house was spacious and elegant, decorated tastefully with vintage furniture and modern art pieces adorning the walls. An open concept allowed natural light to filter through large windows, illuminating the polished hardwood floors.

"The upstairs rooms have just been furnished and there's also a guest bedroom downstairs," Cillian informed you, pointing out the available spaces. "So, pick whichever one you prefer for tonight," he suggested casually, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Whichever one is fine. I am not fussed," you replied, adjusting your grip on your overnight bag.

"Okay. Upstairs then," Cillian chimed, leading you upstairs to the room located next to his. 

He opened the door and motioned for you to enter. The room was pristine, with a queen-sized bed, built-in closet, and en suite bathroom. You glanced around in awe, marveling at the sheer opulence of the space.

"You can leave your bags here," Cillian instructed, gesturing towards the empty dresser. "Make yourself comfortable," he added warmly, and you nodded, setting down your belongings and taking a moment to appreciate the luxurious surroundings.

"Thank you, Cillian," you murmured, grateful for his hospitality before asking him whether you could have a bath, seeing that it had been a while since you lived in a place that had one.

"Of course, go ahead," Cillian responded enthusiastically, handing you a fluffy white towel and leading you to the master bathroom.

Once inside, you were stunned by the elegance of the marble countertops, intricate tilework, and gleaming fixtures. You wasted no time stripping off your clothes and sinking into the tub, allowing the warm water to envelop you, releasing the tension from your muscles.

You hummed softly to yourself, basking in the warmth and solitude. Relaxation washed over you, as you allowed your mind to wander freely with fantasies involving Cillian, which were fantasies that, until now, you had suppressed after he did not contact you again for weeks on end. 

You imagined him entering the bathroom, removing his clothing seductively, and joining you in the tub. You pictured his body pressing against yours, his hands roaming over your curves. The image intensified until you felt his lips tracing kisses down your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

As your breathing quickened, the steam in the bathroom thickened, creating a hazy atmosphere that enhanced your arousal. You leaned back in the tub, allowing the warm water to caress your skin, preparing yourself for the intimate encounter you craved.

Your mind drifted to Cillian, imagining him standing naked before you, his erection hard and ready. You fantasized about him entering you, filling you with passion and desire. The thought of his cock inside you forced a moan past your lips, arousing you even further but then, you left it at that and pushed away those intrusive thoughts. 

"Are you alright in there?" Cillian called out, his voice echoing through the dimly lit bathroom. "Do you need anything?" he added solicitously, his concern evident in every syllable.

You cleared your throat, swallowing the lump of lust lodged in your throat. "I think I might need a toothbrush. I forgot mine," you croaked, your voice cracking slightly. "Do you have a spare one?" you requested awkwardly, your cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment.

"Sure," Cillian replied eagerly, his footsteps retreating swiftly.

Moments later, he returned, clutching a toothbrush and toothpaste. He handed them to you, his fingers lingering lightly on your wrist as you covered yourself with a towel. You looked at him, your gaze locking onto his mesmerizing azure eyes.

"Thanks," you replied gratefully, accepting the items with a shy smile. "I'll be out shortly," you promised.

"Take your time," Cillian encouraged softly, turning to exit the room.

"I'll wait for you in the living room," he added tenderly, closing the door behind him.

When you arrived in the loungeroom, you found Cillian sitting on the couch, engrossed in his smartphone. He glanced up, startled, upon hearing the door creak open.

"Hey," he greeted you warmly, setting down his phone. "Did you enjoy your bath?" he asked, scanning you from head to toe, appraising your appearance as you wore a dark t-shirt and some rather tight shorts. 

"Yeah, it was great," you replied, your voice low and sultry. "Thank you for letting me stay here," you added sincerely, approaching the couch and settling beside him.

"Of course," Cillian replied graciously, offering you a warm smile. "Would you like to watch a movie?" he suggested, eager to entertain you.

"A movie sounds wonderful," you mused, considering the possibility of spending the evening snuggled up with Cillian. "But I'm quite tired though," you admitted sheepishly, running your fingers through your hair.

"I completely understand," Cillian sympathized. "You should get some rest then," he urged, his voice gentle and caring before seeing you to the stairs, leading upstairs. 

"Goodnight," he bid you farewell, his eyes brimming with affection. "Wake me if you need anything," he told you kindly, his handsome face creasing into a gentle smile.

After bidding Cillian a goodnight, you walked gingerly across the plush carpeting, making your way to the guest bedroom. You switched on the lamp, casting a dim glow over the room. As you slipped under the covers, you felt a strange mixture of feelings coursing through you. Excitement, apprehension, and longing intertwined, forming a potent cocktail of emotion. You desperately wanted to believe that fate had brought you together once more, but the reality of your situation loomed ominously.

You lay awake in the darkness, the silence broken only by the faint ticking of the antique clock on the wall. Memories of Cillian flooded your mind, stirring feelings of guilt and shame. How could you allow yourself to fall for him so easily just months earlier, you wondered. 

Despite your attempts to clear your mind, sleep eluded you while, at a later time, after he went to bed, Cillian had some intrusive thoughts of his own.

Lying in his bed, he couldn't shake the vivid images of you submerged in the bathtub, your body enticingly displayed for his perusal. The image of your naked form caused his heart to race, and his blood to surge through his veins, igniting a raging inferno of lust within him which, for him too, was a feeling he had suppressed for weeks. 

His hand instinctively drifted downward, his fingers brushing against the stiffening bulge in his briefs.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath, his cock throbbing painfully while his mind was fueled with guilt. He was still attracted to you but knew that he should not be thinking of you in this way.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his fist clenching tightly as he fought to regain control of his desires.

With a heavy sigh, he rolled onto his side, pulling the sheets over his head in an attempt to block out the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume him.

Eventually, sleep evaded him, taunting him with visions of you lying naked in his bed, your lips pressed against his, your scent intoxicating his senses.

He tossed and turned, unable to extinguish the flames that raged within him.

Then, images of the two of you in the bathroom, soap scud sliding over your luscious flesh, infiltrated his dreams. Your sweet scent lingered in his nostrils, a tantalizing tease that threatened to unravel his resolve. His pulse surged, his swollen member throbbing with an insatiable hunger for release. With a guttural growl, he reached for the bedside table and retrieved his phone from within its depths, searching for the explicit photos he had taken of you in the past.

He scrolled through hundreds of pictures, his index finger hovering over the screen. Finally, he stumbled upon a photo of you. It was a candid shot of you, captured during one of your many encounters. 

He enlarged the image, scrutinizing every detail in the photograph. Your lips were slightly parted, revealing the tip of your tongue nestled between teeth. Your pupils dilated with pleasure and the mere sight of you sent a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, and his erection grew harder and more demanding.

He stared intently at the image, his thumb rubbing against the glass surface, tracing imaginary lines along your bare skin. He visualized himself kneeling before you, his face buried between your thighs, greedily devouring your wetness. 

"God, I want you," he mumbled under his breath, his hand slipping into his pants and gripping his erection firmly, moving his hand up and down his rigid shaft.

His breaths became ragged, his heartbeat pounding in his ears to the rhythm of his strokes. He fantasized about you, envisioning the soft curves of your body, the taste of your skin, and the sweet scent of your arousal.

"Ah, fuck," he groaned, his grip tightening around his rigid shaft. "I need you so fucking bad," he whimpered, his fingers digging into his palm.

He was close to the brink, the heat building in his body, his balls tightening, and his entire body shaking with anticipation.

"Oh, yes," he cried out, his voice breaking, as he neared the precipice.

He felt the pressure building, his muscles contracting, and his heart pounding in his chest.

A wave of ecstasy swept over him, transcending his physical pain, as he spilled his seed onto his stomach, his cum spurting forth in a glorious explosion of pure satisfaction.

He moaned loudly, his cries echoing through the silent house as he collapsed onto the damp sheets, panting heavily.

His heart rate gradually slowed, replaced by an overwhelming sense of regret permeating his consciousness.

He couldn't afford to lose focus, especially now, when he needed to remain grounded and composed.

"What the hell am I doing?" he berated himself, a wave of self-loathing crashing over him.

He knew that none of this could be and even the arrangements made with you had to remain a secret for now. 

If anyone discovered about it, it would be bad for his career and, possibly, destroy any chances of getting custody of Max. So, he must tread carefully.

He turned off his phone, the glow of the screen fading into darkness when, suddenly, there was a knock on his door. His heart skipped a beat, his pulse racing with anticipation, as he scrambled to pull the sheets over his cum-covered belly.

"May I come in?" you called out, your voice echoing through the dimly lit hallway.

"Come in," Cillian responded hesitantly, his hands trembling as he hastily wiped his semen from his abdomen.

You cautiously entered the room, a perplexed expression covering your face. "Cillian, are you okay?" you asked worriedly, your brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah, sure, everything's fine," Cillian lied unconvincingly, attempting to feign nonchalance.

"I, uhm, I can't sleep," you admitted, biting your lower lip nervously. "Can we talk for a bit?" you ventured, your voice quavering slightly.

"Of course," Cillian responded, his tone laced with concern. "Just let me throw on something to wear," he added, quickly disappearing behind the door so that you could get only just a mere glimpse of his semi naked body.

"Alright," you acquiesced, perching yourself on the edge of the bed, your knees drawn up to your chest, seeking comfort in the familiar position.

Cillian emerged a few moments later, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and t-shirt, before turning on the bedside lamp.

"You look flushed," you observed perceptively, raising an eyebrow curiously. "Are you feeling okay?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine concern.

"Yes, I'm fine," Cillian assured you, his voice devoid of conviction. "Why don't you tell me why you can't sleep?" he suggested tactfully, shifting the conversation onto safer ground.

"I was thinking about our situation," you confessed quietly, averting your gaze toward the window. "And how we got ourselves into this mess," you added, your voice trailing off. "We never really talked about what happened between us," you pointed out, trying to make sense of the chaos that ensnared your lives.

"You mean the fact that I cheated on my wife with my brother's step-daughter?" Cillian stated bluntly, the words striking a nerve deep within you.

"Yes," you answered dejectedly, your voice barely audible. "I was such a fool," you sighed mournfully, a tear trickling down your cheek.

"I was being naive, to be honest," you continued remorsefully, the weight of your mistakes bearing down on you. "I didn't realize how complicated our relationship would become," you confessed, tears streaming openly from your eyes.

Cillian studied you closely, his gaze penetrating your soul.

"If anyone was being a fool, then it would have been me, because I can't say that I wasn't aware of the consequences that may follow," he confessed, his voice wavering slightly.

"I should have stayed away from you," he sighed sorrowfully, his voice hoarse with emotion. "It was wrong of me to pursue this," he lamented, his guilt gnawing at his conscience.

"It was, but I could have said no," you replied, wiping away the tears staining your cheeks before asking Cillian whether he ever had feelings for you. 

"I was attracted to you," Cillian replied cryptically, his voice strained. "But I didn't have romantic feelings, I am sorry," he apologized earnestly, his gaze falling to the floor.

"It's okay. I understand Cillian," you replied somberly, your voice cracking slightly. "You were married, and I was young and naïve," you lamented, your tears pooling on your cheeks. "So, I guess it was just sex then," you added, your voice thick with emotion.

"Yes, it was," Cillian confirmed, his voice laced with sadness. "But that doesn't change the fact that I care about you," he emphasized, his gaze locked onto yours.

"No, I get it Cillian. It's fine. I should go back to bed," you sniffled, wiping away the remnants of your tears. "I just needed to know," you explained gently, your voice wavering slightly before, slowly, but surely, you left the room. 

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillianmurphy #cillian fanfic #cillian x reader #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

[eddie4bat-president]

I'm not a writer but i had this thought so- bear with me, yeah?

For months Eddie hears all about how cool and badass Steve Harrington is, yeah, but you know what he also hears about? How Steve and Robin are made for each other and how cool and pretty Robin is and how stupid it is that they're not a couple for some dumb reason, like Steve not wanting to be with a band geek and still clinging to high school hierarchy. And in all of the things Dustin says about Steeeve Harrington, that last part is the only thing that fits into the Munson Doctrine, so obviously everything else Henderson is saying is what's skewed in his little shrimp world view.

Steve Harrington thinks he's better than a band geek and that's why we won't look twice at a girl that would be perfect for him (according to Dustin Henderson, so... still questionably trustworthy information). Eddie probably assumes Dustin is talking up how close Steve and Robin actually are, just how he's exaggerating how close Dustin himself is to Harrington (like that would impress Eddie and the rest of Hellfire??? He really doesn't know how to get through to the little sheep that his worship of Hawkins' most notorious square is a detriment to his character and not something Eddie would find impressive. If it was real. Which it obviously isn't. Anyway-)

Turns out? Steve Harrington? Actually a cool dude. Not cool as in popular but cool as in "holy shit did he just bite that thing's head off???? Oh and he's not even gonna brag about that, it's just nbd, yeah sure, cool cool cool be fucking cool Eddie, oh god he's talking to me why is he talking to me" and just, chill to hang out with. After the whole shit show went down. Who would have fucking thought, huh? (except for Dustin Henderson, yeah yeah yeah, shut up)

So now Eddie has to reevaluate some other assumptions he made. Maybe Dustin was right and Steve actually is cool and badass, and he and Buckley actually are as close as he had said (and they really fucking are! He has seen them give Keith eerily matching bitchy looks for trying to schedule them on opposing shifts and basically bully the guy into changing the schedule around so they can spend as much time as possible in each other's presence. It's enough to make a guy question his own friendships when sometimes a few hours of band practice are enough to make him want to never see any of those chucklefucks again. Of course, that feeling abates but seriously, how are those two never sick of each other??)

So if they're as close as advertised but not a couple (and after meeting everyone Steve cares about and they're basically all nerds so the "Harrington thinks he's too good for a band geek" thing can't actually hold true-) what is the hold-up? Why aren't they a couple? And somehow, somehow Eddie comes to the conclusion that Steve is in love with Robin. Steve is a serial romantic (emphasis on romantic) and while his love life isn't the talk of the town post-earthquakes as it would have been before, people do still talk about the fact that he hasn't taken out a girl since it happened.

Which brings us to a day in summer, maybe fall, after Eddie has seen Steve look wistfully at a young couple with a baby, that he shows up at Robin's door step.

"Eddie? Hey what's up?"

"Good, good, how are you? Uhh can I... can I come in?" There's a nervous energy around him that is immediately infectious and she leads him to the living room where he immediately starts walking back and forth in front of the couch. She watches him for a moment, hands fluttering through different motions trying to find one that might calm him down before giving up on that. Instead Robin swerves around him, clambering onto the couch and wrapping her arms around her right leg, putting her head on her knee. She follows Eddie's path with her eyes and decides to wait before quickly realizing that she can't, actually.

"As riveting as it is watching you walk a groove into my parents' rug, do you maybe want to say something? I mean I can definitely talk enough for the both if us if that's what you want it's just that I have the slight suspicion you've got something you need to get off your chest" Eddie stopped walking halfway through her monologue and starts nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah yeah yes you're right it's just- I haven't a hundred percent made up my mind about saying something", Eddie has one arm wrapped around himself and uses the other to alternately play with his hair and gesticulate at her, "because on the one hand it's a little bit driving me crazy, maybe, but on the other hand this is none of my fucking business" And Robin who was worried at first just because Eddie is nervous, then for a second because she was scared he was going to confess to a very ill-advised crush on her, is stumped. What the fuck is this about and why did it bring him to her of all people?

"Just say it you weirdo", is what decides to comes out of her mouth but it doesn't even matter because half of her sentence is layered with his "Are you aware Steve is in love with you?"

[here we're facing the issue of me not actually being a writer and pretty much running out of steam but we also haven't reached the part that sparked this whole thing yet, which is wild - let's just pretend I wrote a very funny dialogue between those two in which Eddie confronts Robin for stringing poor Steve along ]

There's a moment when they're both silent and there's a moment when they're both talking and then there are steps coming down the stairs. They make a smirk grow on Robin's face that is starting to worry Eddie when not a parental figure but Steve Harrington steps through the doorway. He's wearing sweatpants and a shirt that might be Robin's and there's a headband pushing his hair away from his face.

"Don't yell at me for coming downstairs, you took forever and the first layer... is... dry....", he stops in his tracks the moment he looks up from his bare toes and sees Eddie. Then he very quickly rips off the headband and slings it somewhere to his right into the unknown of the hallway.

"Hi Eddie. What's... up" Eddie is going to sink into the floor and never come up for air again.

In the meantime Robin stood up on the couch to sit cross-legged on the back of it for a better vantage point and is steepling her fingers in front of her face. Eddie is getting the distinct impression he's missing some crucial information here.

"Stevie, babe, platonic love of my life-", Steve nods for her to go on, "you know how we decided I get a veto on your romantic life because we realized droves of suboptimal dates actually make you miserable so we're going for quality over quanity for the first time in your small-town Casanova life?" Steve has that cute little crease between his eyebrows while he's looking back and forth between Eddie and Robin, trying to figure out what's going on but he rolls his eyes at the end of her sentence, back in familiar territory. "Yes, Robin-"

She interrupts: "And you know how I also reserved the right to give a shovel slash molotov cocktail talk to anyone we deemed worthy of being a potential future partner?" Steve's face somehow shows an emotion that can only be encapsulated by "?!" as he glances to Eddie before shifting back to Robin with just the "?" remaining.

"First I have to say I'm personally very pro, I loved this experience; Eddie here really made a fool of himself, very worried for your delicate sensibilities and how I'm breaking your sweet little heart." "...what...?"

"So: what's the verdict on a potential future partner giving me the shovel talk?"

#Robin had painted 7 of Steve toes when Eddie rang the doorbell btw #they're a dark blue because Steve didn't want to jump into the deep end with too feminine a color #but black felt too edgy #but while they were drying and on the way down he kept looking at them and thinking #''i don't think this is my color... maybe a light blue? no too baby boy. yellow? nah that's ugly. orange? wait maybe with a stripe? #can nails be striped...?'' so when he arrived downstairs he was starting to worry he had never looked at a girl's nails because he didn't #know and whether that was sexist somehow #he had to shift gears very quickly when he arrived downstairs is what i'm saying #anyway i cannot stress enough how much i am not a writer #but the thing with the reverse shovel talk came to me and it wanted out #platonic stobin #steddie fic #steddie #hey i'm talkin' here #robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #not beta read #top posts

[ddejavvu]

For some reason I just can't get Chubby!reader out of my head since the perv!eddie with his obsession with thighs and being in between them.

Like the reader purposes riding his face and they're a bit nervous because they know they're big and don't wanna hurt him.

But Eddie couldve sworn he just died and went to heaven, eyes literally rolled back and he's just like, "Holy fuck, please, yes- the things you do to me." Because he's been wanting this, a wet dream to come true.

And when the reader does, he grips their thighs so tight they it's sure to leave bruises, even when the reader tries pulling away because of overstimulation. He just pulls them right back down, mumbling about how he's not done yet.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Even just your thighs around Eddie's head is big. It's a big deal, for the both of you. It's a big deal for you because they look larger than you remember them, and they look like murder weapons that are going to snuff the life out of Eddie. It's a big deal for Eddie because they're his favorite things in the world, and they've never been closer.

"Oh my god," He breathes, eyes flicking over your cunt, soft lips already pulling back to expose your sensitive clit, "I knew you were beautiful, babe," He leans up, nose against your skin as he gently kisses your clit, "But this is unreal."

His feather-light touch sends a shockwave through your body that makes your thighs clench. It means they squeeze around his head, and you can't stop it even if you're mortified by it.

He feels your skin flatten over his ears, warmth coursing through him. He doesn't even give you time to be embarrassed before he surges upwards, licking a long, lewd stripe up your folds.

"Fuck," His voice is muffled as he speaks into your cunt, "Fuck, sweetheart, yes."

You feel his tongue, long and lithe and wet, snake through your cunt. It flicks against your clit as soon as he reaches it, and his lips pucker around it for a split second, suckling gently. He soothes the arousing sting of his suction with a soft lave of his tongue over your clit, and it has your stomach convulsing.

"Oh my god," He groans, arms flying up to wrap around your thighs, "Yes."

"Eddie-" You gasp as he flattens his tongue through your slit, a wave of slick gushing over his tongue and coating it, "Eddie, that's- oh!"

This time when he reaches your clit he laps slick up to meet it, smearing it around the sensitive bud. Then, once he deems it properly coated, he sucks it clean, tongue flicking and curling around it while his lips encase you.

It's stimulation like you've never felt it before.

"No- no more!" You demand, suddenly cowing. You push at his forehead and lift your hips, leaving him lying on the pillow beneath him with wild eyes and a sticky chin.

"Are you hurt?" He's worried by your sudden panic, licking arousal off of his lips, "Did I do something wrong? Shit," His eyes grow wide and his fingers tighten around your thighs, "Did I accidentally bite you?"

"No!" You assure him, though your stomach flips at the idea, this time unpleasantly, "It's okay, it's not- nothing hurt."

"Was it too far? We don't have to, you know, if you're getting cold feet." Eddie promises, chest still heaving with a blissful mix of adrenaline and arousal.

"That's not it," You insist, sheepish, "I just- I was about to crush you."

Eddie blinks at you. One. Twice. Three times. His lashes flutter over his pretty brown eyes and he stares up at you blankly, perfectly still.

Then he starts, "Oh my god, you weren't kidding."

"Of course I wasn't kidding," You shift slightly on your thighs, trying to wriggle his hands off of them. He doesn't get the memo, though, or maybe he chooses to ignore it. His fingers grip your skin tighter, flesh pooling between them, "I'm gonna kill you, Eddie! I don't wanna kill you, that would suck."

"Baby," He starts, with the cajoling tone of someone explaining something to a confused toddler, "You are not going to kill me." He turns his head, pecking a kiss to the soft flesh of your inner thigh, "I promise." Another kiss, this time closer to your cunt, "And- and if you do? Tell everyone about it." A kiss to your other leg this time, in the crease between your cunt and your thigh, "Put it on my fuckin' headstone, baby, Eddie Munson, drowned in pussy." One last kiss, just above your clit, paired with a shit-eating, teasing grin, "You are going to do wonders for my reputation, babe."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fanfiction #eddie munson x plus sized!reader

[writingforstraykids]

Addicted to you Chp.20

Pairing: Minchan (mention of OT8)

Word Count: 5443

Summary: Back in public Minho tries to build up the courage to open up about what really happened without revealing too much. His friends support him every step of the way, hearing some things for the first time as well. Chan has to decide how open he really wants to be and walks the fine line of supporting his boyfriend and keeping their relationship a secret. Especially after Minho's first performance doesn't go as planned.

Warnings/Tags: angst, fluff, panic attack, mention of throwing up, dizziness, anxious!min, protective!chan

A/N: Looking back at this series, this is by far one of my most cherished chapters. Not only has the group learned to stick together when one of them isn't exactly stable, but also Chan and Minho finally pull at the same string. I love how the growth in both of them has been visible for you guys and I do hope this chapter proves it once more. We're almost at the end, which makes me a little nostaglic because chapter one was one of my first posts back in October (we haven't missed a week🤭). I hope you enjoy it, I'll see you next week for the last one (sobbing)🖤

Chp.19| Chp. 21

All I know is you saved me and you know it Saved me and you know it Always thought I was hard to love ' Til you made it seem so easy Easy ~ Camila Cabello

During dinner, Chan's hand kept slipping beneath the table, resting on Minho's thigh or grabbing his hand. Now that he knew, he wondered how he hadn't realized Felix and Changbin were acting the same way he and Minho had been. The secret glances, hands brushing against each other in passing, the soft smiles they shared when no one was watching. Jisung suddenly got everyone's attention. "As we all know, we have two couples amongst our group," he announced, quiet enough only for them to hear. "The funniest part about it is Chan and Changbin thinking they've been discreet, whilst Minho and Felix knew damn well the opposite is the case." 

Seungmin blinked at Chan. "You thought what? You've been drooling over Minho since we debuted." 

"Don't even start," their leader sighed heavily and hung his head, not noticing Minho's surprised glance. 

“As you all know, the rest of us have our own thing going on,” Jisung added.

"See? No reason to panic about telling the kids," Minho told Chan kindly and patted his back. "We're all grownups here." 

"Are we, though?" Felix giggled. 

"Now that we all know, no one has to sneak around the house anymore to be with one another," Seungmin concluded Jisung's announcement. 

"Amen," Felix agreed. 

"Fuck me. The house is gonna turn into a mess," Chan sighed and buried his face in his hands. 

"You think you're the only one allowed to have fun?" Jeongin asked sassily. He received a warning glare from his leader. “Also, what makes you think it wasn’t a mess before you knew?”

"I could use a drink," Minho announced cheerfully and waved over a waiter. "Anyone else? I'm paying." 

Chan chuckled softly and agreed. He could use one himself. Once everyone seemed to busy themselves with side conversations, Chan leaned a little closer to Minho. "You're so pretty, it's unreal," he whispered in his ear. Minho blushed softly. 

"Stop it," he chuckled. 

"I mean it. I've never seen someone as beautiful as you," he confessed and watched him bite his lower lip. Right, praises were something he had a thing for. "My beautiful kitten." 

Minho gasped softly, his pupils widening at the pet name. "Channie, stop," he whispered lovingly. "Not here." 

"Why not?" he asked, smirking softly. 

“You know damn well why not,” he rolled his eyes fondly.

-

Minho stared at his plate, pushing its contents from left to right for the thousandth time. He was feeling incredibly sick because he was so nervous about their press conference in a few hours. 

"Minho hyung? Aren't you hungry?" Jisung asked gently. Minho snapped out of his thoughts. 

He realized all of them were staring at him and smiled weakly, pushing his plate away. "I'm too anxious right now," he admitted as he reached for his water. But as he brought it closer to his lips, his grip around his glass got tighter as he noticed his hand trembling. 

"Can we do anything to help?" Felix spoke up next to him softly. 

"I don't think so," he shook his head and chewed on his lower lip. "I guess now that it's time, I'm scared there'll be consequences for you guys. It’s not exactly a great way to kick off promotions." 

"Whatever it is, we'll stand behind you, Min," Chan assured him. 

Minho met his eyes across the table and smiled weakly. "Are you saying this as my boyfriend or the leader of this group?" 

"Minho," Chan said softly.

"You should put the group first today, Chan. We both know that," he told him kindly. Chan lowered his gaze at the table for a moment. "I'm not afraid of the consequences because I know if I keep going like this, it'll end much worse for me,” he told them and rubbed his face tiredly. “I just don’t want you all to suffer from the news.” 

"They either get all eight of us or none of us," Changbin spoke up. 

"I'm sick of people trying to separate us," Hyunjin agreed. 

"We have your back, Minho hyung. There's nothing they can do about that," Seungmin agreed. 

"Fuck them all," Jeongin concluded with a grin. 

"Even if we didn’t worry about the consequences, Chan doesn't function without you..as we all saw repeatedly," Jisung commented dryly. 

“Thanks, Hannie,” Chan gently rolled his eyes.

Minho chuckled softly at all of them and rolled his eyes playfully. "When you put it that way, what's there to worry about." 

Felix smiled and looked at him. "Can we give you a hug?" 

"Fine," he sighed softly, secretly longing for nothing else than some physical comfort right now. He got up, and all of them gathered around him in a big group hug. Minho smiled softly and buried his face in Chan's chest as the warmth of his members finally gave him some comfort. "I love you guys," he told them after a moment. "I'm sorry for all that shit I'm putting you through currently." 

"Stop it, Minho hyung. We all have rough moments being in this industry," Changbin comforted him. 

"That's why there are seven others who have our back at all times," Hyunjin agreed. 

Once they reached their destination and had to enter the room where they'd be interviewed, Minho felt nauseous all over again. The staff would possibly kill him, or maybe he'd just get in serious trouble. Their names were announced, and they all left his side one by one, taking their places. Minho's stomach turned once more as he saw his place. Changbin, Hyunjin, Chan, Seungmin, and Jeongin were sitting on higher chairs in the back in that order. Felix was in the front row on the left, Jisung on the right, and the place in their midst was empty. They weren’t joking when they said they'd always be around him, protecting him. Minho's stage name was announced and he gave himself a mental push before walking out on stage, putting on a perfectly convincing, practiced smile. He sat down and nervously adjusted his suit jacket. 

They started out easy with some general questions about their next comeback, upcoming concerts, and already published songs. Minho didn't have to talk much and was able to fool around with the boys a little. He carefully adjusted his glasses as an interviewer called his name. 

"You've been on a break recently after collapsing on stage. Our readers are wondering what you think about said event and how you plan to continue?" she asked, looking at him expectantly. 

"As my team has already explained, I was injured and overworked at the event in question, which is why I collapsed and-," Minho stopped in his tracks, realizing this was the moment. He shouldn't just answer with the scripted version of what the staff had written up for him in case of such a question. He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Actually, I would like to make my own statement if you allow me to." 

"Please go on," she encouraged him. 

"About two months before this performance, my mental health was starting to get worse. I had trouble taking care of and trusting in myself. It got better whenever I was around my members. At some point, I defined myself through my performance only. When I got injured, I had to take a step back, which made this much harder for me. I got into a massive fight with one of the most important people in my life, which really took a toll on me," Minho said and saw some staff members in the back looking at each other nervously. "I had trouble eating, I didn't get enough sleep, and I practiced too much and too long. Because of that, my injury got worse, and I let it happen, thinking the pain I felt was the punishment I deserved for not being able to perform. I was awful to be around, and I didn’t treat the ones I call my family well, pushing them away when all they wanted was to help. I didn't have the resources to be there for them because I barely had any left for myself, which I'm very sorry for," he continued as pictures were taken of him, and he knew there were live recordings as well. 

No going back now. 

"I didn't collapse because I was injured or tired. My mental health and body couldn't keep up with what I was doing anymore. I've spent two days unconscious at the hospital, which is what made my members decide I needed to take a break. I don't regret collapsing because I wouldn't have stopped this harmful behavior otherwise and-," he stopped as his voice started shaking and swallowed hard, trying to collect himself. Suddenly, Felix took his hand and smiled at him encouragingly while Jisung rested his hand on his knee. Chan followed his heart and wrapped his arms around him from behind, ensuring he knew they were there. Minho inhaled softly and rested his hand on Chan's arm, steadying himself. "I know I’ll make myself vulnerable by saying this, but I think it's important we start normalizing that your beloved idols are humans, too. This is why I want to announce that after everything that happened, I’ve decided to see a therapist. I'm not ashamed of it, and if I want to keep being part of this family and doing my best for our fans, I need to take care of myself better," he concluded and exhaled softly.

"We want to announce that we stand behind Minho and fully support his decision. We ask our fans to show our Minho how much he means to us all and how much he is worth. Please be patient with us during this process," Chan spoke up behind him, noticing how much Minho was shaking, glancing at the staff. "Thank you so much for being here. This will be all for today." 

They all got up, making sure to surround Minho as they left the stage. Minho felt dizzy and flinched a little as suddenly two of their press advisors approached them, saying his name. They seemed ready to call him out for his shit. Chan wrapped his arm around him protectively and told them to back off, not caring that reporters were still taking pictures. Finally, they made it backstage. Chan stepped in front of him, removing his microphone for him. "Give me a moment," he mumbled as his stomach protested, quickly pushing through them and making his way to the bathroom. He ripped the door open to one of the stalls and crouched down, throwing up. All the anxiety and nervousness got to him, combined with the realization that, for the first time, he did the opposite of what he had been advised to do. Once his stomach had calmed down, Minho carefully pushed himself up and sniffled softly, trying to swallow a panic attack threatening to creep in. He pushed the door open and slowly stepped outside, flinching heavily as he saw his friends standing at the sink, all watching him worriedly. "I can't even throw up in peace?" he joked tiredly and made his way over to a sink, shakily turning on the water. He rinsed his mouth and washed his hands, thanking Hyunjin quietly, who gave him some paper towels. 

"Do you feel better after telling the truth?" Seungmin asked. 

"I'm glad it's not a secret anymore," he told them, leaning against the sink. "But besides that, no. I'm a minute away from a full-blown panic attack," he admitted, knowing there was no use hiding it. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his knees and inhaling shakily. "They'll kill me, won't they?" 

Jisung was the first one to react and stepped in front of him. "Deep breaths, Minho hyung. You'll be okay." He hugged him as he stood up straight again and soothingly rubbed his back. The others let them, knowing Jisung often found comfort in Minho when he was panicking, so it fit for him to try and return the favor. Jeongin grabbed a few paper towels, made them wet, and wrung them out before carefully placing them on the back of Minho's neck. Felix stepped next to them and gently ran his hand through his hair as Jisung guided Minho in his breathing. 

Once he had calmed down, Chan took over, pulling him into a tight hug and planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'm so proud of you. That was very brave." 

"I don't feel very brave right now," he gave back, making his friends chuckle. He barely noticed Changbin removing the paper towels from his neck and leaning his forehead against Chan's. "Let's go back to the hotel, please?" 

“We could stay in for the night and order takeout,” Jeongin proposed. “We’ll just meet up in one room and order there.” 

Minho smiled thankfully and nodded. “That would be nice.” 

-

"May we ask what sent you down the spiral of mental issues?" their interviewer spoke up, clearly talking to Minho. They were currently at a radio station, giving an interview about their upcoming album. Of course, the press conference from yesterday would be a topic; Minho had expected nothing less.

Minho shifted in his seat and thought for a moment. He was aware of the camera moving a little closer on him as they’d also film and upload the whole session. "As I've said, the hate, the injury, lack of sleep, and slowly stop eating altogether have all played their part in this process. It’s been weeks of feeling like shit, and I’m glad I got through the worst of it by now." 

“Many of our listeners thought it was very brave of you to open up like that since we usually don’t see this happening,” she told him with a kind smile. “That must’ve been scary.”

“It was. It still is,” he chuckled, and Jisung flashed him a gentle smile across the table. He knew how it was.

“Nevertheless, most people out there are very grateful you did that. How does that make you feel?” she asked curiously. 

“It’s a relief to hear that people can relate to my situation and don’t look down on me because of it. Also, if me opening up about my struggles helps someone, I don’t get why it is an issue to do so,” he said.

“I think a lot of people out there can relate to the feeling of trying to function when you actually feel like giving up,” Felix added.

“We’ve all been there before,” Seungmin agreed. “Maybe not as heavily, but we’ve all certainly had our struggles in the industry.”

“I think what made it so difficult was seeing Minho hyung go through it,” Hyunjin said gently. “Usually, we come to him with these issues, so no one really knew how to help.”

“Which didn’t stop them from trying, though,” Minho said reassuringly, smiling at him. “I just haven’t been so easy to deal with.”

“How has this situation been for you as a leader?” she asked, turning to Chan, sitting beside Minho quietly. 

“Oh, he struggled the most with it,” Changbin answered for him, and they all chuckled. “Minho’s always been his partner in leading the team with him.”

“That was certainly missed, yeah,” Chan laughed, winking at Minho. "I realized how much I rely on him in certain areas and I know I should've stepped up more." 

"What about that fight you mentioned? Was it with one of the members or someone else?" she asked Minho.

"That was me," Chan spoke up before Minho could answer. "I've been very difficult to deal with, and Minho didn't give up on me, which made things grow tense. I've accused him of complete bullshit to save myself and been very harsh towards him, which didn’t help him deal with his own issues." 

"But, we’ve all talked it out and are doing better than ever," Minho added with a nervous smile. 

"I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what do you mean you were difficult to deal with?" she asked. Everyone grew quiet for a moment, tension slowly rising at the question. She glanced at them, apologetically. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assured her with a warm smile and exchanged a look with Minho, who looked back at him questioningly. “I’m just trying to figure out how to start.”

“You don’t have to go in depth,” Minho assured him gently.

Chan inhaled softly before grabbing his hand beneath the table. He knew it could be seen on camera, but he couldn’t care less now. "I've been depressed, shutting everyone out for two weeks. I let some things get to me, and Minho was the only one I let near me. I didn't explain exactly how I was feeling, but he was there to hold me when I couldn't go on anymore and broke down crying repeatedly," Chan said, and everyone grew quiet. Their friends looked at Minho and Chan worriedly, hearing for the first time how much Minho actually dealt with. Minho swallowed hard. He could tell by the sound of his voice alone that Chan was having a hard time talking about it. "I've been dragging him down with me and my issues. After our fight, we both dealt with it differently. But none of us were feeling well. I’d never say I was doing as bad as him those past few weeks. Nevertheless-," his voice broke, and the grip on his hand grew tighter. 

"Chan," Minho said gently, turning a little and seeing the tears in his boyfriend's eyes.

Chan stopped for a moment, gathering himself as he found peace in Minho's soft coffee eyes. "Nevertheless, Minho saved my life even though he couldn’t stand being in a room with me at that time. And I'll be forever grateful for that. I gave up on everyone, including myself. A few weeks before Minho’s incident, I accidentally sent my goodbye message to Minho after spontaneously deciding to leave the group. I didn’t feel like I could lead them anymore and thought they’d do better without me. I knew they had Min, who would do his best to carry them through it," he said, his voice shaking as a tear ran down his cheeks. Minho blinked softly as tears brimmed his own eyes and swallowed hard, knowing he had to be strong for them in this moment. Chan wiped away the tears and exhaled shakily. "He climbed up to my balcony, even though he’s deathly scared of heights, to stop me, thinking I was talking about something else, and I-," he trailed off before holding Minho's hand up. "So yes, for everyone asking why I called him love when he collapsed or gifted him this ring, it's because I really, really love him, and I want him to know that."

Minho smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He hadn’t expected him to be that open. 

“Gosh, it sounds like you two have been through a lot lately,” she said with a compassionate smile. “Feel free to step away for a bit if you need a moment,” she told them, seeing how hard Chan was fighting back tears.

Chan exchanged a look with Minho, debating if they should take her up on that. Minho got up, still holding his hand. “Come on, Channie hyung,” he said gently, placing his headset on the table.

Minho pulled him close as soon as they were outside, his heart breaking a little at how tightly Chan clung to him, hiding his face in his shirt. “You did great, Channie love. I’m so proud of you,” he told him quietly.

“You’re right, this is scary,” he said quietly. 

“I got you,” he promised with a gentle smile, fondling his hair. “I love you so much. Thank you for having my back in there,” he whispered.

Chan pulled back and smiled as Minho wiped his cheeks for him. “I love you too, baby,” he told him quietly. He held up his pinky finger for him. “You and me against the world?”

Minho’s face softened as he returned the gesture, linking them together. “Always…Let’s go back in?”

“May I get a kiss first?” he asked.

Minho glanced around quickly before nodding. He connected their lips to a short but loving kiss and gently patted his back. “Alright, come on.”

-

The others watched them leave before turning back to their interviewer. “That is quite some story,” she said. 

“Yeah, it’s been a lot going on the past few weeks,” Jisung agreed. 

“I suppose that hasn’t been easy for you all either?” 

“We’ve had our ups and downs,” Felix told her. “Those two have formed a very deep bond over the past few years, so we all knew they could do this once they started to get along again.” 

“A very deep bond? Do you mean like very good friends? Or are the rumors true, and there’s more?”

“You could call them our parents by now. These two are so in sync it’s annoying,” Jeongin lightened the mood as they came back inside and sat down. 

“As charming as always,” Chan commented dryly.

“We’ve been blessed with a few chaotic kids. It’s only natural that we had to step up and lead them,” Minho winked at Jeongin, who stuck out his tongue at him. “See?” he asked, making everyone laugh. 

"Your friends have been telling me about that deep bond you share. Our listeners would love to know if the rumors are true?" she asked and Minho looked at Chan. 

Chan looked almost a little anxious as he met his eyes, swallowing hard at the pure love and adoration in his boyfriend's doe eyes. Minho smiled gently, taking Chan's hand and squeezing it. "Chan means a lot to me, which is why fighting with him had taken such a toll on me. We're a team and we work best when we're together," Minho said, keeping his eyes on Chan. "I love him, that sums it up well." 

"Platonic love or-?" she asked curiously. 

Minho could tell Chan wasn't quite ready to open up that much today and simply smiled, still not looking away from him. "No comment." 

Chan chuckled, finger brushing over his ring delicately. He turned toward their interviewer, taking a deep breath. "As I said, I love him too. That's all I have for you right now."

Felix and Changbin grinned as they watched them, Jisung exchanged a fond glance with Hyunjin and Jeongin winked at Seungmin. They all knew damn well how very obvious those statements have been without saying much or admitting anything. At the end of the day, their hyungs knew how to dance along the fine line. 

"Well…I wish you the best of luck then to keep what you have right now," she said with a knowing smile. 

A few weeks later

Minho adjusted his newest stage outfit and sighed after cracking his neck. He was tired and already longed to be wrapped up in Chan's arms and back in bed. He had gotten through most of his performances for the day already and was about to perform for the last time. "Can I borrow that one for a moment?" he asked Felix, who was walking past him with a fan. 

"You can keep it," Felix told him, and Minho nodded thankfully. 

He closed his eyes as the cool air hit his face and took a few deep breaths. His head was hurting a little from all the noise, so he made his way outside their dressing room, leaning against the wall. 

Only a few seconds later, the door opened again. "Are you okay?" Chan asked caringly. 

Minho nodded and flashed him a small smile. "I'm okay. It's too loud in there," he told him. 

"Understandable," he nodded agreeingly and rolled his eyes fondly. "But seriously, are you sure you’re feeling?" 

"Yeah," he nodded. 

"Your knee's alright?" he asked. 

"It has been for a while now, yes," he told him amused. 

"You're not feeling dizzy or anything?" Chan made sure, and Minho shook his head. 

"I'm overwhelmed, that's all. Today there have been a lot of bright lights and loud noises. I'm getting a bit of a headache, but I'll get through the last performance and relax later," he assured him. 

Chan stepped in front of him and gently massaged the back of his neck before going up to his temples. Minho moaned softly at the relieving touch and closed his eyes. "I'm proud of you, baby. You've worked hard today." 

"Thank you," he smiled shyly and opened his eyes again. "I missed being on stage like this."

"I know you did," he nodded and kissed his forehead. "Have I told you how much your new hair color suits you yet?" he asked, brushing back Minho's currently dark purplish hair. 

"Only a million times," he winked at him. "I like it too, no worries," he giggled. 

"So pretty." Chan gave him a short kiss. "Can I walk you to the stage?" 

"Sure," he smiled sweetly and laughed as their friends all came outside. 

"We wouldn't want to miss your last performance," Jisung smiled. 

"You guys are so sweet," Minho told them and took Chan's hand. "Alright, let's go." 

"Good luck," Chan told him right before he left, and Minho took his place on stage. 

He was feeling alright throughout the performance, hitting his notes beautifully and dancing smoothly as always. 

"Gosh, he sounds so good," Jisung beamed excitedly as Minho hit a high note.

"Is he okay, though?" Felix frowned softly. 

"Right? It looked like he stumbled a bit," Jeongin nodded nervously. 

"He's shaking," Seungmin added. 

"Please shut up," Chan said anxiously, seeing all of it himself. His eyes haven’t left Minho the entire performance. 

Minho knew the song was coming to an end and felt relieved, knowing he'd soon be back home. He stepped forward at the end and panted heavily, finally feeling how exhausted his body actually was. He squinted his eyes as the audience began to blur in front of him, and felt dizziness taking over his body. Not again. Minho pulled his earpiece out as a high-pitched tone rang through his ear and clutched his chest, pained. Fuck. He nervously glanced to the stage exit, debating if he should risk staying where he was or getting off stage before another debacle. 

"What the fuck is he doing?" Changbin asked worriedly. 

"He doesn't look good," Hyunjin agreed. They all glanced at Chan, who was anxiously chewing on his lower lip. The moment Minho sank down to his knees, head hanging low as he tried to hide his pain, Jisung, Felix, and Changbin held Chan back. 

"Hey, let me go! He needs help!" he protested. 

"Chan hyung, you can't storm on stage now, okay?" Seungmin told him. 

"There's staff already out there to help him," Jeongin pointed out as someone brought him water. 

"I told them it would be too much for him," Chan said weakly. 

"We know, he knows as well," Felix said calmingly. 

"Fuck it, I'm getting him off stage," Chan groaned and pushed them off before making his way on stage. 

"Fucks sake, Chan," Felix groaned. 

Minho looked up at him, surprised as Chan was suddenly kneeling down next to him and cupping his face. "Relax," he whispered, noticing the anxiety in Chan's eyes. "We're on stage, angel." 

"You got dizzy?" he asked gently, and Minho nodded. 

"It was a little too much," he told him tiredly. "My body hurt and gave up on me for a minute." 

"You think you can get up?" he asked, and Minho nodded bravely, letting Chan help him up. Chan wrapped his arm around him tightly and led him off the stage. As soon as they were backstage, Chan snapped at one of their staff members. "I told you it would be too much!" 

"Chan," Minho cut him off sharply, and everyone looked at him worriedly. "I said I would be fine. I overestimated myself, and my body showed me that I was not ready for this yet. It's fine, let it be." 

"You wouldn't have done it if they hadn't suggested it. You're trying to satisfy them again," he told him. 

Minho tiredly rubbed his hurting head and looked at the staff members. "Can you get the car, please? I need a break." They nodded at him and quickly called their car. 

"Wrong place, wrong time, Chan hyung," Jisung told him gently, letting Minho brace himself on his shoulder. "Come on, let's sit down somewhere until the car's here." Seungmin came to help and wrapped his arm around his waist, steadying him. 

Felix gently rested his hand on Chan's arm. "He needs his boyfriend now, not our leader," he told him softly, and Chan glanced at him nervously. 

"I just want him to be okay again," he confessed weakly. 

"We know," Changbin told him kindly. 

"You can still talk about schedules later. Right now, he needs a hug and you telling him he did amazing today," Hyunjin told him. 

"Go on," Jeongin gave him a gentle push. 

Chan groaned softly but did as they said and walked over to them. He crouched in front of Minho, and his heart fluttered at his boyfriend's tired smile. "Sorry, I lost my temper back there."

"You were worried, it’s alright," he told him kindly, not noticing Seungmin and Jisung leaving them alone. Minho gently reached out for him and fondled his hair. "I promise you, I'm okay. Just very tired." 

"I'm sorry I got scared for a second," he confessed and sat on the sofa next to him. Minho turned slightly and pressed his forehead against Chan's. Their hands found each other, and Minho squeezed it gently. 

"I'm here, I’m still conscious," he promised. 

Chan pulled him into his lap and hugged him close as Minho sank against him with a soft sigh. "You were amazing today. I'm really proud of you," he told him. 

"Thanks, Channie hyung," he smiled sweetly and closed his eyes. "I'm so tired," he said softly. 

"You can sleep. I'll take care of everything else," he assured him. Minho didn't need a second invitation. 

Chan carried him to the car later, protecting his head as he leaned down to sit him inside. He sat down next to him, letting him sleep on his shoulder. He carried him inside once they reached home. At home, he laid him down on his bed and filled the bathtub with warm water to soothe his hurting body. He got him undressed and into the tub, bracing him as he very gently washed his hair and body. Minho was only half awake throughout the process, but appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

Chan got him dressed again before carrying him downstairs and sitting on the sofa with him on his lap. Felix handed him a plate with some food, and Chan started feeding Minho slowly. Minho was barely able to keep his eyes open but made sure to eat a little, knowing he needed the energy. He grew heavy against him and fell asleep as soon as Chan started running his hand through his hair. 

The others all made sure to eat quietly and only talked with their voices lowered to give him some rest. Later, they put on a movie and gathered on the sofa around them, knowing if Minho woke up, he'd feel better seeing them continuing their day as always. He woke up later with a massive headache and winced softly as he moved on top of him. 

Chan looked down worriedly. "What's wrong?" 

"Headache," he groaned, melting into him as Chan massaged his scalp and temples. Felix came over with a glass of water and a pain pill for him, which he took, thankfully. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep again, curling up in Chan's arms. 

Chan kept on lovingly massaging his head for a while and smiled softly as Minho grew calm again. The others all slowly went to bed until it was just Chan, Jisung, and Minho left. 

"You need help carrying him upstairs?" Jisung offered quietly. Chan glanced down at Minho sleeping peacefully on his chest. 

"I think we'll just stay on the sofa for the night," he shook his head. "I don't want to wake him up again." 

"Alright," he nodded and gently patted Chan's shoulder. "Sleep well, Chan hyung." 

"You too, Hannie," he smiled and watched him leave. Chan got comfortable on the sofa and pulled Minho down with him, who stirred in his sleep. "It's fine, keep sleeping," he told him quietly, fondling his hair. Minho cuddled into him, and soon Chan fell asleep right after. 

Chp.19| Chp. 21

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@atinyniki @mal-lunar-28 @lilmisssona @aaasia111 @galaxycatdrawz @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @malfoygalaxies @rebecca-johnson-28 @mellhwang @lixie-phoria @michelle4eve @gxtwllsn @xxstrayland @kibs-and-bits

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[wsdanon]

also here's a wip of sorts of a dungeon meshi au me and jaime routeriver are having fun with \o/!! it technically works as a full oneshot, i just need to figure out whether i want to write it as a multichapter thing or not so for now i'm just posting on tumblr

It isn’t until they’re settling down for the night that it hits Pac that this will be the longest time they’ve been alone with Cellbit since prison. 

Usually Felps is there as a buffer. Or they’re in a very public area with lots of witnesses. Or it’s only for a couple of hours.

But him and Mike have just signed themselves up for days—maybe weeks—alone with Cellbit in a place where they won’t often run into people, and death is common and easy enough to cover up. 

He had just been so worried about Felps that even with Mike’s apprehension none of that had occurred to him. 

It is very much occuring to him now. 

They don’t need a watch technically, so Pac stutters out something about checking over his leg and waves away Mike’s concern. At least one of them should get a good night’s sleep tonight—and they definitely won’t want Mike sleep deprived while he’s checking over traps tomorrow.

Cellbit looks away quickly when he takes off the prosthesis. He would almost seem more squeamish about it than Pac is, but they both know that’s not true.

Pac watches out of the corner of his eye as Mike drifts off to sleep, and Cellbit prepares their food for storage.

Monsters. He never really thought he’d ever eat monsters. It feels almost like the same kind of forbidden as… 

He bites his lip, and breathes deeply. They have no other food supplies. He can’t afford to throw up dinner just because his brain is making stupid connections. 

But are they really stupid? Cellbit had gotten all strange when he mentioned he knew how to prepare them. Looking away from Pac the same way he carefully avoids looking at his leg. 

It’s not… cannibalism. Not even really close to it, right now. But it still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel good. There has to be a reason why Cellbit of all people knows all about this—

“Are you okay?”

Pac flinches at the sound of Cellbit’s voice. 

“You’re looking a little…” Cellbit taps one of his own cheeks. “Pale, you know?”

“I’m, uh—I’m fine!” He sends Cellbit a shaky smile, internally cursing himself for how unconvincing it looks. “Totally fine, you know? Just—Yeah, all good here!”

“Okay.” 

Cellbit looks unconvinced, but doesn’t push. Pac suppresses a shudder at the feeling of Cellbit’s piercing gaze analysing him.

Felps. He’s doing this for Felps. He’s doing this because Felps got eaten by a dragon because he pushed Cellbit out of the way.   

Him and Mike didn’t have enough time to wait for Fit’s party to be ready, and Cellbit probably would’ve died if he went in alone like he was planning. And Pac… kind of likes Cellbit. You know, when there’s measures in place to stop him from killing them.

Besides, Cellbit’s different from Cell. That was one thing Felps promised when they ran into each other again, and even Mike agrees he’s changed at least a bit.

“Thank you.” Cellbit says, and this time Pac manages to hide his flinch. “For, like, coming with me even though I can’t really pay you for it. I appreciate it, and I know it’ll mean a lot to Felps.”

“Of course.” Pac shrugs, and messes with his leg some more. It really doesn’t need anything done to it, but he needs to at least try and look like he wasn’t lying. “Felps is, like—he’s a good friend, you know? And you probably would’ve died if you had to face the dragon alone, anyway.”

Pac tenses as soon as the potentially insulting words spill from his mouth. Forces out a nervous little laugh to show Cell—Cellbit he’s just joking.

But all Cellbit does is laugh, too.

“Yeah, probably.” He finally finishes putting away the food, and shifts to a more relaxed sitting position. “But it’s Felps, you know? I would’ve had to have tried something. Even if it was stupid.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

Honestly if Cellbit didn’t want to try, Pac probably would’ve come back down to save Felps himself. Well… not by himself. Mike probably would’ve come with him still. 

Or Pac would’ve had to sneak past Mike so Mike didn’t stop him from trying. One of the two.

By himself he wouldn’t have had to hide as much, at least.

And on that note: at least if worse comes to worse, and Felps… isn’t as intact as they need, Cellbit won’t be able to judge him for using forbidden magic. Because forbidden magic can help people if used in the right circumstances—which are all the circumstances Pac plans on using it. All Cellbit—All Cell ever did was hurt.

“I’m sorry.” Cellbit says. “This must be, uh, kinda weird for you, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Pac forces himself to smile. “It’s—It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Well, it’s not every day you eat monsters, right?” Cellbit shrugs. “A lot of adventurers don’t even think about it, and you didn’t seem… keen earlier.” 

Oh. Right. That’s what he’s talking about.

“Ah, I’ll get over it.” He hopes it doesn’t sound as fake to Cellbit as it sounds to himself. “It’s for Felps, you know? And you—you, uh, know a lot, right? You’re probably not gonna k-kill us by preparing it wrong.”

Although maybe in other, more purposeful ways… 

No, he shouldn’t think like that.

“I’ll try my best not to.” Cellbit says, with a genuine little smile.

It’s soft—from the tone of his voice, to his smile. Like they’re just friends joking around. Nothing like how Cell would act. 

It’s not—It’s not unusual for him now, really. It just feels… out of place. In this context. Because Pac can’t shake off the feeling that Cell’s just going to pop back up again and kill them.

Felps had been almost too honest about Cellbit’s progress. Had rambled about how fixated Cellbit was on getting revenge the first few months after getting off the island—before Felps managed to direct his attention elsewhere.

If it wasn’t for the fact Felps still stuck by Cellbit despite what Cellbit did to him in prison, Pac might’ve even left town entirely to avoid running into Cell again. They had passed by Felps’ body before leaving, after all. Pac was certain he was dead.

Felps seems happier now, too. And he had sacrificed himself for Cellbit. So, that most likely rules out the possibility that he’s still being blackmailed. There’s no reason why Felps would still be with Cellbit if he didn’t genuinely change.

Pac just wishes he could get his brain to believe it.

“I’m going to get some rest.” Cellbit says, smothering a yawn. “You probably should, too, yeah? We’ll have some big days ahead of us.”

“Yeah, I’m just—” he gestures at the leg in front of him. “—Just finishing up my check.”

Cellbit opens his mouth like he’s going to speak. Then shuts it again without saying anything, and moves to get under the covers of his bedroll. Pac waits until he thinks Cellbit’s asleep before getting into his own. 

It’ll only be for a week or so, right? A few days of discomfort is nothing compared to the thought of letting Felps rot in that dragon’s stomach. 

Besides, Cellbit’s had plenty of opportunities to kill them over the years. He hasn’t done it yet. That has to count for something.

--

hope you guys enjoyed \o/!!!

#wsd/w.ips #wsd/f.ics #cannibalism mention #ab.aeterno

[keeryparadise]

Front-Seat Driver || K.K.

[ ❥ ] PAIRING: Kurt Kunkle x fem!Reader

»»————-　♡　————-««

[ ❥ ] SYNOPSIS: You have a blind date tonight, but on your way there, your Spree driver decides he has other plans. (PWP)

»»————-　♡　————-««

[ ❥ ] WORD COUNT: 2.6k

[ ❥ ] WARNINGS: Smut, NSFW, PWP, swearing, kidnapping, almost murder, erotophonophilia (murder kink), dacryphilia (crying kink), p in v sex, sex-tape/recording sex, manipulation??, f oral sex, masturbation, fingering.

[ ❥ ] INCLUDES: Way too much exposition skip skip skip no one cares, psycho!Kurt, dom!Kurt, sub!Reader, Kurt slurping up your tears yum yum, Kurt slurping up a lot of your body fluids in fact, Kurt weirdly being an experienced sex God??,

[ ❥ ] REQUESTED: No

[ ❥ ] NOTES: Here’s a scrap fic I decided to finish so I have more than one thing posted on here (unedited btw i'm so tired). Kurt isn’t SAing you in this btw,, also sorry I was inactive for forever my computer #broke so I couldn't write for weeks ❤

»»————-　♡　————-««

Air blows softly from your fan, a slow buzz coming from the corner of your room where the fan sits. A citrus candle melts slowly on a shelf, the flicking flame visible in the corner of your eye.

You look at yourself in the mirror, checking if everything was perfect. Is my hair good enough? Is my makeup smudged? Does this outfit look weird? I think I need more perfume. I’ll spray some more.

You wait nervously for your Spree to arrive, fidgeting with your hair with clammy hands. You bite at some loose skin on your lip and feel yourself holding a breath. You haven’t been on a date in almost a year now, and the fact that it was a blind date didn’t make it any better. Why did you agree to this?

You fidget with your hands, pacing around the room quickly, trying to calm your nerves. You think of all the possible ways this could go wrong. There were a lot of ways.

You hear a horn honk from outside your house. Your Spree is here.

You run to grab your phone and purse and shake the last of your nerves off. You blow out your candle and click the fan off, before starting downstairs. The tap of your heels on the tile floor as you approach the kitchen stress you out. You drink a glass of water, take a deep breath, and leave your house before your Spree cancels.

A light gray car sits idly on your driveway. The blackout windows keep you from seeing who was inside, leaving you a little on edge. The app says his name is Kurt. Your hands fidget as you slowly step toward the car’s back door. You swallow deeply before opening the door.

“Kurt?” you ask. You stand outside the car holding the door open as you await a reply.

You crouch down a little to get a look at his face as he turns around to look at you. With a smile, he speaks, “Yep! I’m Kurt from KurtsWorld96, you probably know me.”

The first thing you notice about him is his unique smile. His eyes and his nose scrunch up and his chin tips up slightly. It was like a little kid’s smile. He has a little kid’s haircut too. It’s shaggy and brown and has uneven bangs.

You furrow your brows as you step hesitantly into his car. You notice cameras on every window.

“I hope you don’t mind the cameras.” He straightens his posture, looking behind him to reverse his car out of your driveway, “I need them for safety reasons. Go ahead and take a bottle of water and relax.”

“I-I’m good,” you stammer. He lets out an exasperated sigh in response.

A few minutes of silence go by of you fidgeting and sweating in the backseat of his car. I don’t think I’ve been nervous like this in a while. Is it hot in here?

His cheery voice interrupts the silence, “Soo… where are you going? Like, I know you’re going to a restaurant, but what are you doing there?” He stammers nervously. You see his thumb start to caress the steering wheel slowly.

“My friend set me up on a blind date.” You start to rub the back of your neck, “I haven’t even been on a normal date in over a year, so I’m super nervous.”

You see the driver’s eyebrow twitch slightly in his mirror, “Well I’m glad you didn’t drink that water then, because I’m also supposed to go on a blind date at that restaurant tonight.”

He’s glad I didn’t drink the water? What?

“I guess it’s a not-so-blind date now.” He chuckles nervously, gripping his steering wheel tightly.

“Yeah.” You fake out a laugh.

I can’t believe this guy is my blind date. He’s so… weird.

You sit in silence for the rest of the drive. A thick and uncomfortable silence. The kind of silence that you know you both can feel. It was the longest three minutes of your life.

Kurt speeds past the restaurant the two of you were supposed to meet at.

“Kurt? You just passed the restaurant.”

Kurt gives you a look in his mirror, “I know.”

He presses his foot harder on the gas pedal, and you push back in your seat slightly.

“Kurt, where are we going?” Your knee bounces as you try to study your surroundings through the night’s dark filter.

He tilts his head to the right, “I thought maybe we could go somewhere else instead. Fancy restaurants aren’t really my thing.” He gives the camera a look.

You scoff, “I haven’t eaten since breakfast, Kurt please turn back.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you ramen or something.” He gives another look to the camera.

Your face contorts into a confused mess, “Are we going to your house?”

He looks at you again through the mirror, “Yeah obviously, where else would I be taking you?” He rolls his eyes and puts them back on the road.

You kick his seat in frustration, “I don’t know, a park, or maybe the restaurant we were planning to go to in the first place?”

He rolls his eyes, “Just relax, we aren’t even that far from my house now.”

You sit back in your seat, defeated and arms crossed. It’s useless to argue with him now, this man is clearly insane.

After a few more miles, he pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park. He takes his keys out of the ignition and turns around to look at you, “We’re here.” He smiles his stupid little boy smile. He turns back around and grabs his phone from its holder. He opens his car door and steps out, walking up to your door and opening it too, “After you,” he sings sarcastically, waving his arm in a polite way.

You sit still with your arms crossed, refusing to move.

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Come on, get out of the car.”

“No.”

He moves closer to you, reaching his arm over your chest to find the seatbelt, “Come on-”

You push his arms away from you, “No, I’m not getting out!”

He insists, reaching again for the seatbelt, fighting you to get it off. The seat belt clicks, and he starts pulling you out of the car.

“No!” you yell, “Let go of me!”

He’s surprisingly strong and manages to pull you out of the car. You hit your head on the concrete, hard, and you barely have enough time to recover before he picks you up bridal style.

He moves toward the front door with you in his arms and spends a solid minute trying to unlock it without setting you down. He pushes his front door open and carries you to his room. You lay helplessly in his arms, barely conscious.

You hate to admit it, but this is something you’ve fantasized about over and over. Your weird obsession with psychotic characters has corrupted how you think, and you feel almost turned on by this.

“Kurt,” you mutter under your breath, “Kurt, where are we?”

He sets you gently on his bed and kneels next to your helpless body, “We’re in my room.” You see what you think is a smile creep onto his face.

He stands up and walks toward a tripod set up in the center of the room. He places his phone in it and rambles to the camera.

He looks back at you and starts to walk over. He kneels next to his bed to look at you and places a gentle hand on your cheek, caressing it with his thumb, “You’re so beautiful.” He brushes your hair off of your forehead and presses a kiss to it. He gives you a different smile than usual. A smile with eyes coated in intimacy and eyebrows pressed together with desire. Nothing like that little boy smile you thought was so unique.

He studies you through narrow lids, his hand moving from your cheeks to the deep indent in your waist. The sudden heat on that sensitive spot sends a shock down your legs, and you let out a soft whimper. You squeeze your legs closer together at the sudden heat forming in your pants. Kurt notices, shifting his gaze to your lower half. He looks up at his ceiling, chewing on his lip.

“I was going to kill you,” he looks back down at your face and looks you in your eyes, “but that was before I knew I could make use of you.”

You turn away from him and bury your face in his sheets, letting out a quiet whimper. A single tear leaves your eye and absorbs into the fabric.

Kurt shushes you and caresses the top of your head with his hand. He plants a small kiss on the top of your head and grabs your face violently, that action directly contrasting his gentle kiss. He forces you to look at him in his eyes. You feel another tear forming in the corner of your eye. It falls slowly down your cheek, and Kurt sticks his tongue out to lick it away.

“Salty,” he purrs.

A sudden need for him washes over you, your clit tingling at the thought of your walls wrapped warmly around his erection. You barely even know the guy, but somehow he’s got you wrapped tightly around his finger.

“Fuck me, Kurt,” you whisper in a low, raspy tone.

Kurt flinches backward slightly at your sudden submission and smiles. His hand travels down your stomach and into the opening of your skirt. Two of his fingers slowly massage your clit on top of your panties. You bite back a moan and throw your head back slightly into his pillows. His fingers push their way under the hem of your panties and slowly press themselves through your entrance. A soft moan manages to escape your lips.

“Like that?” he breathes.

You nod shakily and practically beg him on top of you with your eyes. You grab onto his shoulder for support and grind into his curling fingers, pushing yourself in and out hungrily. Breathy moans escape your mouth every time you feel the shockwaves from Kurt’s fingertips curling inside your walls.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and you give him a quiet whimper. He pushes you away and stands up, sucking your juices off of his fingers.

“You taste so good,” he coos.

You stare up at Kurt and watch him take his shirt off, throwing it carelessly across the room. He steps back toward his bed and mounts himself on top of you, his legs on either side of your hips and his arms pinning your wrists to the mattress.

Kurt presses your lips together softly. He quickly pulls away, leaving you leaning in, begging for more. Kurt starts moving his lips down your body. He sucks the teary flavor from your cheeks and leaves dark hickies along your neck and collarbone. He pulls your shirt down and sucks on each breast hard. His tongue swirls around each nipple, the wet warmth of his mouth sending a twitch to your legs. Each breast is left with a dark magenta spot where his mouth had just been. He leaves gentle kisses down your stomach and stops at the hem of your skirt.

Kurt flips your skirt up and kisses each of your thighs. You push your hips up slightly, and he kisses the wet spot on your panties. A gentle finger caresses your clit, teasing you.

He slides your panties off your body and sets each of your legs on his shoulders to get perfect access to his meal. He flicks the tip of his tongue teasingly on your clit, causing you to flinch. He licked his lips and soon Kurt had his face buried between your thighs. 

His tongue made laps around your entrance, going in and out slowly. He flicked at your clit causing you to moan his name every time. He kissed and sucked at the fleshy pink and slurped at your juices. Your back arched every time he found your sweet spot, and eventually, he was only going over that spot. Shockwaves sent down your thighs causing you to press your hips closer into his face.

Kurt stops with one last kiss on your clit and crawls back up to your face. He presses his lips onto yours and lets you taste yourself in his mouth. He starts grinding his hips into your body, and you quickly attempt to pull off his belt. You throw his belt across the room and tear off his jeans. Kurt slides his boxers off and frees his growing erection, precum already shining on the tip. You grab his dick and start slowly pumping. Kurt groans into your mouth, sending vibrations down your throat.

“Oh God, please just put it in,” you beg breathlessly. You let go of his cock, and he slowly presses himself through your entrance.

You let out a breathy moan at the first insertion, and he starts slowly setting a pace. You feel yourself sinking into his cock. You bang your hips together and you moan Kurt’s name every time he finds your g-spot. Your nails dig into his back, and you pull his hips down harder, swearing and moaning his name desperately.

The both of you are panting and whining by the time he says he’s close.

“Oh god, baby I think I’m close,” he moans, “F-fuck. Keep going, just like that.” He stammers and stutters, barely able to form sentences.

“Me too baby, keep going, please.” You desperately try to press him into you deeper each time, but his thrusts are getting sloppy. Your wetness squelches every time he sinks his dick into you. 

“F-fuuck, that’s it,” he cries out, his chest heaving heavily, “Oh my god, I’m about to cum.”

He thrusts faster and faster, getting closer every time. You feel the tingle crawling up your thighs, signaling you’re close.

You throw your head back into the pillows, craving the sweet release. His last thrust hit the spot perfectly, and you’re engulfed in an all-consuming orgasm, your entire vision going white and your vocal cords almost bursting from your last moan.

You feel Kurt’s warm cum fill you up, and the moan he lets out nearly gives you a second orgasm.

His muscles barely hold him up over your body and you can see sweat daring to drip off his chin and splatter on your chest. One does manage to drip off and land right in your cleavage. It almost burns.

He pants heavily over you, not daring to make eye contact. You see strands of hair stuck to his forehead and you push them away revealing his eyes. He fixes his gaze on you, his pupils dilating entirely, and he presses himself into you giving you a sloppy kiss.

He pulls away and lets his head dangle, a hot breath finding its way on your neck. “Fuck, that was good,” he rasped. You manage a weak hum in response.

He slowly slides himself out of you. He can barely balance himself as he stands up and hobbles weakly to his camera. You hear him speak to his audience, but it’s all muffled. Your head still hurts and you’re still experiencing the after-shock of it all.

Kurt turns his camera off and stands over you.

“Want a water?” He asks.

“What?”

“You look exhausted, do you want some water.”

“Okay, sure.”

He goes to the other side of his room and retrieves a bottle of water from a corner of his room. He hands it to you and you drink it slowly.

Huh, it tastes kind of funny.

»»————-　♡　————-««

[ ❥ ] ~ KEERY PARADISE

#kurt kunkle #kurtsworld96 #kurt kunkle x reader #kurtsworld96 x reader #kurt x reader #spree #spree 2020 #joe keery #joe keery x reader #kurt kunkle smut #kurtsworld96 smut #the lesson #kurt kunkle x you #kurtsworld96 x you #kurt kunkle fic #kurtsworld96 fic #spree movie #kurt kunkle one shot #im so sorry for this its all I have to post right now #unedited

[lonesome-witching]

Writer's Block

After all this time I'm finally posting another ronance ficlet. This one was sort of requested by @ronance4life42 who told me to write about my own writer's block but then for ronance. And so this is the end result. It ended up being good advice so more prompts are coming very soon.

You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Nancy tapped her pen against the table. Her mind was blank. Her mind was never blank. But now the empty page was taunting her. It had been taunting her for over three hours now. It was torturous. A hell made by her own design. At least she was still dramatic. The writer’s block hadn’t broken her just yet.

But it might if this kept going. Her writing was the one thing she had. Her one talent. She had gotten lucky after college. She got to do what she loved every single day. Only right now it felt more like a curse than a blessing. And she was on the clock. Her deadline was rapidly approaching, and she had nothing.

She heard the door slam shut behind her. “I’ve asked you several times, can you please stop slamming the door? What am I? Your fucking mother?” Nancy bit out.

“Well, hello to you too.” Robin dropped her keys in the bowl next to the door. The sound bothered Nancy. She shouldn’t have lashed out. She knew that. But she felt troubled, annoyed, insecure. And she had trouble biting her tongue around Robin. Once upon a time that had been a good thing. It was the reason she got to kiss Robin in the first place. Now it just kept pushing Robin away as the workload and stress piled up. Their near break up in their senior year of college was still fresh in Nancy’s mind.

“I’m sorry.” Nancy pushed her seat back, slowly walking towards her girlfriend. Her girlfriend, not her enemy. “Hey, Robs. How are you feeling? How was your day?”

“I’m fine. My day was fine. How are you? What’s bothering your pretty, little mind?” Robin wrapped her arms around Nancy’s waist, pulling her closer.

“Little?” Nancy smiled.

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed heavily. “I’ve got writer’s block. Three hours of work and I’ve got nothing. Any tips? What do you do when— Shit, your meeting! How was your meeting with your supervisor?” She couldn’t help but slap Robin’s shoulder softly.

“It was… God, it was awful. I gotta change everything. He hated my entire approach. And I mean yeah, what does he know right? He doesn’t care about the portrayal of women in horror film. But he has a major impact on my grade and whether or not I actually get my PhD, so I gotta do what he says.” Robin’s fingers were tapping Nancy’s skin. A nervous habit Nancy had learned to pick up on.

“How do you deal with that?”

“Well, I come home to my beautiful girlfriend and I give her a kiss,” Robin said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Nancy, “and I realize my research is getting funded by the university and the government and that money really does come in handy.”

“Charmer. How about any tips for dealing with writer’s block?”

“Well, my professor always says that a good cup of tea fixes any great writer’s block. But he’s a jackass. I like walks, they help clear the mind and you can get back to it with fresh eyes. And if that doesn’t work, just write. Even if it doesn’t make sense. You can always scratch parts and re-write bits. But the essence of writing is just putting words on a page, so start there and work your way to something good.”

“How do you do that?” Nancy dropped her head against her girlfriend’s chest.

“Want to go for a walk?”

“No, I don’t have to clear my head. I feel like it’s empty already.”

“Alright, how about we work this together? What you writing about?” Robin untangled herself and walked towards Nancy’s notes.

“It’ll bore you,” Nancy complained.

“It won’t.” Robin had already sat herself down. “Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”

“Alright, but after this I want to hear everything about the portrayal of women in horror movies and the feedback of your supervisor. It’s only fair.”

“Alright, deal.”

Nancy leaned down and kissed Robin’s forehead. “I love you, you know that?”

“You’ve told me before, you can tell me again though.”

#prompts #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #my work #stranger things #fanfic #robin x nancy #nancy x robin #ficlet

[vshouse]

Deerplay Concepts 🦌 @rottenlapdog This is inspired by your post.

Not personally a thing I'm into so I didn't know if there was an audience.

[Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked]

Anyway

Stuff:

Antlers

Smaller stumps during shedding seasons (Vulnerable time for deer since their antlers play as defence.)

Tails and Ears (If none are out there, custom made options can be great/or homemade).

Clothes in Browns and Whites. (Easy access pieces are fantastic for primal feeling more naked even with clothes on)

Collar that doesn't jingle/jingle too loud as to not startle deer or alert predators... unless 👀

If you like makeup that can be incorporated.

Grooming brush that feels good on skin.

Salt lick like @spiraledfaun said but if you don't want salt like that use sugar cubes as a version !!

Deer snacks/Variations of them if general inedible to people/your allergies.

Vibrator harness that keeps it on your deer while theyre in the yard. On and off at random until they bleat to come in and get some attention.

Genral:

Mating season/In Heat/Required Breeding for a farm

Petting, Playing, and Attention for any pet ofc.

Scratches that make them wiggle and make their tail twitch, and massages that make them let out precious little sounds.

Training!! Dont forget to train your deer of course. Help them not be as nervous around certain stimulus. Make sure it always know that even though it goes frolicking the woods, that it belongs to you.

An Example Deer if your poly can really help a younger more inexperienced deer learn how to behave.

Deer Fighting! Winner Tops!! Getting Stuck!!! (Someone finding you guys stuck? That anything?)

Wild Deerplay:

Caught in Deer Fencing in a... compromising position. A little cheesy but a bedframe or a chair also could play this out well and who doesn't like a bit of cheese now and then?

Nursed back to health and deciding to stay. (Fantasy novel style version where you wanna like, become their spouse cause once you're strong enough you have a human form.)

If you're willing to get erotic about a Wildlife Specialist who Drugs and Tags the Deer you can probably make a few good subtype scenarios. (Ex: Drugged them with heat enhancements for deer who are struggling for health reasons and now their presenting to you/trying to mount you like their life depends on it.)

Pet Deerplay:

Pet Deer, maybe pet show style, who gets pampered. bathed and brushed and all dressed up and spoiled for always winning with a good fuck.

Have a short version where the dom is the judge who also has to check fertility. How well can a trained deer stay on their harness while they're checked out for health!! Treats include: A Breeding, Loys of praise, First prize, and a very prowd owner who has lots of treats waiting after show!

Punishments for a home deer: Cuffed Antlers to something, exposed for whatever dom wants/ Boundary based shock collar so not woods time for a day or two. Maybe if there's two or more cuffing their Antlers as a pubishment for petty horn fights? "Wanna lock horns so bad, I'll keep hem that way."

Catmaid? Nope!! slap that maid dress on your local deer now!!

Primal Play:

Predator Animal (Wolf/Cougar/Mountain Lion/Werewolf/Werecat) hunting you down and instead of a killing bite, they leave a different kind of one. This one leaves the deer shaking and dizzy just long enough to be flipped over and explored.

Hunting Season Eroticism is something I've seen before, I think deerplay fits in it's framework. (No real deer will be harmed in the participation of this kink)

That also means threesome with a hunting dog that smells out the deer who maybe doesn't notice them even coming, running around looking for another deer to mate/be mated by... the hunter dog finds them first and by the time the hunter gets there 😳 oh my the dog and the deer are frolicking really close.

A waiting predator fattening you up after winter by eating deer competing for resources/bringing you stuff while asleep so hunting you in fall will be more rewarding

#deerplay #primal play #pet pl4y #hunting k1nk #nsft #queer nsft #unsure what else to tag this #poly nsft #nsft deer #←getting that tag going now #join me #vschat

[ronearoundblindly]

🥰 and Steve?

Steve Rogers x wife!Reader

Post-Nightmare Cuddles, a Fools Rush In mini-tale

Summary: You have Steve's memories, which means you also hold his darkest moments in your mind.

(The premise of this has to do with a future plotline for this series, but basically, you lost your memories of life with Steve. They were replaced by his memories of you together, but some other experiences slipped through. Witchcraft isn't the most precise of sciences...) WC 1k+

Your heart sinks into the roiling acid of your stomach.

They're here.

Huge, towering ships have landed and their touch shakes the ground, shakes the country, shakes the Earth.

The lightweight guards at your wrists feel comforting and foreign. You don't normally have a shield strapped to both simultaneously. You are evenly lop-sided, on edge, and ready.

Your existence is a conundrum: you stand by your best friend of 100 years in a secret African nation invaded by aliens to protect a stone in an organic machine's head.

It's also a beautiful day, one about to be marred by blood and death and possibly the end of everything.

Your heart pounds as you sprint across the field.

The vicious, dog-like creatures snarl and spit as you thwart each kill shot.

Bite. Scratch. Snap. Latch.

There are howls and whines, growls and screams, and it just keeps going.

Bite. Scratch. Snap. Latch.

Bite. Scratch. Snap. Latch.

Warriors fall all around you, piling limp hounds in their wake, but they keep coming.

A bite to your shoulder. A scratch to your neck. Snapping at your heels. One latched to your shield.

They keep coming.

The weight of them drags you to your knees, and a war dog takes aim at your face. You can see right down its throat. You can smell its foul breath, and--

"Keeps, sweetheart, wake up."

The weight still holds you down. Your heart still pounds. Hot breath still fans your face.

You're still fighting.

"It's okay. You're alright," Steve hisses as kindly as he can while pinning you to the safety of the mattress.

"Where's Bucky? He was right beside me." The tremor in your hands remains even after you stop struggling. "There were so many of them."

"Honey, I need you to take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?"

You know two things with absolute certainty: that was real--you felt it, you remembered it--and that was not real to you.

"Buck isn't here, Keeps. He's fine. You're fine."

"Thanos was coming," you blurt, "in Wakanda."

That's when Steve lets you go, sitting back on his heels, only a gentle grip on your thigh as he begins to understand.

That's a dream he knows well and one he has never described in detail.

"They just kept coming," you whisper. "So many of them."

Steve angles down to rest his forehead on your sternum, the pressure enough to ground you further.

"I know, love." He kisses your chest. "I'm so sorry."

You try to swallow several times with difficulty and rasp a request for water.

Steve leaps up so fast he could head-butt you into unconsciousness. You almost wish he did because your skin crawls with nervous energy once his body leaves yours.

He helps you drink slowly, one warm arm wrapped around your shoulders, speaking about nothing at all, anything that brings you further and further from the dream—the memory, really. You can see where it would have gone so clearly; you know what happened next.

You have a ritual for when Steve has nightmares. You always wait until he has his bearings (when you aren’t started into disorientation yourself) then ask if he wants to hold you, but for some reason, it startles you when Steve offers the same.

He can’t crawl between your legs and tuck into your chest. Your husband is simply too large for that. He can, however, lay in your arms for as long as it takes for you to settle, to forget his past, to relearn who you are, and to know that everything is alright now.

Thanos is gone. The war dogs were all killed. For years, the world has been safe, or at least, protected, and you’ve been among its protectors. That’s what feels so unreal though…

You know he wants you to calm, so you bite your tongue. You know Steve is as on edge as you, so you scratch at his scalp. You jerk your head to the side and hear a snap in your neck, a small relief. Sleep will retake you if you stay latched to him for stability.

After a few minutes where the tension in your muscles doesn’t dissipate, Steve rolls over and pulls you to him, a little harder than he normally would, a little more desperate to feel you hold on.

“He’s gone, Keeps. It’s over,” Steve mutters, hoping the words can help. “I promise.”

He feels so warm and smells so good, heavy like your eyelids finally. His heart beats steady and strong beneath your ear.

“Does it always feel like this? When you wake up?”

There’s a shuffling noise as Steve tilts to look at you.

“You…” You try to think of the right phrase. “Do you stay disconnected for so long?”

His arms tighten around you, and you hear his nod without seeing it.

“I wasn’t lying,” Steve breathes. “I never thought I’d have this—never thought I’d find someone like you, so—“

His swallow rings as difficult across your temple, hollow and unsatisfactory, and you push yourself closer to his side, stretching to meet his eyes in the near dark.

“This feels like more of a dream than battle…sometimes. It’s hard to accept that I’m awake.”

Steve has practiced this many, many more times than you. He has convinced himself he deserves this over and over, but you’ve woken from his past into his present and even you cannot believe it.

You both get happiness. You both have won battles. You both have earned rest.

You swivel your hips until you’re so pressed to your husband that the sheets beneath you strain.

“Let’s dream of how much I love you next,” you whisper. “Then we’ll be Even Stevens.”

Steve makes a show of wiggling down to kiss the crown of your head. “So smart, love. What a perfect plan.”

from this game of "Comfort My Characters"

Thank you for asking!

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @claireelizabeth85 @patzammit @supraveng @1950schick @deandreamernp @yiiiikesmish

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #fools rush in #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #fluff and feels #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader

[surr3al1sm]

☆ Funky little intro post ☆

Hoi! Since more people have been interacting with my blog and fics lately so I decided it's time to do an little intro post. Introductions are always something I put off bc I'm bad at them (as you can probably tell) so we're just going to roll with it. ☆ My name is Rose (internet alias ig), or Yiv (shortened version of my irl name) doesn't really matter which one you use either work. You can also refer to me as my user if you wish to. I go by he/him pronouns! I am a 19-year-old student from the Netherlands. I also have autism, which is just something I like to tell people to be upfront lol.

I am currently extremely fixated on Just Dance (like brainrot level) so thats the thing I really only post about, it's my hyperfixation and I get to post on tumblr about it, but I do have other intrests. Here are some of the other things I like: I'm an artist and (now also) a writer. I'm intrested in things like folklore and fairytales but am also really into history. I play D&D and I really like cartoons and ghibli movies. I love ghibli movies. I also really like musicals and have a pretty varied music taste. I'd say my current favourite artists are: Hozier, Sophie Powers, and Palaye Royale!

If you happen to like Just Dance and fanfics: I am currently writing two of my own on AO3. They're called 'Treasures of The Swan' and 'Maybe Loving You is Dangerous' respectively and I really appriciate alll the love they've gotten so far. it really means a lot.

You can always send me an ask or tag me in something. I really don't mind, I actually love it when people do that. As a heavy lurker (who is posting bc JD needs more content) I get that it can be a little intimidating but theres no reason to be nervous! I don't bite (most of the time). So feel free to just say hi! I love interacting with people with similair intrtests to me (and possibly even making friends)

Sorry that this is kind of a long post, once I start yapping I don't know when to stop. Going to leave this off with: if someone ever asks you 'who asked?' I did. It was me. I asked. ☆

#intro post #please do say hi if you were going to #I love having mutals and online friends to bother with my posts #again sorry its this long

[pawbeanies]

tagged by: @emo-mmy !!! hi!!! running around in circles around you thank you for the taggg

im. putting this under a readmore because i realized i like talk so much and then i got embarrassed because this is so long and silly and i go on a billion tangents. tagging games fun though !!!

last song:

covering my face with my sleeve paws i may be silly. lately i am getting into vkei bc beloved people in my life are like "you would like it!!!" and i DO !!! this specific song is actually a cover of the op of the 80s rose of versailles anime which like is in itself a whole other fun thing to talk about because of its like influence but like OK its a good somg. its a good cover. lareine is no longer together but like the members have gone on to do other stuff !!!!

favorite color: pink and blue !! i am indecisive and it swaps... but i like those the most

currently watching: sara z's video on dear evan hansen!! for some reason. my yt algorithm is like all musical theatre videos. or episodes of kitchen nightmares. i don't even think i'm all that into theatre but i like listening to people who know more tear into it

last movie: i was like in agony trying to remember what the last movie i watched was and then i remembered. its twilight. it was twilight. im on a vampire kick right now it seems (but also it was like at a friends house and i was only half watching because they brought their pet rabbit out to hang out with us and i was playing with it the whole time and it was BITING ME !!!!) (but also i was like locked in for the baseball scene. the best scene in all of cinema.)

sweet/spicy/savory: cruel i cannot choose one... trapped between sweet and savory because while i love spicy things i cannot handle them ...... i feel like i like sweet things sliiightly more but. hmhm. like when you eat too many sweet things you end up wanting something savory yknow .....

relationship status: single ........... there is an obvious reason why i think you can tell from my posting (its that im annoying and do not shut the fuck up .........)

current obsession: unfortunately the vampire book series i have been like talking about so much, silver under nightfall and its sequel court of wanderers !! i am thinking of what i wouldve done differently in the sequel fkskfksf (also coming to the horrid realization that they were like setting up pegging but i dont think my guys ever got pegged. whats the point. truly. heres my editors notes. why didnt the main character get pegged? like theres so many things that were set up and mentioned and that didnt come to fruition and thats not my only critique its not JUST about pegging. but the lack of pegging is like representative of many of the issues i have with the book. why didnt he get pegged. they bring it up MULTIPLE times and yet we never saw the strap. they describe it in universe as being "shafted" and YEAH i certainly feel shafted !!! i need answers!!!!!!!! im OPENING my googledocs and writing the fic where he gets pegged !!!!!) this will like pass in a couple days im sure. i think. i hope

um also my fun game blorbos i think. yah

last thing i googled: "pin feathers" like the kind that birds have !! i dont remember the context anymore but they're like. developing feathers on a bird and sometimes they have BLOOD in them and then they are called blood feathers isnt that cool... i wish i was a bird

tagging: not tagging anyone in particular because i'm nervous about tagging people fksjkf BUT if you see this and you wanna do it please pretend like i am !!! tagging you !!! do these !!!!!!!! im tagging you in spirit if you want to do these. tagging you with. my mind. yipee

#pawbeanies lore #tag games #hiiii i love TALKING and going on 29000000 tangents. sorry

[groundcontrol21]

A Little Help from My Friend (M, Musketeers)

So the hindbrain wrote this one. CW for: inducing, contagion, mess, stuffy-talk, character with the kink, and absolute desecration of characters from classic literature. Very glad Mr. Dumas is not around to see what I've done here. How far we've strayed from the light.

This is a marked departure from what I usually write and I honestly don't know what came over me. I'm very nervous about posting it for some reason (?) so please be kind.

“Hehh… uhhh…” For the umpteenth time that day, the sneeze which had been building and dragging Aramis to the precipice now abandoned him there, snuffly breaths hitching as he rubbed his hands over his face with a groan. “Snf!” His nose squelched as he rubbed at it, in one last vain attempt to coax the sneeze forward. He huffed miserably. “I’m so ill, Porthos.”

As attractive as it was to watch Aramis’s face go through the slow, agonizing permutations of readying to sneeze time and time again, Porthos felt terrible for him. “I know,” he said, biting at his lip. “I didn’t have it half as bad as you.”

Aramis coughed, the sound wet and congested. Porthos’s own cough hadn’t sounded that bad, had it? He thought back to when he’d been sick with this cold. The first couple days it hadn’t been bad enough to keep him from duty, so Aramis had merely hovered beside him like a worried nursemaid, urging him to drink often and offering his own waterskin when Porthos’s had run dry. Then when Treville had taken him off duty to prohibit him from sneezing on the royal court, Aramis had been with him in his every spare moment, pouring him tea and washing his sodden handkerchiefs. Really, Porthos supposed, he should have expected that just as soon as his own sniffling diminished, Aramis’s increased, as though the cold had just seeped from his head into his friend’s.

Aramis’s croak drew him back to the present. He flopped his arm around miserably on the bed. “I’m beginning to think I’ll ne-eh’hehhh—never be well again. Snf!”

Porthos couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Well, that’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Aramis shot upward, curled in on himself in what Porthos was sure would end in a sneeze, only for his nose to be left a dripping, flaring, unsatisfied mess as the sensation abandoned him once more. “HEHH...ohh.” He pressed the back of his hand hard against his nose with a set of marshy sniffles. “If I could only sneeze, the world would look so much brighter.” 

In more ways than one, Porthos thought, making a concerted effort to swallow down the fluttering feeling in his stomach. He felt bad enough that he was enjoying his friend’s misery in a way; he would be damned if Aramis found out about that fact. Whereas the day previous Aramis had been veritably unable to stop sneezing, each expulsion somehow leaving him sounding more congested than the last, today he was many times taunted but never satisfied. Yesterday had brought its own challenges when Porthos had come to check on him, namely the need to hide any untoward reactions to his friend’s desperately ill sneezes, but when Porthos had agreed with Aramis’s plea for the heavens to make him stop sneezing, it hadn’t been with this new misery in mind. Misery for Aramis, but also for Porthos, because these near-sneezes were hardly any better.

Aramis coughed again, rubbing at the swollen glands near his jaw. “Oh, and my throat,” he moaned with a harsh swallow. “And my ear.” He winced as the coughs continued and Porthos felt his heart split in two. No sooner did the coughs cease than did his breaths begin to hitch again–

“Hehhh…Ihhh…IHHHhh–”

–only to fade away into nothingness once more. Poor Aramis let out a hoarse, throaty groan, and that pitiful noise not only increased Porthos’s concern but also must have banished whatever sense he possessed, for he suddenly heard himself saying, “I think I know something that could help you with the sneezes.”

Luckily, Aramis’s eyes were closed as he pinched and rubbed at his leaking nose, for Porthos was sure he looked like the portrait of a mortified man. His hands shook slightly and he blinked; help him? Dear God, what was Porthos thinking, exposing himself like that? Worse, what if Aramis accepted? How could Porthos pretend to be normal in that?

A second passed in which Aramis said nothing, and so Porthos rushed in with a fumbling attempt to somehow explain his offer. “It’s something I’ve done–uhh, it’s a bit unconventional… but…” Good Lord, Porthos thought, he was merely digging himself deeper into this godforsaken hole.

“Porthos,” Aramis sighed, cracking open a tired eye at him, “at this point I would join the Cardinal’s Guard if it would make me feel better.”

Porthos gasped in mock scandal. “You don’t mean that.”

He was stalling, this much he knew, but he also knew he would rather be trampled by every horse in the garrison than continue this conversation, even though Porthos had been the fool who brought this whole predicament upon himself in the first place.

Aramis said nothing in reply, merely fished his handkerchief out from beneath the blankets and gave a liquid blow into it. He fixed his gaze balefully on Porthos when he finished, rubbing at his nose with the corner of the cloth in slow, slurpy circles. He looked so utterly miserable, his cheeks flushed, his nose chapped, his eyes bruised with purple, that Porthos knew instantly he would swallow every inch of his pride to make him feel better. 

“Sit up, then,” Porthos said, and said a quick prayer to nothing at all to help him, for surely this was out of God’s domain. “I have a feeling this might help you.”

Aramis grumbled and groaned but did as Porthos bid him, dragging himself into a seated position and swaddling the thickest quilt from his bedsheets around his shoulders. Meanwhile, Porthos went to the post at the wall where he had hung his own hat and plucked one of the feathers from it. He cared far less for his hat than Aramis did, and anyway he knew that Aramis was planning to give him a new one for his birthday that year, as the man could really be horrible at keeping secrets sometimes. As such, one feather now could be sacrificed to the cause.

Porthos returned to the bed and took a seat across from the bundled, shivering Aramis. His heavy-lidded eyes fell upon the feather which Porthos twisted nervously between his fingers and he grinned, even as Porthos wished the floor would swallow him whole. 

“Ahh, I see,” Aramis murmured, and Porthos nearly lept to the ceiling.

“You-you see?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve done this before, too?” 

At this, Porthos’s heart nearly stopped. He felt dizzy, felt his mouth drop open, unable to believe what he was hearing. Aramis continued. “With a feather, I mean. I used to know a woman who was quite, shall we say, fond of sneezes.” Porthos could already feel his cheeks burning, but then Aramis’s eyes took on a far-off sparkle, glimmering with pride, and the words which accompanied them were almost his undoing. 

“Especially mine, so she said.”

I’m inclined to agree with her, Porthos thought. His cheeks felt positively aflame now, and Porthos hardly knew how he managed to keep his voice from being a croak as he asked, “By fond do you mean…” He licked his lips, almost praying that Aramis would spare him completing his question. “Aroused?”

Aramis smiled. “I was trying to be discreet, but yes.” That same faraway look of pride gleamed in his eyes again, and Porthos wished he could slap the man for it. “Ah, I wonder if she’s found a better sneezer than I.” 

At once, Porthos’s mind supplied him with I doubt it, and wished he could slap Aramis for prompting that, too. To hide the tremble he felt rising in his voice, Porthos scoffed. “You,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Discreet.”

“I am very discreet, dear Porthos.” Aramis laid his hand across Porthos’s, the one which held the feather, and Porthos could feel the man’s fever even through his fingers. “Notice how I have not so much as disclosed her name.” Removing his hands, Aramis pressed his thumbs beneath his eyes, near the bridge of his nose and massaged himself lightly. He groaned softly at the contact. “Snf! Now, enough reminiscing. My nose is positively stopped full and it n-n-eh-needs your help. Snf!” 

If the Lord did exist, He must have been very displeased with Porthos, for He was surely testing every mite of Porthos’s resolve this day. Porthos raised the feather slowly, his hand trembling so badly he was worried he might jab Aramis in the eye with it. He was almost unable to look Aramis in the face but he forced himself to, trying to distance himself from the thought that he was really doing this, that he was really putting a feather to his friend’s blocked, sniffly, cold-ridden nose just as he’d always–

“I don’t think it’ll take much,” Aramis said thickly. “Snf! I’ve been hovering on the brink all day.” He caught Porthos by the wrist, stopping the feather a mere hairsbreadth from its target. “I might—snf!—I might sneeze on you.”

Porthos cursed the stirring he felt in his trousers. “That’s alright,” he managed, hoping he didn’t sound quite as breathless as he felt. He tried to don an air of uncertainty; it wouldn’t do to seem to be enjoying it so much, for God’s sake. “I-if it was my cold first, that means I shouldn’t catch it again, right?”

“I should hope not bc I—snf!— I feel miserable and I’d feel even worse if I made you this miserable too.” 

Porthos made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat and worked to push aside any thought that wasn’t of concern for Aramis. The man was freely admitting to feeling miserable, for God’s sake. Porthos could help him, would help him, and would not let any silliness get in the way of that. If this is what it took to alleviate the smallest bit of his brother’s discomfort, so be it. Porthos could deal with himself later. 

Porthos brushed the feather delicately beneath the red, chapped skin of Aramis’s nose, and the man gave a full-body shiver at the contact, bundling deeper into the blanket tucked around his shoulders. He coughed lightly, his nose already beginning to twitch and flare, and Porthos knew the man had been right, it wouldn’t take much. He inserted the very tip into one of Aramis’s nostrils, gave it a slight wiggle, and that was all it took before the man’s breath snagged on a ragged inhale. 

“P-hhhooo’ohhh’ISHHHUHHH! Ihhh’KSSHHH! Ihh’HESHHHH!” 

The dam finally broken, Aramis sneezed and sneezed, collapsing forward with each expulsion. Porthos could see the wetness hang in the air between them, could feel it land on his cheeks. Mess trailed down in ropy tendrils from Aramis’s nose and he cupped his hand in a futile and retrograde act of containment. “Heh’KMMPPFF! Hehh’RMPFFF!”

His hands shook with the fervor of his movement, and he was not successful at keeping them plastered to his face. As they broke away they brought with them a strand of mucus, clinging to his fingers, but still Aramis was far from finished. “Heh’ZDSHHH’ooo! Ihh’GSHHH’ooo! Hehh’ihh’INGSHHHH!” He sniffled almost convulsively between each sneeze, desperate for air. Porthos felt a mist on his cheeks and for a moment he was paralyzed. 

Porthos wouldn’t have minded if the man kept releasing a fountainous spray upon him, but to preserve his friend’s dignity he cast around feverishly in the bedsheets. “Damn it, Aramis, where did you put the handkerchief?”

Aramis was pinching his reddened nose, his fingers glistening with the mess which had spilled onto them. Already his hair was wild and framed his face like an unholy halo. “Udder the pill-Pshhh’IEEWWW! Pillow? Heh’DSHHH!”

It was not under the pillow, nor tangled in the bedsheets, but had rather fallen to the floor halfway beneath the bed. Porthos scrambled to retrieve it as his friend released sneeze after sneeze of the wettest, fullest sort, as though they had been building in his head the whole day. They probably had been, the poor man. He started to cough, only for more sneezes to cut him off.

“Heh’RSHHH! Heh’TSHIEW! Oh, thagk you,” Aramis sighed as he hurriedly took the cloth from Porthos. Their hands brushed, and Porthos swallowed heavily at the dampness he felt on Aramis’s fingers. He watched as Aramis took a deep breath before blowing what must have been every bit of fluid in his nose into the handkerchief. Once he had finished, he folded the cloth, turned it over, and blew again, before seeking out a dry corner and nuzzling into it, massaging his nose between the folds and making stuffy noises of relief.  

He lowered the cloth for a mere moment before his eyes clouded over again. “I’ve got… sdeeze! Ahh’TSCHOO! HEHH’TSHHH!” He blew his nose again and coughed throatily into the handkerchief, before his breath crescendoed into one final, massive sneeze. “Ahh’hihh’HITSCHHOOO!”

Aramis buried his nose in the folds again and simply held it there as if to let gravity drain away the rest, shutting his eyes in the utterly exhausted aftermath of such a display. Porthos was grateful for the man’s distraction, for he was finding it increasingly difficult to sit still. 

“Oh, Porthos,” Aramis groaned in a positively sinful manner as he finally lowered the handkerchief. “Snf, snf! Snf!” The sneezing had clearly shifted the congestion in his head, but already he was beginning to sound all bunged up again. His cheeks and nose were flushed scarlet, his hair a tangled mess, his eyes streaming, and before Porthos could stop himself he squirmed and gave a minute groan of his own. 

Then, to Porthos’s horror, Aramis smiled at him. “Am I wrong in saying that you appear to be enjoying this quite as much as Ju—my friend?” 

At once, the room began to spin. Had he really been so obvious? Porthos’s breath quickened as thoughts and curses jumbled together in his mind, his hands beginning to tremble, his legs starting to bounce in agitation. He would have to leave and hope Aramis would forget this; he was not some oddball lover who–

Aramis’s hand was back on his thigh, stilling its motion. “Porthos, mon ami,” he said lowly, and Christ Almighty, every ounce of congestion was back weighing on his voice. Porthos could not look at him. “I will not judge you. I—heh’TSHIEW!” 

As if on reflex, Porthos found his head snap up at the sound, and he damned himself. Aramis had twisted away to sneeze at his shoulder, but he turned back to Porthos with a bleary sniffle. He smiled at him again, and though his eyes were tired, they held nothing but gentleness.  “What a man likes in bed is between him and the parties in it.”

Porthos could hardly believe what he was hearing, could hardly believe what had happened and what was continuing to happen. He spluttered, choking over thank you for not thinking I am a deviant, and I hope I haven’t made things odd between us, until all he could think to say was, “But I–we–we’re not in bed!”

Aramis gestured to the mattress on which they sat with a laugh. “In any case, I am glad someone is eh-enjoying my… my cold. Hhhh’KSHHHH’uhh!” The sneeze burst from him too quickly to be adequately covered by the handkerchief, and so Porthos saw a heap of wetness slide out from his nose before being sniffled back. “Snf! Guhhh… Because it certainly isn’t me.” 

Aramis gave his nose a haphazard swipe with the cloth. “We could do some more if you’d like. There’s still a lot—a lot…” Aramis trailed off as though forgetting his train of thought, but the true reason for the pause became apparent when his breath gave an almighty hitch and his eyes flickered shut. “Hhhh’RSHHHH!” He sniffled thickly and gave a rueful little smile. “A lot left in there.”

Warmth pulled at the base of Porthos’s belly, but he dared not hope. “Are you sure?”

“After a day of being clogged up with no respite, sneezing like that was nothing short of divine.” 

You can say that again, my friend. Porthos smiled, anticipation thrumming in his veins as he picked up the feather once more, the realization washing over him that he would get to see that divine display again, that he would be able to watch his friend’s beautiful sneezes crash forth and not need to look away for fear or propriety’s sake. It was dizzying, and Porthos felt as though he might burst with it. 

Again, Aramis took him by the wrist. His eyes were alight, but serious. “Tell me how to make this more pleasurable for you.”

Porthos must have been dreaming. “P-Pardon me?”

“My l-friend, she liked it when I tried not to sneeze after she’d tickled me.” 

Porthos’s voice, when he found it, was naught more than a rough whisper. “I—uh—I’d like that too.” If he ever found this woman, he would fall at her feet and kiss them. 

“Noted,” Aramis said with a grin. “Snf!” He slid a knuckle beneath his nose. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold back given how congested I am, but on my honor as a Musketeer I will try.” He patted his breast proudly, and Porthos thought he might love the man for it. “What else?”

And if Porthos thought he loved the man before, he was surely infatuated by that comment. What else, the man asks? As if this weren’t already everything and more. The heady thrumming pulsated in his ears, and he could hardly feel his lips as they moved. “Tell me how you feel.”

Aramis blinked at him blankly, and for a moment Porthos feared all was lost. Stuttering, he pushed ahead. “Y-your symptoms. How miserable you feel.”

“Oh, you like it when I complain?” Aramis flashed him a sparkling, devilish grin, and in that instant Porthos saw what every woman must see in him. “You are in luck, dear Porthos, because I feel awful.” He frowned, shaping his features into a dramatic pout. “Every part of me feels run-down and achy—“

Porthos danced the feather ever so lightly across the man’s septum, marveling at how much it quivered at such slight contact. 

“Snf! And sh-shivery. Snf! Like I have a-a f-fehhh… a fever.” 

Porthos pressed his hand gently to Aramis’s warm forehead, his fingers stroking back the sweat-damp hair. “I think you do, poor Aramis.” 

“Poor me, indeed!” Aramis cried hoarsely, breaking off into a few sharp coughs directed at his shoulder. Porthos’s fingers slid to Aramis’s jaw and he guided the man’s face back to him. Porthos ran the feather against his septum again. Aramis’s entire face twitched, but he soldiered on. 

“My throat… my…” His expression went lax as the feather ghosted against his skin and his eyes fluttered to half mast. He gripped Porthos’s thigh, his fingers flexing and relaxing, his nails digging into the flesh. “Oh, I have to sn-sneeze. Hehhh—“

Were it not for the iron grip of his friend’s hand, Porthos felt as though he might float away into the ether. “Keep holding on,” he croaked, sounding almost as wretched as Aramis. “Keep talking.” 

Aramis doggedly blinked away the tears which had begun to form in his eyes. “Oh, snf!” His nose was red, chapped, and quivering, and yet Porthos taunted it more with the feather. Aramis squirmed. “My throat feels like I’ve choked on my sword. My ear feels hot and full. Snf! Hehhh…. Oh, and my nose. Snf! How is it possible for it to be so stuffed up and… and so runny… HEHhhh… Snf! At the same time?” 

And indeed, Porthos could see the evidence of such a predicament, a line of mucus dripping from one of Aramis’s nostrils no matter how forcefully his nose twitched and sniffled. It wouldn’t be long now, and so Porthos made the final gesture, inserting the feather into the snotty nostril inch by inch with a tantalizing slowness. Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, his breath already beginning to hitch. Porthos wiggled it a couple times and then withdrew it at the same pace, drawing with it a thick rope of slime. 

“Ohhhh…” Aramis was trembling, his breath shaking as he fought against his body’s urge with every ounce of strength. But he was no match, this Porthos could tell; he was going to lose this battle, and lose it quickly. 

“I’b really…hehhh’EHHH...huhhhh—Snf, snf!” His voice was rapidly taking on a breathier and breathier quality with each word he spoke, and Porthos’s heart raced. “Really dot feelig—HESHHHOO! Ihh’TSSCHHH! Uhh… I’b dot feelig well at all, Porthos. Heh’TSHIEWWW! Oh…”

They were both done for now, Aramis lost in a violent haze of sneezes, even more vigorous now than the first, and Porthos swirling in his own private ecstasy. “Heh’ZDSHHH! KSHHH’uhh! Hehh…Ihhh..HEHISHHH! Hhhh’ITSCHHH! Snf! Huh’TSHHHH’ooo! Nggghhh…”

Aramis rubbed at his nose with the handkerchief as he sniffled and sneezed, letting it fall to the side with a sigh of irritation upon finding the cloth utterly soaked. Mucus dribbled down his lips no matter how many times he sniffled, and the sharp inhalations made him cough. 

“Let it all out,” Porthos rasped, “you’ll feel better.”

“I deed–de-heh’HESHHH’oo! Snf! Oh, Porthos… Heh’KSHHHIEW! Snf, snf! A haddkerchief–snf–please! Ahh’TSHCHH!” It was true, Aramis’s face was a mess of fluid from his eyes to his chin. Porthos dug out a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and passed it to Aramis, before flopping back against the bed and tending to himself as Aramis blew and blew. All the while, Porthos lay on his back, panting, staring at the ceiling as visions of what he had just seen danced across his view. 

“Ugh, I’b exhausted,” Aramis said upon finishing, before dropping abruptly onto Porthos’s chest, pillowing his head against his breast and curling up beside him. Porthos stroked the top of the man’s head, gratified when the man let out a hoarse and congested, yet content hum at the contact. He pressed a long kiss to the hot skin of Aramis’s forehead, suffusing it with the thank yous and I love yous and my heart breaks when you aren’t feeling wells that he could not put into words. Aramis turned and pressed his nose into Porthos’s shirt, drawing a long breath in before muffling his next sneeze into the fabric, though some still spilled over onto Porthos’s exposed skin where the shirt came undone at his chest.  “Ehh’KMPFFF! Oh…” He sniffled and laid his head back down on Porthos’s chest, before murmuring tiredly, “You’d best hope you can’t catch this again.”

#groundcontrol's sin #my writing #snzfic #mess #inducing #coldfic #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #what's a musketeer feather for if not this huh? #sick ara/mis

[silvercaptain24]

Intro Post!

Hiya!

Call me Silver, Cap, Captain, I don't care! Long as you don't call me late to dinner! :D

I'm a part of the Hurricane Family! Also apparently the only one with braincells a fair percentage of the time, lol. I'm also the one who has the "rules"/intro post, so ask for it here!

I write! You can find all my stuff under the tag Silver Writes, or check out my Ao3! Username is Silver_Captain82403! And i also have a fic masterlist that hasn't been updated since it's creation here!

Um…. I have an art tag now? It’s Silver Does Art??? Should pop up in my featured tags.

Other Tags I commonly use are Silver Rambles (my negativity tag, feel free to block), Silver's Thoughts (usually my HC, Lore, etc. Tag), Silver's Shenanigans (everything. Everything is here).

@shyrule is my usual Wars angsting partner, don't worry about it.

I have sisters! I’ve ended up talking about them enough that they need nicknames, so in age order there’s: Music, Baker, and Comedy!

Pfp drawn by @ghosty-crow, and banner drawn by @cal-the-duende!! (Yeah I stole the idea from Venti not sorry Cal.)

Anon is on. so if you wanna send me an ask but are nervous (For reasons which I don't understand because I'm sorta ridiculous and definitely crazy), feel free to use it! I swear I don't bite, that's @gattodelblack's job.

Anon is temporarily off- I was getting some creepy asks, I’m sorry guys. Pine, Hermit and Wr0ng said they could take any messages from you- Cake, same deal, you’re gonna have to reach out to one of the others.

If you want to get to know me, please send an ask. I love talking to people, but I'm not big on Dm'ing unless I'm comfortable with someone.

Interact and I will end up giving you a nickname, I don’t make the rules.

@ajscico’s fic dealer on the regular. Don’t worry about it.

ummm...

I think that's it?

Tumblr is currently being stupid and eating asks that I can only see on desktop, which I rarely get on. So if you send an ask and I don’t answer, there’s a chance it’s cause I don’t know about it. Sorry about that.

#intro post #silver's shenanigans