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munson-blurbs · 10 months

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

Summary: You and Eddie finally get some much-needed alone time, and a confrontation at the Hawkins Preschool talent show tests your commitment to each other.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), protected p in v, fingering, oral (m! receiving), lil bit of edging, broken condom, breeding kink, mentions of Eddie's past, bullying, fighting, Jason Carver's mere existence, mostly fluff and smut before the angst of the next two chapters

WC: 9.2k

Chapter 15/20

Divider credit to @saradika Cutie pie Eddie pic credit to @/sunceddie

You wake up to an alarm set a full hour later than it typically is on a Friday morning, and the extra rest has you walking on air. Or maybe this newfound floatiness comes from knowing Eddie will be arriving soon, the two of you playing hooky from work to spend the day together. Your insides ignite with a rebellious fire, like you’re skipping class to smoke cigarettes underneath the bleachers, rather than taking a paid sick day that you’ve rightfully accrued.

Sunlight streams through the window, just a bit brighter than the usual smears of pink and orange that you normally see when you awaken. And while you still have to drag your yet-to-be-caffeinated body out of bed, the walk to the bathroom seems slightly less daunting.

You can’t let Eddie in fast enough when the intercom buzzes thirty minutes later. You were never naïve to the fact that dating a parent would mean having less privacy; what you didn’t know was how strongly you’d crave him.

Your hands are all over him the moment he steps through the door, simultaneously too much and not enough. Fingers lazily drape across the nape of his neck, and you can feel that his hair is already frizzy from the early April rain. Your breath hitches when you catch a glimpse of the burgeoning outline along the seam of his gray sweatpants.

His lips find yours easily, aiming to meet in the middle, but you press on your toes and bring your core to his. Your pajama top is thin; not sheer, but flimsy enough that he can feel the way you react to the chill of his leather jacket.

“Hello to you, too,” he murmurs with a laugh, muffled by a kiss that catches him off-guard. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab breakfast first, but—”

You shake your head, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the bedroom. “Sex first, food later.”

“Yes ma’am.” He uses his free hand to apply a quick smack to your ass, mesmerized at the way the supple flesh ripples underneath the flannel pants. Jesus, you’ve got him half-hard and you’re still in your pajamas.

He sits on the side of the bed, and you climb to straddle him, your inner thighs nudging his outer. “Been thinking about you,” you say, tugging his earlobe between your teeth.

Eddie pulls you even closer, one hand snaking up your shirt to cup your breast. He’s still cold from the rain and early morning frost, and his touch has your nipple pebbling. “What about me?”

“Well,” you trill, starting to slowly grind against the tented fabric of his pants. He exhales, a shiver of anticipation coursing through his veins. “I believe I promised my rockstar a reward for his amazing gig.” Your thoughts flit back to the night of Will’s party, when you’d snuck backstage and gotten a glimpse of him, his body pulsating with nerves that had almost immediately quelled at your touch. Another sensation had swept over him then, but that was an entirely different type of flutter.

Eddie nudges his nose against yours, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Your rockstar?” He adores the phrasing. Yours. Belonging to you. And you belong to him; he won’t ever allow you to forget it. “What kind of reward did my favorite groupie have in mind?”

You slide off of him, giggling at the pout he gives you as your body loses contact with his. “Patience, Rockstar,” you warn him, though it’s difficult to contain yourself when you’re salivating just being eye-level with his erection. Your fingers dig into his waistband, and for the second time today, you’re glad for his choice of clothing. You don’t think you could handle buttons and zippers and belt buckles. Not today.

He hisses when your palm brushes along his hardened length, stiffening even while covered by his boxer briefs. A small wet patch marks his tip, leaking precum, and you press a chaste kiss to it. Almost instantly, you feel the tendrils of his thigh hair against your bare arms as his legs reflexively snap shut like a Venus flytrap catching its prey.

“Too much?” you mumble against his happy trail. While you relish in the thought of overstimulating him, you want to keep him on edge as long as you can.

Eddie shakes his head, curls scratching against his shoulders. “Jus’ wasn’t expecting it. ‘Cause you were using your hands, but then I felt your…never mind, I’m gonna shut up now.” He settles back into the mattress and eagerly awaits your next move.

You don’t make him wait long, lips drawn to his shaft with a magnetic force. You only stop to shimmy his underwear down his legs, tossing them to the corner of the room. His cock is flush against his tummy; you catch yourself staring at the dusting of wispy curls that trail from his upper groin down to his heavy sack.

Your dominant hand wraps around the base while the other leans on his thigh for balance. You lean in and spit, letting your saliva dribble down his length before flattening your tongue to lick up the pearly bead forming at the tip. Eddie’s abdominal muscles contract and his fists clench, never taking his eyes off of the beautiful woman on her knees for him.

He lets out a soft moan as you hollow out your cheeks to take more of him into your mouth. A string of syllables that barely resemble words escapes him. “Mmm, yes, oh, sh–fucking hell–thas’ it…” He twists the bedsheets between his fingers, inhaling sharply as your tongue glides up and down his cock. “S’pretty, fuck, gorgeous girl.” He watches intently, staving off blinks so he doesn’t miss a moment of him disappearing between your lips.

He’d once thought that he could never want more than sloppy post-gig hook-ups in dive bar bathrooms with girls whose names he’d never learned, though he wouldn’t have made an effort to remember them anyway. Girls who had only offered their mouths so they could lay claim to his body; the opportunity to brag that they’d blown Eddie Munson before he got famous.

That was before you, before you’d shown him the intoxicating mixture of longing and belonging, of lust and…

You continue drawing him closer and closer to his orgasm, nose grazing his thatch of pubic hair. His hips buck slightly, but your mouth is so full of him that it threatens to evoke your gag reflex.

“Shit, ‘m sorry,” Eddie blurts out, unfurling a hand from the sheets to cup your cheek. He pulls out, allowing you to take a deep breath.

You shake your head. “I liked it,” you tease with a wicked grin, wasting no time assuming your previous position.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie throws his head back. “You like gagging on my dick? Fucking hell, babe.”

“Mhm.” The gentle vibration has him twitching, and you know he can’t last much longer. You bring your attention to his tip, sucking and giving soft kitten licks while your hand takes care of the rest of his length. He’s so painfully hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if he stayed that way long after finishing.

“Jus’…just like that. Oh, fuuuuuck,” he groans, silently calling upon every ounce of willpower in his body to keep his pelvis still so he doesn’t disturb the beautiful rhythm you’ve found. “Gonna cum…shit, baby, if you don’t want it in your mouth, you gotta stop now.”

But you do want it in your mouth, so you don’t stop, feeling warm ropes adorning your tongue just seconds later. He’s panting, chest heaving as though he was the one putting in the effort, but he still notices the way you swallow his thick load without missing a beat.

“Did you just…oh, my God. You’re perfect.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I can’t…nothing I do will ever compare to you, I swear.” He motions for you to lay down next to him, and immediately climbs on top of you, the sweat from his chest transferring to your shirt. “Off,” he mumbles, pulling it over your head before you get the chance to do it yourself.

His lips swoop down to your left breast, tongue flickering over the nipple, and his dominant hand travels into your panties and expertly finds your clit. You let out a tiny whimper, barely audible over Eddie’s own grunts, finding pleasure in making you feel good.

“This body,” he mumbles, mouth still attached to your chest, “has me in a goddamn chokehold. It’s all I think about.” That isn’t quite true; he certainly spends plenty of time daydreaming of you, though it isn’t always in such compromising positions. Sometimes, you’re sleeping next to him in bed as he presses gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. Other times, he’ll be cooking dinner and picture you passing him the salt or handing him a serving spoon to dish out whatever noodle-based concoction he’s conjured up. Whatever he’s doing, he imagines you by his side.

“Can you kiss me?” Your request is timid but dripping with need.

Eddie nods, bringing himself to eye level with you and closing the gap between your faces. You taste of minty toothpaste and of him, and he curses himself for diving in headfirst without remembering to kiss you. “M sorry,” he apologizes for the second time that morning, and you forgive him with a soft bite to his lower lip.

Your arms rest on his shoulders and your legs wrap around his calf muscles, desperate to remain as close as possible at all times. No, you can’t stay like this forever, so you’ve got to make it count. “Need you inside me, Eddie.” Your voice nearly cracks, tears pricking at your lash line as the craving for him grows stronger. “Please.”

Eddie musters up a terse laugh. “Sweetheart, I just came, like, five minutes ago. You gotta give me a second to bounce back.” He lowers himself so he can whisper in your ear, “let me take care of you while we wait, hm?”

As soon as you nod, he’s yanking down your pajama pants and panties in one fluid motion. You can’t miss the way his eyes light up once you’re fully on display for him, taking in every centimeter of your body like his existence depends upon it. He starts to shimmy his way down, but your murmured “mm-mm” captures his attention.

“Still want you kissing me,” you say, gazing adoringly into his deep brown eyes. “Maybe you could just use your fingers?”

His instinct is to protest; he’s been desperate to taste you again ever since his tongue last touched the most intimate part of you, but he can’t deny you what you want. He’ll do just about anything to keep a smile on your face.

Without further hesitation, Eddie’s lips are on yours. He braces himself on his elbows as his hands cradle your cheeks. You can feel the heat of his cock, still spent and flaccid, against the top of your thigh. He shifts slightly so he can press one thick finger into your pussy, dragging in and out so deliciously that you barely notice his tongue slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you moan.

“Y’like that?” It’s a gratuitous question; he can feel how much you like it in the way you’re clenching around him. “Gonna make my girl feel s’good.”

“Call me your girl again,” you whine, punctuating the plea with a gentle buck of your hips.

Eddie grins, ducking his head where your neck meets your collarbone and sucking lightly. It takes every ounce of strength he possesses not to mark you. He studies the moisture left behind by his lips and wishes it was the exquisite shades of blue and indigo that form when someone’s been claimed.

He slides a second finger inside you. “My sweet girl,” he coos, just a hint of patronization laced within his deep voice, “you like being mine? Belonging to me?”

Your stomach flips at his words; a gnawing hunger for Eddie Munson. “Love it. I…I love being your girl.” You allow your mind to clear, absorbing his gaze, his touch, his skin. The graceful arch of your back beckons him to move faster, tongue peeking from between his plush lips as he concentrates on your orgasm.

Each stroke within you inches you closer to euphoria. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to your clit, cementing his determination to tip you over the edge. He hits all the right spots, committing them to memory; his own personal pathway to the heavens.

It’s your turn to grab onto the bed sheets like a lifeline as pleasure surges through you. Your lips coat his in a warm layer of “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” the praise a victory chant to him. He waits until your eyelids flutter back open and your breathing steadies before taking his fingers from your center and into his mouth, licking your release off of his skin like a delicacy.

Your body may be splayed out on the bed, but your mind is adrift; its only focus is the float down from the high Eddie’s brought you to. If it weren’t for the throbbing reminder pressed to your leg, you might float right into the atmosphere.

You summon the willpower to prop yourself up on your elbows, watching intently as he fists himself to temporarily ease the ache.

“Why’re you doing that when ‘m right here?” you mumble, wetting your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. You can only hope that there’s some semblance of a smile in your intoxicated expression. “Unless you…prefer your hand?”

“Fuck, no,” he grumbles, curls dancing along his shoulder blades as he loosens his grasp to dig through your top drawer. He shoves aside stray prescription bottles and various knickknacks that you’ve been meaning to go through until he finds what he’s been looking for.

He snatches up the teal box and practically tears the cardboard in half trying to open it. The snake of foil packets tumbles out and he scrambles for them, but you’re faster.

Wordlessly, you rip off one packet and carefully tear off the top. Eddie hisses as you roll the condom down his hardened length, more than ready to be inside you.

“Wanna ride you,” you tell him, pressing your palms to his soft pecs. “‘S that okay?”

“Is that��baby, if I ever say no to that offer, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” he laughs, already laying back on the bed. His hair splays across the pillow, brown curls swirling atop the cotton pillowcase like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Eddie inhales sharply as you sit above him, sheathed cock pressed to your heat in anticipation. He reaches out and grabs your breasts, one in each hand, kneading them in his palms. His thumbs brush over your nipples, gauging your reaction before giving them a small pinch.

Your moan, coupled with the way you grind against him, confirms your satisfaction, but he still asks, “Y’like when I do that?”

You offer him a little smirk, cocking your brow as you cheekily reply, “You tell me.”

He doesn’t have time to respond before you lift yourself and gradually sink down onto him, soaking in every moment of the delectable stretch. Bracing yourself on his chest, you feel him bottom out so he’s filling you entirely.

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” His hands move from your chest to your hips as he helps you adjust to the newfound fullness. “So tight. Feels‘mazing.”

“Just wanna take care of you, Eds. You’re so good to me; I wanna be good to you.” You bounce up and down, moving your hips so no part of your walls remains untouched by him.

He’s mesmerized at the jiggle of your flesh as it connects with his, momentarily rendering him speechless before he regains some composure. “You are. You’re so, so good for me. Can never get enough of my girl.”

You clench around him at the title ‘my girl’, earning you a smack to your ass. The sting makes you whimper, and he swiftly delivers another.

“You’re gonna make me cum too soon,” he huffs, blown-out pupils drifting from your eyes to where your bodies are joined.

You pause your movements to lean down, allowing him impossibly deep within you. “If it’s too much,” you murmur into his ear, hoping your edge-teetering tremble is hidden enough to effectively tease him, “maybe I should just…stop.” You slide your hips forward until only his tip breaches your hole.

Eddie’s jaw drops in complete disbelief. “You…you can’t fuckin’ do that to me.” You expect him to push the rest of his cock inside you and thrust until he’s completely spent, so you’re caught off-guard when he pulls out entirely. “All fours. Now.” He emphasizes his request with another spank, this one harder than the rest.

You oblige, palms pressed into the mattress and toes curled as you await him. He taps his shaft against your bottom once, twice, three times, and then plunges into your warmth.

“Ah—fuck—Eddie!” you cry, feeling the telltale twitch that informs you he’s close. Really fucking close. And then another sensation—a soft pop.

He realizes what it is before you do. “Fuckin’ condom broke!” he grumbles, pulling out again—even more begrudgingly than before—and tossing the split rubber to the floor. He opens a new one and rolls it on with lightning speed, eager to be enveloped in you once again.

“Wish we didn’t have to use those,” you mumble, willing yourself to stay steady despite the push from his pistoning hips. “Be so much easier without them.”

Picturing you taking him raw—you wanting to take him raw—is the last straw. “Yeah? You wanna feel all of me, baby?” he growls, nearly inaudible over the sound of his pelvis colliding with your ass. “Want me blowing my load so fuckin’ deep inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling that delicate wave approaching the shoreline, desperate to crest. “That’s exactly what I want, Eddie.”

“Keep saying my name,” he orders, wrapping one arm around you so his middle finger lays on your clit. Every part he touches makes you weaker for him, scavenging for the relief of release.

“Eddie, feels s’good,” you moan, legs threatening to crumple beneath you. “No one makes me feel like this ‘cept you, fuck, Eddie!”

You finish around him, squeezing him until he’s spilling into the condom with a primal groan of your name. He stays draped over you for a beat before flopping back onto the bed.

“You are…” he turns to you and grins as he searches for the right word, “spectacular.” He gingerly removes the barrier from his dick, tying it in a knot and tossing it into the trash can next to your nightstand. “C’mere.”

You lay on his chest, the sweat cooling as it hits your cheek. “Did you work up an appetite?” you tease, kissing just below his tattoo of a demonic head, “I can grab us some cereal, or we might have some frozen Eggos I could throw in the toaster.”

Eddie smiles so wide it threatens to escape the confines of his cheeks. “Sex and breakfast? You spoil me, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well; we need energy to power us through round two.” You scoot upwards to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, the salt of his perspiration tangy on your lips. “Give me a few minutes, okay? Do you like syrup on your waffles?”

“And butter?” he asks with a hopeful smile, peering at you through long eyelashes that would have had you darting to Bradley’s Big Buy if you didn’t already have a stick of Land O’ Lakes in the fridge.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Yes, Your Majesty,” you say, giving his bare thigh a small tap. “Would you also care for some freshly-squeezed orange juice? I can have the chef whip some up right away.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, slowly pushing himself up so he can help you in the kitchen. It dawns on him that he hasn’t felt this kind of peace after sex before; his mind has always been clouded with fears of getting too attached, of saying the wrong thing, of deluding someone into thinking he’s enough.

“God, I love you.” The words tumble out before he can stop them, and he freezes in place, one leg through his underwear. “Fuck, I mean–”

“It’s okay,” you rush to reassure him, noting the red tinge forming on the tips of his ears. “I’d say that to anyone who offered me breakfast foods, too.” You give him room to accept the out, to brush off his confession as a slip of the tongue. There’s no use in awarding merit to an accidental comment, regardless of what your skipped heartbeat tells you.

He considers it, every synapse and neuron firing at warpspeed. Maybe he could convince himself that it was an accident if it was the first time he’d felt this, the way your sunshine radiates through him and warms him from within. But that was far from the truth.

“No,” he finds himself saying, grasping onto every morsel of confidence he can find, “it’s not because of the food. I love you.”

Your voice catches in your throat. You want to believe that he’s reciprocating your feelings, but something nags at you. “Are you sure it’s not because we just had sex? Because sometimes that—”

“No,” Eddie repeats himself, unfolding the waistband of his boxer briefs and walking to you. “Because it wasn’t about sex when you calmed me down after the parent-teacher conference. It wasn’t about sex when you taught Harris how to read and bowl and be a better person than I’ll ever be. It wasn’t about sex when you cheered me on during our last gig, and it wasn’t about sex when I saw you holding Ettie.” He takes a deep breath and holds your hands as he gazes into your eyes. “And even after having sex, it isn’t about sex. It’s about you being the one for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, and finally your lips.

“I love you, too, Eddie.”

Just five words, six syllables, and he’s a goner. Seriousness melts into a sappy smile as he cradles your cheeks and presses the tip of his nose to yours. “Holy shit, we’re in love.”

You kiss him, tongue nudging his as your torsos meld together. If your stomach wasn’t gnawing for something to eat, you’d start round two right then and there.

Throwing on just a shirt and panties, you lead him into the kitchen before either of you can crawl back into bed. His hands never leave your body, snaking around your waist as you rifle through the freezer for the familiar yellow box. His head rests on your shoulder as you drop the waffles into the toaster and press the lever down.

“Eds?”

“Yes, my love?” he murmurs, pecking a soft kiss behind your ear. You both could have sworn that there was nothing better than him calling you ‘my girl,’ but you’re unashamed to stand corrected.

“Could you make yourself useful and grab some plates? Maybe get the syrup or butter?” you tease, noting the dramatic pout developing on his face. “What?”

“I’m keepin’ you warm,” he protests, sliding his hands over the cotton fabric of your faded t-shirt and grabbing your breasts. “And you’re not wearing a bra, so I gotta hold ‘em for you.”

He eventually obliges, setting two Chinette plates on the countertop and padding over to the refrigerator. He plucks the condiments from the side door and places them in the center of the table.

“Cups, too,” you remind him with a cheeky grin, pointing to a cabinet to your right. “No drinking out of the carton in my house.”

“Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

The toaster chimes a charismatic ding! as the waffles jump out of their slots, and you carefully drop both onto one plate. “Here ya go,” you chirp, extending your arm so he can take his breakfast.

“Where’s yours?” His brows pinch together in confusion, a sly smile stretching his lips. “Don’t tell me I didn’t make you work up more of an appetite back there. Shit, shoulda had you ride me longer–”

Your hip collides with his in a purposeful shove. “I’m getting mine ready now. Go sit and eat, you horndog.”

Eddie drops the plate on the counter so quickly that the Eggos nearly fly off, pulling you from behind for a hug that squeezes all the air from your lungs. You squeal as he bites your neck and barks into it, solidifying that he has indeed earned the new nickname you’ve bestowed upon him.

He takes one of his waffles and places it on your empty plate. “We can eat together.”

You grab the orange juice from the fridge, giving the carton a shake before pouring the contents between the two glasses. It’s not until you sit down that you remember: “Oh, shit—utensils.” You start to get back up, but Eddie puts a hand out in a silent bid for you to stay seated, shuffling back to the kitchen. The drawer rattles as he pulls with just a bit too much strength, and he comes back with two knives and a single fork.

“You only got one—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t need it.” With that, he cuts off a hunk of butter and slathers it on top of his waffle, knife scraping against the little squares. He slathers every square inch in syrup, folds the waffle in half, and takes an exaggeratedly large bite.

“Eddie Munson!” you lightly chastise, still in shock at what you’ve witnessed. “Did you just eat that like a taco?”

“Sí, señorita.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, my God, I’m in love with a barbarian.” You reach for the bottle of Aunt Jemima and drizzle the sticky-sweetness onto your waffle. “What else is going on with you?” you ask, cutting the food into strips and spearing it with your fork. “Work’s good?”

“Work’s great, actually.” He starts to bring the waffle to his mouth but pauses just before taking a bite. Syrup drops onto the plate with a plop. “I almost forgot to tell you! The regional manager asked me to go to this thrift market in Indianapolis in a few weeks—all on the company’s dime—and try to snag some vintage records.”

“Eds, that’s amazing!” You leap up from your chair and lean in to kiss his syrupy lips.

He licks a smudge of butter from the side of his thumb. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part,” Eddie grins triumphantly. “The market just so happens to fall during spring break, and I was hoping you could join us?” His bare foot nudges yours under the table. “That is, if you think you can survive an entire weekend running after Harris?”

Your jaw drops in mock-offense. “One of us chases after children–plural–every day. Besides,” you add, taking a swig of juice, “Harris isn’t the one I’m worried about.” You gesture at his partially-demolished breakfast. “At least when he eats like this, he has the excuse of being a child.”

His reply is a flick of his left middle finger, his right hand busy jamming the remaining waffle-taco into his mouth. “And yet,” he retorts with his mouth full, “you can’t seem to get enough.”

He’s got you there: all you’ve ever wanted is sitting in front of you now, the corners of his chocolate-brown eyes crinkling as he stands. You allow your eyes to roam his body; not with lust, but adoration. Love.

Your cheek yearns to be pressed to his chest, your hand resting where the soft pudge of his tummy barely rolls over the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. Your legs crave the connection of intertwining with his. You need his arms, biceps strong from lugging around music equipment and holding his son, wrapped around your torso and keeping you impossibly close. Keeping you safe.

You want to spend hours asking about the stories behind the tattoos that adorn his chest, whether meaningful or the result of sheer boredom. You want to curl up on the sofa and put on a movie, absorbing none of it as you spend the entire duration lost in his lips.

The brush of his thumb against your knuckles stirs you from your roaming thoughts.

“Can I ask you something?”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter, hand never leaving yours. “Shoot.”

“Is it…” you fumble for the right words, “why are you like this now?”

“I’m sorry?” His brows knit together in obvious confusion. “Why am I like…what?”

“This,” you repeat, gesticulating at the man before you, warm and tender and completely unlike the stranger you’d hooked up with nearly eight months ago. “Why is the guy who once kicked me out of his apartment currently having breakfast with me half-naked and inviting me on a trip with his son?” Your tone is inquisitive, curious, and Eddie heaves a silent sigh of relief when he doesn’t detect a hint of judgment.

He doesn’t answer your question outright; instead, he poses his own: “Do you not believe that I love you?” He bites his lower lip, mind churning with the early memories you’d made together, the ones he wishes he could lock away and never remember.

Your heart lurches at your accidental implication. “I do! Shit, Eddie, I know you love me. And I love you, too.” You pause to lift his hand to your mouth, leaving the gentlest of kisses along his fuzzy knuckles. “I guess I just wanna know why you even let yourself love me. Why you didn’t stick to the Cat-and-Mouse. Why…why you chose me.”

He exhales, an incredulous huff of laughter passing through his lips. “You wanna know why I started only having one-night stands? Or why I stopped?”

“Both?” you try.

“So, um,” his eyes look everywhere but at you, “I never really got attention until I moved to Chicago and started playing with that band. All of a sudden, women wanna sleep with me, and I don’t have to, like, beg them.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But they didn’t really want to fuck Eddie Munson; they just wanted to fuck the lead singer and guitarist of Hard Knox. Didn’t matter if it was me or some other random guy.

“One night, I’m…y’know…with this one girl, and I asked her to say my name.” His cheeks tinge red and he swallows hard. “And she looks at me with these wide eyes, and I realized she didn’t even fucking know it.”

“Did you know hers?” The question comes out before you can stop it, but you already know the answer.

He rubs his eyes with his whole palm. “After that, I realized that the only difference between the Eddie who got laid and the Eddie who didn’t was that no one I slept with really knew me. And if they ever figured out that I’m just this big ol’ nerd who spent high school playing Dungeons & Dragons, they’d…” He flexes his hands to make a poof! motion. “So I decided not to let them get to know me.”

“But then…”

“But then,” he acquiesces, “you show up at the bar, looking like a goddamn dream, and I put up that cocky lead singer persona on instinct. Because that’s the only version of me that women ever wanted to be with.” He sighs. “And then I let my guard down, ask you to spend the night, and I’m thinking, ‘I gotta get her outta here before she sees who I really am. Before she sees that I’m not a rockstar; I’m just a mediocre dad who sells weed to scrape by.’”

You move so quickly that you practically knock over your chair, standing behind him and wrapping your arms around the top of his chest. Your chin rests on his scalp, and he can feel the vibration in your throat as you murmur, “nothing about you is mediocre, Eddie Munson.”

He lays his head on your forearm, kissing it softly before lacing his fingers with yours. “Sometimes, I think I’m just buying time until you get sick of me.”

You shift your position so your lips can brush the side of his neck. “I didn’t fall for the guy on stage that night. I mean, yeah, you looked incredibly hot,” you tease and nip at his collarbone, “but I’m in love with Eddie Munson: the man who gets excited when his son reads a new word, who teases me for liking olives on my pizza, who knows the lyrics to every song ever made–including the ones he claims to hate.”

“Well, Eddie Munson–the real Eddie Munson–is so goddamn lucky to be loved by you.” He turns so he’s facing you, strong hands on your hips as he gazes up with starry eyes.

You cradle his cheeks, stooping down so your noses touch. “You deserve to be loved.”

“Yeah.” The word is more breath than sound. “Yeah, I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”

The remainder of your day is spent having copious amounts of sex; Eddie had insisted on ‘making up for lost time,’ taking breaks only for a quick lunch and a shower.

“Come with me to pick up Harris,” Eddie says as he wraps the bath towel around his waist. Water drips from the ends of his curls down to the dimples on his lower back. “We’re going to Jeff and Viv’s after so he can meet Baby Ettie.”

You raise your eyebrows in amusement, bending over to dry your legs. “I took a sick day today,” you remind him. “I can’t just show up there in your car, like, ‘nothing to see here!’”

“I’ll park far away,” he says with a shrug. “No biggie.” There’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “I mean, I could tell Harris that Ms. Sweetheart was supposed to be with us, but she said no—”

You swat at his chest and he pulls back, feigning pain. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

That’s how you ended up hunched over in the passenger seat of Eddie’s sedan, hiding from any passersby who could potentially recognize you. It only takes a few minutes before you hear the sound of Harris’s little voice, chewing his dad’s ear off about his day at school.

“...and then me an’ Charlie traded me snacks, an’ no one even sawed us!” He’s cackling like it’s the funniest joke. “He had my pretzels and I had his gummies, and it was so silly!”

“Gummies, huh?” Eddie clicks his tongue, “well, that explains the sugar rush.” Their voices get louder as they approach the car. “By the way, Har Bear, I have a surprise for you.”

As he says it, Harris opens the back door and hops into the car, eyes widening when he sees you sitting up front. “Ms. Sweetheart!” he exclaims, bouncing into his booster seat with pure exhilaration. “What are you doing in Daddy’s car?”

“I figured I could see Baby Ettie with you guys,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, a stark contrast to the little boy practically vibrating from excitement, “if that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, yes, YES!” Harris shouts, his words aimed directly in Eddie’s ear as he tries buckling his son’s seatbelt.

“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters, wincing as he massages the opening of his ear canal with his forefinger. “Take it down a notch, little man.” He fumbles with the belt until he hears the familiar click. He dons a deep voice to announce, “Keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times,” and Harris draws his limbs inwards with a giggle while Eddie closes his door.

“Daddy? Can we listen to music?”

“Mhm.” Eddie reaches for the radio dial, then stops. “Should we let Ms. Sweetheart choose the tape? Since she’s our special guest?” He shoots you a grin that sends a flip-flopping sensation behind your ribs.

Harris taps his finger to his chin in contemplation. “Hmm…okay! Can she pick Metallica?”

“Not quite sure that’s how it works…” Eddie scrunches up his face and scratches at his jawline.

You turn around to face the boy, whose curly hair is now identically frizzy to his father’s. “Actually, Metallica sounds great to me,” you say, adding a thumbs-up for good measure.

“Metallica it is!” Eddie pops in the cassette, the mechanical wheels whirring for a moment before Fight Fire with Fire blares through the speakers. He rests his palm on the back of your seat as he backs out of the spot, tongue poking from his lips in concentration.

Harris alternates between headbanging to the music and babbling about school throughout the drive to Jeff and Viv’s. His energy seems endless as he hops out of the car and races to their front door.

“Har, remember,” Eddie calls out, “we have to be calm and gentle around the baby. Don’t wanna scare her.”

Harris nods as Jeff opens the door. “Mini Munson!” He gives a tired smile, stifling a yawn. “Ready to meet your new cousin?” He chuckles when Harris jumps up and down and squeals. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go ‘head and sit on the couch, kiddo.”

Harris follows Jeff’s instructions, and you and Eddie trail close behind him. Jess and Robin are also there; the latter woman is currently holding Ettie, lightly rocking the newborn in her arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” she asks Harris, who looks to you and his dad in a silent plea for permission.

“Up to you, Har,” Eddie says with an encouraging smile. “We’ll help you, if you want.”

Harris nods, shuffling so his back is pressed up against the sofa. He squirms anxiously, kicking his feet as he waits for you and his dad to join him.

Eddie sits on his right side, and you take the empty space to his left. “I’ll help you hold her head,” you promise him. “You can hold your arms out like this,” you demonstrate, resting your forearms on your lap with your palms facing the ceiling, and Harris mimics your actions. “There ya go.”

Robin carefully walks over and places Ettie in Harris’s outstretched arms, ensuring that you’re supporting the baby’s head before she fully lets go. For a few moments, Harris just stares at the little girl, seemingly unsure how to react. Finally, he softly murmurs, “she’s so little!”

“Sure is,” Eddie laughs, poking at one of her tiny toes in amazement. “Would you believe that you were even more little when you were a baby?” His grin deepens when Harris’s jaw drops in disbelief. “It’s true! You were the tiniest little thing I’ve ever seen.” As he says it, a lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it before anyone notices the catch in his voice. You don’t need to hear it, though, and you use your free hand to discreetly rub his back in silent reassurance.

Harris purses his lips as he stares at his new cousin, clearly unaffected by the anecdote. “Does she do any tricks?”

His question has the entire group stifling laughter, and Eddie turns pink with embarrassment as he quickly explains, “she’s not a dog, buddy. And she was only born a few weeks ago, so she pretty much just eats, sleeps, and poops.”

“Ew,” Harris’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the last activity, though you’re willing to bet a large sum of money that he’s made at least one poop-related joke today. “So when can I teach her how to play Legos?”

“Not for a while,” Viv admits with a kind chuckle, “but when she’s ready, I promise that we’ll let her big cousin Harris show her how it’s done.”

Her answer placates him, at least temporarily, and he cautiously brushes his forefinger against Ettie’s scalp, smoothing down her wisps of hair. You take the moment to glance over at Eddie, only to find him looking right at you.

Hi, he mouths, though there’s so much more he wishes to say. When Harris was Ettie’s age, Eddie was exhausted, overwhelmed, constantly on the brink of breaking down. He’d sworn to himself and anyone else who would listen that he’d never go through the newborn stage again, but he’s mesmerized by the sight of you and Harris cuddling a baby. He wants this, he wants this with you, sleepless nights and spit-up stained clothes no longer strong enough deterrents.

Hi, you mouth back, suppressing words that ache to spill from your lips. Your pulse quickens at the way Eddie watches his son, not with scrutiny, but with admiration and awe, as though he can’t believe he’d created such a wonderful little human. Teaching children never translated over to a desire for motherhood, but you can suddenly picture yourself helping Harris hold your baby, a baby that symbolizes the love between you and Eddie.

“They look like a little family.” Robin’s attempted whisper grabs your attention; a brief scan of the room shows that everyone else is looking at her, too. Her cheeks flush a deep red and she mutters, “sorry,” swooping in to scoop Ettie into her arms.

An awkward silence hangs in the air until Jess clears her throat. “How was work today?” she asks you, and though you don’t have an actual answer to the question, you’re grateful for the subject change.

“I took the day off,” you reply nonchalantly. “Wanted to catch up on rest, y’know…” You trail off, hoping your non-answer suffices.

“What about you, Ed?” Jeff tries.

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stammers, nervously running a hand through his hair, “I also took the day off.”

Jeff’s gaze flits between the two of you until he finally manages an elongated, “…cool.”

Luckily, Harris is oblivious to the adults’ conversation. “Uncle Jeff, are you coming to my talent show next week?”

“Talent show?” Jeff glances at Eddie with an amused smirk.

“Uh, yeah, ‘s this parent-kid thing at his school,” Eddie hurriedly explains, trying not to trip over his words. He’s still stuck on what he’s implied by admitting that he’d also called out of work. “I didn’t know how busy you’d be with Ettie—”

Viv smiles. “I think he can sneak out for an hour to see his favorite nephew.”

“Robs and I can help out here if you need,” Jess offers to her sister, “as long as Jeff brings the camcorder so we have video evidence of this performance.”

“Absolutely not.” Eddie shuts the idea down immediately, but his protest is drowned out by the sound of Harris cheering.

“Daddy and I are gonna—”

Eddie claps a ringed hand over his son’s mouth. “It’s a surprise.” He looks at you for a moment, bashfulness infiltrating his expression with a timid smile and downcast eyes, and you realize that the surprise is for you.

Harris wriggles out of Eddie’s grasp with a discontented sigh, sliding off the couch and onto thr floor. “I didn’t tell Ms. Sweetheart,” he protests, and Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose as he gathers any remaining patience.

Ettie puckers up her face and lets out a wail that seems far too big for her teeny body, but it serves as the perfect reason to leave. You hug everyone goodbye and give the cranky baby’s feet a gentle tickle before you head out the door. Harris gallops ahead, giving Eddie the opportunity to guide you with a soft press of his hand to the small of your back. Before he's fully outside, he leans in to Jeff, whispering “I told her,” ending the statement with a grin.

“My man!” Jeff grabs Eddie’s shoulder and gives it a small shake. “Let me know when to buy my tux for the wedding.”

“Jesus, you sound like Harris.”

Spending time at Hawkins Preschool outside of contracted work hours would normally be a scenario straight out of a nightmare. This afternoon; however, you’re here to see the most adorable little boy and his handsome dad perform some sort of mystery talent, which makes it all worthwhile.

The cafeteria has been transformed into an auditorium of sorts, with neat lines of metal folding chairs replacing the long tables that typically fill the space. An area at the front of the room has been sectioned off for the performances, and the entire place is abuzz with excitement about the adorableness that is about to ensue.

You spot Jeff and Wayne sitting in the third row from the back and you give them a little wave, bounding over to take the empty seat to Jeff’s left. The smile on your lips quickly transforms into a frown when you see him shake his head, placing his palm on the chair.

“I’m under strict orders to make sure you sit in the front row,” he says with a knowing smirk. He shoos you away, and you begrudgingly turn from their familiar faces, but not before catching a twinkle in Wayne’s eyes.

Soon after you find a seat close to the makeshift stage, Principal Sinclair steps up to the microphone.

“Welcome, friends and family, to our annual talent show fundraiser!” There’s a polite smattering of applause before she speaks again. “Our students—and their parents—have quite a show for you all. First up is Miss Abigail Carver and her mom, Chrissy, who will be performing a cheer routine!”

You clap as Abby and Chrissy step out, green and yellow pom-poms in hand. Your student recognizes you immediately, running over to give you a quick hug that elicits a resounding aww from the audience members. She rushes back to her spot as she and her mother cheer on the Hawkins Tigers in unison.

Next is another student of yours, Joshua Harrington. His dad hoists a Fisher Price basketball hoop and places it on the ground so the two of them can show off their “slam dunks.”

After a few more students from other classes, it’s finally the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Please welcome Harris Munson and his dad, Eddie, who will be singing a song!”

No sooner do you call out, “Yay, Harris!” do you hear it:

“Freak.”

It’s low enough that no one else catches it; you probably wouldn’t have, either, if the culprit wasn’t sitting directly behind you. You turn around to see Jason Carver, camcorder by his side, poorly stifling a snicker.

Your hands clench, balled into fists, so tight that you feel your fingernails digging into your palms. It’s too tempting to smash his camera—no, smash his stupid face—but you inhale and then exhale for three seconds apiece. Today is about Harris and Eddie, and no overgrown bully is going to ruin that.

Still, you have to bite back a smile at the thought of Jason sporting a black eye, courtesy of the Freak’s girlfriend herself.

When Harris and Eddie take to the performance space, your anger evaporates and your heart becomes heavy with emotion. Harris is front and center, body slightly turned as he watches his dad get settled on a wooden stool and gives his acoustic guitar a tune. The boy dons a black suit that’s a size too big for him, his hands barely peeking out of the sleeves. He’s got on a tie that has to have been borrowed from an adult; you can’t imagine Eddie or Wayne wearing one, so maybe Jeff loaned it. The best part is the fedora that rests atop his messy mop of curls.

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart!” he says with a grin so wide it likely hurts his cheeks, letting out a shriek of delight when you wave. “This song is for you!”

Eddie murmurs a soft, “two, three, four,” and strums a melody that immediately has your eyes welling with tears.

“You make me feel so young,” Harris croons, mouth right up to the mic, “you make me feel so spring has sprung!”

To anyone else, it seems like a silly play on the fact that he is, in fact, young. You know it’s so much more.

“And every time I see you grin, I’m such a happy individual!”

He’s singing Frank Sinatra. He’s dressed as Frank Sinatra. And you know it had to be Eddie’s idea, considering Harris’s musical repertoire teeters between Raffi and Metallica.

He skips a few verses, and when he does, Eddie locks eyes with you and offers a tiny close-mouthed smile.

“And even when I’m old and gray I’m gonna feel the way I do today ‘Cause you make me feel so young!”

You choke down the sob that threatens to escape as they circle back to the chorus. The memory of Grandma’s final Thanksgiving, consisting of singing along to Fly Me to the Moon and sharing store-brand Oreos, soars around your mind. The way she had so easily slipped back into her old self, if only for a moment. The way Eddie had held you and kissed your scalp, protecting you from a force no one could see but everyone could feel.

“You make me feel so young You make me feel so young Ooh, you make me feel so young!”

The song ends and you leap to your feet, cheering just as loudly as you did the other night at the Hideout for Corroded Coffin. You swipe at a stray tear and force yourself to look at your boyfriend, so effortlessly beautiful in a black t-shirt and jeans.

Thank you, you mouth.

I love you, comes his silent reply.

You gaze into each other’s eyes for another beat before you feel a thud against your legs. Harris stands right before you, ignoring the way all of the other kids proceeded out the door after their performances.

“Are those happy tears?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern as he notices your stained cheeks. When you nod, still too overcome with emotion to speak aloud, his face splits into a grin. “Good.” His arms wrap around your waist in a hug that nearly has you toppling over, and you rest your hand on his upper back to steady yourself.

“Easy, Har Bear,” Eddie’s voice is strong but tender, and your entire body relaxes in his presence. You want to pull him in by his belt loops and kiss him, running your fingers through his curls until you’re both smiling too hard to continue. If only you weren’t at your place of work, if only all eyes weren’t on you, if only–

“Looks like the Freak’s got a crush.”

A smattering of the audience members laugh at this, no one more so than the instigator himself. You whirl around reflexively, eyes narrowing at the smug blonde man behind you. Eddie takes a small step forward, quietly telling Harris to go back with his friends as he zeroes in on his longtime nemesis.

He’s going to hit him, you realize, noting the subtle clench of his jaw and twitch of his flexing bicep. I have to stop him before he does something he regrets.

Eddie’s hand shoots out, grabbing Jason’s collar and pulling him in with a jolt. There’s a soft gasp from the crowd followed by silence as everyone waits for Eddie’s next move. You can hear the scraping of metal chairs on the ground as Wayne and Jeff scramble to mitigate the situation before it can escalate further.

To your surprise–and relief–Eddie doesn’t throw any punches; instead, he grits his teeth and hisses, low enough so only you and Jason can hear:

“Don’t ever talk about her again.”

He lets go with a small shove, and Jason stumbles back just as Principal Sinclair arrives to break it up. While time came to a screeching halt, the whole interaction spanned fewer than ten seconds.

Wayne and Jeff reach him first, guiding him out of the cafeteria. The older man keeps his eyes on his nephew, but Jeff shoots Jason a steely glare, insinuating that Jason had better heed Eddie’s warning if he wants to live to see his daughter go to kindergarten. You follow behind and attempt to keep your composure.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie breathes as soon as the four of you are alone. “I shouldn’t have…I just fuckin’ hate that guy.” His eyes dance with anxiety, not sure whether to look at you, his friend, his uncle, or the ground.

You take his hands in yours, imploring him to focus on you as you reach up to brush his curls off of his face. “It’s okay–”

Eddie shakes his head. “I ruined everything. This was supposed to be about Harris, and about making you happy…” He takes a step back, rubbing his eyes with a low, exasperated, “fuck!”

“Baby–”

“I’m gonna get Harris,” Eddie starts to walk away, speaking to himself as though you hadn’t said a word, but he stops in his tracks when Wayne puts his hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to your girl,” he says simply, motioning for Jeff to come fetch Harris with him.

Eddie doesn’t dare protest, trudging back to face you. He’d fucked up royally, and he knew it. What was he thinking, putting his hands on Jason Carver in the middle of a goddamn preschool talent show?

“Eddie,” you take his hand in yours and give it a squeeze, “it’s okay. I’m not mad; I just wish he didn’t get under your skin like that.” You rub your thumb along his forefinger. “He’s not worth it, I promise.”

“I just…” Eddie mumbles, thoughts too scrambled to find the words he needs. He heaves a long sigh. “I shouldn’t have done it here.”

You can’t really argue with that; out of all of the places Eddie could fight Jason, your job wasn’t your favorite option.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You press onto your toes to whisper in his ear. “I almost did the same thing earlier today.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, nudging the toe of your shoe against his scuffed sneaker. “And I have a feeling most people in this town would agree with me.” The notion makes Eddie smile, and you continue. “Let me take you and Ol’ Brown Eyes out for ice cream to celebrate your amazing performance. Please?” You throw a puppy-dog look his way, though he needs little convincing.

Still, a nagging thought tugs at him that he has to resolve before can allow himself to relax. “There might be people there. People we know.” People like Jason Carver and Carol Perkins, he silently adds. “It’s okay if you don’t want to…we can just grab a half-gallon from Bradley’s and bring it home.”

You shake your head, effectively turning down his offer. “I’m taking my boyfriend and his adorable son to Scoops Ahoy, and the three of us are gonna split a fudge sundae,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Are you sure you’re okay with people knowing about us? Being branded ‘The Freak’s Girlfriend’? Hearing people gossip about whatever the Hawkins rumor mill has churned out?

The sensation of your lips on his tempers the overworked gear shifts in his brain. When you pull back, you’re smiling at him.

“Positive.”

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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feyarcher · 1 month

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Toronto people! Need furniture for cheap and can pick it up literally today (Monday April 29th)? I'm in the Annex, moving, and need to offload a bunch of stuff asap as in either before 5pm today or at like 9am on Tuesday. You have to come get it though and if able, ideally pay me like $20-50 cash for most things but if you are in a bind, I'm fine giving them for free.

Items that must gtfo:

-Blackbrown Ikea Malm double bedframe that lifts up for underbed storage*

-Small blackbrown Ikea table with 2 chairs (danderyd/ingolf I think)

-32" tv

-tiny blackbrown ikea tv stand, whatever their cheapest smallest one was. Free with tv if you want it.

-Small grey couch with double pull out bed*

-Brown faux leather armchair (sears rip)

-Black desk with one large drawer across the whole width. Has scuffs but 🤷‍♀️ (sears rip)

- Black 5 drawer dresser (sears rip)

- Portable AC unit. There is a tear in the hose that can probably be fixed with duct tape, but I leave that to the new owner.

- 2×4 Ikea Kallax in grey

- Half sized grey bookcase (wayfair)

Message me if you want something and can come get it. I can take pics in the morning if you ask for them too.

*bring 2 people. My back sucks and I cannot help you carry them. Also bed disassembly is up to you if desired but I do have tools you can use on this end.

#toronto #i have literally 0 clue what tags people use on tumblr to sell irl stuff #but getting this stuff to tumblr people somehow feels better than to kajiji people #which is where im listing everything in the morning #allie says stuff sometimes

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oranos · 2 months

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Leather Biker Jacket

This sleeveless leather biker jacket made in maxis match style. Created for men! Available in 2 versions. One is the t-shirt version, and the other is the accessory version. You can create the style of your male sim with t-shirts, sweaters even topless in the game, if you want to use acc version! [You can find the ACC version in the ''Left Ring'' category.]

Base Game Compatible

20 Colors [T-shirt version] + 6 Colors [ACC version]

New Mesh [EA Mesh Edited]

T-shirt version: LOD0: 3996 LOD1:2264 LOD2: 1218 LOD3: 445 polygons

Accessories version: LOD0: 1332 LOD1:1001 LOD2: 510 LOD3: 234 polygons

Custom thumbnail

Compatible with All Body Types

my T.O.U

Download [Patreon - FREE] Public Release : 17 April 2024

#s4 #ts4 #s4cc #sims #thesims #ts4cc #oranos #maxismatch #mm #ts4 maxis match

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weirdworldofwinnie · 9 months

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Oasis in a Desperate Land of Dark Desire - Part One: Arrival

Cillian Murphy as J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Wife Reader, NSFW 18+ only

Summary: You are married to the man in charge of the Manhattan Project himself, Dr. Robert Oppenheimer, and it's your first day (and night) at Los Alamos where tension and unspoken worry is getting high, but he finds time to show you how love can be an oasis in what seems like a rather barren land.

Word Count: ~7, 213

Warnings: Age gap (reader is mid-20s and he is almost 40, and they have been married for a couple years), period stereotypical gender roles (maybe sexism?), unprotected + oral sex, mention of miscarriage, and strong hints at infidelity

Disclaimer: Obviously NOT completely historically or scientifically accurate to real life and is inspired by the film with Cillian Murphy's portrayal of Oppenheimer. There are definitely mentions of Katherine and Jean Tatlock as lovers in this, but he does not have any children with Kitty and is not physically with either of them presently. I also want to clarify that this (while researched) is still just my interpretation with AU elements added in, and it isn't supposed to be in total support and reflection of the real man's life/personality. Scroll away and DNI if you are uncomfortable or take issue with this story; it is primarily for entertainment purposes only and it is just fantasy/fiction!

April 1943

The ride en route to the secluded destination christened as "Los Alamos" was long, hot, and bumpy through the New Mexico desert on a single primitive dirt road with the sun beating down on the windshield, glaring into your eyes and reflecting off the expensive dainty golden watch wrapped around your wrist that had been last year's anniversary present, and the jostling motion of the car made your breasts jiggle up and down slightly, reminding you that you'd been in such a hurry to leave with Robert this morning you'd regrettably forgone putting on a bra. He glanced over to you now, his porkpie hat shadowing the serious and contemplative expression that he had been wearing as a regular look for weeks now... Finally this plan was coming to fruition, but at what cost? It was the government's money and the scientists who were on the line. Robert let you know more details than most out of his non-physics inner circle because he trusted you to keep your lips sealed, but he never gave specifics about what exactly the coined Manhattan Project, or Project Y, was for in terms of a mission yet because it was national security level secret, however it didn't take a genius to figure out it was incredibly important and the development of something dangerous... Too dangerous to keep in a campus laboratory at Berkeley.

As the car approached the main gate and passed by the checkpoint, you realized just now fairly remote this barbed-wire location was and it made a small sinkhole crater in your stomach. But Robert knew this land from his youth and you partly did too, for he owned ranchland here and you both had spent many hours in the last couple years roaming on horseback and on foot into the twilight hours of the day, feeling the chill of the evening breeze and the rustle of shrubbery as the sun dipped down below the horizon and plum light bathed the landscape, bouncing off the backdrop of mountains and reaching deep into the canyons. You recalled fondly one time in particular during the early stages of being courted by him... It was technically only the second date and he had mistakenly trusted you with a horse, even though you were hardly an experienced rider, and of course it had gone ballistic and attempted to buck you off as you held on for dear life to the stiff dark brown leather saddle.

"Woah... Woah! Easy, easy," Robert had called out, grabbing a hold of the bridle and patting the stallion on the neck as you gasped and he kicked his hooves, thrashing the dirt and missing Robert's cowboy boots by inches.

"This one can be a bit rowdy, sometimes the wild never quite gets bred out, and he's not used to you," he explained simply over your panicked cries as he kept patting and verbally calming the animal down.

"But what did I do wrong? I swear, he dislikes me tremendously!" you exclaimed in shock and Robert only shook his head.

"Then he has very poor taste in women if he rejects you," he had joked and you went sliding off the horse's back to where Robert caught you, easing you to the ground gently.

"Are you alright?" he asked, eyes alight with a mischievous concern, but you merely brushed your pants off and smoothed your blouse, shaking the experience off.

"Of course I am. Now are we riding or not?"

He smiled at your confidence, but had hoisted you up onto his horse instead, straddling you from behind so you were facing front and clutching onto the reins. His arms loped around your waist and the horse began to trot, bouncing both you and him in a steady up and down motion, and you flicked the reins, causing the horse to take off into the expansive landscape and Robert let out a joyous whoop as the pace transitioned into a gregarious cantering gallop and the wind whipped your hair around like a battered Old Glory flag in a storm.

"This is too fast!" you had yelled out, but he only laughed, tightening his hold into a squeeze around you and spoke into your ear with a low murmur which instinctively made the goosebumps flare up on your neck.

"I wouldn't let you go even if that horse went mad and flew us off the ground over into a ravine to our deaths."

A little more than six months later after that frivolous adventure, he had dropped to his knee in that very desert and proposed to you, a diamond engagement ring encased in a black box in his palms and you were startled, taken aback at the promptness and faintly aware he was actively seeing at least one other woman at the time, but he had claimed he called it off with her a week ago.

You had cautiously accepted, knowing he was far from a wholesome man, but he was certainly one in a billion and you had unapologetically been with him ever since, even though some friends and extended relatives had openly judged, thinking you were only climbing up a social status ladder by doing so, and a couple of your more left-leaning girlfriends thought you were foolish to already settle for a man at your young age, but you truly loved him. Romance was rather odd; so rushed it could be and yet you felt comfortable around him as if you had known each other for life; soulmates, perhaps, if there ever was such a notion.

The wedding ceremony had been lavish enough to make you feel special, but it had been a more low-key event with only a small group of the closest friends and family in attendance, for he did not want much pomp and circumstance and you had spent the honeymoon at his secluded New Mexico ranch property, bizarrely a sort of prelude to where you both were ending up now. The phone hadn't stopped ringing for the past few weeks and since this work was taking up presidency, it was truth to be told that you hadn't really had time for each other and had been distant these past couple months as he diverted all his focus and intellect to the government and you hoped that after all this preparation, everything would settle somewhat now that he was at the ground level site. You felt trepidation but also excitement because this venture felt relevant and Robert was in his element with the company of like minded individuals all working towards a common goal. His vocation in teaching what he already knew of upper level physics had been boring him lately and he had told you multiple times he was haunted by the pressing need to be essential to the war effort outside of the confines of a classroom; he and his students had to make a real impact and change to the world, to this damned war. And if Robert wasn't the most ambitious, motivated, self-driven intelligent human being you'd ever met, then you'd be stumped to know who was right for the job; he could be dangerously dogged and was as loyal to this country as roots were to their corresponding corn stalks.

And now, starting today, he was the one man scientific director, a ruler really, of this militarized oasis in the middle of, well, nowhere.

Fractions of the place were still in progress, as evident by the trucks and the hammering with the occasional man lumbering past hauling construction boards on his shoulders. The Oppenheimers were still early in arrival, but everyone else on the project was supposed to be settled in by the end of the week. The house you and your husband were to live at was much better off than the cookie-cutter houses hastily put up suburban style along the man-made streets and it was tucked furthest away from the epicenter of town; a large spacious log and stone cabin (that had been formerly a boys' school) ranch style home surrounded by pine trees and shrubs along with a decent yard with that seemed ripe for cultivating a garden, and yet the home was modest and not overly luxurious; this was no vacation.

"The kitchen isn't finished?" you asked in surprise at once upon entry inside and Robert sighed, knowing you how much you had a penchant for cooking and he also knew that hosting gatherings here was going to be essential.

"I'll make sure they get it complete by the end of the week," he assured, resting a hand on the small of your back as you dropped down the luggage on the floor.

"Well, it is rather nice otherwise," you admitted, turning to him and smiling, but he couldn't quite return the gesture.

"Robert, what's the matter?" You reached to cup his cheek and he leaned into your touch before lifting up his own hand and placing it atop the one plastered to his face.

"I'm frankly worried how this is all going to work, how soon we can accomplish what we need to do. The death toll in Germany grows by the day, it may already be too late and..."

You placed a hand to his lips, shushing him with sadness.

"Please, shh, I'll have none of that talk when we just arrived in our new house. We are here now and that is the most important first step that matters towards any kind of accomplishment to your saving the world from this hellish war."

"I need to go do some oversight on the operations in town and at the laboratory," he announced abruptly, stepping back from your touch and picking up his briefcase as you nodded, moving with him to the front door.

"I'll see you tonight then. I think I'll make deviled chicken with a creamy coleslaw."

"I'm sure it will be delicious." He gave a tight smile and it was a somewhat ironic statement coming from the man who ate less than a thousand calories a day. That was one frustrating aspect about him that you had discovered when you had moved in with him back in California and realized he never had regular meals, and lately drinks and cigarettes were his main fuel. You hoped one of these days your passion for food would finally rub off on his aversion, but it probably wouldn't happen here with the increased supply rationing.

He disappeared out the door with his hat and you stood for awhile, taking in this new environment inside the main part of the house with its interesting architecture of high beamed ceilings and picture windows that allowed ample amounts of natural light at almost all hours. You spent most of the day unpacking and organizing, briefly going out to greet and visit with the other wives of top scientists, some you already knew, but others you had not met until today and you noticed that one of those you weren't familiar with was visibly pregnant... She was even younger than you and seeing her led you to wonder how quickly this little manufactured desert town was going to see a population boom in the next few years. Robert had brought up the concept of having children with you on more than one occasion, since you had already gone through one miscarriage (only in your first trimester and you never knew the sex of it, the doctor told you it could have been worse if you had carried to full term and lost the infant at birth, but it was still a gutting loss... Although you knew Robert was privately relieved, especially now since his work would likely leave no room in his heart to father an innocent, demanding child and all the burden would go to you alone) and there was the fact of possible infertility. The hardship of procreation probably ran in the family... Your mother had also miscarried, then had your premature brother who caught polio at two years old and perished weeks later, and then she herself had died during your own childbirth, leaving your father devastated and alone to care for you. You had a complicated, strained relationship early on with him and you wondered perhaps Freud was loosely right about the Oedipus complex since you always had such strong attractions to older men... but at least your father always tried to give you the best possible life he had with his wealth, which led you to moving out from your childhood home in New York across the country to pursue attending college in California in the field of psychology and medicine. You had been in the process of getting a degree in nursing, at least until Robert altered your life by his own ambitions and you had been forced to drop your studies temporarily to move out here with him, but you planned to be studying some by correspondence if the government allowed and also to be able to help out in the small hospital on site for an occupation.

To trim the excess fat off a long story short, it had been a bizarre fluke that you met and promptly fell in love with Robert... you were introduced on campus by friends who also knew Jean Tatlock, a budding psychiatrist and proudly Communist, and he had happened to take a bright shine to you. You considered him unattainable at first, a very well respected brilliant physics teacher with more life experience than you could have dreamed of... He was otherworldly at times, yet found grounding earth in your presence, but it would mystify you what exactly he found so desirable in you. You were as lovely as any other woman your age and smart, but you never thought of yourself as outstandingly intelligent when compared to the people he taught in academia, and not absolutely drop dead gorgeous in terms of prize worthy beauty. Perhaps the attraction, like Robert's scientific passion, was on a molecular scale and only bonded by invisible atoms making the illusion of being a solid relationship. Maybe it was as basic as the fact that you two were mutually compatible with each other and respectable of any differences, unlike his other fiery messy relationships with Jean and Katherine. Would you having a baby split that all apart? Personally, you weren't sure you were ready for any offspring yet and to be thrown into motherhood when you were still navigating having a successful marriage and you highly doubted "The Hill" (as the residents here were calling it) would be a healthy environment for children to thrive in, despite the efforts for a school and daycare, seeing that there were armed uniforms milling about all hours of the day and silent stress was already pervasive in every look, cough, and casual conversation you noticed through passing by. And it was only day one of, as Robert predicated, two to three years of hard work swathed in isolated secrecy.

As daylight began to fade fast and inevitably hand itself over to the darkness, you went back to the house to fry up the chicken. The stove was effective, although one burner seemed a little on the fritz, but half of the cabinetry was unfinished and the counter space was minimal.

Laying out the cream-colored napkins and the finest china you had brought packed securely in a box, you delicately set the table. Despite not having a birth mother to guide you through womanhood, you took to home keeping fairly well and religiously read the magazines, believing being married to an upper class man meant all these details and roles. But privately you also felt the crushing pressure and caught yourself wondering if you were immature to be in this mold. Robert never told you otherwise though and he would theoretically be the last man to stamp out a woman's sense of inner individuality, but you couldn't ignore the fact you, while willingly, still had to sideline your educational and career priorities to come support and live here with your husband. But it didn't matter too much, for you knew in your heart you could follow this man to the ends of the earth if you so desired.

For good ambient measure, you lit two pillar candles in the center of the tablecloth and just as you laid the food on a plate, you heard the front door crack open and the soft clomping of shoes.

Robert would never be the 'Honey, I'm home!' type of husband, yet he always managed to make an entrance regardless, especially now. His slender frame leaned into the doorway, hands crumpling his hat in front of his crotch and the candlelight flashed harrowing ghoulish shadows across his sharp cheekbones and dull pinkish lips.

"Well, what do you think?" you proposed, gesturing to the table spread when he didn't speak. He only gazed at your feminine features, his eyes full of desire that wasn't for the dinner you made, and when his mouth finally parted, he spoke in a husky voice, slowly coming closer and abandoning his hat to a chair, closing in on you.

"I'm sure it is very palatable, but I fear my hunger cannot be fulfilled by only earthly consumption," he confessed, ducking to kiss your cheek and moving his hands up to your neck, caressing your nape and moving his mouth to your lips, but you gently pushed him away, pressing into the fabric of his gray suit jacket.

"We should wait until after dinner," you told him earnestly, knowing what he wanted instead.

"Dessert, then?" he murmured, coming close again despite your light physical resistance and thumbing your bottom lip. You smiled and his arm snaked under your skirt and between your thighs, hand crawling upward to your panties and you breathed in, changing your mind.

"Maybe I can wait to eat after all."

His breath caught, a single finger inches from hitting your covered vaginal area, before he removed his teasing hand and pulled back, gripping your shoulders with conviction.

"Eat. You deserve it and you worked hard on preparing it, I can observe."

He bent down, gentlemanly drawing out a chair for you to sit down in, which you did, letting his hands linger at the neckline of your blouse before he walked around to the other side of the small round table and took a seat, rummaging out a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and striking it up with his lighter, the smoke wafting in wispy trails around his head. You took a careful first bite, relishing in the flavor and spices (paprika in particular) as he sat there across from you, relaxing back in his chair and taking a drag on the cigarette, puffing out a sigh. You smirked, swallowing a forkful as he kept his gaze steady on you.

"You're making me self conscious, just sitting there surveying my appetite," you told him and he grinned, fiddling with the cigarette.

"I enjoy watching you eat. You are the very essence of life I see lacking in so much of this world."

You blushed in the warm glow of the candlelight, remaining humble.

"That is quite a compliment I don't know if I'm quite worthy of."

"You are, no jury would contradict me." He nodded sincerely as he smoked and you ate in silence for a few minutes before he then finally gave his cigarette a rest and poked at his food, politely taking a few bites of hot chicken and chewing at a snail's pace.

"How did today go?" you tentatively asked, finishing off your own chicken and moving to the rich, crunchy coleslaw.

"We will be making progress. Although I will always say, that General Groves is the most obstinate man with the exact deposition one would expect from a bulldog," he answered with a touch of bitter amusement.

"Should you be saying that? They're... not listening, are they?" you asked in a hushed paranoid voice, glancing around the room and knowing that the phone lines were tapped for sure, but you weren't certain they would go as far to place bugging devices hidden in the house.

"Relax, I could say much worse," Robert admitted nonchalantly with a harmless shrug and you allowed yourself a chuckle, mentally picturing a bulldog in a General's uniform. You took a bite of cabbage, changing the conversation to your side of social contacts in this limited town.

"I met with our neighbors and the other ladies today. They seem cordial and we have already exchanged pleasantries and plans for a party next weekend. I also offered to babysit one mother's two rambunctious little boys and spoke to the doctor at the medical facility about assistance there."

Robert nodded, gesturing with his empty fork.

"Keeping busy I see, but I'll have to arrange to let you in the office sometime instead of spending your days cooped up here and at the neighbors. I missed you and your insight already today."

"But you know I am not privy to everything you and your scientists are doing here..." you started to protest before he cut you off.

"I'm well aware, but I doubt a visit to my own office will cause a security uproar. You are my wife, Y/N. The reason most of the scientists came to Los Alamos in the first place was not solely the work, but because they could bring their wives, their families. We do our best work with moral and... sexual support." He raised his eyebrows and you felt a tingle run through you, a yearning for exactly what he was suggesting, but you had to finish the meal first.

Once you cleared most of your plate, he surprised you by taking the dishes and quickly rinsing the plates in the sink before making and pouring out his signature martinis. You knew Robert must be silently stressed however, for he only took one sip of his drink before he moved outside under the roof awning with his tobacco pipe, settling down on a folding chair and gazing out at the landscape and listening to the low mumble of military personnel mingling about on patrol as though this were a prison (which it was).

You joined him with a cigarette a few minutes later (you had never smoked a single cigarette until you married Robert and unconsciously adopted the habit, but you weren't much of a smoker when it made you cough, yet you kind of enjoyed the nicotine having that convenient effect of temporarily soothing your nerves) and positioned yourself down next to him, letting the cigarette dangle from your lips while folding your hands neatly on your knees.

His eyelids were appearing heavy and his head drooped, chin tucking down. You gave him a bumping nudge and he looked over at you, teeth clamped down on his pipe.

"Tired?" you wondered and he gave a noncommittal grunt, fixing his eyes back straight ahead. You noticed how still he was - calm - and it was a welcome change from the past few weeks where he had been wound up, constantly on the phone at one point or another and gone for many hours in meetings. But now that nearly everyone was all here, it was almost too tranquil... giving the illusion of calm before potential chaos.

"Oppie!" a young man's voice suddenly called out and he came jogging into view on the rock slabbed pathway, halting slightly when he saw you.

"Oh, good evening Ma'am," he greeted courteously with a squinted smile. You smiled in turn, nodding, and he focused to Robert, who gave a tilt of his pipe in acknowledgement and stood up stiffly.

"Any news I should know about, Feynman?"

The man paused, glancing to you warily.

"Is it about the nature of our work?" Robert asked sharply and Feynman shook his head.

"No, sir, it is not pertaining to that."

"Well, whatever it is you can say in front of my wife and I then."

"It's just a communicative matter. There was a phone call from a young woman asking for you earlier that was flagged in the office for personal matters concerning security. Groves is in a fit and I was to inform you tomorrow, but I thought I'd give fair warning and-"

"Then I will address it tomorrow," Robert interrupted and without further word, took your arm and marched you back inside the house. You shook off his touch and shut the door hard, spinning to address him.

"What the hell was that about?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his forehead while exhaling.

"There are intimate ghosts that continue to haunt me," he answered cryptically, taking refuge in the lounge and sipping his martini, but you had a hunch however who was the "ghost" because you knew her and you pointed a finger sternly at him.

"This is about Jean, isn't it? How does she even know to contact this location? And I thought you were all done with her, as you are with that Katherine!"

"I am, I swear to it. But she is different than any other woman I have been with before you, though. She can be... unstable and she may need to hear from me."

"She just wants your sex, that's all!"

"It's more complicated than that."

"You had nights with her while you were having nights with me during courting, I heard about it from our friends. It was still the sex that was the driving factor that she desired from you."

He looked down, unable to deny that entirely and you backed away, shaking your head.

"I can't believe this, the first day here and you can't shake those Communist ties trailing us."

"May I remind you that you considered fully joining once upon a time in the not so distant past? We met at such a social function, remember?"

You bit your lip and refused to meet his wide eyes staring a hole into you, for this was very well true.

"I did, but I overcame it. It's ridiculous to devote one's energy to an ideology and not to concrete, practical solutions. I was never devoted and absolutely do not consider myself a member. I never was."

This made Robert scowl, setting his glass down with a clink.

"It is my opinion that you should be free to choose your dogmas, if you want any at all that is. Belief is voluntary, but it shouldn't be a crime; we all deserve our wiggle room."

"Is that what she told you too?"

He licked his lips, stepping close so you were involuntarily arrested by his blue eyes boring into yours and his hand slid up your arm, finding your shoulder and the bra strap peeking out from the neckline of the blouse.

"I see you put one on," he muttered and you blinked, almost forgetting about that little detail and refusing to be seduced by his perceptivity.

"Yes, I did. My breasts are still sore from that uncomfortable car ride."

"It's a shame they are so contained now," he whispered, beginning to undo the buttons on the blouse and push his fingers into the crevice between your breasts, but you weren't quite having it after the unresolved discussion and the way he had been moments before.

"We are going to do this now? After what I just accused? And besides, I thought you were too preoccupied and planning to sit out there half the night smoking away by your lonesome while I go to bed."

"You make nights worth bearing awake, especially tonight." He shifted, groping at your breasts and you stumbled back into the wall, breathing in shallow gasps. He put a finger to his lips conspiratorially and hugged your body with his own, speaking discreetly.

"We should be quiet to not disturb any nearby neighbors."

"They can't hear us and besides, I'm sick of piping down," you whined, remembering the date nights out in the desert where he'd lay out a picnic blanket and fuck you right then and there with the horses grazing several feet away and the canopy of stars winking overhead. You'd make as much noise as merited, probably confusing the yipping coyotes far off in the distance.

"I think we can try to control our auditory impulses for one night," Robert whispered, hands going to your waist and tugging at your skirt.

"The bedroom," you gasped, rushing away from him and down the narrow hallway, twisting around as he chased you with a huff.

"Where is it?" you asked anxiously, opening a couple doors and unfamiliar to this section of the house in the minimal lighting, when he suddenly pushed you from behind into an empty room with a single large king bed.

"Only the best for us," he told you and you fell forwards onto it, kicking your heels off and quickly flipping around to your back as he loosened his tie, casting it off to the floor and unbuttoning his white shirt as you sat up, reaching needily for his belt buckle and he leaned over onto you now shirtless and when he met your lips in a frantic kiss, you then noticed the prudent stench of sweat on his skin that was disrupting his usual familiar smoky flavor mixed with cologne and aftershave.

"Wait," you ordered, pressing a hand up on his collarbone.

"What is it?" he implored worriedly, searching your expression for the solution.

"Bath, you should bathe. It's been a few days and this heat isn't helping. Hasn't anyone told you that you reek like a dog?"

He groaned mournfully, leaning back and unfastening the belt, tossing it to the floor with a clunk of metal.

"You won't let me have you until I do?" he asked sadly, but you had an idea.

"What if I join you?"

His eyes sparked at this notion and you moved off the bed, finding the bathroom across the hall. This house was one of only a few equipped with tubs instead of showers; they didn't call this street "Bathtub Row" for nothing.

Robert finished undressing in front of you, tugging down his trousers and boxers, springing forth an already ready penis.

"You're going to make me work for it tonight, aren't you?" he asked as he stepped into the large basin, turning on the faucet and letting out a gasp when a strong stream of water blasted onto his bare feet.

"J-Jesus Christ, it's freezing!" he exclaimed loudly with a sputter and frantically slamming a hand on the knob as you laughed from your spot by the sink, taking out your earrings and slipping off your small wristwatch.

"Get in, I was warned about the water supply around here possibly being fickle, even for us," he commanded as you finagled your skirt and blouse off with your bra and panties discarded to the bathroom floor before taking a leg over the tub and stepping in to sit down across from him, letting the tub fill up one third of the way as a sitz bath before awkwardly reaching around him to grab the bar of ivory soap from the dish and began to rub into his back with it.

"I should've put in a request for an even larger bath," he complained as you scrunched up your legs against his and scrubbed dutifully into the folds of his skin.

"It'll do fine, darling."

He took the soap and you both took turns lathering each other up, making frothy circles with the creamy soap and rinsing, the water streaming down into the tub again, flooding both yours and his soapy complexion, washing it all off down the drain before having it fill up again, this time three quarters of the way. The water now pleasantly lukewarm, Robert contorted his body to submerge his head under the waterline and he came up with a loud splash, his wiry dark hair flattening to a wet mess on his forehead as your own dampened and you watched the droplets of water collect on his somewhat pallid skin. He scooted closer, entangling legs, and couldn't resist a quick dart of a finger down to your vagina and you whimpered as he touched your clitoris, inserting into you and making you arch your back and buck your hips when he inserted another finger, exploring around your wet velvety walls.

"God, Robert..." you moaned, digging your nails into the grooves of his skin and up to his head, feeling the cropped soaked scalp and neck. He suddenly lightly shoved you against the side of the tub, pressing his mouth to yours and naturally winding his tongue in, kissing you passionately until the water temperature grew too cold and you shivered, glued to his body and burying your face into his wet shoulder.

"That was merely the first act, sweetheart," he whispered and you smiled, leaning back a few inches so he could get up and step out onto the bath mat, taking your hand as he did so to pull you up and guide you out. Robert grabbed a large towel from the rack and wound it around the both of you, letting his genitals press up against yours and you both stood there for a while, listening to the steady drip-drop-drip-drop-drip-drop of falling water to the flooring.

"I'm surprised you've held off this long," you murmured, feeling his rising erection in between your thighs.

"I truly can't wait any longer," he admitted urgently and the towel dropped with a flump to the floor, and with bodies still slick with water, you and him exited the bathroom to fumble to the bedroom and the blue light from the window illuminated the sheets, the ideal love making spot. He let you collapse on your back and easily came down on top, gripping the back of your neck and already plunging in to align, but you squirmed in dissatisfaction.

"So soon?" you whined, wanting to play with and taste him first, but he was antsy to get to the pinnacle.

"Your virtuous patience should be framed and put on the walls of this house, along with your divine beauty," he whispered, head moving down to your breasts and you dug your fingers into his bare back, running along the bones of his more pronounced spine.

"C'mon, Oppie, let's do this the fun way... Give it to me," you begged and he cringed slightly, but rolled over onto his side and you immediately found his stiff penis with your hands, clenching around it firmly and stroking. He moaned softly and it flexed in your grasp... He could be a decent size when engaged, which was impressive for his underweight body.

"But don't you dare let me go without seeding you inside," he warned as though you had all the control.

"That's the plan."

Wordlessly, you positioned yourself down to the head of his cock and licked off his pre-cum, the recognizable taste milky on your tongue and you sucked, bringing it halfway in and fondling his balls lovingly in the meantime. He was breathing heavily and you didn't linger long at his member however because you could tell he was getting very close and neither you nor him wanted him to release anywhere other than the intended internal target. Pulling out and licking your lips, you repositioned your body on top of his and sank down flat to his chest, and he thrusted his hips up to meet you, heaving in with a grunt. You winced at the initial entry; you were always so sensitive down there (especially since the miscarriage), and he steadily kept at it, probing in further without being too rough.

"Fuck..." you breathed with a cry and he came forward to smooch your cheek as you mounted your hands on his shoulders and he pumped in and out, shaking the entire bed.

"That's exactly what I'm doing, my love," he breathed, keeping an intense gaze trained on you.

"Robert..." you groaned, letting him push as far as he could go until the pleasure was overloading and you felt his hot wet spurt of cum hit, eliciting a long moan from him, his slender frame shuddering beneath you. He closed his eyes and you kept a firm clench around his shaft, not ready to have him pull out yet. Gasping, you began rocking back and forth with ecstasy, your insides stretched to their limit and he seemed to know you were struggling to hold him.

"I'm coming out," he muttered and gently pulled back wetly so he wasn't balls deep in you anymore and then you repositioned to lightly ride him, which was your favorite position, and you bounced up and down on his upright full cock, orgasming a few more times as he watched your euphoria in rapture, so proud he alone could make you like this over and over until you were out of air and exhausted, collapsing to the side of the bed and feeling the sheets very damp with bodily juices.

Robert spooned you from behind, arms draped over to dangle his fingers on your swollen nipples and you matched his breathing in rhythm. Every time was somehow better than the last... Sex with him was as natural as breathing and you appreciated the consistent chemistry that you worried would have faded after a couple years of marriage due to what you'd heard about stress and boredom destroying a couple's sex drive, but Robert was not a boring person in the least sense of the term.

"We should do this every night," you offered hopefully and he chuckled.

"And make me the most lucky, tired man in this whole community? I'd be up for that, although it'll be a wonder if I get any work done at all when I've got this memory lingering with me tomorrow," he replied and you heard the smile in his tone, but with it came the bitter resurgence of the likely phone call from another woman that was bile in the back of your throat and even though he supposedly broke it off with her before you got married, you knew he had stayed in contact and you couldn't help but wonder how he fucked her and if it was comparable to what you and him had with each other, since she seemed to want him so badly. That wasn't to mention "Kitty" who he had insisted on still being "friends" with. A bit depressed and irritated, you pushed away his hands off your breasts and turned back over to face him in the dimness that made even those prominent blue colored eyes of his too muddled to see into.

"How did you become the most desired physicist to women in the whole country?" you asked softly.

"Good genes?" he guessed in amusement and you shook your head, not requiring a punchline.

"You're known to be a womanizer, neurotic, eccentric, a tad arrogant, and yet everybody seems to want you, including me as your own wife. Tell me, why did the universe give you such magnetized gifts?"

He gave a subtle lift of his shoulders with a small lazy smile as you laid your head on the pillow, fending off fatigue.

"Why was Aphrodite the one chosen to be blessed with such beauty and fertility? Why are we the way that we are? There are some matters of the human being to be unfounded in the definitive and everything is relative." He sat up with his back against the headboard and proceeded to light another cigarette and you sleepily watched the hazy smoke drift off above the bed towards the ceiling. He sighed, setting it to rest in the ashtray on the nightstand and wrap his lean arm around your body, drawing you close into his side.

"You are my goddess, Y/N. You are the only woman I want to return home too, always. Don't you know that?" he murmured into your hair and you vaguely nodded.

"I do, but I also know you're not always the most faithful man."

He lifted his hand and touched his ring finger to yours, matching the simple gold bands you both shared as two united.

"I married you out of good faith and the vows we pledged might have well been written in stone in the language of the gods along on the pulmonary arteries flowing as though a river into my heart," he told you with no trace of doubt, but you knew the whole story that didn't need flourishing.

"Only because the two other women fell through on commitment - although tonight I suspect they both presumably still want you - and one was already hitched, so she was having an affair by being with you and wouldn't divorce unless you happened to get her pregnant. I just happened to be the most available, the convenient bride with no attached strings, even though everyone said it was abnormally soon and I am too young," you recounted bitterly and he frowned, tilting your chin upward.

"Is that how you see it? I have never fallen for someone as fast and as hard as I did for you. I still feel the way I did when I laid a glimpse on you at Mary Ellen Washburn's party."

You smiled despite yourself and he bent to kiss the top of your head as you snuggled into his chest, absentmindedly fondling his moist cock with your fingers.

"I do love you beyond comprehension, Y/N," he whispered and you glanced up, meeting his look.

"I do too and I want to believe I always will, until the end of our existence. I am not those other women and I do not want to become so."

A solemn seriousness grew over him and he closed his eyes as you felt tears suddenly spike and an unexplainable terrible sense of dread came over you.

"Promise me one thing, Robert." You paused, taking a deep breath.

"Promise me that whatever happens to us in this world, in this setting, that you will always find a way home and whatever we face, we face together."

He gave a single nod, but you sensed reluctance in the way a muscle in his jaw made a minor spasm.

"I will always do my best."

"Alright," you resigned and he sighed, relaxing back and settling down into the sheets, further roping his arms around you and you burrowed your face into his chest, feeling his light hair follicles tickle your forehead. Tomorrow - and the future for that matter - was uncertain, but at least tonight was building up to a promise of solid sureness, a safeness, bonding those atoms of love again.

Love, or the feeling of it, was a lot like quantum mechanics; essentially invisible to the naked eye and complicated, but the one difference was that it was unmeasurable. No amount of numbers or equations could add up the real affection you felt for your husband, even when the waters became too choppy to be comfortable and it was far from perfect. You just had to cement the fact that you were Mrs. Oppenheimer and that wasn't going to change anytime soon, any disruptive external factors be absolutely damned to hell.

Thanks for reading, expect a little drama for chapter 2... And I do not have a full outline to every part of this fic, so please be patient as I find spare time to work on it and upload. I always appreciate any likes, reblogs, and feedback ❤️

*If anyone would be interested in being tagged, drop a comment and I'll make a tag list for the next part!*

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taylorswiftstyle · 1 year

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Out and about | New York City, NY | April 20, 2023

Stella McCartney 'Rectangular Sunglasses' - $310.00 Stella McCartney 'Frayme Medium S-Wave Flap Shoulder Bag' - $1,530.00 Simkhai 'Pandora Embellished Skirt' - $390.00 Chanel 'Back to College Loafer' - $1,350.00

This skirt, when paired with a very closely matched top (getting shades of black to match is so hard), gives the appearance of a dress when it is actually sneaky separates.

Taylor has rocked many all black ensembles over the years and it’s always been the chicest complement to her red lip.

The repeated motif of chains here could certainly have a more symbolic read, but I like it purely as a styling detail that keeps the outfit cohesive but distinct.

Taylor has long been a lover of a loafer and worn many over the years. Leather, suede, heeled. The choice to wear Chanel, on the other hand, is more unfamiliar territory. She’s worn the French house often enough when styled for photoshoots, but rarely in her street style. I can actually only think of two Chanel footwear instances in all my years documenting her fashion. A pair of black leather oxfords (worn multiple times in 2012 - it has its own dedicated tag here) and one pair of cap toe bow heel pumps (December 2014).

Get the look: Sunglasses, $14.89 / Skirt, $62.13 / Loafers, $64.43

#taylor swift #candid #accessory #skirt #shoe #stella mccartney #simkhai #chanel #april 2023 #get the look

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ninathekllrr · 5 months

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General!Ticci Toby HCs. . .

This took longer than expected . . Read till the end for a lil blurb <3 reminder ! English isn’t my first language.

—Clothing;

It depends on how old Toby is.. at first he only wore the clothes Slenderman “found” him in and whatever other articles of clothing he was able to scavenge up. It wasn’t until a few years later he felt safe enough to venture out and buy some clothes from the thrift. (with stolen money cuz bitch don’t get paid to be a lumberjack,,, a human lumberjack that is.)

I’m so bad at describing; just think of Will Graham's season 1 outfit n shit. 😭 I feel like he’d probably dress like a grandpa. Oversized Grandpa sweaters, those button-ups/dress shirts under w collars that peep out, any baggy pants in general. Work/toe steel boots >> .

He just doesn’t bother much w dressing up! It’s also so he doesn’t stand out much whenever trying to go somewhere in public — sometimes he’d get lucky and find band tees of bands he likes or Jeff lets him borrow some of his own.

—music;

A firm believer that he loves metal. Something about the chaotic-icy helps him “soothe the voices.” his favorite bands would be Sevendust, Rammstein, and Lamb of god!

Once when he was on a mission he accidentally broke into the wrong house and lucky him it was a middle-aged white dad who had a thing for 2000s rock and metal. Killed that fucker and stole as many albums and CDs as he possibly could :p.

He’d DIY a bunch of studded leather bracelets and give a few away to Natalie and Jeffery. Gifting is his love language tbh

—interests;

Most residents of the manor (when he ‘lived’ there) don’t/didn’t know much about Toby since he doesn’t bother socializing much. He seems pretty disinterested to the rest but the dude really has some great hobbies and things he enjoys. For one he loves crafting, especially wood carving! He also has a habit of collecting animal bones/remains to clean and use them as decor. His favorites prob have to be fox skulls :). Very much a trinket collector as well. Just a odd man :3

Besides hobbies, oddly enough he enjoys Sanrio-related things—specifically cinnamon roll. (Since it’s the only character he knows,) he will convince you that the cinnamoroll is a bunny, not a dog. He refuses to accept that the little cartoon character is not a bunny as he first assumed. Of course he likes music music,, he’s given poetry a chance, isn’t the great at it but really enjoys it!

—Biography;

Toby is Dominican-German. His mom was Dominican while his dad was German! He’s fluent in Spanish and somewhat broken German. Around 5’9 to 6’0 foot tall. Late teens and early twenties he was more scrawny than anything but after 13 years of labor and trying to survive he obv grew some muscle mass and like… isn’t built like a 17-year-old boy idfk. Ofc, he was born on April 28th 1994. Toby grew up in more southern states (specifically Alabama) and has a slighht southern accent.

—Proxy experiences;

Toby is a runaway proxy; one of the very few that managed to escape Slendermans (or the operators, depending on which) grasp. Though he isn’t exactly safe cuz of this, If he gets too close to the terrority of Slenderman or the operator he starts developing symptoms and illness. Course the main being static n amnesia, waking up in random places covered in blood, etc. Toby can’t feel pain so the static doesn’t cause immense headaches but it’s dangerous for that exact reason; he can never tell when his nose starts to bleed or his ears rupture.

Toby only got involved with the operator in his later years (maybe around midish late 20’s) when he was in the minced of escaping Slenderman, and just so happened to meet Tim Wight. He spiraled into a REDACTED hell hole from there.

—Love interest(s) ?;

Oh boy, , it really depends on how quirky im feeling. Ticciwork and TicciJeff tbh. He loves ppl with no sanity 🫶🫶 Thankfully Jeff isn’t involved with Slender because he’s too much of a loose cannon to be controlled, much like EJ, the rake, seed, smile, grinny, etc. and Slenderman doesn’t take interest in Clockwork but since she has connections with some of slendermans valuable tyrants and or proxies, the entity leaves her be.

Jeff was the one to help Toby escape slenderman, and snapped him out of his “devotion” era. Clock is just amazing girlfriend and always there for him :p.

extra . . . .

[ REDACTED ! ! ]

This Deja vu feeling haunts him. He doesn’t understand why he’s being searched for. Why do the cops know who he is? Why is he? Who was he?

Childhood didn’t exist. Was he always grown ?

Why is it when he passes down that neighborhood, it feels so nostalgic . Nothing left but ashes and decaying foundations of homes, homes that were once were preoccupied by happy families. He call still smell the remains of the burnt buildings. Strange. It’s like he could never forget.

Jeff always went quiet whenever they were talking and the topic of this neighborhood was brought up, does he know something the EX proxy doesn’t?

What’s more confusing is that fateful night with Natalie, he found himself driving down a dark road that one night. It shared similar sentiment much like the abandoned neighborhood, only much more sinister. He was with Clocky, Pretty brunette with a clock for one eye,, the other an odd emerald green. Over time, the twitchy man taught himself to read clocks just so he wouldn’t have to check his phone for the time. Natalie’s eye always went tick tock, tick tock.

It was only him and Nat against the world at that moment,, so who was the mauled looking blonde in his rear view window? Sitting in the back of his car as well, it was strange. Jeff usually hoarded up the back seats. . He wouldn’t share it with a victim.

But it isn’t just a victim. Toby found himself struggling to catch his breath, who is she? Nat. It’s not Nat. It’s not Jeff. It’s just some blonde girl. A young adult that resembles someone he doesn’t know. Does he know ? ? ?

Who is she?

What was once a soft and familiar safe touch was now ghostly and evocative ? ?

Everything is blurry around him. He doesn’t hear her asking if he’s okay.

He doesn’t feel her cold touch, her hand covering his on the steering wheel.

One moment he’s on the road

The next he’s out cold

What caused him to swerve into that tree ?

Why did he put their lives at risk ?

Panting. He heard harsh panting. Was that him? Was that her? His hands were completely thrown off the steering wheel and replaced with paler, somewhat smaller ones. Not so gentle though. Something warm was dripping down from his nose. Metallic scent wafted and clogged his nostrils. He licked his lips and wasn’t surprised to be met with blood - he looked in the rear view mirror - NO BLONDIE IN SIGHT

He looked out the window. Did he just barely manage to swerve away from that tree? No. He didn’t save their lives. He looked to his right. A singular green eye met his. She’s unharmed, unlike REDACTED but shooken up. What brought him back to his senses was that familiar disoriented voice.

“Toby, what the fuck ??”

#creepypasta #slenderverse #marble hornets mention #the operator #Tim wright mention #Ticci Toby #Tobias Rodger’s #Ticciwork #Toby x clockwork #ticcijeff #Toby x Jeff the killer #headcannons #sourcemates #Sanrio #cinnamoroll #the slenderman

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heroesriseandfall · 2 years

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It’s real and finally has a date (April). Punk Kon solo for the first time in over 20 years I think (I love t shirt kon but it is not the same). I’m gonna be so nuts about this.

Image description: A comic cover image for Superboy: The Man of Tomorrow #1, which says it’s coming out in April 2023. The cover art shows Conner Kent as Superboy with his back turned to the camera showing the S symbol on the back of his black leather jacket. He’s looking over his shoulder with round glasses on his face and grinning, and he’s also holding a light green duffel bag on his left shoulder. The cover declares it’s 1 of 6 and the 2022 Round Robin winner. End ID

#pls I want this to be good for him so bad 🙏#kon el #conner kent #Superboy #superfam #dc #punk kon #heroesriseandfall

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bbangtans · 2 months

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hello!

welcome to my fic masterlist :) here you can find all my fics listed. please let me know if any links do not work. enjoy! 💓

sincerely,

searching & finding | oneshot (teaser)

⋆☀︎｡ Summary: Wake up, go to work, go home, cook dinner, rinse, and repeat: that was your life had come to post-grad. Once a young woman with larger-than-life aspirations, you’ve been downtrodden by the world's harsh realities. Now, after taking out all your savings and having only one large suitcase in tow, you find yourself in an idyllic seaside town to figure out what’s next for you. Luckily, the bookshop owned by the town’s beloved Kim Namjoon will always be a place of solace for you no matter how sudden the seasonal showers are. pairing: namjoon x f!reader genre: non-idol au, fluff, romance, strangers to friends to lovers rating/warnings: PG-15 | language, alcohol consumption, mentions of sex a/n: kim namjoon is my beacon of light through a storm. this is for anyone feeling a lil lost, sending you the warmest hug ever 🫂 and inspired by summer strike – that drama will always have a place in my heart, and what you are looking for is in the library – a hopeful, meditative read i highly rec! word count: ~10k will be posted on Sunday, April 21st at 10PM PST! <3

none yet!

daybreak | oneshot

One of your favorite things to do when you were in your early 20s was stay up late where reflective conversations eventually blurred into nonsense as the sun rose alongside someone you thought you would spend the rest of your days with… Now you’re stuck in New York City for one night due to a delayed flight with that very person standing there in his leather jacket and guitar case in hand across from you at the airport gate. See, fate is a funny thing and Jeon Jungkook could always find the humor in anything. pairing: rockstar!ex!jk x f!reader genre/tropes: angst, fluff, exes to ???, right person wrong time/second chances rating/warnings: M | alcohol consumption, language, smut word count: ~10k posted: april 2024

none yet!

#bbangtans ff #bbangtans masterlist

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ndcgalitzine · 11 months

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June 24, 2023 spotted in front of the Dior shop in Paris during the Paris Menswear Spring/Summer 2024 Fashion Week

June 23, 2023 attending the Dior Homme Menswear Spring/Summer 2024 show during Paris Fashion Week

June 22, 2023 at the airport carrying the Dior CD Diamond Lingot 50 duffle bag

June 23, 2023 wearing the Ralph Lauren Spring 2023 collection

June 12, 2023 wearing the Dior Fall 2023 Menswear collection

June 9, 2023 wearing the Dior CD Diamond zipped blouson and Hit The Road bag

May 8, 2023 wearing a cream and white ensemble at Wat Bowonniwetwiharn Ratchaworawiharn

April 25, 2023 posing in a denim on denim outfit in Bangkok

April 28 rocking an all-black leather outfit in Tokyo, Japan

April 15, 2023 in Bangkok, Thailand

March 30, 2023 attending the Christian Dior Womenswear Fall 2023 show at the Gateway of India in Mumbai

March 10, 2023 in Bangkok, Thailand

February 28, 2023 wearing a Dior Pink Gardener's Jacket and Pants from the Dior Men's Summer 2023 Collection and carrying the Dior Lock Case

February 19, 2023 wearing a grey Dior Bar Jacket and Gardener Pants from the Dior Men's Summer 2023 collection and carrying the Dior Saddle in mental Cannage in Paris

January 20, 2023 outside the Dior Menswear Fall/Winter 2023 show during Paris Fashion Week

December 15, 2022 attending GQ Thailand 's GQ Men Of The Year Awards 2022 where he won the GQ Breakthrough Actors Of The Year Award 2022

December 04, 2022 attending the "Al Khallat" and "Dirty Difficult Dangerous" screening at the Red Sea International Film Festival in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

September 22, 2022 attending the Vogue Gala 2022 hosted by Vogue Thailand at the Four Seasons Hotel Bangkok

August 29, 2022 in Bangkok, Thailand

May 17, 2022 in Bangkok, Thailand

#FASHION ICON MILE #Mile Phakphum #kinnporsche cast #MileApo #KinnPorsche

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roalinda · 1 year

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contribution to @prongsfoot-microfic

Let's pretend it's still April 🙏

April 20 - Lovesick

It was raining when they first kissed.

They were in the Potter manor greenhouse, working on their Christmas herbology assignment. It was foggy and cold outside, yet the lull of heat enchantments kept them warm inside, soft magic and mellow aroma of exotic flowers buzzing in their core.

Sirius didn't know how it happened. Maybe it was the soothing way James kept whistling while working on mandrakes or maybe it was the magic of colourful roses climbing against the alcove, charming more courage into his Gryffindor heart.

He remembered James winking at him before offering a lopsided grin, reaching out his muddy hands like a needy toddler in search of contact and who was Sirius to deny him?

He let James pull him close. He let James' succulent lips devour his heart, shamelessly yearning for more. He let James to be his dementor, his personal monster who sucked his soul and locked it away in a cage.

He let James be his downfall.

James smiled at him adoringly, like a dazed artist at his muse. "Beloved…my beloved star," he whispered before putting a red camellia in his hair and planting the seed in Sirius' heart.

****

It was raining when they first made love.

He blamed it on alcohol for it was so wretched of them to be carnally intimate in less than a month after James' parents' passing. They had no right to kiss like starved animals, biting and scratching each other raw. It was so wrong of them to combine wine and sin, drunk on grief.

Thunder roared outside and they rolled between silk and satin, heartbeat against heartbeat, skin against skin. James obscenely offered himself and Sirius selfishly took him, painting him black and blue with his teeth and savouring his broken moans. He pulled his hair and took him relentlessly, shedding tears at the same, mourning the loss in their own twisted way.

James looked numb and blissed out after, staring at nowhere with unfocused eyes, blindly reaching out and searching for him in something akin to desperation. Sirius grabbed his hand softly, kissing it tenderly. James shuddered and Sirius realised that he was weeping as well, whimpering pathetically.

"Never leave me beloved…my beloved star…" he sobbed and his grip on Sirius' hand tightened

It was nothing but comfort sex.

The seed started to germinate.

****

It was raining when James first told him Lily had accepted his proposal.

Sirius was not surprised, not really. He didn't look up from the astronomy chart he was working on. Tonight, the sun and Sirius were dysfunctional, bursting and burning more energy than ever. He kept writing, complicated formulas splashing against the paper in the form of finest ink and elegant charts.

James looked as if he was given the world, as if he was floating in another dimension. He kept giggling to himself like a child and babbled on and on about how he wanted to make everything special for Lily, how he loved her.

"Stop with those boring stars and listen to me, " James snapped grumpily and crossed his arms. "It's my love life we are talking about!"

'What about me?' Sirius wanted to ask but all he did was offer a dim smile.

"Yes, stars are boring," he said quietly. "Congratulations."

The roots started to spread.

****

It was raining when he left James.

There was no point in staying, not when Lily wanted to move in. Their messy living room was now neat courtesy of Lily's spells and he hated the crystal flower vase on the dining table, filled with fresh lilies and the way James kept swooning over it.

It was easy to leave unnoticed by James. He was busy with his wedding plans after all. He didn't pack anything. It was just him, his leather jacket and his precious bike as he walked out of the flat and out of James' life with a heavy heart.

He was just an easy fuck to james, a safety net when he needed it. He was not appreciated, not in a way he longed to be. James loved him, of course he did, but that was not what he wanted.

He was a failure, an envious man who had let himself to believe there could be more than benefits in this mirage, something like romance.

The roots wrapped themselves around his heart steadily.

….

It was raining again.

Sirius knew he was dying. His body was long ruined, nothing but a vessel, a rich soil for camellias to bloom and roses to grow. His lungs were filled with petals and thorns were wrapped around his heart, a constant pain to remind him of a lover that was not his.

His magic was gone and his lungs had collapsed. Without Regulus' magic he would have been long dead. He didn't care. He didn't have the strength to argue with his brother. His time was limited, he could sense it. Camellias had bloomed in his once beautiful grey eyes today, using his tears as water and long lashes as a fancy flower pot for the world to see his misery.

Hanahaki was not pretty, it was a curse, an ugly disease. He already looked like a decaying corpse in an unknown forest, wrapped in wild flowers, forgotten and torn.

Tears and petals fell from his eyes and he coughed, blooms sloshing in his lungs painfully. Blood ran down his lips and camellias exploded through his veins, destroying his heart. He reached out blindly, searching for something to grab on, for someone to hold on to.

He dreamed of James and his selfish desire for him, of his unwavering love. On and off…he dreamed and faded.

Someone grabbed his lifeless hand and caressed his sweaty hair. It felt like James. What a sweet dream, of James being here with him instead of being with Lily.

"Beloved…" he heaved. Fever and hallucinations were taking over.

"Beloved…my beloved star…" a distant voice was calling out to him.

"I'm sorry love. I am sorry. I was blind…I was stupid." The voice sounded like James.

Delusions were painful, yet Sirius let himself to believe. Maybe he could pass on in peace. He struggled with more coughs, petals and blood falling from his lips. Breathing was hard now.

"Beloved…don't reject me…believe me…"

In the back of his mind, Sirius could hear heartbreaking sobs. They were frantic yet they lulled Sirius to sleep like the most pleasant lullabies.

He always loved James' voice.

****

It was sunny when he opened his eyes.

There were no flowers in his eyes anymore. They had withered and his sight was back, as sharp as ever. There was air in his lungs now without magic stabilising him and the horrible pain was gone.

He looked around, confused.

James…James was there by his side, glasses askew and hair messier than ever. He looked haggard and awful as if he had aged a century, as if he was the one with the Hanahaki.

The moment he saw Sirius, he didn't hesitate. He pulled him close, kissing him frantically, touching his face with shaky hands to assure himself this was not a dream.

"Give me another chance. Please let me love you " he begged brokenly before Sirius could even open his mouth, shamelessly crying.

Sirius smiled tiredly, nodding against his chest. He had missed James' warmth. "Don't mess up this time," he said simply,

and James didn't.

#Prongsfoot #Prongsfoot microfic #James potter #Sirius black

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kitmoas · 1 year

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TGU Season 1 in Order

HI!! My loves! This is a very random post, but TGU was brought up and I remembered that I had promised a few of you that I would post a Chronological List of how to read through the universe.

This is going to include the Main Story, drabbles, and a couple other main points of interest!

The list is under the cut <3

Beginning of Pain is Comfort (Toy’s early years)

Meet Yelena (November 8, 2018)

Let the Games Begin (June 18, 2021)

Chronicles of a Sweet Toy: Volumes 1-5 (various times between 2021-2024)

Meeting Kate (September 2024-mentioned in Now and Always)

CoaST: Vol 6 (Jan 4, 2025)

Last part of Pain is Comfort (May 9, 2025)

Telling Kate (August 9, 2025)

Training Grounds (October 16, 2025)

Kate Dropping pts 1 and 2 (December 12, 2025)

All of Ours (January 11, 2026)

Sleepy Toy (Febuary 18, 2026)

Under their Control (March 07, 2026)

Break You (March 13-20, 2026)

CoaST: Vol 7 (March 22, 2026)

Squeak (April 19, 2026)

Mothers Day (May 10, 2026)

Now and Always (May 30, 2026)

Two Sides//Same Coin (June 17, 2026)

Leather Bound (September 4, 2026)

Knight in Shining Collar (September 23, 2026)

Counterparts and Countermoves (October 2, 2026)

Only the Brightest are seen in the dark (October 31, 2026)

Flood Gate (December 5, 2026)

Now, then and forever//Evermore (April 18-26, 2027)

#kitmoas writes #k: TGU building #k: training grounds #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #kate bishop #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #kate bishop x reader #k: tgu chrono list

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rhapsodynew · 2 months

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The first pancake is a lump: unsuccessful debut performances of future rock stars

The path to the stars is thorny, and not everyone manages to overcome it at once. It may be hard to imagine now, but rock legends like AC/DC, Guns N’ Roses and Def Leppard started out with small, dirty and empty halls before reaching the status of stadium teams. Let's recall the first concerts of famous musicians, which turned out to be a complete failure.

Guns N’ Roses

Los Angeles, June 6, 1985

On June 6, 1985, Axl Rose, Slash, Izzy Stradlin, Duff McKagan and Steven Adler performed for the first time under the name Guns N’ Roses in their native Los Angeles at the Troubadour Club. Immediately after that, the band went on a tour of the West Coast, in which the team was extremely unlucky. Their car broke down in Fresno, and they had to hitchhike to the next city for 40 hours to eventually find out that they would only be paid 1/5 of the promised amount for the show. The remaining concerts of the tour were canceled, but McKagan writes in his autobiography that such adventures hardened the band.

Metallica

Radio City, March 14, 1982

At Metallica's first concert, Hatfield felt insecure and clamped down. He recalled in an interview with Kerrang!:

I was very nervous and uncomfortable without a guitar. On the first song, Dave [Mustaine] broke a string. It seemed like it took forever to replace her, and I stood on the stage in complete embarrassment. We were very disappointed with this concert.

Motley Crue

April 24, 1981

At the first Motley Crue concert, the problem was not in the venue or even in the band itself, but in the audience. Well, and a little bit in the character of Vince Neal, of course. In the biography "Dirt" he recalls:

People were screaming: "Fuck you!" They were giving us the middle fingers. And then one jerk in a black AC/DC T-shirt spat phlegm that flew onto my white leather pants. Without hesitating for a second, I jumped off the stage in the middle of a sentence and started hitting him. I looked back, and Nikki lifted his bass over his head and smashed it on some guy's shoulder blade.

Def Leppard

Schaffield, United Kingdom, July 8, 1978

In addition to the fact that the musicians received only one fifth of the five pounds promised for performing at a local school, Def Leppard guitarist Steve Clark learned an important lesson about the need for a full-fledged sound check before performing. Forgetting to turn on his amplifier, Clark tried to powerfully start the show, but only caused laughter from the audience. Joe Elliot recalled:

He started twirling the guitar in his hands, like Pete Townshend did, to kick in, but nothing happened. The audience laughed.

The Police

New York, October 20, 1978

If you play your first concert in one of the most famous clubs in New York, it would seem that what could go wrong? Well, first of all, the musicians were offered to use a dirty toilet as a dressing room. Secondly, in order to cross the Atlantic, the group had to fly on a budget flight and huddle in uncomfortable small chairs along with the equipment. But the main thing is: It was worth it. The audience, even though there were very few of them, received the group warmly.

As Andy Summers recalled, "By the end of the first set, the audience jumped to their feet and started singing along." Perhaps that's what helped the band play 23 more shows in the next three weeks.

Heart

Vancouver, 1974

The first Heart concert was held in a cave, and almost literally. The club where they performed was called The Cave and, as Ann Wilson recalls in the band's biography, its walls were decorated with decorative stone. She also talked about how at that time the team was so poor that they had to eat only rice.

Troubles also plagued the musicians during the audition in front of the club owner: a sudden gust of wind knocked the guitar out of Wilson's hands. Nevertheless, Heart ignored this fact, did not consider it a bad omen and went on stage anyway. Who knows, if they had acted differently, would they have been able to achieve their success?

KISS

Queens, New York, January 30, 1973

For decades, KISS has been building huge stadiums around the world and making millions from ticket sales and merch. But in 1973, at the Popcorn Club in Queens, the band performed in front of less than a dozen people, and received only $50 for it. Gene Simmons himself organized the concert after the departure of their then manager, who stated that KISS had "the worst music he had ever heard."

AC/DC

Sydney, Australia, December 31, 1973

The musicians had only been playing together for a couple of months, and they still didn't have enough songs to put together a decent setlist. Why, Angus Young didn't have his famous school uniform yet. But neither this nor the quality of the venue prevented the band from winning the hearts of the audience at the very first show. The band's bassist Dave Evans recalled:

This place was very cool in the 50s and 60s, but when we performed there, the days of its glory were long gone. It was a small playground with a tiny stage and no dressing room

In addition, the middle-aged manager of the club turned off the electricity every 20 minutes because it seemed to him that the musicians were playing too loudly. Despite everything, Young told me:

This concert was just wild. On New Year's Eve, the atmosphere is already wild, but if you add to this what we did, you get complete madness.

Yes

Essex, United Kingdom, August 3, 1968

The first performance of the Yes band took place just a week after its founding. Chris Squire, John Anderson, Peter Banks, Bill Bruford and Tony Kaye went to perform at a youth camp in Essex. They didn't have much time to prepare, and there were a lot of covers on the setlist, but the band performed them in their own way, in a progressive rock style. Banks recalls that they made their own arrangements for all the compositions, but they did it with respect to the original.

The Doors

Los Angeles, March 1966

The Doors' first performance took place on the legendary Sunset Strip, where the famous Troubadour and Whisky a Go-Go clubs were located. But Morrison and company performed at an institution called The London Fog, where they shared a tiny stage with exotic dancers. This club was a favorite place for alcoholics, prostitutes and various slippery types, but the show there gave The Doors the opportunity to try their hand on stage and subsequently form a corporate style of performances.

The Velvet Underground

New Jersey, December 11, 1965

The auditorium of a high school in New Jersey turned out to be not the most suitable place for the debut of Lou Reed and his team performing experimental and intellectual rock and roll. The band played only three songs, and managed to capture the attention of only half of the audience of students and their parents. There She Goes was a safe option to start the show, which is not true of the songs Venus In Furs and Heroin that followed.

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carusolikey · 1 month

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The Blue Hour

a Max Phillips & Bloodsucking Bastards FanFic Chapter 1: There Goes the Building

Pairing: Max Phillips of Bloodsucking Bastards x afab!fem!reader

Rating: Explicit / NSFW 18+ (No Minors)

Author’s Note: I wrote this piece during the month of April 2024 - Adenomyosis Awareness Month, and the idea came to me during March 2024 (Endometriosis Awareness Month). This will not have any type of pregnancy kink, but will touch on infertility of OC due to the aforementioned; canon for this story is also that Vampires are infertile - there will be no Renesmé. OC is intended to be around the same age as Max, reader’s choice up or down, but no age gap. Because older afab/fem lovers are sexy - we drink and we know things.

Warnings: Most of these warnings will apply to later Chapters. Chapter 1 is fairly light and fluffy "getting to know you" with some steamy close calls, lingering touches and what have you (the what have you is the best part). But don't worry - we'll be getting down and dirty in Chapter 2.

A bit of rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration - P in V, oral [m + f receiving]), food play, 18+ only content, able bodied fem afab reader, alcohol consumption, non-gendered pet names, fem can be carried and has hair - though length is not mentioned, consensual "bondage", some use of y+n - but not explicitly, though consensuality is implied and intended through actions and reactions, no protection used for Vampire reasons TBD (be wise and always use protection, this is fiction). Did attempt to stay away from gendered pronouns and nicknames, although did use the word woman, 3 times throughout the entire piece (not fully published yet) referring to OC. Future chapters will discuss history endo / adeno, and of previous relationship / SA; there will also be Vampire hunting, murdering, and blood….sucking bastards.

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Sitting at my little mahogany desk, stretching back in the leather desk chair, I shut off my phone alarm as it blasted the opening chords of Raspberry Beret. 3:15 a.m. - time to grab my laundry from the basement of the old apartment building where I was settled.

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Weird time to be doing laundry, huh? Not for me, though - I’d had insomnia for, let’s see, I’ll have to count on fingers and toes, 5 + 12 + 3 months, so that makes...20 months.

20 months without sunlight, for the most part. I’d had random doctor appointments that interrupted my daytime drowsiness, but about 20 months ago, I broke a little inside and haven’t been able to get back on a normal schedule.

So middle of the night laundry. And mail. And gym time, groceries, cleaning, working…

Honestly, it’s not that bad - I make my living narrating books, and I can do that whenever. Groceries get delivered to my apartment, I’m living Sandra Bullock’s The Net dream life. Peace, quiet, solitude, and ultimate zen.

Is it lonely sometimes? Sure. But that’s what my vibrator is for, and Mr. Rochester is doing fine work. The best part for us is that it’s pretty noncommittal, given that his back story is that he keeps his mentally unwell wife in the attic. Thank you, Charlotte Brontë.

As I headed down the apartment stairwell with my laundry basket against my hip, wearing my laundry day “Li’l Sebastian” (you’re 5,000 candles in the wind) t-shirt, and my hair in a side party-pony, I scrolled through my phone looking for the perfect song. Walking down the stairs, the scent of clean laundry wafting nearer, I enjoyed the open breezes from the stairwell windows. Spring was certainly taking the tepid steps of a lamb, easing along and bringing slightly warmer licks on gentle winds, carrying hints of flowers and plants experiencing horticultural resurrection.

The laundry room, in the dank cement-block basement, was far enough from the apartments that you could throw a party and no one would know, but it also had amazing acoustics. The actual accommodations, on the other hand, left much to be desired - but down here? Chef’s kiss - perfection. Which is why I always seized the opportunity of being the only one awake doing laundry, to partake in one of my favorite activities: singing while folding laundry. The ultimate mood booster.

As I scrolled through my Spotify, I landed on a classic and hit play, crooning in my best sultry voice, “I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star, to pray on or wish on or something like that…”

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I continued folding, singing at the top of my lungs, letting my voice trickle through the runs, shimmying my shoulders as I danced in place. Breathing right along with Fiona Apple during Paper Bag, “Oh, hunger hurts - but I want him so bad, oh-oh it kills, because I know that I'm a mess that he don't wanna clean up. I got to fold because these hands are just too - shaky to hold. Hunger hurts, but starving, it works, when it costs too much to love.”

Daintily placing the last folded item on top, I turned around and was startled to see a man in a three piece suit standing in the doorway of the laundry room.

This is why I don’t wear airpods down here. Safety first.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize someone else was down here. And - you just had to endure me giving a private demonstration on how to sing like no one’s listening and dance like no one’s watching.”

I uncomfortably raised my eyebrow and pursed my lips.

“If I gave you money, you could be my private dancer, my dancer for money.” He smirked.

“Tina Turner? Really? I don’t know if that’s the best way to - “ I paused before changing my mind, “No, wait a minute, I think if you’re even going to start with that proposition you have to at least sing it to me. Otherwise, that’s a lazy proposal.”

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t not laugh. While I gave him the once over, waiting for his response, I noticed that he was unnervingly handsome. Sandy brown hair, with eyes like a hot, fresh espresso, I could practically smell the roasty cinnamon and nutmeg, getting lost in them as he poured them over me, so warm and comforting. His smile crept up to one side - I had a hard time determining its sincerity, but he certainly seemed amused by me. Why? I had no idea. Like the mere idea of me tickled him as he watched me uncomfortably shift in my laundry day outfit and party pony under his gaze.

“Another time, absolutely.” I took a step back, confused by his response, “I’m more interested in who you want so bad that it kills?”

“Huh?” I asked him, ineloquently, and then, “I’m sorry - what are you asking me?”

He gave a low chuckle, and stepped closer, “The song you were singing. You sang about how you ‘want him so bad, OH, it kills,’ -- “ he put his face next to mine, “who do you want?”

“You’re intense, aren’t you?”

Stepping back, he raised his eyebrows.

“How about a, ‘Hi, my name is, I don’t know - Blake? I live in the building, I like ponies and narwhals, and my favorite book is something super pretentious about fountain pens’?”

His smile widened from a half smile to a full smile, “My name is Max Phillips, I live in the building, I do like ponies - and narwhals, in theory, I’ve never seen one. My favorite book is The Grapes of Wrath and basically anything by Bill Waterson.”

“Wait - Bill Waterson? Calvin & Hobbes, Bill Waterson?” I responded, a bit shocked, but highly intrigued.

“Yes, but I think you’re supposed to respond in kind,” the words were nice, although they sounded a bit like an order, which I’m not a huge fan of, but for some reason I didn’t seem to mind coming from him.

I told him my name, that I was a huge Capote fan, loved Breakfast at Tiffany’s and In Cold Blood, but that I also really, really loved Dickens, too. Specifically David Copperfield. I hated to admit it, but somehow he’d cracked me open and gotten me talking about my favorite subject. As I stood there waxing on about the upside down ship house and Aunt Betsey Trotwood, and how the movie Breakfast at TIffany’s differed from the book, the laundry basket kept drooping lower and lower on my hip. Without realizing it until I had finished a particularly impassioned speech, I noticed that Max was holding my laundry basket for me. I had been wildly gesticulating with both hands while he contentedly watched me.

“Oh my goodness.” I started, realizing that I’d gone off on a tangent, “I’m so sorry - you probably have other things that you’re meant to be doing.”

My eyes drifted to his suit, perfectly tailored, the button-up underneath holding on just barely, and the snug collar that would probably be a lot more comfortable for him if I were to loosen his tie for him. I bit my lower lip, thinking about it - and then told myself to snap out of it. Alone is good and healthy. So what if my therapist friends say “fine” is a four letter word? I’m fine. I’m FINE. He’s fine. Haha. No. Back to narrating books. Oh shit, he’s looking at me.

“I’m not in any rush,” he started - but I took the laundry basket away from him anyway.

Immediately, he reached out and grabbed my hand in between my thumb and forefinger, pressing firmly, “Did you know that this spot right here is an acupressure point, that helps with migraines?”

“Oh!” caught by surprise, I let out a gasp. “Well, that’s incredibly useful information, thank you,” nervously, I chuckled, “I’m gonna go, but it was really nice to meet you, Max.”

“It was an extremely pleasurable experience for me, as well.” He said, his words dripping with single, double, and I didn’t know it was possible, but triple entendre as well.

As I walked back up the stairs, I thought about what he had just done for me - the acupressure point. How did he know that I was getting a migraine? Was it just obvious from my facial expressions? Well, I suppose I’d rather he recognize that I was having a migraine than think I wasn’t interested. Wait - is he a doctor? Shoot. I didn’t ask. We also didn’t exchange numbers. I can’t go back, I’m already halfway up the stairs. Ugh! You know what? No. I’m therapist “F” word. FINE. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen. Meanwhile, I know Mr. Rochester is charged and waiting. It’s all good.

By the time I got back to my apartment my migraine was actually gone, and I was feeling quite flushed after the passing experience with Max, so I decided to treat myself. I lit my fancy Sage & Peppermint candle, turned on my “To Be Savored” playlist, then went straight to my treasure box and pulled out Mr. Rochester. I know exactly how to set the mood for me.

I thought about Max’s handsomely roguish grin, with its slight dimple and the way his eyes crinkled playfully, like he wanted to keep toying with me all night. Placing Mr. Rochester onto my clitoris, then rubbing up and down to get him wet - easily done. After where my thoughts had been, I turned him on to the first vibration and started moaning lightly. In the back of my mind, it registered that I heard footsteps coming down the corridor of apartments in the hallway, just outside of mine. I turned the vibrator up another click and moaned a bit more, thinking about a fantasy situation where Max came bursting into my apartment, and fucked me right here and now. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped right outside the door of my apartment.

Panting, there was a sudden twitch as my clitoris began to orgasm, unable to determine what was fantasy and reality.

“Is he outside my apartment?!” I hissed in confusion and paranoia. I ramped up the vibrator, and let myself have it, breathing out, “Oh god, Max!”

Then, the footsteps started again, and I heard a deep baritone chuckling.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Shit.

Well, there goes the neighborhood.

It had been a few days, and I started to wonder if Max was actually real, or just the product of my desperate, overactive imagination. If that was the case, kudos to me. I really could not have imagined a more perfect specimen.

I would be glad, if he were simply imagined.

Because I was so horrified post-self-coital that he might’ve heard me, that I did actively hide even more so than I’ve already been hidden.

But I still had to get mail, and I do still exercise pretty regularly, so there was bound to be an incident. Not that there had been, or that we’d bumped into each other in the gym before, but the odds of someone you’ve never met from your building, bumping into you in the laundry and then walking down your hallway at the exact moment that you just happen to decide to masturbate to their extremely, tall, hovering frame - the odds, what were they, really? I laughed to myself, to keep myself from overheating and crying a little bit.

However, I’d been keeping my nighttime moonlighting as the resident lounge singer on the very, very nonexistent down low. Which, yes, “crushes my fragile spirit,” sure, but worth it not to bump into someone I fantasy-orgasmed to very loudly.

Especially if they were real and happened to hear me through my poorly sound-proofed door. The cringe is real, the cringe has its own cringe, the cringe lives in a house made of cringe on Cringe Lane in the town of Cringe at the edge of Cringe Lake. But when you say it that way, it just sounds British, and suddenly, my cringe sounds quaint, doesn’t it? But oh, god - what if Cringe Lake has a Cringe Lake House, with a magic mailbox? No. I can’t entertain that idea. It’s too much, I’m spinning out!

The only thing that really centers me, is heading down to the basement gym. Is it poorly lit with the same cement block walls as the laundry room? Is it carpeted with a full wall of mirrors and a bar for an imaginary barre class that I sometimes pretend that I’m taking? Are there only two ellipticals, one exercise bike, and only one set of mismatched weights, but 5 treadmills? Yes, yes, yes, always, yes, yes, yes, who knows why - maybe because of the prancercise craze of the mid 90’s? (It’s just prancing. Prancing, I said!)

My machine of choice? Always the elliptical. I’ve never been skiing, but I like to pretend like I’m Audrey Hepburn, in the Swiss Alps at the very beginning of the movie Charade, when she’s at a ski resort in the Swiss Alps, not skiing at all, and then she never goes back there at any time for the rest of the movie. What I’m really saying is, I watch something on my iPad for almost an hour until I reach an esoteric high.

Tonight though, I needed to focus. No comfort binging Law & Order: SVU. Nay, it was vital I concentrate on the latest book I was narrating. I would love to say that it was something that will take the literary world by storm but, it was definitely a bit more niche.

The plot was focused on sexy British assassins - a first day on the job for one, while the other had been training their whole life. Naturally, the conflict being that they’d slept together once before and someone accidentally lost their memory when they were kidnapped. Of course, that led to misunderstandings, and one assassin thought the other was blowing them off, when it was just simply a case of, “I was drugged by a rival assassin team and forgot everything that happened between us”.

Make no mistake, once everything was cleared up - there was a lot of sex in this book. A LOT of sex in this book. So much. And you have to wonder when people are writing this, is this what they like? Do they have a partner that they’re trying all of this out with first to make sure it works? Should I be trying this out first in order to be an accurate narrator?

Oh, no. Stop thinking about Max.

As I placed my iPad on the elliptical along with my water bottle and stepped up onto the machine, my thoughts began to drift. Setting the machine to Interval Training, I opened up my iPad to the book and continued where I’d left off, trying to decide what voice I would give to the main character, to her counterpart. Although, there was a possibility the author would be finding another narrator to read for the male character. I wouldn’t know until later.

These thoughts trailed beneath as I read about how the male character could identify the female character by her scent. Ridiculous, I thought, letting out an amused giggle, even with a personalized perfume, really? Tracking her by her scent across London? Who would buy that?

Things continued to heat up for the protagonists, but right before they were about to rip their clothes off, my elliptical made a disappointed, whoosh sound as it transitioned from cool down to off.

Same, elliptical. Same.

Climbing off the elliptical, I turned up the music on my phone, and started stretching out my muscles. As I finished my stretches, Adele’s Send My Love (To Your New Lover) came on, and there was no way I was going to resist singing along.

Fuck it, it’s 2:45 a.m.

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I grabbed the mirror rail, feeling myself entirely, swaying my hips back and forth. Sliding down and dipping back up, dragging my hand down my neck, my chest, and letting it rest on my stomach, I closed my eyes and belted, “Send my love to your new lo-o-ver! Treat her be-e-etter. We’ve gotta let go of all of our ghosts, we both know we ain’t kids no more….”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m very glad we’re not kids anymore.”

“Oh SHIT!”

I jumped and hit my elbow against the mirror, then immediately slid down the mirror hard and hit the same spot on my elbow on the mirror rail, landing on my backside, cradling my elbow.

“Oh! Sad face!” I yelped.

“Did you just say ‘sad face’?” Max had rushed over from where he’d been standing in the doorframe watching me, and with tempered concern put his hand on my forehead, then my arm to see if I was alright.

“Yes, I believe it’s the current preferred standard of emoting. It’s clear, concise…it’s um,” I started to drift a little.

“Hey, stay with me, tell me more about your emojis.”

Taking his phone, he turned on the flashlight and shone it in my eyes, holding my chin to keep me steady, “Pretty eyes, song bird,” and gave me a half smile.

“I’m not a BIRD. I’m a full grown adult woman.”

Eyeing me up and down, Max scoffed gently while shaking his head, “There’s no denying that. Luckily it looks like you don’t have a concussion, but unfortunately,” licking his lips softly as he looked at my elbow, which had a large splinter of wood sticking out of it and a little bit of blood starting to drip from the site, “I’m gonna have to cut my workout short. I think this is definitely a ‘walk my sexy neighbor home emergency’.”

It was my turn to scoff, “Okay, okay - how many sexy neighbors do you walk home every night? Don’t act like this is impressive or like I should be impressed because I’m not.”

He didn’t laugh out loud, but his deep laugh rumbled and shook his chest, like he was deliberately trying not to laugh at me. As though he thought it was important to me, to be taken seriously. Which it IS, of course, but - why does he know that?

Sweeping his right arm under my left arm, leaving my wounded right arm out so that I could hold it close to my chest, and using his left arm to lift me up by the legs, he picked me up.

“Just the one,” he smirked as he made direct eye contact - and carried me up five flights of stairs.

It was definitely impressive, but I had to ask him when we got to the top, “Why didn’t you take the elevator?”

Max clicked his tongue and looked at me reproachfully, “Never, ever miss leg day. Ever.” and then he used me to do curls, after unlocking the apartment and walking inside.

“I object! To being used as gym equipment!” I declared like a regular Lady Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham, and Max immediately set me down on my leather couch.

“Much better.” Quietly approving in a mutter from my seated position.

“I’m assuming bandages, antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, that’s all in your - bathroom?” I nodded, still feeling a little woozy, as I watched him walk away.

And then panic struck as I remembered something terrible, a pall was cast over my face as sudden abject horror and humiliation pulled me into a dark and spiraling pit.

“Oh no.” I whispered.

“What?” called Max, from the other room.

How could he possibly have heard that? Did I not whisper? Am I a loud whisperer like my mom and I just don’t know it yet? Max returned, with the engaging smile of someone ready to sell me a bridge, and holding Mr. Rochester, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

My eyes grew wide and large and extra. I ran through a list of possible scenarios where this worked out well for me, and I hated every single one where I admitted it was mine. Normally, yes, I don’t care. I’m very sex positive, but (sobbing internally) this man. I am just not there yet, and I get to make that decision, right? Right.

“What’d you find there?” I asked innocently.

Genuine shock washed over Max’s face and he looked slightly taken aback for a split second, before smoothing himself over, and resuming play, “It was sitting on a towel on the sink in your bathroom.”

I shrugged my shoulders, I touched my face, I looked up and to the left, hid my thumbs, pursed my lips, I basically inadvertently did everything the FBI guy from the podcast about lie detecting said liars do.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Maybe - uh, maybe maintenance left it here?”

“Maintenance?” Max gave me a dubious look.

“Yeah, the –“ had to pause while I remembered everything that might go in a bathroom that I was willing to have clogged in front of him, “SINK was clogged. I had to get maintenance here to use something for it. I think that’s a snake, is what they call it, right there. What that is.”

“A snake? For clearing clogged drains?” He bit the inside of his cheek, and ground his jaw - I could tell he was not convinced, and might be slightly amused, “You know I’ve used a snake before, this isn’t it.”

“Oh my god. I wonder if someone - accidentally - left it here during one of those, neighbor meetings.”

“What neighbor meetings?” Max gave me a very skeptical look.

“You know, the ones we have. With chips and dip and we talk about neighbor happenings. I don’t think you were at the last one. Probably it’s a microphone. Cordless. With bluetooth for TIkToks,” I gave an extra super chill shrug to add to my very convincing improv acting that has not remotely degraded in skill over the years, “Obviously.”

“You know what. You’re probably right.” He said, seeming very convinced, and I don’t think he noticed, but I did breath a sigh of relief.

“I’ll check in with all of the neighbors, and make sure that I’m on the email list for the next neighbor meeting, while simultaneously checking to see who might’ve misplaced this ‘device,’ here. In your apartment.” The look he gave me was smug.

I grabbed my Nic Cage sequined throw pillow, and hugged it tight, groaning when I realized we still hadn’t attended to my arm.

Max’s face softened, but only by a hair as he set down Mr. Rochester and walked towards me. Sitting down on the couch next to me, placing all of the medical supplies on the coffee table, he began to examine my arm. Licking his lips with a far off look in his eyes, he gulped softly, then took a tweezers and started removing the pieces of wood.

As he worked, he spoke softly, firm, but his voice remained smooth, velvety rich, plush - I wanted to run my hands against it and feel the warmth - nope, that’s the horny pain talking; but what he actually said was, “So, as I was saying, I’m going to take the ‘mysterious device’ from your bathroom for safe keeping. I’ll, uh, ‘check-in’ with your neighbors to see if it belongs to anyone,” then he looked directly into my eyes, holding mine and not letting go - deep caramel brown pulling me into him, “and if I can’t find who it belongs to in a few days time,” I groaned at that, “I’m sorry, am I hurting your arm?” I bit my lip, knowing that wasn’t why I groaned, “then I’ll bring it back, and we can explore the device together. Try and figure out what it does, how it works, the best way to use it. Sound good?”

He looked up at me from under his eyebrows, and I melted. Oof, he was smarmy and smooth, and I had a bad feeling he was going to be my achilles dick.

I tilted my head to the side like a puppy and raised one eyebrow, “I suppose that could be – ” pausing as I bit my lip, debating the right word, “amenable.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, would we?” Max looked back down at my arm, taking a wet, soapy, warm cloth, and gently washing off my elbow.

The action was so small and insignificant, but I found myself easing out of my discomfort as I watched him dry off my arm, and apply a large bandage.

Snapping out of it, I started to sit up, “Oh wait, no - I just finished exercising, I need to take a shower first, I’ll put a bandage on afterwards.”

Max looked at me, one eyebrow raised, as he continued what he was doing, and I scrunched my nose up at him in response.

Giving me his smug half-smile with the dimple, his voice somewhat patronizing, “Now that this is taken care of, I’ll run a bath for you – “

“Extra bubbles, if you must,” I interrupted, frowning at him and feeling slightly suspicious. Who was he to run baths for me in my own apartment? I picked up my phone and started passive aggressively scrolling for bath tunes, because of course, despite the nerve of this man, I was going to enjoy my bath.

“Alright,” Max came out of the bathroom, “I hope it’s hot enough for you.”

Looking up from my phone, I couldn’t help myself from drawing my gaze slowly up his body, slowly lingering on his stomach, where his shirt lifted as he stretched his arm above his head. The V of his stomach, disappearing into his sweats, the light trail of hair from his navel to - destination unknown as of yet, but those pants gave some ideas. Oh my god, I’m such a Samantha! I giggled to myself, and Max gave me a confused, yet intrigued look.

I shook my head, “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the water is fine, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he crossed over to the couch, reaching under my left arm, and giving me a lift so that I could walk leaning against him. I groaned getting up, “Yeah - you’re sore, aren’t you? You fell pretty hard. The hot water should help, I added some bath salt with the bubbles.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? We barely know each other.”

“I’m being a decent person. You need to adjust your bar for ‘so nice’, because that threshold is too low, Sweetness.”

As he walked me into the bathroom, I saw that he’d lit a candle, and put all of my shower toiletries, as well as a fresh towel on the bench next to the bathtub, within easy reach. It really wasn’t a hard thing to do, it was a simple, nice thing to do for someone who’d just hurt themself, but it got to me and I had to swallow a lump I felt rising in my throat.

Turning to him, my eyes starting to sparkle a bit with the beginnings of tears that I was determined to hold back, but my sincerity would not be mistaken, “Thank you. I mean it.”

His mouth was smiling, but his eyes lost their crinkle and his eyebrows frowned slightly, “You’re welcome. Now, I’m gonna be just outside the door, over there on the couch, catching up on some emails on my phone, but if you need me –” he mimed the words ‘call me’ while holding his hand up to his ear like a phone.

I nodded, chuckling at his corny sense of humor, “Okay, buddy. Will do,” giving him a thumbs up. He gave a look indicating that he did not like being referred to as ‘buddy,’ and I laughed a little harder while closing the door on him.

Shedding my clothes and tossing them into the hamper, I noticed that I had a large purple and green bruise forming on my backside. Perfect, that’s gonna be sore for a little while. Before stepping into the tub, I popped on my playlist - the water was nice and hot, and felt amazing on my sore body as I sank lower into the water. Yes, yes, and yes - perfection. I let my bandaged arm rest on the edge of the tub as I soaked a cloth, washing my face and the rest of my body. Using the handheld shower head attachment with my left hand, I rinsed through my hair, getting it thoroughly soaked.

I grabbed my shampoo bar soap and started to lather, realizing very quickly that with an elbow that I couldn’t bend, I was going to have to do it one handed.

“Shoot!” I muttered under my breath, as I tried to figure out the best way to do it without getting my bandage wet.

Immediately there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Is everything alright? I’m coming in, but my eyes are closed.”

Max walked in with one hand on the doorknob, and the other over his eyes. I quickly put my left arm over my chest, despite the fact that there were still a LOT of bubbles covering me up. Max knows how to make a good bubble bath, I’ll give him that.

I looked down at myself, and realizing that it was fine, said, “You can look, Max. It’s all good.”

He took his hand down from his eyes, and closed the door behind him. “I’m just struggling a bit to wash my hair while not bending my arm. I mean, I’m sure I can get used to it - I’m just in an adjustment period.”

He sat down next to the bathtub, “Why don’t I help you out tonight - you’re still obviously in shock, right?”

It definitely was a question that indicated concern, but I had a strong sense that he was cajoling me. Mr. Spider, may I introduce you to Miss Fly?

Bickering with my shoulder angel and demon, I opted to accept his offer - because I was sore, and even if his bid to assist me concealed darker intentions, I struggled to care. Somehow, within the presence of his pheromones, his spicy musk, leather and oaky whisky, there existed nothing outside of the puzzle box where we existed, where I was kept like his little secret treasure.

Handing him the shampoo bar, he dipped his hands in the bath water quickly, and started lathering up the bar. “Can you sit up?”

I put my left arm back over my chest and leaned forward until I rested my breasts against my knees, my right arm still clinging to the tub. Max started to massage the shampoo into my hair and I involuntarily leaned my head back into his hands, moaning gently.

“Well, if that’s all it takes to get you to make sounds like that, maybe I should come by and wash your hair again tomorrow.” he teased, his voice irresistibly oozing charm.

“I mean –” I started without finishing, my eyes blissfully closed, thoroughly enjoying what Herbal Essences commercials of the 90’s long ago promised and never delivered.

Cackling, actually gleefully cackling - pleased with himself, Max took the handheld shower head and rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Alright, I’m assuming there’s a conditioner next?” I pointed to the Olaplex No. 5, “Okay, Fancy.”

“You don’t have to use very much, a lot goes a long way.” I looked over at him, resting my chin on my knees.

“Fair enough.” He squeezed a bit of conditioner into his open palm, and then started rubbing it with both hands into my ends, working his way towards the roots.

“Uh, this is not your first time washing a woman’s hair, is it?” I asked, my voice brimming with curiosity.

“Well, that would be part of my backstory.” I frowned at his response.

“Which I will tell you. One day. But I think it’s a little soon for that.” Max could tell that he was losing me to my thoughts, “But no, it’s not something that I’ve done for a sexy neighbor before.”

Immediately, I was brought back to the here and now, as the word ‘neighbor’ must have given me the same tone of face that I had given Max when I called him ‘buddy’. He looked particularly self-satisfied, as I shot him an admonishing glare.

“How long do we need to leave your conditioner in?” he asked, as my playlist moved onto one of my favorite songs, albeit an unfortunate choice for the moment - Sharon Van Etten’s, Jupiter 4.

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Twisting my hair up, I gestured towards a hair clip on the bathroom sink. Max picked it up, and while I used my left hand to hold my hair up on top of my head, he clipped my hair in place for me.

“Thanks, I usually leave it in for the length of a song - this one should be good.” Blushing as I thought about how sexy this song made me feel. I started to lean back, crossing my left arm back over my chest, and sank back in the water - letting my chest and abdomen be submerged, while my knees and legs stuck out in peaks from the water and the bubbles.

“This is Sharon Van Etten - “ Max paused, “I really like her, and this song,” he took a breath, raised an eyebrow, while looking me up and down, and started singing in his low voice, “Touching your face,” he leaned forward and lifted my chin towards his face with his index finger and thumb, “How’d it take a long, long time - to be here. Turning the wheel on my street. My heart still skips a beat. It’s echoing, echoing, echoing - “ he stared into my eyes, and it felt like another world was opening up to me, “Baby, baby, baby, I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

As he leaned forward on the tub, his arm knocked the bottle of conditioner into the water, and I took a deep breath in, realizing that I had stopped breathing during his serenade. I broke my gaze from him to the water where the bottle had fallen in, near my legs, and then back to him. Without breaking eye contact with me, he reached through the warm, foamy water, leaning closer to my face as he carefully waded deeper beneath the bubbles.

His hand didn’t touch me, exactly, but felt along the edge of the tub, near the side of my body, going down. I knew where he needed to go, I could feel where the bottle was and squeezed my legs together, tilting them both towards the wall. Suddenly, he put his hand on my right thigh, slowly going up towards my knees. I closed my eyes, and I could feel his breath on me as he turned his face, leaning closer into my neck.

When he got to my knees, I breathed out like I was breathing through a straw, opening my eyes and looking down the tub at his large hand. He slipped his fingers between my knees and gently wedged them apart, stretching his hand so that his thumb was on one leg, and his pinky was on the other. Slowly, he dragged them down both legs, gradually pushing my legs open wider the further down he got. I could feel my heart rate increasing, my nipples growing harder, my vagina pulsing. Looking back at him, my mouth slightly open as my breath started to grow a bit more ragged, my eyebrows furrowing as I held myself back. Gazing back at me, his lips parted, his tongue poised between them, he watched me hungrily - and as I looked down at his sweatpants, I could tell his appetite was fully whetted.

His hand was almost to my vagina, to my clitoris - my whole body trembling, I involuntarily arched my back, letting my breasts peek out from the water for the briefest of moments, and Max’s eyes flickered down my body as he licked his lips. That hand, that cruel hand, slipped just mere seconds before touching me where I craved it. With a quick detour, he pulled the bottle of conditioner out of the water.

I cried out in agony, throwing my left arm over my chest, suddenly and abruptly sitting upright in the tub - trying to catch my breath, shaking as my body pulsed with uncontrollable longing. What is wrong with me? I hardly know this man. This is my neighbor. Oh god. THIS IS MY NEIGHBOR. And I let him give me a bath? Inside I was cry-laughing and dying. I’ve talked to him twice. How did I think this was a good idea?

Max said absolutely nothing. He turned on the handheld shower head and rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, then used one hand to rub my back while I focused on steadying my breath.

As my breath steadied, he asked, “Are you ready to get out?”

Standing up, he held the towel with both hands, and closing his eyes, “I promise I won’t open my eyes –” he opened one eye, looking amused, and then closed it, “again - until I leave the bathroom and, or, you say it’s okay.”

A simple enough promise - will he break it? I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

I sighed and said, “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Standing up, I started to take the towel, but Max wrapped the towel around me instead, giving me strong arms to lean on as I stepped out of the tub, and closer to him and the overwhelming scent of him. Tucking in the towel I looked up at his face, with his eyes closed. The strong, angled, and clean shaven cut of his jaw, the beautiful line of his incredibly sexy aquiline nose - like a marble statue from antiquity. The line of his brow, begging me to trace my fingers across them, and his lips - always pulling back to reveal that suave smile and dreamy little dimple. What I wouldn’t do with those lips!

“You can open your eyes.” I spoke softly, embarrassed that I was here in this moment of intense vulnerability, somehow.

He opened his eyes and looked down at me, grinning at first, but then he saw my look of deflation and his gaze became stern.

“What’s wrong?”

Glancing down, I tried to find the words, “I’m not exactly sure what just happened –”

With an encouraging smile, Max asked, “Well, I helped my sexy neighbor wash her hair –” he squeezed my shoulders, “did she want something more to happen?”

“I’m not sure.” My brows knitted together as I looked up at him.

“And that’s why I didn’t do anything more. But rest assured, the moment I get a resounding ‘full speed ahead!’ I will be hard pressed to stop.”

His eyes flashed down to my lips, sticking his tongue out just a little bit, and then continued, “You’re beautiful. You’re attractive, intelligent, funny - did I say smart? I’m not going to take advantage of you, or risk pushing you before you’re ready. We have time to get to know each other.”

I beamed as he fawned over me, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Feeling certain and satisfied that he had rejuvenated my spirits, he wrapped his arm underneath my left arm, opening the door and walking me out of the bathroom, naked but for a towel.

“What exactly are your plans for the rest of these midnight hours?” he casually asked.

I thought back to my iPad and the sexy assassin story, “Ah, well, I need to work actually.”

“Narrating? I’d love to sit in and listen.”

Again, I thought about the content of the sexy assassin story, and after that bath - no, no, no. My cheeks and my neck flushed red, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Besides, I don’t think the material would be up your alley.”

“Really?” He mocked surprise, “But how do you know? Unless you try?” giving me a wink.

The thought of reading him sexy lady-porn books and then ripping his sweatpants off and taking his cock in my mouth stopped me in my tracks and made my mouth twitch. You have a job, and you have to make money. You cannot make money sucking his cock. Or can you? No. You can’t. That’s not legal here. GODDAMMIT.

“As a professional,” I cleared my throat, “narrator, to be clear - it is - my professional opinion that you not be here while I work. Unfortunately. I’m sorry.”

I gave him an ‘ohmygod, I’m sooooo sorry,’ smile.

“That’s too bad,” he said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, maybe another time - like Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.” Why did I say that? Was that funny?

His eyebrows flashed up and down quickly, and he gave a surprised chuckle as he walked me to my apartment door. But not before stopping by the coffee table and grabbing Mr. Rochester.

“Can’t forget this,” he arbitrarily declared, “gotta make sure this little guy makes it back to his forever home. Bet his family misses him.”

And then he made it jump around in the air with his hand, making little yapping and barking sounds, like Mr. Rochester was someone’s lost purse dog. The blatant audacity of this man. I refuse to laugh.

When I didn’t laugh, Max made sad puppy whining sounds while nuzzling it up to my neck. “Noooooo.” I cried, closing my eyes in mock distress.

When we got to the door, he quickly nabbed my phone and held it up to my face, swiping up so that he could unlock it. Then, he called his phone from mine, and took a selfie of us together - him holding Mr. Rochester in one hand and his other arm around me in a towel. Which of course, he programmed so that it popped up every time he called me on my phone, and every time I called him, that way, “we could be phone twins.”

Stepping outside my apartment door, he turned around to speak to me, “So, I’ll see you in a couple days, after I confirm who this bad boy belongs to, and get myself situated with those,” he squinted his eyes at me, “building meetings. But if you need anything, you have my number.”

His eyes drifted down to where I was feeling tension, a craving that I wasn’t willing to give into just yet.

“Do you think you’ll be okay for a few days?”

He shook Mr. Rochester playfully, and my eyes widened, my left arm tightening around my towel, and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Can he read minds? What is happening?

“I’ll be fine, and I promise I’ll text if I need anything.”

His grin widened, “Great! See ya soon!”

I closed the door and wobbled over to the couch, where I picked up my Nic Cage pillow and screamed into his sequined face, throwing it at the door afterwards.

Somewhere, far off, I could swear that I heard Max laughing.

Knowing full well that I am right handed and only technically a little ambidextrous because of piano lessons as a child, but definitely not enough to satisfy myself as necessary without Mr. Rochester - I looked down at my left hand, “You’re a disappointment, and I hate you.”

But it wasn’t lefty’s fault alone, it was partially mine and I would remedy that later. But first, to slog through painfully sexy narration for the next few hours. I let myself give out a loud sob, and then told myself to buck up and be a professional.

To be continued...

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