#the “best” of the 2 at this? yeah i can buy it

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters Trying to Sell You a Mattress

I've always thought that it must be kinda tough to be a mattress salesman. Mattresses are expensive, after all, and working on commission must make the job extra stressful. So anyway let's make Cosmere characters do it.

1. Kaladin: Jogs around the store with a mattress hefted high over his head

Remember when Kaladin wanted his crew to practice carrying bridges with him so he jogged around shirtless with a log hefted on his shoulder to inspire them? I like to think that Mattress Salesman Kaladin would do the same thing, only they do make him wear his uniform shirt.

Sales: Surprisingly good. ...Or maybe it's not that surprising.

2. Lightsong: Sleeps peacefully to show you how wonderful the mattress is

Or so he says. It is possibly he is simply napping on the job.

Sales: Pretty good, but only because Llarimar is handling the actual sales part.

3. Kelsier: Gives people the code to the door and some hints about the guard schedule

He then claps them lightly on the shoulder and comments that everybody deserves a nice mattress, even people who can't afford one.

Sales: Very bad, so far as the store is concerned. Kelsier thinks it's going quite well.

4. Elhokar: Is intentionally sabotaging his own sales

Elhokar has been convinced for MONTHS that one of the other employees is sabotaging him. Since the manager won't listen, Elhokar has taken to sabotaging his own sales in order to gather evidence of sabotage. It's a plan that can't possibly fail!

Sales: Honestly kinda middling, even before the whole fake sabotage plot

5. Nikaro: Waits for the customers to find him

"People who truly desire a mattress will seek me out," he murmurs from the shadowy corner he's sitting in. He aims to sound intriguing, but he may in fact just be shy.

Sales: Bad; Nikaro may not be cut out for sales

6. Adolin: Doesn't know shit about mattresses, and yet

He skates by mostly on charm. "Oh yeah, a lot of people buy this one! One guy the other day said that he researched all the mattresses and that this one was the best" --Adolin, about to make a sale.

Sales: Better than he rightly deserves

7. Vivenna: Knows everything there is to know about mattresses, and yet

Vivenna did all the research. She can tell you about how mattresses are big problem in landfills, how buying a new one probably won't fix your marriage, and how the extended warranty probably isn't worth the money.

Sales: Worse than she rightly deserves

8. Jasnah: Acts as though you need to convince her to sell to you

Jasnah isn't sure you're ready to commit to this new mattress. Can you really handle its upkeep? The remote control? Do you have references from your previous mattress store? Somehow, this makes you desperate to prove that you are ready to buy this mattress--yes, even the more expensive one!

Sales: Good, somehow. How does she do that??

9. Kenton: Doesn't even work there and yet

Kenton is in there every day, aggressively selling mattresses to even the toughest customers. He's sure that if he can only sell enough mattresses, he'll get hired! His dad owns the store, after all. (His dad does not want to hire him.)

Sales: Good, but not good enough to impress his dad

10. Shallan: Draws Your "Ideal Sleeping Self"

Once you see yourself sleeping peacefully on the Feathered Dreaming Quality Mattress 5000, you won't be able to leave without one.

Sales: Would be better if Shallan didn't get distracted so often sketching Kaladin jogging around with his mattress...

[lullxby]

.✦ KING OF MY HEART (THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY CH. 3)

warning(s) : alcohol consumption

w. c. : 1.5k

CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4

JJ Maybank was first to break the awkward silence.

“Dude, did you just make Rafe Cameron fucking cry? That’s cool as shit.” His hand clapped you on the back, a congratulations, as if making your best friend cry was some kind of amazing feat.

Was he even your best friend anymore? You had told him you never started a relationship. Maybe he had taken it differently.

Regardless, it was too late to stop him now. The truck had already pulled away, only leaving sand swirling into the air in its wake. Your car likely had done the same when you left for the first time.

The memory replayed in his mind like the stupid Taylor Swift song that continuously played on the radio. He wasn’t much different from the grieving girl at this point.

This was the end of all the endings, but he wouldn’t go write a so g about it, no. He’d move on, like you so clearly had. He’d leave you in the dust just like you had those three years ago, literally and figuratively.

He got back to Tannyhill, parking his beat up truck beside the Jag and Range Rover, hearing the engine sputter at the small bump in the garage. Piece of shit.

Rafe’s fists clenched and unclenched rhythmically as he tried to ‘focus on his breathing’ or whatever the fuck that anger management class taught him. Yeah, it wasn’t working in the slightest. The urge to punch something, particularly a cocky blonde Pogue, was still very present in his mind.

He opted to instead repeatedly ram his foot into the side of his truck, the battered and dirty metal looking out of place next to the other fancy ‘kook-ass’ cars.

In all of the excitement, his phone slipped from his pocket. It landed on the ground with a crack, but the sound didn’t make him falter. He could buy a thousand more of the device.

He tried to ignore the feeling in his chest when the screen flickered on, displaying an Instagram notification from you.

The part that actually did make him stop his minstrations was the fact it wasn’t a new post like it typically was— no. It was a DM. From you. You had sent him a message. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with your hands, with the thought of you clouding his mind.

He quickly snatched up the device, it feeling small in his hands. Small yet the heaviest thing in the world, somehow.

He frantically swiped at it, trying to open the notification, to see what you said, to reply, anything. He was desperate. You were extending an olive branch, even after the little show he had put on at the Boneyard.

The screen went dark, and then wouldn’t turn back on. Shit. Of course, his fucking phone was broken. It was fine. Wheezie was home, right? He could borrow hers.

He stormed out of the garage, slamming doors in his path and stomping up stairs until he finally got to his youngest sister’s room. He swung the door open so harshly it was surprising the thing didn’t break off its hinges.

The window to your bedroom slid open, the old wooden sill making an obnoxious creaking sound beneath the blonde’s weight. You almost questioned how he got it unlocked, then remembered he was quite the kleptomaniac.

He brushed his long, messy blonde hair back before putting his cap back on backwards, staring at you expectantly, as if he hadn’t just broken into your home.

“JJ? What’re you doing here?”

You didn’t tell him you invited Rafe over, but he could tell you were waiting for someone based off the way you kept checking back at the open window. And it wasn’t him.

As always, the blonde brushed off the rejection.

“It’s your first day here, you can’t stay here and be mopey all day,” he tutted, messing with the trinkets on your bureau. You had made quick work of unpacking. It didn’t surprise him, of course, you had always been more organized than him.

Though that was a low bar.

“What if I want to be all mopey?”

“Then you can do it at Heyward’s.”

Your mouth instantly opened to protest, only to be cut off as he slapped a palm over it and dragged you out of the room the same way he entered.

You sprung your tongue out, pressing it grossly to his palm. It worked, though, as he yanked his hand away as if you had bit him. That had been plan B.

“This is literally kidnapping,” you pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Not if it’s for a good cause, which your happiness counts as, so.”

Smug bastard.

You just scoffed, a distant heat rising to your cheeks. A heat that only served as more of a reminder of Rafe. Who was probably on his way here.

But, as JJ turned up the radio in the Twinkie and sang dramatically to it just to make you laugh, Rafe drifted farther and farther away from your thoughts.

The ride to the restaurant was short, especially with JJ’s reckless way of driving. The relief of being in a familiar place was undeniable. Thoughts of good memories rushed your mind, pushing any of Rafe right out the other side.

Rafe, who had just seen your invite. He had managed to get a hold of Wheezie’s phone (after a bit of negotiating, the girl was young but definitely smart) and checked the message you had sent him. He was always bad at saying no to you.

Of course he was on the way to you. Any other ending would’ve been stupid to even think about.

So, he drove. Then he knocked. Then he waited.

You didn’t answer.

Another knock, this time more powerful incase you had fallen asleep, and nothing. His hands raised to his hair, tugging at the greasy roots as he paced on your front porch. He was so stupid. He had let you do this to him again.

He checked the time. 8:37. Where could you be? There wasn’t a party going on, he’d know about that. Then it dawned on him.

If you wanted to ditch him to hangout with your dumb Pogue friends, then he’d be damned if he went down without a fight. He sat on one of the chairs on your porch, deciding to wait it out.

He had waited three years for you. What was another few hours? Then you guys would talk. He’d set you straight, get you away from the Pogues like he failed to do with Sarah.

Four hours later, you showed up. He was startled awake by the headlights of the Twinkie. Those fuckers had made you drive home alone, in the dark. It wasn’t that Rafe doubted your ability to drive, but he never would’ve let you leave alone.

Especially if you had been drinking. He couldn’t tell if you had any more, but he remembered you mentioning having ‘a couple’ earlier in the day. Regardless of how inebriated you were, it didn’t sit right with him.

“Wow, nice of you to finally show up,” he scoffed.

As soon as his voice rang out in the dead of night, your joyous mood about being back with your friends crashed down, being ruined by a wave of burning hot anger.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Rafe?!”

“You invited me! Or are you too drunk to remember?” Low blow, he knew that, but he didn’t care, not in the slightest.

“Did you ever think to knock?”

“Yeah, obviously nobody fucking answered!”

“Right, so at that point, you should’ve clocked that ‘hey, she’s not home, maybe I should fucking leave!���”

He opened his mouth to shout back, but he knew it’d just make this word. So he lowered it to a gruffer level. A more dangerous level.

“Enough is enough.” He said your name, but it wasn’t different than every other time he had. It had an air of finality to it, as if the amount of words he was able to speak was shriveling faster and faster.

“What is this?” He gestured like a mad man between your two bodies, that he had noticed drew closer.

“You— you invited me over, then go hang out with them? And what, I’m just—“

Then your lips were on his, successfully cutting his speech off.

Just as quick as he felt the gentle touch, the closest thin to skin-to-skin he had gotten with you in three years, it was over. You were storming off— not off, inside.

“This is over, Rafe. That’s what this is.”

He wanted to be mad, but at least you were admitting there was something between you guys, right? Just because it’s over doesn’t mean it’s over.

The door slammed behind him, but he couldn’t help but smile. This was his chance. His opening.

T1TGA taglist :

[sidlarsson]

No one asked for this, but since I have a joint in my hand and it's a Sunday—here's my (silly, delulu) marauders headcanons: marijuana edition.

Remus: My sweet, shaggy-haired boy. Definitely the kid who gets invited to hang out simply because he has the hook-up for weed. Probably, this is part of the reason why he's as close with James and Sirius as he is. Decent at rolling spliffs and occasionally mixes them with magical herbs and flowers. Smokes socially and (broodily) by himself. Weirdly, this is how he gets close with the Gryffindor girls.

Sirius: Isn't keen on it initially, but smokes more and more as he spends time with Remus. Smokes socially, usually for the sake of being standoffish at parties. Honestly isn't that into its effects (it makes him paranoid), but he bought a cheap Muggle bong on a whim around the time he was sticking up posters in Grimmauld Place.

James: He's not that experimental with substances and prefers drinking to smoking. Absolutely got cross-faded, though, and made an ass of himself at a party once or twice. Really zany when he's high. Blurts out crazy shit and is really funny. Also, he buys pretty much all the pot that everyone mooches off of and never asks anyone for money.

Severus: Picture the dirtiest bong in the world. No, worse than that. That's what he smokes out of. During his depressed king era, it was probably just this and him in Cokeworth while he's angstily staring off at the sunset. Oh, but he's excellent at rolling spliffs. Also, he's pretentious as hell about the pot he smokes and probably got high once and invented some marijuana-based potion.

Lily: Literally the best, most ideal smoke buddy. Really casual about smoking pot and is so kind and friendly. Has a really cute pipe that's probably, like, green glass with flowers on it or maybe purple, and she'll pull it out of her purse and hit a few times while chatting with you. Loves sharing ideas and telling stories. Great laugh. Has really intellectual, hours-long debates with Severus while they're stoned in his bedroom.

Peter: He coughs like he's on the verge of death every time anyone hands him a blunt. It doesn't seem like he even really likes smoking all that much, but he's anxious about getting left out of things and ends up taking way too big hits. Prefers edibles. Accidentally inhales too hard on a bong once and falls asleep for 2-3 hours. He gets really twitchy, sometimes, but under the right circumstances he mellows out, too.

Regulus: Extremely anti-marijuana as he believes it's a form of delinquency and is outspoken against it. Reports students to professors who he suspects are smoking pot. His stance on the subject is 70% of the reason for Sirius' posturing as a dead-beat stoner. Definitely got into some sort of argument where he was like "and marijuana kills brain cells!" and Sirius responded along the lines of, "so what's your excuse—not having any to start with?"

Bonus! Dumbledore: He's high as fuck all the time. Literally, every single second of the book series and every moment he's off-screen. His tolerance is probably legendary, he can do pretty much anything (even duel) while baked as hell and, yeah, he and Severus have definitely had the munchies together.

[letsdosciencetoit]

I'm Where The Spiders Go - Chapter 6

Summary: Tommy doesn't take the step to transfer to Harbor Station. Without a vacant spot at the 118, Buck is hired on to the 122 instead. How do things change without the influence of the 118 on Buck's early career, and how does Tommy handle remaining in the closet.

Chapter 6 Summary - Buck struggles to wrap his mind around his kiss with Tommy, and meets some new faces.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

On AO3: I'm Where the Spiders Go

Chapter 5 - The Edge of Uncertainty - 3466 Words - Chapter rating: E.

Additional Warnings: This chapter does include an explicit depiction of oral sex between Buck and a one-off female character. I've updated the tags to reflect the chapter. If that's not your jam, you can skip from the line "Bonnie doesn’t even wait" and ends with "Take what you want, then." I'll include more detailed warnings/intentions for the scene at the end of the post.

Chapter 6

Buck spends the remainder of his four days off on the move.

The second day off he keeps out of the house as best he can.  He surfs, he bikes, he wanders the local farmers market, and at the end of it he stumbles back into the house after dusk and is able to fall asleep for a full ten hours out of sheer exhaustion the second night. 

The third day is a Monday, and the house is thankfully quiet. His roommates are either at class or at work, and he has the house to himself.  Buck decides to tackle cleaning the common areas. He throws on an episode of the Folklore Podcast about fairy lore in the witch trials from the 16th and 17th century, and gets to work emptying the fridge.

He’s managed to get through four episodes of the podcast while he purges and scrubs every inch of the kitchen.  The floor is no longer tacky, and the mysterious smells from the fridge has been eliminated.

Tackling the living room next, Buck tosses the old pizza boxes, and fishes the empty beer cans from behind the couch.  He vacuums and dust, and has time to put his feet up on the couch before his roommates start coming home.  He starts to scroll on his phone when he hears keys in the door.

 Kameron and Connor are the first to arrive back, their laughter filling the house as they toss their things down in the front entrance.

Connor spots him on the couch, and waves in greeting. “Oh, hey man! You cleaned!”

Following after her boyfriend, Kameron looks around the room in awe. “You didn’t have to do that”

Buck shrugs, sinking further into the couch.  “It didn’t seem like anyone else was going to, and I wanted to keep busy.”

Kameron looks at him with concern. “Anything you want to talk about?”

Of all the people in the house, Kameron would probably be the most understanding.  She joined him in putting a pride flag up on her Instagram page in June, and has always been very outspoken with the rest of the guys when they’ve crossed the line.

But he doesn’t know what to make of the kiss from the other night; doesn’t really know what that makes him, so he keeps his mouth shut, and shakes his head.

“We were going to order Thai for dinner and watch The Walking Dead. Want me to add your regular to the order so you can join us?” Connor offers, and Buck takes what feels like a lifeline.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

*** 9-1-1 ***

Buck is able to sleep again that night, and he feels ready to forget about the night at the bar as a one off.  No use in worrying about something that’s unlikely to happen again.  He wakes up on his last day off ready to buy groceries and prep food for the rest of the week, but when he comes downstairs the kitchen is once again trashed.

The sink is filled with dirty dishes, and the used blender sits on the counter, full of some awful smelling concoction. Whoever had used it clearly hadn’t remembered to put the lid on, because there’s green liquid on the cabinets and ceiling. 

Taking a deep breath, Buck closes his eyes and focuses on not cursing out the house at 6 am.  It’s a weekday, and as much as he hates his room mates in the moment, not everyone is used to getting up as early as he does for work.

Buck opens his eyes, pockets his phone, wallet and keys, and walks out the front door.  He doesn’t have a destination in mind when he gets into his jeep, but he finds himself driving the familiar road to the small gym he has a membership for. 

He’s able to kill three hours at the gym, grab a coffee, and spend a few more at the local library browsing books and skimming through anything that catches his attention.  At lunch time he picks up a rotisserie chicken and a prepackaged salad from the grocery store to eat at the boardwalk. 

People watching keeps him occupied for a while.  It’s a Tuesday, so there aren’t many people out, but there are still tourists and families with young children going about their days. It leaves Buck with a sense of longing he hasn’t felt in a while.

Eventually he pulls out his phone and opens up Tinder.  There’s no shortage of profiles available, and with a few swipes to the right he finds himself chatting to Bonnie. She has wavy ash blond hair and a gap in her teeth.  Her profile says she’s a grad student and she is looking for adventure.

She invites him to meet her at a little bistro she says is near her apartment.  He grabs another coffee to drink, and some food to share while they make small talk.  He finds out she’s doing her PhD in epidemiology at UCLA, and he listens with rapt attention as she talks with passion about the impact of social determinants of health on the spread of infectious disease. 

It shouldn’t be as appealing as it is, but he’s always loved seeing people speaking about their interests. 

“I took the afternoon off as a sort of ‘mental health’ day,” she tells him with a smile. “I was thinking I might get up to something that releases some endorphins, if you want to join me?”

He notices her sharp red nails drumming on the table and pictures them scratching against his scalp, or down his back.  He smiles back at her, and puts a few bills down to cover their food. “Lead the way.”

They walk up the street, bumping shoulders as they walk, and she tells him about the differences between LA and her hometown.  Buck tells her about growing up in Hershey, and he doesn’t even have to point out that it wasn’t where chocolate was invented. 

*** 9-1-1 ***

Bonnie doesn’t even wait for the door to close before she’s pulling his shirt up and over his head. 

Buck helps her get it off, and goes in to kiss her.  She lets him capture her lips for a moment before she pulls away and nips at his bottom lip.  He grins into it, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her body into his.

She’s smaller than him, and he likes the way her curves feel under his hands.  He lets his fingers trail along her the waistband of her jeans, and up the back of her shirt, feeling her shiver against him.

It spurs her into motion, and she pushes him towards her couch.  She reaches between them, grabbing him through his pants. He cants his hips into her touch, and tries to kiss her neck.  She tilts away from it and smiles at him before putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him down onto the couch.

She climbs into his lap and grinds down against, providing delicious friction.  Buck continues to run his hands over her, feeling her skin shiver under his touch.  Emboldened, he slides his hands up her shirt to caress her breasts.   

She shudders against him and grinds down again.  Buck pushes up into the motion, and she lets out a breathy moan.

“You feel huge,” she whispers against his lips.  “I want to taste you.”

Huffing out a quite laugh, Buck brings his hands back down to her hips.  “I wouldn’t say no, if that’s what you want.”

She brings her hands down between them and starts to unbutton his pants.  She tails her fingers over his length through his boxers before sliding off his lap. He lifts his hips to help her pulls his pants down.  She pulls his boxers down and off, leaving him completely undressed.

Bonnie licks a stripe up his erection, then swallows him down without any warning. 

“Fuck!” Buck calls out, doing his best to stop from thrusting up into her mouth.  He slides one hand into her silky hair, and throws his head back against the back of the couch as she hums around him.

She’s quick to reach between his legs and gently roll his balls in her hand.  He breathes through his nose and watches her head bob up and down, trying not to embarrass himself.

Her hand wanders further back, pressing against his taint, and he feels pleasure spark through is body.  His hips roll involuntarily, and he feels her smile around him.  He’s going to lose himself in her mouth if she keeps it up, but he’s not ready to let go yet.

He’s jolted out it when her finger pushes further back.  The finger is dry, and the nail is sharp as it pushes against his entrance.  Instinctively, he jerks his hips away from her touch.  “Woah, woah, whoa!”

He uses the hand in her hair to gently guide her head off of him, erection flagging slightly.

She pulls off, and wipes her mouth, shooting him an annoyed glance.  “Ass play doesn’t make you gay.”

“Not really the issue here,” Buck replies with an indignant note to his voice.  “Slipping in a finger isn’t really something you should be springing on someone.  Especially without lube.”

“Whatever,” Bonnie replies with an eye roll.  “Can I ride you instead?”

“Are you going to pull any other surprises out on me?” Buck asks, only half teasing.  His dick is definitely still interested, but he’s a little leery.

She gives him a smirk and leans over to the side table to pull out a condom. “I promise to keep things strictly vanilla unless you ask for it.”

Leaning back into the couch, Buck lets his hands fall to his sides.  He offers her a grin of his own, and tells her, “Take what you want, then.”

*** 9-1-1 ***

They both get off, and Buck gets the hint before Bonnie is even off the couch that he’s not going to be invited to stick around for dinner.  She moves to the bathroom, so Buck shuffles into the kitchen to dispose of the condom and clean himself off with a damp paper towel.

He gets dressed, and looks around the apartment while he waits for her to come out.  It’s lived in, but tidy, and she clearly takes pride in her small space. Buck wishes his own room mates put in half of the effort.

“That was fun,” Bonnie tells him when she comes out of the bathroom.  She comes up to him, slides a hand around his neck, and he lets her pull him down for another kiss.  She pulls away. “We should definitely meet up again some time.”

“Ten out of ten would do again?” Buck asks jokingly.

Bonnie shrugs.  “Maybe seven-point-five out of ten.  You should really consider letting me put something in that gorgeous ass of yours next time.”

Buck nearly chokes on his own saliva, shocked at how bold she is about it.  He coughs a little before replying.  “Ah, sure thing.”

She offers him an indulgent smile.  “Message me next time your free.”

Buck nods and lets himself out the door.  He walks back to where he’s parked his car, knowing already that he isn’t going to message Bonnie again. 

He can’t get the idea out of his head, though, of someone else’s fingers pressing into him.  For some reason he can clearly imagine long fingers with neatly trimmed nails taking him apart.

He’s distracted, and in his head, when he gets home.  No one is in the common areas, but he notices someone has cleaned the mess from the night before off the ceiling and the dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher.

Buck snags his leftover Thai food and eats it cold while standing in front of the fridge.  He washes it down with a glass of water, then makes his way up to his room.  Making sure he has everything ready for the morning, he sets his alarm and climbs into bed. 

 Sleep takes a long time to come.

*** 9-1-1 ***

Buck wakes early and arrive at the station 20 minutes before shift change over.  He puts his things in his locker and waits in the locker room for the rest of his team mates to come in.

“Damn, Buck.  Looks like you got mauled while you were off,” Gabriel is quick to point out.

Buck had noticed the scratches on his neck and shoulders when he’d woken up in the morning, but couldn’t do much to hide them.  He shrugs it off and doesn’t respond.  He heads to the bay where Captain Warren is ready to begin the morning briefing.  They get through the report, and check out their assigned chores.

Maria sidles up to him and nudges him gently in the side.  “Good time, at least?”

Buck shrugs again, not wanting to overshare.  “It was fine.  Not going to ask for a repeat performance, though.”

Maria nods once, and smiles at him. “Their loss.  You still on for trivia tomorrow night?”

Perking up at the reminder, Buck is quick to agree that he’ll be there.  Before the conversation can go any further the alarm goes off, and the team quickly sets in motion.

The 122 responds to a fire at a motel shortly after the shift starts.  It’s small enough, and easily contained.  There’s one fatality, dead on arrival, and likely the source of the fire.  There’s speculation from the LAPD that it was a mix of alcohol, drugs and a lit joint.

They’re wrapping up, treating the last few victims for minor smoke inhalation when Buck catches Sargeant Grant saunters up to them. 

“Quick work here,” she points out. “Makes our job here easier.”

“Always a pleasure to see you on the job, Athena,” Captain Warren called out.  “Anything we can do for you?”

“Just checking up on you guys,” she admitted.  “I wanted the chance to thank Fire Fighter Buckley here personally for the assist last week.”

Buck’s cheeks flush, uncomfortable at being called out.  He mutters, “Just doing my job.”

Athena smiles indulgently, like she’s dealing with an enthusiastic puppy.  “You would have done well with the LAPD.”

Stepping in between Athena and Buck, Sal crosses his arms over his chest. “Back off, Sargeant Grant.  This one is our boot.”

The rest of the crew laughs, but Buck can tell they’re laughing with him, and he feels warmth blossom in his chest.

They make it back to the station and start cleaning up and restocking their supplies.   They don’t have any further calls for the morning, so they make quick work of the tasks.  Connie is on the one on kitchen duty, and Buck wants to offer her a hand – she makes the best scrambled eggs, and he’s certain she’s got some other tricks up her sleeves he wants to pick up.

She’s no where around the kitchen close to lunch time thought.  Buck pokes his head around the station and catches her with her feet up reading.

“No lunch today?” Buck asks her sitting down next to her and taking a look at the books on the small bookshelf in their lounge area.

“You’re in luck,” Connie tells him, large grin on her face.   “Sal’s girlfriend Gina is bringing lunch in.”

“Like takeout or something?” Buck asks, curious.

Shaking her head, Connie sits up and rests her forearms on her knees.  “Gina’s family is Italian, and she learned all of the family recipes.  A few times a year she’ll come in with pasta al forno, or ziti, or lasagna, along with all the sides and dessert, and serve it up for us here.  It’s like an orgasm in your mouth. Just wait.”

Buck is curious.  He hasn’t had a lot of baked pasta dishes that don’t come premade in an aluminium pan from the frozen section, and he isn’t really sure what constitutes an Italian side dish.  He hovers around the kitchen, waiting for Sal’s girlfriend to show up.

“You’re going to ask her about Italian cooking, aren’t you?” Sal’s voice pulls Buck from is musings, and he looks at the lieutenant sheepishly.

“Not something I’ve had a lot of experience with,” Buck admits to Sal.  “Will she mind?”

Sal laughs, clapping Buck on the shoulder. “Gina loves cooking for a crowd, and she’ll be more than happy to give you some of her trade secrets.  She’s of the mentality that food is love, and she has a lot of love to give.”

“That’s good,” Buck responds, smiling back.  “I’m starting to get the hang of more recipes, and I like being in the kitchen.  My family were more ready to cook or meat and potato types, and they never spent the time teaching me or my sister how to cook.”

“Only problem with learning how to cook in the firehouse is that you’ll only ever be able to make enough food for an army,” Sal points out, grinning.  Sal’s phone dings, and his face turns soft as he reads the message.  “Alright! Gina’s here.  I’m going to help her bring everything in.  You let the crew know lunch will be ready in fifteen.”

Sal jogged off towards the parking lot, and Buck started passing the word that lunch would be served.  The crew started to gather in the kitchen as Sal and a beautiful blonde woman walked into the kitchen, arms laden with food. 

Buck immediately stepped in to take some of the dishes out of Gina’s arms to help her with the load.  She smiled at Sal, and nodded her head towards Buck. With a stage whisper to Sal she said, “I like him already.”

Face flushing in embarrassment, Buck turns away and carries the trays into the kitchen.

“The food should still be hot,” Gina calls out, and the crew descents on the table as she pulls out a large bowl of salad.  She unwraps three large rolls of garlic bread.  “We’ve got meat and veggie lasagna, salad, garlic bread and cannoli for dessert.”

Oscar is the first to snag a plate and give Gina a kiss on the cheek.  “Leave Sal.  Run away with me.”

Gina smiles at him with a fondness that belies a long friendship. They’ve clearly had this conversation before.  “I would, Oscar, but you love your wife too much.”

“Alas, you’re right,” Oscar says with a wink.  “My Maria is a goddess among women.”

Maria came strutting into the kitchen next.  “I heard my name.”

Oscar gave her a light hip check. “We weren’t talking about you.  Gina was reminding me of my darling wife.” 

Maria looks at her partner skeptically. 

Oscar looks her up and down before smirking.  “I would never be able to leave her.  You, I would give up for an extra cannoli.”

Laughing, Maria raised her eyebrows with a shrug.  “I can’t even blame you for that.  Thanks for cooking, Gina.  We always look forward to it.”

Buck waits until last to grab himself a plate, but there is still a lot to choose from.  He takes a piece of both lasagnas to try, and loads his plate with salad and bread.  He shovels a bite into his mouth and moans around the rich, complex flavour. 

“I think he likes it,” Sal comments to Gina, laughing, and Gina smiles back.

“The key to the sauce is to char the tomato paste before adding anything else to the pot,” Gina leans over to tell Buck.  “It gives it that rich, smoky flavour.”

“Do you make the tomato paste from scratch?” Buck asks, curious.

Gina nods, taking a bite of the pasta herself. “Usually, I get together with my nonna, my mom and Sal’s mother after we harvest the tomatoes in the summer. We’ll make large batches of paste and sauce to use over the next year.  You can do the same thing with the canned paste, though. Most people won’t notice the difference.”

Buck nods at the advice, wondering what he’d need to do to get his hands on the home-made tomato paste. 

The team is able to finish the meal, and dessert, without any interruptions.  Buck helps Connie with the dishes as part of KP duty.  Before Gina leaves she makes sure he has her number so she can send him some of her recipes.

The rest of the shift passes with a steady stream of mundane calls, but they manage to get a six hour stretch through the night.  Buck packs up his things at the end of the shift and heads out to the parking lot.

Maria jogs after him, big grin on her face.  “Don’t forget, Buck.  Trivia tonight at 7.  I need you to bring your A-game.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Buck tells her, honestly. 

END NOTES:

The explicit scene does involve an under-negotiated sexual encounter. Buck's partner tries something without discussing it first, and without appropriate prep. Buck speaks up, and they pause to discuss before continuing, but Buck's partner thinks Buck was over-reacting.

The intention behind the scene is to demonstrate that Buck is trying to prove to himself that he's still very into women (which he is), and that whatever happened with Tommy was a one off (it isn't). It's also meant to show that Buck is very much still using sex as a form of escapism.

If I've missed anything, or you think it needs additional tags/warnings, let me know.

Tag List: @teabroomsandbooks, @adian-ua, @chococara25, @chemistry66, @disaster-j - - drop me a comment if you want to be added

[frankenjoly]

i totally buy gin being the more emotionally aware/less constipated one from the aku siblings but at the same time

i think it's funnier if compared to anyone else you see the lackings as well like in the omake with higuchi

[l0stw00d]

Also yeah uh I have a friend coming over but like, this is a Grown Up friend that I made as an Adult. And I'm the only person home. So suddenly this is less "bringing a friend round after school" and more "welcome to my humble home :) I am a human person who Lives Here :)" and let me tell you I am overthinking this in like. 8 different directions

[toastingpencils37]

Bruh, the ninja's aim with the cannon is fucking ass.

Every damn time.

Lowkey also going to vent in the tags for a minute

[tasmanianstripes]

Amazing how it took the developers of Poppy Playtime two whole chapters to finally make a bare minimum of a functional game

[stickthisbig]

Hey man, ahead of this heatwave I'm gonna go ahead and rip the veil off of something for you:

The reason American Southerners have the luxury of saying that 90 ain't that bad and it's not unbearable until it's 100 is 1) prolonged exposure to high temperatures over multiple decades 2) our mindset for these living conditions.

You don't have number 1, and you can't just acquire it, so I need you to adopt number 2 immediately. How do you live like a Southerner in the heat?

Don't be a hero.

Stay inside. Buy a box fan, put it next to a bucket of ice, and wrap your arms around it like a lover. Do not leave the shade under any circumstances. If a dude makes fun of you for getting out of the sun, don't get mad, just think of a funnier insult to call him while you flip him off and go stand under a tree.

Southerners love nothing more than to exaggerate and lie to each other. Like I think we got off on the wrong foot when you walked in on us saying things like "It was only 110, I didn't even take my damn jacket off" when really, last week it was 95 at 10 PM and we were on the bed buck nekkid in front of the fan moaning incoherently and praying to die. So yeah, we can take extreme heat. We also want you to think we can take ludicrous heat. You must learn to talk shit and then be a hypocrite and a coward in your actions, because this will serve you best.

It sounds like I am joking but I cannot express to you how much I am not. Do not fuck with Mother Nature, because that bitch will kill you. Take every opportunity to lower your body temperature and drink water, because that is what all of us in hot climates are doing all the time, and that is why we are not dead, even when it seems like we should be.

(And yeah, we do go through like two and a half ugly weeks in April every year where everyone wants to absolutely just goddamn drop dead because none of us have our heat tolerance back, but we must go to work anyway, which must be a crime. And yes, when it gets below 70 we really all do short circuit and cover ourselves in seven jackets, except for Shorts Guy.)

[stopfunkinwmyheart]

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged disabled Simon pt 2

think I'm going to make this a series, this part ends a little angsty though. part one

You've been living with Simon for two weeks now and things have started changing with him. You make all his meals now, you can't stand to see him eating the terrible, small, prepackaged foods every night, you even tried to teach him how to cook which was an even bigger mess than you thought it could be. You wanted to start with something simple so you tried to get him to make spaghetti, everything was fine at first but you left once and when you came back the pasta was on fire and he put the pasta sauce in the microwave which then exploded making a giant mess, so you gave up any hope for him cooking from then on. 

On a happier note though, he’ll eat his food before you now, and he takes his mask fully off at dinner, you've also noticed some mornings he leaves it off for a little longer. He still rarely talks but sometimes you think he asks you things just to hear you talk, you've even noticed him following you around the house, he'll just stand in the doorway staring at you, after a bit he'll either leave or find a place to sit. But imagine your surprise when he decided he was gonna follow you as you run errands, he simply replied “jus’ keepin ya safe” when you tried to object. 

So here you are going down your list getting everything you need with a giant hulking shadow following around, you have to admit though you do feel safer knowing no one will even try coming up to you with Simon glaring at them behind you. Last thing on your list is meat, so you both head over to the butcher shop. You're looking around before Simon pulls you back “wha- Simon what is your problem?” “My problem is this store. Everything is overpriced, half the meat is cut with the grain not against it, and the other half is bad, we're not buying meat from ‘ere” he said plain as can be before walking out expecting you to follow, which you did cause you were still in shock you hadn’t heard him talk that much ever. 

But right as you got to the door an employee called out to you. “Welcome in, how can i help you” you stopped walking and turned around to answer him, but simon cut you off “don’ need your help, all your meats are bad” you immediately tried smoothing out the situation “n-no what he's trying to say is-” but the man behind the counter cut you off “you have no idea what your talking, these meats are the best in town, you know nothing about meat” he said coming around the counter “half ya meat is literally turning brown, worked at a butcher shop for two years, so ya i do know” simon replied getting in between you and the man “are we going have a problem, Simon?” That was the wrong thing to say, Simon immediately jumped forward slicing through the tension as he grabbed the man's collar lifting him off the ground. You were trying to get Simon to let the man down, but Simon wasn’t responding to you. You watched simon lean forward closer to the man “don’ talk to me like that if ya like breethin” 

that was it “simon enough” you pulled him away from the man, who was now flat on the floor, pulling Simon straight to the car. “Simon you can't threaten people, I get you were a lieutenant for years but here you're just a normal person, do you understand?”but when you looked at Simon he didn’t look well. “Simon, are you okay?” “y-yeah, let's go home, ya?” something was off but you just went home knowing he wasn't going to tell you.

Simon was off for the rest of the day, he refused lunch and stayed completely quiet in his room all day, now it’s dinner and he hasn't even picked up his fork “Simon, you need to eat” “price will bring all the meat you need later tonight” “Simon eat” you said plain and firm not letting him distract you, slowly he lifted his shaking hand as he grabbed his fork and tried to eat food but his hand kept shaking worse and worse, immediately you were up and standing by his side “Simon are you okay” you grabbed his hand feeling and examining it, then you felt him gently tug your shirt with his other hand “I can't feel my right side, I-it hurts”

part three

[solxamber]

Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression…well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(

[cherrynpink]

don't you love me?

pairing: toxicbsf!seungcheol x f!reader

genre: friend to lovers, toxic relationships (friendships), smut MDNI!!!

warnings: manipulation, toxic cheol, dubcon, gaslighting, controlling n possessive cheol, he isolates oc, scoups tummy mention (nom nom hot), kind of ddlg dynamic? (u can tell i have father issues), power imbalance, princess treatment, drinking, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f!recieving), dom!cheol, overstimulation, corruption kink, a little bit praise a little bit degradation but its barely noticeable, size kink (a little), manhandling, inexperienced oc, dacryphilia, crying, breeding kink, missionary bcs im a romantic sue me, big dick scoups hehe, unprotected sex (do NOT do it dawg), tummy bulge kink, mentions of baby trapping, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

w.c.: 4.3k

playlist: don't you love me?

for more of my work, check out my masterlist!

note: i need toxic cheol sooo bad no one gets it but thank u @seventeensrat for getting me n proofreading n giving me ur deranged thoughts abt it. want dat gold cross necklace in the pic dangling over my face 😝 i kept making him a sweetheart but then realised no he needs to be an asshole (that i would fuck 100%) n i might make a part 2 of this so lmk...

anywaysss my requests are open if u have something u wanna read or just talk n so are my dms to make new friends here :) feedback is highly appreciated hope u like this one hehehe :3

if u wanna be tagged for pt.2

pt. 2: don't you love me anymore?

Currently obsessed with the idea of toxic guy best friend seungcheol.

He is the bestest friend someone could ask for in your opinion. The sweetest, most selfless guy you’ve ever come across. Always drives you around in his g-wagon- hand resting just below the hem of your dress. Bought you a dyson last month; no particular occasion, just because “you talked about it once so I thought you’d like it.” Takes you to try out whatever cute cafes you want to and buys you all the pastries in the world. Calls you his “baby” and his “princess”. Not only pays for your nails but also helps you pick out the design. Carries all your shopping bags without breaking a sweat in one hand, other resting on your lower back so that the guys around you don’t think they have a chance. And of course, he pays for all your clothes with his black card :). Who would he spoil if not you? He sometimes gets into the dressing room with you in the Victoria’s Secret store while you’re changing because “we’re best friends, right?” (with a pout ofc) when you refuse because you’re not sure if this is what friends do, but you give in eventually. Now the fact that he makes you spin around in your pretty little lingerie, strong hands groping your thighs as you say “Isn’t this a little too tight, cheol?”, your hands adjusting the bra all while he’s staring at your tits spilling out of the see through material as he assures you that it’s perfect is something others don’t need to know, right?

Yeah. He’s your best friend. Always takes care of you, cooks for you, makes sure you have all your meals and that you study properly- scolding you when you miss any lectures. Makes sure you don’t drink too much at parties or guys other than him might take advantage of you. Doesn’t let you exchange notes with the guys in your class. Even got into a fight with a guy and almost got suspended because of something he said about you. He scolds you for talking to them, because you don’t know their intentions and all you do is keep your head down and nod, no other choice than to abide him. He does know what’s better for you after all, right? He scolds you only because he loves you! He just knows what’s best for you, and wants to make sure you know he’s the best for you.

All your other friends don’t really speak very highly of him tho :( they just feel like there’s something off about him. No one is ever that nice. That he’s like a guard dog around you and doesn’t let you talk to guys or date, always hovering around you and giving you orders. But you assure them that no!!! he’s your cheol :( he tells you that they’re just jealous of you. They’re jealous of your friendship with him. They envy you. Yes, he can be a bit strict sometimes and act like your dad, but that’s just because he doesn’t want to you to get in trouble! He just wants to protect you :) that’s why he always asks for tons of your pictures before you go out so that he can protect you from the creeps that think of your short dress as an excuse to get their way with you.

When you first became friends with him, you were a bit skeptical when he told you that your boyfriend was cheating on you. But then he said, “Don’t you trust me? Why would I lie to you?” with his signature pout and he was right. If you couldn’t trust him, you couldn’t trust anyone, right? Now it was surprising to you when your boyfriend was the one to break up with you later that day, but all seungcheol said to you while you cried on his shoulder was “He didn’t deserve you, baby.” You don’t need to know that he lied to you boyfriend that you had sex with him when he was out of town. He only lied because he knew you were meant for him. He just wants you for himself, is that so bad? He doesn’t think so, because he takes care of you so well. Makes sure all your needs are met and you have no complaints. You’re his girl after all :)

As soon your (ex) boyfriend broke up with you, seungcheol was quick to ask you to move in with him, because “You need someone to take care of you right now, you can’t live alone doll.” and you couldn’t argue with that logic. And he was so good to you. Didn’t even make you pay rent because why would he. Always was there for you when you wanted to rant about your day, but only while sitting on his lap facing him in just his oversized shirt and panties obviously :) that was a rule. Would come up slyly from behind when you were cooking in your cute little apron, hands resting on your tits because “It’s comforting to me y/n.” and you don’t complain. Whenever you denied him something he would say “Don’t you love me?” eyes furrowed and big arms caging you.  But it was a two-way street, the way you always let him cuddle you after a bad day. How you always brought him something to eat when he had been gaming for hours. How last week you reassured him when he said he would start a diet because he thought he was gaining weight by giving him a small kiss on his cheek, telling him that it was hot for you, that it made him only more reliable in your eyes. It was the small things. But they always counted.

The girls he saw or went out with always complained about umm, the bond you both shared; but he never cared. It did bother you though seeing him bring girls over to your shared apartment, hearing their moans through the thin paper walls :( all while you had your hand shyly tucked between your thighs resisting the urge to imagine yourself in their place, bent over for him. But you never touched yourself. It would be so wrong, thinking about your best friend like that! So you often resorted to grinding against the plushie bear he won for you at the fair as his oversized shirt slipped down your shoulders- quiet whines leaving your throat as you failed to reach your high. Little did you know he was imagining the girl under him to be you every single time. He can’t even count the number of times he’s jerked off to the pictures you send him (at his request obviously). The number of times he’s stared at your panties peeking out whenever your skirt rid up or your cleavage when you bent down.

You do notice that after a few months, he takes up more of your time. Not that you’re complaining!!! You love to spend time with him, but you feel it get to a point. It’s not sudden, rather subtle and painstakingly so slow you don’t even realise what he’s doing until you’re in it too deep (or until he’s in YOU too deep ahem). Whenever you’re getting ready to go out with your friends he always hugs you and somehow always falls sick so that you can’t go out because you have to take care of him. What kind of friend would you be if you left him sick and alone to go out and drink he says. You’re being a little bitchy he says. You don’t love him he says. And tears well up in your eyes, because you love him so much you can’t believe he thinks of you that way. And then there you are in your pretty pink dress, mascara smeared on your cheeks as you’re crying in his embrace while he comforts you. You begin to stop talking to your friends because he says they’re a bad influence on you. But don’t worry! Your cheol is right next to you always :) his clinginess increases ten folds. He is always on you, hands resting on your plush thighs or your waist at all times- neck nuzzled in your hair when you sit on his lap as he games. Brings out his puppy eyes and pout whenever you refuse him. “Don’t you love me?” he says and you would never want him to think that. So you let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He knows what’s best for you, right?

He dreamt of taking you, corrupting you but only bit by bit. It might make you sick if you found out but he wanted to make you cry while he defiled you, moulded you to his liking. Wanted to throw you around because it was just so easy for him. A small part of him thinks you instigate your playfights on purpose to get him to overpower you, manhandle you. He knew you had had a few boyfriends before so imagine his surprise when he found out you had never had an orgasm one night, head buried in his lap drunk and giggled out the confession in shame. You should be thankful he made your boyfriend break up with you, because how fucking incompetent does one have to be.

“What do you mean you’ve never had an orgasm?” he asked, hands running through your hair.

“They just never made me cum.”

“They never ate you out?” he asked in shock.

“Mhm.” You said shaking your head before passing out on his lap.

“God. What fucking assholes.” He thought to himself. He knew he had to be the one to take care of you, after all you’ve been deprived for so long.

Few weeks later and it was your semester end party, loud music all around you, girls passed out drunk, shots being passed around and wild chaos everywhere. And there you see him, across the room talking and laughing with his friends, one hand chugging down beer every now and then. He looked so hot, though dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans; the royal oak watch stealing everyone’s attention as he ran his hand through his hair. It was the way he carried himself, his confidence, his carefreeness. And the way he carried you with him, showing you off like a trophy to be desired (not that you minded it a bit). You’re too engrossed in ogling him when you’re pulled out of your entranced state by no one other than Vernon. You remember meeting him on seungcheol’s birthday, recalling him as one of his close friends. You always found him cute, texting him whenever he replied to your stories or sometimes sitting next to him in shared lectures.

“Hi y/n.” He says with a slight smirk, red solo cup in his hand.

“Hi Vernon!”

“Want a drink?” he says, offering you the cup.

“Mhm I’ve already had so much to drink.” You slur through your words. “Cheol will scold me.” You say with a slight pout.

“Coups isn’t attached to your hip tonight?”

“Mhm, we’re not always together!” you giggle, a bit buzzed because of all the drinking.

“Oh? He never lets me talk to you though doll.” He says with a pout, taking a step closer.

“What do you wanna talk to me about?” you say with a smirk (the flirting a courtesy of the alcohol) as your hand rests on his chest barely grazing him.

His hand reaches to grab your waist as he’s just leaning in, his lips just about to touch yours when in the blink of an eye you see a muscular arm pull him off of you with a force, and you hear seungcheol shouting something at vernon that you’re too drunk to comprehend, but you catch a few phrases here and there- “Are you fucking dumb taking advantage of here when she’s drunk?” and “Back off dude you know she’s mine.” You feel his grip tighten on your hand as he leads you through the room, murmuring a “We’re leaving.” as he opens the car door for you.

The entire car ride was pin drop silent. His hand wasn’t even on your thigh tonight like always :( and you could feel he was pissed off- the way his veins bulged with his grip on the steering and his jaw clenched so hard. he would usually let you pick out whatever song you wanted, watching fondly with a smile when you sung along to it; but he wasn’t even talking to you :( you think maybe it’s your fault. He had warned you about guys trying to take advantage of you, but you were just talking to Vernon. He’s his friend, right? but you feel bad for ruining his night :/ he was talking to his friends but then he had to run over to you because you can’t even take care of yourself properly. Maybe he was right when he said that you needed him. Needed him to protect you, be with you, take care of you.

When you get back to your shared apartment, he’s still quiet; not forgetting his manners for a second though- opening all the doors for you and taking off your heels as you lean your weight on him, your hand on his shoulder for support. But it’s too much for you now. Why is he still so mad at you? Tears start welling in your eyes as your voice breaks.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask between sniffles, doing everything in your power to not let that tear drop slide down your cheeks but he notices it. He sees the distress in your eyes. The fear you have of disappointing him. And he loves it. Loves that you crave for his approval. He’s proud that he’s made you into this. But apparently you still need to learn to be disciplined. Then so be it, he'll make you into his obedient little girl. Your brows are still furrowed at the lack of his answer as he stands up and begins to step away from you and that’s all it takes for the dam to break as tears start welling down your face, a shame in your chest because you feel like you’ve let him down.

“Cheollie please! I- I’m sorry!” you say between sniffles, head buried in your hands.

“Yeah? What are you sorry for Y/n? And fuck are you crying for?” he spits out and it only makes you cry more because not only has he never been this mean to you, but also has never called you by your name like this :( always calling you by nicknames.

“I’m sorry for talking to Vernon.” You murmur. “I’m sorry for making you mad.” You say, wiping your tears.

“Made me leave my friends to take care of you y/n, I told you not to talk to anyone without me right? Told you not to drink too much. This is why I always have to take care of you baby, you can’t do it alone.” He says, swatting your hands away and wiping your tears as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry cheol, let me make it up to you? Don’t want you to be angry at me.”

“Yeah? How will you make it up to me baby? I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you yet, you were so careless.”

“Anything.” You whisper. “Whatever you want I’ll do.” You say in your slightly buzzed state, but he doesn’t care. That’s all the permission he needs as he’s reaching down, arm snaking around your waist as to not give you a chance to back out, gently yet passionately pressing himself against your warm mouth. Your eyes open wide as the realization hits- hands pushing his chest away as he separates himself for a second.

He's just about to lean back in, eyes half lidded full of lust before you say, “Cheol what are you doing?”

“You said you’d do anything I wanted to make it up to me, right?” he says as you give him a hesitant nod facing down.

“But I’m a bit drunk right now.” You say, voice barely a whisper.

“So you lied to me then? When you said that?”

“No! No, I’d never lie to you.” you say as your eyes reach up to meet him on the brink of tears.

“Then let me do whatever I want baby. Let me make you feel good. Don’t you love me?”

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

Don’t you love me?

It spins in your head like a mantra, before you give into his demands as a sly smirk accompanies him. You see him cup your cheeks in one hand as he’s reaching down to kiss you once again, much more possessively this time as he melted into you- tongue slipping in smoothly, as if he’s going to be the only man from now on allowed to do this (he is). His hands find your waist like they belong there. You gasp as he’s guiding you towards his bedroom, hands roaming all over the body like they’ve never been before. His lips move down your jaw as his fingers toy with the hem of your short dress- finding abode along your inner thighs. You think back to all the days you chanted his name like a prayer when you were just so close, dreaming of his fingers in you instead of your own. But at the same time your hesitation throughout it never leaves you.

He's quick to pick you up, only to throw you on his bed like a ragdoll as he gets on his knees in front you, bunching your dress up to your waist. His hands massage your thighs as he pulls them apart, immensely satisfied by the wet spot forming at your center.

“These the ones I bought you doll?” he asks, eyes still transfixed on your core. You manage to whisper a quiet yes and before you know it, he’s ripping the material off of you quite literally, diving in like a man starved. Your state is hazy because of the alcohol and the sight of him between your eyes as his words reverberate in your head while his fingers aggressively toy with your clit- Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me? I know what’s best for you. Let me make you feel good. He’s relentless in his efforts, showing you no mercy or sympathy for the fact this the first time someone’s eating you out. Even when you ask him to slow down, to stop. Even when you cry out his name repeatedly. His plump lips suck on your clit sharply as the same hand that adorned the very royal oak watch that got you so hot drives into you, hitting your g-spot again and again.

Tears start to well in your eyes as they wet your cheeks but as seungcheol looks up at you, the only thing he can think of is how much you’ll cry when he fucks you and you feel him fully in your belly. Your moans get louder as you keep begging him to stop, but he knows you’re close. He can feel you clenching on his fingers as you buck up your hips into him. And before you know it, you’re cumming all over his thick digits. But that doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t falter in his movements for even a second, fingers driving into you at the same pace as your orgasm washes over you. Your legs are shaking around his head as he animalistically groans against your clit.

“Cheol! P- please! Can’t…. can’t take more!” you cry out as your hand tightens it's grip on his hair.

“One more baby.” He grunts out. “One more on my tongue.”

He thinks he’s addicted. Addicted to the taste of you. Not only does he make you cum on his tongue once more, but pulls an orgasm out of you just but by playing with your clit. You think you’ve lost track of the amount of times he’s made you cum, but he’s keeping count. One for each time he’s wanted to take you, and trust there are many. But your entire body is quaking and covered in sweat because of the relentless overstimulation. Once he thinks he’s satisfied with the number of times he’s made you cum on his tongue, he finally gets up only to see you almost passed out on the bed, barely holding on. The sheets besides you are wet from your tears but that only makes his pants tighter. You see him lose his shirt and his pants as he stands in front of you in his boxers. His length is strained against the material as if trapped. He strokes himself from over the material before pulling them down as his thick long member hits his stomach and he sees you gulp. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you react to him.

“Scared princess?” he teases you as he locks his gaze with yours, spitting in his hand as he strokes himself- precum leaking out his dark pink tip.

“It won’t fit.” You say hesitantly, but you don’t want to disappoint him either.

“You’re cheol’s good girl right? You’re a big girl, you can take it.” He spits out rather meanly, making you pout. But he’s not showing you any mercy this time. You’ll take whatever he gives you. After all, you wanted to please him, right?

Once again he’s parting your legs as he lines himself up with your already ruined entrance, tapping his tip against your clit, before he hears you say, “Cheollie, you don’t hate me, right?” with eyes on the brink of crying. It’s endearing he thinks, that you’re still afraid of disappointing him, letting him down. He’s taught you sooo well.

“Could never hate you love.” He says, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. “Now let your cheol take care of you okay, like always.” And just like that, he’s pushing into you in one go, giving you no time to adjust as your wet velvet walls wrap around him, your slick covering his entire length. He’s pushing your legs up only to rest them on his broad shoulders as you continue to cry out his name over and over again. He doesn’t falter once as he propels into you, gold cross chain dangling over you, and when he opens his eyes to look down to where you connect, his eyes go wide at the sight of himself in your lower belly. He can see himself in you, literally. And oh, does it turn him on, the way you’re so tiny in front of him, so much so that his big dick bulges in you poor little belly. He taps your cheek lightly as to call you to pay attention to him.

“You see that baby?” he says, running his hand over the bulge in your belly. “See how deep I am in you, fuck! Like you were made for me.”

If that’s how deep he goes in you, what would happen if he came that deep in you he thinks. And that only makes him angle himself into you deeper as he lifts one of his legs. He could fill you up and it won’t even leak out. How would you look carrying his baby? No way you’d ever leave him if he knocked you up right now. You’d look so beautiful, his wife, his pretty little baby mama. The thought of you swelled up gets him closer to his release as his hips begin to falter and his strokes get sloppier- each one becoming a sharp thrust. And just like that, with a loud cry and a particularly sharp push of his hips into you, you’re cumming over his cock for the nth time in the night, completely spent and head blank, as you collapse back on the bed almost passed out at this point. You didn’t ask for his permission to cum, but it’s okay, he’ll discipline you next time :)

You feel him getting closer as well as his moans get louder and thrusts sloppier and you’re about to give out and rest in bliss when the realisation hits you- he’s not wearing a condom.

“Fuck ‘m gonna cum baby, pussy so tight like it was made for me.” He groans.

Your panicked eyes look up to him, “Cheol, please… please don’t cum inside.” You plead.

“No way baby, not pulling out…mhm!” he moans as his pace increases, chasing his release. “Gonna fill you up real good, you trust me right?”

“Mhm…” you sigh hesitantly. “Okay…if you say so.”

“Fuck! Thank you princess, love you so much, yeah? My good girl.” He says between grunts and the slap of his balls against you, as you grunt out a quiet love you too, and with that you feel yourself getting full of him as he fills you up to the brim, still fucking you through it slowly. When he’s done, he doesn’t pull out of you yet- making sure it’s inside you. Your bodies melt against each other as you feel his heavy breathes against your ear. The room smells of sex and sweat as he collapses besides you panting.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, right cheol?” you say, breaking the silence as he’s pressing another small kiss to your lips, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Hmm, you were a really bad tonight doll. We’ll have to see if you make it up to me after another round.”

It was gonna be a long night. But it’s okay. You would do anything for your cheol :)

pt. 2: don't you love me anymore?

[chosolar]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ when I'm with you

street racer sukuna x fem!reader

streetracer!sukuna is arrogant and cocky for a reason. he knows he's the best and no one can compare to him when it comes to being the fastest.

streetracer!sukuna has had a few run ins with the police here and there for speeding ofc and reckless driving, but he has enough money to pay off the tickets. the police have gotten so many complaints about him that they are on a first-name basis with him, but sukuna has always managed to get out of trouble with them

streetracer!sukuna may seem like the biggest fuckboy but finds hooking up and relationships to be a waste of time. he doesn't know why he has a reputation of being a fuckboy when he hasn't been with a lot of girls. why would he spend his money on flowers and date nights when he can use it to buy parts for his car?

streetracer!sukuna drives 2 different cars - the car he often uses for racing is his custom-wrapped burgundy red supra mk5, modded to the gods. the other one is his daily car, a black gt4 that is his baby. both of his cars are unique and anyone knows that the dark red supra is his.

streetracer!sukuna is wealthy enough as it is, but with all he races he's won, he's able to provide himself without his family's money. his parents wanted him to take over as he's the oldest but refused to do so, feeling that his calling in life was not being in suits and meetings all day. his parents aren't happy with the career he chose but they support him by giving him a huge monthly allowance.

streetracer!sukuna met you for the first time at a gala he was forced to go to in place of his father. he was getting annoyed of the other guests asking when he'll be working with his father over and over again so he took off to an empty part of the building, hoping to relax before he goes back in again. sukuna loosens tie and opens the door that leads to the balcony, not expecting to see a lady already there. "oh sorry I didn't know someone was here already."

"oh no don't worry, I was just about to leave," you reassure him and smiled. sukuna sighs and walks over to the spot beside you, resting his arms on the top of the balcony railing. "you don't have to leave. did you come out for a breather too?"

you nodded, "yeah a little. it's my first time going to a gala and I wasn't expecting it to be so..."

"snobby? pretentious? all of the above?" he butts in, his interruption earning a laugh from you. "yeah just a little."

both of you kept quiet for a bit when sukuna speaks up to introduce himself and you reciprocate the action. he's silently glad that you don't know him, either through his family or as the reckless street racer. he ended up staying with you longer than expected but he wanted to continue getting to know so he asks for your number before heading back to the gala.

streetracer!sukuna usually spends his friday and saturday nights driving around when he's not racing. usually he cruises with gojo and geto, but sometimes sukuna prefers the silence of being by himself. he's used to it now though, often choosing to race with no passengers compared to the other racers.

streetracer!sukuna finds himself wanting your company after meeting you at the gala. with races taking place at night, sukuna likes that he has the daytime to meet with you. whether that was picking you up from work or taking you out to a breakfast date, sukuna is always wanting to spend time with you somehow.

streetracer!sukuna is uncharacteristically bashful when you ask him about racing and his cars. he usually loves talking about it and always brags about his cars whenever he gets the chance but when it came to you, he has a hard time. (it's because he's worried you'll think he's living a dangerous and irresponsible life and if it was anyone else he wouldn't care but you're the first person whose opinion he cares about). he makes sure to only tells you half-truths when you question him about racing - yes he goes fast (and has crashed into road barriers), yes the police have stopped him a couple times (he's been arrested a couple of times but is released the day after). he cares about how you perceive him so he tries to not inform you of the dangers he experiences with the career he's in.

streetracer!sukuna usually drives fast but when you're in the passenger seat, he is not going any more than 10 above the speed limit. he's a professional racer so he's used to driving at high speeds but he doesn't want to risk anything with you in the car. sometimes you'll ask him to do a pull which he reluctantly agrees to, but he doesn't even try to reach the red line. he knows his cars well but he thinks about the off-chance that something could go wrong.

streetracer!sukuna is elated that you don't judge him for what he does for a living. he knows that it's a non-traditional job and it can be unstable but for sukuna, it's a lucrative occupation. he asks you often to come with him during races with a large prize because he says you're his lucky charm, he actually just wants to show off. ever since you got together, he's earned more than enough for the both of you to live very comfortably.

streetracer!sukuna only lets you drive his car. word spread around that someone that's not sukuna was in the driver's seat of his supra AND his gt4, and even some of the guys texted sukuna to see if it was true. he asked you first if he can tell them that you guys are together, and immediately said yes when you let him. to confirm everyone's suspicions, sukuna posts on his instagram a photo of his cars side by side with you sitting down on the hood of the gt4 posing cutely with the caption "everything I love". it's the only picture that he has pinned on his profile (yess we love a king who shows off his girl)

streetracer!sukuna is the epitome of gentle giant to you. everyone knows him as the intimidating tall racer who has a resting bitch face and does not like talking to anyone, but he's such a giant softie when he's with you. when you're beside him, all of a sudden he's smiling and doesn't look like he wants to murder someone. other racers only come up to sukuna when you're with him because you force sukuna to be nice and actually talk to them (they're thankful for you).

streetracer!sukuna is 2 words - THE CLINGIEST! because he races at night and when he hasn't seen you for a long time (1 day), he'll come over to your place and sleep over. he doesn't care if he has to drive to the other side of the city to do so, he wants to see you now. he gets grumpy if he doesn't feel you in his arms when he wakes up. mans just wants to wake up being cuddled and who can blame him

streetracer!sukuna was insanely nervous when he met your parents. he wasn't worried when you met his because he knew that they would love you (spoiler alert they do), but his palms were sweating when you said your parents wanted to meet him. he knows that his appearance is not the most conventional with his pink hair and tattoos all over his body, especially his face. he wanted to make a good impression so he opted to went to his mom to get help for his outfit and how to impress your parents. his mom thanked you after he left because she never thought she'd see the day her son would willingly wear a shirt with a collar.

streetracer!sukuna contemplates if he should stop racing when he misjudged the distance of the car when he was trying to take over and got into a really bad crash. he recovered quickly and is fine now, but the image of you crying at his bedside wouldn't leave his head. he knows you want to be supportive but he notices how hesitant you get when he tells you he has a race. he would do anything for you, even if it that means giving up his dream so that you could have a peace of mind.

streetracer!sukuna loves you unapologetically. he's never met anyone so encouraging and so patient with him, and he would be the world's biggest idiot if he fumbles you. he doesn't care if anyone calls him a simp for prioritizing you first above all else, he loves you too much to care about being name called. he knows you deserve the world and does his best to give you so, treating and spoiling you with whatever you desire. he's never going to let you go, and he doesn't care what anyone thinks because he knows that you're his endgame.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

I wanna make a smau for this but like idk if I should, what do you guys think? again, not proofread hehe

[the-librarby]

DRUNK IN DA CLUB II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

What do you do when your brother’s best friend calls you his missus?

🦋 all actions will have consequences in the next chapter.

Happy reading!

Part I Part III

A week flew by in a blur, between catching up and visiting local spots, Friday was here before you knew it. You woke up and checked your phone to see a flurry of birthday messages from your friends, you take your time to read them as a big grin cracks onto your face.

Eventually you make your way downstairs, it’s still early so you’re not expecting anyone to be awake judging by how quiet the house is. When you round the corner to pad into the kitchen, you see John’s eyes widen as he looks up from his phone. He mumbles a small curse before running down the hall into the guest room.

You frown at his odd reaction, “John? Are you okay?”

Quick as he left, John runs back in this time with a small party popper which he excitedly pops open. Streams of confetti explode in a lacklustre performance, “Happy Birthday!”

You laugh, “Where the fuck did you even get one of those?”

“Stole one from the $2 shop when you weren’t looking.” He preens.

You’re not exactly happy that he stole for you, but who are you to dismiss his effort. An awkward silence follows as John stands in the doorway with his hands behind his back, watching you walk into the kitchen.

You raise an eyebrow, “Why are you being weird?”

“Huh?” He fidgets on the spot, “I’m not bein’ weird, don’t know what you’re talking about,”

Before you can respond the sound of your front door opening and closing quietly makes you pause. You’re about to duck your head around the corner when John puts his hands up to stop you.

“Don’t move, stay right there,” he demands, keeping his hands outstretched as he walks backwards towards the door.

Briefly you can hear Simon mutter something unintelligible before the guest room door closes behind the both of them. Frown etched on your face, you figure something may have happened. Work related incident? You shrug your shoulders and go about making a coffee until they’re ready to emerge.

You’ve just finished stirring the sugar in when you hear the door open. Slow footsteps approach and round the corner, revealing Simon and John standing there with your favourite type of cake and two lit candles showing your age.

John takes a deep breath but you cut him off, “Don’t you dare sing Happy Birthday,”

“Aw you’re no fun.” he grumbles.

Simon gently places the cake down on the bench in front of you while John rounds the corner to stand on the other side.

“Did you go out this morning to buy this?” You ask, looking up at Simon.

“It was apparently my turn to go out into town,” he replies.

“I couldn’t be arsed getting dressed—anyway, blow out the candles before they melt,”

The candles are blown with two short breaths. You clap your hands together and rub them, “Let’s cut the cake!”

You turn your back to rummage through the drawer, looking for a suitable knife and plates. Simon and John are waiting patiently for you to return, the smoking candles now removed and put to the side. You waste no time and cut into the cake, John leans over the bench and inspects your cutting skills closely.

When you reach the bottom he shouts and points a finger, “You touched the bottom!”

You frown, “What on earth are you talking about?”

Instead of replying John just looks at you with a knowing look. Once you catch on you groan, and involuntarily blush, “That is a stupid tradition that Ma just heard off someone else, it’s not even real!”

“It is so!” He justifies, “I will not let you break the rules,”

You throw your hands up, careful of the cake filled knife, “You’re not even the nearest boy! Simon is!”

Simon, utterly confused, perks up at his name. But John continues, “Well, keep it G rated then,”

“You’re fucking foul, Johnny, that’s your friend you’re talking about,”

“Yeah and he’s a dirty bastard, I know,”

“What the fuck are we talking about?” Simon finally cuts in.

Absolutely flustered, you turn to Simon, “Our Ma adapted this stupid birthday tradition off our neighbours as kids. If you touch the bottom of the plate while cutting your birthday cake, you’re meant to kiss the nearest person of the opposite sex,”

Simon blinks, taking in what you’ve said before turning to John, “You really want me to kiss your sister?”

John crosses his arms, “It’s what Ma would have wanted.”

You massage the bridge of your nose and exhale out of exasperation. Simon shifts slightly in what you assume is discomfort, you’re about to apologise for the whole situation but when you turn you can see he’s actually bent down slightly to reach you. His jaw is tilted, in silent offering, but he’s not looking your way. You exhale quietly and lean forward, grabbing his jaw softly to hold him still as you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

John’s clapping fills yours and Simon’s flustered silence. He looks downright pleased with himself, and grabs the knife out of your hands to finishing cutting up the slices.

He obnoxiously sucks the excess frosting off his thumb once finished, “This is good fucking cake, nice pick Si,”

Simon grunts in acknowledgment, while you dig into your own slice. You hum in enjoyment, “I love birthday cake,”

John frowns, “No such thing as birthday cake, it’s just a cake,”

You roll your eyes, “Okay you fucking downer, I think cake tastes better when it’s my birthday.”

Simon just observes in amusement as you and John bicker back and forth. His cheek still tingles and he can feel the ghost grip of your fingers around his jaw as he takes another bite. He has no idea what he’s signed up for being here for the holidays, but he can only hope he comes out of it without crossing a line.

“Okay,” you take the last mouthful of your cake, “I’m going to spend the next hour figuring out what the fuck I’m wearing and getting everything ready. We’re leaving here at 7pm, make sense?”

John sends you a mock salute, “Yes ma’am,”

You point your finger at him, “Get your shit together, because you take longer than me to get ready,”

“It takes time to look this good, you wouldn’t know,” he sighs.

You laugh mockingly and flip him off as you back track into your bedroom, “Thanks for the cake Simon! Appreciate it!” You call out before heading out of sight.

“Appreciate it!” John mocks in your tone, “She’s such a liar,”

“Any other birthday traditions I should be preparing myself for?” Simon asks.

“Huh?” John laughs, “Oh, that was priceless, I didn’t think you’d actually do it,”

“What the fuck else was I meant to do?” He argues.

John shrugs, “Could have said no.”

Simon snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his weak rebuttal. Yeah, he could have said no. He’s never had a problem with that before, why is he struggling now to be in disagreement? John props his elbow on the bench, resting his chin atop of his hand as he watches Simon’s internal struggle.

“Oh no,” he sighs, “You’re just as bad,”

“Bad as what?” He asks.

John shakes his head and stands up, “I’m not gettin’ involved,”

Simon watches as John walks down the hallway, “Involved in what?” He emphasises.

He’s met with the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut and the water turning on. Not wanting to be left alone with whatever implication John is implying, Simon does the next best thing.

He washes the dishes.

6:30 pm.

You’re doing the final touches on your makeup, with your friend on FaceTime, running through the final plans of the night. Your friend assures you that everything is fine, but you just need to say it out loud for it to solidify.

John’s laugh rings out from the lounge room as you brush out your hair, “Oh! Two more people are coming along by the way,”

Your friend pauses curiously, “People we know?”

“People I know, my brother and his friend are home for the holidays, I’m letting them tag along,”

“Aw, aren’t you so nice, letting your brother come to your birthday,”

“Nice, yes, that’s the word we’ll settle on,”

The knock on your doorframe makes you look up at your mirror, as if hearing his name, John is standing at the door, “You almost done or what? You’ve got twenty minutes,”

You scoff, “It’s my birthday, I decide when it’s time to leave,”

“You’re the one that gave us a deadline, it’s only fair you stick by it,”

“I’ll be done in a minute,” you roll your eyes.

Your friends laugh filters out over the speaker, “Is that your brother?”

John’s ears perk up, “You on the phone?”

“FaceTime,” you reply, applying lip gloss.

John sneaks in to take a peek over your shoulder, “Hello, gorgeous, what’s your name?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, swinging around to shove him away, “Johnny, fuck off, seriously we’re not even out the door,”

Your friend laughs and introduces herself against your will. You look at her betrayed but she just shrugs, John leaves the room but only after a promise to buy her a drink once they see each other.

“If you fuck my brother, I don’t want to hear about it,”

“Deal.”

You groan, hanging up shortly after. You slip your heels on— might be a horrible shoe choice, but that’s a later problem—and step out of your room. John and Simon are sitting on the couch waiting when you emerge.

“Finally,” John stands.

“Uber is five minutes away, let’s go,” you state, walking towards the front door, making sure to flip all the lights off on your way out.

Both boys follow after you, before you can step out John grabs your arm, “Don’t you need a jacket?”

You raise an eyebrow, “And ruin my outfit?” You step outside, it’s still warm but definitely on the cooler side of summer, “I’ll be fine,”

He decides not to argue and lets you walk out. All three of you wait in the driveway for the car to pull in. About thirty minutes later you pull up to the venue, it’s a small, intimate bar that all your friends are familiar with. Being the first ones there, you make a beeline for the bar, it’s busy already so you wait patiently to flag down a bartender.

Simon edges himself beside you, “What drink do you want?”

“Huh? Uh…” you think about it for a moment before responding.

When the bartender approaches Simon doesn’t hesitate to drop your order in with his own. You pat his arm, “You didn’t have to buy my drink,”

He looks down at you, “You’re the birthday girl, no? Have to get you something,”

You smile politely, “Thanks.”

When the drinks arrive, you gladly take your own before turning around. John is waving you both down for the table he’s saved, shortly after you sit down your phone starts to buzz on the table. Friends are starting to arrive, so you look around for familiar faces.

You give one last pointed glare to John, “Behave yourself,”

“No promises.” he grins.

You greet your friends, introducing them to the boys before letting them sit down. John makes himself comfortable by leading conversations while you’re pulled into catch ups with friends you haven’t seen in a while. Simon somewhat awkwardly, sits beside you taking it all in.

“What the hell is up with the security posted up beside you,” your friend whispers, looking pointedly at Simon.

“Security?” You laugh, looking at how rigid Simon is sitting beside you. Innocently you pat your hand against his thigh, “This is Simon, my brother’s friend. Not security, but trained military,”

You look towards Simon for confirmation, he just nods. Your friend’s eyes widen, “Military? That’s intense.”

You keep talking, roped back into conversation and not taking notice that your hand is still resting on Simon’s thigh. It’s not moving, Simon knows because he can’t focus on anything else. It takes all willpower in him to not stare down at it, and try to act like he’s focusing on some conversation John is apart of.

You lean over to talk into his ear, “I’m gonna get another drink, want one?”

He grasps the opportunity to take a break, “I’ll get it, same one?”

You frown, “What—no, Simon, you can’t buy all my drinks,”

He quirks an eyebrow, “You gonna stop me, sweetheart?”

Too far. Too fast. He’s definitely fucked up, it was a complete slip of the tongue.

You blink, trying to not think too deeply in that definitely flirtatious response, “Stop you? Yeah right, I would stand a chance,” you sigh dramatically, “Guess I’ll have to say yes,”

Simon slips off his chair and makes his way over to the bar. Once out of earshot, your friend slaps you repeatedly on the arm, “Oh my god,” she says, “That man is fine,”

Heat rises to your cheeks, you choose to stay silent. Finishing off the last sip of your drink, “How did you say you know him again?”

You nod in John’s direction, “Brother’s friend,”

She grins mischievously, “Brother’s friend huh, yeah I know how that is,”

“It is not like that,” you defend.

“And why not?” She asks incredulously, “You’re passing up a military man? You know he’ll throw you around if you ask nicely,”

The mental image alone makes you fluster, “Let’s not do this,”

“You want him so bad.” she laughs.

Could you be blamed? Simon had only gotten more attractive as he opened up, every time he shared a knowing glance with you when John did something stupid made your heart stutter. The familiarity and comfort that he knew you made you feel a certain way. And now he’s buying your drinks like a gentleman, really, it’s entirely his fault.

A tap on your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts, you turn around ready to accept the drink Simon is about to put in your hands but it’s not him you see when you turn around. It’s an old friend, well friend isn’t the word you would use, mutual benefits were involved until it went south. Very south, borderline stalker territory type of south.

“What a surprise! It’s so nice to see you,” he grins, leaning down into your space.

“Oh,” you laugh, awkwardly turning your face so his kiss lands on your cheek instead, “It’s good to see you too, how are you?”

There’s a sour look on his face from your dodge but he recovers quickly, “I’m good! You look like you’re having fun, special occasion?”

Yeah right, like he didn’t have your birthday memorised, “Yeah, it’s my birthday. Just out celebrating with a couple drinks,”

You glance over his shoulder to see Simon still standing at the bar. Silently you plea that he’ll hurry up and scare this asshole away but the bar looks busy. Luckily, what you can’t see is your friends slowly starting to recognise who this guy is and rushing to fill John in.

“Oh! Happy birthday, can I buy you a drink? We should catch up,” he urges.

“Don’t think her boyfriend would appreciate that mate,” John suddenly cuts in, appearing by your side out of nowhere.

The guy immediately retreats, but you can see the sting in his eyes from the rejection, “Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend,”

“And how the fuck would you know?” He shoots back, stepping into his space.

“John, calm down—”

“I’m her boyfriend! We’re meant to be together!” He shouts, gripping his glass harder and pointing an accusing finger at you.

Your eyes widen at the change in his tone, you stand up to placate, “Hey, it’s okay, let’s not blow this out of proportion,”

“I think you should leave,” John states, crossing his arms over his chest and standing in front of you protectively.

Simon finally makes his way over, entering your periphery as he sets the drink down on the table, “There you go, darlin’,” he murmurs.

The guy in front of you— ex? Not quite ex?— freezes as he takes in Simon’s stature. He leans his back against the table, his arm resting between your shoulder blades as he stares back, sizing the guy up. You can see in real time as the guy’s face turns red, oh god, absolutely furious at Simon’s causal display of closeness.

“You’re a fucking whore,” he seethes, but doesn’t step any closer. He looks pointedly at Simon, “Enjoy my sloppy seconds mate, I know that cunt is tired.”

Shame floods your system. The words don’t sting, you know it’s just petty jealously and retaliation, but the crowd observation makes you want to crawl into the ground. John already has his fist raised ready to pummel the guy, but he pauses when Simon stands to his full height. He clasps John’s shoulder in a signal to ease off, which he wordlessly follows by lowering his fist.

It’s absolutely satisfying to see the way this guy has to look up to meet Simon’s eye. His body language is neutral, but his tone is firm, “Apologise to my missus, and fuck off.”

The whole table grows silent, completely tuned in now. John is standing beside you ready to step in but you silently hope it won’t get that far.

“I’m not doing shit, if you lay hands on me I’ll call the cops,” he threatens.

John snickers, elbowing your shoulder, “What a fucking wanker,” he whispers to you.

“Cops won’t get involved with me around,” he assures, “Apologise, or I’ll take you outside myself,”

The guy falters but in a last ditch effort, tries to call his bluff, “Yeah fucking righ—”

Before he can even finish, Simon grabs his upper arm in a bruising force and begins to drag him out towards the front of the venue.

“Oh shit,” John springs up, “I’ll be back, Simon is gonna beat the shit out of that guy without me there.” he hurriedly explains, kissing the side of your cheek before jogging out the entrance Simon disappeared through.

Your friends flock you to see if you’re okay, giving you reassuring touches and hugs. You can barely hear them over the blood rushing to your ears.

Apologise to my missus.

Missus. Why did that roll off his tongue so smoothly? The provocation behind the term was enough to send your mind into a spiral. It’s an act of course, a caring one at that, which you will thank both of them for. They didn’t need to step in, and Simon certainly didn’t need to get involved having only known you for a week.

All you know is right now, you don’t have the capacity to think about this.

“Alright, Si, I think the guy’s had enough,”

Simon huffs, releasing his grip on the shirt he was holding. The guy falls like a bag of bricks against the pavement of the alleyway. Immediately he curls into fetal position, holding his bloodied nose.

“Fucking scumbag,” he grunts, wiping the back of his hand on his pants.

John hums in agreement, “Agreed, but he’s barely conscious. I’m sure Price wouldn’t appreciate the phone call on his holidays.”

He reaches into his back pocket to fish out his cigarettes, lighting one up as he observes the guy on the ground. He’s slowly moving now, trying to crawl backwards and put as much distance as he can. John waves him off, and makes his way back inside the venue, knowing Simon has it handled.

“You’re..” he coughs, gripping his midsection, “Fucking insane,”

Simon walks over, crouching down beside his head and pointing at him with his cigarette in hand, “You better fucking remember that next time you go after her.”

The guy can’t even muster up a response without his ribs hurting so he remains quiet, slumping against the concrete underneath him. Simon rises back to his feet and flicks the end of his cigarette into the alley before stepping back out. He checks himself over to ensure no blood is visible, luckily the entry to the bar is not busy and he makes a swift return to your table.

“Simon,” you look over him to see if anything is hurt, but he doesn’t look any different from when he left, “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He shoots back.

You wave your hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, just.. fling gone wrong,”

A charged silence washes over the two of you, even though the table is still chatting loudly you can’t seem to hear any of it.

“Drink?” You suggest.

He nods in agreement and follows you to the bar. When he reaches to pay you place your hand over his, “Seriously, the least I can do is buy you a drink after all you’ve done,”

Simon frowns, “I didn’t do that much, did Johnny exaggerate?”

You raise an eyebrow, “You sweep in to save every damsel in distress by acting like their partner?”

It had momentarily slipped his mind that he had done that. Being a man that acts before he speaks, words often escape him and this was no exception.

“I know what that type of guy is like,” he pivots, “Wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”

You hum in agreement and drop the subject, ready to move on from how mortifying the situation was. The drinks start to flow more easier now, the anxiety melts away and you start to let go. Bouncing between conversations and the dance floor, you’re laughing, and drinks are mysteriously never ending. Simon is sitting beside your brother and keeps a trained eye on you while John is chatting to one of the girls next to him.

One of your friends suggests another bar down the road, you’re easily convinced and offer to round up the boys at the table. Simon watches as you trail over with a slight wobble in your step, leaning over the table with your hands.

“We’re moving to a different bar, are you ready?”

John tunes in, “Where?”

You frown in thought, “I dunno, one of the girl suggested something, we’ll find out when we get there,”

John looks over at you smugly, “Sure you’ll make it? You sound a bit loose,”

You scoff, “I am fine, perfectly sober state of mind, I could go on forever,”

John leans over to Simon in stage whisper, “She’s fucking gone,”

You wave them both off, “Fine, loser, stay here, I will be leaving though.”

Simon immediately stands after your statement, John begrudgingly trailing behind into the cool air. Everyone starts to walk ahead of you, leaving Simon by your side to keep a monitor. He doesn’t trust your ability to stand upright in those heels you’re wearing.

“Do you feel like running?” You ask suddenly.

“Sorry? Running?” Simon repeats, “What do you mean?”

You look up at him, “You don’t feel like running when you’re drunk?”

Simon looks down at you with an incredulous expression, “No,”

“I think I could beat you in a run,” you declare, looking ahead at group in front of you.

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you think,” he smirks.

You whip your head around and point an accusing finger, “Don’t be condescending, I’ll prove it right now,”

Simon pauses when you grab his arm for an anchor before raising your leg, he’s confused at first until he sees you trying to unclasp the fasting on your heels.

“Don’t—” he grabs your hand that’s trying to unbuckle your heel, “Take off your shoes, what are you doing?”

“Hey!” You try to slap his hand away, “That’s not fair, I won’t beat you with heels on,”

He huffs, grabbing your hand more firmly now, “You’re not going to beat me regardless, did you forget about my military training?”

You’re barely even listening, trying to flex your hand out of Simon’s grip, but it’s barely even budging, he doesn’t even look like he’s straining as he looks down at you with exasperation.

“A good boyfriend would let his girlfriend win,” you state, quite ballsy in your drunken state of mind as you stare him down.

“Really? That’s the card you’re playing?”

You shrug, one hand still holding his arm while the other is trapped in his grip, “You’re my boyfriend tonight, no? You called me your missus,”

By now the group has almost disappeared around the corner of the street, not even noticing your absence. Simon shakes his head, “A good boyfriend, would not let their partner run drunk in their heels,”

You scoff and roll your eyes, “You’re no fun,”

He finally lets go, having taken your response as defeat. You fall back in step for a while, but every now and then you glance over at him through your periphery. Simon’s not entirely convinced that you aren’t scheming something in your silence. His suspicions are confirmed when without warning, you take off down the street. It’s harder with heels on but you make a pretty convincing sprint around the corner. You can barely see your friends come back into view when you’re suddenly swept off the ground.

“Alright,” he huffs, hands firmly circling your midsection as he tugs you into his side, “You’ve had your fun,”

You laugh, trying to squirm out of his grip, “C’mon that wasn’t anything. You didn’t even give me a head start,”

“Head starts are for losers,”

You scoff, “God, you’re competitive aren’t you?”

Simon lets the silence answer for him as he leads you to the bar. You’ve stopped trying to wriggle around, as last time you did he barely lifted your feet off the ground in an easy act of restraint to keep you from moving. You know somewhere in your muddled brain that you should stop testing your luck while he’s still holding his strength back. But you can’t help but want to see how deep the waters go. Once in front of the bar’s entrance, Simon plants your feet firmly on the ground but keeps his arm around your waist just in case you have any funny ideas about a rematch.

John immediately spots the two of you as you enter, you’re obviously talking about something as your hands move in gesture. Simon’s half bent over to listen to whatever it is you’re saying as he guides you to the bar. It’s a cozy picture, he’ll admit, something he didn’t see coming and especially not so soon. It’s a hard effort, but he bites his tongue and saves a mental bank of comments for later when he can savour your embarrassment.

Eventually your friends tug you away, leaving Simon to walk over to the table alone. John sections over a corner for him and immediately opens his mouth as he sits down, “What just happened?”

Simon raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink, “When?”

“Just then,” he emphasise, “Why were you two late?”

He rolls his eyes, “Because she thought it would be funny to go for a run,”

“A run? What on earth are you on about Si?”

“Apparently she feels the need to run when she’s drunk, tried to slip by me,” he grunts.

John laughs at the mental image of his sister trying pull a fast one on Simon, “Did she manage?”

He rolls his eyes, “Of course not, caught her before she could snap her ankle.”

John looks at him with a smirk, “What?” He asks, hating the nervous edge it causes him.

“You care about her,” he states.

He frowns, “She’s your sister,” he replies, as if that’s the answer.

“No,” he shakes his head, “You know what I mean.”

He looks away, pointedly ignoring John’s looks in favour of finding you in the crowd. You’re dancing away with drink in hand, oblivious to the inner turmoil Simon is facing. Your friends surround you as well as other strangers, he physically can’t stop the way his jaw sets when he sees other men get too close.

Eventually you need a break from the dance floor, as you walk towards the table your legs feel further unsteady. You notice one of your friends — the one you were on FaceTime with — in deep conversation with Johnny, before it can make you cringe you look away. The only other person is Simon, who is already staring back at you.

You collapse on the stool next to him, your side knocking into his as you do. Instead of straightening up you decide it’s far more comfortable to rest your back against him instead of leaning upright.

He shifts to accomodate your weight without knocking you over, “You good, love?”

You hum listening to your surroundings with you eyes closed, a big grin forms on your face at the pet name, “I don’t think I can walk straight anymore,”

“You haven’t been able to walk straight since the walk over here,” he replies, amused.

You blindly reach around to slap his thigh, “I don’t need your sarcasm,”

“What do you need then?” He inquires, speaking directly into your ear.

When you tilt your head you can see the bottom half of his jaw as he leans down awaiting your response. His thigh is warm under your palm, and absentmindedly you can’t help but run your nails up and down the length of it. Your mind has a comfortable haze over it where everything is slowed down, including the path between your thoughts and responses.

“Nothing, just you,” you mumble, sinking into his side, “Comfy.”

Simon sighs, lifting his arm gently so you can lean into his chest. The heavy weight of his arm settles like a warm blanket across your chest, you don’t hesitate to wrap your own around his and slip your heavy eyelids closed. Simon is as frozen as a statue, barely making a movement in fear of dislodging you or waking you up. He knows you shouldn’t fall asleep but you look so at peace in his arms.

“God, you two are sickening,” John fake gags as he bends his head around to see you in full.

“Fuck off,” he mutters, glancing at him through his periphery.

“The boys are never gonna believe me when I tell them the epic story of the one that crumbled Simon Riley,” he teases.

The sudden gasp John makes has him tense. Nothing good can come of an idea that John has. Curiously he follows as much as he can in his line of sight without disturbing you, as John fishes for something in his pocket. He jumps off his stool and walks around until he’s standing in front of your dozing off body. With a mischievous grin on his face he aims his phone’s camera in front of the two of you.

“Johnny, don’t,” he threatens.

“Or what mate?” He laughs, “You’re not gonna do shit, tell you what, I’ll even send you the photo,”

The unexpected flash of the camera lens has you squinting and curling away out of reflex. Simon’s arm tightens around you so you don’t fall off the stool.

When you blink away the blurriness of your vision you can see John standing in front of you, looking down at his phone with a shit eating grin, “What the fuck?” You inquire confusedly.

John looks over at you, flashes his phone screen at you, you can tell it’s a photo but you can’t make out what it is by the way he’s waving it around.

“Is that a photo of me?” You look up at Simon, “What’s he done, Simon?”

Simon sighs, shaking his head, “You’ll find out later,”

John laughs, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He reaches out and squishes the sides of your face like he used to when you were a kid, you slap his hands away as his fingers dig uncomfortably into your cheeks.

“I’m taking your friend home,” he announces.

“Gross,” you gag, “I don’t need to know that,”

He rolls his eyes, “To make sure she gets home safe, nothing more,”

“Whatever.”

The boys are talking about something over the top of you. You mindlessly drum your fingers against Simon’s forearm as you look out onto the dance floor, you’ve lost sight of your friends and you’ve lost all energy to get back on the floor. It’s time to head home. One of the girls, the one going home with Johnny, pops up in to say goodbye. You lean out of Simon’s grip, who for a moment doesn’t ease up until you pry his hand away.

She gives you a tight hug, thanking you for a night out before pulling away with a knowing grin, “Not a bad birthday this year, huh?” Looking over towards Simon with an unsubtle glance.

You slap her arm lightly, “Shut up, he’s just a friend,”

She’s raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have any friends that call me their missus and beat up other guys who are being creeps,”

“No, but you do have guys who walk you home to keep you safe,” you shoot back.

She looks away with a blush, Johnny swoops in not long after, confirming your suspicions as he wraps an arm around her waist and asking if she’s ready to go. With one final wave, you and Simon watch them as they exit.

“I think I’m ready to head out too,” you sigh, stretching your arms above your head.

“You sure?”

You look over at him with an eyebrow raised, “Do you want to stay out longer?”

“Fuck no,” he shakes his head, “But it’s your birthday, love,”

I’d do it for you.

Your heart flutters, with a smile you pat his shoulder, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Miraculously, your legs remain upright as you shift off the stool you’re sitting on. You pardon yourself to say goodbye to your friends, who are thankfully easy to find in the crowd. They shower you with a flurry of birthday wishes and hugs before beginning to pack up themselves. Simon’s already waiting for you by the door as you make your way over. It’s nice to let him lead the way as he calls for a ride home, ushering you in once it’s here.

Before you know it you’re already stumbling down the driveway of your house, patting down your outfit for your house keys.

“Oh fuck!” You gasp, suddenly realising your bag is missing, “I don’t have my keys, I must have left my bag at the bar— Simon can you—”

“It’s here, darlin’” he announces, holding out the strap of your missing bag.

You hold your chest in relief, “Thank god, what would I do without you,” you sigh, looking through the contents of your bag as Simon holds onto it.

Successfully you find your keys and unlock the door. Simon closes it behind the two of you as you walk ahead to flip on some lights, when he walks down the hallway he finds you collapsed on the couch, arms spread and legs hanging off the edge.

“I can’t handle these heels anymore,” you moan.

“Sure you don’t feel like going for a run?” He teases, putting your bag on the bench.

“No,” you shake your head, looking over at Simon who’s now standing in front of you, gently reaching for your ankle, “I can’t think of anything worse,”

Simon tilts the side of your foot to find the buckle of your heels, “I thought you were going to outrun me,” he mutters, successfully letting your first shoe fall to the floor.

The sigh of relief you let out is soft and deeply grateful. Simon pointedly tries to ignore it, but he knows that sound will run on a loop in his mind later. You balance your other foot on his leg as he unbuckles the other shoe.

“I could do it,” you mumble unconvincingly, “All your muscles must slow you down,”

“My muscles?”

“Yeah, too many of ‘em,” you reply, “Must make you slow,”

Simon shakes his head at your logic, focusing on slipping off your other shoe. When he looks down at you he can see you’re already starting to doze off.

“Don’t fall asleep on the couch,” he says, gently tapping your leg to wake you up.

You groan, shoving your foot against his upper thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. He grunts, grabbing it out of reflex and pulling it upwards so it rests against his hip instead.

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble sleepily.

In one last act of generosity, Simon walks around then side of the couch and leans down. He shoves one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath the hook of your knees before lifting you off the cushions. It’s jarring to feel yourself being lifted in the air, blearily you’re aware that you’re being carried and that in itself is still mortifying to your drunken mind.

“M’not a child to be carried to bed Si,” you complain, latching onto his shoulders for leverage.

“I don’t want to hear about the shit sleep you’ve had because you decided to sleep on the couch instead of your bed,” he asserts.

Gently he pushes your bedroom door open with his foot and walks into your room. You’d hate to admit he’s right, but the soft mattress of your bed is much better than the instant relief the couch provided. Light from your bedside lamp illuminates the room, from sleepy vision you can see Simon walking around trying to find something.

“What do you sleep in?” He asks suddenly.

“Bit soon to ask me that isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes, but smiles, “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he explains.

You point to one of the drawers in your dresser, “T-shirts are in the bottom drawer,”

You close your eyes as you hear him rummage through your stuff, when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder you open them again to see Simon standing beside your bed with shirt in hand.

“Can you sit up?” He asks.

Against your will you listen and slowly rise into a sitting position, “Do you treat all girls like this?” You ask curiously.

“Like what?” He asks, breath lodging itself in his throat as he watches you slowly hike off your dress. Clearly not thinking this through, Simon’s brain comes to a complete halt as you sit in front of him in nothing but your bra and panties.

“You’ve been looking after me all night, I just wanted to know if that’s what you’re always like underneath all that military training,” you muse.

The teasing tone has him more bothered than he’d like to admit. He rolls the t-shirt up in his hands before guiding your head through it, your arms follow next until you’re completely covered.

“Good night,” he says.

“Good night, Simon.” You reply, curling up under your blankets and quickly passing out into a deep sleep.

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man (2)

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. bachira meguru, alexis ness, karasu tabito, otoya eita, shidou ryusei

notes: part 2 to this, fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in alexis and karasu's, suggestive in shidou's (he's his own warning)

༄ bachira:

“megs, please stop moving - yeah, hi. my husband lost his id and we just need a replacement.”

✣ the second those words leave your mouth the cogs in his head are sent into hyperdrive. he’s barely ever thought of himself as boyfriend material, nevermind husband. for you to proclaim it so boldly in front of others makes him incredibly giddy with joy - to the point where his uncontrollable giggles begin to make the rest of the patrons and government workers a bit paranoid.

⁀➷ bachira’s latched onto you like koala as the two of you exit the office after getting the new id and a handful of concerned looks from the other people inside. his grin is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and all he can say over and over is “husband? i’m your husband, right? when are we getting married? what kind of dress do you want? what’s the color scheme? i have to ask isagi if he’ll be my best man, and -!” you try to shut him up with a kiss, but the second your lips part he goes right back to babbling about your ‘upcoming’ wedding. you made your bed, so guess now you have to lay in it.

༄ alexis: “can me and my husband just get a slice of sachertorte and a mini quiche?”

✣ so, so, in love with you. you’re already his wife, soulmate, reason for living, so hearing you reciprocate his fantasies has him on cloud nine. he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and his grip on your hand only tightens at your words. it doesn’t matter if people think he’s moving too fast, if he’s too dedicated to you - because you feel the same way. how could he ever even fathom letting you slip from his grasp?

⁀➷ “what season do you want our wedding to be in?” he asks softly as the two of you sit by the cafe window. despite his favorite dessert being right in front of him, he can’t be bothered to eat it. not when you’re across from him, your divinity blessing his meager existence. the question surprises you a bit as he takes your hand, lightly kissing across your knuckles. your expression is so adorable, he can’t help the small laugh that leaves him when he continues, “we’re getting married soon, aren’t we? i’ve already planned the ring i want for you, and i really don’t want to wait that much longer to make you mine.”

༄ karasu:

“hmm, i think they’re too small… oh, excuse me? do you mind getting a bigger size for my husband?”

✣ amused by how blatant you are about it. sure, he knows he wants to marry you someday, but he didn’t expect you to take these jumps so early. he doesn't mind it at all, though. domesticity has always been in the back of his mind when it comes to relationships, preferring to invest in long term romances than lust-filled flings like a certain friend of his. there’s been roughly a billion fantasies involving married life with you, and there’s about to be ten billion more now that you’ve called him that.

⁀➷ “husband, hm?” he says with a smirk as the store employee goes to grab the other pair of shoes. you turn to him with a raised eyebrow and unamused look, asking if he has a problem with it. raising his arms in defense, he simply chuckles and tells you, “not at all, babe. just wondering how i bagged a cute wife when i haven’t even proposed yet.” you just roll your eyes and turn back to the shelves to compare the other cleats. unable to resist, he stands and rests his hands on your waist to whisper into your ear, “your husband didn’t bother getting you a ring? seems like a scumbag. i’ll buy you one right after this,” before placing a gentle kiss on your lips - and rest assured, he’s true to his word.

༄ otoya:

“if you’re gonna keep flirting with my husband, you can fuck off.”

✣ scared out of his mind. he never planned to have any sort of long term relationship with you yet it happened to naturally. for the first time in his life, he found himself being the yearner instead of having his lovers chasing him down. hearing you call him your husband confirms to himself he’s totally smitten. it’s pathetic and frankly terrifying, but he thinks he’d die if he let you go. so of course, you’re with him the one time he really isn’t flirting with someone else and they won’t leave him alone. just his luck.

⁀➷ as the two of you walk back from the coffee shop, he’s convinced he’s about to see all nine of his ninjutsu lives be cut down with the way you’re steaming. the silence is killing him though, and he simply lets out a shaky “babe?” to test the waters. when you turn towards him with rage burning in your eyes, he knows he’s fucked ; except you take his cheeks between your hands and pull him down, telling him he belongs to you and you only. he’s shaking with how passionate you are, realizing you did believe him and it’s everyone else you don’t trust. heart pounding out of his chest, he feels a bit of relief begin to come back. yeah, he doesn’t mind being your husband one bit.

༄ shidou:

“i’m so sorry about my husband's behavior. he didn’t mean to offend you like that.”

✣ first of all, yes he did. second of all, this is probably the worst mistake you’ve ever made. shidou already has you-induced psychosis, so anything you do to feed his ego and remind him that you also like him back just creates an even bigger monster. he tries to steal a kiss in the middle of you speaking, but you know him too well and drag him down by the ear into an apologetic bow. consider him whipped, cause you putting him in his place is so painfully attractive to him he’s about to get down on that one knee now.

⁀➷ “is that any way to be treating your husband?” he says with a shit eating grin while you tug him by the collar down the sidewalk. the restriction around his neck should be painful, but he loves seeing you annoyed so much that he certainly can’t feel it. when you mutter something about already getting a divorce, his smile drops and he digs his teeth into your neck, making you yelp in pain and elbow him in the stomach. he laughs maniacally before brushing his lips against your ear and telling you, “see? we’re made for each other, babe. hurt me a little more, will ya?”