#dance in the kitchen like nobody is watching

[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent. 

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion. 

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission. 

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky. 

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely. 

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath. 

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down. 

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble. 

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle. 

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting. 

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.” 

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.” 

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer? 

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence). 

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture. 

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…” His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.” 

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.” 

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502

[crystalbaby12]

Gotta bring back kitchen dancing

[mrsmothermaximoff]

Taste Test

Pairing: older wife wanda x wife reader

summary: You watch your older wife Wanda innocently cook dinner for the both of you, when she takes a quick taste test you start craving something far more delicious than what you both had in mind

Tags: 18+ Minors DNI hickeys, swearing, fingering, oral sex, mommy kink, legal age gap

You sat patiently on the counter, watching your beautiful wife in her element. She swayed gracefully to the music, as every lyric fell off her tongue with ease.

She danced around the kitchen, singing, "la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la means I looove yooouu~" coming up to nuzzle your nose. There was something so magical about her voice. It wasn't good, by any means, but still, it was magical.

"now I don't wear a diamond riiing, I don't even know a song to siiing, all I know is~" she held your hands, resting her forehead on yours, "la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la means I looove yooouu~".

Nobody could melt you like she does, every little thing about her made you crave her love, her passion, her touch, just her.

She giggled at your doe-eyed expression, kissing your lips softly and moving down to kiss your jawline with a feather-like touch. You smiled at her intently, "When did I get so lucky?" She laughed pulling your shoulders in gently, "5 years ago when you kissed me for the first time". You nodded slowly, pretending you had just realized something, "Ohh that's right", you laughed into each other's lips, and she went back to checking the progress of her sauces.

She licked the tip of the spoon slowly, humming at the taste and smiling at her little success, licking some from the sides of her lips.

Your body tensed up, she didn't notice, too caught up in the music. Normally she'd put on little shows just to tease you, but something about the innocence of her intentions made you want her in the most inappropriate ways one can imagine. She danced and hummed along as you watched her body, flowing like the sea.

You attempted to shake it off, but had no luck when she dipped her finger into the mixture again carefully, slowly sliding it into her mouth. You watched her the entire time, trying to hold in a groan. It was only once she had sucked the middle of her knuckle that she saw the lust in your eyes that were watching her movements with deep focus.

She paused, realizing how dirty her actions may have come across. Blushing madly, she put the spoon down and wiped her hands on her apron. Her attempt to hide her arousal only pushed you further, pulling her body into yours against the counter. "You've had your little taste, it's my turn."

She swallowed thickly, feeling a pool of wetness drip down her silky thighs, as you kissed down her neck leaving love bites. "Those sauces smell wonderful, but I'm craving something even more delicious." She closed her eyes sighing, pulling you lower and lower, until you reached her clothed center.

You pulled her bottoms down gently, giving you a perfect view of her glistening cunt, before gently licking a stripe up her clit as she held your head letting out silent moans.

"More, please I need more" You smiled at her desperate tone, pulling her panties down completely before moving in to devour her helpless warmth. She held you tightly, screaming and yelling.

You lifted her leg to allow you more access, "F-fuck! Oh Y/N" she whined, rutting herself against you, grinding on your face in a soft, yet filthy manner. You groaned into her clit, slowly slipping two fingers inside her completely.

Your thrusts were the furthest thing from gentle, and as you watched her nose scrunch in pleasure, your imagination grew dirtier. You took the spoon that had some leftover sauce and spread it across her thigh as she gasped. Little licks being placed across her plushy legs, tasting the sauce mix with the arousal that had dripped down from your antics. Your thrusts sped up and her cries could be heard through the entire house.

"Fuck! Please!" You smirked and nodded, enclosing her wetness with your mouth as she came, emptying herself completely, just for you.

You held her hands helping her calm down, wetting and using a kitchen towel to clean her up. She held you securely in her arms, her form taller and stronger than you. Sometimes you forget she's older with the way she gives herself to you so tenderly.

You held each other for what felt like a lifetime as the classic music continued playing, before you pulled away to kiss her eyes gently.

"Dinner tastes lovely."

Taglist: @1800-lemonadeg1rl @alexawynters @itsmypeach13 @wandaslittleweirdo @katebishopfan @ahintofchaos @julieromanoff @simpforlizzie @halsnaksns @whore4gwen @andersonsprincess

[mell0wjello]

𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓮?

How would the NRC boys fall for their beloved prefect?

! 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝒶 𝐸𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 !

~~~~~~

𝓚𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓶 𝓐𝓵-𝓐𝓼𝓲𝓶

Kalim knew from the start

And he was not ashamed to show it. In fact, it was quite obvious to anyone who knew him

Kalim was generous to all, but the way he invested so much money into restoring Ramshackle dorm and always brought you small (and by no means cheap) gifts to you every time he invited you to Scarabia incited the suspicion of people around him.

Kalim's love language is gifting and quality time! Can you blame him?

Jamil was the first to know.

The night Kalim realized, he went up to Jamil's room and knocked on his door to tell him all about it

His favorite part of you is your smile.

He’d try to take you on carpet rides all the time, and he loved sharing his food with you

He even asked Jamil to teach him how to cook so he could prepare lots of things for you

He really admired how resilient and positive you were against all odds

He wouldn’t formally ask you out, it would be more of an unspoken thing. He’d give you all the signs but it’s up to you if you reciprocate them or not

He’d be veryyy respectful of your boundaries. He’d never force you into something you wouldn’t want

If you never reciprocated back, he would honestly be hurt and a little confused. He’s not very used to rejection, but give him some time. Since there was never anything concrete between you two besides friends, he wouldn’t stop talking to you. He would, however be more silent. He’d watch from afar, but always respect your choice

If you did reciprocate, he’d be ecstatic. You’d notice how he’d become more confident with his advances.

Lots of PDA (As long as you’re comfortable). Hugging, holding hands. Sometimes light kisses on the

He’d tell Jamil all about your dates, practically gushing to him

His favorite spot to kiss is your hand. Backside, frontside, it doesn’t matter to him. He likes how soft it feels against his lips.

His favorite spot to be kissed is on the cheek.

~~~~~~

𝓙𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵 𝓥𝓲𝓹𝓮𝓻

Unlike Kalim, Jamil had no idea what struck him

It started quite softly. Piqued interest in the prefect with soaring grades, despite their lack of magic • Next thing he knows, he’s at Ramshackle dorm, studying with them. Not that he needs a tutor, no, he made that clear. He just wanted to observe.

Now, you were in his kitchen, cooking dinner for Scarabia.

First, your dorm, then his kitchen, and now his thoughts. When did he let you get this close?

Jamil was reluctant at this realization, almost wary and cautious

He had let his guard down around you, and yet, a part of him was completely fine by it

He’d try so hard to put his walls back on, but you were just devoid of any animosity towards him, it was hard to conceal himself

He just couldn’t lie to you. For the first time, he could unravel himself in front of someone and feel safe

It clicked suddenly for him. The fuzzy feeling in his chest was something he was scared to admit

Nobody could really tell. Not even Kalim, although he did notice slight changes in Jamil

Jamils main love language is acts of service and physical touch

He often tries to involve this in his outings with you, for example, going out to buy ingredients from Sam's shop

Jamil is a jealous man, although this isn't very noticeable. No one can tell, but when another guy approaches you to ask for a pen in class (you are the only one who uses magicless pens at school), he is fuming in his head.

Jamil´s favorite part of you are the legs. He loves how elegant and graceful they look as you dance with him

Jamil isn't much of a risk-taker. He's calculating. He'd make sure that you too were on the same page as him before confessing to you. This would be done in an intimate setting, where the both of you are alone and secluded.

If things didn't go as planned for Jamil, he would reasonably be quite upset. Opening up was something he'd never done for anyone, and for that person to not feel the same as him was a harsh blow. He'd gradually grow distant from you afterward. It's his way of re-establishing the walls that you had torn down.

If you felt the same way about him, Jamil would be overjoyed. He'd embrace you in his arms and sigh with relief. The itching feeling at his throat was now gone. You were his, and he was yours.

All of his affection and display of physical touch would happen in private and often manifest into cuddling sessions or sometimes something more intimate.

His favorite spot to kiss you is on your ear. He enjoys knowing you can experience his kisses with two of your senses instead of one, and he even gets to see you flinch from time to time

His favorite spot to be kissed on is the neck. The position you take to reach that spot brings you closer to him and he enjoys feeling your warmth

~~~~~~

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 8

Part 7

Shockingly, it turns out Danny knows how to cook. He's good at it, even, and when Tucker expresses his disbelief at the practiced way Danny moves in the kitchen Danny snorts.

“You know what the Fenton kitchen was like. When I got out of there and had access to food and kitchens that weren't biohazards, I learned eventually. I have a very distinct appreciation for good food nowadays, and I like being able to make it myself.”

He puts music on through a little Bluetooth speaker on the counter, invites them to participate, and they cook.

It's fun. They dance, they drink, they sample ingredients as they put their pizzas together. There's a minor flour war that sets off rounds of giggling and shrieking - more importantly it makes Danny cackle in a way she used to love and hasn't gotten to hear since they were teens.

It's exactly the same, and she missed it. Pure impish delight and mischief.

For as many things that are the same, there are ones that have changed.

Danny has a grace to him now that he didn't used to, and he moves near silently. He sways easily and elegantly to the music without thinking about it as they talk and make mischief with each other.

The oven and the adjusted thermostat make it much more comfortable in the apartment after a while, but Danny doesn't shed the pullover sweater he wears at any point. He didn't even roll the sleeves up to cook.

Come to think of it, when they entered high school he started doing that too. He wore long sleeves even in the summer - Sam tries not to think about abusive households or self harm. She hopes it's not that, but…

She puts the thoughts aside as well as she can.

Tucker had mentioned it before to her, but with all the grinning and laughing tonight Sam can see that he was right and Danny's teeth are sharper than she remembers. All four canine teeth are almost startlingly pointy.

She doesn't mention it. What she does mention is the apartment.

“This is a really nice place, Danny. You got a secret sugar daddy you haven't told us about?”

Tucker gapes at her and smacks her arm. Danny bluescreens for a moment before he snorts an ugly laugh and descends into near hysterics.

“Oh my God! Ancients, no! No, no sugar daddy. Just a well paying engineering gig lately, and some money I saved up before I left Amity. Holy shit, Sam.”

She shrugs, some tension she didn't know she was carrying leaving her shoulders. “Had to ask. Would have had a shovel talk to deliver.”

Danny starts laughing again, and Tucker groans and puts his head in his hands.

“I cannot believe you actually just asked him that,” Tucker moans.

“I can,” Danny responds with a chipper grin, Tucker's answering snort overlaid by the ding of the oven timer.

Danny knocks back the rest of his drink and waves in the vague direction of the living room area.

“I'll take this out and cut it. Go sit and we can eat it around the coffee table in case we want to watch a movie or something?”

The sitting area is spacious and comfortable, couches black leather. There's a heavy, fluffy white throw over the back of one that looks soft as all get out, but she and Tuck quickly decide to settle on the floor.

The coffee table is low enough that it's more convenient for reaching food and drinks set on it.

Tucker whistles appreciatively at the TV, so it must be a cutting edge new model. Fucking nerd.

Danny trots over not long after with two serving boards balanced precariously on one arm, his refilled sangria in one hand, the pitcher of sangria in the other and another beer held against his side by an awkward elbow.

Tucker and Sam both shoot to their feet to try and mitigate a disaster, but miraculously it all makes it to the table unharmed.

“It's almost like you guys don't trust me,” Danny pouts, his grin ruining it. “Careful, it's hot.”

“You are a perpetual accident waiting to happen,” Sam tells him scathingly, and he snorts with a peculiar look on his face.

“You don't know the half of it.”

As they all reach for slices of pizza, Danny takes them by surprise by taking a piece of Sam's, not Tucker's.

Tucker gapes at him. “Dude. Tell me you haven't betrayed me like that.”

Danny snorts, shoulders shaking with quiet chuckles. “Nah, I still eat meat. It's just sometimes I have spells where it kind of bothers me and I feel a little sick about it? I'm in one of those lately, but usually I'm still a huge burger and steak guy. Don't worry.”

“Huh. That's weird.”

Danny shrugs, taking a bite of his pizza despite his own warnings and cringing when it burns his mouth.

“Been like that since high school, actually. Used to be worse then,” he mumbles through his attempts to cool a mouthful of molten cheese.

Sam doesn't remember him ever having issues with it in middle school. She wonders what happened to change his outlook, but puts it aside. They're here to hang out and catch up. Have a good time. Not interrogate Danny.

They end up spending hours watching trashy TV and heckling the screen, making small talk and letting each other in on bits of their lives all the while. Everyone's well on their way to tipsy by the time they're done eating, though Danny a little more than Sam and Tuck.

He's loose-limbed and happy, sprawled across both of them in the haphazard pile they've ended up in. He seems incredibly content, and it does Sam's heart good to see him so relaxed.

She and Tucker are sitting with their backs against the couch, Danny's legs slung across Tucker's lap and head in Sam's. It's probably why he notices her shiver a little - it's still a little chilly in the apartment.

Lazily, he points up at the back of the couch. “You can pull that down and cover us if you want. It's really warm.”

Sam offers him a quiet thanks and reaches up to do just that, though she's startled to find that though the top is fluffy, the underside of what she'd thought was a throw is velvety and smooth. Like hide.

It's a real fur - hopefully ethically sourced. Decorated too, there are ornaments threaded into the corners and dangling that she can't pin the origin of. They're very pretty, shells and claws and beads.

As she pulls it down, she flips the edge up to peek at the underside and is startled to find the skin a distinct, familiar ectoplasmic green.

“Um. Danny. What kind of fur is this…?”

“Yeti,” Danny replies offhandedly, sipping his drink before freezing like the question and his own answer just caught up to him. “Uh.”

Masterpost

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[flowercrowngods]

it's yearning steddie get high with the others and make out about it hours (smut-ish)

Eddie hates being reminded that making promises to himself, and only himself, is pretty much useless if the only person holding him accountable to stick to his promise is one Eddie fucking Munson. Because that guy can’t be trusted. 

Especially not when it comes to Steve and his stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect dimples, his preppy fucking everything, and — perhaps most importantly — the breathy note his voice gets when the boy replaces his beautiful piece of brain with Eddie’s finest weed. 

Steve in all his sober glory is unbearable at best, sure, that’s old news. But high? When the pained frown he’s not even aware of until he complains about a headache smoothes out and the tension in his shoulders disappears? When his scars no longer pull at every movement and he can hold himself again in the way he used to before everything — broad movements with a clumsy little edge to them that have Eddie’s heartstrings play rope skipping with his sanity.

That. That’s it. That’s it for Eddie. 

And it’s no surprise that it’s also what leaves him helpless in the face of Nancy hopefully suggesting they get high again tomorrow night; all of them. Offering Eddie the chance at getting to see that tension fall away again, and that pale smile be replaced with an easy, genuine, lingering one — dreamy and so fucking pretty. 

Luring Eddie with the most beautiful insanity.

So he says yes, despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not after what happened last time. With Steve all the way up in his space, brushing his hair behind his ear with wonderment, trailing his hand down that lock until he forgot what he was going to say. What he was going to do. 

Forgetting, too, that Eddie was sober, because he wanted to watch Steve without getting caught — but Steve, all high and sweet and tactile, apparently decided to do the same. He looked. And touched. And smiled and breathed and stayed right there. Fingertips dancing around the frayed ends of Eddie’s hair.

Something shifted — first between them, then around them. And then between them again when Eddie stepped back and turned away, in desperate need of a cool drink to stave off the feeling of being caught, of being trapped, of being so fucking gone on the prettiest god-damn boy in all of Indiana. And of having said boy look at him like that. 

They shouldn’t get high again. They shouldn’t. 

But he knows it helps with the pain like their meds never do; he knows it helps Nance sleep better, breathe better, exist in this post-apocalyptic world that doesn’t even remember the apocalypse, whose only reminders lie in the scar tissue of some teenagers and some graves that nobody knows are empty. 

He knows that if he says no, they’ll find someone else to provide; and he doesn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit. 

So it’s not even the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile that gets him to agree, nodding at Nance with an easy smile, saying, “Sure, let’s do it.” 

But it is the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile, his breathy voice, his tactile nature that comes out even more when he’s high out of his mind like he knows he’s floating and needs someone to anchor him, and the memory of that stolen little moment, that makes Eddie curse himself to all hells once Nancy’s blooming smile is out of sight and he’s free of judgment to kick the kitchen counter beside him with a hearty curse. 

He can do it. He can. All he needs to do is not stay sober this time, take the edge off and get out of his head about all of this, because he’s actually far less likely to do anything stupid under the influence, and also not look at Steve All Eyes On Me Harrington. 

Easy. 

Right? 

Totally. 

Except, as it turns out, ignoring Steve is both easier and harder than Eddie expected. The thing is, he’s good at diving into any conversation with just about anyone, making it larger than it needs to be until everyone in the room will give him funny looks but still roll with it, because Eddie Munson is just Like That, right? 

But Steve doesn’t give him funny looks. Oh, they’re far from fun. There’s something in there that reminds Eddie of a kicked puppy in those fleeting moments that he lets his eyes meet Steve’s, never letting them linger, never letting them take him in and hold him and bask in the sunlight that is stored in those… Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. And that pretty, pretty face. 

A face that shouldn’t look so sad. 

He wants to ask what’s wrong, ask him if it’s a bad pain day, ask him if he didn’t sleep last night either, or if something happened. But how is he supposed to ask, to let any words come out of his mouth, when Steve just won’t look away. When he’s looking at Eddie like that again, when the little something that has shifted between them suddenly becomes massive enough to steal all the air away from his lungs and make his arms tingle in a way that he knows will only get better if he gets to wrap them around Steve. 

He can’t. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t look away either, and he knows he’s already lost. He knows he broke this promise he made to himself. 

But it’s fine, maybe, if the slight twitch in the corners of Steve’s lips is anything to go by. Like he, too, wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows Eddie is the same. Like his heart is racing, too, and he tried not to look but they’re so stupid and looked anyway and now they can’t— 

“Guys?” Robin interrupts their little moment, the bubble bursting with a loud snap of her fingers that makes Eddie physically flinch. 

He looks at her, spooked to shit and gasping because he does not do well with sudden loud noises or the impromptu bursting of bubbles — not after everything that happened. 

“Shit, sorry, oh my God!” Robin’s there immediately, reaching for his hand, Nancy laying hers on his shoulder, Jonathan making himself known with a gentle little, “You’re fine, man.” 

Eddie regains his footing and breathes away the panic, thinking that maybe getting high today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He hands Robin the baggie and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making himself a little smaller by muscle memory alone. 

Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades — reassuring and warm. Like a flower, Eddie rises to follow it. He catches Steve’s smile out of the corner of his eyes and wants to rest his face against it. Wants to feel it against his skin. Wants to feel it shift into something deeper. Something real. 

God, he’s so hopeless. 

Good thing that Robin’s got the blunt under control, because Eddie does not trust his hands right now. 

They grab the snacks and drinks and head outside to where Steve and Robin laid out pillows and blankets on the lawn, framed with dimly glowing white Christmas lights that Robin insists upon whenever they do this. Makes it feel a little less fucked up for her. Like we’re doing this because we want to, and not because we need it to sleep or to cope with the pain or whatever, you know? Put pretty lights anywhere, and it’s a choice. 

Eddie has to admit that she has a point there, but the truth is he’ll smoke anywhere, fairy lights or no. Although there’s something, a capital-s Something about watching Steve framed by a thousand little lights smoothing out the worry lines on that beautiful face and making him seem all the more angelic for it. 

Eddie actually called him angel once — the first time they did it like this. Made Steve smile like nothing else Eddie’s said to him since. Or anyone else for that matter. If he were any better at feeling the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he’d call him that again. Make him smile like that again. 

But the ground is shifting and air is always scarce these days, with Steve’s hands on his body so fleetingly, so accidentally leaving marks on scar tissue, making Eddie wish he could feel more of Steve’s warmth there. 

Making him wish he could ask. Touch me higher. Lower. Longer. Make it last. Make it count. Let me feel it, just for a second. Let me feel it where they didn’t steal chunks of my skin and my soul and, apparently, my sanity. 

Argyle is the first to spread out on the blankets with a hearty groan that leaves everyone with a fond smile, gathering around him in a semi circle of amusement. He makes grabby hands at Robin, or maybe at the unlit joints she’s safekeeping — but either way, she follows suit, cuddling up to Argyle and in turn making grabby hands at Steve, who does as he’s told and laughs in that gentle, melodic way that they so seldomly hear these days. 

Steve’s eyes fall on Eddie then, but a surge of worry and panic overcomes him, half expecting Steve to follow Robbie’s and Argyle’s example and reach for Eddie next. Or not reach for him. Either way, Eddie doesn’t want to find out, his heart beating in his chest at the endless possibilities stowed away in his overactive imagination. Instead of waiting for Steve’s next move, he sits down right here at the opposite end of the blanket, reaching for one of the pillows so he can hug it to his chest and have something to hold on to, just to keep his hands busy. 

“Just don’t crush the goods there, birdie,” he grins, watching Nancy and Johnathan find a place to sit, too. He scoots over to make room for them, moving further from Steve in the process and feeling the distance in his chest. It’s so stupid. Fucked up, really. 

“Oh, the goods are plenty safe, my dude,” Argyle says, earning himself a giggly groan from Robin that sounds a lot like, Gross!

Jonathan throws a pillow in Argyle’s face, which he deftly catches with just as salacious a grin. 

Eddie tunes them out for a moment as he catches Steve’s eyes boring into him. He cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head, silently asking him what’s up in way less magical a way than he has with Robin. 

He doesn’t really expect Steve to react in any way other than maybe a shrug or a brief, reassuring smile that really has no meaning other than, I’m fine, except for all the ways you know I’m not. 

But Steve doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t shrug. He keeps his eyes on Eddie and fucking pouts. Looks like he’s not even aware of it, his eyes a little glazed already, seeming far away. Far away and right here and looking so fucking sad about it. About the few feet between them and Eddie being all the way over there. 

It’s a bit like the moment they shared earlier, with Steve looking so sad and Eddie wanting to do something about it. He couldn’t then. But now… 

Eddie’s breath hitches a little as he mirrors Steve’s position, falling backwards and leaning on his elbows., never once dropping his eyes. Stretching out his legs until he can nudge Steve’s ankle with his foot. Watching as those eyes snap down to the briefest contact in surprise, watching as Steve looks caught. And watching, too, as his lips twitch and his foot slowly, incrementally moves closer to Eddie’s like he can’t help it. Like he needs to touch him. Always, always needs to touch him. 

And Eddie can feel it there, so he doesn’t move away. He wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and for Steve to do the same. He wants to breathe him in, wants to live in a Steve-filled world and feel welcomed in it. 

But he can’t. Because they’re not like that. And because this moment is not like that. And Steve is… Well, he is like that, he’s pretty sure. But maybe not for Eddie. Maybe not like that. 

Steve’s foot is warm against his, pristine white baseball socks so stark a contrast against Eddie’s;  threadbare and black, with more holes than fabric these days. He can’t really help the wave of embarrassment that washes over him, or the urge to pull back his feet and hide them in his shoes again. Sacrifice the warmth for safety.

But then Steve seems to notice just a second after Eddie does, and he smiles. Huffs a little with it, like it just bubbles out of him. Eddie wants to lean across the blanket and chase it. Chase the fondness and keep it there forever. 

And that’s another thing about Steve that is so very fucked up: he doesn’t let Eddie hide. He doesn’t let him trade warmth for security, because — smile in place — Steve slowly moves his feet along the side of Eddie’s like he’s playing fucking Connect the Dots with the holes in his socks. It’s ridiculous. 

It’s ridiculous, and Eddie is helpless. He’s so gone, a hundred percent. He’s so fucked up over that silly boy and the way he smiles at the most lamest of things. 

It’s not his fault that he leaves his feet where they are, the warmth of Steve’s slow, teasing touch shooting electricity up his legs that leaves him with goosebumps and a sudden case of uncomfortably tight jeans.

He’s glad there’s still a pillow in his lap. And he’s glad, too, that the night is dark enough, the fairy lights not bright enough, to reveal the flush rising to his cheeks as it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done stay like this. To have Steve looking at him like this. Eyes hooded and intense. Like he sees right through Eddie. Like he likes what he sees. 

With a dull click, Robin’s Zippo pulls him back to reality in what must be the gentlest of ways, and Eddie manages a smile as he watches her gently place the doobie between Steve’s lips before she lights it, one hand on his cheek. Their faces light up, leaving the rest of the world in the dark, and Eddie is struck with how good they are together. 

There’s something in the way she lights the joint for him, some kind of love language from the girl who burnt down the hell dimension below them and left it in ashes, and the boy who held her hand through it. 

She holds his eyes as the flame dies and something passes between them as Steve slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Takes that first hit. 

Eddie’s smile falters as he watches, the glowing cherry coming to life and lighting up Steve’s face, revealing that relaxed little smile on his lips as he holds it in for five, six, seven before exhaling  around it in a slow, drawn-out way. He blows it in Robin’s face like he always does, and Robin laughs and shoves him back, like she always does. 

And Eddie wants to trade her place. Like he always does. Eyes transfixed on Steve as he takes the next hit and pulls the joint from between his lips. Holding his breath again. And Eddie wants to be held like that. Wants to fill Steve’s lungs like that, wants to leave an aftertaste that is both sweeter and biting as he does to Steve what that first hit does to him. Leaving him all soft and gentle and so, so at ease, his eyes droopy and all those lines of pain and worry smoothed out by him. Eddie. On his lips. In his mouth. Fuck, anywhere, really. Everywhere. 

He follows Steve on his exhale, his head getting a little dizzy with the lack of air, but still he is slow to breathe in again. It feels strangely intimate, watching him like this. Watching as that tension falls away and he hums a little around the bud — relaxed and relieved and appreciative. It feels like they’re the only people left in this town, in this state, maybe in the whole world. 

Eddie wants to stay alone like this forever, chase Steve’s breath and wish it would hit his face like that, caress his cheeks until the air around them claims it and erases all traces of Steve; but not from Eddie’s skin. Never from his skin. 

But they’re not alone. And Steve opens his eyes. And Eddie is caught. 

Still he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as Steve blows out the smoke, sweet and earthy in the air between them as it slowly finds its way to him across the blanket. He imagines that he can feel it as the smell grows stronger, imagines the smoke to feel warm against his cheek as he breathes it all in, holding those hazel eyes in the dark that refuse to look away from him. 

It’s like that moment the other day in Steve’s kitchen when he was so close Eddie could smell all of him, frozen as he was, rooted to the spot — too scared to move and reveal himself, reveal all of himself, all the ugly truths and dreams. His wishes. His desires. 

Why do you keep looking? Eddie wants to ask. What are you looking to find? Am I just an experiment to you, are you looking at yourself through my eyes? Say something. Anything. 

But Steve doesn’t. He never does. Steve Harrington isn’t really the type to just say what’s on his mind, too used to Robin by his side to just read it all and react in her own way. Too used to Dustin, who’d do the talking for him. Too used to just letting his eyes, his arms, his posture convey his message. 

Too used to people knowing him. Getting a good read on him. But not Eddie, because Eddie never learned how to fucking read people like Steve Harrington cast in pretty light and relaxation. Angry, he can read him no problem. When he’s pissed, when he’s annoyed, when he’s sad. Tense. Worried. 

But not this. Never this. This intensity, this steady gaze resting only on him. He never looks at Robin like that, and he doesn’t fucking look at anyone else lately. 

It’s driving Eddie insane. 

It’s too much. 

He snaps when Steve passes the joint back to Robin, and sits up to pull his feet back to himself, covering them with his hands to pretend the warmth is still there. Frowns at the holes in his socks, feeling more exposed than ever. He curls in on himself a little, pretending to be very fascinated with a little thread that’s come loose in the blanket beneath him while the others hold casual conversation around him. 

This was a bad idea. He’s so fucked. 

Part of him debates if he should leave, if he should just call it a day and bid them goodnight. The other part of him wants to just close the distance between him and Steve and settle in beside him so the weight of that gaze won’t fucking wear him down any more. 

But knowing Steve, that wouldn’t work. 

Knowing Steve, nothing works. 

Feeling pathetic and small, Eddie lets himself fall to his side, hiding his face behind Nancy, whose hand comes to rest in his hair, combing through it just a little bit. Allowing him to collect himself. This isn’t new, and they don’t really question when Eddie just randomly lies down anywhere, or if he just stops talking all of a sudden. 

It’s why they do this, after all. No judgment. No questions. Just the sweet, sweet release of Mary Jane. 

It helps, having her hands in his hair like this, grounding him. It helps, finding no question or worry in her eyes as she looks down at him with a little smile — her way of including him in the conversation. He smiles back, just a little bit, and closes his eyes to better focus on her hand rather than the moment. She chuckles when he begins to purr, and then the smile stays a little longer. 

After a while, when she offers him the joint, Eddie shifts to lie on his back and gazes up to find the clouds have cleared and revealed the night sky behind them. It’s pretty, the summer sky, and he takes a long drag trying to think of nothing else. A hot wave of smoke hits his lungs, and it tickles a bit just like it always does, but the urge to cough it back out has been gone for years. These days, his lungs allow the warm embrace of the smoke and allow him to hold his breath as long as he wants, feeling a pleasant buzz after the fifth drag. It’s the good stuff after all. Munson’s Finest. 

He passes the joint back to Nancy, too comfortable to get up and pass it to anyone else, trusting her to do it without complaint. She does. She’s an angel like that. Puts her hand back in his hair and plays with his overgrown bangs a little while Eddie just stares up at the sky. 

Steve’s talking, but the words don’t really translate. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is enough for Eddie to sort of drift into a pleasant sphere of nothingness, his chest tightening a little with it. Always, always tight when he hears that voice. Like his heart has grown three times its size and his ribcage didn’t get the memo that Eddie Munson is hopelessly, helplessly, endlessly gone for a boy who refuses to look away. 

The thing is, Steve has always looked. Always. Even in the Upside Down. The first time, and the second. And then, the third. And Eddie wants it to mean something. Wants it to mean everything, or at least carry that possibility. 

But there’s no way to find out. There’s only him and the stars and Nancy Wheeler’s hand in his hair after his life took several wrong turns that left him with more scar tissue than skin these days, and the horrible realisation that, after the world ended and rebuilt, he can fall in love. That he can want. That he can have these cravings that he’d always heard everyone else talk about, wondering if that was just another layer of freak to him, or if he was simply Like That. 

They’re lonely realisations, he finds. Alienating, in a way. Because not only does he not know how to navigate Harrington, no, he’s a riddle even to himself right now. 

All he knows is that he wants to touch. To hold. To kiss. To crawl into him, on top of him, beneath him, and pull his own name from those lips in tiny little gasps that have nothing in common with the frantic gasps of panic after their first stint with the hell dimension. He wants a do-over. He wants a chance. A real fucking chance to have all these smiles, all these looks mean something. 

Arm outstretched, he reaches for the blunt again, taking it from whomever has it right now, aiming to shut off his brain a little more. Not to suppress it, but to shut it off. Even if that means he has to finish this thing. It’s fine. They have more. They always have more, because Jon and Argyle have an unreal fucking tolerance. 

With a chuckle, Nancy bypasses his hand and puts the joint between his lips and ignores his indignant hum. 

“Treat yourself”, she says, her voice wonderfully slow and lower in pitch. “I’ll be right back, yeah?” 

“‘Kay.” 

The warmth of her hand leaves his scalp, and with her body gone — getting up in way too swift a motion even for sober people — the night air seems a little colder. Eddie shivers a little, refusing to look at anyone, and just takes drag after drag, deciding he’ll finish this one. It’s his weed after all. 

By the sounds of it, Robin is already lighting the next one. Good girl. Smart girl. Best fucking girl in the whole wide world. 

Thick clouds of hot smoke waft through his lungs and all the way through his body up to his brain, leaving his arms and legs with a tingling feeling and his head with a pleasant buzz and tunes out most everything else around him. It’s great. It’s good. It’s wonderful. 

It’s why he doesn’t realise that the air is warm again and a body shielding him from everyone else until there’s a hand in his hair again. He opens his eyes to snark at Wheeler, but— 

It’s not Wheeler. It’s Steve. Knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top as he smiles down at Eddie. 

Neither of them says a word, but Eddie’s breath hitches. Stops, stutters. Just like his heart. And yet all he can do is stare up. Wonder if it’s real. Wonder if it’s real. 

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, fingers barely touching Eddie’s skin as he sort of plays with his hair. 

After a beat or two, Eddie nods, careful not to move too much. Careful not to chase those fingers and all the things they could mean. 

“Good.” 

And then Steve pulls the joint from between Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wants to warn him because this one’s close to the end and bound to be stronger, but it doesn’t seem to faze Steve as he just sucks in the smoke like it’s the first lungful of air he gets after a long day stuck inside. Smiling around the bud as it dies between his lips, he presses it into the grass beside him, extinguishing the last of it. 

He exhales, and Eddie can make out a tiny cloud of smoke against the night sky, watching as it wanders toward him. He waits for Steve to say something. There is what feels like intent in the movements of his hand, in the sudden appearance by his side, and in the way he— he fucking looks at him again. The sky is full of stars, the backyard full of fairy lights, and Steve Harrington is looking at him. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks at last, breaking the silence, wondering if his voice always sounds so small, so quiet, so endlessly tiny. Wondering if Steve even heard. 

But he did, because he smiles again. He did, because his hand stills. Touches Eddie’s skin. His scalp, his temple. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking from Eddie’s eyes to his own hand with something akin to wonder. Or marvel. 

And Eddie shivers again when that hand travels down. Caressing his cheek, definitely with intent. Electricity shoots through his body again, and the intensity in Steve’s eyes leaves him with goosebumps. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare. Barely even swallows as Steve bites his lip absently and moves on, trailing from Eddie’s cheek down to his... 

He’s touching his lips, and Eddie doesn’t breathe. Steve runs his forefinger along Eddie’s bottom lip, and in another world would he open his mouth and nip on his fingers or gasp at the touch and be better at this, be so much better at everything. But in this one, he lies motionless as Steve just fucking… explores. 

And his touch is so light, it’s so gentle, so sweet on the rough scar tissue, and yet so absent, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He could pull back his hands now and claim that Eddie had something there. He could pull back and live his life unchanged. Leave Eddie behind in this state of paralysis, changed irrevocably, and be safe. 

But that’s not what Steve does. 

Steve was never one to choose safety over bravery, and he has the scars to prove it now. The permanent stiffness of his back that barely lets him feel anything these days. The set in his jaw when he breathes through the pains phantom and real, the crease between his brows when the memory pains flare up. 

But his back is hunched in comfort now rather than in pain, and his shoulders are at ease. His lips are lightly ajar around a barely-there smile, and the skin between his eyes is smooth. Eddie wants to reach out and trace it, wants to caress it in the hopes that it’ll stay smooth forever. 

He’s so pretty. Golden light catching his skin in all the right ways, leaving him positively glowing with that look he gives Eddie. That look. 

Eddie’s never felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Laid bare, ready for dissection and willing to be taken apart in the hopes of letting him find what he wants and take it. Rip it right out of his chest. Now that he has Steve’s hand on his skin in the lightest of touches that’s anything but fleeting, he knows he would let him take anything he wants. Knows he would be helpless to stop him. 

Helpless in the face of that gaze that trails down to his lips now, if only to follow his fingers. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, barely moving his mouth at all around that single syllable. 

Golden hazel eyes flit back to his, and they widen a little. Like suddenly it’s Steve who’s caught. 

What are you doing? Eddie wants to ask. What are we doing? Don’t stop. Never stop. 

But words are for moments lighter than this one. Words are not meant for a world that’s changing. 

Maybe that is why Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tipping it up and turning his face toward him in a gesture so tender it’s almost possessive. Electricity shoots through Eddie again and the air between them is sizzling with it, sizzling because Steve is moving, shifting, dipping his head, his hand coming to rest on Eddie’s throat to keep him from moving away — except there is no force in his touch, and Eddie could still run. 

He could. He should, maybe. Like last time. 

But he is suspended in time, chained to the ground by the weight of Steve’s gaze and the hand on his throat, and his heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he is sure Steve can feel it. Imagines that those fingers move to find his pulse. Imagines that they find their home there, imagines that they hear the tales of stolen hearts and desires that leave his blood rushing. 

Imagines that Steve falters a little, hovering just above Eddie. Dreams of it all, dreams that this is real and that he can have this, just for tonight. He nods, and it’s a tiny little thing, far from enough to ruin this moment or wake him from his dream.

But then Steve captures his lips with such care that Eddie snaps back into his body and realises that this is no dream. Steve is kissing him. Hovers above him with one arm resting in the grass above Eddie’s head, his other hand pulling Eddie’s face towards himself and being oh so gentle about it. 

A whimper escapes him when this new reality settles inside his body, leaving him reeling and pulled towards a world of possibilities as those lips, those warm lips, rest so indulgently against his. 

No longer chained, Eddie carefully lifts a hand to Steve’s head, because Steve can feel him there, too, and because he doesn’t want this to end. Because he needs to touch. All night, all week, all this time he has needed to touch. To cradle. To hold. 

To keep. 

Steve hums, and those lips pull into a smile before closing around Eddie’s bottom lip. The first touch of Steve’s tongue has jolts of electricity and arousal zinging through Eddie’s body again, lingering this time and making a home in his legs that begin to tingle with want. 

Eddie opens his mouth, tilting his head a little to get a better angle, and is rewarded with the careful, addictive touch of Steve’s tongue against his. It makes Steve smile again, just for a second — but long enough to make Eddie’s heart jump. 

He chases those lips when they pull back, capturing them with a little hum as he realises he comes more and more unchained, regaining feeling and control over his body, his mind, his scared little heart. Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pushing Eddie’s head down into the grass again with an urgency that Eddie is beginning to understand matches the hunger he’s feeling. 

The hunger that is reserved only for Steve. It leaves him breathless, leaves him with the sudden need to gasp for air, but then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth again and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe ever again. 

He loses himself in the wet slide of their tongues that feels so sensual it’s almost obscene, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair and keep him right where he is while Eddie himself lies boneless, all the blood rushing down, down, down. Every nip of Steve’s teeth as he devours Eddie so entirely and yet so innocently, so sweetly, so carefully, and every time he sucks on his lips or his tongue results in another wave of intense arousal. And Eddie is stuck in the riptide of it. 

It doesn’t take long for the first moan to break the silence, a gasped little thing, almost like an afterthought, and he’s not sure if that was him or Steve; but he doesn’t really care either way, because he’s so hard, he feels like he can come from just Steve sucking on his tongue alone. 

And isn’t that an enticing thought. 

“Steve,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, or if that’s really all he needs to say. All that’s left to say. Steve, Steve, Steve. 

The only response he gets is a breathy little, “Fuck,” and it sounds like a revelation. Like an epiphany. And Eddie wants to hear it again, wants to swallow all the little noises and murmurs and everything Steve will give him. 

“You’re so—“ Steve begins, interrupting himself with another deep, hungry kiss. “Fuck. You’re…” 

“Yeah?” Eddie counters, breaking the kiss by pulling on Steve’s hair a little. “I’m what?” 

Steve hesitates, panting breaths dancing over Eddie’s skin and he smells so fucking good. Eddie wants to lick the aftershave and perfume and sweat off his neck and keep the taste on his tongue for days. Dark, blown eyes wander over his face, and the hand that was on his throat comes up to rest on his cheek again in a gesture so gentle that it almost gives him whiplash. The hunger is gone — or, not gone, but unimportant now. 

Steve smiles, hazy but genuine and so, so sweet, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s no doubt swollen lips. 

“Been wanting to do that forever.” 

Eddie’s heart jumps, falters, falls. Just a little. Just the rest of the way. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna kiss you forever.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie breathes, voice barely there because his breath has well and truly been taken away, and this moment feels so fragile. So easily broken by quick movements or thoughts that are just a little too loud, just a little too soon. “‘M not gonna stop you.” 

Steve’s eyes snap back to his, and there’s something in there that not even the weed could ease away. “Yeah?” 

Eddie nods, frowning a little, wondering what makes him so unsure. 

“Cool,” Steve says, and it’s almost nonchalant and definitely charming in that way he always is. Makes Eddie laugh a little, his other hand coming up to wipe a strand hair out of his eyes. “So…” He trails off. 

“Hmm?” 

“Wanna stay here? Or go inside, or…” 

And then it’s not arousal that overcomes him but worry. And guilt. And a bit of fear, because that’s not what this is for him. Not like this. Not when they’re high, not for the first time. 

He swallows, schooling his face to cooperate and not give it all away right now, not give away how helplessly gone he is for that boy and how he would do anything Steve wants, how he would take anything he can get and try to make it be enough. But instead of choosing the easy thing and betraying himself, he moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his cheek, melting at the way Steve leans into it, moving his face to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm. 

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is shaky again. And small. So, so small. “That’s not what this is for me. I don’t… I wanna kiss you forever. And more. Much more. But not… I don’t—“ 

“Not while we’re high? Inebriated?” He says the word with a chuckle, referencing the way Robin will always use big words when she’s hammered. There’s a gentle sort of understanding on his face after the chuckle, though, and Eddie melts a little again. “Wanna do it right, hmm? Wanna treat me right and make sure I won’t regret it, angel?” 

Eddie whimpers at the sudden use of that nickname, because he’s not, but he does. He didn’t realise until Steve said it how scared he was — is — that Steve will regret this. The kiss. And anything that might follow. 

Not trusting his words right now, he can only nod, wondering if his eyes are as blown as Steve’s are. If Steve thinks he’s pretty, too. 

“God, you’re unreal,” Steve whispers, coming down again to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead, brushing them down to the tip of his nose. He leans into those kisses, tips his chin up to chase it, but Steve pulls away again, his thumb tracing the pout he leaves behind on Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie grumbles, watching the delight on Steve’s face and deciding that he’s addicted now. Fuck the weed, fuck everything else. Steve can get him just as high. 

Along with that thought, reality works its tendrils into Eddie’s consciousness again, and he looks around the backyard around them — but there’s only him and Steve out here on the blanket, framed as they are by the fairy lights. 

“Hang on, where are the others?”

Steve huffs, his face shifting into an expression of fond amusement and gentle annoyance. “Last time I checked, Robin and Argyle were raiding the fridge, Nancy was lying on the living room carpet, marvelling at how soft it is, and Jonathan was just kinda spaced out on the couch with a bowl of chips. Don’t think they’re gonna come out here again in the next half hour or so.” 

“How convenient,” Eddie grins, wondering just how obvious the two of them had been all this time. Wondering, too, if it can really be that easy. If he can have this. If they can; after everything they went through.

“Hmm,” Steve hums, his body shifting so he’s half lying on top of Eddie now, positively vanishing any and all thoughts Eddie could have spared anyone else. He would worry about the hard-on he’s sporting, but it becomes obvious very quickly that Steve has the same predicament. It’s enticing, feeling him against his thigh like that, and Eddie has half a mind to do something about that, especially when Steve keeps shifting against him. “So. Do you wanna make out some more before we light the next baggie? It’s fine if not. We can just… I don’t know, cuddle or something.” 

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling on his hair a little bit to underline his deadpan. “What about I wanna kiss you forever was unclear?” 

“Hey, I said that first,” Steve retorts, digging his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making Eddie squeal and squirm right into his arms. “I also kissed you first,” he continues, sounding so damn smug about it. Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. “So I’m winning.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Steve all the way on top of him, his hands finding his way to those magnificent thighs, so firm underneath his grip. “‘M feeling pretty lucky right now.” 

“You think you’re so smooth,” Steve hums, dipping his head to hover just above his lips. 

“Is it working?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

They’re both laughing when their lips meet again, but that doesn’t deter them from kissing and tasting and swallowing moans like they’ll find new purpose in each other. Like they’ve already found it. 

Just like Steve’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together and pressing him further into the grass. Eddie holds on tight, not ready to let him go anytime soon, and marvelling at how sensitive his hand has become. 

There is no urgency in the way Steve slowly begins to move against him, grinding their crotches together in slow, sensual motion like waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. Eddie meets him right where they both need it most, not once breaking their kiss even when it becomes open-mouthed panting and moaning that the other is trying to chase and swallow and keep only for himself. 

“You feel so good,” Steve rumbles, catching Eddie’s tongue between his teeth and pulling a high-pitched whimper from him. “So fucking good, Eddie.” 

“Don’t stop, Stevie, fuck.” He’s panting, his legs tingling with want and need and a weightlessness he’s never known before. “I know I said— We can stop. We can stop, we can, but— fuck, I’m close.” 

“Yeah?” Steve taunts, and oh, there’s purpose now in the the way he’s lifting his chest off Eddie, putting his weight behind the way he’s grinding into him. “You gonna come in your pants, baby? While the others are still inside? Means you’re gonna do this with me again later, right? Try again when we’re not high, hmm?”

“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, working his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to keep him from stopping. “God, yes, I wanna—“ 

“I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing the words right out of his brain, chasing his own pleasure, too. “God, you’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, Eddie. Wanna come with me?” 

“Uh-huh,” Eddie can only nod and moan around all the words he wants to say, all those cheesy fucking words that leave him all the more vulnerable for how true they are. The tingly feeling builds in his legs, climbing to his core, and he wonders for a split second if Steve can really make him come like this — worries that somehow it’s not enough and that he’ll ruin this, that he’ll fuck it up and make it awkward between them because he doesn’t actually have any idea how his body works when someone else is taking the reins. 

But then Steve kisses him like that again, sucking his tongue into his mouth, holding his hand and groaning when Eddie moves in just the right way, and the sizzling pleasure finally finds its release. 

Eddie comes with a broken groan that Steve swallows greedily, panting into his mouth as, shortly after, his hips begin to stutter in their movements and he follows Eddie off the brink of this beautiful madness. Steve was always beautiful, there’s no question about that. But like this, face slack, kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips open around a silent moan as he grinds his trapped cock against Eddie’s, wrecked with aftershocks as his orgasm washes over him? He’s a fucking revelation that makes Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, over sensitive as he is  and yet so helpless against Steve’s aborted little motions. 

Getting high on weed doesn’t compare to getting high on Steve. It’s a high Eddie wants to chase forever, and he starts by wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him down onto his chest again, just to hold him. Steve purrs as Eddie’s hand finds its way into his hair, combing it away from the sweaty skin it sticks to. He cages him with his legs, too, tingly as they remain on either side of Steve’s body. 

It’s stupid, maybe, and a bit much, but he wants to keep Steve like this for a little longer. Putty in his hands, his weight on top of him grounding him after that high, and allowing them both to come down slowly. 

“Man,” Steve says after a while, just letting that word hang in the air as he regains conscious thought. 

Eddie hums, prompting him to say what’s on his mind even though he’s scared he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Still, it’s only fair to let Steve say what he wants. 

“I like you so much.” 

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the but. For the regret. But none follows. That’s really all Steve’s saying; and soon Eddie can’t fight the wave of giddiness that overcomes him. 

He hugs Steve a little tighter, not entirely ready yet to look him in the eyes and face this new reality they’ve kind of just created, needing to be a little scared for just a bit longer. But still he laughs, because scared is no longer all he’s feeling. There’s so much more now. So much more. 

“I like you so much right back.” 

Now it’s Steve who hums, shifting to lift his head and look at Eddie, but Eddie closes his eyes before Steve can catch them. 

“Said it first again.” A hand lands on his cheek again, just above the ugly scars that Steve doesn’t seem afraid to touch. “So I win.” 

And Eddie is looking now. Dares. If only to drive his point home when he says, “God, you’re so fucking lame.” 

“Is it working?” Steve grins, and Eddie never stood a fucking chance. 

“Unfortunately.” 

@izzy2210 here you go darling hehehe 🤍

[devoutekuna]

Family bonding

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

Sukuna never brings his child around his followers, finding them unworthy to grace their eyes upon his offspring. Sat in a vacant room, laid out on the floor as he watched his followers trying to entrain him, dancing around, telling stories or jokes. Nothing could suffice him, a pile of heads adorning the corner of the room, yet to become of everyone. Small giggles being heard from the slightly open door, pink hair sticking out from beside it as he looked at it, hands working magic as he sliced their head off, ushering for the next person. Door slashed open just like those people, leaving wooden remains all around. "Show yourself" crimson eyes peering out from the last standing part of the door. A smile glistening on her face, flashing her canines at him. "Papa!" Running towards the king. A smirk on his face as he felt his daughter's embrace, staring at the one servant who raised their head just for it to be cut off, leaving no witnesses to the matter.

"Next!" Motioning for the next person to come in, only to receive the news that there was nobody left, leaving a pile of corpses in the corner of the room, blood seeping towards him.

Gojo-

"Won't mummy be mad?" Sat in his father's arms as he fought a curse, using his infinity to block all the attacks, still flinching from the idea of them getting through. "Not if she doesn't know" grinning at the little boy, he loved to mess with you, hearing you scold him was some of his favourite highlights. "But still" covering his head in his father's shoulder, white hair rubbing against his neck. "If you're that scared we can go home" exorcising the curse as he looked away, making sure not leave a mess and just use the excuse that it ran away. Kicking his leg into his chest on accident. "No!" Smiling at how much his son wanted to spend time with him.

Nanami-

"If your going to stay in here, help me out" trying to declutter his office. Taking down a box full of files, throwing them onto the sofa since he knew that they were no used to him. Reaching for the next one as he noticed a small pair of hands reaching towards him first. "To me" on her toes as she reached for it, wanting to be helpful like she said. "Don't drop it sweetheart." Handing her the box, noticing how she reacted by lowering her body, waddling over to the sofa since the box was too big for her. "Ooo, what's this daddy?" Pulling out a memory box you two made when you reached your 10 year anniversary. Ripping the box open before he could even get a good look at what she was talking about. Ripping the box from her arms, not knowing what she would discover if she opened it up. "Awh" folding her arms over her chest, trying to act cute to get it back. "Let's leave this up here" straining his arms as he put it back up.

Geto-

He's rambling on about his stupid followers, talking about how useless and belittling them, cup in hand as he took a few sips of the drink before he carried down talking. "Here you go daddy" running up to him with a new glass of milk, having it come out of the microwave, it was warm, but still a little cold. Ripping the other cup from his hands, running back to the kitchen to hand it you. "Thank you sweetheart" smiling at the girl as she seated herself next to him, leaning her body onto his.listening to whatever he had to say despite not understanding the meaning behind it at all. "And then they have the nerve to say something about my actions!" Maybe he was drunk with the way he was acting. Small hands leaning over to grab the felt tips, refusing to get out of her comfortable position only for her father to step in and pass them to her, stroking her hair in the process.

Toji-

"Keep up" strolling in the park, he would've kept his normal quick pace but he had his daughter with him, both dressed up in pyjamas as they walked through the park. He was only here because the lines for the food truck were shorter at nighttime. Nightie swaying in the wind despite her coat. "Wait up daddy!" Running up to him to try and grab his hand, only to grab his fingers because she was too short. Picking the girl up as he sped up, wanting to get back before you woke up since he knew you would scold him.

Sat on the bench eating some ice-cream, it was a quick stop by to the shop before they made it to the food truck since she was so hungry. Wiping the ice-cream off her nose with the spare tissue he had. "We've got to go before your ma' wakes up"

[canthelpit0]

Come through

Pairing: Cocky!Player!Chris x Reader

Word count: 4.5k+

Summary: chris hand always been a player. Would that change once he becomes famous? -no.

Warnings: smut, player!Chris, influencer!Reader, party, mentions of drinking/tobacco/weed, pet names (ma, pretty boy, pretty lady, sweetheart, etc.), bathroom sex, semi public, oral m!receiving, fingering, p in v (protected), praise kink, swearing, no use of y/n, no oc, written in 2nd pov

(A/N: English is not my first language, and I always appreciate feedback enjoy! love y'all. this is heavily inspired by come through, the song.)

Chris had always been sort of a fuckboy.

And with his growing fame it wasn’t getting any better.

Chris has a huge ego. Sure people would always say him and his brothers are nice and humble, but that doesn’t mean Chris can’t be cocky at times.

He didn’t drink. He was underage, though in LA nobody really cared about that anyway. He just didn’t like drinking.

Chris and his brothers would always be invited to some random LA parties.

At first Chris never wanted to go. He didn’t like partying. He didn’t like the smell of alcohol, tobacco and weed.

However he soon came to realize that his looks and fame would get girls swooning over him.

He was being a player and he knew it. However none of the girls he’s ever been with complained.

He made sure they know that it would be a one night stand, and that he doesn’t date. And it worked for him.

★ ★ ★

You were an upcoming YouTuber and influencer. You were starting to gain more and more followers. People were starting to notice you more

You were known for your humor and your witty comebacks.

And as much as you would like to deny it, People didn’t just loved you for your personality, but they also loved your body.

You were gorgeous, To put it lightly.

So obviously when Chris saw you on his for you page a week ago, picking out an outfit to put on for some place you were going to that day, he thought you were hot.

Not that he’d do anything about it.

He wasn’t the type of guy to slide into someone’s dm’s. Because quite frankly he didn’t care that much.

★ ★ ★

But when he saw you at the party he was attending tho…

You’d been carelessly dancing. You weren’t drinking, even tho you were 21. You didn’t want to drink today. You wanted to have sober fun and hang out with your friends.

Your friends always did and said the craziest things when drunk. And watching it as the sober designated driver was hilarious.

You feel big hands being placed on your waist delicately.

You turn around to see who it was and to your surprise it was one of the sturniolo triplets.

Chris.

He’s bold for just touching you like that. But for some reason it was hot. Maybe it was just the air laced in weed that was getting to you, but you were enjoying this.

So you simply dance with him.

After a while you both leave the middle of the crowd going to the kitchen to talk. The kitchen being way less crowded than the living room of this house party.

“You’re bold.” You chuckle pointing out watching as his expression morphed into one of amusement and lust as he checks you out.

“Couldn’t help myself ma”

“Sure you couldn’t, pretty boy” you chuckle rolling your eyes at the statement.

Chris, to the public was known to be a sweetheart. But in LA, around other influencers he was known to have quite frequent hook ups. And he was known to never leave any of the girls not satisfied.

You, having moved to LA recently for your career, have heard all about it. People were ‘warning’ you, but no one was outright telling you it was a stupid idea. Because was it tho?

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing here anyway?” His goofy grin is wide as he stares back into your eyes.

His eyes are a light shade of blue, but in the lights of the party and his blown out pupils they look dark. His brown hair long, and a mess.

After people had told you about him and his brothers (And particularly Chris’ reputation), you had searched them up and watched a few of their videos. They were quite funny.

And Chris in particular seemed to not be able to take anything seriously.

“Nothing, just having fun.”

You shrug taking a sip from your red solo cup. It was filled with plain water. Chris raised an eyebrow at that.

“You’re not drinking?” He can’t help the small laugh he lets out at that. Tho he is secretly glad you’re not. This was his chance to get you in bed, but he wasn’t going to do anything with a drunk girl.

“No,” you chuckle back. “Designated driver” you raise your free hand in surrender as if it was a crime.

He chuckles at your antics his eyes trailing over your face over to your body once more.

“Eyes up here sweetheart.”

His eyes snap back to yours his goofy grin staying right where it was.

“Sorry ma, you’re just really distracting.” He smiles looking down at you.

You weren’t that much shorter than him. But granted you were wearing high heels. He wasn’t even that tall himself though.

You were wearing a tiny mini dress. One that ends right below your ass. Your cleavage being low giving him a great view of your boobs.

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You tease. You take a step closer to him, stepping into his personal space as you tilt your head up to look at him better.

His hand goes to the side of your jaw rubbing his thumb over your cheek gently as if asking for consent. You wrap your arm Around his neck pulling him down connecting your lips.

The sweet kiss turns more heated when his hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck. His other hand holding you by the small of your back keeping your body flush against himself.

His tongue graces your lips asking for entrance with you eagerly give, parting your mouth slightly so he can slip his tongue into your mouth.

You make out, your tongues tangling in each other as you simply kiss for a moment.

His tongue hungrily exploring your mouth. He leans into you more tilting your head back more, kissing you with all the lust in his body. Kissing you Like he wants to devour you.

You eventually pull apart to breath. His lips immediately meeting your jawline. He kisses down your jawline moving down to your neck to your collarbone.

“Damn you smell amazing.” He breaths out. His voice strained from the previous kiss.

“Thank you” you chuckle your hand finding its way into his messy waves. You scratch his scalp with your freshly manicured nails causing him to let out a low groan.

He pulls back slightly. He leaves a quick peck on your lips before looking at you again.

“How about we go somewhere.” His voice low and raspy. Laced with the attraction and lust he feels for you.

You just hum. He starts to drag you back through the living room, through the crowd of people. Getting to some random bathroom. He opens the door and lets you walk in first.

You immediately stand in front of the mirror, leaning over slightly to fix your hair.

He closes and locks the door behind himself. He stands behind you watching you through the mirror. You make eye contact. In this new lighting his eyes seem clearer.

He stares into your soul as you push back from the sink.

You swiftly turn around and sink to your knees in front of him.

Chris would’ve never asked. But wich guy doesn’t like head.

“So eager” he chuckles. His hand goes to the top of your head petting it gently. Before he picks up your chin, making you look up at him again.

Your head is tilted back as you look up at him through your lashes. you know he’s probably had countless woman in this same position. But it never got old for him.

And he liked seeing you like the is anyway

“You look so pretty like this you know.” He mumbles before leaning down and leaving a heated kiss on your lips.

He stands back up straight, and you can’t help the way your eyes trail to his crotch. It was right in front of your face and you were getting impatient.

Before you know it your hands go to the top of his jeans, tugging on them gently. You were asking for permission without asking.

He chuckles at your eagerness, undoing his belt, then unbuttoning the jeans and letting you slide them down.

You can already see his huge erection through his boxers. Your mouth was already watering at the sight.

You pull down his boxers fast. His length springing free, hitting his abdomen.

You flinch back slightly. You look at his length with an eyebrow raised not doing anything for a moment just admiring.

You’ve never seen a dick be this pretty. It had a thick vain running up the side. It was long, at least a good 8 inches. It was thick, not too thick, but enough that you knew the stretch would burn.

“You good?” He asks. He was clearly holding in a laugh. His hand goes to your hair, still just patting the top of your head.

“You’re sure you’re white?” You tease one hand cupping his member as you start to gently and slowly jerk him off.

“Definitely, sweetheart” he chuckles rolling his eyes at the comment. People always asked about it. Wich is fine since most people weren’t used to his size. the constant questioning was so annoying sometimes.

But the way you teased him with that sentence was just too good.

His red tip is already leaking pre cum. He eagerly waits for you to start. You press a small peck on it, while looking up at him your eyes staying locked on his.

You start to kitten lick the tip. You watch as he lets out a slightly shaky sigh at the contact.

“C’mon ma, don’t tease.”

You pull away slightly chuckling at the statement. You teasingly blow air on it, watching as he shivers. But before he can start complaining about your teasing you take his entire tip in your mouth swirling your tongue around it.

“Yeah, like that.” He sighs softly. He rubs your cheek with the back of his hand as you hollow out your cheeks to give him more pleasure.

His hand moves to my hair taking it and putting it in a makeshift ponytail. You start to take him as deep as you could, starting to slowly bob your head. Sucking and swirling your tongue. You take him as deep as you can jerking off what you can’t fit with your manicured hand.

The sounded coming from it are sinful, and so are his low moans and grunts.

When you hear his soft grunts turn into moans you can tell he’s getting close. You pull off with a pop. You stroke him gently, and then teasingly lick a stripe up his shaft.

“You like that?” You tease licking at it. He groans in annoyance. He thrusts his hips back to get more friction from your hand.

“Please keep going.”

You lick your lips briefly watching him. His eyes meet yours. You chuckle starting to suck him off again. This time you do it more vigorously and faster than before. His dick repeatedly hitting the back of your throat as you slightly gag around it.

Chris’ grip in your hair tightens as he starts to tug in it. He holds you in place stopping your movements as he starts to harshly thrust in and out of your mouth.

The sounds of your moans send sensations of pleasure through him. Every sinful sound echos through the small bathroom, making the music outside sound non existent to you two.

His cock is repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water at the harsh feeling. You try to gag as little as possible.

“Fucking- swallow ‘aight” he breaths out harshly. You hum as best as you could. The sensation tingles through his spine. And with a last thrust you feel his cum pore down your throat. You try your best to swallow as much as you could.

He gently pulls out. His thumb rubbing the corner of your lips where some of it had leaked.

He puts his thumb on your plump and swollen lips. And without a secound thought you suck on his thumb. You blink away the tears that’d been forming.

The sight is enough to have him going all over again.

His grip on your hair had loosened, but he still pulls you up by it gently.

He turns you around, so that you’re facing the mirror your hands on the sink. Your ass presented to him.

His eyes meet yours through the mirror once more. Seemingly asking for consent, to wich you nod.

His hand starts to trail over the side of your thigh slightly under your short dress.

“Words baby”

“Yes Chris- please” you waste no time asking him. You want him to touch you where you crave him the most.

“Gonna be a good little slut now?” He teases. His eyes stay locked on yours through the mirror.

“Mhm” you mumble watching him. You feel him start to pull up your dress. He bunches it up right over your ass.

His fingers go to trail over your slick wet folds. Chris pushes the lacy thong to the side. He rubs his fingers briefly over your clit, before going to tease your cunt.

“Words, sweetheart.” He repeats, his eyes staying locked on yours. He had no problem teasing you until you comply.

“Yes-“ you get cut off by a Moan. When he slams two of his long fingers into you.

Your body jolts forward, your thighs hitting the cold sink. You grimace at the feeling.

“Wow, so sensitive?” He teases leaning over again to leave a quick peck behind your ear.

He starts to plunge his fingers in and out of your cunt. He roughly fingers you, his long fingers curl just right to hit your sweet spot.

You let out a breathless moan letting your head fall forward. You were leaning on your arms for support.

You feel his big hand wrap around your throat as he pulls you back up. “Now, now, baby watch yourself.” He teases.

“Keep those pretty eyes on me” he taunts. You flutter your eyes open. You feel his fingering get rougher as you can feel your climax rapidly approaching. You’re tempted to close your eyes again, but you’re sure Chris would edge you or something.

So you try your best to keep them open and staring at his face.

“Good girl. Yeah. Just like that.” He praises. His low words sending tingles to your core. You can practically feel yourself get wetter at how words and the sound of his voice alone.

Your wetness is loud. The lewd sounds bounce off of the bathroom walls. That along with your sweet low moans, while you try to keep yourself together.

“You like my praise honey?” He asks in a sweet tone. His words sound so innocent. Unlike the very things he’s doing to you right now.

“Yes- god” you whine, this time not hesitating to answer.

He chuckles at your eagerness speeding up his pace to give you your release. His fingers curl at just the right spots, reaching places you couldn’t reach by yourself.

“I’m close-“

“I know.” Chris grins keeping his eyes on yours through the mirror. His hand moves higher from your neck to your jaw, cupping your face roughly.

He turns your head to face him. He roughly crashes his lips onto yours. You try hard to focus on the kiss, but the way he finger fucks you has you weak in the knees. The kiss is sloppy and messy. His tongue explores your mouth as you try hard to focus.

You whine loudly. His lips catching the moan as he only picks up pace even more. He gets the hint that you’re close. And before you know it, you’re coming around his fingers.

He lets go of your face. You lean further on your arms. Your Hands harshly gripping onto the sink. You let your head fall forward as you pant harshly.

He gently pulls out his fingers. His eyes focused on the way you’re throbbing around nothing.

He sucks his fingers clean humming at the taste of your cunt on them. “Did so well for me ma” he hums reassuringly, pressing a sweet kiss on your neck.

“You think you can take another, sweet girl?” He says softly.

“Please.” Your breath out your voice shaky. You pick up your head looking at him through the mirror again.

He leans down briefly to his jeans that were still pooling down at his feet.

Chris puts his hand on your hip His eyes locking with yours through the mirror. He holds out a condom with one hand. He leans over you to leave a quick peck on your shoulder.

“I’m clean” you raise an eyebrow at him through the mirror. He doesn’t respond. “And I’m on birth control..” you trail off watching him.

He grins letting out a low laugh that seems to vibrate through his entire chest.

He presses his chest up against your back as his arm wraps around your torso. He leaves another kiss on your shoulder, trailing it up to your neck and right under your ear.

“I’m not taking any chances ma”

His voice is low and seductive. The tone sending vibrations right to your core.

“Fine for me” you shrug as you watch him lean back. His eyes lock on your ass. He licks his lips.

Chris roughly rips open the condom package with his teeth. Rolling the condom over himself fast. He was eager to get into you as fast as possible.

He hums in response, caressing your ass gently, his other hand guiding his dick through your soaked folds.

He gently starts to push into you. Letting you take the tip first. Once he feels you relax he rams in the rest of his cock.

You let out another breathless moan at the impact. Chris doesn’t move right away tho, he wants to make it last as long as possible.

“Good” he praises lowly rubbing your hips soothingly. Your body was tense, and he was waiting for you to adjust just a little bit.

You let out a shaky sigh pushing yourself back on him. He takes the hint that he can move now.

So before you realize it, he’s relentlessly pounding into you. You let out a squealed moan at the sudden intense feeling of his movements.

“Oh- fuck-“

He chuckles, and suddenly you feel a harsh slap on your butt. You wince at the harshness. Chris’ hand goes to knead your ass, easing out the pain.

His other hand trails from your waist to the small of your back to arch it more, consequently pushing you closer to the sink.

You lean over the sink. You try hard to keep your head up and look at him. But with the way he is hitting every spot inside of you, it’s hard for you to focus right now.

Chris notices the struggle. One of his hands trail from your hip, up your back teasingly. Before he grabs your hair roughly, putting it in a makeshift ponytail.

“Does the pretty girl like getting her hair pulled like a slut?”

The way he tugs on your hair, the way his sharp eyes trail over your body , and then lock on your eyes through the mirror. It’s all so hot to you.

You let out a shaky breath between Moans. “Yes-“ before you can say anything more you feel him tug harder on your hair And his thrusts becoming harsher.

His eyes train back onto your ass And the way it looks when he thrusts into you. The way his cock disappears in your wet cunt. It’s so captivating to watch for him. He could stare at that sight for hours.

“Gorgeous girl wants to get fucked like this?” He questions teasingly. Another harsh slap echos through the bathroom, But it feels so euphoric.

Your eyes close momentarily at the feeling. Before you feel him rub your ass again. Chris tugs on your hair again, to wich you open your eyes.

“Keep your eyes open and watch me fuck you”

Chris’ words are harsh. He is being dead serious. His breaths sharp and his tone laced with lust.

You only let out a mumble to wich he pulls on your hair harsher. And another smack echos through the room. You jolt forward again at the sudden impact, but this time he doesn’t ease the pain away. Instead his pace gets even rougher.

The sound of skin clapping, and the lewd sounds of your soaked cunt are loud, Creating a sinful melody.

“Touch yourself ma.” He huffs out harshly keeping up the pace. Chris keeps his fingers tangled in your hair pulling on it. While his other hand stays firmly on your hip. The harshness at wich he is holding onto you would be enough to leave bruises.

Without thinking you reach one hand down starting to rub your clit furiously, chasing your own high.

“Close” you moan as you keep repeatedly rubbing your clit. And the way Chris’ cock is hitting your cervix only intensifies the feeling.

“Come around me baby” you’ve been pulsing around him all this time. You were already squeezing him so tight. What he wouldn’t give right now to just feel your cunt squeeze him while you come.

So he keeps going. Until you let out a loud whine. You close your legs as best as you could and You clench around Chris harshly.

Chris keeps up pace. His eyes locking to your ass. Watching the way his cock disappears into you over and over. Watching the way the condom he’s wearing is covered in your slik wetness.

What he wouldn’t give to just raw dog it and feel your cum on his bare dick right now. He was tempted to actually just take off the condom to see and feel this without one.

Chris’ thrusts become more messy. But his pace doesn’t let up. Until his hips stutter and he lets out a breathless moan burying himself into you one last time.

His jaw is dropped. He moves his hand from your hip, instead wrapping that arm around your waist, holding you close. He leans over your back keeping himself inside for a moment. Chris burries his face in the crook of your neck. You both breathe heavily at your previous orgasms.

His hand in your hairs loosens. Until he fully lets go. His hand rubbing your scalp since he’d been pulling on it relentlessly.

“Did so good for me ma” he mumbles. His face stays buried in your neck for a moment.

You place your hand back on the sink again, trying to catch your breath and steady yourself.

You’d just fucked a random influencer. Some random player. But, god, was that worth it. No wonder none of his one night stands ever complained. That was fucking amazing.

You just mumble out a quick agreement.

He stands up straight. Gently pulling out as to not hurt you or anything. He takes off the condom.

But while he gets rid of it you don’t even pay attention to him. You look at yourself in the mirror. As much as you want to regret it, you can’t.

You pull your thong back into place and pull your mini dress back down.

You examine your face. Your hair was messy from the pulling, and your make up was only slightly smudged. You’d almost cried while deepthroating him, but you luckily hadn’t. Tho your mascara was still slightly smudged.

You could feel your cunt still ache.

You can see Chris pull up his pants from the corner of the mirror. And then fasten his belt back.

“You okay?” Chris asks his arms wrapping a round you. He looks at you through the mirror . His expression is soft and more caring than you’d expect. Most guys would’ve left by now.

“Mhm.” You mumble watching his expression through the mirror. He narrows his eyes at you.

“Do you regret it?” He asks softly. His tone sweet, like he is talking about something normal.

You purse your lips trying to hold back a smile. The fact that he cared to ask if you regret it or not. Everyone told you he’s a fuck boy, and that is motto is literally ‘hit and quit’. But why was he being nice then?

“No” you speak. And you can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your lips.

He turns you around so you face him. He presses a quick peck on your lips. Before he leans over and grabs a random towel off a rack. He wets it slightly in the sink behind you.

And then he sinks onto his knees in front of you. He looks up at you pulling up your dress again slightly.

“What’re you doing?” You question. a chuckle leaves your lips at the sight of Chris on his knees in front of you.

He leans in leaving a soft kiss on your thigh.

“I’m not letting you walk out with your cum running down your thighs ma.” Chris laughs, he then runs the damp towel over your inner thighs.

He cleans you up enough for you to not feel so sticky anymore. He places your panties back. Then he gets up again. Chris pulls down your dress for you before placing another kiss on your lips.

He throws the towel into some laundry bag carelessly. At your curious gaze he explains. “A friend of mine is throwing this party.” He shrugs.

There is a silence for a second where you two just look at each other. Neither of you say anything. Until you speak up again.

“Do you always wear condoms when you hook up with girls?”

You ask before the words even register in your mind. And once they do a blush creeps over your cheeks.

“Yeah. I won’t wear one next time if you don’t want me too.” He chuckles. “There will be a next time?” You question.

Chris was the type to only hook up with a girl once. He probably didn’t even remember half of their names.

Instead of answering though, he leans in and kisses you. The kiss is slower, not heated like the previous one shad been.

One of your hands moves from his neck to grab his phone out of his back pocket.

You Lean back slightly. You type your number into his phone. Then you hand it back to him.

He grins at the new contact on his screen.

“I’ll see you around pretty boy.”

You smile giving him another kiss on the lips. And this one lingers. You slide out of his grasp opening the bathroom door. he watches with a goofy grin, as you leave.

You leave going straight back into the crowd of drunk influencers. Trying to search for your drunk friends that would be around here somewhere.

You know he’s a player. So you don’t know if he’ll call you. You don’t know if you’re special, and if he treated you different than others. But if it came down to it you’d at least tried.

But,

He’s not into dating.

Materlist

(A/N: I literally wrote this within the span of one day. I feel like this is probably the best thing I've written so far. Hope you enjoyed <33)

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @ecliphttlunar

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 7: It's Not A Date

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), sexism, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: This chapter is just a little bit smaller than the others and it's a little bit of a filler, but I promise that it is preparing for the coming angst!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“I can’t believe you let him around those children. What were you thinking?” Annie asks wielding a curling iron like a sword. "He's a terrible influence!"

It was t-minus one hour and thirty minutes before the party started and Annie was doing your hair and makeup for the mission. Butcher decided that Ben and you would infiltrate and see if you could find anything suspicious inside, while Butcher, Frenchie, and Mm watched the streets outside the building.

Your chair was turned away from the scuffed vanity in Hughie's bedroom at the apartment the team shared. Why he had that you weren't sure, but you figured it must be for Annie. Her makeup bag, hair spray, gel, cream, curler, flat iron, and other paraphernalia was littering the soft butter colored top. There were more things sitting there than you knew the names of.

Annie had always been better at things like that than you. She'd done your hair and makeup for every high school dance and date you went on, so you'd agreed to let her do your hair and makeup for the mission. Not to mention you trusted her not to make you look too over the top or absolutely ridiculous.

As soon as she had gotten you into Hughie's bedroom she had practically pounced on you, demanding to know everything about the past few days that you had spent living in the apartment with Ben. You'd foolishly told her that you'd had to babysit the Wilson's children last night and she was horrified that you let them anywhere near him.

Granted you also would have had the same reaction if someone had told you that they had let Soldier Boy around little children.

But he wasn't terrible to them. You think to yourself. He was actually kind of sweet. It was the first time that you'd ever associate that word with Ben, but you believed that it was true. You remember how he sat with Marty at the kitchen table and allowed her to make a friendship bracelet for him. A bracelet, that he hadn't thrown away, despite what he'd told you after she gave it to him. You'd found it on the sink in the bathroom this morning when you got up, given a place of honor in the ceramic jewelry dish you used for your bracelets.

After Ben had gone out on his "date" you'd cleaned up, made your last cup of noodle, and then went to bed hoping to forget exactly what Ben was doing. The problem was that you were disappointed and you had no idea why. You'd tossed and turned thinking about Ben and the time you'd spent together watching the kids, until finally falling into an unsatisfying slumber.

Ben had sauntered through the front door at 3 am smelling like perfume and sweat, his hair tousled and standing up like someone had ran their fingers through it, while you were drinking a calming herbal tea from your favorite mug at the kitchen table in a post-nightmare haze. You'd had them your whole life following the accident that took the lives of your parents and was thankful that one hadn't hit when Ben was home. You didn't want to explain to him why you had woken up screaming and gasping for air just as you’d done since you were twelve years old.

When you'd first moved in to the apartment and you'd had the nightmare, Mike had banged against your front door, shouting for you to answer. He'd thought that someone was trying to kill you in the middle of the night, but you'd explained to him that you had nightmares and that you were okay.

The next time it happened, Mike's mother had left a large basket of herbal tea and homemade muffins outside the door of your apartment. Even though the muffins were almost inedible, it was incredibly sweet. You might not have wanted to date Mike, but he and his mother were some of the sweetest people you'd ever met.

When he saw you up, Ben had made a comment about you waiting up for him and stated that he was ready to go again if that's what you wanted, but you'd only waved your hand and rolled your eyes while taking another sip from the mug. You weren’t in the mood, not when you could still feel the chill of sweat against your skin and hear the sound of metal on concrete from the dream. He had sat at the table across from you and asked why you were still awake, you'd lied and told him that you couldn't sleep. You knew that he knew you were lying, but he only shrugged and went to take a shower while you finished your tea and fled to your bedroom to avoid him coming out in a towel again.

"He wouldn't leave. What was I supposed to do? Make him walk the plank?" You respond as Annie inserts the warm curling iron into your hair.

"He's just so-" She tugs your hair back as she curls it.

"It wasn't as bad as you think.” You consider thinking about how he let Martha make him a friendship bracelet and how he had held Joshua and made Joshua laugh. "He was actually kind of nice to Marty and to Josh.”

"Nice? Are you crazy! The guy's got a nuclear reactor in his chest and an uncontrollable temper. Why do you think it would be okay for him to be around children?”

"He didn't get angry or lose control. And I can't believe you're chastising me about this, the other day you were all for Ben and me sleeping together!"

"That wouldn't involve children." She takes another piece of your hair, gently wrapping it around the curling iron.

"Yeah, but it would still be him close to another human being-"

“He seems to be perfectly in control when he has sex. Or else there would be a string of destroyed apartments all over manhattan.”

"I can't believe you." You huff.

"So?"

"So what?"

"Have you guys kissed again?" She asks.

"I shouldn't have told you that." You grumble under your breath. "And can you keep your voice down? Ben can hear you."

He was in his old bedroom getting ready for the mission. The bedroom was exactly next to Annie and Hughie's bedroom, and you were sure that he was listening to Annie and you talk.

Because he can't keep his big nose out of anything. You think. Or rather can't keep his perfectly structured nose out of other people's business.

"I'm sure he has better things to do than listen to the two of us talk." Annie responds, but she begins to blast the ABBA gold album from her Bluetooth speaker, filling the room with the sound of 'Our Last Summer' "Come on-"

"Come on what?" You open one of your eyes to glare at her. "I told you it wasn't going to happen again."

"Why not?"

"You know why not. Ben is- Ben. And I don't want to waste my time with someone who's not interested in having a relationship." You shut your eye again to avoid her gaze.

"It's not a waste of time if he looks like that-" She trails off, inserting the curling iron one more time.

"I will agree that Ben is good-looking, but that's all he is. He doesn't care about other people, he only cares about himself and what feels good." You say it, but for the first time since you'd met Ben you weren't sure if it was true. Not after he spent his entire day yesterday helping you with the kids and not after he had bought you that bookshelf.

He cared enough to get that for you. A little voice whispers. But why? You wonder again. Why would he care about something as little as a bookshelf?

"You're making that face again." Annie says. "Did something happen?"

"No. I mean- he-" You sigh to yourself. "He keeps confusing me."

"How?"

"Well the other day he bought me a bookshelf."

"What? Why?"

"Because he said that stack of books in my bedroom was annoying him." You roll your eyes behind your eyelids.

"Why was he in your bedroom?" Annie's smirk is audible and you feel your cheeks heat.

"Shut up. He needed some clothes and I had some from the last time Darren stayed with me-"

Annie audibly groans when you mention your brother's name. They didn't get along. She thought that he was manipulative and that he used you. But you didn't see it. He was your brother, your blood, the only family you had left beside your grandmother and Annie.

"Please tell me he's not coming by soon. If he does I will be busy doing anything else."

"I don't know why the two of you can't just get along-" You sigh.

"Because he's the worst." Annie states loudly, dropping the curling iron and bringing the mascara brush up to your eyes.

"Can we please not have this conversation again?"

"Fine. Close." Annie holds up the mascara brush to your eyes. "Did you at least join one of those online dating apps or try to go on a date?"

"It’s been 3 days since we last talked about this-“ You feel the gentle stroke of the brush against your eyelashes.

“So?”

“No I haven’t.”

"Y/n-"

"I know, I know. I mean Jake did try to ask me out the other day but-"

"He WHAT?" Annie squeals, awkwardness about your brother forgotten. "Next time lead with that! Did you go out with him? Did you guys talk all night long?" Annie is hoping from foot to foot now, practically dancing to the music still blasting from the speaker on the dresser.

"I said no." You open your eyes to look at your friend.

"WHAT! Why?" She looks like you kicked a puppy. "He's so perfect for you! He likes plants and he's funny and he's got a great sense of humor, plus he's gorgeous and he's interested in you-"

"First he wanted to do something today and I knew Butcher had plans for me. Second, I didn't know he was asking me out, Ben told me he was." You close your eyes again so Annie can continue to do your makeup.

"Wait, Ben was there when he asked you out?" 

"We went to IKEA to get a couch for the apartment and Jake showed up and asked me out." You explain.

"You took Ben to IKEA?"

"He'd never gone there before, can you believe that?" It made you smile as you remembered how surprised he had been when you went inside. You’d had fun with him, walking around, testing out the couches, it almost felt… normal. And you kind of got the impression that Ben had a good time too. It was kind of cute when he did everyday things, when you saw him in normal settings and he was just a little bit awkward because he still couldn't figure out how to act in another time period.

"Yes I can, he's a million years old. Let's circle back to you saying no to the PERFECT man."

"He's not a million." You defend Ben. "And Jake's not perfect." You frown to yourself, thinking about the fact that Jake wasn't a supe. It wasn't something that you had cared about before, but ever since Ben brought up the idea of you "snapping Jake in half" it scared you.

Because what if I did? What if I hurt him? You didn’t know how Ben had sex so often with people who weren't supes. Maybe he just doesn't care if he does. Or maybe he’s done it so much that he’s able to control himself.

"What do you mean? I thought you liked him?"

"I mean I do. He's kind and he understands me and he loves plants as much as I do, but-" You shrug, feeling Annie begin to apply eyeliner. "I don't want to make things complicated. I mean we work together, he’s my boss. What if it doesn’t work out? Then I’d have to quit and I like my job.”

“I mean that’s kind of hot-“

“Hot in what? A sexual harassment kind of way?”

“No. It’s not harassment if it’s two consenting adults.”

“I’m still not sure that it’s a good idea.” You mutter more to yourself. But this time your mind didn’t go to Jake and you having a relationship even though he was your boss, instead it goes right to Ben. You can't help but slip into the fantasy of dating Ben, of you and him trying something new-

You shake off the image. He doesn’t want a relationship, doesn’t think that’s important. The thought is almost like a mantra, trying to convince yourself to push past Ben’s charm and good looks, but this time it makes you consider something else. Maybe he doesn’t think it’s important now, but maybe he used to think it was before Countess.

You’d heard the stories, seen the newspaper articles and clips of film of Ben and her together, remembered what Hughie said that Ben had wanted a family with her that Ben had told her that he loved her. That meant at some point in Ben’s life he had loved someone else, cared for them, wanted to be more than just fuck buddies.

Maybe he's just afraid to fall again, because he's not sure someone else will be there to catch him. Maybe Ben doesn't want to admit that he cares for anyone else because he's afraid that they'll push him away or stab him in the back the way that Countess did. And maybe he hides it all underneath the macho attitude.

Ben is strong. He told me that he didn't need anyone else. You press your lips together in a tight line. But I think he does.

You hated that she’d hurt him. You hated that she’d pushed him away, told him she never loved him, and stabbed him in the back. You couldn’t imagine doing that to someone, telling them that you loved them, and manipulating them with the promise of love. It almost made you nauseous to consider it. It made you want to travel back in time to the moment she stabbed him in the back and shove a bouquet of sunflowers up where the sun don't shine.

You pause on the thought. You weren't a terribly violent person, but if someone ever hurt your friends your anger was legendary, practically divine. You'd never thought that you'd want to do something for Ben, but you were realizing more and more that Ben was becoming your friend. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Alright what if he wasn’t your boss.” Annie gently brushes eyeshadow over your eyelids. “Then would you go out with him?”

“But he is my boss.”

“Use your imagination.”

The song has ended and there’s an awkward pause between the end of it and the slow beginning of the next one.

“I mean yes?” You shrug. “I can see myself with him. He’s the kind of person I’d want to date. He cares about other people, he remembers what kind of coffee I like, he actually contributes to the conversation, he makes me laugh, he actually gets my jokes, he’s nice to sit with, he doesn’t get under my skin-“ As you list each of those things you couldn't stop your mind from comparing Jake to Ben. You didn't know when Ben became the level by which you judged other men, but it had happened sometime in the past few days and you didn't know what it meant.

But Ben did remember what kind of coffee I like and he does contribute to conversations, well, he contributes with a disgusting comment… The thought trails off when you remember the small conversations that you'd had with Ben that weren't sexual in nature, when the two of you watched the movie on the couch and talked briefly about your parents, when Ben asked you how your day was the other day back at the apartment, and when the two of you talked on the couch while the children slept between the two of you. In those moments you had seen another side of Ben, the side that he seemed to hide away from everyone else, but not from you, not all the time.

Plus Ben is kind of funny sometimes, disgusting but funny. Doesn’t understand my jokes. And yes he gets under my skin but sometimes it’s kind of exciting and nice to have that happen. With Jake sometimes he’s just too happy or too eager to agree with me.

"Hmm." Annie considers. "How did Ben react when Jake asked you out?”

You don’t answer immediately. “Normal.”

"You hesitated"

"No I didn’t."

"Yes you did! He reacted didn’t he?!” Annie pokes you with her finger

"No he didn’t.” You lie.

“He did! Holy shit he was jealous wasn’t he?”

"No he wasn’t.” You swat her hand away. "He was just opinioned."

He sure looked jealous. You think to yourself remembering the way he glared at Jake from the other side of the room. The memory of the way his eyes darkened when he told you exactly why he wasn't jealous and exactly what he would do to you to make you forget all about Jake sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Yeah. Opinionated over why you shouldn't go out with Jake because Ben wants you all to himself." Annie crows.

"Shut-"

"But it doesn't matter. Because Ben's going to have a heart attack when he sees you wearing this." Annie steps back from you. "My work here is done. Try to make it to the mission without ripping each other's clothes off."

"We are not going to-"

Annie spins your chair back to the mirror and your next words dry up.

Your hair is perfectly curled back from your face, the lipstick is a dark shade of crimson that makes your lips look fuller and more plump, the eye make up is dark and dusky making the color of your eyes pop against the darkness in a mysterious alluring way that seems almost hypnotic, and your face is shaded and contoured so well that you look dangerous and sexy.

"I'll take the silence as a 'Thank you Annie! You're so beautiful and talented and you're the best friend I've ever had!'" She laughs, standing back behind you with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I mean all of that is true, but-" You stand up from the chair to get a better look. "You've really outdone yourself."

"Well thank you. Had to. It's your first date with Ben." She makes goo-goo eyes and you try to punch her in the shoulder, but she dodges it.

"Shut up. It's not." You look down at the dress that Butcher picked out for you to wear. "I love you, but I hate Butcher."

The dress was a red scrap of fabric that clung to your curves, but left very little to the imagination. It was completely backless with an exaggerated wrinkle that fell just over the top of your ass. The front was sinched at the back of your neck secured only by a small piece of fabric that you were afraid would break at any moment and fell open in a "v" that stopped just under the swell of your breasts. There was a large prominent slit that cut up the left side of the floor length gown that stopped just shy of the top of your thigh. Annie had cinched a black choker around your neck to match the black pair of stilettos you wore

Personally, you though that the stilettos were overkill, you had no idea how the hell you were going to run after the supe if you saw him, let alone fight him.

"You look so hot." Annie says pleased. "You really should wear that all the time babe. I'd take you out to dinner just to show you off."

"You're the worst." You groan.

"I love you too honey." She winks. "Now come on. Butcher and the others are waiting for us." She turns off the speaker and walks out the door of the bedroom, but you linger there, looking at yourself in the mirror one more time.

You'd never worn anything remotely like this before, but even you had to admit, you looked good.

“Come on Poppet. You can’t hide in there forever.” Butcher chuckles from the living room.

He’s having too much fun with this. You huff to yourself finally leaving the bedroom to make your grand entrance, grabbing the black bejeweled clutch as you do.

Butcher, Frenchie, Annie, and Hughie are waiting outside the door while Kimiko sits on the couch scribbling away.

Hughie's mouth drops open,  Butcher gives an approving shrug, and Frenchie lets out a breath.

"You look beautiful." Frenchie takes your hand and gives you an appreciative twirl.

"Shut up." Your cheeks redden.

Hughie is still looking speechless at you. "I told you." Annie states elbowing him with a proud smile.

“You look-“ Hughie stutters.

“Good enough to eat.” Ben finishes, appearing in the hallway to your right. His hand traces the curve of your hip, thumb ghosting over your bare back.

“Just because I’m dressed like a hooker, doesn’t mean my brain’s not working.”  You slap his hand away ignoring the warm feeling that remains where he touched you. You could feel your heart beat begin to pick up in your chest.

“Baby I love your brain-“ Ben smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “But I’ll be damned if I don’t love your body more.”

You felt your cheeks turn the same shade as your dress with his compliment before you can stop them. It was difficult to pretend that you didn't feel any attraction for him, not when he looked so good.

He had trimmed his beard and brushed back his dark hair, so you could see his emerald colored eyes gleaming. He was wearing a black suit with a white button up shirt, but chose not to wear a black tie, instead unbuttoning the top few buttons to give just a hint of his muscular chest beneath.

Why does he have to look so good all the damn time?

“Shut up.” You grumble turning back to Butcher. “So are you happy? I dressed up, my IQ dropped a billion points.”

“Ecstatic poppet.” Butcher grins taking a sip from the cup of tea in his hand. “Now remember anything happens, you detain the supe, no killing."

“He’s talking to you.” You elbow Ben.

Ben shrugs. “I won't apologize for doing my job."

You sigh again and walk towards where Kimiko is writing in one of her workbooks on the couch. 

"You look hot." She signs at you.

It had been difficult to learn the sign language she used, but you liked to think that you had a handle on it so you could understand simple conversations. When things got too confusing she would use her phone.

"I know. I was mad at Butcher at first for picking this dress, but I kind of like it." You sign back. "Don’t tell Butcher I said that."

She crosses her fingers over her heart. "Soldier Boy is looking at you."

"He’s always looking at me. I'm glad I can't read minds. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking."

Kimiko snorts, raising her hand to sign "I think the look on his face says it all."

You half turn and look at where Ben is again, he’s not talking to Butcher like you thought he was, he’s staring at you, pupils dilated, eyes darkening in a way that makes your heart feel like it's beating so hard it'll explode out of your ribcage.

No. No. Keep it together. Heart of a warrior.

"You two have fun!" Annie smirks widely, taking a picture of Ben and you like you're going to prom and you know she's going to send the photo to taunt you with it later.

“Shall we?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Ladies first.” Ben smirks.

 You roll your eyes at him as you walk to the front door of the apartment. “Don’t pretend to be a gentleman Gramps. We both know you just want to look at my ass.”

“I’ll never get tired of looking Doll, especially not when you’re wearing something like that.”

A/N: I know this chapter is a little bit of a filler, but I wanted to give Annie and the reader some time together, aka. Annie telling the reader to do the one thing that we ALL know she should do. 😂

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307 @libby99hb

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

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@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry

[bvidzsoo]

Sweeter than honey

🧸Husband!Yunho🧸

TW: none, just so much fluff I'm dead

Word count: 1, 3k

A/N:....guys, it's Pisces season and I'm going crazy, don't mind me if I pump out little blurbs this whole month (someone save me). So, this is a little bullet point like scenario, I hope you enjoy it! (I got inspired in THE MOST randomest way this time, it's embarrassing.) I hope you enjoy and feedback is very much appreciated! Enjoy now!

where do I even begin...

there was not one boring day with your husband, Yunho, and your little girl

those two were like little rascals when nobody was watching them

and yes, you loved both to death, but there were times when they got to you

their energy levels were unmatched, and at times you don't know whether you should cry or laugh that your little one takes after her father

a miniature copy of Yunho

the same smile, same happy and playful aura, same mischievous look on her face when she's up to no good, and same devastating puppy eyes when she wants something

you blame partially Yunho for teaching her how to manipulate those around her, mainly you, but you also know that even if it weren't for Yunho, you'd give in to your sweet daughter, unable to say no to her adorable face

and there were times when it was a blessing that Yunho had more free time than you as he was able to stay at home and watch your little one, entertaining her, and tiring her out by the time you got home

she'd be peacefully sleeping in her little bed, thumb in her mouth and cheeks lightly flushed as the blanket was up to her chin, so you'd pull it slightly down and make a mental note to tell Yunho that your daughter wouldn't freeze in the middle of summer

but all thoughts would fly out the window when you'd enter the kitchen, feet aching from wearing high heels all day, only to find your husband, Yunho, wearing his printed pajamas, socks mismatched, and apron tied tightly around his built form as he was humming a song while he cooked diligently dinner

you could only grin and bite your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing as in the middle of flipping the pancake Yunho would bust out dancing, rocking his hips left and right as he banged his head to the music only he could hear in his mind

it was an endearing sight, but way too amusing for your tired brain as you'd lean against the middle counter, placing your chin in your palm while watching him, wondering when he'd finally sense your presence

but Yunho would be too focused on cooking those pancakes, with a few already burnt, to feel your amused eyes on his back, and his humming would break out into a quiet singing, trying to keep quiet in order to not wake your little sunshine

and so, in order to not disturb your husband, you'd stand there quietly, just watching him and quietly snickering to yourself when his voice would crack, but he'd continue on like nothing happened, holding the spatula up to his mouth and belting out those high notes as silently as he could

but then finally he would turn around and almost screech at the sight of you, eyes bulged and spatula clutched to his chest as his heart would race from the fright you had just given him, making you burst out laughing

if what you had witnessed so far wasn't funny enough, the damn unnaturally red cheeks and suspiciously purple lips definitely tipped you off, belly hurting from laughing so hard at the sight of your husband

it seems like your little girl had a make-up session with Yunho, showcasing her skills well as your husband looked ridiculous with the make-up on, lips forming a pout when you wouldn't stop laughing at him

"hey, stop it!", he'd say, making you cover your mouth with your hands, "this masterpiece was done by our little sunshine and I didn't take it off, because she insisted I show it to you."

and so, you would finally settle down and shake your head at your husband as you'd walk around the counter and up to him, circle your arms around his shoulders as you leaned into him

he'd smell like home, sweet like vanilla with a tinge of pine, and of course, the pancake dough he'd made not long ago

and your heart would flutter despite being with this dork for almost ten years now

things never got boring with him, you never got used to the thought of having married your best friend and love of life, your three years old daughter a treasure you both cherished dearly

Yunho would smile at you fondly, his teeth showing due to his wide grin, slightly protruding at the front, making you lean up on your tippy toes to press a soft kiss against his purple lips

they would taste like grape, hence the lipstick your daughter very obviously borrowed from your vanity, and Yunho would wrap his arms around your middle as he playfully would lift you off of your feet while pressing his lips just a little harder against yours

"how was work?", he'd ask as he'd place you down again and then you would stay hugging, telling him about your day, until the burnt smell of the pancake he was making would catch your attention and send the both of you into a frenzy to quickly take it off the stove before the fire alarm could blare through your house and wake up your little girl

Yunho would giggle and blame you for the incident, making you shake your head as you'd make to leave for you bedroom to change into something more comfortable after having checked the time

because you were expecting Hongjoong and his fiancé to come over not even in half an hour

and almost as if your daughter sensed this, she'd wake up from her nap, full of energy despite her being supposed to sleep through the evening until the morning

but she loved her aunt too much to miss seeing her

and once the pancakes were done and Hongjoong and his fiancé had come over, you'd gather in the living room and enjoy the delicacy Yunho had made for you, listening to your daughter blabber on about to her aunt and Hongjoong about the little boy she met at the park earlier today

after that you'd gather the table, with the help of Hongjoong, the two of you would settle into a small conversation about work and Hongjoong's upcoming fashion collection, when you'd suddenly hear loud cheers coming from the living room

curious, you two would walk to the threshold and watch as Yunho and your best friend were bundled up together in front of Yunho's gamer set up, with your daughter in the middle, of course, staring up at the two adults in wonder and awe

you'd shake your head as Hongjoong would chuckle, amused at the sight

of course, your best friend and Yunho had gotten on well from the very first meeting, both gamers and sharing many hobbies

it was a given that they would exclude you from the conversation at some point, making you shake your head at them as you knew almost nothing about computer games

"hey, Yuyu, it's too late for her to be sitting in front of the computer", you'd try to pull your husband and daughter away from the gadget, but fail as your best friend would look at you with a grin and puppy eyes at the same time

"ten minutes, I want to show Yunho something, and then I promise we'll join you and Hongjoong", of course, it was always ten minutes turned into two hours

so, with a sigh, Hongjoong and you would return to the kitchen to grab a bottle of red wine and two tall glasses, chuckling to yourselves as you'd hear Yunho and your best friend yell out in excitement or disappointment, your little one following in tow as she'd imitate the two adults

it was amusing hearing them

and once settled across from each other at the middle counter, Hongjoong and you would go over the wedding plans he and your best friend had, the date coming closer and closer as days went by

the wine and the conversation with Hongjoong helped you relax, hearing your husband, daughter, and best friend from the living room made you feel content and happy with the way your life had turned out to be

and you knew you were lucky to have such a loving, sweet, and hilarious husband like Yunho

and a small little replica of his, a daughter that never failed to make you smile and laugh until your belly hurt

you were surrounded by your loved ones, and nothing could've made you happier in that exact moment

Masterlist

[katverse]

Carefree Pose Pack 🌴

Capture carefree moments with these Sims 4 poses: enjoy a pizza party on the floor with wine, soak up the sun in naked bliss, dance like nobody’s watching in the kitchen, and feel the wind’s freedom on a wild car ride adventure! 😎🌴

6 poses total

The Sims 4 in-game poses

you’ll need:

Pose player

Teleport any sim or WonderfulWhims mod

Wine bottle, open book, mug, pizza slice, wine glass, car (Nissan Skyline)

Download(free): katverse.com

(the full CC list is included)  

TOU | INSTAGRAM | YOUTUBE | TWITTER | KO-FI ☕

[sleepyangelkami]

You having a secret crush on ellie and you keep it to yourself but she finds your diary one day and she can't help herself so she reads it when you go to the bathroom

DEAR DIARY e.williams

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3.4K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - you and ellie have been best friends for as long as you can both remember. she was the artist, you were the writer. you both respected one anothers hidden sketchbook and diary. until one day you're taking much too long in the shower and it's just... sitting there! ellie can't help herself and she finds out a little secret.

 ☆ WARNINGS - snooping? tinsey bit of angst if you can even call it that, touch starved reader, sort of loser!ellie a little, lil crying, petnames, use of y/n like once, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

for as long as you could remember, ellie had been your number one. she was your best friend in the entire world, you told her everything and she told you the same in return. okay maybe not... everything. there was one thing you'd been having an awful hard time keeping to yourself. though, you were sure it was much better in than out.

you and ellie were like an orange and black cat, you were fire and ice, the sun and moon, a writer and an artist.

ellie drew a lot. you'd seen multiple of her drawings before. you remembered the first time she'd doodled a frog onto your arm during a boring lecture from tommy and maria. she gave you a confused look to your state of shock. but you were merely surprised. sure, you knew she could draw. but you didn't know she was that good.

you were the writer. ellie was well aware of this. whether you had your laptop propped up on your knees, writing away or a pen in hand scrawling letters around the little pages. ellie always thought your handwritting was nice. it was much better than her fat chunky lettering that everyone always seemed to have trouble reading. she'd always watch the way your pen would dance across the page, so easily and smoothly. she was almost jealous.

you'd both grown to understand the boundaries of her drawings and your writing.

two things were off limits. one, was her big black bulky sketchbook that she often brought around to your house or sat under her arm. two, as your pink journal. she'd seen it once, questioning you what book was falling out from your locker drawer. you were honest with her. you told her it was your diary, the book you cherished the most, the book she could never read.

at first, ellie was a little taken aback.

sure, she knew everyone had their own secrets but it was you. you told ellie everything, or so she thought.

"oh, thank god." she spoke, pushing her jacket off as she walked into your house, right through the front door. the snow from outside decorated the crown of her head and the tip of her nose. "i was looking everywhere for that." discarding her wet boots at the door. "thought i lost it."

"nope." you chimed from your place at your kitchen counter. your stools had been the very ones joel had built for you. well, not for you. he really built them for anyone but when no takers raised their hand, you sort of felt like you had to. ellie laughed at you, stating nobody would want to sit at your kitchen counter ever again. "right here."

ellie soon made her way across the kitchen, taking the sketchbook from your hands softly. "you didn't... look at anything, did you?"

you shook your head from side to side. "'course not, els." that beloved nickname that had her cheeks turning pink. "'s the same way i wouldn't want you reading my diary. i wouldn't look at your sketchbook like that." god only knew what ellie williams was drawing on the cream coloured paper.

she breathed a sigh of relief, believing you. "okay, thank you." though she still had a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her stomach. what if you did? i mean, you wouldn't do that much less lie to her afterwards. but what if. once the thought entered her head, she had a hard time getting it to leave again.

"wanna watch a movie?" you questioned, placing your chin on your hands that had been propped up by the elbows onto your kitchen counter.

ellie sat herself on one of the white stools, not the wooden ones joel had made. "whatcha have in mind, sweetheart?" it wasn't often that ellie came over for less than a day. i mean, you two were practically attached together by the hip. if ellie was at your house, and even just for something as small as to collect the sketchbook, she was more often than not staying over.

you hummed, your lips pressed together. try as you must but you never were able to play off the stammering and flustered appearance as she called you those pretty names. but that was sort of the whole point, she liked the way your cheeks heated up. "something christmassy." you spoke. "like the muppets or something."

the girl merely raised a scarred brow at you. "it's november."

you huffed out a sigh, rolling your eyes. "'s never to early for christmas, els."

that was enough for ellie, she supposed. after this short interaction in the kitchen, you both ended up sat atop your living room couch, you fishing around with the remote. thankfully, she'd agreed on the muppets christmas carol, and you were not about to give up the oppertunity to watch your favourite movie with your favourite person.

a hand came down to your side, gently rubbing up and down gently. suddenly, the buttons on the controller seemed hazy and you blinked not once, not twice but three times, a breath falling from your lips. her fingers were so long and pretty, gently soothing the bare skin from underneath your shirt, barely hitting against your stomach. it wasn't much but for a touch starved girl alike you, it was enough to have your stomach in knots, your mind blurring into one big watercolour.

ellie seemed to have taken notice to the way your entire demeanour changed, her brows barely moving. "something wrong, baby?" you couldn't tell if she were being serious or not. perhaps it was because everything seemed hazy but truly, you couldn't distinguish whether or not she was trying to fool around with you or if her words had really been spoken with such innocence.

did she know what she was doing to you?

you cleared your throat, bee stung lips rolling. "lets jus' watch the movie, els." pressing what you assumed was the start button and watching as the screen lit up. avoiding the question completely.

you'd missed the way her lips curved up into a smirk.

of course, ellie williams was well aware of the effect she had on you.

you see, you'd been hiding this 'crush' on your best friend for quite a long time now. but it was times like this that you swore she knew, she had to. of course, she had to be aware of the way you stumbled upon your words around her or the way your face seemed on fire when she used those pretty nicknames on you. that was the thing, she called you the names, nobody else, not even those fuckbuddies of hers.

it begged the question, where did you stand to her?

you'd been best friends for so long now, you were sure she merely called you these things and seemed so impossibly close because she was comfortable with you. otherwise, there'd somehow be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why she treated you so differently. though, the bigger part of you, the one consumed by romance novels and love letters, the one that consumed romantic films as if it were food, that part of you wanted to believe it was because you were different. well, not you necessarily. you didn't want to be different to all the girls she fucked, well, you didn't really care. you just wanted ellie's feelings for you to be different.

you didn't want ellie to look at you like you were one of those girls that'd spend the night then leave by morning without so much as a breakfast or goodbye.

you wanted her to look at you like you were worth a million stars. the way you looked at her.

you'd been enamoured by her since the day you'd met her and it appeared as though it were obvious to just about everyone other than her. your best friends dina and jesse had instantly picked up on it when you were kids. it was a wonder to both you and them how ellie still hadn't found out.

but even when dina and jesse brought it up, whether there was a teasing tone etched to their words or perhaps they were asking a serious question, you did exactly what ellie told you to do in every other situation. deny, deny, deny. probably the only time you ever took on ellie's advice.

the one person or thing, i should say, that actually knows about this little 'crush' on the auburn haired girl was the little pink notebook tucked away in the side drawer of your room, right next to your desk.

seeing as it was merely ink to a page, you didn't have to hide. you didn't have to become flustered the way you did when talking to ellie and you didn't have to lie the way you did to dina and jesse. you could simply breathe again.

it was the thing you admired most about this little book, the freedom.

you could say anything you wanted about anyone you wanted and nobody would ever know. it'd never leave the little pink book. besides, the only person that knew about your diary was ellie and you trusted her enough not to look through it. the same way you'd never pick up ellie's sketchbook and look through it.

not only because she asked but because you too know what it's like to have something of yours worth so much value. not in money, of course, but in a sense that it truly was yours and nobody elses.

"yes i could." you bit back to the auburn haired girl that sat atop your bed. the movie had ended hours ago, you'd even thrown on another one. this time, ellie got to choose and as always, she chose a horror. you hated horror movies and yet every single time, without fail, ellie was throwing one on.

"no you couldn't." she rolled her eyes. the current debate was whether or not you would be able to survive the scream movies. you were sure that you would, without a doubt but ellie wasn't so sure. "you can barely sit through a horror movie let alone be in one."

"they're just not interesting." you all but pouted, your stomach leaning against the bed as you looked up at her, tight lipped smile on your lips. "they always have the same plot and they're so... gory." it wasn't that you were scared of them necessarily. don't get me wrong, sometimes you're halfway behind ellie, screaming in her shoulder at what you're watching but even then, you still wouldn't choose to watch horror movies even without all the jump scares.

"yeah, yeah." she rolled her eyes again, she seemingly always did that when you were around. "just say you're a pussy."

you narrowed your eyes at her. "am not."

"annabell." the one word sent shivers down your spine.

"that's different." you defended. you hated the movie more than anything else in the entire world, probably even more than you hated ellie's silly jokes (you loved them really).

she cocked a brow. "how so?"

"because!" you exclaimed, flopping onto your back. "that's a scary doll that'll break into my house while i'm sleeping and―i don't know find some really creepy way to kill me. but ghostface?" you huffed out a giggle. "I could take him on."

this time, ellie tilted her head, a smirk on her lips. "really?" as if she didn't believe you at all.

you frowned at that, did she not think you were strong? you liked to believe you were strong, strong enough to take on ghostface? perhaps not. "i could take you on." you scoffed, looking at her arms.

although you wish you hadn't. the way they flexed under her shirt was enough to have your stomach rolling. her arms were the very thing that had you squirming, they were so defined and toned, along with her stomach, showing you what true muscle she had. your head felt nauseous merely looking at her.

she was getting closer to you, watching as you observed her, eyes never leaving her body. "that so?" teasing voice.

but you didn't respond with words, a mere "mhm." falling from your lips though it sort of sounded like a mix between a hum and a whine, you were failing so horribly at keeping your little secret inside.

"show me then."

you'd done this with ellie before, giggles falling from the bedroom door as you attempted to pin ellie down but right now felt so different. the air was off and the tension was rising.

at first, you tried to play it off. you playfully grabbed at her wrist, trying to push her onto the bed. usually, she'd let you win. she loved to see that victorious smirk on your face after she let you beat her. in the back of your head you'd know, though. you could never beat ellie.

but this time, she didn't let you win.

this time, she flipped your wrists and then you completely. your eyes widened when you realised how strong she was. you always knew she was strong, don't get me wrong but never had you been pinned down by her with such force behind her hands. you felt your face heat up and your stomach swirl as the girl landed above you, her head looking down at you with a smirk playing on her lips.

this time, she won.

"whatever." with a little shove, you manged to push her off. she let you, grinning as she sat back on the bed, pride swelling in her chest as she watched you flusteredly try to hide your face. "i have to go shower."

"good." she joked, watching you get up from the bed. "you fucking stink." she watched you grin and stick your tongue out at her, she did the very same in response, watching you enter your bathroom with clothes that had been sitting on your chair now in your hands.

and then, she was alone.

you'd done this the other day, about a week ago and everything changed. it was the day that ellie did the very thing she swore she'd never do and yet she did it anyway.

she just couldn't help herself.

when you were in the bathroom, showering, she'd reached over to the nightstand to look at the photograph you had on it, you and her, icecream on her nose and smeared on your cheek. a week ago, she'd grinned at it, thinking it was the most heartwarming thing she'd seen in months. then, her eyes had glanced to the little pink book that lay beneath it.

a month ago, she'd swear she'd never go near the thing, ever.

a week ago, she opened it and her eyes scanned the page.

she hadn't had any bad intentions, not really. she was just curious as to what you wrote about, what you were keeping so hidden from your dear, beloved best friend. and when she started, she couldn't stop. she soon realised that the lovely words scrawled across the page weren't about how the sunlight peeked through the clouds or how the rain fell into the puddles collected on the ground. the words were about her.

soon enough, she'd made herself believe that if the words were about her, surely, she should be allowed to read it, it was only right.

she waited until the batrhoom door closed before she reached over to the side of the bed. she knew it was wrong, so wrong, it was an invasion of privacy and she knew you'd probably burst into tears if you'd seen it. but you know what they say, curiosity kills the cat.

she placed the book on the bed, attempting to pick up where she left off.

i just can't help but like her!! what does any of this meannnn??? you don't touch someone like that as a friend, you don't call your 'friends' names like that, it's not normal!! i'm reading into this. i always fucking do this, i read into it and then bam! that's it! i'm gonna loose her to this stupid crush. it's not a crush, i think i'm in love with her. no, i can't be. it's a silly crush and it'll be gone in a day. EVEN THOUGH IT'S BEEN YEARS!! i hate myself and the only option is to throw myself off of a fucking cli―

"els, i think i left my―" she'd never shut something so fast in her entire life. ellie's wide eyes shot up, looking at you standing in the front of the bathroom doorway. "w-what are you doing?" you'd barely registered what'd happened, your eyes already burning.

"shit." there really was no way of defending herself. you'd caught her red handed with the book sitting on the bed. "darling, i didn't―"

"you read it." you deadpanned, feeling the tears begin to well up in your eyes. "you read it, you promised me you wouldn't read it!"

but ellie was already standing from the bed, discarding the book completely. "i know, angel, i know, i'm sorry i jus―"

she was attempting to race to the other side of the room, get to you and presumably comfort you. she couldn't stand the tears in your eyes. "do you know?" that you've been helplessly in love with her the past four years and running? her silence gave a response but not one that you were particularly happy with. "do you know?"

her voice was a meak whisper. "yeah, baby, i know."

humiliation, embarrassment, shame,

all you could feel.

you'd been helplessly and hopelessly in love with ellie for as long as time yet never have you truly worried about it getting back to her. dina knew but she'd never squeal, neither would jesse if he knew what was good for him.

that little pink book didn't just know briefly of this 'fleeting crush' it knew everything, every minor detail. ellie consumed the pages, every pen stroke had her name on it. you were sure that the book knew more about this crush than you could ever grasp.

"hey, hey, don't cry." she was up in your face, hands attempting to hold your face, soothing you gently. "hey, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she kept repeating everything but nothing could stop the way your lip wobbled and your eyes filled to the brim, the dam breaking as a fat tear rolled down your cheek. "okay, just―"

ellie was panicking. she knew how you could get, once you started crying it was damn near impossible to get you to stop. the way your lip trembled served as a constant reminder that she had been the one to put you in this situation, she had made you cry.

before you could even thin, there was a big black book being shoved in your hands. you didn't think to look down, mind to foggy and far away but ellie was already opening it up for you. "angel, look, see?" finally, you pulled your eyes away from the little pink book on your bed, eyes trailing down to the sketchbook. ellie briefly flickered through the pages, your brows pinched together. were they... drawings of you? "i do it too, see?" had anyone ever put their heart on the line merely to get you to stop crying? no. then again, nobody else had ever been quite like ellie williams.

you sniffled, glancing at one of the pictures. it looked so real, as if you were looking at yourself right now, eyes shut and lips sort of smashed against the pillow. "am i sleeping?" you sniffled, mouth sort of dry.

ellie found herself a dark crimson. "well―yeah." she only now realised what she'd done. she just wanted you to stop crying, she didn't think of what she was doing to herself, outing herself like that. then again, it was only right as she'd outed you before.

you swallowed thickly, wiping the tears away with your sleeve. "'s really stalkerish, els." you mumbled and she couldn't help but grin at you.

"i'm really sorry." her voice low enough to have you glancing up at her, straining your ears. "i shouldn't have read it."

you nodded your head. "you shouldn't have." but you couldn't help but feel a little weight lift off your chest. she knew now, at least you'd no longer have to hide it.

once again it left you wondering where you stood.

ellie could see the way your eyes went sort of foggy, blocking her out. she wondered what you were thinking now. "y/n?"

finally, you pulled your eyes away from the ground, looking at her perfect green eyes.

"i love you too."

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance | Part 2

“Are you gonna message him?” It was later in the evening, Rosie was in the living room watching some gameshow while Stevie sat at the kitchen island, having just finished cleaning up after dinner, Robin facing her through her phone, stuffing her face with what looked like French fries.

“Dusty thinks I should but… should I? It doesn’t feel too… I dunno, desperate? Cause I’m not desperate, I could not care less about dating rockstars, in fact before all this the idea of dating a rockstar would have never crossed my m—“

“Stevie” Robin cut her off “if anyone seems desperate right now, it’s him. It ain’t you, nobody in their right mind could think it was you. You were just doing your own damn thing and he cringe-failed so hard he broke the internet. Listen… you don’t have to do shit, EVEN IF Dustin is telling you to. Dustin doesn’t know everything.” Stevie bit her bottom lip in pensive thought, Robin on the other end of the video call stuffed another French fry into her mouth before asking, “do you want to though? That’s the important thing, do you want to?”

“I don’t KNOW, that’s the problem. It’s nice… I guess… to be wanted, but it’s not just about me anymore.” It was about Rosie. Stevie’s life wouldn’t be the only life impacted if she took that chance. Maybe if she were younger, maybe if she didn’t have Rosie things would be different, maybe she’d have been wild and jumped at it, but she had Rosie, and Rosie mattered way more to her than anything a stranger on the internet could give her.

“It’s a little bit about you, Stevie, and it’s okay to let it be about you. You’ve spent literal years putting yourself on the back burner, even Mike got hitched before you, like who called that?” Nobody. Nobody called that, even though he and Will had been dancing around each other since kindergarten, nobody would have called that. “We both know Billy wouldn’t have wanted you to be on your own like this either.”

“What if he’s weird about Rosie?”

“Then he hits the road, simple. I heard he’s good with kids though.” Stevie offered a look, a simple unimpressed raised brow “Whaaatt, okay fine I looked him up when I saw it all blowing up, call it me doing my sisterly duty. He’s weird, but in a harmless opossum kind a way, y’know? Like he probably scampers or something.”

“What about like… drugs… alcohol… shit I don’t want around Rosie?”

“According to his Wiki page, the whole band an issue with addiction in the early days, toxic music label, it was a huge legal mess, they all went to rehab, cut their old label an they’ve all been clean and sober since. Knowing you, like I do… I really do think you’d like him, and Rosie would love him too, He’s very… I dunno…”

Vickie, Robin’s fiancée, chose that exact moment to shove her face into view of the camera to announce, “He’s like a mix between Billy and Dustin, a suuuper-hot, but a huge nerd, you’d like him, definitely.”

A weird mix of Billy and Dustin. What a wild mental image.

“So you’re both on Dustin’s side then. I should message him?”

“It’s not our place to tell you what to do” Robin shrugged, she couldn’t tell her what to do, but she could offer a helpful suggestion of “maybe ask Rosie, she’s the only reason you’re hesitating and she’s old enough now to at least have an opinion, right?” Stevie looked toward the living room, where the glow of the TV bounced off the walls, Rosie’s laughter echoing from the other room.

“She already knows somethings up, Stevie, kids talk in school” Vickie reminded them “and Eddie’s… pretty famous, Corroded Coffin aren’t exactly unknown, an you’re not exactly unknown online either, someone’s bound to have mentioned it to her by now.” If the kids hadn’t, Dustin probably would eventually just to get her on his side before Stevie could get her on hers.

“Fine. But if this all blows up in my face, i’m revoking both your lunch privileges, for life.”

“What?! N—” Stevie cut their unison attempt to argue off with a well-timed click of the end call button, put her phone face down on the island top so she could ignore the incessant buzzing of them attempting to dial back, and made her way to the living room, where someone just face planted into a lovely pool of mud on the TV. Good ol gameshow night.

“Rosie…?” No time like the present. “Can we talk?”

It wasn’t often that Stevie interrupted gameshow night, usually they’d be watching it together, but Stevie had had other things on her mind, other much more pressing things that people didn’t seem to want to let die.

She was prepared to let them die, let this be a weird story of her ‘youth’ that she’d remember some day in a nursing home, a story nobody would believe but she’d swear blind happened!

A rockstar thought she was hot enough to send the internet into a meltdown one time. It happened, she swore it!

It wouldn’t die though. Not until she either told everyone to drop it, or entertained it.

“Sure, but uhm… if this is about the Eddie Munson thing—” she turned away from the TV to look at her mom “Uncle Dusty warned me about it way in advance, got me just before school started this morning.” Probably saved her from being ambushed about it by the kids at school. “It’s cool! He’s really cool, I mean, he’s super weird, huge nerd but… he seems nice”

Meddling little shit. Stevie took a breath, accepted this information, decided to deal with it later, and just powered through. “And you don’t think it’s unrealistic for everyone to think this is real?”

“It’s definitely real, mom. Uncle Dusty found his private account on your followers list, he’s been following you for aaaaaages,”

“Most people call that stalking.” How did Dustin even find it among the mass of others? Had Eddie been that obvious? Or was Dustin just that good?

“In the old days maybe! It’s almost romantic nowadays. You should message him, before Uncle Dusty does, cause he will. We both know he will.” Dustin had been uncomfortably absent all day since bursting in without warning. Stevie hadn’t even thought of it as a red flag until Rosie mentioned it ought to be. “It’s time, mom. It’s okay.”

“You’re really okay with it? It’s not crazy?”

“Oh, it’s SUPER crazy, but it’s a cool crazy, my mom’s gonna date thee Eddie Munson cause he begged you to, it’s the best kind of nuts, I wonder if he’d teach me how to play guitar…”

Had Eddie Munson actually asked anyone before he opened those DM’s, anyone at all, because he didn’t really consult the band as to what he was going to DO on the band's accounts, they’d have probably told him not to do that.

And they’d have been correct!

Because everyone and their mother, and even some fathers, decided to shoot a shot they never had!

He didn’t just get one DM, no, he got… many. Many. People messaged asking for autographs, merch, people asked for tickets, some offered themselves if Stevie didn’t message, some offered to DRESS UP as Stevie for him, a few went with Eddie’s own plan simply messaging with a plea for just ONE chance for themselves.

For hours. Hours. He scrolled through those messages.

Sure, he could have gotten someone to do it for him, but he’d done everything else on the account by himself, so he’d tackle the DMs too. He’d delete them, one by one, everything that wasn’t relevant to his quest, making sure to view each one, even if they did surprise him in their creativity, because what if she had a private account like he did? What if she actually recognised her popularity and created a tiny incognito safe haven from it all like he did?

She didn’t though.

She didn’t have one.

She didn’t need one.

At least that was what he gathered at the end of the long list of DMs, she didn’t have a private, she just had her main one, and she hadn’t sent him anything from it.

He knew it was a long shot, he could have had all the fame and fortune in the world, it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t interested in it all and she clearly didn’t seem to be if what Chrissy had said was true. She didn’t do sponsored posts; she wasn’t aiming for fame and fortune. She lived a comfortable life with her kid, and just happened to be popular on the internet.

She didn’t owe him anything, he didn’t deserve an answer, he—

Bzzt-bzzt

He snatched his phone right back up lightning fast, swiped down the notifications bar, and with wide eyes read the first line of the message he’d been sent,

“PLEASE HEAR ME OUT I’M STEVIE’S BROTHER, DUSTIN.”

Eddie wasn’t about to claim Stevie didn’t have a brother. He didn’t know if Stevie had a brother, just that Stevie had a sister because the sister, Robin, had turned up in a video once, bursting in on a live in the early days to accidentally announce to the world that ‘Vickie’ was now single.

It could be a trick, it could be a way in, it could be literally anything, what Eddie knew for sure though, was that it was the closest he’d gotten to potentially speaking to Stevie.

So, he did the only thing he could think of.

He replied, “prove it.”

The reply came through quickly, almost like this mysterious brother was waiting by the phone in hopes Eddie would be there to receive his message. It was a photo of a polaroid. Grainy as it was, it was clearly a younger, frankly stunning Stevie with a barely-there baby bump, reaching back to a guy who was leaning over her with a ridiculously stacked sandwich, she looked happy, she looked lovestruck, she glowed, and for a moment, jealousy struck him as if he were some childish teenager.

This was likely her child’s father, the one who was no longer in the picture for some unknown reason. She’d never disclosed why. He looked happy too though so… there were more questions than answers at that point.

Plus, the Polaroid had a scrawled “Stevie domesticated Satan” on the white part with a little devil face so, many questions, very few answers.

With the image, however, came the caption “I took this when she was pregnant with Rosie, it’s the last photo we have of Billy, Rosie’s dad.”

Rosie… Stevie had a little girl.

Another photo followed, this one of Stevie and a younger boy with curly hair, the kid all dressed up in a brown suit, hair done up to the nines, probably for some kind of party. No pregnancy in sight, they were both beaming at the camera, the kid with an awful lot of metal in his mouth but, adorable. The Polaroid had “Snowball!!!” scribbled on the white part, followed by a message reading “my mom took tons of photos of us for the Snowball dance back when I was in middle school, Stevie helped me do my hair” so the kid was supposed to be this ‘brother’ of hers.

A final photo was sent, this one clearer, obviously taken on a phone of what looked like a grade graduation ceremony, a more recent image of Stevie, with her daughter, and an older version of the kid from the snowball picture. Captioned with the message “only family could get so many family pictures!” 

The next message came through without a photo “we’re not related by birth, she was my babysitter for years before circumstances got her adopted by my mom. I’m oversharing a lot and she’s probably gonna kick my ass for it BUT I think she’d like you if she gave you a chance so I’m building a bridge of communication!”

Oh yeah, this guy had meddling little brother energy for days.

Eddie quickly typed back, “thanks for your vote of confidence, man but she isn’t giving me a chance here, you are, it’s not up to anyone but her.”

Typing—typing—tyyyyyping “she just doesn’t know you, an she’s hesitating cause of Rosie, I could probably get you a meet up though!”

“What like, ambushing her in the wild?”

“It’d work!”

“Sounds like it’d get me slapped by both her, and a restraining order an neither are good for my public image, or my feelings.” He then quickly added, before ‘Dustin’ could argue “Listen dude as much as I appreciate this, an I do, I’m real touched by your approval, it means the world to me, at the end of the day, it’s up to her. You can’t make this decision for her, alright?”

The typing stopped, then started again, and then stopped. Then finally “fine, but can you leave your DMs open for a little longer? She’s got Rosie to consider so she may just need to think about it a bit longer.”

“Deal.” He’d leave them open for one more day, after that he’d just have to accept the loss, accept that she didn’t want him, cause she sure as shit didn’t need him, and move on with his life.

Dustin sent him one last emoji, a little salute, and that was that for the rest of the night. There were a few more pings, opportunists, but nothing from the person who mattered most. He deleted them, switched his phone to silent, and took his disappointed little self to bed.

It wasn’t that late but, he was done for the day.

He was tired.

[princessbrunette]

the first time deer!reader introduced pope to her parents, she almost couldn’t control herself.

you had no idea what you’d been so nervous about, everything had been perfect. as much as you loved the other pogues, you couldn’t imagine them behaving themselves the way pope did. he was big on etiquette, even bigger on respect — having ‘meeting the parents’ nailed down to an art. he was well educated, polite, loveable — the exact type of guy you want to bring home. you couldn’t be happier.

but something about watching him interact with your family, so eager to please them in order to keep you happy — made you eager to please him, watching him chat away with your folks over the table with your chin in your palm, barely touching your food. as soon as the meal was up, you couldn’t wait to drag him away.

“i think we’re going to go hang out upstairs for a while.” he feels your hand shyly tugging at his pinkie finger and his head whips round to him.

“after that meal i think i gotta do the dishes, atleast. please, sit.” pope whips back round to your mother with a charming smile, making her fawn over his politeness.

“i can’t ask that of you pope, it’s fine i swear — i’m sticking it all in the dishwasher anyway.” your mother refuses as you sway impatiently on your feet behind your boyfriend.

“oh, then i’ll help clear the table.” he shrugs, beginning to pile up plates. “the food was fantastic.” he compliments, following her through to the kitchen. you slump down in the dining seat once more, awaiting his eventual release.

once you finally got your hands on him, you were tripping up the stairs trying to get him to your bedroom faster. “woah, careful.” he catches your waist and it only makes your need worse, shutting the door firmly behind him once he was in. he takes a few steps into the room following you to stand near your dresser, the ghost of an amused and confused smile on his face as he watches you hurry to your speaker, tapping on the first playlist to come up on your spotify — that being his playlist.

as soon as the first note plays, you’re back infront of him, practically diving on him pressing your mouth to his. he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise and confusion as you pant against him, the first song off his playlist loudly obstructing anyone outside the four walls from hearing anything inside them.

“talk to me, what’s going on? brought me up here to kiss?” he pulls away, leaning back making a tiny whine escape the back of your throat. you would have thought you were on borrowed time from the way you gripped his shirt urgently.

“more th’n kiss.” you slur needily, leaning in trying to catch his lips once more. “you were perfect. they love you. you’re perfect.” you whisper and his brows jump up, leaning back once more.

“woahwoahwait— me impressing your parents is what’s turning you on? like actually?” you watch his eyes dance between yours. you pause for a second, catching your breath before nodding violently.

“uh-huh, yes.” you border on a whimper. his face flattens in thought, nodding his head once as it’s clear he’s taking mental note.

“interesting.”

“shh.” you silence him once more with another jump, hands all over him and lips successfully back on his. he melts more into the kiss this time, but before he even has the chance to fully get into it, you’re unlatching — choosing to kiss through his clothes instead, down his chest, down his tummy, sinking to your knees.

he puffs out an exhale through his cheeks, leaning on the wall and bracing his hand on your shelf clumsily, causing a blythe doll to fall from her stand but he effortlessly catches her in his palm, carefully placing her back on the shelf. this somehow made him ten times more attractive and you bite your lip, violently working his belt off as bryson tiller sings, covering all heaving breathing from room.

i say you don’t need nobody else, feels like you don’t got me so you feel like you’ve been by yourself —

you start to mouth at him through his pants, and he’s suddenly bending down to pull you back by the shoulders, wide eyes — like he’d been snapped out of a trance. “holdupholdup— your parents are just downstairs. are you sure this is a good idea?” he stresses, and you combat this by massaging the stress out of his cock through the fabric of his pants, squeezing him with those big bambi eyes that got him so weak.

“just need to suck it, popey.” you plead and he tilts his head back for a second, eyes rolling back.

“oh jesus.” he returns his gaze, brows still knitted in worry. “wait — your mom said dessert would be ready soon.”

“well, i want mine.” you pout your lips, undoing his zipper more to kiss through his boxers. he looks in pain, holding back. “i don’t want anything in return. it’ll be quick.”

he tilts his head with a knowing smirk. “well you already know i have to return the favour. i got manners.”

“we’ll figure it out. stop talkin’ P.” you whine, pulling him out his boxers and drooling on his tip, beginning to massage it down his shaft. he leans against the wall once more, letting out a shaky breath and squeezing his eyes shut.

“i’m dreaming.” he states in disbelief as you get to work, trying to ignore the time ticking away before the two of you would be called back downstairs. you took this as a challenge. you don’t get to be an ex-academic weapon and not enjoy a little time restricted fun.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 12

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: Welp, it’s taken like seven chapters to lead up to this, but we’re here now

Word Count: 6,038

-Part 11- -Part 13-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The flight up to the House of Wind is quiet, but your ears had been ringing before take-off, and you can’t even hear the pulse of your own heart or the puffs of your own breath.

For a few minutes, you allow yourself to cave in. Like a cake that’s sunken in the middle, soft and gooey from too much butter and not enough flour. Your head dips, pressing against his shoulder, able to feel the strokes of chill wind across your cheek, eyes slid shut with fatigue. Wishing the night away, pushing it far below your conscious, burying alongside everything else you don’t want to touch. Pushing into rough but fresh palms, handing it off for someone else to deal with.

His scent presses into your clothes, and you let it, pulse gradually slowing from its war-drum beat in your throat, the sounds beginning to rise to the surface. The leathery rasp of his wings as they fly higher to the House, the steady in and out of his breath, the wind whispering as you cut through it.

The warmth of the wards passes in your ears, and then he’s landing, arms shifting to set you down on the floor carefully. The muscles in your legs are like custard, and you take a moment to steady yourself, raising your gaze to the House before you. He opens the door, guiding you inside silently, taking you to the kitchen and seating you at the table.

You stare down at the grains in the wood, picking out the slight dampness across from you, table clean and empty.

Azriel slides a mug of tea into your vision, still steaming, and your sinuses start to ache. Cold hands wrap around the burning ceramic, feeling the sting begin to seep through the velvet.

Vaguely, you’re aware of him silently moving around the table, taking a seat, but you’re staring into the swirling darkness of the tea, wondering if your tongue will somehow swell and warp like your hands if you drink the mug down as it is.

“You should take your gloves off,” he says quietly, hands around his own mug. “The heat will warm you up faster.”

You silently stare down into the depthless well below you, wishing to plunge inside. Bathe yourself in hot, searing water that’ll purge those prints from your skin. Remould you like the cauldron did, removing the past roughness of your fingertips and constant grit beneath your nails.

Shadows roll up onto the table in thin streaks, dancing deftly atop the surface, as if trapped in water. They flicker and swell in places, thrumming with magic as they reach out. You stiffen as they dip beneath your fingers, prying them gently from the mug. Slipping beneath the fabric at your wrists, pinching lightly at your fingertips, and pulling.

At first your digits curl, but the velvet slides a little more, and you allow it to fall away.

The sickeningly sweet smell of gardenias fills the room, and you draw your hands back, staring at the crumbling skin as you wrap them around the mug, not minding the surface level burn.

“You don’t have to wear those, you know,” he says quietly, watching from across the table. “Nobody would mind.”

Hands tighten around the thick ceramic, raising it to your mouth as you take a sip. It’s boiling. Lower it back to the table, scalding liquid washing down your insides, not enough to thaw the numbness that’s settled over your skin.

“Is it from your magic?” He asks quietly, sliding his fingers through the handle of his mug. Moments tick by, then you dip your head. “It itches sometimes,” you murmur, then seal your lips tight. “Is it itching now?” He asks, keeping your attention.

Below you, the tea swirls, steam wafting from the lip, warm but wet. You shake your head, “I don’t think so. Not yet.” Hazel weighs upon you, and you take another scalding sip, allowing the burn to sear into you. “Not yet?” He echoes, taking a drink from his own mug, watching you steadily over the rim. You remain quiet, not offering up anything else, keeping to yourself.

“How long has this been happening?” He asks instead, once it becomes clear you aren’t going to be coerced by silence. Your eyes don’t leave the mug, fingers tightening around the pale orange ceramic, the low gleam of faelights warming it. “Do you know what it is?”

“I know it hurts,” you say softly, raising your cup, but not drinking. “But you’re going to make me train it regardless, so why don’t we leave out the messy details?”

He pauses, observing you quietly from across the table. You don’t meet his gaze, and it feels like running away. Letting him put himself above you.

Your eyes blink shut, easing in a breath. That’s not what he’s doing at all.

“You likely aren’t doing it right,” he says at last, sipping from his tea, your eyes finally meeting his over the glazed lip. “How would you do it?” You ask quietly—reluctantly—again peering into the swirling blackness of your drink. “I’d have to know what I’m working with first,” he says pointedly, inviting you to tell him more about what’s been going on with your magic.

“Funny,” you murmur, eyes flicking to his, “I’d come to the same conclusion.”

His brow twitches almost imperceptibly, the edges of his mouth souring, and your gaze dips back down to the tea. How nice it would be to burn those handprints from your skin, for once finding yourself craving the searing itch of your magic.

Azriel shifts in his seat, great wings refolding themselves at his back, narrowed hazel piercing into you. “You might’ve hurt a lot of people back there,” he says, setting his mug on the table, one hand wrapped around its base, middle and forefinger curled through the handle.

Your throat rolls, but you choose not to respond, staring deeper into your tea.

He sighs, and you can feel his attention on you. “Tell them tomorrow,” he orders, voice deceptively soft for what he’s asking. Nails press into the ceramic, tension coiling in your shoulders. “I have one more day left. That’s what we agreed,” you mumble, the real world beginning to sink back into your bones. The weight of grief and the strain of anxiety coupling in your body. Having gone from a night of quiet mourning to one of icy violence in under and three hours.

“You put people in danger with that move,” he replies smoothly, appearing relaxed though you can guess he’s anything but. “So you’ll be telling them—at least Feyre—tomorrow. Unless there’s something you’ve discovered this past fortnight?” Even you know your mouth has pressed into a sullen line. Sulking like a child who’s lost a bet.

“I don’t want to figure it out,” you mumble, pulse thrumming in your throat as you stare into the hot tea. “It’s already hurting me. I don’t want anymore.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he counters from across the table.

“Rhysand would disagree,” you argue numbly. You always have a choice.

“Rhys isn’t here right now.”

Hazel collides with your gaze, the green-brown colder than usual. Is this what he’s like without affection numbing your judgement? Have you been seeing what you want to see? You dismiss the thought—things would have worked out better if that was true.

“It’s hurting me, Azriel.” You reiterate, trying to emphasise the pain that lacerates through your bones, without doing exactly that. “Because you’re doing it wrong.”

“And how am I supposed to do it?” You reply, more bitterly than you’ve ever dared speak to him before. He sits back in his chair idly, taking a deep drink from his mug, watching you pointedly over the lip.

“Fine,” you say quietly, but not weakly, staring at him from across the table. “Where would you start?”

“Tell me what you’ve been doing this past week,” he says calmly, “tell me what you’ve found.”

So he was being serious about that, not just trying to prove a point. You look down into your mug, lightly running your finger over the lip. “I’ve been trying to get it to spark,” you reply softly, not meeting his gaze.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

Azriel blinks, watching you silently. Thinking over his words before he speaks. “What have you been doing, exactly. Aside from reading.”

“I told you,” you reply, humiliation grating and twisting in your stomach. “I tried to get to it, but nothing… It didn’t work.”

“Nothing happened, or it didn’t work?” He asks, and you feel the smallest bit of resentment for his acute attention to the things he’s interested in. “It didn’t work,” you relent.

“So what happened?” He pushes, drinking from his mug—an action you’re certain he does to encourage a sense of ease.

Tension buzzes beneath your skin, ringing in your ears then flashing to deafening silence as you think back over the past fortnight. The steady decline of your skin. “I already told you,” you say quietly, noise fading to numbness again. “It began hurting.”

“Tell me what it feels like.”

“Itching,” you reply.

He waits sternly, practically ordering you to give more than a one word answer. Your jaw works, head dipping as brows tighten. “It burns. Usually only in my hands, but when…” —you swallow, remembering how it had spread so rapidly across your skin, only halting at the line of the pendant— “when you… What you saw, that one time…I felt feverish for hours after. My hands hurt the most, and they…” You trail off, not wanting to speak that single night into existence.

“They what?” He prompts quietly, shadows flickering mildly along the grain of the table. Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “They bled a little. I still have sores on my knuckles.” Palms splay as still as possible upon the surface, allowing his eyes to trace the scaly, flaky skin—lumpy in parts.

He gives no visible reaction, but you can’t help to imagine silent disgust. They aren’t a pleasant sight.

“That shouldn’t be happening,” he says, hazel weighing into you, and you hastily bring your hands back to the mug. “You shouldn’t be experiencing pain from accessing your magic.”

A heavy weight forms in your stomach, having sat there for a while now.

“Why not?” You ask hoarsely, meeting his gaze. His brow narrows, watching you silently for a moment. “Because that’s not how magic works,” he replies quietly. “It isn’t in itself good or bad, and so it follows it should not have an impact upon its user. Magic is a tool for the wielder, something to be moulded.”

“But cauldron-given magic isn’t the same,” you mumble, eyes dipping to your hands, knuckles popping from your skin as you hold the mug tighter. “Nesta stole from the cauldron. She wasn’t supposed to have anything. And if she wasn’t supposed to have something, why would I?”

The words hang in the air, only now being allowed to fully take shape in the world, finally spoken aloud. “Elain’s the only one who was given something freely,” you murmur, tea steadily cooling, no longer steaming. “So it makes sense mine…that mine has a catch.”

“No it doesn’t,” he says, and a muscle feathers in your jaw.

“Yes, it does,” you grit out.

“No,” he repeats, shadows flickering closer to you, imploring you to meet his gaze; you refuse. “Even with Nesta’s magic being taken, it never hurt her. Magic doesn’t have sentience.”

This time you meet his gaze, pointedly flicking your eyes to his shadows. “They seem pretty aware.”

Azriel stiffens.

It’s by no means an obvious change, and it may well have been enhanced by your mind, but you felt the air shift. On a subatomic level, something changed.

“You said yourself that magic is something to be moulded,” you force out quietly, gaze dipping away from his, regretting the brief snappiness. “So it becomes a reflection of the user.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re no torturer,” he says dryly.

“Neither are your shadows,” you murmur, watching the blackness of your tea. Humour leeches from the air.

A heavy silence follows, taut and loaded, like a bow pulled tight.

“Elain and I spoke the other day,” you whisper, hands tightening around the mug, practically able to hear your skin rustle with the small movement.

Azriel waits quietly, steadily cataloguing the small inconstancies in your behaviour that have been cropping up throughout the night. He’d put them down to shock from being at such close proximity to violence, but it appears there’s something more.

It’s lucky he’d been feeling so restless earlier, allowing his shadows on a looser leash than usual, able to explore and patrol the city streets, cataloguing details to busy them while he worked. Then a commotion had kicked up, and they’d naturally snuck forward. It was only when they’d caught the balmy floral scent tinged with fear they’d scuttled back to return to him, having split the two males apart once he had you away.

“She’d been off the past few days, and I thought it was because of… I thought I knew what it was.” He watches as your pulse deepens, noting the slight but frequent disturbances between scaly knuckles. He thinks back to the way your spine had shuddered with lonely despair, grief etched into the hunched knots of your shoulders as tears splashed into a small pool where he’s now sitting.

“She had a vision,” you manage thickly, and this time there’s nothing subtle about the way he stiffens. Even his shadows skitter back at the mention of those vivid dreams that had stolen words from her mouth for so many months. Trapped in a state half between reality and fantasy.

“You…you die,” you whisper, hardly a breath. “There’s a flash of light, and then you’re on the ground, and you’re— you’re bleeding out.”

“The light?” He asks hoarsely, features tight.

“Green. Like Starfall, she said.”

Azriel stares at you, the top of your head, spine bowed before him in such a meagre, inoffensive stance. Somehow, you’ll be the death of him.

Questions fall from his lips, about the vision: where was it set? What events led up to it? Was there anyone else? What happened after?

In a forest, bargain rings formed with a fox, no one else present, the steep grassy slope with the bone-grey gate and dripping blue web.

He stares at you for a long time, and you keep silent. Wondering if he’ll get to you before you get to him.

“All the more reason for you to train,” he says at last, still staring at the dipped top of your head. Teeth bite the inside of your lip, brows narrowing as heat warms behind your eyes.

“When did you find out?” He asks, refusing to do as much as consider leaving the trail. Who knows where his might might wonder, with the freedom to finally ponder his end.

“The day before yesterday. When I came out of her room.”

No wonder you’d looked so shaken. No wonder Elain hadn’t wanted to speak with him. No wonder you’d been acting so strangely this evening, with everything coiled tight.

“All the more reason to have the others involved,” he says finally. Cassian and Nesta aren’t to return for another week yet, but their plates are full. There’s no way to ask them to take on a task like this, it would be too much to handle. A familiar ache blossoms through the bones of his hands, the signs of restlessness setting in. He still has so many reports to get through, then to manage the topic of your strange magic as well as the vision…to find himself a replacement, too.

Before him, you nod, still clutching the now-cold cup of tea.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Okay.”

————

The parchment lays tauntingly upon the volume, stretched out lazily, practically grinning at you with that razor-sharp smile.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Well, if there’s ever going to be a time for you to step outside of your circle, it’s now. Taking the first step over the rickety old threshold, moving from mildew smelling wood, toward the crisp freshness of cold wintry air.

You remember what Elain had told you—about the twin bands that forged an alliance. Under no circumstance will you allow even the first step of the prophecy to be fulfilled. So long as you don’t actually enter into a bargain with him, you can stave off the inevitable. Keep it at bay until a solution is found.

The pen trembles in your hand, and dark droplets stain the parchment, having forgotten to clean the nib on the lip of the pot. The words are carved into the paper, looking more permanent than etchings on a grave stone.

How do you feel about a bargain?

The paper vanishes, and your heart pounds in your throat. It’s been a while since you last wrote to one another. What if he’s become bored?

To your surprise, his response is prompt, but you waste no time on considering why he’s up so late in the night, already blending into early morning. Your heart pounds harder when you read his message, pen trembling lightly in your hand.

What trouble have you gotten yourself into, cygnet?

Even through the paper, you find yourself able to hear the condescending lilt of his voice. You can’t help but feel you’ve walked right into whatever trap he’s set for you, but you’re left with no choice but to continue.

I’m serious, Eris.

The parchment vanishes, and you wonder if you should have continued with the first point to keep his attention, but— You can’t let him know how badly you need this. He might not be as bad as the others have made him out to be, but you’d be foolish to trust him entirely. You need to keep your cool.

But then the paper reappears.

I can tell from your wobbly handwriting.

You scribble on the page.

Incredibly articulate, as always.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach, and you sit back in the chair, glaring at the parchment. Teeth chew on your lower lip, pen dipping into the ink pot, hovering over the page, but hesitating. It’s so insane to be doing this—even you can see that. But it’s insane you’re having to be confronted with your own source of magic as well as a vision predicting Azriel’s death.

If you remain idle, he’ll be the one to pay.

They haven’t snatched you up already, have they?

Something cold and slimy ices down your spine, staring at the words, lips twisting down at the sinister question.

What do you mean? You write back, this time keeping your hand as steady as possible.

The parchment vanishes, and you’re left with a sour feeling in your stomach. You’d forgotten about the edge that weighs at the back of your mind whenever writing to him, like he has a dagger idly tracing the knots of your spine. You raise your hand, fingers lightly tracing the nape of your neck, clearing the area.

Paper reappears, and you hesitate, sucking in a light breath before leaning forward to read.

I was under the impression your oldest sister had to undergo some unpleasant rehabilitation. I wouldn’t put it pass Rhysand to do the same to you.

You give him no time to sense your doubt, setting pen to parchment thoughtlessly.

You’re lying. You have nothing to base that on.

You clearly haven’t been filled in on our meetings if you think things are well enough that you have the luxury of inaction.

What the hell does that mean?

You glare at the paper, pulse bumping against your rib cage.

Are you interested or not?

The page vanishes, and you fall back into the habit of counting. One…two…three… Hands fumble with the volume, unread since you last wrote to him. The book isn’t even fully opened before his response is delivered.

I wouldn’t have bothered talking with you if you were entirely bland.

Your expression sours, apprehension draining as you glare at the parchment.

Is that supposed to a compliment?

Paper vanishes, the reappears seconds later.

I don’t give them out often.

The edges of your mouth quirk, familiar discomfort settling over your skin.

I can tell. You need some practice.

The paper again disappears, and you again return to the book, scanning the short title—one you’ve already read. You flip forward, scanning the text to see if it’s something you haven’t yet reached or not.

Parchment settles over the page, returned to you.

Is that any way to be writing to me? I’m under the distinct impression you want something.

Curious, Eris?

Fascinated.

You lean back in your chair, breathing steadily. Reaching habitually for the emptying pot of hand cream. Taking a moment to pause, regulating your heartbeat. This has to happen one way or another, and as it is, it’s the best you can do to keep the prophecy at bay.

I want to learn more about what I can do.

Go on.

Good gods. This is mad. What are you doing?

I know I have something. You write, easing in deep breaths, stretching your feet, body stiffening over the parchment. You know I have something. I want to know more. And I think you do, too.

There it is, written down on paper. Your offer.

The parchment vanishes, a cool sweat sliding down your spine, thumbs rubbing the remaining cream into your skin, rubbing over the dry scaliness, gliding over the stray lumps in your knuckles, the area around your nails dead and hardened.

I’m sure your High Lord would be intrigued by your offer. He’s written. What’s in this for me? If Rhysand finds out what you’re planning, I’ll be the one to take the brunt of his fury, and that’s not what our alliance needs.

He won’t find out. You write.

Forgive me if I doubt that.

A frustrated sigh leaves your chest, pulse beginning to spike.

What do you want?

Tell me what you’re seeking first. Then I’ll decide my price.

You swallow. Unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

I need to hide for a bit.

The parchment vanishes, and a split second of doubt ripples through your fingers, crushing weight pulling on your shoulders.

You’re in trouble.

A little.

To do with your magic.

Maybe.

Moments tick by, but you’re unable to read, vision slanting at the edges as you stare at the blank space, chewing on your tongue until copper spills, coating your mouth. Stress peels down your skin.

You’re asking for refuge.

I didn’t say that.

The paper vanishes and reappears in seconds, and you briefly shoot a glare at the letter.

Lost interest?

For how long?

You blink, thinking. You hadn’t gotten this far. How long would you need? If you tried to bring it out…even through the pain…

How long is possible?

Another silence. He’s probably guessing how serious this is. Probably already knows. Calculating away at your expense.

A month. Take it or leave it.

Eris I need more than a month.

There’s no way you could master it in a month. Both Feyre and Nesta took much longer, it’s unachievable.

The paper reappears, nothing added since, anxiety being sprinkled upon your mind. Your fingertips prickle, and you wring your hands together before relenting, putting pen to paper.

How soon can the month start?

How badly do you need it?

(How badly do you need me?)

Promptly, you respond, dodging the question. You’ve got to be careful around him, the last thing you need is him knowing about Elain’s vision before it’s even been spoken about with the rest of them. You can only imagine what he’d do with that sort of information to hold over you, however briefly.

Tomorrow?

Within the hour would be appreciated.

Very badly.

You scowl at the page, able to hear his mocking tone through the letters.

This isn’t funny, Eris.

I didn’t say it was.

I can hear your mirth through the paper.

The parchment vanishes, taking a while to reappear. You can imagine his lips pressing together—the same way he had when you’d fallen into the river.

You have unbelievably acute hearing.

You glare hard at the paper. Wishing it would burst into flames.

Is it plausible? To be away within the hour?

I suppose.

Yes or no?

Time ticks away, sitting still as you wait, muscles tense as you absently peer down at the flaky skin. You begin running through a list of things to do should he agree: you’ll need to pack, to find a reason to disappear for a month, to… That’s it. Clothes, and an alibi. But how in the world are you going to find something to keep you away from them for a month. You don’t like the idea of breaking from the agreement with Azriel, but you suppose technically he broke it first…

Teeth worry your lower lip, head resting in your hands, breathing heavily as you peer through cool fingertips. This whole night has been a blur.

If you aren’t there to tell them, it’s a safe bet that Azriel will go ahead with it anyway, regardless if you’re present or not.

All you need is a reason to vanish.

Flashing images of sawtoothed ice crackle through your mind, vacant gold filled with sparks.

Your stomach sinks, seeing a way through.

It’s wrong. Wrong and hurtful to him, being used for your own needs. But if it’s for a greater good…

The paper reappears, and you’re out of time to figure out a cover plan.

Eyes scan the single word, written in a neat, elegant script.

Yes.

————

He’d be furious with you.

He wouldn’t show it, but you know what you’re doing isn’t right. And what you’re about to do is much worse.

Hands grip the straps of your bags tighter, two strung over your shoulder, ready to leave. As many clothes as you could fit, as well as the volume Eris had given you. The small, deep blue box burns against your thigh, searing through the fabric of your pocket.

“Bas?” You call, wary of making a disturbance.

Minutes feel like hours as they drip by, the door eventually cracking open.

His lip is split, and his nose looks soft and broken, no blood in sight save for the bruising across his cheek. Gold gutters as he sees you, making to turn away but you stick your foot over the threshold, hand landing atop his, having him flinch.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, voice rough and raw, thyme and rosemary tinged with copper. “I wanted to check on you,” you say, quietly, heart pounding. “I don’t have a lot of time. There’s a lot I want to say to you right now and more I wish I could explain, but I want to know how you are.”

His throat rolls, and he relents on the door, allowing it open a little more. He’s changed clothes, having cleaned himself up since you last saw him. Mere hours ago.

Wordlessly, you extend your arm, returning the warm over-piece he’d lent to you. He takes it silently, hanging it over the hook beside the door, deeper in his house.

“Are you… Have you taken care of yourself?” You ask quietly. He stiffens, but nods numbly, and you can tell he’s being truthful. “What did you want to say?” He asks, diverting the topic, causing your pulse to spike erratically. “I need your help with something,” you admit hoarsely, gold latching with your gaze, a spark of awareness returning, telling you to continue.

You shift beneath his attention, gripping the straps tighter. “I can’t tell you what it is, or where I’m going,” —Bas startles at that, straightening— “But I need to leave for a bit.” Anxiety rolls across your chest as you feel him staring at you. But remaining silent. “I just need a week to figure things out, but until then I need you to help,” you whisper.

He scans your features, searching for clues, dropping repeatedly to your bags as if they might hold the answer.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks quietly, warily.

“If anyone comes asking for me, I need you to tell them I’m with you,” you say, meeting his gaze. “It’ll only end badly for me otherwise. Nobody can know where I’m going or why. I need that privacy, Bas.”

He stares down at you, lips parted, eyes slightly wider than usual. “You— what?” He hisses at last, grip tightening on the door, and you consciously take a subtle step back, watching as he marks the action, features shifting from shock to guilt in the blink of an eye. His posture stiffens, and he straightens, getting a hold of himself, pulling back into his home.

“I can’t�� I’m not lying to your family,” he murmurs, unable to look at you, gaze cast down. “You’ve been so insistent on me asking for help when I need it Bas,” you remind quietly, guilt soaking into the chambers of your heart. “Well, I need it,” you whisper, hardly able to get the words out. “I need you.”

The dilemma rolls behind his eyes, scenarios flashing through and playing out in his head. “What would I even say?” He asks softly, voice raw. There’s no time for embarrassment, you have to meet Eris in under an hour, so you push it aside. “Just say I’m on my cycle, and I wanted to be some place safe,” you say quietly, dipping your head in a show of vulnerability. Allowing warmth to heat your skin, fingers tightening around your bags. “It should keep them away for a little, if they think that I’m…” you trail off purposefully.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself, nodding. “I get it.”

Seconds pass and you shift on your feet, displaying your distress. “Can you— I mean, will you do that for me?” You ask hoarsely, forcing your gaze to meet with worn out gold, tired and weak from the long night. He appears indecisive, torn between you and his rulers.

“Just a week,” you remind softly. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t…” You guiltily shift on your feet, and at last he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers, hands shifting on the door. “Okay. But one week. And you’re not doing anything dumb.”

“One week,” you agree nodding. “And nothing dumb.”

“I’m serious,” he emphasises, moving to reach for you, but hesitating, then pulling back into himself. Guilt bubbles up your throat, wriggling beneath your flesh. You want to apologise, to cry and tell him you’re sorry for putting him in this position. After all he’s done for you.

“Tell me you’re going to be okay,” he says quietly, watching you.

“I’m going to be okay,” you reassure, tongue flicking out over your lips.

If he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t show it.

Bas nods stiffly and silence stretches between you, a rope slowly going taut.

“Okay,” he murmurs, releasing the door, pushing upright. “Be safe, yeah?”

Your throat rolls, but you nod. “Yeah. I will.”

————

The entrance to the tunnel looms before you, right where Eris said it would be.

You walk down into this, and it will take you straight to him, no going back.

You shift the bags on your shoulders, the weight nudging against the little blue box at your thigh.

With a heavy breath, you turn, scanning the trees before you, barely able to make out the speckled lights of Velaris in your wake. A strange sense of melancholy nostalgia settles across your skin, except it’s thick and lined with heaviness. Like you’re leaving behind something you never quite got to enjoy, leaving before you’re ready, suddenly extracted from your life. Lifted and replaced.

You hadn’t expected to fear being away from them. You hadn’t expected to miss them so soon—not even out of the Night Court yet. But the prophecy haunts your steps, driving you apart in order to keep them together. Azriel will tell them about your powers, the vision will come to light, and they’ll understand why you went away. It’s safer like this.

Exhaling steadily, you turn back to the open tunnel, and begin the descent.

The darkness wraps around you quickly, and a sense of confusion prickles at your skin, like your brain has been turned around, direction wobbling. All you can do is continue on forward, putting one foot in front of the other, wandering deeper into the pitch blackness.

A crisp breeze plays with the sleeves of your dress, wrapped in the thickest scarf you could find. The chill of autumn washes over you, sweeping into your lungs, soothing the anxious heat of your skin, cooling down your spine. You pause, the early dawn colours of grey-blue glowing faintly in the distance, nearing the end of the tunnel. Taking in a deep breath, you allow the tension to roll from your muscles, soothed and softened by the freshness of it all. The newness.

When you reach the tunnel’s exit, you’re greeted by an unrecognisable figure, but that possesses autumn court uniform, taking you securely by the arms, before a flash of icy air shocks your skin, dropping through the dizziness of winnowing until you’re within the confines of a castle, great braziers lighting the walls either side a small door. The male instructs you to wait inside, then leaves, disappearing silently off down the hallway without another word.

You quietly open the door, finding that it leads to a windowless room the size of your old bedroom from the hut, lit by three candles. To the left is a neat, single bed with a small closet at its foot, a thin rug over the cold floor, and a writing desk pushed against the other side of the room. A door leads away into what you hope is a washroom.

Overall, it’s sparse and bare, but the air is warm and dry, smelling faintly of pastry, and you wonder where it’s coming from. From the looks of the area, it’s a place usually assigned to servants or handmaids, likely given to you to draw less attention—it would be odd if a Lady suddenly took up temporary home in the Autumn Palace without having to greet any of the Members of Court, so you suppose a place like this is ideal. Which must mean you’re near the kitchen, hence the warmth and smell of pastry.

Fatigue weighs on your bones, lids sliding shut before you’ve even made it to the bed.

You hardly manage to keep your eyes open long enough to remove your gloves and rub cream into the skin, the sickening smell of gardenias permeating the previously pleasant aroma of jams and tarts and other breakfast pieces. It has your stomach rumbling but you’re far too tired to do much, save for setting your bags down and putting the volume on the desk.

Shoes are lethargically toed away, scarf unfolding and put beside the volume before padding over to the bed, rummaging through your bags in search of a night gown. Discarding your clothes and paying a brief visit to the door in the corner—which is indeed a tiny washroom—before pulling on the ankle length gown, slipping into a thick pair of socks, blowing out the candles.

The bed is soft despite the thin mattress, and you settle beneath the covers, muscles the most relaxed they’ve been in a long time, exhausted from a day of emotional turbulence.

Breaths sigh in and out, settling into a peaceful rhythm, deepening as you begin to finally sink into the shallow waters of sleep.

Comfort sweeps over you like a fresh blanket, warm and clean after a long day, finally ready to rest.

“You’ve been here for the lesser part of an hour,” a voice calls from the door, dripping with displeasure. “Get up. It’s morning.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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