#have vaguely-tipsy-not-together-but-not-not-heading-in-that-direction

[yesimwriting]

Elle!! You should post more best friend!Felix I’m so obsessed with it❤️❤️

hi babe <3 i have sm best friend!felix in the works/drafts,, i've just been busy with midterm,, but i'm finally recovering from a violent case of frat flu so i finally have some energy

and i love you all and best friend!felix very much so have a drabble

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Felix presses a nail against the wrapper's edge. The waxy paper bends upwards, giving him the leverage needed to tear it off the hard candy. He parts his lips, pressing the lollipop against his tongue.

Cherry. An entire pack of just cherry.

He came close to purchasing his usual variety pack at the corner store while picking up cigarettes, but at the last second, he saw them there. Next to the cashier.

It had been an impulse to trade out the candies. Felix read the word cherry in cartoonish cursive and was immediately reminded of you, of your soft laughter breaking up tipsy kisses. The taste that lingers on cigarettes when you're both drunk enough to convince him to let you try a few puffs of one. It forced him to feel the phantom residue of your lipgloss, to taste it as his lips pressed together.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, you finally look up from the notes in front of you. He can feel a smile tugging itself into place and the warmth that's beginning to tinge his skin. "What?"

You tilt your head slightly, like something about the question's surprised you. Not unusual, sometimes if you study for too long you get a little spacey. He makes a mental note to suggest getting something to eat soon.

You lift your pencil, using it to vaguely gesture in the direction of the wrapper that's still pinched between his fingers. "Those things will rot your teeth."

He pulls the lollipop away from his mouth. "Oh, not for years."

"And by then they'll have invented something better than dentures." The comment is mumbled, your attention already shifting back to your notes.

Felix frowns. He knows that you're the kind of person that takes an invitation to study at the library with someone literally, and he's fine with that. You wouldn't be you if you didn't get caught up in homework every once in awhile, but you still need to come up for air.

He brings the lollipop back to his lips. "Exactly."

You glance again, the corner of your mouth angling itself upwards. It's a look Felix has learned to interpret as a smile you wish you could will away. The lack of intention in the look has him beaming.

There's never any double meaning in your actions. You're never trying to convince him of anything, you're just you. So genuine and warm Felix has to work at not melting in your presence.

"I like your smile." Your voice feels far off in a way that adds an absentminded quality to your voice. Felix can feel an uneasy warmth burning its way up his neck. You don't seem to notice, instead you focus on propping your head up one elbow. "I'd miss it if you got dentures."

Felix folds the candy wrapper between his two thumb and pointer finger. "Good thing you don't have to worry about that." He shifts in his seat, relaxing his back against hard wood. "You'd love me just the same though, right?"

You press your lips together, brow furrowing as you pretend to think about it. Felix rolls his eyes at the extended silence. He extends his leg, tapping his foot against yours beneath the table. You relax your arm, straightening your shoulders as you glare at him.

You hold your ground, pushing the side of your shoe against his. "Fine, I admit it, I'd love you the same."

"Admit it?"

"Well, I think it should go without saying that our bond is deeper than that."

He taps his foot against yours again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you agree, adjusting your hold on your pencil. For a second, he thinks he might be losing you to homework again, but then you say, "Even if you're rotting your teeth."

Felix counters your smug smile with an unimpressed look. "It's cherry flavored."

Your eyes fall back to your notebook. "Then I take back everything I just said."

Without thinking about it, he pulls the lollipop away from his lips. "Wanna try?"

You look up at him, eyebrows pinching together skeptically. "This is how people get colds."

He can't remember you ever worrying about anything like that before. You two have shared drinks, straws, food. This isn't that weird, is it? "We're around each other all the time." You blink, not grasping the connection. "We have to have the same germs at this point."

Your lips briefly part before pressing together. Your gaze shifts from Felix's face to the hand holding out the candy. "...Good point."

He leans forward, extending his arm further. You take the lollipop, popping it into your mouth. "You're why people think we're weird."

Felix scoffs, an attempt at a soft dismissal. He knows what you're referencing. There are comments every now and then, mostly lighthearted, usually mumbled by a girl attempting to make any hint of jealousy seem like anything else.

You two are just...so close. A favorite of theirs, always with a silent are you sure it's not too close tacked onto the end of their sentence. Some of them like to pretend that they're the opposite of bothered by the permanence of your place in his life. It's sweet that your best friend's a girl, most guys would never; or, I love that you guys are good friends, most guys are only friends with girls they want to sleep with. That one tends to make him feel a pinprick of guilt.

"Who thinks we're weird?" The question's lighthearted enough, but he means it. He doesn't like the thought of people making too many of those kind of jokes around you. You're prone to overthinking, and you don't need to start dissecting your friendship with him beneath that lens.

You shrug your shoulders once. "We gross out Farleigh."

The response is easing. Farleigh's opinions aren't much of a threat. You laugh them off or dismiss them with an eyeroll, even when he's not joking. "What isn't he grossed out by?"

"Nothing that falls within the spectrum of human emotion."

He taps his fingers against the table's surface. "And you're all emotion."

You frown, seeming to briefly forget the lollipop in your mouth and its ability to soften even the most withering stares. You must sense his amusement, because your fingers find the lollipop's stick, pulling it away from your face. "All emotion?"

Felix presses his lips together in an attempt to tamp down a smile. You don't fall apart at the slightest inconvenience, but it's not like you're exactly heart of stone. "Compared to Farleigh."

"Sure."

He extends a hand, stealing the lollipop from your fingers. You don't protest, but you do let your lips part in a mock gasp. "Stop. Y'know how I meant it." Felix sets the lollipop back into his mouth, more out of the desire to have something to divide his focus than anything else. "You're just trying to start an argument."

You sit up a little straighter, fingers curling around your pencil. "Am not."

"I think you're starting to feel a little moody." You throw him a dirty look, lips already parting, ready to protest. "Think we need a break."

"What has this been?"

His hand reaches forward, fingers brushing against the back of your palm. "C'mon, let's take a walk, get something to eat."

Your eyebrows pull together in contemplation. You tap your pencil against the side of your notebook. Felix can feel your resolve melting. "Okay..." You agree slowly, shutting the notebook and books in front of you. "We have been here awhile."

"Awhile," he repeats with an affirmative nod.

Before you can finish stacking your school supplies, Felix is standing. He pulls his backpack onto one shoulder before walking around the table. Felix picks up your books before you're fully standing.

"You don't have to carry my stuff."

Felix shakes his head. "It's not heavy, and we'll drop it off in my room before going."

You're a few steps behind him. Felix's gait is naturally longer than yours, and he had an unfair head start. "Then you should let me carry it."

Felix adjusts his hold on your things. "Focus on catching up first."

Even though you're now fully behind him, he can feel your irritated shock. "Lex."

With his back to you, he grins openly. "Way of the world, Lovie."

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae @willowpains @ker0senebunny

[bakerstreethound]

may i request a stephen strange x fem!reader in which stephen and reader have a purely platonic relationship until one night when they both get a little tipsy which leads to dirty talk which leads to touching which leads to... 👀.

Hehe I love this request a lot. I don't write Stephen often, but when I do he can be difficult but he was sorta gentle yet teasing in this. Thank you for trusting me with writing it and I sincerely hope you enjoy! Minors DNI implied/slight nsfw 18+ only

Unbridled Truth

After having a platonic relationship for years with Stephen, you make it known to him you're willing to take things a step further and you reassure him you are certain of your decision.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, repost, copy, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03). Graphic by @firefly-graphics Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

“I told you this wasn’t a good idea” Stephen groaned, watching half amused half annoyed at the fact you were utterly obliterating him at Mario Kart. It had been a slow day at the Sanctum and no one but him apparently needed saving after the past five rounds. You were not intent on admitting defeat anytime soon, he wagered. 

“I have a better idea and it includes our old fallback of drinking and snacks. Guess you’ve gotta slow down, old man, and take it easy for your ego’s sake.” You chuckled, getting up off the plush area rug and turning off the gaming console throwing him a goofy grin. 

If anyone else was to speak to him in such a manner, he’d give it right back to them. But those words coming out of your mouth, well, he can’t help admiring them or you for that matter. Your lips looked so soft, enticing- He shook his head banishing the thoughts altogether. 

Keep it together Stephen, it’s not what you want or what she wants. Get ahold of yourself. One thing was for certain: you’re going to be the death of him, and not just by demolishing him in Mario Kart. 

Soon after, you both fall into a familiar practiced rhythm, you brought out some shot glasses and a variety of your favorite drinks, sodas, and water while Stephen brought out a variety of snacks, setting them on the coffee table. Cloakie whooshed by, settling along your shoulders before flying away with a quirk of Stephen’s brow. 

“We’re really doing this?” 

“Do it for me, alright. Wong can beat our asses later.” You deserved at least one day off or two from saving the universe. Wong could definitely complain later.  

The hours passed in good company, chortling at jokes and making fun of movies and actors far into the night. You found yourself sitting in Stephen’s lap as usual, your back faced into his chest, his breath hot along the side of your neck, his beard tickling as his hands rested comfortably around your midsection in a gentle hug. 

He loved the feel of you next to him, especially while shifting against him to get more comfortable, before tipping back another drink. Something in him craved more of your touch and he found himself wondering if you wanted more.

You expressed freely at the beginning of your relationship you wanted nothing spicy or any physical touch more than necessary, but the scent of you intoxicated him and he grew more delirious with want at your proximity.

He respected your wishes, restraining himself from the blissful want. The multiple drinks he’d taken hadn’t helped matters in the least. 

You shifted again on Stephen’s lap, wincing at the twinge in your back, hoping you didn’t disturb him too much. His breath quickened and you catch the hint of a suppressed groan he tried in vain to fight off. 

“Stephen, are you alright?” 

“Y-yup just enjoying the view, mhmm.” He pulled one of his hands from your waist, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the TV where a snowtopped mountain range comes into view. You’d bet a fifty it was Matterhorn.

You’d also bet that despite his protests, his mind was elsewhere and it was because of you merrily existing on his lap. 

You smirked, shifting again to face him, your legs making way to straddle him. “I don’t believe you are. Your mind is far too occupied with something else, isn’t it?” you cooed, brushing away a stray hair from his forehead, your finger barely grazing along his skin. 

It’s maddening for him to watch you this way, so close, so far away, definitely out of reach. Despite his mind’s protests, he wanted your touch, even if it was only the barest touch of your fingers stroking his cheek. He doesn’t allow himself the luxury of thinking about that for long. 

He didn’t want to move, fearing anything he says you’ll pull away, regretting crossing the line. He never admitted it aloud, for the words held far too great a weight for a man suffering multitudes of losses and universes on his shoulders, but he loved for you and cared so much, more than he let on.

You could feel the love, the longing falls off of him in waves, and oh, how you want to drown yourself beneath them. 

What would he think? You made your expectations clear in the beginning, but now, you want to know what it felt like to rile him up to touch him gently, be closer to him than you ever could.

Still, you trusted him more than anyone, and the chemistry and feelings between you though purely platonic had shifted in recent years and you can’t imagine yourself with anyone other than him. Granted he could be an ass at times but he had grown in more ways than once since you met. 

“I am occupied, yes.” He spoke, measuring his words carefully. “Have I ever told you I imagine you saying my name pressed up against me and squirming?” 

You fight off squirming against him quirking up a brow. “Do you, Stephen, tell me what else have you thought about?” 

“You beneath me taking me so well.” 

“That’s more like it, tell me what else?” You purr, cardig your fingers through his hair rougher than usual, resisting the urge to tug them. “Did you dream about tying me up to your bed, having me all to yourself? You know I’ve always belonged to you Stephen even if I don’t care for the physical manifestation of it. With you, I feel different. I want. And I want you. All of you.” 

He swallowed, looking up at you with his glassy eyes. In them, you saw universes multitudes of them scattered throughout the galaxy and here you are the only universe he cared about, willing openly state your desires. 

“Stephen, talk to me.” 

“I want - I’d like to touch you, please.” His desire is apparent before you when you move yourself from his hips, shifting comfortably onto his thigh, your gaze piercing into his stunning eyes. 

You lifted up his hands, kissing the tops of them gently before setting them comfortably along your waist, a breathless moan falling from his lips as you slowly move along his thigh, relishing the friction. 

“That’s it, shit.” You groaned at the feeling of his muscular thigh, honed by years of training and you want more impossibly more. His grip tightened a fraction, slow but deliberate, encouraging you, not on the verge of rushing you, letting you take control of the situation.

You kept working along his thigh, whimpering into his ear, driving him further into the brink of madness, and when your hand trailed down, dripping him through his robes, his eyes grew wide, desperately trying not to appear affected. 

“Stephen, talk to me,” you cooed, whimpering at the friction his pants provide as you press kisses into his neck, sucking on hard along his neck, sure to leave bruises. 

Truthfully he was a goner before you started this game, an almost cruel joke, but it wasn't, because you made it apparent your intentions had allowed him to accept the boundary you are willing to trust him with and that meant more to him than anything.

The vulnerability, the trust, how could he possibly speak with you like this? You’re a masterpiece sculpted by some other universe, one he feared drowning in and losing you forever. 

You silenced his worries kissing him with ignited fervor and longing as he touched you harder, his kisses growing surer and more confident as he lifted you from his lap, pressing you against the wall across the room, just down the corridor from his chambers. He stroked his hand teasingly along your pants, smirking at his effect on you. 

“Perhaps you should get down on your knees, Stephen, I always knew you’d look good like that.”

“Careful, we’ll be up until dawn if you say things like that.” He whispered hotly against the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine, anticipation brimming inside you. You knew he would hold on to the promise and you’re thankful for the empty Sanctum as you wouldn’t hear the end of it for days on end. 

Needless to say, Stephen held true to his promise, more than happy to show what he’d imagined doing to you during one of the many sleepless nights when you filled every conceivable space of his mind, unrelenting and not letting him go. He would show you everything he dreamt of and more. For he wanted. He wanted you. All of you. 

******

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Twelve - “I’ll remember.” @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 968 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Over the last two hours, Dorcas has glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table at least a dozen times. She can’t relax enough to sleep and she can’t muster the energy to stay awake. Instead, she dozes off and on, then checks the time.

It’s an entirely unnecessary reflex. Even if her alarm clock didn’t go off, the other three alarms on her phone will blare in five minute increments afterwards. Dorcas is more concerned about disturbing her newest roommate with her ungodly early wake up.

So far, the first night was fine. Lily had to be assured twice that Dorcas didn’t mind her joining Pandora in their room. While she couldn’t say that she didn’t have some reservations about it, Lily had proven to be a considerate and helpful roommate already. She contained Pandora and kept her on this side of sane, plus she was fastidious to a fault.

Lily didn’t snore or smack her lips in her sleep like Pandora did, but Dorcas could sense her presence anyway. It was hard to explain, even to herself. The air felt different with three people breathing it.

I should make myself tea. I’ll remember to put white noise on tomorrow.

The thought of a warm, comforting cuppa propelled her upright. She wasn’t sleeping anyway and there was always casework to do. Perhaps she could catch up on it before work.

Dorcas padded all the way down the hall when a soft voice in the sitting room reminded her that they had a guest camped out there. An infuriatingly fit guest who had a habit of sleeping naked, if memory served. Which, of course it did.

She intentionally avoided looking in her direction, beelined for the kitchen, and closed the door behind her as quietly as possible. While the tea steeped, Dorcas collected her laptop from her bag and set up a little office area at the dining room table. Based on the sheer volume of emails she’d amassed this weekend, her entire day would be devoted to cleaning out her inbox.

Marlene’s voice drifted in through the door and triggered another memory: she occasionally talked in her sleep. It didn’t happen often when they lived together, usually when she was tipsy. She would roll over with her eyes closed and chatter about nonsensical things. Dorcas found it endearing back then.

“Hmm…is awfully cold,” Marlene muttered, pushing the kitchen door open.

Dorcas cast a fleeting glance at her to assure herself that her ex was not standing in her kitchen with her tits out. Thankfully, she had on athletic shorts and a sports bra. That was a compromise that she could accept.

“There’s a blanket on the back of the sofa.” Dorcas gestured vaguely at the door, but remained focused on her laptop. She wasn’t interested in encouraging conversation when she was half-asleep herself.

A long silence and lack of movement forced her to look up. Marlene stared blankly at the wall just inside the kitchen. She wavered a little from side to side, then gasped so suddenly it made Dorcas jump. “It’s blue! Why’s it blue?”

“What? It’s not blue. The wall is beige. The whole flat is beige,” Dorcas said, eyeing her quizzically. “Are you awake? Since when do you sleepwalk as well?”

“Fuck you very much!” Marlene shouted, flipping off the wall with both hands. “Maybe it’s your fault that it’s blue.”

“Seriously? Tell me this isn’t happening.” Dorcas closed her laptop and approached Marlene cautiously. “McKinnon?”

Marlene didn’t respond. She simply tilted her head to the side and frowned at the wall. It would have been comical to watch, if it weren’t the middle of the night.

Dorcas waved a hand in front of her face, then sighed. “Alright, back to the sofa with you.”

The moment she touched Marlene’s shoulder, the woman squealed, spun away, and bolted toward the door. A door that didn’t open out, only in. Dorcas flinched at the resulting crash and rushed forward to catch Marlene before she slumped to the floor. The wood vibrated against the doorframe in a rather vocal protest.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re bleeding,” she said, slowly lowering Marlene to the floor on her side. “Don’t move! Do you hear me?”

“What…the fuck?” Marlene closed her eyes and immediately reached for her face.

“I said, ‘don’t move.’”

Dorcas grabbed a handful of serviettes and swatted her hands away. She did her best to stop the bleeding, but she’d collided with the door nose first and it was definitely going to bruise. Dorcas wanted to scoop her up and cuddle her close, but she couldn’t. She had to maintain distance for her own sanity. The dazed and bewildered look on Marlene’s face wasn’t helping.

“What happened?” James and Regulus burst into the kitchen, half-dressed and half-panicked respectively.

“She happened,” Dorcas replied, gesturing at Marlene.

“Did you hit her?” Regulus asked, dropping to his knees beside her. “Bloody hell, that must have been quite a punch.”

Dorcas shoved him roughly. “No! She was sleepwalking and ran into the door.”

“Oh, Marls.” The exhaustion in James’s voice caught her attention. He rubbed a hand over his face, then leaned down to lift Regulus to his feet. “You, back to bed. Dorcas? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Great, go on back to whatever it is you were doing as well. I’ll handle the mess, and the blood.”

Dorcas handed him the serviettes and slowly stood upright. James shooed Regulus out of the kitchen and squatted down to speak in low tones to Marlene. She didn’t say much in response, but ducked her head when Dorcas stepped around her. Seeing her so vulnerable and lost pulled viciously at her heart strings.

Next Part>>>

[celestialsister0918]

A Window Not Missed, Chapter 5

Bruce x Natasha, Work Rated M

Full chapter now posted on AO3

“Let’s dance, Banner,” she said abruptly, closing any distance between them with a gentle sway. She remained ever so slightly pressed to him, waiting as his hands hovered awkwardly in the air. Finally she gave a little smirk and grabbed them, locking them to her hips before resuming her earlier undulations. But this time they were on him, and he could smell her hypnotic perfume and finally knew how soft those luscious curves of her hips felt in his firm grasp. How the hell was he supposed to live without that feeling now?

Helpless to the bass and the fading light

Oh we were bound to get together

Bound to get together

“The music’s loud!” Bruce shouted near her ear, feeling some absurd need to make conversation. 

“I like it!” Nat returned. “Let it drown everything else out!” She glided away from him but was back against him in a second, this time with her ass pressed to his front. He watched as she lifted his hand and placed it on her stomach, making sure they were locked together before she smiled blissfully, arms in the air, body swaying wildly and beautifully. Her head tilted back to view him in the corner of her eye, head resting back on his chest, and he could tell she was a little tipsy. 

Did she have any idea what she was doing? Did it mean anything to her like it did to him? Or was she just being Black Widow? Bruce could feel the blood rushing humiliatingly southward, and he stiffened his jaw. 

Mind over matter, Bruce. You can control it. You’ve had to control so much more. 

Nat whipped around again, this time shimmying down his body, hand tracing the line of buttons on his shirt. She was kneeling eye level with the source of his embarrassment when she looked back up at him, daringly. It clicked— suddenly— the recognition of that look. It wasn’t just a hazy memory from some monstrous green fog this time; it was an unmistakable desire, clear to someone even as dimwitted as he was when it came to such things. It made him feel ten stories high, even as Banner. 

Deep in her eyes

I think I see the future

I realize this is my last chance

Bruce brought his hands to her flawless cheeks, giving her a smile as he pressed harder, directing her upward. He secured her to him this time with arms wrapped fully around her, trying his best to match her earlier rhythm, though he certainly wasn’t as smooth. He was rewarded with a carefree grin spreading over her face.

“Banner can dance!” Thor announced with a hearty laugh, fist in the air. “Somewhat,” he added with a furrowed brow as Bruce locked his bent knees and began some whiskey-fueled arm movements vaguely reminiscent of Saturday Night Fever.

“Getting too confident there,” Nat warned Bruce with a soft laugh in his ear. “Where did you learn that move?”

“Made it up just for you, Romanoff,” Bruce returned. His fingertips dug into the satin at the point where that gorgeous ass met the top of her thigh. Her eyes were dark in the low light, and the bow of her mouth parted as she reacted to his intimate touch. She squirmed a little against him, and he knew she could feel how much he wanted her. His instinct was to back away, hoping she’d forget or think she imagined it. But then he thought to himself fuck it and only squeezed her closer. What was one song? Three minutes and eighteen seconds of pretending to be a normal guy…

Full Chapter on AO3...

[anthropologicalhands]

Capernoited

to be slightly intoxicated or tipsy

The party is bright and loud and almost too much forNathaniel, though given that he stepped off a six-hour flight less than eighthours ago, he feels that his exhaustion isn’t unreasonable.

But, to Darryl’s credit, the party is fairly tame by hisusual standards — there are only two colors of streamers, and no one has even triedto put a funny hat on him. That might also be because, for whatever reason, theparty is being hosted at Heather and Hector’s condo, and Nathaniel isreasonably certain that Heather would enjoy seeing him out of his element. Butall she does, after the initial cheering and hellos, is give him a long, amusedglance, a pat on the arm, and a comment about being impressed that he didn’tmanage to die of some exotic disease before wandering away.

He would definitely bet that Heather was the one to remembernot to make every snack offering made of starch, and there are several goodfruit and vegetable platters among the spread. He does smile at the pretzelslaid out in a vague Guatemala-esque configuration, and even picks out a plainone for later consumption.

The pretzel-maker herself is in attendance, of course -she’d sprung out of the crowd and caught him in an unfortunately brief butenthusiastic hug earlier in the evening, with her arms up and over hisshoulders, going up on tiptoe to extend her reach. But then he’d been drawnaway by Whijo and Vic, and she had bounced over to another cluster in the room.Apart from a small pang, he tries not to be too disappointed – everyone hasbeen busy with their lives and are trying to catch up with each other as muchas with him. And it’s…nice, to be considered a part of this group, no matterhow weird, and realize that he fits here as well as anyone.

Naturally, there is also alcohol, and by ten in the evening mostof the guests are at least tipsy. Nathaniel is only a little buzzed, but enoughto duck around AJ and Maya’s spirited debate on Gone Girl’s feminism inorder to sneak out to the porch. It’s still a warm night, but it isn’t humid,and he enjoys the open, dry air after the pressing clamor of the bodies andconversations inside.

That, naturally enough, is when Rebecca pounces.

He doesn’t even see her coming – she barrels into him justout of his sightline, wrapping her arms snugly around his waist, and when hetwists to look down at her, he finds her grinning up at him like she’s gettingaway with something.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he echoes right back, settling his arms carefullyaround her shoulders, and yes, she’s definitely going to get away withsomething, if such a simple exchange makes him feel that sudden, inexplicablefondness for her again, as sturdy as if he had never left at all. Not tomention how completely her gaze catches him, field of vision both expanding tomap every detail and contracting so that there is nothing else in his focus buther.

“I never gave you a proper hello, did I?” she says lowly,eyes fluttering half-closed.

In another time, that would have definitely been aninnuendo. Truthfully, Nathaniel wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what she’strying to go for right now, but her careless tone is too open for it to beanything serious.

“Oh?” he plays along, leaning down towards her, like theyare sharing a secret; moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked with hers sothat he won’t look at her lips by mistake. “What counts as a properhello?”

She giggles and goes up on her toes, pushing her facedangerously close to his. 

“Hel-lo,” she sings, right in his ear, and dissolves intolaughter. Nathaniel winces but laughs, jerking away with a playful frown. She’sclose enough that he catches the scent of something sharp and fruity on herbreath.

Ah, that explains the demonstrativeness.

“How’s the bar tonight?”

Rebecca’s nose wrinkles in distaste.  “Eh. I’ve onlyhad, like, a drink and a half.”

“What happened to the other half?”

She scrunches up her face. “It might have been tippeddown the sink.”

“No good?”

“It was disgusting,” she assures him, all seriousness. 

“Blame the bartender.”

“Can’t,” she mumbles, eyes drifting closed. “She just tellsme to order better next time.” 

She leans into him, and he shifts his hold to keep herupright, trying not to think about the familiar weight of her in his arms.

“Uh-huh. Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”

Gently, Nathaniel guides her to the porch seat, and sitsdown beside her. She lets him but catches his hands in hers when he tries to drawaway, give her space. He looks down at their entwined fingers and tamps downhard on the tendril of hope that tries to worm its way out of his generalaffectionate feelings for her. It’s ridiculous; barely twelve hours officiallyback in the States and he’s nearly lost again.

He waits for her to let go, but she doesn’t, releasing hishands only to twine her arms around him again in a surprisingly strong grip.

“A drink and a half is less than three,” she begins, afamiliar kind of non-sequitur.

“That is how math usually works, yes,” agrees Nathaniel,teasing, trying not to smile too broadly. He’s forgotten how easy it is to justlook at her and just feel happy, a feeling that never seemed to have anycorrelation to whether they were together or not.

Rebecca rolls her eyes at him, still smiling. “What Imean is that I’m a little tipsy. A little loose. But I am, distinctly, notinebriated.”

“Okay.”

“So what I’m about to say right now can be taken quiteseriously,” she insists, eyes wide and eyebrows angling sharply down.

“All right,” he agrees, because Rebecca clearly has a goalin mind, everything about her face and body language and tone radiating pureintent, and the best thing he can do right now is listen to what she has tosay, and not presume anything. Rebecca gives a tiny nod, apparently satisfied.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know,” he says, and means it in earnest. She hasn’t saidit in so few words, but he’s known. Every time she sent him a message, or anarticle warning him about caimans. When he came back last year for Valentine’sDay and she said in public that she was in awe of him and later, in private, repeatedthe sentiment, and then asked why he couldn’t have gone somewhere that was lessof a schlep to be in awe of.

(He didn’t read too much into it, he knows better than thatnow, but those words have definitely lingered in the back of his mind, thislast year.)

“I missed you too,” he returns, because she is clearlywaiting for a response. “I’m glad to be back. Tired, but glad.”

Rebecca screws up her face in exaggerated empathy, promptinglaughter.

“I told Darryl to wait at least a day,” she says,utterly long-suffering. “But there’s only so much you can do once he hashis mind on a party. But I don’t want to talk about Darryl to you.”

“Oh?”

“No. I wanted to tell you I missed you.”

“You just did,” he teases, trying to play it light, despitehow his pulse hammers as her arms tighten around him, as if determined not tolet him slip away.

(As if he would ever want to.)

Her mouth firms up. “Well, yeah, but no.”

“No?”

“That’s not all I wanted to say,” she says, impatiently,like he’s the one not making sense. “I wanted to say that I miss you and Ithink about you right about…here,” she gestures around the space above her headvaguely. “And here.”

She taps her breastbone, and it feels like she has reachedbetween them, instead, the sharp give and tightening of his heart that hasnothing (and everything) to do with her grip on him.

“Oh?” he says, trying to be light, reminding himself thatnot-quite-drunk still isn’t sober, even if her eyes are clear and fiercewith that Rebecca Bunch determination. “It’s like that, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” says Rebecca, popping her eyes wide, thenlaughing, bright and quick, that reassures him that she isn’t entirely too-fargone. When she blinks up at him again, her gaze is steady. “You have no idea. Itsucked, missing you. You’re so tall, it’s always obvious that you’re missing. Like,in all the group photos. And I know that you were living your best life andeverything in the jungle, but I just wanna say that I’m really, really gladthat you figured out that your best life isn’t like, only possible in thejungle.”

“It was never going to be only in the jungle,” saysNathaniel, amused that she would ever think he could stay away for such anextended time. “I told you I was going to come back. Multiple times.”

For the first time since they’ve started talking, Rebeccalooks away from him, her intensity softening into something he might almostcall uncertainty.

“I know,” she says softly. “You did. And you always do. Ijust needed to have you physically next to me, you know?”

“I know. You’re actually cutting off my circulation.”

“Oops.” Guiltily, she loosens her arms and he can breathe alittle easier, even if his pulse is still hammering in his ears. “Sorry. But,listen, but we need to address this—this thing, between us.” She flaps ahand between them, smacking him hard in the chest and making him wince. “Thatthing we keep sending pictures and text messages and emojis around.”

Nathaniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting thisturn. But he’d have thought (foolishly, he can see that now) that Rebecca wouldgive him a few days to settle back down before bringing up the ‘where do westand’ conversation. She turned him down, he left the country, and while theircorrespondence was always normal between friends, they never actually did aproper post-mortem on their relationship.

“Right.” He shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t ask, for the samereasons why they are not going to talk to each other right now, but he has toat least try to be prepared. “The kind of talk you had with Greg and Josh? Aclean break, clean slate kind of thing?”

These are not questions he wants to ask. But if there’ssomething he’s learned these last three years, it’s that if it is a hardquestion to answer, it’s worth trying.

Rebecca looks up at him, eyes glimmering from the faintillumination cast by the porch light fixture.

“Not the exact same talk,” she says, but not as fastas she normally does – she goes slowly, carefully enunciating, and while thereis still a shakiness to the sounds, it is a Rebecca who is clearly within hercapabilities. “I don’t think you can get a cleaner break than continental lines.”

“True, but that didn’t stop us from talking about otherthings.”

“And I don’t think that was a bad thing. I really likedtalking to you these past two years, Nathaniel. But, I think, since we arefinally going to be inhabiting the same town again, we just need to figure outsomething…sensible. A lot of things have changed around here, not just me.”

“I know,” says Nathaniel.

“And honestly…it’s a talk, not the talk. Justto clear the air about where we wanna go with this as-of-yet-unspoken thing.It can always be revisited and…expanded, as need be.”

“Right.”

“And it’s…gonna be a lot, not gonna lie. But some things youjust have to talk through. A lot of talking. And, also unfortunately speaking fromexperience here, there might also be crying. Lots of crying.”

“I don’t cry that much,” Nathaniel’s protest is automatic,even if he can’t quite help but laugh, knowing that it’s not true (whatever, hecan at least try to deny it). His laugh is a little too loud, has been sincehe’s started spending the majority of his time not thinking of his father, butRebecca responds like she’s been waiting for that sound, like it’s somethingshe wants to hear again.

“Uh huh,” she hums, looking at him, amused. “Don’t try to thinkyou can fool me. You’re a crier.”

“I just don’t remember it that way,” says Nathaniel, affectinghis most haughtiest manner, well aware that he’s already lost if he’s fallingback on that one.

“Give it up. Paula told on you. And Darryl. And Heather—”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” says Nathaniel withexaggerated exasperation, because he’s better at acknowledging his emotions butthat doesn’t mean he has lost all of his secondhand embarrassment. “And you’reright. Crying or not, we should talk.”

Rebecca smiles again at him and nuzzles into his shoulderand the crook of his neck. Cautiously, he tilts his head so that it restsagainst hers.

They sit like that for a while, listening to the murmur ofvoices just inside.

“This is nice,” Rebecca murmurs into the fabric of hisshirt.

“Yeah,” agrees Nathaniel. “But if we don’t get inside soon,I’m just going to fall asleep out here and wake up with a crick in my neck. Andyou won’t be that much better off.”

“Yeah. That’s a shame,” says Rebecca around a yawn. “Ithought we could try the hot tub.”

“Afraid not. I don’t have my swimsuit.”

Rebecca waggles her eyebrows at him, a spark of old mischiefin her eyes. “Who says you need one?”

Nathaniel grimaces. “Gross.”

“Or, is it sexy?”

“No way. It’s unsanitary, and Heather would actually kill me.Or, even worse, make me unclog it.”

“No, she wouldn’t.”

“You’re right: she’d just kill me.”

“Not if I asked her not to.”

 “Not sure I wannatake that risk.”

She pouts fiercely up at him, and he grins.

“Fine,” agrees Rebecca begrudgingly. “Too bad. I definitelythought about you many a time in that hot tub.”

Last year, that would have been enough to make Nathanielcompletely lose his composure, but not now. As it is, he can feel his earsburning, and he’s not blushing, he’s not, but it’s a close thing.

“Well, don’t stop on my account,” says Nathaniel, helpingher stand so they can go back inside. Rebecca snickers.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

It’s good to be back.

[eddiesfaerie]

to be so close, to remember it all

Summary: At the biggest party of the summer, you run into an old fling who you haven't seen since you graduated and left Hawkins for college; Eddie Munson. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, drinking (underage drinking too idk?), drug use, porn WITH plot, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it before you tap it like for real), angst like you won’t believe (happy ending), fluff, the usual deal with eddie <3 semi-public sex, van sex, hair pulling, choking, spanking, spit kink, hand kink obvi, face slapping, dom sub dynamic, dom eddie, sub reader, crying during sex, reader goes cock dumb a little bit, creampie, eddie and reader are 21 (in flashbacks they are both 18!)

A/N, if you've seen Dazed and Confused, think of that giant party they have in the woods, this is what i was envisioning!!

The air was hot and sticky, thick with humidity which was not unusual, even for mid June, even for how late at night it was.

Your jean shorts stick to your body uncomfortably as you nurse the same drink some (definitely underage) kid handed you 30 minutes ago now. While everyone else was chugging theirs, you decided to sip slowly to manage to get through tonight.

You didn’t necessarily want to be here but your younger sibling had begged you to accompany them to the biggest party they had ever heard of happening in the woods. One final kickback before everyone left for college. It was bittersweet, you remember your own party, deep in the woods of Hawkins in the summer that you had graduated, 1983. 

You watch the younger teens run around after each other, leaning against their cars, trucks and vans as their headlights light up the forest dreamily, like you were all in some music video. Everyone’s drinking, smoking pot and getting high all together, one final time. 

It makes something nostalgic pang in your chest as you reminisce on one particular goodbye you never truly got over. An unruly, curly headed fling who you never stopped fantasizing about, even through college, even after meeting other boys. 

No one was like him. 

You wonder briefly if he’s here. If he’s still in Hawkins, if he ever fucking graduated. You stopped hearing his name the moment you graduated and left for the city but you always wondered what the fuck Eddie Munson was up to. 

Your sibling calls your name and you smile as they approach you, handing you another drink and taking your now empty cup. 

“Someone’s looking for you.” They tell you and you scrunch up your face, confused but your heart beats with naive hope. 

“Who?” You were sure you didn’t know anyone else who was graduating. Unless, unless, unless. 

“I don’t know. He just asked if I knew you, if we were related. He said I look like you.” They shrugged, a bit tipsy and lopsided. 

He, it couldn’t be-

“He’s over there.” They continue, pointing off into the dark distance all too vaguely but you see him in an instant, you’d recognize him anywhere. 

Eddie’s eyes meet yours and he smiles so fucking wide you think your heart cracks open. Fuck you missed him, seeing his face now for the first time in three years you fucking missed him so much and you hadn’t realized it until now. You stare at him a little incredulously and he waves from where he stands, very much in the dark and surrounded by two or three close friends, no one else. Always the loner. 

“T-Thanks.” You stutter, giving your sibling a subtle smile before walking over in Eddie’s direction. 

You walk awkwardly, suddenly unsure of what to do with your arms, trying not to swing your hips too obviously as you become hyper aware of your body’s state. You missed him you missed him you missed him. 

His friends walk away as you approach him which you’re thankful for. He sticks a cigarette in his mouth and lights it up as you come nearer, the orange flicker lighting up his face ominously and suddenly something hot and heavy and familiar sinks in your stomach. He’s aged well. It’s only been three years but he somehow looks older, sexier than when you left Hawkins. His hair is longer, lips plumper and smile deeper, the lines by his mouth more prominent and your eyes go bleary.

He leans back against the tree trunk behind him, blowing the smoke out of his mouth easily. The smile that threatens to take over his face is too hard to ignore, too strong to push down. He’s fucking delighted to see you. 

“Never thought I’d see you again.” He smiles, voice light and teasing and easy like your goodbye wasn’t enough to knock him to his knees. Like the thought of never seeing you again wouldn’t absolutely kill him. 

And you alike. 

You shrug, trying to match his easy energy. You stand around him awkwardly, you’re unsure on how much distance to leave between the two of you, it’s been so long. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

“Didn’t say I was disappointed, princess.” He smirks, sucking the cigarette deeply, hollowing out his cheeks while his eyes burn into yours as he inhales.

You look away from him and his piercing stare, it stabs you like a knife in the back of the head, his stare makes your head pound, makes you dizzy. 

“How’s college treating you?” He asks when you say nothing. His voice is tight from the smoke, sarcastic as well and you can’t tell if he’s hurt or trying to hurt you like you hurt him when you left three years ago. Without him.

You giggle as you lay on his bed, your eyes heavy and your chest light. 

“Our apartment is going to be so cool, like, everyone’s going to be jealous.” Eddie says animatedly, laying on his back, next to you as you both mindlessly look up at the ceiling. Your body is sweaty, sticky and wet. You need a shower but Eddie was way too fast at rolling a joint. You both laid there, smoking the joint, completely spent, lazy and lax.

You laugh again. “We are not moving in together until you promise to be cleaner, okay? I cannot have our place smelling like… like boy.”

Eddie feigns being hurt, grabbing his chest, his heart, over dramatically and makes a choking sound, like you stabbed him. You turn your head to look at him and he’s already looking at you. 

“Oh you wound me, sweetheart,” He glares at you playfully, through clenched teeth but his lips are pulled tight in that perfect Eddie smile. Your heart clenches.

“I know you love my smell.” He tells you, leaning forward just a bit. You bite your lip and stay quiet. 

“You love my boy smell.” He bellows before climbing up on top of you and shoving your face into his still damp armpit. 

You squeal and push at his chest but to no avail, the boy is stronger than you and he cackles maniacally as you continuously push at his body. 

“You love it! You love it!” He chants, kissing the top of your head while keeping you pinned underneath him. You give up trying to push him off of you and instead wrap your arms around his bare torso and begin tickling him. 

Eddie laughs and you inhale him one last time as he finally pulls himself off of you. 

You did love it. 

“Fine. Fine. It’s, you know, college.” You laugh awkwardly, taking a rather big gulp from the drink your sibling gave you. It tasted like candy, it was sickeningly sweet but was going straight to your head. 

Eddie nods, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the ground. He stares at the way they burn away into nothing on the dewy grass instead of looking at you. 

You burn so brightly now, somehow brighter than you had with him all those years ago in high school when he thought you were the coolest fucking girl at Hawkins High. You look older now, happier. Maybe the time away from here, away from him, did you some good. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he really was bad for you, like anyone with half a brain could have told either of you. Maybe that’s why he never asked you to stay, to wait for him. He’d only weigh you down.

“I-It’s not much different from high school actually. I’m still a total fucking loner.” You snort, trying to make light of the situation, trying to ease the palpable tension between the two of you that’s done nothing but grow and seep into both of your beings since the moment you walked over to him.

Eddie snorts at that too. He finds it hard to believe but he doesn’t think you’d lie to him, not for his own sake, not because you had some strange, newly developed pity for him. 

“Loner stoner.” He smiles, taking another drag from his cigarette. 

Your heart pangs loudly in your chest you swear he could see it if he looked hard enough. If he leaned in he would see the way your shirt tightened over where your heart fucking pounds, desperate to leap out of your chest and into his hands and scream look! I’m here, I’m still here and I’m still beating and I still fucking care about you, I still lov-

“Loner stoner.” You repeat, smiling at the ground, at a rock you kick stupidly with your converse to avoid looking into his big brown eyes. 

That’s what you called each other in high school, the loner stoners. Neither of you had many friends, he was the one who actually had friends. He always invited you to hang out with them, to join in on their D&D games but you always refused. You only wanted him. 

Eddie was too sweet on you, he never minded keeping you all to himself, he never minded that you preferred hanging out one on one, getting high and then eventually finding yourselves back at his trailer, in his room, going down on one another. 

It wasn’t until the summer before college that you finally found your own friends, right before you up and left. 

“Always.” He says, looking up at you finally, flicking his cigarette towards his white shoes and stomping it out. 

Your eyes are heavy when you look into his, they prick and sting with the smoke of his cigarette and the bonfire that's off in the distance. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Eddie sighs dramatically, kicking himself off of the tree trunk and stalking towards you, circling you, observing. 

“Well, that’s a shame about college,” he sighs, continuously circling you until he stops, his hand hot on your forearm as he suddenly grabs you tentatively, testing the now uncanny waters, “wanna get high?” 

You’re barely done nodding your head before he’s pulling you through the forest. 

Eddie pulls you away from the blinding headlights of all the cars. The dark cover of night hides the two of you as you scurry off towards the backwoods, towards the direction of the lake and his parked van, away from everyone else.

He’s silent when you reach it, silent as he searches quickly for his stash, sliding open the side door of his van and sitting on the edge of the now open back area. Eddie finally pulls out his black metal lunch box, the same one he had in high school. 

He says nothing as he expertly rolls the joint, you mindlessly sit down next to him and he doesn’t spare you a second glance, just focusing on the task at hand. You watch his ringed fingers gleam in the moonlight as they move expertly over the thin paper, rolling it so deftly like he has hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. 

You watch him in a shared, perhaps forced, silence. Unsure of what to say, what to talk about. What could you say to him, I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I left without you, I’m sorry I managed to get out like we always talked- dreamed about and you didn’t and I just left you without more than a goodbye and I cried and cried- 

“Here.” He says, passing you the finish joint and you blink at him before coming back to the present moment. The joint was unlit, as per your usual ritual. Your stomach flutters at the fact that he still remembers it.

You place it between your lips, awaiting his hand with the magic flame. He lifts the lighter, your hands cup around his to save the flame from any wind. You lean into his touch, lighting the tip of the joint. You suck in quickly, two, three shallow puffs to burn the end of the joint, to get it going. Eddie watches you mesmerized, not unfamiliar with the way your lips suck and pucker around something else. His stomach erupts with sudden butterflies, moths, maybe something bigger like birds because his cheeks light up red hot and he looks away suddenly as you take it between your fingers, blowing out the burning end so it doesn’t go up in flames. 

You pass it back to him, and he passes it back to you. This goes on for however long, in complete silence. You both stare off into the woods, Lovers Lake shimmering and glinting off in the distance, screams and laughter coming from the bonfire not too far in the other direction. You’re alone with him and neither of you can fucking say anything. 

You hadn’t been lovers, or in love at all. Well… maybe. No, no definitely not. You just sought each other out. Two outcasts, you both hated everyone and the way they talked, acted for people who didn’t even care about them. Better to be yourself and not give a shit what other people think because in the end, they’re just jealous leeches. 

You kept it a secret, the fact that you were hooking up. You didn’t want the leeches to, well, leech onto it and suddenly become Hawkins High’s favorite hot gossip. So it was a secret. And when you left, you treated him like a secret. An awkward goodbye in his trailer, an awkward hug, neither of you knowing if you should kiss or if that was suddenly weird, taboo. You hadn’t been together, anyways. Only lovers kiss each other goodbye. 

“It’s weird being back.” You blurt, hating the way your voice cuts through the silence so awkwardly. 

Eddie looks at you as you continue to stare off into the distance, your eyes focused on the lake. He can nearly see its reflection in your eyes. 

You’re beautiful, he thinks to himself, you’ve only grown more beautiful and he hates that he wasn’t there to watch it. Maybe it was precisely because he wasn’t there. 

Eddie nods, sort of understanding. He’s sure it’s weird. He’s sure you feel out of place. Then again you always have, that’s what had drawn him to you all those years ago when you were both in the same grade.

You huff, bringing your knees up to your chest and hugging them to you, curling in on yourself. 

“Bad weird or good weird?” Eddie asks, holding out the joint to you. 

You take it, your fingers brush and you try to not pay it any mind but it’s all you think about for a moment. 

“Good weird.” You say finally, lips muffled a bit by the joint you stick between them.

You suck it harshly, trying to suck something like courage out of it to say what's on your tongue. His weed is premium so it doesn’t take much. 

“It’s good… seeing you again.” You admit, handing him the joint and he stares at you a moment before taking it from your delicate hand. 

“Yeah,” Eddie croaks, smoke thick in his throat, “You… look different.”

You don’t like the sound of that. Neither does he, to be honest. He hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding like that.

“Good different or bad different?” You whisper, nearly afraid to ask. 

Eddie snorts, he laughs a little but it doesn’t feel totally friendly. It feels a little cold, laced with ice around the edges. 

He shrugs but says nothing, passing the joint back to you, fingers lingering on each other and he’s quick to pull away. 

The touches are quickly driving him insane, his hands all too familiar with touching your body but now after three years he feels like it’s unallowed, sinful of him to want that again. You’ve both grown up, you should want more adult things than just sex and weed and getting high and laughing until you fall asleep together. Right? 

“What happened was for the best,” He starts awkwardly, hand scratching at the back of his neck, “we were just using each other. Maybe it was good that you left.” Eddie cuts to the chase so quickly it winds you. You nearly choke on the smoke still in your throat. 

You grimace, holding the joint tightly between your two fingers. “I didn’t think of it like that.” You admit, taking another desperate drag.

Eddie looks at you, suddenly regretting his choice of words at your sad, hurt expression. 

“Yeah, me neither. I don’t know why I said that.” He blabbers, reaching for the joint and panicking when you don’t offer to give it to him. You hand it back to him, a little bewildered from this tug and pull with him. 

“It’s okay.” You say lamely, too casually for what you both only half admitted. Maybe it wasn’t nothing, maybe all our time together hadn’t meant nothing. 

Eddie nods, sucking on the quickly shortening stub of a joint. He wonders if you’ll leave once it’s done so he quickly searches his stash to roll another, to keep you from leaving so quickly. 

You watch him move frantically, wanting to know so desperately what the fuck he’s thinking about. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. 

Eddie scoffs rudely, eyes focused on the new joint he rolls, the short one still dangling expertly between his lips. “Don’t apologize to me.” 

“O-Okay, sorry.” You stutter stupidly, apologizing again, visibly shrinking in on yourself and Eddie wishes he could stop being so fucking awkward around you. You, it’s still you; looking like a kicked puppy. 

“Hey no, I mean- fuck.” He rolls the joint poorly and the thin paper rips between his fingers, weed spilling out of the tear. Eddie groans, tossing the ruined joint to the side and throwing his head into his hands. 

Fuck, this sucked. This was the worst fucking thing ever and neither of you knew how to break out of it, how to get out of this awkward phase of hey we used to fuck but i haven’t seen you in three years and now we’re older and things are different but they’re not really because I still remember your taste. Can everything go back to the way it was before, when we were together, when we were lovers-

“I mean, don’t feel bad. I don’t want to make you feel bad because you got what we both wanted and I was too stupid to be able to get it for myself.” 

“You’re not stupid, Ed-”

“I failed senior year twice.” 

You snort. You don’t mean to laugh but you do and you look at him with wide eyes, worried he’ll be hurt but he’s already smiling at you. So you let a giggle rip through your throat and Eddie’s heart soars in his chest at the sound. 

“Doesn’t get much stupider than that.” He adds, voice teasing and light. 

You punch his arm lightly, trying to get him to stop but all you find is your flesh burning at the contact with his firm arm. 

“I’m serious. You’re not stupid, this place just sucks ass.” You groan, thinking back on how torturous high school was, for you and for him. You’re more than thankful he can actually leave this place now. 

Eddie nods, sucking what’s left of the little nub before he flicks it onto the forest floor. “Yeah, it does. I’m glad at least one of us got out.”

You know he’s not trying to guilt trip you, you know he’s being honest, Eddie means what he says, always - but your heart pangs in your chest. It should have been both of you. 

“You were always too good for Hawkins. Too cool for everyone at school, even me.” He smirks, trying to make light of something that’s killed him for the past three years but you don’t see it as a joke, as someone on the other side of the double edged sword. It had been three painful years for you as well. 

“I always thought you were cool, Eddie.” You admit, voice just above a whisper. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, adjusting his hips where he sits next to you and his thigh bumps into yours. How was he still wearing those dark jeans even in this midnight heat? 

“Spare me the pity, princess.” He groans, a smile always pulling at his full lips. 

“I’m not pitying you. I always thought you were the coolest. You were the coolest person I knew… you still are.”

That shut him up. Eddie says nothing, he just stares at you with meaningful eyes, brown near black pupils glimmering in the moonlight. 

“Why else would I have spent so much time with you?” You admit, voice breathless, near exasperated at trying to get him to understand how you felt about him this whole time. That you love- 

“Because of the sex.” 

You roll your eyes, hitting his arm. Eddie grabs your wrist before you can punch him again. He holds it tight, his grip deadly and you’re caught in the wild gaze he gives you as he constricts around your pulse like a snake.

He’s slow in his movements, slow to bring your wrist up to his mouth, ghosting his lips over the paper thin flesh. He presses a tentative kiss to your wrist, then turning your hand over and pressing another to your palm. You shudder as you watch him just trail his lips along your hand like he has all the time in the world.

Eddie finally lets go, still holding your hand and patting it amicably. Your face grows hot. 

“They good to you, up in the city?” He asks. 

“W-Who?” You ask, distracted by the way he plays with your fingers, his rings a nice cool contrast to your quickly overheating skin. 

“Boys,” he says like it’s obvious, “they treat you okay?” 

You look at him confused, maybe embarrassed or shocked by his bold question. 

“I, they-” 

“It’s been three years. We don’t have to pretend like we didn’t fuck other people.” 

You burn bright as a star, bright as the moon over Lovers Lake. 

“Yeah.” You agree meekly, not really in agreement at all. Eddie was the last person you wanted to talk to about your failed college sex life. 

“Yeah, so?” 

You cringe, unable to say the words. 

“Eddie, you don’t want to kno-”

“No. I do. I do want to know.” He leans into you suddenly, pulling your hand over his lap to pull you forwards and into his body. You nearly collide into his face, his nose nearly bumping yours. You can feel his hot breath fanning out across your face. He smells like weed and some cheap cologne you recognize, one he definitely wore in high school. He’s making you crazy, dizzy.

“I want to know if they fucked you like I did.” Eddie nearly growls.

“Eddie-”

“Did they? Do they even know what you like?” 

“Do you?” You throw back at him, tired of this sudden interrogation. Eddie’s eyes go wide, his pupils absorbing what little was left of his brown iris. His lip trembles with something unspoken, something bubbling just under the surface of his cool demeanor.

“Do you even remembered how you fucked me, Munson?”

“Yes.” He answers almost immediately. 

You’re stunned, almost too much so to speak. Your lips part and you nearly gasp, you’re scared for a moment that you’re so close to him that you’ll accidentally kiss. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world but you’re just not sure what spell he has you under right now. You’re nearly in his lap, after all. 

“I remember everything.” He admits, almost too vulnerably because he’s quickly lunging into you and biting your neck, sinking his sharp teeth into your flesh and you cry out, latching yourself onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you grow woozy. He always liked to bite.

Eddie speaks without pulling away from your neck, his lips and teeth grazing your quickly purpleing flesh. 

“I know you like to get your hair pulled, I know you like my hands around your throat. I know you like it from the back because it makes you feel like a little slut, my little slut. Right?” 

You swallow down a moan, biting on your bottom lip as Eddie continues to bite you, soothing the wounded area with his hot tongue, the flesh growing cool with his spit even in the hot night. 

“See,” he sneers through his teeth, “I do remember. I remember fucking everything about you, your body, the sex. I remember how much your pussy-”

“Stop.” You say suddenly. 

Eddie stills on your neck, surprised (to say the least) by your sudden words. He pulls away from you regardless, searching your eyes for any sign that he took this too far. 

“You want me to-?”

“S-Stop talking like that if you’re not going to fuck me again.”

Eddie’s face lights up with a smile. He leans into your face, pressing a way too tender kiss to your heated cheek. 

“You want me to fuck you?” He asks, voice as low as a whisper, speaking only for you. 

You nod your head, not caring about appearances anymore. You need him. 

“Yes, Eddie.” 

“No one fucking you good enough up in that big city?” He pouts, mocking you. You whine, shaking your head no, unashamed by your want for him yet afraid of how your voice will come out if you speak. 

“Baby,” He coos, totally mocking you, “what a shame.”

This time, you lunge into him, sealing your lips onto his plump ones and letting his tongue into your mouth without a moment of hesitation. His jaw works on you, his mouth and tongue devouring yours as he pushes your back down onto the floor of his van, kicking and sliding the door shut with his foot. 

You jump at the loud sound, eyes shooting open as he manhandles you into the back of his truck, exactly where he wants you. 

“S-Someone’s eager.” You tease, his ringed fingers already working on unbuttoning your jean shorts. 

“Sweetheart, I've been eager to get back inside your pants since you left for college. Missed this pretty pussy, missed y-”

Eddie stops himself short, his hands frozen with your shorts now half way down your thighs along with your underwear hooked into them. Eddie’s eyes meet yours, wide and anxious, caught mid-admittance.

If your face could grow any hotter, it would. Your tongue goes dry and heavy in your mouth and so does his. He’s suddenly incapable of correcting himself. So all you do is nod your head. Maybe part of him wanted to say it, admit to it, admit to missing you. He wishes he could tell you just how much he really did. 

So you tell him, “I know.” You validate him silently. You don’t make fun of him, you get it. You always have. 

Eddie looks at you, absolutely smitten, thankful for your silent understanding. You missed each other. You missed each other so fucking much. 

Eddie doesn’t waste another second, he pulls your shorts and panties from your legs and flings them somewhere in his van. He’s got his hands on the back of your thighs, fingers dipping low to rub through your already puffy folds. Eddie’s completely mesmerized by the way his thumb slicks through you and your mess, spreading your arousal all over you. 

“Eddie.” You whine, not having any teasing tonight. It’s been three fucking years. 

“I know, I know it’s just, fuck I forgot how wet you get.” 

“So you did forget something.” You smirk, all too pleased with yourself. 

“Barely. Hard to forget how easy you are, sweetheart. How easy you make it to just slip it in.” 

Eddie glares at you before he leans down over your pussy. You arch your back, arch your hips towards his face needing something, anything. His face hovers right above your mound, he makes eye contact with you smiling before blowing air onto your wet lips. You groan and bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, all of Hawkins High was having the biggest party of the year just up the woods after all. 

You watch him as he shifts into something familiar, yet so unreachable. The Eddie you knew before you left, the Eddie you came crawling to at the end of all your hard days, your good days, and the in between days. The Eddie that would make you forget, make you only know his name, only the feel of his body on top, underneath, inside of yours. 

Eddie presses the lightest kiss to the hood of your clit and you squeeze your eyes shut before reopening them, about to cuss him out. Eddie purses his lips and spits right onto your pussy. You gasp and he just smiles. He admires the way his spit glimmers over your sweet cyprine before he’s taking three fingers and spreading it all around, mixing his spit with your cum and cooing at you, admiring his work. 

“So messy,” he tuts, clicking his tongue and pouting at you, “you’re already so messy for me sweetheart.” 

You could fucking scream. 

You almost do but Eddie starts unbuckling his stupid, fake handcuff belt and tugging his dark jeans and boxers down his legs. You watch as the hair that travels down towards his cock slowly reveals itself to you, his cock then bobbing free, heavy and hard with its own weight. You salivate at the sight of it, your mouth pooling with spit. 

“I don’t uh, I don’t have any condoms.” Eddie says, cheeks a furious red. He removes his battle jacket, the jean vest and the leather jacket all in one shot, leaving him in just a dirty white tee shirt. 

“It’s okay.” You reassure him. And you mean it. Even if it’s stupid. 

“A-Are you sure? You know I usually have some but I wasn’t exactly planning on getting laid tonight.”

You stare at him, widening your legs more for him. 

“If I’d known you’d be here, however.” He smirks, voice trailing off as he climbs up on top of you. 

“Please, need to feel you.” You whine, brain gone a little stupid already. You just need him you need him so fucking badly you could die if he doesn’t fuck you immediately. 

Eddie shudders. 

“Ssh, enough begging. I don’t want to make you beg. I’m right here, princess. I’m here.” He tells you, wedging himself between your legs. You gasp at the feel of his blood engorged cock lining up at your entrance. Eddie runs the head of him through your glossy folds, preening at the squelching wet sounds your lips make. He’s barely even touched you and you’re already desperate for him. God, he missed you. 

“I’ve got you.” He tells you before thrusting the entirety of his length in one fell swoop. 

After three years, and a handful of forgettable hookups in between, you realized you would never forget how sublime Eddie felt inside of you, how big and wide, how awfully good he stretched you. But three years without him was enough time to make your pussy good as new to him, apparently.

Your jaw drops opens in a silent cry at the feel of being absolutely split in half, but Eddie doesn’t take his chances, he’s quick in shoving his palm over your mouth to shut you up, just in case some stupid kids come poking around the woods. 

He doesn’t wait to start thrusting his hips, sawing his solid length in and out of your creamy pussy, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. 

“Y-You gotta be quiet, okay? Can you do that for me?” You nod your head frantically, breathing in the fresh air when he does finally remove his hand from your mouth. You bite your bottom lip, screwing your eyes shut in an attempt to just focus on the feel of his cock prodding at the base of your belly and not scream bloody fucking murder. 

But Eddie’s hand is at your cheek, slapping you firmly and your eyes open as he hits you once, twice.

“Eyes on me. Need you to look at me.”  

“Eddie-”

“Missed those eyes, missed your pretty eyes, sweetheart.” He groans, shoving his forehead on to yours nearly making you go cross eyed at how much closer, how much deeper he gets. His cock pummels into you, his hips snapping, rocking his van side to side and you worry someone will hear you, that your sibling will come looking for you and find you getting fucked like a whore in the back of Eddie Munson’s van. 

You cry at his sweet words, the contrast of his loving gaze with his harsh thrusts was enough to make your head spin, make your eyes go watery. 

“Oh fuck-”

“Tell me you missed me.” He demands, his eyes not leaving yours even though yours begin to roll into the back of your head as he somehow manages to fuck you harder. 

His hand is hot on your skin, he shoves your little baby tee up your chest, letting your breasts spill out so he can watch them bounce. He grabs on in his hand, pinching your nipple and groping the soft flesh. His hand then slithers around your throat, his thick, cool rings offer a beautiful contrast to your molten skin. Eddie applies the lightest pressure but you want more. You grab onto his wrist with both your hands, pressing your tits together with your biceps, eyes big and watery and pleading with him. So he clenches his fist and your eyes go blank. You finally succumb to him. 

“Tell me.”

“Missed you- missed you so much, Eddie.” 

Eddie sneers, snapping his hips viciously into yours to make up for the softness that begins to creep up on his edges. His eyes grow heavy, something prickling at the inner corners as he watches you bounce underneath him with something like love or admiration or just dumb lust in your eyes. 

“I know you did. I know, I know.” He repeats, his words landing hard with their own snap of his hips against yours. 

Eddie suddenly pulls away from you and a desperate sob leaves your throat before you can swallow it whole. 

“Turn around, hands and knees.” He says as if he wasn’t already manhandling you into position himself. His hands are hot on your hips, flipping you over and then dragging your ass up into the air and slamming you back down onto his cock again. 

You scramble for purchase on the unforgiving floor beneath you, your nails digging into nothing as he slams himself into you, hips meeting your ass over and over again.

“Good, that’s so good.” He praises and you arch your back, sending your hips backwards to meet his thrust at his sweet words. 

“Such a good girl for me, you’re so fucking good.” He groans your name and tears fall down your cheeks. You missed this, you missed him, you missed him, you missed him. 

Eddie’s slams his hand down onto your ass, spanking the flesh raw a couple of times and you yelp into your arm, biting down on the flesh to prevent from alerting everyone in the fucking woods. You clench down on his cock at each spank and Eddie nearly keels over, his body hunching over yours even with his unrelenting thrusts. His front presses to your back as he leans down and places gentle kisses to your shoulder, grabbing the base of your hair at your skull and turning your head to the side so he can press his lips to yours sloppily. 

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“M’your good- your good girl.” You whine, your eyes wet and shiny as they meet his. Eddie’s face softens. His hand that was gripping your hair meanly smoothes down the back of your head, finding one of your hands and interlocking your fingers together. 

You arch underneath him, flexing your ass higher into the air in sweet presentation for him and Eddie moans into your ear, his breath going heavy and desperate.

“Oh fuck- can I- shit, can I cum inside you?”

The question alone was nearly enough to sober you. Had it been anyone else, you would have snapped out of this near subspace you’ve entered, kicked them off of you and taken an ice cold shower. But it had something deep and wrong clenching inside of you as it spilled from Eddie’s swollen, wet lips. 

It was never something you had done before, never something you two had talked about. Eddie always wore condoms, you had always been on the pill, still are. But shit - he barely had to ask the question before you were begging for it, before you realized you couldn’t go on without the feeling of him filling you up in the most sinful, albeit dangerous way possible. 

Eddie feels your answer before you even speak. Your gummy walls clench on him repeatedly at his question, his eyes go wide and his mouth curls into a sick smile. 

“Oh my god, you want it, don’t you?” You nod your head dumbly. 

“Need it, Eds.” You pout.

“Yeah? You gonna cum with me?” He presses, his hips growing sloppy, thrusts imprecise. He’s getting close. His breathing picks up in your ear and you bend into him. 

“Yes.” You whine, voice getting higher as his gets lower, grittier. He’s getting close. His breathing picks up in your ear and you bend into him. “Cum inside me, n-need you to cum inside me. Please, Eddie.” 

“Oh fuck, shit-”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease-” You beg brainlessly, completely cock drunk and needy.

And he does. He fucking gives it to you. With a final thrust, harsher than the rest, his body curls over yours as he sends his release deep inside of you, so hot and wet it sends you reeling towards your own release. Your body curls underneath his as you both milk each other dry, your bodies both quivering from the come down. 

Eddie presses endless kisses to the side of your face, licking and kissing away at the tears that continuously fall. You both breathe the same air, neither of you wanting to pull away from the other. 

Eddie gently thrusts his cock into a few more times, slowly, lazily this time and you whine, body exhausted and overexerted but you arch into him nonetheless. You would always go as many times as he needed, as much as he wanted if he meant he’d have you. 

You rock your ass back into his hips and Eddie groans, hand flying to your supple flesh to hold you tight, pin you down and stop you from moving. 

“Jesus- stop that if you don’t want me to fuck you again.” 

“W-Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?” You smile at him, voice hoarse and breathless, body still shaking but your smile is so genuine he thinks something melts in his chest. 

Eddie growls, leaning forward, rocking into you again and biting your cheek lightly. You groan, but let him do what he wants. You always would.

“God, you’re such a slut.”

You hum happily. You missed him. “Yeah,” you say like it’s the most obvious statement he could have made, “Your slut.”

Eddie looks at you, his eyes oddly sentimental for you having just referred to yourself as his slut. Call him stupid, call him fucked in the head, but he thinks he loves you. 

“Come back to the city with me.” You blurt, your face hot with embarrassment and vulnerability. 

Eddie chuckles nervously, nearly choking on his spit. “A-and stay where?”

His voice cracks like he doesn’t absolutely know what you’re implying. He wants you to say it, needs you to make it clear for him. 

You gulp.

“With me.”

Eddie pulls out of you, both of you gasping at the sudden loss of the other’s warmth. But he’s quick in grabbing you and turning you over, flipping you back onto your back and falling down onto your chest. Eddie pants, gripping you tightly beneath him. 

“O-or I can help you find your own place if you’d rather that. I just thought, I don’t know, I just thought that-”

“Jesus Christ, shut up.” Eddie groans before kissing you hard. You moan into his mouth, so spent but always desperate for him. You wrap your arms up around his neck, pulling him closer to you, you need him closer.

Your eyes are blurry when he pulls away, and with something as you watch him become watery in front of you with your unshed tears. 

You keep your arms around his neck, you keep him close. You nudge your nose with his. 

“I missed you.” You whisper, admitting it again. You’ll never stop telling him how much you missed him, your own way of apologizing for leaving without him the first time. 

Eddie cups your cheek, hand hot on your feverish skin as his palm encapsulates the side of your face and jaw. 

“I know.” 

He thinks about it silently, not sure what he’s even thinking about, what he’s pretending to consider like he wasn’t just picturing himself in your space, adding things of his own to yours and making it uniquely theirs. Ours. Us. 

“Please come back with me.” You beg again, unembarrassed about seeming desperate anymore. You need him and you’re not giving him up again. He’s yours. 

Eddie smiles, that perfect fucking brilliant smile that cracks his beautiful features in two with those deep dimples that you love so much. 

“I’ll drive us out of here. After graduation on Sunday, we’ll be gone. Like two little bats out of hell.” He tells you, kissing your cheek repeatedly. You laugh, absolutely fucking delighted. 

“And we’ll live together.” You beam.

“Yeah, you’re never getting rid of me again, sweetheart.”

[134340am]

surprise! here’s the jean ver. of prompt no.15 — struggling to get ready for bed together while tipsy [read the dabi version here]! 

jean kirschtein x gn!reader, non-canonverse, 0.8k words part of my 100 frens celebration! tags: silly tipsy jean x tired partner, one (1) vague eremika implication, barely edited and basically crack sorry... (⊙x⊙;)

15. struggling to get ready for bed together while tipsy

“no baby, we gotta — hic — get ready for bed properly. meeting ‘ren and the others for brunch tomorrow, gotta wake up — hic — on time…” jean mumbles into your neck sleepily. from the looks of it, with his dishevelled hair and half-buttoned shirt, he’s about ten seconds away from putting his entire weight on you and falling asleep upright — which isn’t exactly a wise idea when you’re as tipsy and as tired as he is.

“yes, darling. so can we go to sleep now?” you try to pacify him, leaning on the counter of your bathroom sink tiredly while watching your boyfriend mumble to himself drunkenly.

he ignores you. “brunch is at 11 baby, 11 a.m. we can’t miss it again,” he insists, pulling you into a hug and sniffling into your neck. is he crying now? 

you peel his head from your neck to take a proper look at his face. oh boy. he’s yawning sleepy tears now, still putting his entire weight on you, and you struggle to hold him upright to wipe his tears away with the hem of your shirt. as you pat away at his face, grunting with effort, jean lets his eyes fall on you with a seriousness typically reserved for when he was sober.

“what do you do to look all…” he gesticulates vaguely in the general direction of your face. his pinky finger brushes against your nose, and your vision blurs for a short bit as his wild gestures blur into a kaleidoscope of colours in front of your eyes. “...to look so pretty?”

you shrug. “skincare, i guess.” 

“what’s this…” jean swipes at an orange tube of moisturiser you have sitting on your sink, squinting at the label. “made in japan. contains fragrance and— fragrance and maw? mild? mile berries. man berries. hmmm.” 

your lover frowns at the tube which looks comically small in his massive hands. “i want to put it on.”

goodness. you were far too drunk and tired for this. but the sincerity in his expression had unwittingly softened your heart before you could think twice, so you sigh and give in. “sure, if you promise we can go to sleep right after.”

…

“you’re not gonna help me?” 

“it’s just a cream, you can do it.”

“but baby, i’m drunk.”

“so am i.”

a brief staring competition ensues. 

your boyfriend juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, eyes wide and infuriatingly innocent.

“…fine.”

without trying to conceal the smug smile on his face, jean uncaps the tube and holds it out for you. 

note to self: stop giving him everything he wants. he’s getting insufferable.

you squeeze a dollop of cream onto your index finger, rubbing it between your fingertips to warm up the product, before beckoning him closer to massage the moisturiser into his skin. jean bends at the knees awkwardly to accommodate your height, eyes still staring intently into yours.

“smells good. smells like oranges — those must be the man berries they were talking about on the packaging," he notes seriously. 

you stifle a laugh at that. “yeah, i like it too,” you murmur.

“will this man berry cream make me as pretty as you?”

“it’ll make you the prettiest.” 

jean nods at that, satisfied with your answer. you wash your hands quickly and pat them on a nearby towel. your boyfriend slumps against the sink once more, his prior interest in your skincare collection now replaced with a heavy fatigue that clings to his skin like honey. yet, his coffee-coloured eyes remain fixed on your movements, as if watching you wipe the sink quickly was the most interesting thing in the world.

and as promised, the two of you head to bed after that.

“goodnight, baby. thanks for making me pretty,” your lover declares while he curls himself around you.

“i can make you pretty in the morning, too, if you want,” you respond, already half-asleep now.

“…if we can wake up on time.”

“if we can wake up on time.” 

the room falls silent, save for the soft whirring of the air conditioner. the pair of you drift off to a restful sleep with your arms and legs twined around each other.

.

.

.

your phone is ringing. is it your alarm? no, it’s a phone call. with your vision still blurry from exhaustion, you save your eyes from your bright screen and answer the call without looking at the caller id.

“...‘llo?”

“HEYA! are you coming? is jean with you? they have a special couple’s brunch promo today but with limited redemptions, so y’all gotta get here quick. mika and i already ordered!" came eren's enthusiastic voice on the other side of the line.

a little more awake now, you yank your phone away from your ear to squint at your lock screen. 11.32 a.m.

“fuck.”

a/n: for @missmeinyourbones​ <3 remember when i said i wanted to go with jean at first? well, i couldn’t let my outline go to waste (it was about 75% written up anyway), so... surprise! take this as compensation in the event that i fucked up the dabi request lol anyways love u bub <3

(original request / dabi version here)

(masterlist) (series masterlist)

[mourntheantagonist]

What about Billy getting pushed up against a wall in a GOOD way? (By Steve, as a clarification. Kissing desperately and then more, as further clarification.)

I’m always of the mindset that, yeah, while billy might be the one to first put on the moves, flirt, get the ball rolling in the right direction…steve is the one to make the actual first move past innocent flirting.

and what better way to do that than to corner billy at a party when the both of them are already tipsy, guards down, liquid courage coursing through their veins, music banging and drunk teenagers so far gone that even if they had seen the two of them enter that bedroom together, nobody would think anything of it or even remember it by morning.

and this has been exactly what billy’s been hoping for. every little teasing remark and body checking on the court and tap on the shoulder has all been leading right up to this moment, steve all riled up with his forearm brought up horizontally against billy’s collarbones, pinning him into place, and god billy can only stand there and lick away the saliva dripping onto his lips because steve harrington is that juicy piece of steak he’s been starving for.

the tension is vague at first, all steve’s done is pin him down, and really, if billy hadn’t been paying close enough attention to the pressure against his hip, he would have figured it could go either way—fight or fuck.

billy gives him the push, because really, that’s what he’s been doing this whole time, guiding steve around on this invisible leash, pulling him in the right direction. billy bucks his hips forward and grins wide, like a crazed animal. “what you waiting for, harrington?”

and it’s vague. it’s an out that billy’s giving him, letting him take if he wants it, bracing himself for the potential punch in the face because this is hawkins indiana and it would hardly be billy’s first run in with a guy with that much internalized baggage.

but steve doesn’t take the out. he leans his weight in more, almost enough to break bone and definitely enough to make it harder for billy to breathe—but that could have more to do with the bone crushing kiss steve planted on him, teeth smacking against each other, lip-splitting force, little hints of blood on each other’s tongues that they weren’t quite sure who the owner was.

and billy’s on cloud nine because this. this is what he wanted. and it just doesn’t quite feel real as it’s happening and maybe that’s partly due to him being a little drunk and his head feeling like it’s got its own little fairy flying around inside of it, flying up and lifting him off of the ground. but maybe it has to do with it being steve. steve who he thought was a lost cause the second he saw him with nancy. he was the typical small town boy after all, looking for his white picket fence and billy didn’t honestly see himself ever finding a way to weasel himself in between that.

but he had to try. and it wasn’t like he didn’t have fun pressing steve’s buttons.

but there he was, pressing him up against the wall, so forceful and so strong like he was afraid he’d run away, like he couldn’t let him get away, not yet. steve was so desperate for it, so frantic and messy and forceful and billy would have laughed and joked if it had been anyone else, but god. billy was just as desperate. just as sloppy. just as hopeless.

the music was loud. the room was empty save for their own two pathetic souls. and there was a lock on the door.

they could be hopeless together for a few more minutes.

[outerbankies]

arm’s length — rafe cameron

request: “You made these cupcakes for me?” + “You don’t need to leave so soon.” with Rafe please :)

pairing: rafe x kook!reader

warnings: alcohol, drugs, swearing

a/n: just a short and sweet one besties! i was trying to decide when to make rafe's birthday and i picked end of summer just for the plot, which makes him either a leo or a virgo lmao. thanks for the request anon :)

my writing

Growing up with Rafe Cameron meant a lot of things. It meant summer vacations at the Camerons’ Bahamas villa and winter breaks at your parents’ cabin in Telluride. It meant you always had a built-in date to Midsummers, prom, and homecoming whenever you two didn't want to put in the effort of finding proper dates. It meant sneaking out of fancy family dinner parties to smoke joints on the roof together and complain about how hard it was to be a rich kid sometimes. It meant you always had someone to pretend to be your boyfriend when you were done being hit on by tourons, and it also meant you were usually on call to pick up Rafe when he got too drunk. Growing up with Rafe meant keeping secrets for each other, being there for each other, and a mutual understanding for most things about growing up on Figure 8.

But it didn’t mean you had to like Rafe. Not all the time.

And as you maneuver through the sea of G-Wagons, Range Rovers and convertibles packed into your driveway, overflow from the Cameron residence across the street, that last part rang true.

“Gonna kick his ass,” you mutter to yourself, dodging tipsy blonde girls in bikinis and ignoring your classmates that wave 'hi' to you. Your hands were starting to sweat where they held the disposable tin in your hands, trying your best to hang onto them as you fought your way through the crowd.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” you ask some random group of girls, who scoff over your less than party-ready attire, pointing you vaguely in the direction of the kitchen.

“Is that Y/n?” someone calls, and you huff out a breath of air, painting on your fakest smile as you enter the kitchen. Smack dab in the center of the raucous group of board short clad boys is your friend Rafe Cameron, cheeks flushed red, same backwards cap on his head as usual at these things.

“Y/n, you came!” he greets, immediately parting the sea of his friends to come and hug you. You push him off with a hand to his abs so he doesn’t squish the tin of cupcakes, feeling his muscles jump under your touch. He looks down, eyes lighting up in childlike wonder. “You made these cupcakes for me?”

“Cupcakes?” Kelce interrupts, taking the tray out of your hands and cracking the top off. “Do they have weed in them?”

“Nope... no, just cupcakes, Kelce,” your eyes widen. He rolls his eyes but grabs one anyways, the other boys in the kitchen following suit then quickly exiting, leaving you alone in the kitchen with Rafe and an empty cupcake tin.

“These are so good. You outdid yourself this year, Y/n/n.”

“You can thank Charlotte. Wheezie told her it was your birthday and she begged me to help her make them for you. But then she got shy and made me bring them here by myself.”

He laughs out loud at that. “That’s so sweet.”

“I’ll let her know you said that,” you smile despite yourself at the fond expression on his face. “And next time you decide to make my driveway overflow parking, can you let me know so I can get my car out first?”

He blushes, finishing the rest of his cupcake and throwing the wrapper back in the tin. “Sorry, Y/n/n. I knew you wouldn’t come on your own. Thought I might make it so you can't do anything beyond walking distance.”

“Charming. I have to babysit on the Cut today, Rafe. You knew that,” you say, pushing him on the arm. He let's you push him, trying not to look guilty. “Could you just tell a couple of them to back out?”

“Mmm,” he looks behind your shoulder, assessing the crowd in his living room and backyard. “That’s probably not safe. Just take my truck.”

You hold your hand out for his keys, and he looks at you in confusion.

“What, right now? You don’t need to leave so soon, do you?”

“Rafe, I told you I had work.”

“No you just hate me,” he pouts, already leading you up to his room where you know his truck keys are. You used to be intimidated driving the huge vehicle, but at this point, you’d driven it so many times. Your favorite thing to do was to “forget” to adjust the seat and wheel back to their normal positions, giggling every time Rafe texted you that he hit his head and his knee trying to get in his truck after you drove it. You were still the only one who he let drive his car, after he rode with you the first few times, of course.

“I just made you cupcakes.”

“Yeah, because of Charlotte,” he grumbles, opening the door to his bedroom. “Maybe I should’ve invited her instead.”

“She’s a minor.”

“Yeah, didn’t think that one through,” he winces, shaking his head.

You stand at the doorway of his room, watching him walk over to his desk to grab them for you. He acts like he's going to toss them, then snatches them out of your reach as soon as you go to grab them.

“Do you have to go? It’s my birthday,” he whines.

“Rafe,” you sigh in exasperation. “I told you I couldn’t stay. I can come back in a few hours if you’re still conscious.”

He doesn't look satisfied, like he'd pulled out all the stops and you were still going to leave him. “Bet you would’ve changed your plans for that stupid touron though.”

You freeze, settling back from where you were standing on your tippy-toes to grab his keys. “What?”

“Nothing, forget it,” he says, folding the keys into your hands. He tries to brush past you but you stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Are you talking about Micah?”

“Is that his name?”

“He went back to Florida like two weeks ago.”

Rafe looks confused, readjusting his hat on his head and stuttering, “Well, did you guys, like—are you...”

“He’s a touron, Rafe, fun for one summer and that’s it. We weren’t even dating.”

“Oh.”

With that you turn on your heel, walking back downstairs and toward the front door. He’s following right behind you, not stopping once you open his front door and start looking for his truck. He’d parked it on the street—which he never does—so it could be easily moved if needed. Nothing like your car, which would require at least five other cars to move if you wanted to leave. You have to wonder.

“Sorry about that, Y/n/n,” Rafe says, reminding you that you were talking about your summer fling. Rafe and Micah had never gotten along, and you hadn’t seen your friend that much this summer because of it. He could be such a hot head, fighting pogues and tourons over literally anything.

You didn't need to deal with that when you were just trying to distract yourself with a cute boy that had a huge vacation house far, far away from Rafe and all of your feelings for him.

“No, you’re not,” you laugh, accepting his hand as he helps you step into the tall truck. He gives you a deadpan look when he sees you immediately adjust the seat and the steering wheel, shutting the door once you're all tucked in. “Not my fault you’re what, 6’2?”

“You know I hit 6’3 sophomore year. Promise you’ll come back?” He’s practically pouting where he leans into the driver’s side window.

“I suppose,” you sigh.

“Good. Because you’re right. I’m not.”

“You’re not what?” you say, turning the keys in the ignition. You have to immediately turn down the obnoxious rock station he’d had on full blast, plugging in your phone to play your own songs.

“I’m not sorry about Micah.”

You immediately look up from where you’re scrolling through Spotify. He’s got the faintest smirk on his face and you have to roll your eyes, pushing him on his chest until he gets off of the car. “Goodbye, Rafe.”

“I’ll save some Trulies just for you, don’t worry pretty girl.”

He says it as he walks back towards his house, not stepping back inside until he watches you leave. You have to stop yourself from playing love songs the entire ride over.

[reidyoulikeabook]

B is for Blindfolds

Summary: The BAU Christmas party is held at the office. Penelope is full of terrible ideas, but somehow Emily’s are worse.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, use of a blindfold (for a fun game, not anything sexy here), pining, idiots who don’t realise their love is reciprocated as HELL (they will, but not quite yet).

Word count: 3k

A/N: okay so i really had fun writing this one!!! i have a solid solid direction of where this is headed now and i’m EXCITED about it! as always, please let me know what you think :) this is technically Wednesday’s update, and there’ll be another on Friday!

This is the second chapter of the A-Z of Spencer Reid series, but can be read as a stand alone.

The team, yourself included, are more than ready to let off a little steam. There was no point trying to book anywhere in advance, not with the sporadic nature of festive serial killers, so you’d taken over the office. Penelope had, in eager anticipation of your return, decked it out like a winter wonderland.

“Seriously, it looks like someone robbed a grotto,” Emily had joked.

She wasn’t wrong. A seven-foot Christmas tree, God knows how she’d smuggled that into the building, obscured the hallway outside Hotch’s office. It was dripping in tinsel, baubles, you name it. It even had a nutcrucker man. Mistletoe was hung, obviously in a way she believed to be covert, and maybe it would have been if you weren’t all deeply familiar with the antics of Penelope I-Love-The-Holidays Garcia. You’re all careful to sidestep it as you walk in, knowing she’s a stickler for the rules. All equally reluctant to invoke her wrath before a glass of eggnog or two.

On the table, there’s a selection of alcohol laid out. Alongside a bunch of pink glittery cups.

“I got everything!” Penelope chirps.

“I can see that baby girl,” Morgan chimes in, greeting her with a hug.

She really has: there’s juice, fruit, almost every liquor you can think of (including the fancy whiskey that Rossi and Hotch like to get out at dinner), wine of varying colours, and what looks to be some fancy fruit cider. From the spread, and the mischevious twinkle in her eye, you’re sure she won’t be letting you escape unscathed.

At that thought, you can’t help but steal a glance to your right.

Spencer. The man is stood next to you with folded arms, surveying the options in a way that almost looks pensive.

Got to behave myself

I will behave myself

Will he be drinking?

That question is answered when he takes a step towards the table, stepping behind it. He picks up a plastic cup and, playing bartender, asks.

“So, what can I get you?”

***

“Mixology is pretty much the same as any other kind of chemistry,” Spencer explains, gesturing with the hand that’s holding his cup and swilling the liquid, “It’s about balancing the right components to get the combination you want. A lot of the recipes call for more alcohol than is strictly necessary for the flavour they provide. Usually the other elements of the drink are designed to bring out the flavour or mask it, depending on what alcohol you’re using. Almost always you want to mask the taste of vodka, but tequila you try to balance it out.”

Spencer is leant on the desk next to you, rambling, having been allowed to be in charge of making everybody’s drinks over the past couple of hours.

Sipping the concoction he’s made you, you have to admit he’s done a pretty good job.

He clearly agrees, since he’s consumed more than a couple himself. He’s just tipsy enough to push at the boundaries of affection, his shoulder pressing against yours, his happy eyes a little glassy. You listen, hanging on every word he says, watching him lick his lips before he continues speaking again.

“That’s why they serve tequila shots with lime and salt.”

“And here I was thinking they were just making it fun for body shots,” Emily cuts in, making Morgan and Penelope laugh.

You see the look on Penelope’s face and intercept her before she can start, “Don’t even think about it.”

“But!”

“No!” You shake your head, “You really think Hotch is going to go for body shots?”

Hotch laughs dryly, taking a sip of the whiskey he’s been nursing, “That’s one I think I’ll refrain from participating in.”

“Fine,” Penelope pouts, “But everybody’s doing pin the tail on the donkey!”

“Pin the tail on the donkey? What are we, 5 years old?” Emily laughs.

You lean in against Spencer, who has been quietly surveying the last few moments. Your fingers slip slightly beneath his buttoned sleeves, coming to rest on his forearm.

“Balance,” You whisper quietly.

He nods, shifting to allow you to lean more closely into him on the desk.

It’s hard not to get distracted by your proximity to him.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. If you squinted, you might just look like a couple. That’s certainly what it looks like to Dave, who gives you a cursory once over before training his gaze elsewhere. Your heads are almost touching, Spencer is slouching but keeps his neck just stiff enough to avoid resting atop of yours. You’re casually against his body, the two of you strewn across the desk. It looks comfortable, familiar.

It feels comfortable, familiar.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

***

After a singular round of pin the tail on the donkey, during which a blindfolded Emily decided to go rogue and try to pin the tail on the moving-very-quickly-out-of-dodge Hotch, it’s decided the blindfolds will be used for a different purpose.

Trust falls.

Well, not so much trust falls, as you’re each blindfolded and tasked with the challenge of walking across the bullpen without falling. 

“We’ll pair up!” Penelope announces, rubbing her hands together with glee, “Hotch you’re with Rossi, Emily you’re with me, Derek you’re with ____, and Spencer you’re with J.J!”

Oh

You will away the tinge of disappointment that flares in your chest at not having been paired with Spencer. Although, when you look up at him, you swear you can see a similar feeling sitting behind his eyes.

Probably reading too much into it

“Reid has an unfair advantage,” J.J argues, interrupting your thoughts.

“How do I have an unfair advantage?” Spencer asks.

“Eidetic memory,” She replies.

There are murmers of dissent, then Rossi pipes up.

“If you can’t make it across the bullpen you walk everyday without falling, I think you seriously need to consider whether you should be out in the field with a gun.”

Everybody laughs. They laugh more, though, when Rossi falls on his first attempt, crashing into Hotch. The two decide to resign from the game after that. Hotch plays the health and safety card, but privately you think it’s the double whiskeys that have betrayed him.

“You think you can do it?” You ask Spencer.

He smirks, “I could do it in my sleep.”

You shake your head, “Your legs are too long. You’re like Bambi at the best of times, let alone three mai tais in.”

“Two,” He objects, you quirk a brow and he relents, “Fine, three. And a whiskey Rossi gave me which was awful. I drank it fast and then he told me that one glass I’d had would cost $40. Who would pay $40 to drink that voluntarily?”

“Rossi, Hotch, Emily,” You smile, nudging him with your elbow, “And don’t think you’ve distracted me Spence, I’m still betting you fall.”

“You’re betting?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re that confident in my ability to mess up,” He teases.

“Something like that.”

He grins, “You’ll see.”

He takes the blindfold when it’s his turn, smirking at you as he adjusts it onto his face. It’s with a great degree of annoyance that you watch him clear the bullpen in five easy, and somehow very elegant, steps.

“Go Spence!” J.J cheers, her previous displeasure completely forgotten.

“Pretty boy!” Morgan cheers.

Without taking the blindfold off, Spencer tilts his head to exactly where you’re standing, smirking, “You wanna go next, ____?”

It’s hard not to visibly react to what his cockiness does to you.

You swallow, “Fine. Give it here.”

***

You move your feet confidently one in front of the other. After almost a year of walking the bullpen, you’re pretty certain you can get across it unscathed. You even remember to swing your hip to the right to miss the Santa gnome gone fishing currently hanging off Derek’s desk. In doing so, however, you manage to get yourself all caught up.

With a single step, you feel yourself slipping, arms flailing and managing to catch on to absolutely nothing. You panic.

"Spencer!"

"Spencer?!"

Spencer.

You recognise the feeling of his hands steadying you at your waist. He pulls you against his body, tucking your outstretched arm into him to steady you. You vaguely register Derek’s amused chuckle from behind you.

“I got you,” Spencer says, “Stay still, I’ll take the blindfold off.”

His hands gently slide up your cheeks, lifting it with care to avoid yanking on your hair. He pulls it up and away from your head smoothly.

The lights are dizzyingly bright. You blink rapidly, allowing your eyes to adjust on the face of the slightly concerned, slightly amused looking Spencer hovering above you. His left hand lingering against your cheek. You forget yourself entirely, lost in the intimacy of his touch, barely daring to blink in case it’s gone.

“Mistletoe!” Penelope cackles with glee, breaking your reverie.

“What?” You ask.

Spencer looks up. You follow his gaze, seeing the strategically placed mistletoe. In guiding you to safety, Spencer had walked right into Penelope’s trap.

Oh.

Derek teases something, underscored by a quip from Emily that has them both in hysterics. Neither you or Spencer are really listening.

He’s already so close to you. The pressure of his hand on your cheek starting to make you flush with warmth. His thumb strokes downwards, over your cheekbone. You tilt yourself a little towards him. Trying desperately to act casual, but ultimately failing miserably. His breath fans over your face, smelling faintly of rum and lime.

“Not like this,” He whispers, so quiet that only you can possibly hear him.

He presses a kiss to your cheek instead.

Fuck.

“Very exciting stuff guys,” Emily chirps.

Vaguely, you’re aware of J.J admonishing her, Rossi’s eyes studying you, Derek’s laughter, Penelope’s squeal of delight that someone had finally fallen into her trap.

Your heart thumps in your chest, and you wonder if it’s loud enough for Spencer to hear. From the way he swallows thickly, stepping back with a degree of caution and a look of a deer caught in the headlines, you think it probably was.

Fuck.

What did he mean not like this?

***

After the mistletoe debaccle, the party starts to die down a little. Hotch makes an excuse to leave, shortly followed by Rossi.

You stick around for a little while longer, devoting most of your time to the decidedly tipsy Penelope who’s hanging off Derek’s arm. The mood is nice, actually, a welcome change from the tense atmosphere that often clouds the bullpen, and its occupants wherever in the US they may be.

It’s a little after 1am when you decide to make your exit.

“Do you want to share an Uber?” You ask Spencer, gripping onto his elbow as he walks past.

“Yeah! I was planning on taking the metro but you’ll be safer in an Uber.”

“Are you...sharing it with me?” You ask, feeling a little awkward at having to repeat the request for clarification. The tipsiness you’d initially felt has started to wear off; it leaves both tiredness and an odd shyness in its place.

“Oh no! Of course!” He smiles, grabbing his satchel from where it’s slung over the back of his chair, “We’ll get them to drop you off first, then me.”

***

The wait for the Uber is silent, but not uncomfortable. You loll against Spencer, comfortable in the quiet. The only sounds to be heard of keys as various other agents leave the building. It’s easy to tell which are coming from the grind of the paperwork and which are coming from their own parties. You’d like to attribute it to a years worth of profiling experience but the tinsel around Jerry from White Collar Crimes’ neck is a tad on the nose.

You don’t speak until it arrives, climbing in and closing the door. Clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Sorry about embarassing us before,” You say, purposely being ambiguous.

He squints at you for a moment before opening his mouth, “You mean calling for me when you fell?”

“Yeah,” You say,

“You didn’t embarass me,” He says, quiet, “It was nice actually. Nobody’s ever called for me when they’ve been in trouble before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I uh, I guess I’m not the most athletic. People usually go to Morgan if they need some kind of physical help. It was nice. That you wanted me. Even if you are drunk.”

“I’d have asked for you sober,” You admit.

He squints in response, and you continue, “I trust you Spence. I trust you to always have my back in the field, to protect me. I’d trust you with my life. I mean, of course I’d trust any one of the others, the team wouldn’t work otherwise. But,” You trail off, a little embarassed.

“But it’s different.”

“Yeah. Like you’re the person I’m closest to I guess. In the almost year I’ve been here, we’ve worked together the most. I think I have the best working relationship with you. If ever there was a crisis, I’d want you. Even if the crisis is me tripping on my own shoelaces while blindfolded.”

You both laugh at that. It’d be easy to succumb to a comfortable silence again, let the moment fizzle out.

“I think the same about you,” He says, his voice cracks a little with the sincerity, “Whenever anything goes wrong. You’re the person I want to talk to.”

You move your hand forward to close the gap between you two, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it, “I’m really glad we have each other Spence.”

“Even when I beat you?” The playful glint in his eye is back.

“Even when you beat me.”

“If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you actually owe me for losing the bet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you said ‘I’m still betting you fail.’“

You smile, “We never agreed what we were betting.”

“We didn’t.”

"So what do you want as your prize then, Rudolph?”

“Rudolph?” He laughs a little, incredulously.

“Well I called you Bambi before and obviously you’ve proved you’re more talented, I needed to pick a respectably agile deer.”

“Rudolph was known for his nose, not his agility.”

“The song says he guided the sleigh Spence, he couldn’t have done that if he wasn’t agile.”

He shakes his head at you, “He was just in charge of the lights.”

“Did they or did they not get around the world safely?”

“The song never clarifies that.”

“It’d be a little dark for them to kill off Rudolph.”

“Probably why they didn’t include it in the song.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes, “Well anytime you decide to stop nitpicking my compliments and decide what you want as your prize is fine by me, honestly.”

He smiles, obviously having decided to answer you sincerely. You study him as he, presumably weighs up his options, his teeth momentarily catching his plush lower lip. You swear you see his eyes flicker to your mouth. But then you blink, and he’s studying you thoughtfully.

Just wishful thinking

"Caramel,” He settles on.

"Caramel?”

“Last year I went to this coffee shop and I got their festive caramel coffee. It was amazing. But they only did it that one year, they gave me the recipe for the syrup but...” He trails off, looking embarassed, and when he speaks again his voice is quieter, “I kept burning it. I had a thermometer but I couldn’t get the temperature quite right.”

"You want me to make you caramel syrup for coffee? Mixologist skills don’t extend quite that far?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips together in a thin line. Almost as if he’s worried for your reaction.

You're quick to follow yourself up, “Well I’d be happy to give it a try, but I think I’ll need somebody to taste test it. Make sure I’m getting it right.”

He grins, “I’m probably a better taste taster than maker.”

“Well, we’re off for a few days, assuming we don’t get any cases. You’re at Ethan’s for Christmas, right? When are you back?”

“The 27th. But I’m going to visit my mom over new years, so I’m leaving again on the 30th.”

You nod, “Well, how about the 28th?”

“The 28th sounds good.”

It’s impossibly good (bad) timing that the Uber pulls up outside your building.

“Well I’ll look forward to it,” You say, undoing your seatbelt.

“Me too.”

There’s a silence. Not uncomfortable, but definitely not like the one earlier.  Your eyes linger on one another, almost cautious. There’s a buzz in the air, one that can't quite be attributed to alcohol.

Ask him what he meant by not like this

No

Ask him

“This your place?” The Uber driver asks, clicking his tongue with a degree of impatience.

“Yeah,” You reply, nodding. Reluctantly, you push open the car door, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Spencer as you depart.

His mouth hangs open a little, words seeming to play across his lips. Not making them out of his mouth. The driver clears his throat, and you throw him an apologetic glance. Spencer’s Uber rating will be in the toilet after this.

Good job he takes the Metro.

"Have a good Christmas Spence,” You say, wondering if he can tell. Wondering if he can sense how badly you want to stay, to let this Uber drive you around the backstreets of Virginia. They’re not particularly pretty. But there isn’t much you wouldn’t do just to spend time with him. You’d even allow yourself to promise caramel syrup you know you’ll butcher.

If he knows, the wistful look in his eyes doesn’t betray it.

“Have a good Christmas, _____.”

---

Next part: C is for Caramel

Series tagslist: @altsvu @reidingmelodies @muffin-cup @reidscanehand @bvttercupbby @jessicarabbit09 @lukewearingbeanies @lady-anon-x @aperrywilliams @southsidemistress @a-broken-pact @jjongs-tae-and-biscuits @reidsnose

(message me/reply to this to be added or removed!)

[aenaxes]

OMG ok for the 200 follower celebration (based on your smoking post) PLZZZ write sharing a spice blunt with cross or any batcher of your choosing I would simply die 😩💅🏻❤️

vapor trails

[crosshair & hunter x f!reader] you don't really run with the fett twins' crowd, but you find yourself at one of their parties anyway (in reference to this post lol)

warnings: college!au, recreational drug use, suggestive themes, but consent is sexy & mandatory & sober babes

w/c: 3.8k

a/n: anon, you ask for one batcher, but why not two? thank you for enabling me nonnie & @mallr4ts lol (im so sorry to all the previous requests for the event, this one has just been needling in my brain all day and i had to get it out hsdfs)

event details here! requests are open until july 4th!

You don’t know much about the Fett twins.

They’re something like campus legends even though they’re only a year your senior and at the tail end of their fourth years. But as much as you’ve heard their names slung around in weekend plans and excited chatter, you’ve never once met them, much less seen them yourself. Between idling class whispers and dining hall conversations, all you can piece together from the rumors is that: one, they’re from a big family (you’ve heard anywhere from two to twelve other brothers, yikes); and two, as much as they work hard (because the venture capital and pre-professorial tracks seem rigorous enough), they play even harder.

It helps that they apparently own one of the biggest apartments off campus, one in which you find yourself hopelessly and miserably lost. And overdressed.

Great.

It hadn’t occurred to you that your roommate, who is nowhere to be seen, had been dressing up for her girlfriend, and that most people who had half a mind would wear something comfortable that could withstand a few spilled drinks and ash. So seeing the rest of the room in rumpled tees and sweats has you and your little black dress seeking out the nearest wall as you fiddle with your questionably sweet cup of margarita mixer.

You feel like a first year, and it sucks.

But for once, with everyone too busy mingling amongst themselves over the heavy thrum of some mumble rap beat, you manage to slip by unnoticed.

Every now and then, you dart your eyes around the ever shifting landscape of faces in the dim room, looking for even the vaguest familiarity that might let you feign being tipsy and join a group for the night. But every time you try, there’s no luck.

Fuck, you haven’t even seen anyone here before.

But there might be a god watching out for you yet when the crowd shifts just enough that you catch sight of the couch, and on it, someone you suspect to be one of the twins as he greets a few girls with a disinterested nod.

Emboldened, but mostly nervous that in the crowd of bodies and red solo cups you’re still helplessly alone, you push off the wall and squeeze past huddled cliques of conversation to make for the dark couch.

By the platinum bleached hair and big-name consulting group quarter zip, Crosshair—at least you think it’s him—lounges over the couch. He isn’t the only body on the suede seats, but he keeps to himself, his head dipped low as he works one hand over a small metal canister in his other palm.

If you weren’t having luck with the other nameless faces around you, maybe the Fett twin would keep you company—at least until your roommate came back to find you (if she did). And worst case, you’d just slink back to your dorm and mope until your roommate apologized to you with your favorite overpriced smoothie bowl the day after.

Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you plant your feet by the couch and finally speak.

"Is your name actually Crosshair?" you ask.

The man on the couch pauses, his motions stilling over the small metal cylinder in his palms, and he lifts his chin just enough to flick his eyes up towards the sound of your voice.

You always thought the girls in your droning 9AM gen-ed were wildly exaggerating his hype for their own devices, squealing over his (apparently) brooding charm and sharp looks to nip at his stash for free. But for all the vague haze surrounding your perception of the twins, you never thought that they were telling the truth.

If you had been in broad daylight under the incandescent glow of your creaky lecture hall lights, you might have called him cocky, almost haughty, how he meets you with an unreadable look for having interrupted him. But in the purple LEDs and heavy haze of vape juice and shitty tequila, he’s captivating, all dark eyes and perfectly lit skin, marked only by the needle-thin design tattooed over the right side of his face and a worn wooden toothpick bitten between his teeth.

You swallow down the dry lump in your throat when you catch him flick his eyes from your face, down the short length of your dress, and back up again.

"Smoke with me; maybe you'll find out," he drawls, toothpick bobbing as he speaks. He twists the cylinder once and offers you a wry smirk. And when you stay, speechless but there all the same, Crosshair scoots to the side and pats the narrow space between him and the couch arm, inviting you close.

"I've never smoked before," you admit a bit shyly as you drop down beside him. Your dress hikes up your thigh, and you shiver when your skin presses up against the soft denim of his jeans.

"Not even cigs?"

You shake your head. And you tell yourself that when he leans close and brushes his shoulder up against your arm, that he’s only doing it because someone’s boosted the bass, and you can’t hear him over the reverb.

"Well, good thing I'm here, yeah?"

He gives the metal canister a final twist and sets it down on the coffee table before you. Swapping the canister for a small brown sleeve, you watch in a daze as he pulls a semi-transparent leaflet from the folder and tears a strip of cardstock straight from its flap. He has pianist fingers, you think wistfully, neatly kept nails and slender grace, and you wonder if he’ll entertain you if you ask to compare your hand to his.

“What’s your name?”

You scrabble back to the present at the sound of his voice. “Uh, y/n,” you offer.

“Well, y/n,” he says with a soft laugh, having caught on to your daydreaming. “Step one, you fold your filter.”

You nod along absently as Crosshair artfully crimps the thick paper into a neat roll. As if there isn’t thirty-some odd people crammed into his apartment, he quietly takes you step by step, offering you the filter, the paper, then the contents of the canister (a grinder, he explains) like it’s a game of show and tell. But with every piece he places into your hands, you gravitate closer, closer, until you’re flush against his arm and practically hanging over his side to watch as he gently taps a line of bud over the paper.

“Here, let me give you a better look,” Crosshair says.

You expect him to bring the neat line of bud to you, but when nothing comes, you look up and find him waiting for you, one arm open in invitation as the other pats once on the dark denim of his thigh.

“Uh—”

“Sit,” he says as if you haven’t just met him fifteen minutes ago. “Front row seats if you want ‘em.”

On one hand, you barely know Crosshair outside of the rumors you hear on campus. On the other hand, he’s a genuinely pleasant person, careful to accommodate for your boundaries and offering a snide playfulness that’s banished your nerves from earlier in the night.

He’s also really fucking hot.

“Okay,” you murmur, and you let him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap. And he’s right. Perched over his thighs, you see with perfect clarity (and without the strain in your neck) as he gently folds the paper over the mound of bud and carefully twists. It’s the prettiest joint you’ve ever seen—though it might be because it’s the only one you’ve seen.

"Final touch," Crosshair's voice rumbles over your back, shooting straight into your core as he lifts the paper's vellum edge to your lips. “Lick it for me.”

Since you sat down with him, you’ve only been the passenger, nodding along as Crosshair’s long, nimble fingers creased over filter paper and patiently pointed out things like the stray pistils in his baggie and the keef gathered at the bottom of his grinder for if you really want to get fucked up. And even though you aren’t doing much (because licking paper doesn’t really seem too crazy), it’s a step forward from the comfortable rhythm that had settled between you, and you twist around in his lap to shoot him an uncertain glance.

“Just,” Crosshair flicks his tongue over his lower lip, flashing a brief glimpse of a ball piercing towards your wide eyes. And if you weren’t so flustered, you might have recognized the coy playfulness in his gaze. “Give it a lick, right over the edge.”

“I—uh, what if I—” you stammer.

“You’re not gonna mess this up, darling,” Crosshair chuckles. If his hand squeezing brief over your waist wasn’t enough to bring heat searing over the tops of your ears, his next words, crooned low and breathy into your ear, certainly do. “You’re a smart girl. You can do it.”

"My brother giving you trouble?"

Another voice cuts through the din of the party, sparing you your stammering nerves as you whip your head up in its general direction. You’re greeted with the sight of his brother, peering down on you as he takes a sip from his cup.

“You’re such a killjoy,” Crosshair mutters, drawing his arm tighter around your waist as he jabs the half-rolled joint to where Hunter sprawls down onto the couch beside him. “No, I’m not being a creep. I’m teaching our pretty underclassman here how to roll.”

Oh.

Heat rushes over your cheeks, and you can’t decide whether you want to shrink into yourself or bask in it and beg for more.

He called you pretty.

“With her in your lap,” Hunter snorts into his cup.

“It was your idea to invite your entire fucking rugby team. Where else would we do it?”

“I’m so sorry he’s like this,” Hunter laughs, tilting his head and looking up at you through his (unfairly) long lashes. Where you thought Crosshair’s tattoo was bold, Hunter’s practically blows him out of the water, a well-worn swath of ink on the left half of his face, curving into neatly stylized teeth right at the edge of his lips. “I’m Hunter.”

Huh, maybe you do have a thing for tattoos.

“Y/n,” you squeak. “It’s, um—it’s nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,” he says as he offers you an easy smile. “Has my baby brother been treating you right?”

“God, two fucking minutes,” Crosshair snaps. You hear the embarrassment seeping from the vitriol, and it strikes you like a shot to the head that he’s trying to play cool in front of you. “I come out two minutes after you and—”

“We’re fraternal, and I got all the oxygen in the womb. Explains why he has awful people skills,” Hunter fake-whispers loud enough for Crosshair to hear, and you giggle as the other man groans from behind you.

“No, he’s been really nice,” you say softly once you realize that you’ve been laughing a little too loud. “He’s teaching me about weed.” It sounds juvenile when you say it, awkward and clumsy on your tongue. It’s a dead giveaway that has Hunter’s smile mellowing into something soft.

“Your first time?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, Cross here’s high as shit at least four hours every day. Says it helps him do the math. I hate to say it, but you’re in good hands.”

“You try running a nonlinear regression sober,” Crosshair snorts. “Anyways, we were just finishing up this joint before you decided to kill the vibe.”

Crosshair lifts the half-rolled joint back up to your chin, and this time, he leans forward and presses his chest close against your back as the playful snark leaves his tone, in its wake, something patient and calm as his voice rumbles by your ear.

“You gonna help me finish the job, sweet girl?”

You surprise yourself when the initial trepidation vanishes as you tip your chin down and stick out your tongue. Maybe you’re showboating now that you have an audience, feeling Hunter’s dark eyes on your lips when you touch the tip of your tongue out over the edge.

Whether it’s your lip gloss or the fine crumbs of bud stuck to the roll paper that fills your mouth with something earthy and sweet, you can’t say. All you know is they’re both following you with that intense intent, the bass and blend of voices faded out around you; just you in Crosshair’s lap and Hunter pretending to care about the drink in his hand as you lift your tongue off the far corner of the paper and close your lips.

“Good job,” Hunter muses, and you’re pretty certain he’s not talking about the joint when you feel his gaze boring into you alone.

The smell of smoke pulls you out of Hunter’s gravity, and you look back in front of you to see Crosshair snap a scuffed metal lighter shut and toss it onto the coffee table. He brings the joint back down in front of you, blowing a neat stream of whitish gray smoke past your ear.

“You know how to pull?” Crosshair asks, and his chin brushes over your bare shoulder as he speaks. He’s so close. You can smell the burn, acrid and sour, but it doesn’t matter that it doesn’t smell like some bubblegum vape when you feel his breaths curling over your skin. You just want more.

Mutely, you shake your head.

“Mm, you know how to shotgun?” Hunter offers, and you hear Crosshair huff laugher from behind you. “Might be easier for your first try.”

You shake your head again.

“It’s,” Hunter pauses, and his brows knit close as he thinks for a moment. “It’s kind of like a kiss. But not really. I take a hit and you catch my smoke. That sound okay?”

You don’t think it matters that someone’s hit shuffle on the playlist, filling the room with a hard electronic beat that might have otherwise drowned out all sound. All you hear is your heart pounding in your ears as you nod and watch Hunter lift the filter to his lips and inhale deep, then pass the joint back to Crosshair.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, white trails of smoke curling over his upper lip as he lifts one hand to cup over the base of your neck.

“Open,” Crosshair whispers.

Wordlessly, you obey. Your lips part just as Hunter pulls close, so close you feel the heat of his skin spreading warm over your cheeks, and blows a soft stream of bitter smoke into your mouth. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but all the while, you can’t seem to tear your eyes from his.

“Breathe in, deep,” you hear Crosshair instruct as he begins to rub one thumb over the curve of your hip.

The smoke is thick, sluicing down your throat and filling your lungs like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s not bad, just new, and pressed between the twins over the couch, you think it just might have been worth being ditched by your roommate earlier in the night. But your lungs ache, and you slowly exhale, watching as your vision fogs with a loose cloud of smoke until your chest feels clear again.

“And you didn’t even cough,” Hunter smiles. His calloused fingertips follow the slope of your neck, lingering one moment more before he pulls away. And you aren’t sure if the low buzzing in your fingertips is the weed or their combined warmth as Hunter rubs over your knee and Crosshair leans his head against your neck. “Good girl.”

“Wanna do it again,” you whisper as the buzz begins to crawl up your neck, fizzling around your temples as you lean your cheek over where Crosshair nuzzles into your shoulder.

“With him or me?” Crosshair murmurs, his lips brushing over your skin.

“You,” you say dreamily, and Hunter laughs, a sound that suddenly seems so far away as you tip your head and press close against Crosshair’s silver hair.

Crosshair leans into your touch, pressing his cheek up against your neck one last time before he’s lifting his head and bringing the joint to his lips. You hear the hiss of his inhale, smoke curling up through the narrow body of the joint as the charred end glows warm beside you.

And instead of Hunter’s approach, level with you, Crosshair looms above you, meeting your wide eyes with something of a fond smile. Dragging his hand up your chest, he follows the line of your neck and holds snug over your chin. He squeezes softly, and your jaw falls slack, lips parted in a soft ‘o’ as he dips low. He's closer than Hunter as you feel his mouth just brush over yours and breathe smoke over your tongue.

This time, it’s easier.

You swallow down the smoke and hold, just a beat longer than before. But both Crosshair and Hunter notice as your lips stay parted, and they share a soft laugh that has you exhaling smoke and pride all at once when you finally relax your diaphragm and breathe out.

“Fast learner,” Crosshair muses, nosing up under your jaw as you sink back against his chest.

You mumble incoherently, chasing his touch as the high creeps heavy and warm from your chest to your collar and settles at the back of your throat. It anchors you, molding you up against Crosshair who feels nothing short of perfect as he circles his arms loose over your waist.

You turn your head to thank Hunter when you distantly register him pressing a cool cup into your hand (water, you think you hear him say), but the words slip back down into your throat, your eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy and coarse over your blurry vision.

“You wanna lay down?” Hunter offers, and his voice comes to you like you’re underwater, warped and bubbling past the din of the party around you.

You're pretty sure you nod.

For a few moments, you catch traces of an unintelligible exchange between the twins, only aware of the rumble of Crosshair’s voice at your back, and then you’re being lifted up off the couch, the music and raucous laughter fading behind you.

A door opens, squeaking half-shut, and you wince as a light clicks on beside you. Whoever was carrying you sets you down on something soft and cool, and you sway as the light dims and you settle into your seat.

You’re on a bed, you think.

Crosshair’s, judging by the shock of light hair that you can make out through your lashes. He helps you into a worn tee that reaches past the short hem of your dress, and you wiggle into it with a soft whine, holding it tight.

But where you expect a familiar weight to dip down next to you and pull you close, your eyes fly open when you see his figure turn away from you and towards the neon lights of the party outside.

“You aren’t staying?” It's the most coherent you've been through your first high.

“Not tonight,” Crosshair says softly. He turns back towards you and reaches up to fix the strap of your dress as you sit on his bed. “Baby’s first tokes got you all dopey. Right now, what you need is this,” and he presses a plastic bottle of vitamin water he’s seemingly produced out of nowhere into your palm. “This,” he adds, pressing your phone into your other hand. “And a good night’s sleep.”

“And what if I say I need you, too?” you pout.

Some part of you—the conscious part locked away in the back of your skull—bangs up against the hazy high at the crown of your head because when you’re good and sober and when Crosshair inevitably turns you down, you won’t be able to look at yourself in the mirror for the next semester.

But he breaks into a smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes before he leans down to press his lips to your forehead. It’s just a split-second of warm, chapstick-soft lips on your skin, but it floods you with an indescribable good from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.

And as high as you are right now, you have a hell of a hunch that the flutter in your chest is going to stay, even when the room stops wobbling around you.

“When you’re all sobered up in the morning, we’ll make you breakfast, and we’ll figure it out from there,” Crosshair says after he’s pulled back, reaching up to smooth his palm over your hair. “Sound like a plan?”

You nod, probably with a little too much enthusiasm, but you’re rewarded with another low chuckle that’s practically music to your ears. His hand gentle and firm over your shoulder, Crosshair guides you down onto the bed and pulls the covers up to your chin.

“Now text your roomie so she doesn’t call the cops on us, get some sleep, and drink all of that, okay?”

“Okay,” you respond.

“Good girl.”

And when the lights click out, you curl into Crosshair’s pillow, breathing in cold, fresh notes of his cologne, and then you’re asleep.

You climb out of bed the next morning, your minidress rumpled under a long shirt. It's not like a hangover, no, you just find yourself a bit lightheaded and throat parched, and the disorientation makes your head spin as you’re greeted with the smell of fresh coffee and something savory—

Your roommate doesn’t wake up earlier than you, and she can’t cook for shit. And why were your sheets grey? Whose shirt were you—

Oh.

Fuck.

You practically burst out of Crosshair’s bedroom, and you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you hadn’t expected to see Hunter sipping mildly on a mug of coffee while Crosshair pushes something around in a pan over their kitchen range.

“Mornin,’” Hunter offers you a small wave, and reaches for a third mug on the countertop. “Wasn’t sure how you liked your coffee so we just made it black.”

“What happened last night?” you gasp. If you weren’t so panicked, you’re certain the sight of them sporting nothing but grey sweats would have been your only concern, but you’ve just woken up with foggy memories and the slimy dread of anxiety that follows a blackout night.

“Easy, easy,” Crosshair assures you as he steps away from the stovetop. “Nothing happened after we smoked. You took, like, two hits, and you were so hazy you couldn’t remember your dorm number, so we put you to bed, and I slept out in the living room. Fetts are wild but we’re not scumbags, promise.”

And judging from the throw blanket sliding off the edge of the couch cushions, you’re fairly certain you can believe him. Relief floods your chest.

“Oh thank God,” you sigh, and your shoulders sag as the weight of panic sloughs off your back.

They both laugh softly, the sudden tension lifting from the bright morning light, and you can’t help but join in. And when that rosy relief gives way to silence again, it’s Crosshair who speaks next.

“So, you staying for breakfast?”

“Can I borrow some actual clothes first?”

“Done deal.”

[gallifrey1sburning]

Okay Drarry prompt: (your choice who is A and who is B) Character A tilting Character B’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by B’s mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, B’s heart skips a nervous beat as A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained. “Who did this to you?”

Hello hello! I almost never write angst, so I was going to fluff-ify this, but then I had a bad day and decided to take it out on Harry. (Sorry, Harry. I promise it ends okay.)

Pardon Me While I Burst 

Harry poked at his split lip in the mirror and hissed. He could already see a nasty bruise forming across one cheekbone, and his eye was beginning to swell. And that wasn’t even getting into the various smaller cuts and bruises.

Christ. He was beginning to sober up a bit, and the numbness that came with being several whiskys deep was fading, giving way to a sharper pain than he’d expected. He gingerly traced a scrape across his cheek with a fingertip, vaguely remembering the glint of a ring on a huge, meaty fist as it flew at his face, and winced. He might have gotten a bit overambitious in his choice of opponent tonight. Still, he’d had worse.

Just then, the door to the flat slammed, making him curse under his breath in panic. He’d thought he’d have more time before Draco got back from his date; he usually didn’t come home until dawn. There was no way Harry was going to get himself healed before Draco made it this far, and Harry, like the idiot he was, hadn’t even closed the bathroom door. He contemplated spelling it shut now, but he was still tipsy enough that he wasn’t sure he could control the force of the spell. He didn’t think that accidentally knocking the door off its hinges would be particularly helpful to his current predicament.

Sighing, he dropped his head and closed his eyes, resigned to the inevitable. Four… three… two… 

“Oh good, you’re up! You would not believe the night that I—” Draco’s cheerful voice halted abruptly as he reached the bathroom door. Harry gripped the edge of the sink, aware of how his bloodied knuckles must look against the porcelain, and didn’t look up until a gentle pressure under his chin forced him to. He heard a sharp inhale, and reluctantly opened his eyes, although he couldn’t bring himself to meet his flatmate’s gaze. Draco’s expression was unreadable as he tipped Harry’s head from side to side, cataloguing his injuries. Harry guiltily savored the warmth of Draco’s fingers against his skin, trying to memorize the sensation before it ended.

Draco didn’t let go of him right away, though. Instead, he held Harry’s head still, raising his other hand and swiping a thumb along his split bottom lip, making Harry flinch. Draco raised the hand in front of Harry’s face, showing him the streak of blood across his pale skin. 

“Who did this to you?”

The ice in his voice was enough to make Harry’s eyes finally snap to meet his. Silver eyes bored into him, and he looked… fuck, he looked furious. Suddenly overwhelmed by guilt, Harry felt his own eyes begin to well and quickly yanked himself out of Draco’s grasp, turning away to escape that penetrating gaze before he gave too much away.

“It was no one; don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it? Harry, you look like—” He stopped, took a deep breath. “Who was it?”

“Just some guy at a bar. It really doesn’t matter.”

“I don’t believe you. No one just jumps Harry Potter at a bar.”

“It was a Muggle bar. And—” Harry was very glad that he wasn’t facing Draco for this part. “And I hit him first, anyway. It’s fine.” Draco was silent, and Harry babbled on, fueled by alcohol and anxiety. “You just got home earlier than I expected; normally I’d have—” He stopped abruptly. Shit. 

“Normally.” It wasn’t a question. Draco’s voice had gone flat, and Harry almost missed the icy anger, because at least that hadn’t been directed at him. “Explain.”

“Draco, please, can we drop it? It’s fine; I’m fine. I’ll heal it in a minute. Just—”

“No, we cannot just drop it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Draco’s fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His whole body radiated tension, like he was tempted to hit something himself. “You just more or less told me that you get into bar brawls frequently enough that you have a ‘normal’ routine for afterwards! I don’t even know where to begin. Who are you going to bars with that lets you pick fights with strangers? Why are you picking fights in bars with strangers? And when the hell is this happening that I’m not aware of it?! For Merlin’s sake, Harry, we’ve lived together for almost two years. I thought I knew you!”

The comment hit hard, and Harry couldn’t contain his wince. He tried to rub a hand down his face, but grimaced as he bumped his swollen eye. He felt so small. He’d never wanted Draco to know about any of this. “I just… get angry, sometimes,” he muttered. “I go by myself. It’s just… an outlet. I don’t know. It’s never with anyone I could actually hurt. And I can heal myself. It’s just a thing I do. Sometimes.”

When Draco answered, Harry curled further in on himself, hating how distressed he sounded. “I don’t… Harry, why? If you need an outlet, why this? Why not, I don’t know, get one of those Muggle punching bags? Or spar properly, safely?” Harry clamped his lips shut, not wanting to let anything else slip out, but Draco kept going. “Why not come to me? I could have helped.”

Harry mumbled an answer under his breath. 

“What?”

He repeated himself, barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t happen when you’re here.” He turned just enough to glance at Draco from under his eyelashes and immediately wished he hadn’t. Draco’s brow was furrowed with hurt and confusion. 

“I don’t understand.”

Harry was tired. He was so tired, and so sick of hurting, and just intoxicated enough, still, that he couldn’t think up a plausible way to get out of this—and so he gave up. Maybe Ginny and Luna would let him crash with them for a while, if Draco kicked him out. Or even if he didn’t. Harry was recognizing, as he felt his carefully built walls crumbling around him, that he’d let it go on too long. He should have left before it got this bad. He should have left as soon as he’d realized what he was feeling, what it meant. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around himself.

“I only get angry like that when you go out.”

It was quiet for a moment. Finally, Draco asked, “Why?” 

He sounded truly bewildered, and Harry laughed, except it was more a sob, really, and—fuck—the tears had started to escape. The salt stung his face. “Because it hurts, Draco, why do you think?” Draco didn’t answer. Harry hadn’t expected him to. “You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you—  Every week, it’s someone new. And it never stops hurting.”

“Harry…”

“You were never supposed to know.”

“Harry.” The voice was closer now, right behind him. A hesitant hand slid up his arm, elbow to shoulder, before grasping gently to turn him. Harry kept his head down, but, once again, those damnably gentle fingers lifted his chin, forcing him to look.

It was like a hazy mirror of the moment when Draco had first seen him—head held still, eyes searching his face, but instead of anger, they held something else, something Harry couldn’t identify. 

“Harry.” The second hand came up, the thumb now wiping away tears instead of blood. Draco’s eyes flitted between Harry’s, still searching, and then he leaned in. Harry was frozen.

As soon as Draco’s lips brushed his, however, Harry snapped out of his daze, quickly turning his head away and squeezing his eyes shut against a fresh wave of tears. “Don’t,” he pleaded, and his voice sounded wrecked. “Please, Draco. Not if you don’t mean it.”

Draco’s hands hadn’t left Harry’s face, and they easily guided him back, holding him still until he met Draco’s gaze. “Of course I mean it,” he said, voice shaky but firm.

“But—”

“You said it yourself, Harry. Every week, someone new. They don’t matter. They’ve never mattered. It’s…” And now it was Draco’s eyes welling, Draco’s lids dropping closed to hide his vulnerability, Draco’s voice sounding rough. “It’s just an outlet.” He swallowed and opened his eyes again, watching whatever series of emotions was likely flashing across Harry’s face, now that all his walls had been torn down. “I didn’t think that you. I didn’t—” He traced a thumb under Harry’s eye again, over his uninjured cheek, sliding his hand down the length of his neck and around until he was cupping his nape, but he didn’t lean back in. 

Instead, he waited—hesitantly hopeful—until Harry did.

Also on AO3

(Thanks to @mxmaneater for the beta, and for reassuring me that my angst writing is just fine!)

[autumnsart22]

Suna x reader: Final part (smut)

Here’s the final part to my Suna series! I wasn’t satisfied with my fluff version of the ending (which you can read here if you’re interested) so I decided to write a more smutty version. 

Warning: degradation, angry sex, light choking, mostly just a lot of degrading lol

I genuinely think this is the hottest fanart I’ve ever seen of him I can barely look at it without ✨butterflies✨. 

Art creds go to @minghuaa_art on twitter!

Despite Kita seeing you that day in the car, Suna still asked to keep whatever was between you a secret. That was fine with you--you didn’t particularly want a boyfriend, especially with the second semester of college work picking up. You still got to see him pretty often, hooking up in his car or your dorm at least three nights a week or more. Never the frat house; apparently his roommates were annoying. 

It was nice. Easy. Far easier than you ever expected friends with benefits to be. And beyond the sex, you loved talking to Suna; laying together on your tiny bed, legs tangled, while he explained the new music he was listening to, or walking together to the cafeteria as he made you laugh so hard that water came out of your nose. 

The good parts were enough to overlook the bad parts. At first. 

Suna was an abnormally horrific texter, barely ever responding within the day, if at all. If you ever wanted to get in contact with him, you’d have to call directly. And honestly even then he didn’t have the best track record. 

What was more frustrating was that it was always on his time. He would text you asking to hang out that night, and you would say yes, and then he wouldn’t respond until the following afternoon with some vague excuse about being busy. The first few times it happened, you got so mad that you didn’t respond to his calls, until he showed up at your dorm with panda express and forced you to watch Tokyo Ghoul with him. 

He had apologized...but it didn’t stop happening. It made you feel like you were some sort of side whore, who he called when he was bored and had nothing better to do. Like you were second best to everything else he had going on in his life. 

You had promised yourself from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to get close enough to get hurt, but it was hard. You really, really liked him. 

You liked the way he would stare at you while you talked, actually listening and curious as to what you had to say. You liked the way he hugged you after a few days of not seeing each other, burying his face in your hair like he couldn’t get close enough to you. You liked the way he laughed, both the usual, quiet chuckles and the rare snorting wheezes. You liked the way his mouth looked when he smoked, the way he moaned your name when he came, the way he could make you laugh at anything at any time. 

You didn’t want to get the “I told you so” talk from Kiyoko, so you avoided the topic all together: with her, and yourself. 

After one month of hanging out with Suna, you were planning on meeting up and going to see a movie. Both of you were more homebodies, preferring to stay in rather than party, but you had decided that you wanted to try and expand your horizons once again. The movies seemed like a happy compromise. 

The film was something Suna had been talking about for a while, an action thriller that honestly looked like shit but got good audience reviews because of all the flashy fight scenes. He had been so excited when it came out that you hadn’t been able to say no to going, especially not after he pried you with food. 

He was coming to get you at 6 pm, and your last class ended at 3pm, which gave you plenty of time to get ready. You stared at the face of your teacher on the screen within your zoom class, zoning out as he explained the flood system around the school. You glanced over as your phone buzzed, a message from Suna popping up on the screen. 

Suna

Wha u doying rit now?

You

What?

Suna

Sorr little drynk 

You

You’re drunk? 

Suna

im at psrty

You

Are we still seeing a movie tonight?

There was no response, and you felt your stomach drop. You didn’t even notice as your teacher ended class and logged you off the meeting. Suna was at a party at 3 in the afternoon, drunk, and didn’t seem to remember you had plans. You swallowed, shoving your phone aside as you ground your teeth. Why was he so frustrating? 

You stood up, angry at yourself for caring, furious at Suna for making you feel this way, for being such a piece of shit. You knew what party he was probably at--Kiyoko had said she was going at some point--and suddenly you were moving before you could think about it. 

You dressed nice, but casual enough that it wasn’t out of place at a frat party. Sexy enough to make him want you though, of course. 

You didn’t give yourself time for nerves as you strode from your dorm and headed in the direction of the frat house, following a steady stream of people already going in that direction. You knew it was Friday, but how the fuck were so many people already getting ready to party when it was literally 3:30????

It wasn’t overly crowded in the house when you entered, but enough where it was confusing as you wandered through the crowd. You snatched two drinks from the counter, downing them as fast as possible as you searched for Suna in the crowd. You’d need to be at least tipsy before having this confrontation. 

You found him in the living room, sprawled out on the couch next to who you recognized to be Akaashi, Kuroo, Kita, and Iwaizumi--all who you knew through Kiyoko. There were a few others you didn’t know, and they were all clearly drunk out of their minds. 

As you entered the room, Suna met your eyes for a brief moment, but then they moved on without a reaction. He didn’t care at all that you had come to find him, or that he had never responded to your text. 

The drink in your hand trembled, and you walked out of the room without looking back. 

Instead of talking to Suna, you decided to get wasted. An hour after first coming to the party, you were deep in a game of beer pong and you had a pleasant warmth in your gut, the world a little hazy. You felt braver, more angry, and suddenly all you wanted to do was track down that yellow eyed idiot and slap him. 

“Where’s Suna?” You slurred, turning to look at your partner at beer pong. You knew him vaguely as one of the frat boys, Suna’s friend Atsumu. 

Atsumu grinned, raising his eyebrows as he stared down at you. “Suna? Why?” 

You weren’t drunk enough to tell him of your “friendship” with Suna, so you just shrugged. 

“He’s over there,” Atsumu pointed towards the kitchen, and you felt all the blood drain from your face as you followed his gaze. Sitting in a chair, his back to you, was Suna...and on his lap was a beautiful blonde girl with her hands in his hair as she kissed him fiercely. 

You must have made some sort of sound, because Atsuma looked back at you. “You good?” 

You forced yourself to nod. “I’m...going to go get some fresh air.” 

“I’ll come,” he said, and you decided not to argue. 

Seeing Suna had sobered you up considerably, but your emotions were still a complete mess. All you could feel was a deep, unending hurt. 

As you headed down the hall, Atsumu grabbed your wrist and spun you around to face him. “So...you and Suna huh?” He said, a strange smile on his face. 

“What are you--?” 

“It’s fine, you don’t have to keep it a secret.” He took a step towards you, and you raised your eyebrows. 

“We aren’t together.” 

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind,” He gently took your chin, lifting your face. “If I did this?” 

“I--” 

“What the fuck.” 

All the breath wooshed out of you at the familiar voice, which was now laced with anger. Suna stood a few feet away, his hands in his pockets as he watched you and Atsumu. He was smiling, but it was icy with rage and...jealousy?

“Suna,” Atsumu grinned, releasing your face but not stepping back. “What do you want?” 

Suna jerked his chin in your direction. “How about you get away from her, and then we’ll talk?”

“Dude,” Atsumu rolled his eyes. “She just told me she was single. I don’t get what the problem is.” 

Suna’s face tightened. “If you don’t get the fuck out of here in the next three seconds, I swear I will break your--”

“Chill, ok!” Atsumu stepped back from you, given you a frustrated look before heading away down the hall. 

When he was out of sight, Suna’s head slowly turned to face you, his eyes dark. “Single?” His voice was a low snarl. 

You swallowed, feeling your anger return full force. How dare he. “Yes!” You snapped, “Since you clearly don’t view this as any sort of relationship.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“So you can go off kissing other girls, but I can’t flirt with Atsumu?” 

“Looked like a bit more than flirting,” he said, teeth bared, before the other part of what you said caught up to him. “And how drunk are you? I wasn’t kissing shit!” 

“Are you seriously lying to my face right now? I saw you!” 

“I didn’t kiss anyone! Do you really think that little of me?”

You clenched your fists. “Atsumu said--” 

Suna was in your face in a second, towering over you as he backed you against the wall. “What did he say?” He growled. 

You clenched your jaw, glaring at him in silence. 

Suna gave a dark chuckle. “So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” 

You barely had time to react before he gripped your chin, kissing you roughly and shoving his tongue in your mouth. You moaned, and the sound snapped whatever restraints Suna had. His hands ran down the back of your thighs, lifting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you through the nearest door into a random bedroom. He kissed down your neck as he kicked the door shut, and you gasped as he tossed you on the bed. 

Your eyes slid down his chest and across his toned stomach as he pulled his shirt over his head, completely at a loss for what to do. You could feel the heat pulsing between your legs, making your heart race and your body tremble. But this was wrong. Right? 

You didn’t have anymore time to think about it as Suna gripped your ankles, dragging you to the end of the bed. 

“Why do you still have clothes on?” He snarled, yanking your leggings off and leaving them in a tangled mess on the floor. His eyes darkened as they swept over the pair of lacy underwear you had worn, sliding towards your center where you kept your thighs clenched tightly together. 

He didn’t say a word as he forced your legs apart, dropping to his knees at the end of the bed, yanking down your underwear, and positioning one of your legs over his shoulder. You shuddered as his hot breath caressed you, and he ran lazy circles along the inside of your thighs with his long fingers. 

“Fuck…” He murmured under his breath before looking up at you. “Do you want me to--”

“Stop teasing me Suna,” you groaned, shifting your hips, and he laughed darkly. 

“Fine.”

You practically screamed at the first sweep of his tongue, managing to turn your face into a pillow to muffle your noises as he worked around your clit and used his fingers in your core. You bucked your hips up into his face, and his laughter vibrating through your body almost had you coming within the first minute. 

You let out a low cry of protest as he pulled away, raising his head to glare at you. His mouth was covered in your juices, his hair rumpled and eyes glassy. He leaned over you, yanking away the pillow you had been using to cover your mouth and throwing it across the room. 

“What are you--”

“I want to hear you begging for it,” he snapped, and you managed to roll your eyes before he shoved his fingers back into you. 

“You’re so--ah!” You shuddered. 

Over the course of a month of fucking each other, Suna had figured out exactly how to make you fall apart under his tongue and fingers, so it didn’t take long for him to work you into an early climax. Your legs shook, and you let out a series of moans as you came all over his mouth. 

He got to his feet after making sure he had licked you completely clean, gazing down at you with possessive smugness. 

“Why do you look so fucked out already? We’ve barely gotten started.” 

You didn’t even argue as you got onto your knees on the bed, hands sliding into his hair as you kissed him angrily, unsaid words erupting. He allowed you to shove him onto the bed, and you focused on unzipping his pants and throwing them aside, ditching your shirt and bra along with it. His boxers went next, and then you had his dick in your hands, stroking it while Suna groaned. 

“Here,” he panted, tossing you a condom, and you slid it over his cock just like he taught you. You positioned yourself over him, impatient, your knees on either side of his hips as you thrust yourself down on him in one go. You both moaned at the feeling of finally having him inside you. 

“F-fuck,” you gasped, slowly rolling your hips as you rested your hands lightly on Suna’s chest. You went slow, taking the time to feel how deep he reached inside you, the movement on your clit enough to send tingles up the rest of your body. 

Suna watched you ride him lazily, his yellow eyes half closed as he took in the way your naked body shifted to move on top of him. 

“Ha, you’re doing so good...god--you’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned, and you glared down at him. 

“You make me so...mad…” You managed between pants of pleasure, and Suna raised his eyebrows. 

“You can still talk? I guess I’m not doing enough…” 

Before you could protest, he flipped you over so that you were lying on your back with him hovering over you, his dark hair falling around his face as he gripped your throat lightly. 

“You’re such a little cumslut aren’t you?” He murmured in your ear, and you arched slightly. “Don’t you ever try and fuck someone else again, got it? You’re only allowed to come around my cock.”

You moaned in agreement, and Suna rolled you over onto your stomach, dragging your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He gave you no warning as he thrust back in, practically fucking you into the mattress. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he used his fingers to reach around and rub your clit, his other hand running along your breast. You could  barely think through the pleasure, and the only coherent word you were managing to say was his name.

Suna leaned over you, yanking your head back to murmur in your ear. “You’re mine, got it?” His words were rough, and you clenched hard around his cock. You could feel your second orgasm approaching, and he could tell too by the way you shuddered around him. He paused in his motion, and you wiggled your hips in protest, trying to get him going again. 

“Why’d you stop?” You snapped, glancing over your shoulder when he didn’t continue. 

Suna grinned. “Beg for it, bitch.”

He moved slightly, letting you feel the friction, and you gasped in anger and pleasure. This bastard wanted to tease you, make you submit to him…

Despite knowing this, you broke almost immediately. “Please, Suna, please please, I need you so bad--”

Immediately, he picked up his pace once again, adding more pressure to your clit, and you jerked. “That’s a good girl.” 

“Ah, ah, Suna, fuck, I love-- you, ahhh…” You cried, feeling moisture spill down your thighs as your stomach erupted for the second time that night. 

For a moment he stilled, and you bit your lip in tired confusion. Did he want you to beg again? You weren’t sure you had another round in you. 

You looked over to see him with a shocked expression on his face, but it quickly melted into smugness again once he caught you staring at him. “Of course you love me while I’m fucking you like this,” he growled finally. “It’s because you’re such a slut for it, right?” 

Your mouth dropped open, but you didn’t have time to say anything as he started moving once again, making you yelp at the overstimulation. Had you said you loved him? Out loud? Oh my god…

“Have I fucked you stupid already?” he purred in your ear, pulling out of your dripping cunt before slamming back in and picking up his pace. You moaned loudly, thrusting your hips back to meet his as all thoughts flew from your head. 

“S-Suna I--” You could barely speak, it felt so good, despite the fact that you had already come. Twice. 

 He began to pant in your ear, groaning as his grip on your hips tightened.“F-fuck--” He grunted, arms sliding around your waist as he jerked and came. 

You both collapsed on the bed, sweaty and exhausted, and Suna easily pulled the condom from his dick before tying it and tossing it in the trash. After a long moment, you rolled to your feet to padded over to where your clothes lay--until you realized that your leggings had a massive rip in them. 

“Suna!” You cried, holding up the fabric. He raised his eyebrows, and had the decency to at least look vaguely guilty. 

“Sorry.” 

“What do I wear?!” 

“Here.” He threw the shirt he had been wearing earlier at you, and you gave him a glare.

He had already wiped himself down with the tissues on the counter, and had pulled on his sweatpants once again, leaving him shirtless. His eyes swept lazily down your still naked body, his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and you crossed your arms in annoyance. 

“Suna,” You snapped, but finally pulled his shirt over your head, not seeing another option. “I’m going to go get cleaned up,” you said, before heading out the door without waiting for a response. 

The bathroom was thankfully right down the hall, and thankfully empty. You didn’t feel very guilty about fucking Suna when you should have been communicating in a healthy way, but you definitely still felt mad. 

After you had wiped all the fluids from your inner thighs and core, you headed back to the room to grab the rest of your stuff. 

You found Suna on his phone lying on the bed, but he looked up as you came in. 

“Where are you going?” He said as you gathered your stuff, and you huffed. 

“Back to my dorm.” 

“Wait,” he lunged out of the bed and grabbed your arm. “Don’t go.” 

“Now you want to spend time with me?” 

“Just...stay. Please.” 

You swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Fine.” 

His expression relaxed into a happy smile, and he dragged you onto the bed with him before flicking out the lights. You weren’t sure what time it was exactly, but you were sure it was far past two in the morning. Your eyelids drooped as Suna wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. 

You were right on the edge of sleep when he murmured, “Did you mean it?” 

Immediately you were awake; you knew exactly what he meant. “U-um--” You hadn’t worked out any of the problems between you two, and you were sure he didn’t feel the same way. How were you supposed to admit to loving him like this?

“It’s fine,” he finally muttered. “We can talk about it tomorrow.” 

You swallowed. “Yes. I did mean it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but you felt Suna tense around you. 

“Really?”

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself to say it. “Yes... I love you.” 

You felt his sigh against your air, ticking the little hair on the back of your neck. His hand slid across your stomach while the other gently began to stroke your hair, and the movement had you relaxing despite the tears that had built up at his lack of response. 

You closed your eyes and set it aside; you would deal with it tomorrow. Now, it was time for sleep. 

“I love you too.” You heard, so soft that it was almost just a breath of air.  

It was probably just a dream.  

[midnightsconspiracy]

Office Romance?

Office Romance? - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: It's Mouse’s first day in the 21st district. Jay introduces him to the whole team, except you who seems to always be out until you finally meet at Molly’s and completely hit it off

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2193

Requested: Nope but my requests are currently open

A/N: This is my first time writing for Mouse and the longest fic I’ve written, so hopefully everyone likes it! :)

Masterlist

It was Mouse’s first day in Intelligence, it was finally the day that he was going to turn his life around. No longer living in sketchy areas and gaining felonies but instead becoming a legit member of society and working for a reputable institution, the Chicago police department. He had been recommended to the boss by his friend and former military buddy Jay Halstead, who unlike himself, had managed to get a proper holding in society after being discharged from the Rangers. This was finally his chance to show Jay and everyone else who cares about him that he could do something else good with his life and that he was more than just his time in the military.

Meeting Jay outside the district, the two men embrace in a warm hug, briefing saying their hellos and reminiscing on old times before they ascended the stairs. They pasted Sergeant Platt, Jay giving her a small hello in which she ignored and Mouse, despite having only met her once, gave her a polite smile. Punching in the passcode alongside his handprint, he unlocked the door climbing the second set of stairs up to the place he would call ‘home’ for hopefully years to come. Reaching the top Jay paused, Mouse quick to follow his actions.

“Guys this is Mouse, Mouse this is the Unit. That’s Dawson, Lindsay, Olinsky, Atwater, Nadia, and Sergeant Voight’s in his office.” The people in the room all averted their gaze from their own individual work, with Voight even exiting his office to greet him as well, to greet the newest member of the team, all presenting him with a momentary smile, short greeting, or handshake.

“Oh and Y/LN and Ruzek are currently out chasing up a lead right now but should be back soon,” Jay quickly followed up, trying to familiarise his buddy up with as much as possible to make him as comfortable as he could, knowing mouse struggled with rejoining society.

“Ok-k, well it's good meeting everyone, and I hope I can be of assistance to you all,” he mumbled out nervously, he admired Jay and Voight for giving him this opportunity but it still didn’t stop the feelings that they had a level of superiority over him due to their jobs. Taking him downstairs to his own tech room, he prompted Mouse to take a look around to get accustomed to his surroundings.

“What do you think buddy?

“I think it will do the job just fine,” he smiled back to jay reassuring him that he could do this.

“Ok, well if you’re all good I’ve got work to do myself,” Jay announced before turning and leaving Mouse to his own devices, finally leaving him to prove himself worthy.

—————

Mouse’s day was hectic, to say the least. Members of the team were constantly in and out of the tech room or calling him, getting him to give them vital information as quickly as he possibly could. But he thrived in the conditions present, what previously was extreme anxiety when he first entered turned into adrenaline. He hadn’t experienced such a high-intensity situation since his time at the Rangers, but he loved it. The Rangers was the place he felt most at home and alive, but the ‘accident’ had caused him to be honourably discharged. He wanted to be back in Afghanistan with Jay and his other military buddies desperately, feeling as though he had a place there, that he was actually contributing something good to the world, but this would do for the time, this was the best thing for him right now.

From what he could figure out, the unit was dealing with a human trafficking case in which multiple girls were found dead by the Docks, thrown into a container, and starved to death. Pulling up the names of multiple different men, he stared into their eyes as the pictures came up on his screen and felt no remorse for them as he heard each man be dragged into the cage one by one. The team managed to successfully find lead after lead, deciding to either all roll out together or keep sending Ruzek and Y/LN out. It was already about halfway through the day and Mouse still had not met the said people, only occasionally hearing their voices or being told to send them the information he was finding.

—————

As the day further progressed things started to flatline, leads found previously being a bust and nobody seeming to find anything worthwhile. The whole team worked tireless upstairs as Mouse found them the material they needed downstairs. Finally, after an hour of absolutely nothing, Dawson managed to get vital information from a CI and so a feasible lead was afoot. As the others were gearing up and getting ready to finally make some arrests, Jay popped his head into Mouse’s tech cave.

“Mouse I need you to send me the information on Spencer Phillips ASAP,” he was just about to walk out when he turned his head slightly to utter a few final words to his friend,

“And good job buddy, we really appreciate it.” Mouse smiled as he looked up the information for Jay, maybe he was going something good for the world, especially if his dearest friend thought so.

—————

The lead had been successful and two arrests of notable people in a human trafficking ring were arrested. The case was not fully closed, the organisation still up and running, but the perpetrators of the murders were put away to never see a day in the sun again. That was enough for Voight to warrant the members of his team a break to go home, rest and in the younger detective's case visit the local bar, Molly’s. Coming back up to the main room Jay greeted Mouse, patting him on the back for a job well done, he had underestimated his friend, thinking that he may struggle with his job just as he had coped with his anxiety and PTSD after coming back from the Middle East. Walking further into the room Mouse finally got to see the infamous man who had manage to evade his line of sight for the whole working day, Adam Ruzek. Approaching him he finally got to introduce himself.

“Hi, it's nice to finally meet you”

“Yeah, you too Mouse, I feel like I’ve been swept off my feet the whole day, you coming to Molly’s”

“I wasn’t planning to but sure why not?” Mouse had a vague idea of what Molly’s was, Jay sometimes talking about the bar run by first responders, but he was excited to finally see it for himself. Turning to Jay, who was packing his stuff up at his desk, he assumed he would want to go to the bar alongside the rest of the team,

“Molly’s then?” He smirked knowing Jay would never turn him or drinking down,

“Of course.” Leaving the district together, the two guys headed in the direction of the bar relieved to finally get away from work and have some downtime. Unbeknown to them you were in the changing room with Kim chatting away, excited to go for a drink and ready to go upstairs to meet the new tech guy. Little did you know you would be very disappointed when you did so.

—————

Arriving at the bar the men settled into the unit's usual booth at the back of the bar, flagging down Hermann to get two beers so that they could finally unwind from a long day of stressful events.

“The rest of the team should be here shortly, but how was your first day buddy, tell me all,” Jay asked hoping that his friend liked the position so that he could work towards becoming an outstanding member of the community and chuffed that he was working alongside his best friend once more.

“It was good man, I don’t really know what else to say about it. Um..I finally felt as if I was doing something with myself, I felt that adrenaline I missed from the Rangers, but I miss it, the thrill, the relationships, everything really Jay.” Jay sighed not knowing what to say, annoyed at his friend for missing it, he had spent so long trying to pull Mouse out of that bad place, a constant cycle of anxiety, depression, and PTSD, that it hurt him that he wanted to go back. The tense situation was interrupted by the rest of the team arriving, taking up the rest of the room in the booth with Erin snuggling up to Jay and Adam getting up to buy a round for the table. All the usual suspects were there enjoying themselves, except one, you.

You had gone home to shower and get out of your work clothes before making your way to meet the rest of the team for some rest and relaxation, maybe nestling a few beers throughout the night. Making your way into the bar, you passed members of firehouse 51, making small talk with them before moving towards Hermann to get yourself an alcoholic beverage. Thanking him you turned to walk over to your unit's table, spotting an unfamiliar figure in the corner of the booth next to jay, which you could assume was the new tech guy Mouse.

“Christ Y/LN where have you been?” Your partner Adam boomed, already a little tipsy from the two beers he had consumed.

“Sorry I had to go home first, wanted to freshen up,” you smiled amused at how much of a lightweight Adam really was, despite claiming otherwise.

“Y/N this is Mouse, I don’t think you’ve met yet,” Jay interrupted you, drawing your attention away to introduce you to the nervous man beside him. Looking him dead in the eyes, you noticed how attractive he was, you had just presumed that Mouse would be less than average looking considering his measly nickname, but no, the man in front of you was undeniably handsome with a charming smile and deep blue eyes.

“Hi, it's nice to meet you, sorry I didn’t meet you earlier, seems like we were both at the wrong place at the wrong time,” you gave a shy smile, sitting down next to Kevin trying to look confident despite the nervousness you felt inside.

“I-its good to meet you to Y/N, seems like the universe is not in our favour huh?” He stuttered equally as nervous, for what you assumed was first-time jitters, but little did you know it was because he found you equally as attractive.

——————

Throughout the night you continued talking with all members of your unit but especially Mouse. You felt naturally drawn to him, not just because of your attraction but also the stories he told that fascinated you, some from his days in the rangers and other ones from his childhood. By the end of the night, you too had managed to move to sit next to each other, with the members of your unit seeing you hit it off immediately and so pushed you together hoping for another office romance. Completely enamoured by him, you didn’t even notice that the other people in the bar were starting to trickle out slowly and Hermann’s last order was thirty minutes ago. Finally noticing your surroundings after the bartender had called your name and told you it was closing time, you checked your watch noticing the late time. Turning to Mouse you smiled and softly spoke about the revelation,

“I didn’t even realise how late it was, maybe we should get out of here, wait wait! Not like that, well unless you want you.” Noticing what you had said, you shyly smiled hoping he wouldn’t think you were too weird.

“That sounds good,” he cheekily smirked moving out of the booth, allowing you to get out too and heading towards the doors of the bar, saying a brief goodnight to Hermann on your way out. You walked down the street together to where your cars were parked, going at a slow pace, trying to extend your time together for as long as possible. Locating your car you stood next to it as you went to say your goodbyes to the handsome man in front of you.

“Thank you for keeping me company tonight, I really enjoyed it”

“Yeah me too, but I was hoping we could do it again sometime, just you and me?” Completely taken aback you stuttered to think of your response, you weren’t not thrilled about it at all, just completely surprised that he liked you as you did him.

“I’d love to Mouse, give me your phone,” handing you his phone you put your number in, silently hoping he would be one of those guys that actually use your number instead of ignoring it completely. Proceeding to hand it back, you both stood in silence not knowing what to say. But in this situation, no words were needed, only actions. So when he leaned in to place his lips, you gladly reciprocated the affection, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. Little did you know this would lead to a lifetime of desire and devotion.

[archivedazmenka]

@goldenngore​ / ctd.       THE STARS ABOVE PAINTED A MAP TO NAVIGATE THE WORLD ; senses, direction, faith, all in one poured into them whenever Maron gazed up at the nightsky and quietly smiled to himself, knowing exactly where they were going. the coast of Essos lay idly before them ; another week at sea perhaps, if the winds kept steady, and they would make port in Meereen to find the one people called the Dragonqueen. words of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen had spread far and wide, and a little more than a month ago, he would have been curious to see her          see if the words were true, see if, perhaps, she would allow herself to show more of that alleged beauty to him. and then something strange had happened. beauty        true beauty         had decided to board his ship and sail with them.        truth be told, Maron had never paid much attention to the Knight of Flowers. he had known of Loras’ fame in battle ; how women adored him ( though pointlessly. that, too, he had heard ) and then Loras had died          only to return to the world of the living. brooding and angry, and still the most mesmerizing thing Maron had ever seen in his life. there was something utterly fascinating, entirely captivating about the man quietly standing on deck in the middle of the night, looking up at the sky. so different from Maron himself, and yet there was much that linked them together.        ( hatred for everything. a feeling of injustice. a need for revenge. dark dreams. loss and tears for fallen loved ones. years of misery spent away from home. the inability to protect those they cared for. the glowing, sparking wish to watch the whole world burn. )        his approach was quiet but straightforward ; thumbs casually hooked into his belt, the broad back soon leaning against the railing of Kingfisher. and he spoke the words before properly thinking about them. as easily as anything else he seemed to do on a daily basis. Maron wasn’t one to care for the conventions and faux chivalry of the green lands. blunt, uncaring ; such were the ways of a king aboard his own ship. and Maron, no doubt, was just that.        Loras’ surprise amused him ; dark brows arched, a smile on his lips, while he watched those golden eyes widen just a little. lo and behold, a display of emotion from the marble-carved statue that was Loras Tyrell. they indeed had drunk together a few times, and Loras indeed didn’t hold his liquor well, but Maron was eager to soak up anything the knight might offer .   .   . any words, any feelings. a simple laugh. a sound he had not been able to forget. and, perhaps, had tried to elicit again every now and then, unfortunately to no avail. Maron chuckled ( his own laughter had always come easily, after all ), blue eyes gleaming under the nightsky. “ it mainly sounded tipsy. ” he vaguely remembered an empty bottle of wine already between them, another opened on the table. “ but yes. it did sound true. as far as I can tell, at least. ” he cocked his head to the side and curiously watched Loras for a moment. unabashed and openly. “ it sounded like it needed to get out. as if it had been stuck and imprisoned for far too long. ” the merry singsong of small, golden bells. “ it suits you, you know? laughter. ”

[beauvibaby]

always together, but not really – r.hintz

“Miro.” You threatened, he hadn’t admitted to you that some of his teammates would also be at the bar until right before he dragged you inside. “Y/N.” He mimicked, his accent strong and slightly mispronouncing your name. “If Roope is here, I’m leaving.” You demanded, digging your feet down, he gave you a light tug to get you moving again. “Why do you hate him?” Miro teased you, knowing it wasn’t like that at all, quite the opposite actually, but after a very drunk make out session with Roope and then him hardly speaking to you after that. It forced you to create distance even though you wanted to close the gap.

“Please, not tonight.” You sighed, shooting your friend a pleading look, he gave in, seeing the tiredness around your eyes after a long week at work, “fine, he’s here but you don’t have to talk.” He muttered, tucking you under his arm as he walked, you sighed in relief, thanking him as he ordered you a drink. “Hey, Y/N.” Tyler grinned, nudging you as you approached, “hey.” You mirrored his smile, it was no secret that you’d had it rough this week, as Miro had answered your panicked phone call last night and didn’t get a chance to tell you it was on speaker before you started rambling in the midst of tears. You’d met him right when he came to Texas, you offered to help him with his English and a friendship blossomed from there. He was easily your closest friend, as most of the girls your age would just use you to become close to the guys. It was a shame really, but they all loved you like a sister so who were they to complain.

Miro muttered about going to see the others and left you with Tyler, laughing as you rolled your eyes. You’d seen Tyler mature a lot in the past couple of years, and it simply grew your trust and respect for him. “How ya doing?” He asked, sitting on the stool beside you as you sipped on your fruity drink. You shrugged, “better, just frustrated you know.” You explained vaguely, it had just been one of those times where if everything could go wrong, it would. You were on the tail end of it now, finally, so you were trying to let it go, but it was sweet that all the guys had been worried about you. Some of them even threatening to fight your boss, jokingly of course, or so you hoped…

“Such a tough cookie.” Tyler quipped, messing up your hair, “hands off, Seguin!” You gasped, blindly smoothing out the hair he had tousled, he snickered as he slinked off back to the group, giving you know choice but to come socialize, or sit at the bar alone. Which he knew you hated. “Jerk.” You muttered, pinching the back of his arm as you walked past him, you settled into a flow with Esa and Jason. Talking nonsense and jokes, you could feel eyes on the back of your head, and before you knew it, you were nearly all alone again. Just you and Esa speaking as everyone wandered off doing their own things, “Roope.” You mumbled with a nod, acknowledging him as he stepped over, he moved his hand in a small wave, not really speaking as Esa trailed off. “Uh, I think Tyler’s looking for me.” He mumbled before dashing away, you were on your second drink of the night, not very tipsy, but the edge had been removed certainly.

“How’s work?” He asked, and you took it as a jab, you gave him a blank stare, “are you serious?” You questioned, standing up straighter, he furrowed his brows, “yes?” He tilted his head, slightly confused as he nursed his beer. “Oh, shit, wait wait, nevermind.” Roope looked like a light went on in his brain, “Miro told me.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. You nodded silently, “sorry.” You laughed under your breath, not wanting him to think of you as rude. He shrugged it off, the two of you having the most conversation you’d had in weeks.

***

“Oh.” You paused, walking into your apartment, and seeing the shoes in your entryway. “Miro, I said the key was for emergencies only.” You called, a laugh at the end, you walked towards the living room, stopping as it was Roope sitting there and not Miro, “Roope? How did you get in?” You gasped, he was scrolling on his phone, and didn’t answer you, you stepped closer and noticed the earbuds in his ears. You smirked, taking your heel from work and lightly tossing it at his back, laughing as he shouted, flying up off the couch. Arm craned back like he was ready to punch someone. “It’s just me.” You managed to get out between laughs, he shook his head, taking the earbuds out. “How did you get in here?” You asked again, “Miro let me in, he said he needed help putting something up for you? I don’t know, but when we got here he got a call that his apartment was flooding.” Roope explained, nearly out of breath from how you’d scared him. Your face fell into understanding, and an inaudible aw fell from your lips as you realized Miro wasn’t joking when he said he’d help you move the furniture in your room around. Something you’d been wanting to do for a while but never had the time or the help.

“He drove you here didn't he?” You asked, meaning Roope didn’t have an immediate way to leave, “yeah.” Roope chuckled nervously, not sure what you were getting at. “Could you help me then? I’m pretty sure this is why he had you here anyways.” You shrugged, motioning for him to follow you towards your bedroom, he hesitated, but when you glanced back at him with a soft, pleading smile, he began to walk right behind you.

“So,” you started, going on to explain to him what you wanted to do, he nodded along, agreeing when you would end something with a hum, looking for approval. He had no idea what he was talking about, he didn’t care where his furniture was, as long as there was a bed and a tv he was fine. But he could tell you were thrilled, with him no less, when he agreed to help you. He watched as you rushed off to grab something to change into, not very flexible in your office attire, he wandered around your room as you changed in the bathroom.

His eyes landed on your bed, and how clean and crisp it was, much like you, always put together even in the most stressful of times. He looked to the wall, the only wall where you had things hanging, mostly photos scattered around random signs, he couldn’t help but smile as he spotted one of you and Miro from a few years back, he’d always thought you were pretty, but now as he looked at you then, and at you now. He knew you had only gotten more stunning, he turned around when you cleared your throat, “you done looking at my stuff?” You teased, he felt whatever tension he had leave his body at your words. The most normal you had treated him since before he drunkenly kissed you, something he regretted because you deserved better. He wanted to give you better.

“Sorry.” He laughed, “so, where do we start?”

You collapsed on your bed with a groan, Roope following suit, “that took a lot longer than I thought it would.” You mumbled into your mattress, Roope laughed as he took the chance to glance over at you. He thought to himself, about how he couldn’t think of a time when he was in a girls room, in her bed, without it being for sex. He thought of how this felt more intimate as you two shared conversations and laughed over how he couldn’t understand your directions. You flipped over and he quickly looked back to the ceiling, “thanks for helping, dinners on me.” You offered, feeling heat run through your body as he smiled over at you. “It’s ok, you don’t have to do that.” He mumbled, his fingers brushing against yours on the bed, neither of you moved your hands, you let your head fall to the side, smile widening as he stared into your eyes. “What?” You whispered, feeling him slide his hand over yours, easily surrounding it. “Y/N, shit I’m sorry, I was trying to surprise– oh.” Miro shouted rushing to find you as he entered the apartment and saw you’d already come from work. He froze in the doorway as you and Roope leaped apart as if you were doing something wrong, “you moved everything.” He spoke, trying to keep you from feeling awkward.

Roope nodded, “uh yeah, it’s the least I could do since she came home and found me hanging out in her place, because you ditched me.” Roope joked with his friend, you laughed in agreement. “So, your apartment flooded?” You changed the subject, laughing as Miro now fell dramatically on your bed, complaining about how they’d called the wrong apartment owner.

***

A famous Tyler Seguin end of the season house party, only this time a little bit more together due to his girlfriend helping him. You laughed with some of the girls as the guys roughed it up outside, never failing to amaze you how they weren’t beat after a whole season of playing. “So, Y/N, has Roope made a move yet?” Alandra asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you, an exasperated sigh fell from your lips as you filled them in on everything. They nodded along, occasionally putting in their two cents, by the time you’d finished the guys were getting rowdy and begging you to come do something with them, everyone went to their significant others, and you bounced around with whoever was single currently. “Roope is looking at you.” Miro quipped, looking past you, you glanced over your shoulder and smiled at Roope, he mirrored the action, winking at you. Miro gaped at the sight, “don’t tell me he doesn’t like you anymore.” Miro rolled his eyes, all but shoving you towards his friend. You glared but proceeded to walk towards Roope, casually jumping into conversation with him and Rads. Roope smiled down at you, as the time went by and you casually stepped closer to him. He could see the way you would shiver as the breeze came through. Eventually he lightly put his arm over your shoulder, hoping you couldn’t feel his heart racing as you leaned against him, welcoming the warmth he was providing you.

Somewhere along the way, you two had ended up on the large outdoor couch, Alandra on the other side of you, her feet occasionally nudging you as you started drifting in and out, you smacked her ankle away, glaring lightly, she smirked as you rested your hand on Roope’s leg, your eyes falling shut. He adjusted his arm so you’d be more comfortable, “it’s ok, rakas, you can sleep.” He whispered when no one was looking. The pet name, that you’d heard before when Miro was speaking, made your heart flutter. You sighed in content as his fingers absentmindedly drew shapes on your back, lulling you to sleep.

***

That was a week ago, and you had thought things were going good, but then after that night, Roope pulled away again. At this point you weren't upset, you were angry, wanting answers to why he was playing with your emotions like that. That’s what led to you knocking loudly on his door early one morning, you could hear him cursing as he stumbled to the door. “Y/N?” He spoke, confused as you stormed inside the second the door was open, “I need to know why you keep doing this!” You groaned, pulling at your hair, he lightly shut the door, holding in a sigh, afraid this is what would happen as he couldn’t decide how to just tell you he liked you. “You can’t just call me darling, and let me sleep on you and then just stop talking to me! It isn’t fair Roope.” You rushed your words out, he nodded, stepping closer to you, “it’s not fair! It hurts me, I just need to know if I mean something to you.” He frowned at your words, lightly cupping your face, “don’t cry, rakas.” He whispered, “Roope.” You cautioned, trying to pry yourself from his hands, but you couldn’t, it felt too nice.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I did that, I was dumb. I should have just told you that I liked you from the beginning, but then we kissed and I thought you deserved better. Then we started seeing each other more and–“ “you like me?” You cut him off, placing your hands over his wrists, his hands still resting on your face, he went to move them back but you held him in place. “Do you like me Roope?” You whispered, he nodded, not breaking his eyes from yours. “I like you too.” You told him, just to make sure he got it in that thick head of his, “and I’d really like it if you asked me out, finally.” You could barely finish as he pulled you in for a kiss, smiling against you as it was even better than he remembered. “Wanna go out sometime?” He breathed out, eyes crinkling as you dipped your head back in laughter. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

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