#kitchen insp

[ayo-edebiri]

Love is stored in the kitchen (insp)

[adayumantium]

Should I Stay Or Should I Go? 

Logan Howlett x fem! Reader smut

a/n: insp by the song by The Clash & graphic by @moosgraphics :)

Summary: Logan Howlett's annoying ass consumes your waking days. You're friends, you're not, you're arguing, you're not...whats the deal? How can such a pain in your ass make you feel so much better?

W/C: 1.6k+ my bad

tags/warnings: ENEMIES TO LOVERS YAHHHHHHHH, implied age gap (but like bc he’s 200,,,), terms of endearment (doll, princess, kid, baby), friendly combat, cursing, MDNI 18+ IM SO SERIOUS, kitchen hate sex WOOOO, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (WRAP IT GUYS) 

Your foot connects with Logan’s chest, pushing him back with a swift kick. He grunts, heels dragging as he struggles to regain his footing. Sweat rolls off his temple, making its way down his neck. 

“Can’t keep up, old man?” you smirk, returning to a guarding stance. There were few things as exhilarating as a good sparring match, especially with Logan. You liked the physical challenge of someone bigger and more experienced than you. Not to mention the banter. You would never admit it, but even the most bitter of his words shot electricity between your thighs. 

“Is that mouth capable of anything that doesn’t give me a headache?” he huffs, lurching forward and throwing his own punches.

“Oh, sweetheart, you wish,” you beckon him with a motion of your fingers.

Maybe too cocky, you dodge once, twice, before Logan lands a blow that knocks you to the ground.

“Shit,” you groan, laying your head back on the cool training mat. 

“Had enough, princess?” Logan straddles your hips, towering over you. God, something about him. You consider your options. Against anyone else, a buck of the hips might send them flying, but Logan was maybe 400 pounds of metal and muscle. You were exhausted, sore, and just a bit distracted by the way Logan’s perspiration made his white tank cling to his sculpted muscles. You sighed, tapping the floor twice.

“Whatever,” you huffed, and Logan grinned before getting back to his feet. He held a hand out to help you up, and as your fingers graced his much larger ones, you felt the contact shiver up your arm. You swallowed silently, trying to ignore the tension in your neck and shoulders. 

“Y’know, you’re gettin’ better out there, doll. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to handle me,” Logan nodded. 

“Shut up,” you scowl. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, kid. It was a compliment,” Logan rolls his eyes, leaving before you could conjure up a decent comeback. Ugh. As you make your way back to your own room, you can’t shake the interaction. Really, every interaction you’ve ever had with him. It was always teasing, always belittling one another, but you craved every inkling of it. You hated to admit it, but the idea of beating Logan made you want to be better and train harder. You loved having him on his knees, at your mercy. 

Stepping into the shower, you work to scrub the feeling of him off your skin. The feeling of him towering over you on the mat and the way it made your throat feel tight. The smell of tobacco and leather so far up your nose you can taste it. 

How could something so frustrating feel so good? 

Crawling into bed that night was no better. You stare at the ceiling for hours, restless as you replay your conversations with Logan in your mind. He was so infuriating, the way he pins your wrists during drills or threatens to wipe a sly smile off your face. Why are you so desperate to have him be present in your everyday life? Maybe, after all this time, you just have to get it out in the open. It’s late, though; no one can think clearly at this time of night. You eventually drift to sleep, and your subconscious betrays you with dreams of the Wolverine. 

An early morning jog is always exactly what you need. The rising sun and singing birds are waking up, and it reminds you how nice life in the mansion actually is. Peace and quiet is a virtue in a life as chaotic as yours. Sometimes, life happens too quickly. Short of breath, you fumble back inside, gracious for cool air and endorphins keeping you upright. 

Your stomach growling grounds you. You stand on your toes, pulling cereal down from the cabinets. Opening the fridge, you frown. Who drank the last of the milk? You sigh, a creek in the floor putting your senses on edge. Asked and answered. You whip around to see Logan leaning against the counter nursing his own bowl of cereal.

“Take a picture, huh? It’ll last longer,” he mutters, bringing the bowl to his mouth and taking an obnoxious slurp. 

“Of course you took the last of it, kitty,” you cooed, knowing his disdain for it. 

“Watch your mouth, doll,” Logan grunts, going to rinse his bowl without further acknowledging your physical proximity. 

“Or what?” you challenge, eyes squinting. The calm you felt melts away, replaced by that irritating itch Logan always spiked in your body. Your chest rose with rage, though you were mindful of your sleeping housemates at the early hour. In the loudest whisper you can muster, you let Logan have a piece of your mind. 

 “Seriously, what’s your problem, Logan? All you ever do is antagonize me, and I’m sick of it!” you clench your fists, meeting the man’s eyes. 

“You're playing a dangerous game, darlin',” he turns off the water, placing the bowl in the drying rack. You were fairly certain he was only doing this to piss you off and ignore you further; you’d never seen him do a dish. “Now, shut your mouth,” he growls. Your heart pounds so loudly, you could hear it in your ears. 

“Make me,” the whisper escapes your lips before you could think anything of it, and the world stops turning.

 Logan whips around, using his hips to pin yours to the counter as he greedily presses his lips to yours. Despite your surprise, you couldn’t help but find your hands tangling themselves around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer eagerly. In the chaos and hunger, you bite his lip, briefly making him bleed before it heals itself. Logan slips his tongue into your mouth, making you dizzy as he flicks it over yours. Fuck. You can taste his breakfast, the cereal you never got, and something about it makes you crazier. You run your fingers through his hair, engulfing every inch of him he lets you have.

“Mmm, oh,” you whisper. 

“Antagonizing you.” he mocks you in a whisper, sucking on your neck. “Do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drive me?” Logan scoffs. “Always runnin’ that pretty mouth, always flaunting that perfect body,” he huffs, slipping his hands around your ass and down your thighs as he lifts you onto the countertop with ease. “Probably just to get my attention, too,” Logan shakes his head, playing with the waistband of your shorts. The heat starts to gather in your belly as his fingers brush against your stomach. You tilt your head back, giving him more space for his tongue to explore your neck as he dips his hand into your panties. 

“W-why would I want your attention?” you roll your eyes; in pleasure or annoyance, neither of you can tell as he makes his way to your pussy. 

“Shut up, y/n,” Logan kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip as his fingers work your clit. You whimper, legs spreading to meet him. “Oh, there you are. Gooooood girl,” he nods. “Finally, ya listen,” he purrs. “See what listenin’ gets you?” he mumbles into your lips, and you can’t help but whimper at his touch. If your fighting was passionate, this was intoxicating. 

“You want me to fill you, princess?” Logan asked, fingers playing with you. “You’re soaked for me,” he chuckled. You nod slowly. 

“What, shy all of a sudden?” he bites his lip with a chuckle, slipping two fingers into your entrance. “Where’s all that bark, baby? I know you’ve got quite a bite on you, too,” he nods, pumping his fingers into you as he runs a thumb along your clit. 

“Lo- fuck,” you hiss, adjusting to the size of his hands inside you. The way he felt made your face flush and your breath hitch, and fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted more. 

“Just like that, I’ve gotcha,” Logan leans forward, letting you wrap your legs around his back. “You got it,” he comforts. “Cum for me, darlin’?” he insists as you jut your hips forward onto him. Chasing the high, you start to feel the knot come undone, and your breath becomes frantic. Logan holds you, no signs of slowing as you whimper on his fingers. 

Unadulterated pleasure ripples through you, and only then does Logan remove himself from you. As if he couldn’t get any hotter, you watch, drunk with pleasure, as he sucks your juices off of his fingers.

 You take the opportunity to fumble with his belt, eager to know the rest of him. “Christ,” he mutters, working to help you free his aching cock from his jeans. 

Logan’s erection springs free, obviously just as eager to know you. Touching his forehead to yours, Logan pulls your hips closer, teasing your entrance. Fuck, he was big.

“Please,” you begged, and sure as hell he was going to give it to you. Logan buried himself into you, covering your mouth as you gasped. 

“What did I say about shutting up, doll,” he tsked, pulling you down onto his hips again and again. “Geez, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Logan whispered, thrusts becoming frantic. For the player he was known to be, Logan was awfully smitten with you. “Doll, I- fuck,” he moaned softly, pounding your pussy. “I’m gonna-” 

“Cum in me,” you nod eagerly, wanting to feel his warmth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, y/n, fuck-” Logan grunted, face dissolving into pleasure as he filled you. Relief coursed through both of you, panting, unable to look one another in the face as the world continued on its axis. “Didn’t think you had it in you, princess,” Logan mumbled, burying his head into your shoulder. “...You don’t think we could do that again sometime, do ya?” 

You smiled. “I told you I could handle you,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head

[pastorpresent]

insp by this right here, by @septicsoldier13. thank you for the prompt lovely! :))

-

They were short on bills this month.

Logan's shitty job at some scummy bar didn't exactly leave him rolling in cash (not to mention the seventy dollars he was docked for drinking the supply), Wade hadn't made all that much in commission, and Al's disability cheque didn't stretch far.

Rent was covered, so was water and electric, but that left heat unpaid.

Logan figured it wouldn't be a big deal. It was July- and there was a pretty intense heatwave hitting the city currently. They likely wouldn't need the heat for the next month anyway.

The apartment was chilled, but it wasn't cold by any means, which was why he was confused when he got home one evening and Wade was walking around making dinner with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and what looked to be two sweaters on, alongside thick sweatpants.

Logan was sweating just looking at him.

"I know you're pissed I got docked the alcohol money, but aren't you overplaying it a little, bub?"

Wade jumped at his voice, clearly not hearing him enter. The blanket dropped to the kitchen floor, and the merc looked mildly embarrassed.

"I was... cold," he said quietly, and it was... odd. There was no jokes, none of the usual outrageous comebacks, and Wade was just staring at the blanket now crumpled on the floor, almost with a fucking longing expression, and Logan would admit that often the idiots jokes flew right over his head (he wasn't exactly caught up with the last fifty years of media), but he really didn't get this one.

"You were cold? It's not hot in here but it's not cold," Logan pointed out, pretty much over Wade's dramatics.

He'd had a long shift at work, split up about four fights, kicked three people out and chased two couples trying to fuck in the filthy bathroom all between making stupid drinks as his own fingers itched for alcohol.

All to say, he really didn't have the energy for whatever dumb joke this was a part of.

"You're gonna give yourself heatstroke, and you look fucking ridiculous," he deadpanned, and Wade shrugs, doesn't say anything, which makes something heavy settle in Logan's gut.

Whatever, not his problem, right?

He left to go shower.

//

Wade had stripped down into sweats and a single sweater by the time they retire to the couch.

Logan is in his vest and flannel pyjama pants, and he's warm, but he doesn't mention Wade's layers this time.

The TV is on, some shitty episode of some shitty reality show Wade insists he has to watch, and Logan's focusing on it, until he's not.

His attention wanders over to the merc sat on the other end of the couch. It's not uncommon, Logan tends to spend more time watching Wade react to whatever dumb shit is on rather than watch it himself, for reasons he doesn't have the energy to analyse.

Somethings wrong.

Because Wade isn't watching the TV either. His eyes are distant, staring at the floor, and he's shivering violently, teeth practically chattering as he curls in on himself, knees hugged to his chest, and it's like he's...

"You're cold," Logan concludes aloud, but this time the words hold no frustration, because he'd seen Wade be committed to jokes before - but never on this scale. It's not a joke, or some sort of prank at Logan's expense.

Wade nods, and Logan is up and crouching in front of him immediately, sticking a hand against his forehead. Wade practically leans into his body's warmth, shuddering, and jesus christ - the mercs skin is like ice.

"The hell? Are you sick? Can you even get sick?" Logan touched the exposed skin of Wade's wrist, and sure enough - it was freezing.

Wade laughed softly, "I'm always sick, it's just... another side effect," he explained, and it took Logan a minute to recall what the cause of Wade's scars was. The cancer.

"But... your mutation, that stupid programme, I thought it cured you," Logan frowned.

"Not... cured. Just sort of put it on the back burner. It can't kill me, because my body is constantly regenerating the cells it kills, but it's there, and sometimes the symptoms hit a bit harder than usual," Wade explained, looking self conscious, as if this was something Logan would mock him for.

"Why the fuck didn't you say something when we sacrificed the heating this month?"

"We needed it the least-"

"I would've found a fuckin' way if I knew you'd suffer! I'm going straight down there tomorrow, I'll use my tip money to pay it," Logan stated, and Wade's eyes widened.

"No, peanut, you're saving that up for your motorcycle-"

"Fuck that, I'm not having you be uncomfortable in your own home," Logan huffed, "now wait here," he tossed a blanket from the chair over to Wade, then headed to their bedroom.

He headed to Wade's set of drawers first, but pivoted to his own. His hoodies were bigger - more fabric, more warmth, right? Definitely. He didn't just want to see Wade wrapped up in his clothes. That would be fucking dumb, because he wasn't a thirteen year old girl with a school crush.

He grabbed the obnoxiously pink Hello Kitty blanket from their bed too, and then stuck into Al's drawers and grabbed the hot water bottle she used when her back was giving her a hard time. He grabbed one of her heating pads from the medication cupboard too, making a note to buy her some more the next time he did their grocery run.

A few minutes later, items in hand and hot water bottle sufficiently warmed, he reentered the living room.

Wade had the blanket over his lap, but Logan could still see the slight tremble of his shoulders, as much as he was now trying to hide it.

His stomach twisted with guilt for his earlier words.

Logan sat beside him, "lift you're shirt up, just for a minute," he ordered as he opened the heat pad.

"At least buy me dinner first, or I'll kiss and tell. Who am I kidding? If we kiss I'm definitely telling, I'll go on the local news-" Wade's usual tirade of rambling was somewhat comforting, not that Logan would ever tell him that, but even so it's usual flow was lost behind the chattering of teeth.

"Wade," Logan interrupted, trying for exasperated but knowing he probably fell a bit short, "Shirt up, bub," he repeated.

Wade still looked hesitant, staring at him like he'd lost his mind, and Logan sighed, grabbing the hem of the sweater and doing it himself, using his other hand to stick the heat pad on.

"What are you- oh," Wade shivered again, arching his back a little into the heat source.

It only took a second for Logan to reboot his brain, and he quickly dropped Wade's shirt.

"Here," he shoved the hoodie, blanket, and hot water bottle into his lap, and Wade stared at the collection, and the tiny tug of a smile made Logan's heart jump a little in his chest.

"Awh peanut, you're the sweetest," he gushed, and it was supposed to be a tease, he knew that, but there was also something genuine there.

"Just warm yourself up," Logan muttered in response, avoiding his gaze.

He returned back to his seat, occasionally glancing over to Wade. The merc settle back down, both blankets wrapped around him, drowning in Logan's hoodie, the hot water bottle hugged to his chest.

He looked... cute, his nose and eyes visible beneathe the layered cocoon.

Logan did go back to focusing on the show, but he didn't stop his sideways glances, and it didn't take long to notice Wade was still shivering a little.

"Are you still cold?"

"No-"

"Wade," Logan warned, practically growled in his direction, and the younger man sighed.

"It's not... I know I shouldn't be, it's just... weird. It's like it's embedded into my fucking bones, I can't..." Wade trailed off, and he sounded miserable.

"Just come here, you dumbass," Logan said, rushing the words out before he could change his mind.

And if Wade looked at him like he was crazy earlier, now he was regarding him as if he'd grown a second head.

"You've done more than enough, Lo. I just need to get my shit together-"

It wasn't up for debate, and Logan wasn't fucking debating it. He grabbed Wade and yanked him closer, earning a yelp of surprise.

He made quick work of pulling him in close, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and dragging him into his body heat.

"Logan, you really don't need to-"

"Shut up and watch the TV," Logan grumbled, staring pointedly at the screen as to not meet the eyes burning holes into him currently.

Wade did give in eventually. He snuggled down into Logans side, head resting on his shoulder and a sweater-pawed hand coming up to lay on his chest. Logan wrapped an arm around his waist in response, tugging him impossibly closer.

Wade did stop shivering, eventually, and there was a mumbled 'thank you' against his neck.

Logan just squeezed his waist in acknowledgement, and neither made a move to separate.

//

The next time, Logan didn't need Wade to say a damn thing.

It wasn't the bills going unpaid this time, either, because Logan prioritised heat as much as he did the base rent when working out their money these days, and had even spent some of his spare cash on an overly loud but functional portable heater as the weather grew colder.

(Of course Wade's favourite method of warming up remained... him, but Logan really had no qualms with that. He found himself almost a bit jealous when Wade opted for the heater before himself, usually when he was busy, and Logan found himself purposefully dropping whatever he was doing to sit on the couch and drag Wade up against him. He absolutely did not glare at a portable heater, because that would be insane.)

No, this time they'd been invited to a Christmas night out alongside the X-men.

Logan had been reluctant to go, still not all that comfortable seeing the team after previously seeing them all... but Wade had begged, and pleaded, because apparently this was a yearly thing and he'd never been invited before.

That alone had only served to piss Logan off more, but Wade had been so excited - and so he sacrificed their quiet night in for a pub crawl around the city.

He'd already caught Wade shivering a few times in the warmth of their apartment that day, but the merc was quick to deny it, likely thinking (and accurately so) that Logan wasn't going to let him go if he thought he was having a bad day in terms of maintaining his body heat.

He'd watched Wade dress with a frown, "at least stick a shirt on under your sweater. You not got any clean sweats you can wear? Those jeans are too thin," Logan had lectured, and Wade had pouted in that way that typically spelt trouble for the older mutant.

"I don't wanna look stupid! Have you seen what I'm working with here? The least I can do is dress nice," Wade gestured to his face, to his scars, and Logan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from immediately jumping on the defence, because he'd probably call Wade gorgeous or something equally as eyebrow raising in the process.

"Fine, but you bring a jacket," he said, and Wade rolled his eyes but agreed.

They'd been out for a couple of hours. The drinks were flowing (Logan had cut himself off at three beers, which was a personal best), and everything was going... oddly well. Logan felt more at ease around the team than he had since he arrived in this universe, and it was nice.

He was talking to Hank, when Scott came over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Wade's asking for you, Logan," Logan frowned.

Wade had dissapeared a little while ago in order to go dance with Storm, Morph and Jean.

"Where is he?" Logan asked, already on his feet.

"Bathroom. He doesn't look great, dunno if he's had too much to drink," Scott replies, and Logan nods, heavily doubting the explanation.

"Thanks, Scott," he says, before making his way through the crowd and into the bathrooms at the back of the club.

When he enters, Wade is perched against the sinks, shivering violently, his whole body trembling and teeth going so fast he could hear them clinking together. He had his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

"W-won't stop, m' cold," Wade whimpered, the embarrassed flush on his cheeks standing out harshly against his pale palour.

Logan's immediate reaction is one of frustration, "I told you that you needed more layers!"

The scolding only earned a small nod, and a sniffle as Wade looked away.

"I'm sorry, I know. I'm just... gonna go home," he said, pushing up from the sinks to leave, but even his legs were shaking, and when he tried to walk the violent trembles knocked him off balance.

Logan was quick to catch him, wrapping his arms around the merc. Wade leaned into his warmth almost instinctively.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Logan said, but his voice held more concern than anger now, as he steadied Wade on his feet.

He didn't expect the mutant to burst into tears.

Logan didn't do great with tears, especially not when it was somebody he genuinely cared about. He very almost ran out of there, went to grab Jean or Storm or even Hank - anyone who was better at this shit than he was, but he had a feeling Wade wouldn't appreciate anyone seeing him in this state.

Shit, did he even want Logan here right now? He might have asked for him earlier, but he clearly wasn't being much help. He'd made him cry, for fucks sake.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, I know I should've listened I just- I wanted to just feel slightly normal for once," Wade cried harder, and Logan found himself pulling the shaking merc into his arms again, tucking him against his chest.

"I'm not mad, bub. I get it, I do. I'm just worried about you," Logan sighed, and God, Wade really was like a block of ice on his hold.

"'M sorry," Wade hiccuped, and Logan shushed him softly.

"It's fine, honest. Let's get you home and warmed up, hm?" Logan suggested, running his hands over Wade's arms in an effort to ease the chill.

"Yeah," Wade agreed tiredly, and Logan guided him out the bar, giving Jean an excuse of Wade not handling his alcohol too great (which was at least somewhat true, because the merc was definitely teetering into the emotional drunk category if his display in the bathroom was anything to go off) and hailed them a cab home.

He helped Wade to the couch, burying him in blankets and setting up the heater directly in front of him. When he turned to leave, a hand escaped from the mountain of fleece to curl around his wrist.

"Cuddles? Please?"

Logan was surprised he didn't turn into a puddle on the spot. It was fucking ridiculous. If anyone else dared to grab him like that, make such a request with big devastated puppy dog eyes, he would've sliced them into three even pieces.

Wade was making him soft. He didn't feel as repulsed by that thought as he probably should've.

"In a minute, bub. Let me go get you some stuff first, alright?"

Wade nodded, letting go reluctantly.

Logan made quick work of gathering the usual. It had become almost a routine at this point.

He made Wade a hot chocolate too, knowing how much the merc adored the sugary drink. He was only making it to warm him up though, obviously.

When he returned, Wade had burrowed completely beneath the blanket pile, and Logan had to immediately shut down the adorable that his unhelpful, traitorous brain supplied.

He put the hot chocolate on the table, and the smell had Wade popping his head out, staring at the drink.

"You made me hot chocolate?"

"Don't get used to it," Logan replied, and shoved a pair of his own sweatpants and his own hoodie against Wade's chest.

"Get these on."

"These are yours y'know," Wade said, running a hand over the sweatpants.

"Yours are dirty," Logan shrugged.

They were. Apart from a black pair at the bottom of his closet, but Logan was prepared to swear under oath that he'd never seen them before in his life.

Wade made quick work of getting changed. Logan turned to face the wall, and while Wade didn't say anything, Logan could feel the assholes smirk.

Once he was done, Logan joined him on the couch, climbing beneathe the layers of blankets despite the fact that he tended to run pretty hot. He could get closer to Wade this way.

He stuck the heat pad on his neck, the hot water bottle against his stomach (Wade's very own one now, with hello kitty sewn onto the cover - early Christmas gift from Logan) and wrapped him up in his arms, until Wade's entire body weight was resting against him, sprawled against his chest.

"Logan?" Wade asked after a while of silence, the only sound being the TV and humming of the heater.

"Hm?"

"You're the best wolverine," Wade said softly, and Logan glanced down at the merc, snuggled against his chest, eyes half lidded. He'd stopped shivering.

"Only for you, bub," he hummed in response, very almost kissing the top of his head, but settling on running a hand through it instead.

Wade made a happy sound, and Logan was just glad no one was around to see the stupid smile it put on his face.

[glossysoap]

mic work ; soap mactavish | soap it up!

summary: soap with an audio erotica career on the side.

18+, afab & fem reader, implied roommates, fwb to lovers, pining. insp from my convos with @loveyhoneydovey but i know @konigsblog just posted something similar to this so i’m tagging to give her creds regardless <33 feel free to request a part 2 featuring reader who coincidentally listens to an artist with a familiar scottish voice 👀

this is also including some soapitup prompts from @glitterypirateduck’s challenge bc i just couldn’t resist, it fit so well. so technically this acts as my third albeit late submission into the challenge, after “dirty talk” and “thigh fixation”.

“I won't let anything happen to you.”

“You deserve so much more.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose audios garner at least 15k listens and 4k upvotes, with certain kinks receiving higher attention. His deep, husky Scottish accent that sent shivers down the listeners spine didn’t hurt his ratings either.

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose repertoire is full of different kinks and scripts, enough to appease a variety of listeners. Brat taming, body worship, hard or soft dom, male submissive, bondage, breeding kink, size kink/difference, daddy kink, cnc, and the list goes on and on.

Erotic audio artist Soap, whose favorite category of scripts to fill is best friends to lovers. He enjoyed every aspect of recording them, especially because he imagined you while he recorded them. You, his best friend.

He loved murmuring sweet nothings and compliments into the mic, all directed at the listener. All dripping with underlying praise and affection. All things he imagines saying to you, whether they’re said in an not-safe-for-work fashion or otherwise.

Some quotes from his audios, ones he imagines himself saying to you the entire time, include:

“Nice work,” He reads off the script with his voice all honeyed, imagining himself praising the listener for a job well done. Usually the script involved the listener coming home to their shared apartment from a long day of work, all exhausted and in need of cheering up. He imagines that exact scenario with you. He imagines himself saying that to you as you come home, him walking to the door to pull you into his awaiting arms.

“Yer doin’ so good, lass.” He reads off the script, imagining himself purring that into your ear as you stand in the kitchen, cooking away. He imagines himself burying his face in your neck as he snakes his arms around your middle, inhaling your sweet scent as it mixes with the savory aroma of your cooking.

“You deserve so much more, love.”He reads off the script, mind fully focused on you with every word. He remembers every shitty ex boyfriend, every failed tinder date, everything that took your confidence down a peg. He hated every bit of it. He imagines himself saying that to you as he stares into your eyes. Scanning your face for any reaction as he begins closing the distance between you, his breath fanning across your face. His forehead pressed up against yours as his eyes dart down to your lips.

“I won't let anything happen to you.” He reads off the script, heart pounding in his ears as he imagines himself murmuring that against your lips. Just barely caressing your soft skin. A heated promise filled with years of affection bubbled to the surface. He conveys the severity of his promise by closing that small distance between you, smashing his lips against yours. His scarred and slightly chapped lips against your plump and soft lips, a perfect contrast between rough and delicate. His large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks to hold you steady, thumb caressing your soft skin.

“I am yours.” He reads off the script, panting into the mic as he reaches into his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock. He imagines himself kissing down your body, tasting your soft skin. Starting from your jaw where he nips at your pulse point, then moving down the span of your neck and leaving marks with every bite and suck. He imagines what little whines and gasps you would let out as his mouth moves down the valley between your breasts, licking and sucking at your soft skin. He imagines your hand burying itself in his mohawk as he murmurs, “I am yours,” against your breast as he takes a nipple in his mouth.

“Yer so fuckin’ pretty. Could look at ye’ all day.” He reads off the script, huffing as he strokes his hard cock, all slick and covered in lube to get the best wet sounds. He imagines you laid out all bare and perfect in front of him on his bed, skin shiny with sweat and chest heaving in anticipation. Pussy all slick and shiny as your juices dripped down your slit. He imagines himself pushing your legs up to your chest so you were all spread out for him, before taking his cock in his hand and tapping it on your wet entrance. He can almost imagine that cute little gasp as the head of his cock taps against your swollen clit. He imagines that you whine out his name, not Soap, but Johnny, needing him to stop teasing you.

“Dinnae worry, love. I'll take care of you.” He chuckles, all husky and warm against the mic as he keeps stroking his cock. He imagines himself whispering that against your lips as he finally guides the head of his cock into your cunt. He closes his hand around his weeping tip right as he imagines that, and he gasps just like he knows you would. He tries to use his hand to mimic the feel of your cunt gripping his cock, but he knows his hand could never come close. Nevertheless, he just keeps thinking of how you would gasp and claw at his broad shoulders as he pushes in inch by inch, your hungry cunt clenching around him so fucking good.

“That’s it, cream around my cock, baby.” He groans into the mic as he feels himself growing dangerously close to coming. All it takes for him to spurt rope after rope onto his chest is the thought of your cunt clenching around his cock with a cry of his name.

Imagining everything with you would have to be good enough. For now.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

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[azzifudd]

we just sort of get each other

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: insp by an article an anon sent me that said paige was with azzi the whole day before her senior prom

rated: teen

1.3k words

disclaimer: many made up events obviously

Paige sits on the couch, leg propped up on a pillow, hands fidgeting with her phone. She opens Tiktok for a moment, but closes it after a few quick swipes, jiggling her healthy leg as she waits for Azzi to emerge from her bedroom.

She had been in there about an hour earlier, watching as the makeup artist worked on Azzi’s face. In her opinion, Azzi didn’t even need all that, but she had been clearly enjoying the full day of pampering. 

But when the makeup artist had complained for the third time that Azzi would not stop laughing at Paige’s antics, Katie had sent Paige out and shut the door behind her. 

Jose and Jon are playing Mario Kart, pushing at each other as their characters race around the track. 

“You wanna play, Paige?” Jose holds out one of the spare controllers to her.

“Nah, man, I’m good.” She stands up, grabbing her crutches and limping into the kitchen to grab a drink. She’s walking back into the living room when Azzi’s door finally opens. 

Paige turns eagerly at the sound of heels on the wooden floor and drops her bottle of Gatorade at the sight that greets her. 

The bottle thunks heavily against the floor. 

Azzi smiles shyly at her, one dimple peeking out. 

“How do I look?” 

Azzi looks…

Paige has no words. Paige has a million words. She can’t seem to pick her jaw up from where it has hit the floor. 

Paige is nearly breathless as she runs her eyes up and down Azzi’s body. 

She’s wearing a floor length dress, a silver shimmery thing with pink and blue tones throughout it that bares the skin of her chest and arms. A slit runs up one leg, exposing what appears to be miles of tan skin and toned muscle. 

Paige clears her throat, hoping she isn’t blushing as hard as it seems as her cheeks heat up. 

“You look..” She hesitates, unsure if anything she says can even measure up to the emotions that swell in her chest as she looks at Azzi. 

She’s saved from speaking as Azzi’s parents round the corner. Tim has his phone in outstretched hand as he approaches.

“Baby, you look amazing!” He snaps a few photos as Azzi poses. 

Paige stands back and watches as Azzi’s parents direct her in an impromptu photoshoot. Soon her little brothers are roped in to take photos with her, and before she knows it, Tim is gesturing for Paige to stand beside Azzi. 

“Aw, no I don’t want my crummy outfit to make her look bad.” She’s in a wrinkled AZ35 t-shirt and a pair of Nike pants, boot heavy around her ankle. At least she brushed her hair earlier instead of just throwing it into a messy ponytail. 

“Paige, please?” Azzi holds out a hand. 

Paige is at her left side before she even realizes it, hand wrapping around her waist as Azzi leans into her. 

Soon, Azzi has to leave to go take photos with her date James at the National Mall. The family all load into the car, but Paige stays behind because it’s a little too much walking for her ankle. 

But before Azzi can head out, Paige grabs her hand, holding her back until they’re alone in the house. Paige leans her crutches against the wall, and grasps Azzi by the hips, pulling her until their foreheads touch. 

“I wish I was the one taking you.” Paige says, her voice a whisper against Azzi’s lips. For a moment, Paige wishes things were different, that she was just a normal girl who got to take the girl she liked to prom. 

But if she was just a normal girl, she never would have met Azzi, and that’s not a world that Paige can bear to imagine.

“You look beautiful.” 

Azzi’s responding kiss feels like a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry' all at once. They are interrupted by a loud honk from outside and Jon’s voice yelling for Azzi to hurry up. Paige’s lips are sticky with gloss. 

“Have the best night,” Paige says, and then Azzi’s out the door. 

***

Azzi has a good night. She does. She spends the night dancing and talking with friends and just having a normal high school experience, something that has become more and more rare as her high school career has developed. The pandemic had ruined so much of what she had hoped would be a perfect senior year, so she is grateful that prom at least has gone off without a hitch.

But as the night wears on, she can’t help but think of what was missing. James is handsome and charming; a dream prom date for so many girls. But he isn’t who Azzi wants. She wants the annoying, sweet, beautiful girl who is waiting for her at home. 

Surprisingly, none of her friends question her when she tells them she will be heading straight home after the dance, rather than hitting up the after party that nearly everyone else is going to. 

When she gets home, she finds her family finishing up a movie in the living room. Strangely, Paige is nowhere to be found. 

“Did you have a good night, honey?” 

“Yeah, it was a lot of fun.” She doesn’t elaborate. “Where’s Paige? Did she go back to her dad’s?” 

Her mom looks unsurprised at her question, smiling as she tilts her head toward their basement door. “She’s downstairs, waiting for you. Don’t change out of your dress yet.”

Azzi is a bit confused, but she heads downstairs anyway. She takes her time going down the stairs in her heels, watching her feet, and as she hits the last step, she realizes there is soft music playing. She looks up and finds the room lit only by what seems like dozens of candles interspersed throughout the room.

All the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and standing at the center of the room is Paige. She is wearing a button up that looks just a bit too tight around her shoulders and a pair of black pants. A baby blue tie is loose around her neck, and Azzi knows when she gets close enough that she’ll be able to see how it brings out the color in Paige’s eyes. 

“I know it’s not the same as if we’d gotten to go together, but I got us these. 

When she gets within arms reach, Azzi notices that Paige is holding a plastic box. She pops it open to reveal a beautiful corsage, pink and vibrant with a matching boutonniere. 

Azzi can’t stop herself from reaching out to hold Paige’s face in her hands and kissing her. Paige smiles against her lips.

“You like it?” She asks, laughing when Azzi nods and kisses her again.

With gentle hands, Paige slides the flower onto Azzi’s wrist and she stands still as Azzi returns the favor, pinning hers to her chest with shaky fingers. 

“Can I have this dance?” Paige loops her arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her even closer.

“Will your ankle be okay?” Azzi asks, bringing her arms up around Paige’s shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Paige shrugs. “I asked during PT this morning, and they said swaying was okay.” 

“Then let’s sway.” Azzi giggles, pressing their foreheads together as they move gently to the music. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

“Mmhm.” Azzi nods. “I missed you though. I always miss you.” 

“Just a few more months and we’ll be together all the time.” 

“You won’t get tired of me?” Azzi scratches at the back of Paige’s neck, smiling as Paige’s eyes flutter and she leans into the touch. 

“Never.” Paige makes sure to look Azzi right in the eyes, her own piercing and honest. 

Azzi twists a hand into Paige’s tie, pulls her in, and kisses her and kisses her. 

[abibliophobiaa]

For the Steve prompt - Whisper

rock the boat

18+, and yea inspired by those pics. forbidden romance (kind of); reader is argyle’s step-sibling; slight voyeurism; unprotected p-in-v intercourse. thank you @loveshotzz for giving this a look-see and also always encouraging my unexpected steve ideas. steve harrington x afab!reader. music insp: rock the boat — aaliyah. (4.2k words)

-

The grounds were set early on and were simple enough: no dating within the party. The ‘rules’ created by your own step-brother, Argyle, who insisted it was for your benefit and protection when Vecna had finally been vanquished and you both moved to Hawkins to be closer to your new found family, and life returned to some semblance of normal.

Which you’d understood—at first.

But no one, and nothing, would have ever prepared you for Steve Harrington. Impossibly handsome with those dark eyes and his perfectly imperfect head of hair, ridiculously charming, and the kind of humorous personality that had your sides shaking and cheeks hurting long after he’d dropped you back off at your shared apartment on the nights you spent together.

The intention hadn’t been to fall into a forbidden romance, and yet you had. It was easy, really. He’d become friends with Eddie, who had then become friends with Argyle and Jonathan who occupied your apartment often. They’d smoke and drink together, laughing over their silly stories and inside jokes, while you snuck glances at the boy.

He noticed quickly. Caught your gaze where you stood in the hallway, in the shelter of shadows within your home, from the armchair you often dropped into on nights Argyle invited you to partake.

Soon enough those imploring stares shifted into more. Turned into gentle touches in the kitchen when he’d offer to grab beers for the guys. A whisper of an almost-kiss against your bedroom doorway at the end of the night, always seemingly interrupted by one of your friends. The glide of your fingers at the nape of his neck while the boys watched a movie and you went to work for the afternoon.

It persisted for months, until one afternoon he worked up the nerve to ask you out properly. You met him in the parking lot after his shift, he tossed your bike in the back of his trunk, and took you to a drive-in after picking up some smoothies from the local diner. You made it approximately five minutes before you’d babbled that you really liked him, and he made it another two before he curled his hand around your cheek and kissed you until your thoughts screamed his name, until every other boy who came before him evaporated into nothingness within your mind.

After that it was months of whispered affection. It was running out of your apartment after Argyle had passed out for a nap, clambering over the center console, and curling your fingers in your boyfriend’s hair. It was riding him in the back seat of his car, your thighs on either side of his hips, gasping as he rolled up into you, urging you onward, his voice singing your praises. It was rushing up the stairs to his parent’s home while they’d gone on another business trip and tumbling into his bed, your underwear on his floor and his mouth hot against your cunt. It was confessions of ‘we shouldn’t be doing this,’ and yet never stopping, because soon they became hushed ‘you’re mines’ and earth-shattering ‘I love yous.’

Yet no one knew. It was your secret, forged in the darkness, and kept close to your heart. A relationship that meant the world to you. But you kept it hidden for so long that it seemed easier than to tell the truth—to not shake the very foundations of the friendships of “The Party” presently seated about the boat you all were perched on.

The same boat Argyle had purchased with the hush money funded by the government after everything that occurred with Vecna. You suggested he do something practical with it, and he insisted bringing a little bit of California to their life in Hawkins made sense. So he docked it at his family home in California, and pretty much demanded that the adults make a road trip.

The weekend away had been…frustrating to put it lightly. The house you all rented on the beach held so few bedrooms, and though you wanted to slip into Steve’s, you couldn’t because he had been pushed into sharing with Eddie. Your step-brother’s brilliant doing. Argyle himself shared with Jonathan, which left the girls to share the largest room.

Which also meant an endless cock-block for the duration of the whole weekend getaway.

The first night you’d cracked the door just the slightest and Eddie had shot up like he’d seen a ghost to launch a pillow at your head. Barked your name so loud you threw yourself onto his bed and clapped a hand over his mouth. Those dark eyes shifted to your face, then darted to Steve’s and he knew. When you’d pulled back, a newfound glint was there, as well as an endless well of blackmail you’d never recover from.

“You two,” he said, dragging his finger along the space between the two of you. “Would be dead if your brother found out. How long has this been going on?”

“Six months,” Steve said, eyes trained on the floor. You tossed a pillow at his head for telling Eddie. Traitor.

“Six months?!” You clapped your hand over his mouth once more, earning a quick thwack to the inside of your wrist. “Wait—you came in here…to hook up, didn’t you? While I was sleeping?!”

"Don't act like you've never snuck around with anyone," you hissed. "I saw you slip away at the bar last night with that girl. Where'd you go off to?"

"That's none of your business. Plus she wasn't a party member. You are," he grumbled, rolling over and knocking you onto the floor in a heap. Steve's arms reached out to grab at you but you shoved free, glowering at the metalhead. "You two need to tell him before he catches one of you with your pants down, just saying."

Not gonna happen, you thought.

Though you often dreamed of coming clean, of being out in the open, of loving Steve in the light. And you knew he wanted the same. But every time you opened your mouth to tell your step-brother, every time the words formed on your lips, you pictured his disappointment and you tampered it away.

Filed it away for another day, for a maybe, or a never.

-

Sunlight gleamed over the water's surface. Bright and crystalline, staring up at you mockingly as waves crashed against the boat's exterior. Before you, Eddie glanced on with a smirk, poised at you where you sat beside Steve.

Everything about the boat ride was loathsome. Steve’s hip barely brushed yours and your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To curl around Steve's palm and put an end to the sneaking, hiding, and endless lies. To put an end to the sneaking in after dark, the telling your step-brother you'd merely been working extra hours, to having to watch as the guys all lingered in your living room and wait until Argyle later slipped into his bedroom when they'd all left to let Steve back in. If only so he could crawl into your bed and your arms.

All around you, friends talked about their day. Lived normally, without harboring secrets—no deceit to plague their consciences. Conversed about the happenings of their lives, snacked on bags of chips with colorful labels on the fronts, sunglasses glinting in the daylight. Robin laughed in the distance at something Nancy had said, and Jonathan snapped photo after photo of the skyline, the group, the captain at the head of the boat commandeering the whole thing. He'd had his sights set on the restaurant appearing before you now. Close enough that you could see it, smell the barbecue food cooking, hear the chatter of patrons at the bar, their jovial laughter.

At least some people are having fun, you thought, glancing up at the sky as a particularly strong thump against the boat sent you careening into Steve's lap.

"Sorry about that, my dudes. Still a little rusty," Argyle shouted over the water, head turning over his shoulder to where you were sprawled over his best friend's thighs. "Are you two okay back there?"

"Just fell!" You shouted back, hating the way you pulled back quickly from Steve like he'd burned you. Because he never had, never would.

'Tell him,' Eddie mouthed when Argyle pointed his attention back ahead, eyes narrowed at the both of you. But you only ignored him. Instead you focused your attention on sea-foam and the dock appearing on the water's edge. On quieting the thump thump of your heart in your chest, dulling the desire roiling in your gut, and the frustration over the fear you harbored that could also very well free you if only you'd will yourself to just do it once and for all.

Some time later, after Argyle docked the boat, you leaned up and brushed your lips over Steve's ear. A soft and whispered, "Pretend you're feeling seasick. Trust me."

It was enough for Steve. He needed no further convincing and splayed a palm over his abdomen, leaning over the back of the boat like one would should they need to expel the contents of their stomach. Your hand came up and rested sympathetically against his shoulders, eyes rounded in worry as everyone around you peered over to inspect the scene.

“Are you okay, honey?” Robin asked, her palm curling over Steve’s neck, just above your own.

“‘M okay. Just need a minute,” he moaned, lowering his head further to hide his face. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch you all later.”

“Hey Arg?” Your voice raised high above the other worried prattling around you. His eyes darted your way, nodding. “I’ll stay with him.”

“Right…” he said, voice trailing. “You practically grew up on boats. Makes sense. Alright dudes, we’ll grab a table; you two meet up with us whenever Harrington’s done expelling his breakfast.”

-

“Missed you,” you whimpered against the column of his throat.

Alone at last, you licked a long stripe against the curve of his neck, nipping and sucking. Paid attention to the birth marks you knew were one below the other, teeth grazing delicate flesh, jolting beneath your affections as you went. Steve was all coconut sunscreen lathered skin against his golden skin and broad arms wrapped around your lower back. Fingers that eventually drifted further and clutched at the dough of your ass, confined in the jean shorts hiked high on your thighs where you now sat, thighs draped on either side of his hips.

“Yeah, baby?”

He rasped the words in the shell of your ear, his cheek pressed to yours, rocking you against his jean-clad lap. Made sure you could feel him and the hardness that kicked up in his jeans when you ground down just right over him.

“Touched myself to the thought of you in bed last night,” you admitted.

Heat pooled in your chest, and downward. The bikini you wore beneath your jean shorts was already embarrassingly slick with your arousal.

“Honey, with the girls around?”

His smirk indicated he liked it. Very much so. Practically purred the words, nosing along your collarbones, pressing kiss after kiss into your skin.

You hummed idly. Combed your fingers through his long tresses. “Waited till they were asleep.”

“Missed me that much?” Teeth grazed an earlobe and released it with a pop, a shudder wracking throughout your body.

“Uhuh.” A pinched whine fell as you rocked against his lap, relishing in the heat of him straining through the confines of his jeans, wanting to be freed.

“What did you think about?” At your silence, he continued. “Come on, baby. Use your words for me.”

“Your fingers.”

“Where?”

A finger slid up between you. Brushed along your lips as a start, eyes connected to his when you trailed a path down the line of your chest. Over your sternum where your heart thrashed wildly. The lines of your abdomen, the softness of your flesh, the button on your shorts. Then lower still, dragging a slow circle along your clothed cunt, bottom lip pinched between your lips.

“What else?”

“Your c-cock; how g-good it feels when you’re inside me—mmm.” Another pinched whine as he tugged down your shirt to bare you to him, as well as the small triangle of your bikini, tongue swirling your sensitive bud of flesh.

His fingers released and your bikini snapped back into place. Desire burned behind Steve’s eyes, dark and round with want. “How long do you think we have?”

Normally, Steve would have had you on your back first, with his mouth buried in your cunt. He’d spend hours there if he could, teasing you. Alternating between suckling your clit and trailing delicate figures, fingers curled deep within you until your foot would eventually tremble against the middle of his back and you’d arch up involuntarily into his awaiting face. He’d toss a forearm over your hips, would press you harder into the mattress, floor, couch, or the back of his car. Would coax you through your orgasm until you grew limp within his arms, and his name was the only word uttered by your lips. But you didn’t have the luxury of time on your side now.

“Few minutes,” you whispered, leaning down to claim his lips, gasping into his eager mouth as fingers worked to free you from your shorts and slide them down your thighs. “Maybe ten. Make ‘em count, Harrington.”

“Bend over the side of the boat for me then, baby.”

Heat rushed throughout your body at his words. The scandal of it, the way nervousness immediately manifested itself in the worrying of your bottom lip. You clambered over his thighs all the same still, knees knocking against the padded cooler presently used as a bench, hitching forward slightly at the waist. A palm came up to rest between your shoulder blades, a strong, comforting chest following suit. Another skirted up and along your waist, over your chest, cupping beneath your ribcage gently.

“What if someone sees, Steve?”

Your eyes trained ahead on the rock formation partially obscuring the boat from the public eye. But you wondered how much it protected you from prying stares—from those who might enjoy the spectacle of a summer tryst. That fear soon quelled, the thrill of being wrapped up in Steve erasing any other thought from your mind.

“We’re good,” he soothed reassuringly against your ear, hand sliding back down over your stomach, then further still to brush against your center, finding you soaked through your bikini bottom. “This is all for me, honey?”

You swallowed your reply, shuddering as he shifted behind you, hips grinding against your ass so you could feel what you’d done to him. Faintly, you overheard the sound of his zipper sliding down. The tinker of his fingers moving to unbutton his jeans. The fumble to push fabric down far enough to free his cock. Your head turned just enough over your shoulder to take him in. Fingers curled around himself, tip already leaking for you, free hand coming to curl around the fabric separating you from him at last.

“Open up wider,” he prompted with a smack to your ass. Immediately rubbed it affectionately to smooth the ache away as soon as it came. You shifted as requested, swallowing a choked moan as his head nudged at your entrance. “Ready for me?”

Head nodding, he pushed in slowly, your breath shaking on a stuttered exhale as he sank in inch by inch. The initial stretch of him had always left you breathless—even after all the times you'd been with him. The kind of breathlessness that had your eyes rolling back, a forearm pressed into your mouth to keep yourself from altering those around you of what you’d gotten up to.

Behind you, Steve started to move, one hand curled around your hip and clutching tight to your flesh, the other between your thighs, rolling perfected circles into your clit, listening to your sighs and moans as you clenched down around him. He moved slowly. Short, practiced movements as you adjusted to him. A gentle ebb and flow, almost devastatingly slow. A delicate drag along your inner walls. Rocked against the swell of your ass, thumb kneading your flesh, parting you for him. In your impatience, you pushed back against him, palms leveraging you enough to force him deeper. Harder. Trying to chase that peak—to reach the euphoria you craved for days now, subdued by the endless prying eyes on you both at all times.

“Love you,” you rasped, forehead dropping down onto your forearm. “Love you so much, Stevie.”

“I love you, too.”

A mantra. A whispered mantra that punched you in the gut as he thrusted into you over and over and over again. Until he slid back. Inched out completely and cool air flowed over your cunt, chilling your slick skin. A whine spilled from your parted lips, choked off only by the delicate brush of Steve’s fingers at your center, slipping and sliding against the wetness there, circling it into your flesh, pushing it inside. He made a mess of you like that. The dirty squelch of his fingers meeting your slick making your breath hitch, chest rising and falling swiftly. Needy, you felt needy, hips wiggling into emptiness as he chuckled behind you.

Delicate fingers clutched at your ass, palmed you open for him, teeth nipping against skin tauntingly. He nudged at your center once more, pressure applied only just, skittering over where you wanted him most. Where you wanted him to sink into, to force the breath free from your lungs, to pound into you until you screamed his name and quivered around him, boneless in your release.

“Steve…” The name came out as an elongated whine. “Stop teasing me. Please. Fuck—just fuck me.”

“So impatient, baby.”

He cooed the words, no malice imbued his tone. And yet you wanted to turn around, to grip him by the neck of his shirt and drag his mouth against yours. To crush him to your breast, biting down into his lip until he groaned.

He laughed again, lifting you up just enough so he could settle your back against the lines of his chest. You relished in that heat, the ridges of his abdomen flush with you, the weight of him with every inhale and exhale. Fingers curled around your chin, thumb prodding at your bottom lip. The other palm, the one that lingered between the two of you, curled around himself. Pushed back into you in time with the lips that descended upon your own.

Too much. It was too much and not enough all at once, mind a whirling haze of colors as he started to set a relentless pace. Held you through it as your body danced closer and closer to your climax, knees trembling upon the bench, the sounds of fleshy smacks against your backside and the fingers circling your clit drowning out the rest of the world.

“Come on, baby. Come on my cock. Wanna watch you fall apart, pretty girl.”

“Steve—!”

You fell apart together. Warmth spilled within you as you trembled and shook in his arms. Your body nearly pitched forward from the weight of your orgasm, held upright only by the arm that looped around your waist to keep you tethered to reality. Bodies tangling, you rolled over onto the bench. Steve slipped free from your body, bathing suit bottom sliding back into place. A sigh followed. Forehead resting against his, you tried to catch your breath. Gasped heat from parted mouths pooled and filled the spaces between the two of you, quieted only by the melding of his lips against yours.

That…and the sound of footsteps against the dock. Heavy thuds that had you jolting upright and thankful you’d only removed your shorts and Steve had enough time to tug his pants back on and loop the button through the hole before your visitor was ever the wiser. The visitors being none other than Argyle and Jonathan, who presently stood, wide-eyed and absolutely not at all shocked to be seeing what they had.

Which…terrified you more than you ever thought imaginable.

“We’re fucked,” Steve muttered beside you.

And yeah, he was probably right.

-

“Look, Arg, I can explain!”

Steve lingered behind with Jonathan. And probably for the best, what with the way your step-brother looked at you like he’d been betrayed when you immediately rushed forward to try and hug him. Your always joyful step-sibling, though not quite surprised looking, held a certain unfamiliar sadness in his expression that shattered your heart. This dawning realization you’d done something to hurt him.

“I know he’s your friend, but I-I—”

“You love him,” he finished, turning to face you where you stood on the sandy ground. “Look, sis, I know you two have been sneaking around.”

“You—you what?”

“I’ve known. For months, actually. Did you think you were really that good at sneaking his giant head through your window? Also, he’s like…stupid loud when he comes in the front door at night, man. Harrington has two left feet.”

“I mean…” Frustrated, you pouted. “I thought we were doing fine. The sneaking around part, I mean.”

“Nope,” he said, hair blowing in the gentle breeze. “The two of you giggle a ton. And the walls are paper thin in our apartment.”

You…definitely didn’t want to unpack that one.

“Then why are you mad at me?”

You waved your hand in front of his face, outlining the dejected expression on his features. Hated the way he looked at you; like he’d been disappointed in you. You reached out to touch him, catching on the sleeve of his button up tee with palm trees littered all over it. When he didn’t flinch, you stepped closer.

“I’m not mad,” he admitted softly. Reassuringly. “I’m just…upset that you didn’t tell me yourself.”

“You told me I couldn’t date him! No Party on Party macking—you said it!” Jonathan and Steve paused at that, the sounds of their footfalls skittering to a hard stop. “And I didn’t mean to, okay? It wasn’t like I told myself to fall in love with the guy. It just happened.”

“Look—it’s my fault, too. Don’t just be upset with her. I…” Steve appeared at your side, hand at your lower back. Familiar. Affectionate. It dropped as Argyle’s eyes drifted south, watching you both intently. “I love her, man.”

Jonathan whistled in the distance. Argyle’s eyes darted to him, his answering response a shrugged pair of shoulders, and then returned to Steve. “You love her?”

“I love her,” he said fiercely. “I…I really do.”

“And you love him?”

You nodded, curling yourself into Steve’s side. “I’m sorry, Arg. I should have told you. I was scared, and there was never the right moment, and then too much time had passed and I—”

“Are you happy?” he asked you, and your eyes glittered with unshed tears, because yes, yes you were. “Just wish you’d talked to me. You know you can talk to me about anything. We’re family.”

Rushing forward, you curled your arms around your step-sibling, clutching the back of his shirt in your palm. A warm palm, his palm, glided up to rest at your middle back. Hugged you closer as you whispered over and over again to his cheek, now presently against yours, that you were sorry.

“Can’t believe you really thought you two were doing a good job sneaking around.” You slapped him playfully in the stomach, and he pushed you back just enough within the circle of his arms to smile at you. “I love you, sis. And you too, dude. If you both are happy, then I’m happy. Just, uh, next time the two of you have some sort of secret—maybe don’t wait six months to come clean about it, yeah?”

“Ditto,” you laughed, surging forward to hold him again. “Love you.”

A relaxed sigh rattled your bones as you gripped Steve’s hand openly now on your way toward the restaurant, now with Argyle’s blessing attached to it. You didn’t miss the way your step-brother smiled, actually smiled, at your interlocked fingers. Smiled at the way Steve always made sure you were close, be it a reassuring word in your ear, or the brush of his lips at your forehead just as the rest of your friends appeared at the table you’d been assigned.

Brows arched all around upon your arrivals. Thoughts unspoken filled each and every face, stares halting on the hand presently held within your own. Argyle and Jonathan settled down, while you and Steve remained at the head of the table, smiling weakly.

“Okay so…” you began, swallowing thickly. “We wanted to just clear the air and say that…”

“We’re dating,” Steve blurted out, couching at the end. At the unphased expressions all around you, he continued. “Have been for a while now, actually.”

Bracing for impact, you squeezed Steve’s hand tighter.

He squeezed yours back.

And yet nothing prepared you for the resounding, “We know!” from everyone around you.

When you met Eddie’s gaze, he wore a shit-eating grin. Liar pretended he hadn’t known.

“W-what?” you rasped, heart thundering away.

“You’re both not exactly known for being subtle,” Robin expressed, and the pitying gazes all around the table confirmed their agreement.

Your face turned into Steve’s neck, mortification hidden in the shelter of his awaiting body. “Oh my gosh.”

“Well,” he said softly into your hair, laughter shaking his frame. “At least the cat is out of the bag. I love you.”

But gosh, you loved him too.

-

-

[suitkive]

✩ just swinging by — k.yh

pairing. yoohyeon (dreamcatcher) x fem reader

summary. ever since the mysterious web-swinging spider-woman first collapsed on your balcony by accident after a long night out fighting crime, she keeps coming back around with thank-you gifts and excuses to see you—and you slowly start to find yourself falling for the clumsy, kindhearted girl behind the mask.

info. college au, yoohyeon as spider-woman

warnings. swearing, blood/injury

word count. 4.6k (oops)

(a/n) insp. this moodboard i made a while ago :D

of all the things you were expecting to happen to you on a typical sunday night, the sudden appearance of a masked vigilante at your balcony was most certainly not one of them.

alright, rewind a bit. a CRASH jolts you awake in the middle of the night—though really it's morning, according to the glowing red digits on your alarm clock that read 3:49 AM—and you nearly fall out of your bed because that was loud, what the hell?

nerves running high and any remnants of sleep completely shaken out of your body, you get out of bed and slowly open your bedroom door only to be met with a blast of frigid night air. you blink a few times, just to make sure you're not seeing things.

"what the fuck," you say out loud.

your balcony door is gone.

no, wait—it's broken. shards of glass are everywhere, and there's a giant gaping hole where the sliding door used to be. and lying crumpled in a heap on the floor in front of it…

you fumble for the light switch, something you probably should've done as soon as you opened the door. the sight that greets you when the light turns on makes you wonder if you're still dreaming, because this can't actually be happening.

there is a superhero on your balcony.

and she's bleeding all over your carpet.

"oh my god—" you hurriedly rush over to get a better look. red-and-blue spandex that's torn in several places, a trail of spiderwebs clinging to her wrists, a large spider symbol printed on the front and back of her suit… it's spider-woman. spider-woman just crashed through your balcony door.

and she's bleeding. on your carpet.

"okay," you mumble, trying to think. at least the fresh night air coming from the massive hole in your balcony door does well to invigorate you. "okay, okay, i need to do something… oh god, my landlord is gonna be so pissed at me—"

the body on the floor lets out a weak groan, and you quickly kneel down next to her. "hello? are—are you okay?"

with great difficulty, the girl struggles to lift up her head. her mask obscures the entirety of her face, so you have a hard time telling whether or not she's fully conscious.

"…ow," she croaks out at last, and then her head falls back to the floor with a thunk. seconds later, her chest begins to slowly rise and fall. a soft snoring sound emits from her mask.

you take a deep breath. okay. you can deal with this.

so here you are almost three hours later, nursing a cup of much-needed coffee as you stare contemplatively at the now-bandaged but still-snoring superhero laid out on the couch in front of you. you had done your best to clean and treat her wounds with your limited medical knowledge (and the suspiciously well-stocked first aid kit that your weird roommate handong keeps in the cupboard), so now you're just waiting for her to wake up. which is taking way too long.

the clock on the coffee table reads 6:15 AM, and you glumly swish around the cold dregs of your morning coffee. it's almost time for you to leave for your 6:30 chemistry class, but it looks like spider-woman is still completely out of it.

after pacing around the kitchen of your tiny apartment for five more minutes, you impulsively grab a post-it note and scribble down a message for spider-woman to see when she wakes up. thankfully your roommate is literally never home, so there's no chance of anyone coming in here and discovering the superhero conked out on your couch.

you sign your name at the bottom of the note and stick it to spider-woman's forehead, hoping she'll be alright. as for your balcony door… thinking about how much it's going to cost to install a new one gives you a headache, so you just stick a large sheet of cardboard over the opening and resolve to take care of it as soon as you get home.

"this has been a very, very weird morning," you say out loud, because nothing about this feels real.

(then again, the tedious hours you spent cleaning up bits of glass from the floor and picking the webs off of spider-woman's suit definitely felt pretty real.)

you throw one last glance at the sleeping heap on your couch before you leave, only hoping that your life will get back to normal after today.

yoohyeon wakes up disoriented, aching all over, and with the horrifying realization that she has most definitely slept past all five of her monday morning alarms.

she blinks sleepily, slowly processing her surroundings. she's lying on a couch, someone has bandaged her wounds and swaddled her in blankets, yubin probably, she's an angel and the best guy in the chair yoohyeon could ever ask for and… whoa, wait a minute.

this isn't her apartment.

with that horrifying realization, yoohyeon sits straight up and whips her head around in a panic. her surroundings are entirely unfamiliar, and she's about to call yubin before remembering that yubin is unreachable right now—away on some sort of top-secret mission that's supposed to last, like, three months. yoohyeon groans. why am i actually the worst superhero ever?

then she realizes that there's something stuck to her forehead and reaches up to find a neon green sticky note with some writing on it, which she slowly reads through with a good deal of trepidation.

hey, you crashed into my apartment last night—you were unconscious but i didn't see your face, don't worry! i fixed up your injuries as best i could but now i need to leave for class, so i hope you'll be okay when you wake up. just remember to put the cardboard back over the balcony door so birds won't fly in or anything :)

phew. so yoohyeon's secret identity hasn't been leaked, that's a relief… but she essentially broke into an innocent civilian's apartment, which she doesn't exactly feel great about. i need to make this right.

"oh, wait—" yoohyeon realizes something and jumps to her feet, the blankets falling around her. "shit, i'm late for class!"

you're dutifully taking notes as the professor drones on about chemical equations, though you're struggling to stay focused—seriously, who decided that 6:30am classes on a monday was a good idea?—when suddenly the doors to the lecture hall burst open and a girl runs in, flushed and panting heavily.

"i am so sorry," she wheezes, bracing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "i overslept…"

the professor sighs and waves off her apology. "don't let it happen again," he says sternly, then continues his lecture.

you cast the girl a curious glance as she shuffles shamefully to an empty seat and starts unpacking her things. she's tall and lanky, with long two-toned hair tied in a haphazard ponytail and glasses that she has to push back up when they start to slip down her face. you make eye contact for a brief moment, then you resume paying attention to the professor without giving the encounter too much thought.

after classes end, you go back to your apartment to find the place superhero-less. the blankets are folded messily on the couch and there's a small tear in the cardboard that's covering the opening in your balcony, as if someone was in a hurry to leave.

you shrug off your bags with a sigh and go to dial up your landlord.

almost a week passes without further incident. you get your balcony door replaced so it's like nothing ever happened, and your life is just starting to get back into the usual swing of things when spider-woman shows up at your balcony again.

a thump is what wakes you up prematurely this time—it's literally 5am which is way too early for a saturday morning of all days—and you groggily stumble out of your bedroom, fearing the worst. you know it can't be a burglar since you live on the seventh floor, so there's only one person it could be…

luckily, the glass door is fully intact when you pull back the curtains to check. however, there is currently a superhero lying curled in a ball on your balcony. a very familiar superhero wearing a red-and-blue suit with a spider symbol on it.

"oh… oh, no," groans spider-woman when she hears you slide open the door. she weakly tries to drag herself to her feet, but she slumps back to the ground and you notice, with concern, the bleeding scratches all over her body. "oh man, i did it again… i'm so sorry, i'm gonna leave, just… wow you're so pretty… sorry, i should really leave—"

"no, it's okay!" you rush to reassure her, kneeling down next to her and offering your hand. "you can't go back out there like that, let me help you."

she winces, though whether it's from pain or embarrassment you can't tell. "i am so sorry," she repeats, and something about her voice seems oddly familiar, but you're too preoccupied with getting her inside to dwell on that.

the superhero keeps rambling as you half-drag, half-carry her to the couch. "i didn't mean to come here again, it's just i usually go to my friend's place when i'm injured but she's away and i got lost and mistook your apartment for mine the last time and i'm really sorry about breaking your door, it was just so dark and i had a really long day and i wasn't thinking straight and i probably gave you so much trouble—ow!"

"sorry!" you flinch and let go of her. "is your arm okay? what happened?"

"i… um." spider-woman chuckles nervously. "i kind of swung into a building? i didn't break any windows or anything! i might've broken my arm though."

you can't help but laugh, finding her awkward manner strangely endearing. "let me take a look, it might be dislocated or something."

it turns out it's just bruised, so you get her some ice and busy yourself fixing up her injuries. she repeatedly tries to convince you that she can do it herself in between a steady stream of more apologies, but she looks like she's one step away from passing out, so you insist on helping her.

"how'd you get all these cuts and scratches, anyway?" you ask, opening the bottle of antiseptic and setting out some gauze. "if you don't mind me asking, that is."

"no, it's fine! um…" spider-woman tilts her head, as if trying to remember. "the ones on my ribs are from some muggers with knives, kids really but there were four of them and only one of me so yeah… and the ones on my arms are from the black cat, you know, my nemesis? she was robbing a jewelry store and i managed to stop her but she still escaped and also got me a few times with her claws… oh, and there's this cut on my forehead that i got when i accidentally tripped and hit my head on a wall corner a few hours ago… but i can fix that on my own! you know, cause i'd have to take the mask off for that, and like, i can't reveal my secret identity 'cause dami—that's my guy in the chair—dami would kill me, haha…"

by the time she's done talking, you've finished cleaning and wrapping all of her wounds. there's just the cut on her forehead that's left, which is still bleeding despite her flippant assurances that it doesn't even hurt.

"that looks pretty bad," you note, kneeling down beside the couch and leaning in closer to inspect it. you gently press a paper towel to the bleeding area, using your other hand to brush a stray drop of blood from her cheek. "are you able to swing like that?"

there's a beat of silence. you realize that spider-woman has gone perfectly still, and also that your faces are extremely close together.

"sorry—" you shift away apologetically, worried that you made her uncomfortable. "you probably don't like it when people touch your suit."

"it's okay!" spider-woman's voice comes out as a strangled squawk, and she quickly coughs to clear her throat. "um. i was just. surprised."

"oh… well then." you stand up and glance awkwardly around your apartment, at a loss for what to do next. "so uh… how are you feeling?"

she springs up from the couch, startling you. "a lot better, thank you so much! i've caused you way too much trouble so… i should probably get going now, huh."

"are you okay to swing with your injuries and all?" you ask as she half-walks, half-slides to the balcony in this self-consciously exaggerated way. "they looked really painful when you arrived here."

"this is nothing," she responds with a casual wave of her hand, hoisting herself up onto the balcony railing in a quick graceful movement. "i heal pretty fast, so they barely even hurt anymore."

"that's good, then." you lean against the doorframe, somewhat saddened to see her go. strangely enough, you've actually been enjoying her company despite the fact that she quite literally crashed into your apartment and woke you up in the middle of the night.

spider-woman clears her throat. "uhh—maybe i'll see you around sometime," she says, a hopeful lilt to her voice.

the sun is starting to rise, peeking over the tops of the city skyline and bathing your apartment in soft golden light. spider-woman tilts her head at you, and you're almost completely certain that she's smiling under her mask.

"yeah," you respond, smiling back and raising a hand to shade your face from the sun. "i'll see you around sometime, superhero."

spider-woman gives you a jaunty little two-fingered salute, and then she's launching herself backwards off the railing with a carefree whoop. she disappears from your view for a few heart-stopping moments, but then a web shoots up and she's swinging away in between the skyscrapers until she's out of sight.

the next day, you open the curtains to find a small bouquet of red and blue flowers sitting on your balcony. they look wind-blown and slightly frayed, and the thought of a certain superhero swinging through the city with the little pot tucked carefully under her arm makes you grin despite yourself.

you get the feeling you won't be seeing the last of her any time soon.

"um, is it okay if i sit here?"

you glance up from the chemical equations on your laptop screen, meeting the eyes of a tall girl who's fidgeting nervously with the ends of her long hair. vaguely, you recognize her as that clumsy student who ran into class late last week.

"oh, sure," you say after a confused beat, shifting over slightly to make more room for her. something about her voice rings a bell, but you're not sure why it sounds so familiar. i've probably just heard her talking to her friends before, you rationalize.

"thanks!" she sits down and starts taking out her stuff, smiling hesitantly at you. "i'm kim yoohyeon, it's nice to meet you."

she has a pretty smile, you note while you introduce yourself. "it's nice to meet you too."

yoohyeon seems shy around you and doesn't talk much, but there's something captivating about her that you can't quite figure out exactly. she pays close attention to the professor during the lecture, though occasionally you'll look over to catch her stealing glances at you—she always blushes and quickly looks away, piquing your curiosity. hmmm.

after an extremely long and boring hour, the class is over and everyone starts packing up and filtering out of the lecture hall. you're packing up as well when your arm brushes against yoohyeon's by accident, and her cheeks flush bright red as she stares at you wide-eyed.

"i—" yoohyeon clears her throat. "bye!" she squeaks, and then she's shooting out the doors before you can even open your mouth to reply.

huh, how strange.

you're studying at your kitchen table one afternoon, curtains open to let some sun into your apartment, when you hear a tap-tap-tap on your balcony door and look up to see spider-woman crouched outside.

"i hope this isn't creepy," she rushes to say as soon as you slide open the door. "i was just, er, in the area and i thought i'd swing by and say hello… um, i brought you a croissant! as thanks for, y'know, everything."

"wow, thank you," you say in surprise, taking the paper bakery bag that she's hopefully holding out to you. the chocolate croissant inside is a little flattened, but you're warmed by the gesture regardless.

"no problem!" spider-woman jumps back up onto the balcony railing, sitting and swinging her legs like a little kid. "so, uh, yeah. just wanted to do that. i hope it wasn't weird. was it weird?"

you can't help but laugh. "you're cute," you say sincerely, the words slipping out against your will—flustered, you quickly change the subject before she can notice. "um, i'm not really busy right now so… you can come in and hang out for a bit, if you want."

"really?" she tentatively slides off the railing and trots inside after you like a lost puppy. "i feel bad for intruding—ooh, were you doing homework?"

"yeah, just studying for a test," you respond, sitting down and gesturing for her to pull out a chair as well. "do you know anything about chemistry?"

"i love it!" she exclaims, perking up and scooting closer to get a better look at your notes. "i first made my web fluid in my high school chemistry lab actually, it was… well, it was a learning experience. what are you studying?"

"acid-base reactions, most of it went over my head when my professor was lecturing about it…"

before you know it, two hours have gone by in a flash. spider-woman just has this bright and likable aura around her, and as she chatters about chemistry with infectious enthusiasm and tells you funny stories about her experiences as the city's resident superhero, you find that you already feel even more at ease with her than you are with your own roommate.

"we should do this again soon," you tell her when she has to leave, standing on your balcony surrounded by the bustling sounds of the city. "and be careful, alright? don't go swinging into any more buildings."

"i promise!" she assures you with a laugh, giving you a cheerful wave before she jumps from your balcony and swings off.

after that, spider-woman starts swinging by to see you a lot more often. you can tell she still feels guilty about accidentally breaking into your apartment, because she always comes with gifts of flowers or random pastries from the bakery down the street.

"you really don't need to go to all this trouble for me," you tell her, amused, when she presents you with an entire cake.

"it's no trouble at all!" she insists cheerfully, then gasps. "unless you don't like it. do you not like it?"

"no! i really appreciate it, i promise. it's just, you don't have to get me stuff if you don't want to."

"i want to!"

it's after a few weeks of the dorky superhero swinging by your apartment that you begin to realize you might be developing a bit of a crush on her. which is ridiculous, really, considering you have no idea what she looks like under the mask and you don't know her real name either. you don't know anything about her.

but you do know her, in a way. you know that she likes to pretend she's this cool badass superhero when in reality she's just a science nerd who gets excited about mixing chemicals. you know that she loves rescuing kittens from trees even though she's scared of cats, just because it's worth it to see the relief on its owner's face. you know that she sometimes swings by elementary schools during recess because a wave or a thumbs-up from spider-woman always makes the kids' entire day. you know that she's smart, she's kind, she's clumsy, she loves helping people more than anything.

you know her well enough for your heart to flutter every time you hear her tap on your balcony door, no matter the time or reason. she usually comes by during the day now, just to bring you gifts and hang out, but every once in a while she'll still crash on your balcony in the middle of the night with injuries from fighting crime.

this is one of those nights, apparently. a forceful knock on your front door is what wakes you up at 11pm one sunday night, and you groan as you're violently dragged out of your peaceful sleep.

"coming," you mumble half to yourself, throwing a random hoodie over your pajamas and hauling yourself to the door. "i have class tomorrow, who even—"

it's spider-woman, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "hi," she croaks. the knocking must have tired her out, because she topples into your arms as soon as you open the door.

"what…" you blink groggily for a few seconds, slowly processing the girl draped all over you. your half-asleep brain notes that she's very warm. it's like a nice blanket.

then you realize that your apartment door is still wide open, and the city's most famous superhero is just standing right there in the hall where anyone could see. "what are you doing here?" you yelp, pulling her inside and hurrying to close the door. "you're in your suit and everything! did anyone see you come up?"

"dunno," she mumbles, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. "i hit my head really hard. didn't think swinging was a good idea…"

you maneuver the superhero onto your couch, and she whines when you pull away to go get the medical kit. "hurts."

"looks like there isn't any bleeding," you say, kneeling down next to the couch and examining her head. "do you think it might be a concussion?"

"probably," she rasps, squishing herself further into the couch and looking like a burrito with the blanket you put over her. "should heal in a few hours."

you furrow your brow, still not used to what she calls her spidey-healing. "okay, get some sleep. you can stay here as long as you want, alright?"

"gotta wake up early," she says drowsily. "chemistry lab tomorrow…"

you blink. you… also have a chemistry lab tomorrow. "is that so?"

"yeah." you think her eyes are closed behind her mask, but then she shifts her head slightly and giggles softly to herself. "you're sooo pretty… i was so scared to talk to you in class."

wait, what?

spider-woman keeps rambling as she drifts off to sleep. "wanted to ask you out… but i was too shy without the mask. ran away, so embarrassing…"

wait, what?

"you're really cool," she mumbles. "and nice… and pretty… i like you a lot… want to take care of you like… like you take care of me…"

a pause. "you should go out with me," she says, then falls silent. tiny snores start coming out of her mask.

you slowly stand up, head spinning with all these new revelations.

huh.

you decide to go back to sleep.

it's around three in the morning when you wake up again to the sounds of someone shuffling around in the living room. you reluctantly slide out of your nice warm bed, slipping a hoodie on and heading out of your bedroom to find the source of the commotion.

"sorry, did i wake you?" spider-woman hovers uncertainly by the open door, dressed in civilian clothes—a hoodie and sweatpants—though she still has her spider-woman mask on, which looks so ridiculous that you have to smile at the sight.

"yeah… you're leaving already?" you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

"yep," she says, awkwardly shifting her bundled-up superhero suit from hand to hand. "um. you should go back to bed, i know you have an early class tomorrow…" and so do i, she thinks to herself ruefully.

"let me see you off first," you insist through another yawn, covering your mouth with one oversized hoodie sleeve. "be careful on your way down, okay?"

"i will," she mumbles shyly. you can't see it, but she's blushing so hard at the gentleness in your voice and the soft way you're looking at her that she's scared her mask might burn right off her face. i've got to leave before i do anything stupid, she thinks, embarrassed. why is she so nice… and pretty…

the superhero is halfway down the hall when you remember all of last night's events and suddenly get an idea.

"yoohyeon," you call out, leaning against your doorframe.

she stops and turns around. "yeah?"

a pause.

you see the exact moment she realizes. "i—oh fuck—i mean, um—" she flounders, wildly looking around and laughing nervously. "wh-who's yoohyeon? i'm just your friendly neighbourhood spider-kim—i mean—"

you smile teasingly. "next time you ask me on a date, do it when you're not suffering from a concussion."

you don't know what her facial expression is like under her mask, but spider-woman—yoohyeon—looks like she's about to pass out, if the way she's clutching her suit in a death grip is any indication.

your smile softens. "i like you too, just so you know. a lot." you step back inside your apartment, but then you poke your head out again (yoohyeon is still standing there, frozen in shock) and add, "come back and ask me again tomorrow, okay? properly."

you close the door and take a deep breath. you feel as if your heart had stopped beating momentarily, but now it resumes racing excitedly in your chest.

hopefully i didn't just make a huge mistake.

meanwhile, yoohyeon is practically having heart palpitations outside. she spends a while just gaping like a fish at your closed door, but then she comes to her senses and practically breaks her neck sprinting to the elevator.

oh god, i need to look nice tomorrow!

the next morning, you're sitting at the kitchen table doing some studying before class when you hear the distinct noise of feet landing lightly on your balcony outside. there's the sounds of someone pacing for a while. then a light knock sounds on the glass door, making you turn around.

it's yoohyeon. not spider-woman, but kim yoohyeon from your 6:30am chemistry class. she's wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater, her long hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders and her dark brown eyes bravely staring into yours. in her hands is a small bouquet of red-and-blue flowers.

"did you swing up here?" you ask incredulously, tearing your eyes away from her and looking around. the sun is starting to rise, painting the sky in a soft rosy hue that matches the blush on yoohyeon's face. "did—"

"wait—please don't say anything," she interrupts, eyes squeezed shut. "before i chicken out."

she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, meeting your gaze. "hi, i'm kim yoohyeon. um, i'm also spider-woman, and i… i'd really like to take you out on a date sometime."

she smiles hopefully at you. you step closer to her, taking the bouquet from her hands and leaning up to press a kiss to her cheek. yoohyeon's blush intensifies, and your heart soars.

"it's nice to meet you, kim yoohyeon," you tell her, matching her smile. "and i'd love to go out with you."

[murfeelee]

WWDITS INSP Set & Lot

This upload is inspired by one of my favorite vampire tv shows, What We Do in the Shadows. (It was supposed to be my Simblreen gift this year, but I'm hella late cuz IRL suuuuuucks...blood. 😅)

The DL folder includes 4 zip files:

My WWDITS INSP CC Set, including 37 wives items.

The WWDITS INSP Vampire Residence Lot to go in your Sims 3 > Library folder (in-game it'll be in the empty lots bin in Edit Mode)

A MERGED CC file of allllll the other CC I used on the lot (brace yourselves 💀) to go in your Sims 3 > Mods > Packages folder

Granthe's OMSP from MTS, cuz I wasn't sure if I could merge it or not and decided to play it safe.

WARNING: The lot uses a ton of CC. I have all of the EPs, and a lot of the Store CC too, so if you don't have EA's crap & items are missing, that might be why. But if you're not seeing any of the the 3rd party UGC, then I done goofed, sorry--it's been YEARS since I've shared my lots.

🦇 Enjoy! 🦇

Download folders (package files) : Mediafire | SimFileShare

Descriptions & preview pics under the cut:

Vampire Residence

IIRC, this is a 50x50 fully furnished lot.

The Library

The Fancy Room

Guillermo's "Closet"

Nandor's Coffin Room

Laszlo & Nadja's Coffin Room

Kitchen

Music Room

Bathroom

Other Rooms

Colin's Robinson's Bedroom (Basement)

Floors

WWDITS INSP CC Set

This set includes 37 fully recolorable items:

EA Handy Jar REDONE as Candy (ARSIL Bag of Chips Mod REQUIRED) V2 (misc appliances)

Wall Rack with Decor Slots (SN EP) (misc surfaces)

Horn Rack Frankenmesh (wall art)

Tile Pattern (found under Tiles, duh)

Colin Robinson Roomies Portrait (Surfaces -- the Walls version's included in Nadja & Laszlo Painting (Ruffs))

TS4 to TS3 TheJim07 Versailles Stool as Dining Chair

EA Aurora Skies Spiral Stairs FLIPPED as DECOR (misc decor)

Oval Bucolic Flowers in Glass (Pets EP) (wall art)

Octagon Bucolic Flowers in Glass (Pets EP) (wall art)

Column Round Skinny (columns, duh)

WWDITS-IWTV INSP Vampire Themed Newspaper Clippings (wall art)

EA Farm Fresh Folk Desk REDONE for 1 Tile

TSM Bear Rug as Sofa Throw (misc decor)

Nandermo Glitter Portrait (misc decor)

Goth Posters (UNI EP)

Primitive Hunt by Piero di Cosimo Wallpapers (found under Paneling)

EA DV Celtic Wallpaper REDONE PLAIN (found under Misc IIRC)

Spiral Stairs Tasselled Drapes as Decor (curtains)

EA Boudoir Feathers RECOLORABLE (plants IIRC)

RD's Giant Plumes Decor RECOLORABLE (plants IIRC)

3 Display Cases as Wall Lights with Slots (Reg | Smaller | Taller)

TS2 to TS3 Beck's Doll Dressed as Teddy Bear V2

Nandor's 37 Wives Painting (Walls | Surfaces)

ATS3_object_funeralparlor_coffin3_open_sims4to3 RETEXURED (misc decor)

ATS3 Coffin Table REDONE WIDER as SN EP Altar (beds)

Framed Hook Swords (misc decor)

Vampire Residence Portraits

EA TS2 to TS3 Apartment Life Table Lamp (Shorter | Taller)

Annev Animal Skin Rug REDONE as Wall Art ( + FLIPPED)

Hanging Knives (misc decor)

EA Topiary Pattern V2 (found under IDER)

Most of the items are self explanatory; there's nothing crazy going on, really.

And that's that!

🦇 Enjoy! 🦇

Download folders (package files) : Mediafire | SimFileShare

[ohpheeb]

WIP Intro & Call for Beta Readers!

Premise:

When the sole survivor of a small town serial killer swears his ghost has come back to haunt her, she tracks down the detective who originally caught him to uncover the secrets behind the killer and put him down for good.

genre: contemporary fiction/lit fic (and paranormal + suspense elements)

themes: overcoming fear, identity/being able to change

tropes: unreliable narrator, revenge, emotional hurt/comfort

cw: explicit depictions of trauma/violence/panic attacks, mental health issues (some suicidal ideation), paranormal hauntings and stalking

length: ~49k

beta period: starting around mid-June, ending in mid-July (4-6 week beta period, specific dates TBD). I'll choose betas by May 30 at the very latest.

No beta experience required - I want genuine feedback from people interested in the story!

Sign up to be a beta here!

beta signups are now closed!

Signal boosting would be super appreciated! :'-)

↓ Excerpts and more story details under the cut ↓

Marissa is a survivor fueled on paranoia and spite. When she realizes she's being haunted, she's determined to do whatever it takes to get rid of the killer's ghost - even if that means uncovering the secrets of the case and returning to a town more haunted than she is.

"Marissa takes a step forward and the man’s eyes dart around, panicked. It feels good to be the cause of it, to have some semblance of control for once. She takes another step."

//

Cary is a dedicated son and friend, fiercely loyal and totally out of his depth. He's back in town eager to connect with his mother and bring her out of the darkness she's wallowed in for so many years.

"Cary moves around the kitchen quietly. It’s different from the way Talia moves and different from Marissa too... Cary is quiet because he loves his mother."

//

Talia is a former detective stuck in the past, resigned to spend the rest of her life rotting away in her home. She wants to help Marissa but it's clear she's not the woman she used to be — although maybe that's for the best.

"Talia Hayworth moves around her kitchen like she barely lives in it; she reopens the same three cabinets twice before she finds two mugs hidden behind a stack of plates."

☆ wip tag / pinterest / song insp / photo credit

[flayedintheusa]

Overtime

insp: Overtime - Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Overtime (5874 words) by flayedintheUSA Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Getting Together, together but not together, and then they are, they're working it out, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, slight mentions of explicit content but not really, Steve Harrington is Not Stupid Summary: Steve’s willing to cross well-defined lines, willing to take what he can get waiting for Billy to realize they’re not as well-defined as he thinks.

When Steve had called him, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say yet. It felt stupid, but he was good at stupid; somehow always able to play it off as some goofy charming charisma when he was actually brashly unthinking and a bit dense. Thinking caused overthinking, caused inaction, and he needed action. And that’s what Billy promises: action.

Whenever this thing started, he doesn’t really know. Granted, he doesn’t think about it. He’s pretty sure they were both beyond tipsy and unaware of the others’ preferences. Steve wasn’t even completely aware of his own, until Billy. A denim-on-denim, shirts-versus-skins dream that haunted his synapses, the way he lingered in his imagination. The things he thought in his daydreams. They never would’ve come to fruition if it weren’t for that night. Shots, touch, body, feeling, blazing and burning from the inside out. His imagination fell way short.

It was purely situational. Nothing special. The equivalent of a favor it seemed, sometimes. Steve was lonely and hiding and Billy was hidden away and alone and they were both lacking much options in the podunk town they were stuck in. (Steve wouldn’t ever admit that he’d somehow hit the jackpot of that lack of options. Of all people to also be keen to suck dick in Hawkins, he’d found Billy Hargrove. Denim-on-denim, shirts-versus-skins dream. What a powerhouse; fucks like he’s built to.)

“What?” Billy’s voice comes gruffly over the phone, slightly irritated. He must’ve been pumping.

“What’s up?”

There’s a pause. Steve surveys his mental arsenal of lines. They never have the desired effect with Billy, yet the desired outcome always ensues. For that he can’t claim inefficiency.

“I was thinking about you,” he says with a small smile. There’s the sound of rustling and quick movements. He hears a door slam shut.

“What’s wrong with you?” Billy snaps, all riled. “Talkin’ faggy on my goddamn landline, Harrington?”

Steve snorts, leans back against the wood paneling of the kitchen wall. “When we were at the lake,” he continues as if Billy hadn’t said anything, “and you had your fingers so far up in me your rings were pullin’ at my ri—“

“Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington,” he hisses. He sounds winded. Steve wants to hear it’s because of him.

“You should come over,” he says boldly. If he can be anything, it’s bold. “I’m all alone in my big empty house. Thinking about you.”

It’s like the phone goes dead, it’s so quiet. He’s stubborn enough to say ‘fuck off’ and leave Steve hanging for three days before showing up unannounced at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. He’s like that. He would, just to prove he can. Because he can; Steve lets him, every time. In the time this strange dynamic has developed, he’s become a bit of a pushover for Billy. A bit desperate for any time he can steal. Any touches he can assuredly say are solely his. Because Billy could have anyone, and he definitely has Steve. Steve wants to call him ‘baby’, call him ‘love’, just to see what happens. But he knows what would happen. Knows it would come back to bite him. Because Billy can’t give himself like that, can’t take the leap, can’t let himself. Won’t. Steve can only hold on while he’s on the ride, and Billy is a wild ride. He can only hope it doesn’t end too soon. Hope that, when it does, the crashing and burning is something he can handle.

“You’re fucking pathetic, Harrington,” Billy says sharply, and hangs up.

The Camaro is in his driveway by 10:48.

The hum of the television, abandoned of attention and blearily playing Johnny Carson, starts to reach his ears again. He can hardly hear it over his own breath as he tries to catch it, huffs a bit indignantly when Billy’s weight settles on top of him on the too-small couch. His hand falls to rest on the taut muscles of the slightly shorter boy’s back, the other unfurling from the bottom lip of the sewed cushion armrest.

They don’t often fuck in the living room. And Steve doesn’t often top. Billy was eager. Or maybe eager for a distraction; whatever Steve might be to him isn’t his business.

He learned quickly it would never be his business. Billy was good at laying clear lines. And Steve tripped toward them almost every time, every time shoved back, never to cross. Because you know what this is, Harrington. And don’t make this something it’s not. It’s better, this way; once graduation date hits the top of the morning paper, Hargrove’s peeling out with his fixed-up Camaro and hard earned-and-hidden cash stash and leaving Hawkins in the rearview. Never to be seen again.

It’s shit.

Because Steve is a softy, and it sucks. People call him golden-boy like that’s something to be proud of. He wishes he were steely, hardened and rusted at the edges, so he could do things like watch Billy take him to the hilt and moan like he’s starved and not want to tell him how fucking beautiful he is and how lucky he’s made Steve feel.

He slips out of the other boy when he stands on semi-shaky legs, and Steve leans up onto his elbows to watch as he pulls his jeans back on.

“Hot date or something?” Steve says with a shallow smirk. Can’t quite make it all the way.

Billy doesn’t look at him. “That’s your business because…?”

The warm, sedate feeling of his high turns sour about his nerves. Nerves that were just peaked because of the boy who no one can hold. Won’t let anyone close enough to try. Steve is getting tired of trying.

“It could be my business,” he shrugs. No big deal.

Billy laughs, harsh and loud, one quick bark. Still doesn’t look at him. “Right,” he drawls. “And we could cuddle up and get all cozy and be the head-honcho homos of Hawkins. Gimme a break.”

“Calm down, man, it’s just a night,” Steve sighs, feeling distinctly rejected. Again and again. Always all over again.

Billy turns to him, his features dark. He’s always more touchy when he’s the one that gets fucked. Steve has tried to learn the proper way to handle his lashes, the right way to ease them. There isn’t one. “It’s not shit, Harrington. I’m not your bitch, stop calling me.”

As if when he calls is the only time he ends up with a bed full of Hargrove.

“You want me to stop calling you?”

He pulls on his boots. He doesn’t answer. He’s lying, always so good about how he lies. How he thinks it’s just the truth and the truth hurts other people because other people are pussies. And Steve Harrington is his bitch, and he likes it that way. He doesn’t want him to stop calling. But he won’t be Steve’s, and that’s not a lie, and that’s what Steve’s afraid of.

He leaves, quietly. His presence was so loud it made Steve forget how lonely it is here. Just for a moment.

The line is hauntingly quiet when it clicks, as if someone had picked up. Steve’s ear rings with the buzz of electricity powering it, straining to hear for something, anything.

It took him too long to get the guts to dial. Started thinking. Overthinking. There wasn’t time to overthink, to create inaction, not after what he’d seen. His grip makes the plastic squeak in protest and he takes a quick, gathering breath.

“Billy?”

Quiet. He waits for it to go dead, like a timed-out answering machine. Only the sound of his own name to be heard if Billy checks it. Something rustles softly. Steve’s ears catch it, fine-tuned as they are to his line.

“Harrington.”

It’s hollow. Like the emptiness of the quiet. Like they came from the same lineage, carrying nothing and still bating Steve’s breath.

Steve’s eyes shift around the bare fridge, traces magnets that hold nothing up. “What happened?”

Steve knows what happened. Maybe not the full extent, but he can infer. Things like yelling and screaming and crashing, followed by as dramatic an exit one can make while obviously limping with blood staining their front, are easy to draw conclusions from.

And Billy had seen his car, parked on the other side of the road from the False-Smile he lived in on Cherry Lane. His shoulders drew high and his fists clenched, probably wondering why problems weren’t legislatively constrained to being dealt one at a time. He burnt rubber on the driveway as he peeled out, and Steve let him. Didn’t chase him. No matter how badly he wanted to. Because just as he runs from his dad, he’s running from Steve, too.

After the last time, in Billy’s car parked at a shady corner of the quarry, Steve was reminded that not planning— that being brash— could also be a horrible, terribly bad thing.

He hadn’t meant to say it. It slipped out. Steve was leaned over the other boy, hands in his hair, lost in the curl of it and the curl of his tongue and the cut of his jaw. His knees dug painfully into the tight sides of the crammed Camaro, driver’s seat not designed to make straddling hot Californians and making out until he was hot and breathless comfortable. He pressed all of his weight into him to readjust his knees, Billy had groaned— a spectacular, wonderful sound— and held his hips down. And Steve felt him— felt buzzed on the taste of his mouth and the soundtrack of his arousal and the feeling of them pressing together between layers of clothes— and, well, kind of whined. Billy’s face morphed like the sound pained him, hips jolting up against Steve’s hardness, and clenched his teeth on the words. “Fuck, love it when you make that sound— love—“

And he froze like there was a gun pressed to the window. Because Steve knows Billy’s never let himself claim to love anything, not after finding out it was always a lie. Always a lie for him. Would never, ever get close enough to Steve to even let him try to prove otherwise.

Steve, unfortunately, felt ignited. Felt alight. Felt hope. Which is terrible. Awful.

So when he said, “You can love it. You’re allowed. I love yours, too.” he should have known the solution would be to open the driver side door and shove Steve out onto his ass, pain shooting up his spine as Billy gunned it out of there.

And, obviously, after that, he didn’t want to see Steve. Didn’t want Steve to see him, especially like that. Hurt and wounded and fleeing. Always hurt and wounded. Always fleeing.

“Nothing,” he says after too long. He sounds tired. Like he’s taken something for sleep and is fighting it.

“Are you ok?”

Another sigh, heavier. “Man, what the fuck do you want?”

Steve shifts against the wall. He hates this. Hates how he feels right now. Hates how he feels for Billy and hates that he won’t ever not be pushing him away, like it’s a waste of time.

“I dunno, man, I wanted to know if you’re ok. That’s like, why I asked.”

“Well I’m just great, pr— Harrington.”

He wants to know what it was going to be. Pretty boy? Princess?

“I know you’re not, and that’s ok,” Steve insists, sliding down the wall a bit. “You can talk to m—“

“You don’t know shit, and it’s not ok,” he hisses suddenly. “Get your head outta your ass Harrington. This is pathetic.”

“Sure,” Steve sighs, waving his hand a bit and sliding a bit further. “This is pathetic.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re saying?” he growls into the receiver. Out of the speaker, it sounds just as hollow. Hollow threats from a hollow boy Steve thought he could fill. You can’t fill other people. You can only help people fill themselves. And Billy is determined to remove himself by the shovel full and all Steve has is his hands. He’s ill-equipped.

“You can say it. That you like things, love things. Even me. I know what you wanted to say.”

“Fuck you, Harrington.” Billy’s rage is evident. Steve hopes he’s safe. But safe people don’t have such unsafe coping mechanisms.

“I’m not it,” Steve continues, slides even further and his tailbone hits the cold tile of his empty kitchen. Empty save for the presence of a hollow boy, of Billy, even just his voice. “I’m not the one, that’s fine. But one day you’re going to make it out and you’re going to be ok and you’re going to let yourself love things and maybe you’ll realize what this was.”

It’s quiet again. The empty silence pierces him further. He’ll realize too late, and that’s what he’s afraid of.

“You done?”

Steve’s head tilts back against the wall. He lets the phone drop and bounce on its cord.

Yeah. He’s done.

Billy’s angry. Always angry, seems like.

The air around him is suffocating, everywhere. At home. At school. On the court. In Hawkins. It’s all fucking terrible. And now, his favorite pass-time (driving too fast on roads too small) is even tainted. The air of his car is suffocating, thinking about the last time Steve was here. Snuffing out the suffocation and making him feel like he could breathe. Straddling his lap like an all-American dream. Making those sounds that make him feel like the furnace constantly swallowing him whole is suddenly in him, lighting him up everywhere.

He pushes the pedal down harder. His engine roars. So does he.

Because he fucking snapped. It finally happened. He knew it would— knew it was a fluke that pretty boy, King Steve, Hawkins High’s very own royal princess, would stoop to Billy’s level. He knew the whole time it was doomed to fail, but from the first moment he was drunk on the blip of that suffocation. It was like gasping for breath, breathing in Steve. It was made to break, but it was only a matter of time before he wasn’t hooked on feeling like he could breathe, feeling like he was unrestrained, feeling like he was himself again. No, he was hooked on Steve. And that’s much, much worse.

His teeth slam together as he thinks about the floppy-haired brunette. The fucking dork. He drives kids around for fun. Likes The Goonies and Bryan Adams. He’s got a complex out the ass. Thinks he’s better than everyone. Always so brash with his words. Acts like everything is always going to be ok. Has this stupid need to make Billy feel good and safe. Has these dimples that suck him in like the beach break. Has these stupid moles decorating his skin like constellations. Has this voice that shatters his nerves when he’s falling apart in, around, on top of him.

And, for some god forsaken reason, Steve was up for it all. Up for everything he knew Billy was going to do to him. Because Billy made it clear— made it painstaking obvious that Shoot to Thrill was all this was. And still— still— Steve Harrington has the audacity to make him feel like Billy was worth it.

He should hate Billy’s guts; he should be punching him in the face. He knows Steve is hurting, can feel it in the way he avoids his eyes, in the way he stays far off, in the way he takes the long way to class, in the way he walks to his car like no one’s watching when Billy’s pretending he isn’t, in he way he doesn’t call.

He takes a curve too sharp, the furnace he exists in burning his skin.

He deserves this.

He doesn’t deserve whatever Steve said: getting out, getting ok with himself, loving things. He doesn’t love things. Things don’t love him. People don’t love him. Love is lies. Even the ones who are supposed to, don’t. They lie. They leave. The ones that don’t, they’re the ones that stick around. Make you pay for being a fool.

His heart kicks at the starting drum of the next song from the local radio station. He’d left in a fervor, his throat closing on feelings he said— he promised— wouldn’t happen. He’d swiped his tapes from the car to drown out the sound of memories, of feelings. When buzzing ears didn’t feel enough like buzzing gravel through speeding floorboards, he jerked his jacket off the hook and left before Neil could say shit about him going out so late. He’ll bare the consequences he deserves later; pretend they’re the fists of the person who’s supposed to be beating him to a pulp to justify it.

And the sound of that drum is engrained in his memory. He could name the song off the first .5 seconds. Because it’s Bryan Adams. It’s Steve’s favorite right now— his number one top pick of the best song out. Which is just disrespectful and Billy doesn’t know how he said it with a straight face. And then he’d sung along to it, eating drive-thru burgers on the hood at the quarry. Mumbled lyrics as it played through his bedroom stereo in the Harrington Castle as he sunk down onto Billy, brow tight and neck strained, chest struck red and cheeks flushed. God he was fucking pretty—

Billy slams the radio off. The vibrating interior and the hum of the road swallows him whole. He thinks of Steve’s face, pouting as he mocked the soloist for posing to get into the Top 10, for being a trashy girly-pop idol, for being Canadian. He’d crossed his arms and muttered about how he played the guitar since he was ten and had a good voice. And Billy sighed and slapped the radio on again and pretended not to find Steve’s obvious feeling of victory cute as he smiled around softly singing along.

“Fuck!” Billy swears, his foot easing off the gas. His hand falls over his face, drags roughly on his jaw. “Fuck.”

He stares out the windshield as the blur of the treetops start to ease back into steady forms. He presses the FM button again.

And that's when I met you, yeah

Standin' on your mama's porch

You told me that you'd wait forever

It’s awful, this suffocation. He’s felt it as long as he’s been alive, it feels like. It’s even worse now that he knows what it’s like to not suffocate. To take the burning and use it. To feel it inside instead of all around— instead of something that steals his oxygen.

It’s terribly, awfully bad. Because he’s good at fighting. He’s good at winning. And he can’t fight for this. He can’t win this.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s got, being saved from him.

Oh, and when you held my hand

I knew that it was now or never

Billy turns it up. Pretends he can’t hear Bryan Adams. Pretends he can hear Steve. Pretends he’s out of here. That he’s ok and he loves things and he wasn’t too late.

Those were the best days of my life

It might be his favorite, too.

He buries himself.

He doesn’t really have a choice; if he doesn’t step up his proverbial academic game, he doesn’t stand a chance at graduating. Nancy’s taken pity on him, helping out with his English and History assignments. He finally finished the conclusion to his English paper on The Catcher in the Rye and is moving swiftly to WWII flash cards with too many names and dates to stick.

He should have paid her for this, seriously. He knows she feels badly about how they ended, but pity won’t buy you and your boyfriend tickets to the drive in.

He jolts awake with the ‘Battle of the Bulge’ index card stuck to his face when the doorbell chimes through the house obnoxiously. It’s 10:32 at night. He hangs his head and contemplates not answering. It’s crash-course week. Cramming o’clock. Brain-hemorrhaging-knowledge integration time. He doesn’t need this.

Even still, he’s not strong enough to say no. Hasn’t been, for the past four days.

He walks down the stairs like it’s tedious, because it it. He’s busy. He runs a hand through his falling hair, the product in it having reached its life expectancy, and thinks maybe it was intentional that he didn’t pull a shirt on. It’s unusually hot in Hawkins for end of spring, and he’s wearing his loose grey sweats. He’s comfortable. It doesn’t matter.

He opens the door to Billy, his hand in one pocket and the other holding Steve’s anatomy notebook.

“What’d you find now?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. He only looks at Billy’s face, and even that hurts. He knows he’s wearing that navy shirt, unbuttoned too far. His pendant is always framed by it perfectly. And he looks like he doesn’t care, like this is a chore, but the first night— Sunday— it had been a pair of shorts from his car. Last night it had been his Three Dog Night album Steve had him take because he’d ‘never heard of ‘em’ (yeah, ok. Sure).

Billy flips the notebook in front of him, between his palms. “Thought you’d need it since you’ve suddenly got a boner for learning.”

Steve huffs a bit at that. He’s not sure if Billy’s trying to torture him with this sudden, strange break in their routine. Not really sure what it’s about. He’s not going to hope for anything about it, because hope is dangerous and he hasn’t been given any warnings to ignore this time. At least last time, there were rules— rules he actively chose not to follow, but still rules. And entertaining a rule-less Hargrove is about as deadly as playing with a safety-less gun.

“Yeah, well,” he sighs, reaching a hand out for it. “Some of us also plan on leaving at some point. Most colleges like GEDs.”

Billy’s fingers play along the edge, run over the bound black spine holding the composition notebook together. His chin jerks up a bit. “Oh, yeah? Where you escapin’ to that you think daddy won’t pay for?”

Steve feels his jaw tense. He steps back a bit, hand tightening on the doorknob. Something swift and hardly noticeable flashes over Billy’s eyes. Steve likes to imagine he doesn’t see it. It’s hard not to, after having seen all the parts of him he hides away.

“Don’t know,” he says stiffly. “Don’t care as long as it’s not here, y’know.”

And Steve knows he does; Billy wrote that script. Steve bought it, plans on producing and staring in it all on his own without his fucking dad looming over him. He just has to get through next weekend to prove to the man that he’s serious about a future, whether or not it’s with the family business.

“Yeah,” Billy says, eyes finally breaking from Steve’s. They rest somewhere around his chest before falling to the floor.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats. He lets go of his death grip on the doorknob, sliding his hands into his pockets. Whatever stockpile he has of Steve’s shit that he’s passing off one at a time, it’s not going to work. Maybe he didn’t make it clear enough. Maybe he needs to be upfront. Something about not having Billy come on his own volition, without incentive, just because, it’s hard to give up. The past couple days, he’s found himself wondering, waiting, for this exact moment. When Billy might show up. Might linger, like he wants Steve to invite him in. Like he wants to know he wants Billy to stay. He does. He won’t. They’re out of time. Time to escape the hollow, instead of finding a way to bare it.

He clears his throat, watching as Billy still holds his notebook too close to his abdomen. Like he’s not ready to offer it. Not ready to have no reason to stay. “Listen, if you find any more of my stuff, you can leave it with Nance or in the mailbox,” he shrugs. Hargrove’s knuckles tighten around the cover. “I’ll be outta town tomorrow night ‘til Saturday. Gotta get the grand tour of the New York office before I can tell ‘im to stick it, y’know,” he chuckles. It’s empty. He overshared.

He had before, to take the obvious overhang of Neil off of Billy’s mind. He talked about his own dad, how sometimes absence and expectations held a different kind of pain, different kind of trauma. He can see it in the way Billy’s arms tense, the way his jaw firms around words he won’t say, floating around a brain Steve always wants to pick, always not allowed to. His eyes fall to the floor, he mumbles ‘So…’ and tries not to feel so fucking small. “I’ll be back on the first, if you wanna drop anything off then, too,” he says, just trying to fill the silence. His heart feels too big. Like he’s burning with the secrets he’d shared that he shouldn’t have. If he keeps lingering, Steve might actually give him what he wants just to make this feeling stop.

“You good?”

It’s tight. Too many words crammed only into two. Steve shrugs, doesn’t look at him.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Whatever.”

He wants him to touch him. To put his always too-hot hands, like he caries California sun in his skin, on him and loosen his muscles. To look at him with those unmasked blue eyes, like he takes the ocean wherever he goes, and make him feel stagnant. To kiss him with those lips, always seemingly shifting like beach sand but really as sure as redwoods, and make him feel steady again. Like he can hope for this. Like there’s more than the hollow.

“Ok,” he says suddenly. It comes out heavy. He can’t hold the door open any more; it feels like staring through the veil of desire— death to the touch. Billy doesn’t want this. He wants to know that he was wanted— that he still is. That’s what Steve reminds himself. He holds out his hand for the notebook. “Thanks.”

God forbid, Billy put the stack of notes in his palm.

No, higher powers always make Steve eat his words.

Billy’s hand is in his before he can really register it; is pulling him through the veil before he knows what’s happening. His notebook is on the floor, his lips on Billy’s, before he even finds his footing.

And it’s terrible. Awful. Bad. Because he’s tried so hard. Done so good. And it’s all for nothing. The second he gets the contact he pretends not to crave, he’s melting into the kiss.

He’s said it before, and it rings true: he’s ill-equipped. Steve’s not capable of thinking properly with Billy invading all his senses, and he bares down with a goddamn platoon, this invasion. Like all those words he can’t say are being spoken through his frantic lips, every word pushed right into Steve’s mouth. The smell of his cologne, of quick wind from fast driving and bad-habit cigarette smoke floods his olfactory. A smell that’s trained him like a dog to let in the intruder. His hands find Steve’s bare skin like they’re hungry for it, starving from the absence of touch, and move over his body with selfish, greedy palms.

Steve’s helpless. He’s weak for it. He lets Billy back him up, back into the house, and turns him to press into the wall beside the door. It slams shut when he kicks it closed. He should have known the thing that would get Billy back into his house would be force, not request.

Steve’s never been one to back down, especially in the wake of Billy. He pushes back against his lips, teeth clicking together, sucks Billy’s tongue into his mouth as his hands slide up his semi-bare chest and over his collar bones, around his neck. It’s like a cheat code, the way Billy’s body falls against his. Slumps, like his touch makes him just as weak. Steve feels crushed, between the weight of him and the hard of the wall.

He bites into Billy’s lip, like he knows drives him a little bit wild, also knows he likes to do that first, and pushes his hands into the tight skin of his chest and shoves. Billy staggers a bit with no more Steve to hold on to. His dark eyes fall on the older boy like a challenge, and Steve’s own chest puffs a bit, fists curling.

“Go home, Billy,” he advises firmly. He should really get an award for it.

He cocks his head to the side a bit, advancing a step and smirking surely. “Oh, you want me to go home? That’s what that was?”

Steve simmers under his skin. His head spins, still drunk on his smell. His touch. The feeling of feeling him. “No. And you know that. It’s fucking cruel and unusual punishment, whatever you’re doing.”

His brow sharpens, eyes suddenly wary of connecting with his. He must not have been prepared for an up-front answer. He doesn’t usually get any, his life like a riddle he’s been unable to crack. Solve.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Steve scoffs and opens the door, swiping the anatomy notebook off the ground. “I don’t know, Billy. It’s not like you’re exactly easy.”

Billy’s struck by that, the confirmation of that thing he’s always wanted. To be hard to read and unknowable, because all of the things that have known him have left. It feels scarily fraudulent here, to be confirmed by Steve. To realize that maybe Steve is one of the only people he might actually want to know him. Like he won’t leave. Because he didn’t. He let Billy push him away, but he didn’t leave.

He decides to take it in stride. Lean into it. Because, what’s there to lose? They graduate in a week. Nothings promised. And that could be nothing, a big nothing. But it could also be something. A big something.

“I’m here because you’re here,” he says. He wants to say and that’s where I want to be, because that’s what he feels. But it’s hard to say that. To admit those things that leave him feeling stripped and vulnerable and flayed open, able to be crushed and hurt all over again.

Steve rolls his eyes. His body is angled toward the door, like he’s ready for Billy to walk out, to flee, because that’s all he’s ever done. “Of course I’m here. I live here.” It’s weak at best.

Billy steps into his space, puts a hand on the edge of the door and pulls it closed slowly until Steve’s forced to come back inside. Forced into Billy’s space. Forced to look at him. Billy takes a steadying breath. “I’m here because you’re here,” he repeats. He tries to be open, like Steve. To force his mask off.

Steve visibly flinches, his nose twitching with his lip as he takes advantage of the door behind him as a steadying surface. “Don’t do that.”

“You want me to swear on something?”

“Billy—“

He can hear the plea in it. Billy won’t break him. He’d break himself in the process, choosing to suffocate instead of breathe. Being honest is suddenly not as difficult as he thought. That goody-two-shoes, scouts-honor, cringe shit feeling suddenly like, instead of being stupidly vulnerable and delicate, it could help him get the only thing he’s ever wanted badly enough to almost ask for a beating.

“Steve,” he says, soft and sure. “I turned up Bryan Adams.”

Steve sinks against the door. It looks like it hurts. “You hate Bryan Adams,” he says. It sounds like a last ditch effort. Like to anyone else it would mean nothing. But Billy knows what it means. He’s cracked the riddle. He doesn’t need it anymore.

“I love when you sing it.”

He wants to cry. He’s not sure if it’s because, for some reason, the heart mending can feel almost exactly as painful as the breaking when sprung upon like this. He wasn’t prepared for it. For Billy to come here and break him open just so he can nestle inside and tell him he’s ok with it, he’s learning to love things. Maybe it’s not too late.

“We’re graduating. We’re out of time.”

“We’re graduating,” Billy shrugs, let’s his lips tilt a bit. “We might have all the time in the world. Overtime exists, y’know.”

Steve wants to laugh. His whole deficit is suddenly pumped full, though, and he’s afraid. “You don’t know that.”

He seems to readily take the leap. Like he was expecting it. “I know I want you.”

“That’s bold,” he says before he can help it. Because that’s usually his thing. Being brash. Being brave.

The blonde’s hands slide against his waist, the band of his sweats. He tilts his nose up against Steve’s, his proximity drowning out his better judgement. Steve may always be ill-equipped, no matter what. Especially when it comes to Billy.

“I know what this is.” His fingers dig harder into Steve’s skin, like he meant it. It’s the final blow. The last straw, is what it is. He’s glad Billy’s holding onto him, or he’d probably do something stupid like exalt. “I know. It’s not easy, but I know.”

And it’s not an apology; Steve knows better than to expect that. Once upon a time, knowing what ‘this’ is was not a comfort. It was a definition. Lines drawn in sand. And Steve knew, too; agreed and never really meant it. Never really wanted whatever it was to be all it was. He never thought he’d get to watch Billy trip to cross the line instead, and he’s not going to shove him back. Billy better know that.

He wants to say easy was never part of the plan. Wants to say that Billy’s worth not easy. Wants to say he’s known and been ok with it and been happy to love and lose and hurt if it meant he had the chance. But things like that have their place, their time, and Steve has a feeling it’ll come like a wave at dusk, quiet and easy, to wash away all those sand-carved lines.

So, instead, he buckles down. Buckles in. He can be bold, can help Billy be bold. “Do you want to stay?”

When the other boy smiles, it’s like everything before flattens. Crushed under the weight of this new agreement. The timeline is collapsed; it’s dead and gone and past is past and he’ll happily hand Steve the shovel if what he wants to do is fill him. He’s got time for pretty boy to smooth his edges, if he really wants to try. He’s got time to breathe, to be ok, maybe even to love. Maybe he even already does.

He’s got time to not be too late, to not be out of time.

He’s got time for overtime.

[newbornwhumperfly]

with a minimum of interference...

this was a very exciting project for me, so i had to make it so, so sad 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 for this @whumpmasinjuly prompt - day 28: fill a whump prompt - i chose this beautiful prompt (self-imposed sleep deprivation) by @teine-mallaichte 😍😍😍 please forgive me in advance for turning into some heartbreaking backstory material for my boy morja...💔💔💔

CW: sleep deprivation, childhood neglect, accidental parentification trauma via latchkey kid syndrome, childhood poverty, oops it's all so sad folks please proceed with emotional caution <333

title insp. by this concept art quote by jenny holzer - “when you’ve been someplace for awhile, you acquire the ability to be practically invisible. This lets you operate with a minimum of interference.”

~

Makuahine was supposed to be home already. 9 PM, maybe later. She said it would be at nine. I'm sorry, Morja, I hope to be back as soon as I can from work, okay? It is eleven, beaming in the dark of the kitchen, and Morja is still waiting. 

It isn’t bad that she isn’t here at ten. Sometimes…it takes longer, sometimes. That’s what jobs are like. Morja knows that the buses are long and that sometimes work is longer than Maku thinks because bosses say stuff that's different, all the time, and that's a job. 

He’s not stupid. He’s able to understand. He's smart and responsible and knows money has to happen.

And still, even with money and obeying and jobs and taking care of the apartment and of Lehua, his eyes are itchy and burning. 

In the small walls, the hum of wires is quieter, the lights off, the small space all shadows. There’s so little space to walk around, just seven steps to the wall, seven steps to the other wall, where he can touch the buzzing fridge, the cold tiny sink, the table squished into the corner. 

Walk to the door. 

The latch, closed. The lock, turned. The other chair pushed under the handle, jammed up tight, secure. 

Morja walks to the corner by the door and, quiet, slow, rearranges the toys again. The little squishy floor-mat of blue and yellow stars was folded small, the little plastic basket had every toy stacked up. But maybe the trucks should go on the bottom and the soft toys on top. 

Trucks. Then the beanbag toys, laid in a row, little bunny, little cat, little dog. No, f-o-x. The two squishy stars. The big plastic ball on top. Neat, nice. Maku will be happy the corner is clean! He swept the floor with his little broom and got all the dust, even the tiny gritty bits, in the can. 

Morja likes when it is clean too. 

Stand up, knees and shoulders making the crackle noise, sore neck, rubbing his eyes again and his back hurts from bending. Walk quiet, so quiet, to the bedroom to check on Lehua. She cried and cried and was mad that Morja wasn’t Maku. Needed to be carried, wailing, until his arms hurt too much to hold her, hearing thumps and yells from the wall behind the kitchen at very loud screams. 

Morja doesn’t scream. He could. He could scream if he wanted but he’s too old for screaming. 

Lehua’s face is pink and clean on her tiny pillow, because Morja played and played and read and read the little book with its cracking spine and bright pictures and by the time she fell asleep, her cheeks were scrubbed from the snot and tears by the washcloth, snuggly and soft, and Morja did a good job.

The light through the blinds makes orange stripes over the tiny body, snuffling, curled around her blanket. Morja is extra quiet when he kneels next to the mattress to touch her head. 

Not hot.

Morja blows out, soft, cause that’s good. This mattress is so soft, bigger than his, with springy bounce. He knows he’s small for his mattress but this one is just nicer, wider, more room for stretching. 

Morja pillows his cheek on the mattress, his nose just so close to Lehua’s balled-up fist, and her chest rises and falls. Sometimes Morja lays awake and watches, when he can’t fall asleep. Watches Maku breathe, the weird rasping wet noise it makes, like a gasp. Watches Lehua breathe, so small it’s sometimes hard to tell it’s happening. 

Morja doesn’t like that kind of breathing, the air that happens when you’re sick. 

The mattress is soft under his cheek. 

Not so scratchy. 

No, c’mon, get up. Keep watch. It’s not Morja sleep-time.

Morja wants to keep the lights on, because, well, he knows he has work. Brightness will help. But it’s so important not to keep the lights on too much cause of money. He chews his lip, thinking. The school has given him pages to practice his language skills, he thinks the tall pale man with a pale shirt and pale hair said. Pale sheets of paper in his hands and so, so many lines. 

Even when it’s dark and there’s a throb behind his eyes, Morja can still be helpful and finish these lines for tomorrow. If he shoves himself into the very corner of the wall, where the bad-wet-smell of the room is strongest, a strong streetlight pokes through slats of window-blinds. 

It’s orange and white and burns in a way that thumps the inside of his head. But it’s bright enough to see the paper. Black lines thump against his eyeballs, neck sore as it bends low to the paper, one fingertip tracing.

What is the right answer to a stranger asking “how are you?” 1. “I am good, thank you.” 2. “I am good, how are you?” 3. “I am good.”

The clock on the top of the stove beeps, red and gleaming through the grills. 

12.00 AM

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh.” 

Morja huffs through his teeth and rests his head against the wall. The stink and the hum makes his head throb harder but it keeps him up. Pangs shoot through his belly and his hand, sore, thumb and finger raw and indented-red from holding his pen, rubs over his stomach. Hungry is good, it keeps him- he can stay awake if he thinks about eating and how Maku will have maybe a snack from one of the late-car-places.

Dry noodles and powder rattling in a box.

S-t-a-t-e.

Meat in strips, hard and dry and hot.

R-a-e-t-e-a.

Chocolate in shiny wrapping, crunchy nuts and sweet goo and soft fluff, that is so rare.

N-e-w A-t-h-e-n-s.

Salt and sugar and butter and stuff that isn't on the list of what's allowed that Maku takes to the store.

1:00 AM.

Swimming black letters. Orange paper. Icky smell. Head hurts.

Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second.

But what if- Morja grunts and digs his fingers into the burn, sniffing hard. What if the door’s locked and Maku can’t come in? What if Lehua rolls off the bed? What if there’s a fire? 

What if something bad happened?

It’s the ache, like being hungry but worse, that keeps Morja up, more than his head hurting or his eyes itching or his butt and his legs getting sharp prickles. The what if thudding in his small chest, keeping his heart fast and his eyes watery. The worry keeps him awake, keeps him doing a good job, the worry helps.

By the time the sky gets oranger than the streetlamps and the chain rattles in return, Morja has learned how to keep the stomachache constant. By the time it is safe to lay down, he passes the hours to school with his hands over his stomach, the sharpness in his belly, in his chest, pressing, pressing, pressing. By the time he doesn’t need it anymore, it sticks. 

By the time he turns in his papers, clean and white and perfect, Morja learns more than one lesson to be perfect at.

~

so sincerely hope you enjoy what i've done with your excellent prompt, @teine-mallaichte!!! 😭🥰💖🥺

taglist: @much-ado-about-whumping @haro-whumps @whump-tr0pes @whumpzone @i-eat-worlds

@whumpthisway @whumping-every-day @whump-me-all-night-long @liliability @stoic-whumpee

@thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @whumpster-draganies @scoundrelwithboba @kixngiggles

@redwingedwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @straight-to-the-pain @wolfeyedwitch @tears-and-lilies

have a very merry @whumpmasinjuly everyone! 💖💖💖

@whumpmasinjuly-archive

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 of tissues and neighbours!

synopsis: after moving back home for... reasons, Ajax found himself infatuated with his new neighbour. how much could he truly get away with? insp. by this ask

contains: fem/afab reader, incel childe, somno, dubcon, stalker behaviour, use of childe's real name, lots of jacking off lmao

Liyue was... comfortable. the city provided a better place to work, new experiences, and a climate better regulated than Ajax was used to. Liyue was comfortable but Liyue wasn't Morepesok and it wasn't home. or at least that was the faux poetic answer he'd give to anyone asking why he moved back in with his parents after being gone for so long. reality was that he got evicted from the quaint but beautiful apartment he had gotten in Liyue.

the letter had been tapped to his door by his landlord on a Monday afternoon. on Wednesday said landlord knocked on the door to hand it to him as it hadn't been taken down; Ajax hadn't even stepped out of his apartment since Saturday. he was half a shut-in and half busy with work so how his landlord had even found out about the... conditions he was living in was a miracle of its own. Ajax had reported a clogged drain in his shower and expected he'd be given a notice before someone came to fix it but all he got was a knock on the door the day of. the plumber was able to successfully unclog the drain, it was filled with dried something and hair, and informed the landlord of the state of the rest of his apartment. tissues full of his spend overflowing onto the floor, unwashed dishes, numerous stains on the carpet and walls, a smell that wasn't right, and burn marks from the cherries of joints falling onto the floor. not only was it vile but his apartment was supposed to be smoke free and weed wasn't yet legal in Liyue. with a slew of gross and legal issues arising, eviction and keeping the deposit was the best solution for his landlord. Ajax took the letter with a scoff and a roll of his eyes before closing the door and texting a couple local friends to ask them to help him pack. he grumbled and wondered why such things were an issue.

cardboard boxes were loaded with clothes, salvageable dishes, a slew of vintage electronics, and carefully wrapped figures of anime girls. all of his computer things and most cherished possessions, a fleshlight and ylang ylang lube, were kept separately and delicately packed and placed in the passenger seat of his car. with everything taken care of Ajax looked over his, well no longer his, apartment one last time while panting and grinning. it was only bare bones now save for the tissue leaking with a fresh load of his own in the middle of the living space floor. he left his key on the kitchen counter before stepping out for the last time and heading for his car. a short conversation of directions was shared between him and his close friend Zhongli as he offered to help bring things back to the house of Ajax's family at the price of gas money and an antique lamp he had been eying up.

the drive was nothing worth noting beyond the nostalgia he felt going past snow capped mountains.

pulling into the familiar driveway of his childhood home Ajax was greeted by his younger siblings playing in the front yard with small snowmen and forts decorated the otherwise plain expanse. the kids had leaped up from their spots they were playing to bombard him with hugs and cheers, evidently, they missed him just as much as he did them. Teucer tried to drag him into playing alongside them but with a laugh and apology Ajax informed them of how he had a bunch of very heavy things to carry inside. his parents had come out to welcome him home as well and thank Zhongli for being kind enough to help their son move back home. ever so humble, he had said it was nothing but took up the offer to stay for dinner after assisting Ajax in lugging all of his things in. bringing all the boxes in was lightwork with the two men plus Ajax's dad and soon enough they all sat down for a dinner of fresh salmon and quinoa. food was quickly scarfed down before Ajax got to unpacking and Zhongli settled down in the guest room for the night.

it had gotten late and the house was quiet save for the shuffling and rustling of Ajax unpacking what he could into his closet and onto shelves as he wanted most of it done before the next day simply so he didn't have to do it. he firstly set up his desk and computer followed by his bed. shelves were soon covered by his collection of lewd manga and figures as well as books on topics surrounding the function of computers and code. he hardly looked at those ones anymore as most things were stored in his brain by now but the books made him look smarter next to all of the degeneracy. tucking his fleshlight under his bed, he popped back up only to see the light on in the house and room across from his. the windows were give or take fifteen feet from each other but his was slightly higher up. such an angle gave him the perfect view of the neighbour he had never seen before, presumably someone that moved in not too long ago. Ajax had started to get onto putting away more things before he looked harder and saw the state of this neighbour.

still slightly damp and very much naked, he could see everything from the plush of her breasts down to the exposed flesh of her pussy and his mouth watered at the sight. when she turned he could see the jiggle of her ass and thighs which had him hardening embarrassingly fast. one of his hands slipped over his crotch to grope at himself before glancing to make sure the door was closed and slipping his sweatpants down to rest under his cock. Ajax grabbed the lube that remained on his bed and squirted a generous amount onto his pulsing dick then began working the shaft harsh and fast. he knew his time staring was limited so he didn't plan on wasting any. with lips pressed firmly together and breath laboured his eyes remained trained on the divine form through two panes of glass; her body was fuckable to say the least. watching as she rubbed lotion over her form he nearly died upon seeing the way her body moved upon being touched. the fat of her ass squeezed from between her fingers and the way her breasts dropped upon being thoroughly massaged had him coming undone messily into his hand. Ajax bit into the knuckles of his other hand while seed dripped down his cock and he wished it was her face instead. the affair ended with a tissue cleaning up the lube and spend from his dick and hand before he looked back over to admire her, you, once again only to find you properly dressed and already looking at him. Ajax offered a half smile on his flushed face. he knew he should be embarrassed but you didn't catch him and the smile and giggle you sent back had him stiff once more. this second boner should be taken care of privately, he decided. a third and fourth one followed and Ajax jerked himself well into the night before falling asleep hoping to dream of your pretty tits and cute cunt.

when he awoke the next morning, Zhongli had just set off back to Liyue as he had a job and things to do that afternoon. Ajax trudged down the stairs with a hand under his shirt scratching his chest and due to his glasses being crooked, he nearly didn't notice you at the table having breakfast with his siblings. his spit was stuck in his throat and air trapped in his lungs. blinking a couple of times Ajax only came to upon you standing and extending a hand, one that would look perfect around his dick, as a greeting. he hesitated for a couple seconds but remembered how he didn't properly wash his hand the night before and shook yours tightly.

"Ajax, right? i've heard plenty about you from your father and siblings. your dad is quite proud of you and the work you do though i'll admit, i don't really understand all of that complicated tech stuff... Teucer says you're the best big brother in the world but he also says i'm the best stand-in big sister in the world so we'll have to see how you measure up to me, huh?" your words were punctuated with a giggle from you and loud laughs from all three of his little siblings. knowing how close you are to his family, his siblings, had him falling in love. carnal and emotional need filled him to the brim.

"i suppose we will... i could always teach you a thing or two i know but i make no promises that you'll be able to keep up with me," he wasn't referring to electronics but you didn't need to know that, "care to enlighten me of your name?"

introductions were cut short soon after as you had to take his siblings to school but he swore on everything that he'd get close to you.

his day was spent puttering away at work while his thoughts stayed focused on you. Ajax couldn't help himself but think over the cute outfit you wore that morning, a short skirt and pretty little top, and how much he wanted to strip you of it. he stayed busy putting away the rest of his things, finishing up work, and taking a cold shower to hopefully curb the desperation and lust surging through his body. he didn't want to come off too strongly but god he wanted to come off of sinking into your perfect cunt. his thoughts were messy and he had never felt this way about anyone before but you were something new; something he needed. before he knew it, you had accompanied his siblings back home. your hair was a bit messier than it had been that morning but your smile was just as radiant and your skirt was just as short. he tried not to stare when you bent over to pass Tonia a glue stick for a project or flush when your hands touched while helping Teucer put together a diorama but it was a monumental task. if he could've gotten on his knees and worshipped you for all you are he already would have.

you were exhausted by the time you left back to your own place and Ajax would have felt bad for keeping you over helping for so long if it didn't end up with him scoring your number. his little siblings bounced in circles around him asking if he had a crush and when the wedding was. he entertained their questions with soft promises of not telling on him for being into you. all of them interlocked pinkies giggling before Tonia gushed about being a flower girl while Teucer and Anthon argued over who got to be the ring bearer; Ajax assured them that they could share the task if the time came.

upon retreating to his bedroom, he leaned over to his window and saw you sleeping soundly. you were sleeping and the latch of your window was unlocked. it was wrong, he told himself. he shouldn't even be considering this, he scolded. and yet, Ajax was out his window and in through yours. he was considerate enough to take off his shoes before climbing in but it wasn't much considering he was hovering over your unconscious form while drooling. you were wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and tiny panties. the outline of the lips of your pussy was clearly visible and perhaps it was a trick of the light but you looked to be soaking through them. with bated breath he merely stood and stared at you despite his cock being hard and leaking in his boxers. this was so very wrong but he loved it; he loved you. and he loved the little whines he could now hear slipping from between your lips. his smile was shaky but his hands were shakier as he brought one to draw up through your clothed slit which elicited a sound he'd listen to on repeat for hours if he could. your body leaned into his touch and who was he to deny your needs? he was to worship you.

with one hand pressing softly against your cunt the other dropped to pull out his cock finally. it bobbed out of his sweatpants and hit his stomach with a soft smack. Ajax applied pressure to your clit the way he'd seen in hentai while ghosting over his dick. he spit onto his hand as lube before properly stroking himself and eagerly eating up every sound and movement you blessed him with. if you were his goddess then your whines and whimpers were his gospel. your pussy was already getting messy and dripping on his fingers through the thin fabric of your panties. would it truly be so bad if he lowered his head to your cunt? rational thought out the window, he moved to his knees and dipped his head to your core. he inhaled deeply and drooled onto your sheets from the smell of your essence alone. you were to be the finest meal he'd ever devour and hopefully not the first of its kind. Ajax poked his tongue out and breathed out heavy before licking a stripe up your covered cunt. the taste was like nothing he'd ever had before and he needed more. with as much softness as he could muster he lathed over your pussy over and over practically making out with your sloppy cunt. your soft cries were all he needed to hear to keep going. his one hand remained putting pressure and rubs to your clit as he sucked everything he could through your panties. his throat bobbed as he happily ate away at your pussy and jerked his cock. he was close to his end and clearly so were you if the increase in pitch told him anything. with his lower lip drawn into his mouth, a hard press to your needy cunt, and a good squeeze to his cock he came the hardest he thought he ever had. Ajax gasped and released his own lip to lick, suck, and swallow up whatever your orgasm gave you. his cock was a mess but when your back arched and you came undone with a whine of his name the mess increased tenfold.

you were going to be the death of him and Ajax wouldn't have it any other way.

[invisible-storyteller]

Truth or drink with in-laws

(insp.)

Where did you meet my child?

Theo: In the woods. He was spying on me. 

Jenna: Why am I not surprised? 

Theo: I wasn't exactly the epitome of trustworthiness back then. 

Jenna: You knew he was there, didn't you? 

Theo: He said my soap smelled nice. 

Jenna: *faceplants* 

Theo: *laughs* 

Jenna: You're the one who married him. 

Theo: You're the one who raised him. 

Jenna: Touché.

When did you first sleep with my child?

Derek: *takes a drink* 

John: This doesn't put you in a good light, son. 

Derek: Well, you might not be a werewolf, but you're still a good lie detector. 

John: I am. Sadly, my son still hasn't learned that...

Derek: Goddamit Stiles.

Have you ever had sex in my house?

Malia: Yes 

Ken: Spare me the details. Actually, it wasn't the kitchen, right? 

Malia: *takes a shot*

Ken: It's on me. I asked.

Have you ever cheated on my child?

Lydia: Never. Why would I downgrade from the best? 

Melissa: This is how you answer this. *high fives Lydia*

Were you a virgin when you met my child?

Theo: Yes

Jenna: Did he give you a good first time? 

Theo: I don't have much to compare it to, but it was good.

Jenna: Is he any good in bed? 

Theo: *smiles fondly* He passes out right after. And he snores.

How often do you sleep with my child?

Lydia: We're often tired when we get home from work.

Melissa: She's dodging the answer. 

Lydia: Do you really want to know? 

Melissa: Yeah. 

Lydia: Once a week. 

Melissa: ... 

Melissa: I'll talk to my son.

What do you think is my worst habit?

Ken: I would probably say... the nakedness.

Malia: Kira never complains about it.

Ken: Yeah... I wonder why.

What did you first think when I started dating your child?

Jenna: Finally!

Theo: Yeah, I'm not surprised. You were playing matchmaker to us. 

Jenna: You can't blame me. You guys were horribly oblivious, but your aggressive flirting was kinda funny.

Theo: Didn't you have a bet on us with your husband?

Jenna: He'll never recover from that financially.

What is your least favourite thing about me?

John: You still doubt if you're part of our family. 

Derek: True, but I'm doubting it less and less these days. 

John: That's good, son.

Do you think I take good enough care of your child?

Melissa: Honestly, I'm so glad he has you. You're always there for him and I couldn't ask for a better daughter-in-law. 

Lydia: Aww *hugs her with a teary smile* I knew I should have put on my waterproof mascara!

Have you guys ever gotten close to breaking up?

Derek: Yes. 

John: Those were very dark times for everyone.

Derek: I was seriously scared I would lose the best thing that's ever happened to me.

John: Pfft. Son, Stiles might move from one hyperfixation to the next within days but you're a permanent fixture of his. I honestly don't think he could be more obsessed with you.

Was there a time you wished we would break up?

Ken: *reaches for the glass*

Malia: No! You have to answer this one!

Ken: I'm just kidding.

Malia: *frowns in disbelief*

Ken: Seriously! I never wished for you to break up! I was actually the one to suggest you guys date.

Malia: You were actually encouraging bestiali-

Ken: Now I'm reconsidering my support.

Malia: No, you aren't.

Ken: No, I'm not.

Do you think we'll last?

Melissa: I think you two will always be in each other's lives. In whatever way that might be. But yeah, I think my son has found his one. 

Lydia: *mouthing with a smile* Thank you!

If we broke up, would you still want a relationship with me?

Jenna: Hell yeah! Who else is gonna watch Desperate Housewives with me?

Theo: *kisses her on the cheek*

[no-shxme]

did a talsett req (YAYAYYAYAYY thanks for requesting talsett omg) as a warmup but it turned out pretty long afdkldsfj

prompt was talon introducing sett to katarina but i did kinda twist it into it's own thing, also set in a modern au. thank you for the insp!

In hindsight it’ll be funny, but for Talon that might take a couple years. Sett will laugh about it by next week, because he’s unbothered, but stuff that’s easy for him is hard for Talon. Like being the center of attention or reaching the top shelf where all the biggest bowls are. Talon’s sleeping when Katarina comes, or he’s trying to. He’s laying in bed when she shows up, half-awake and thinking about nothing but the sound of the frying pan from the kitchen. Talon had barely slept last night, and even now he’s close but not close enough. The room is too bright and everything is fuzzy, so he doesn’t pay much attention to anything except when Sett calls, “Hey—Tal—”

His tone is funny, Talon can’t tell exactly what it is. He sits up and scrubs the crust from his eyes.

Sett will describe, later, how he’d been cooking when she’d let herself into the apartment. She hadn’t knocked or rung the bell, since she has her own key. Sett’s ears barely had time to swivel before she was standing in the entryway, staring at him in his boxers.

“Who the fuck are you?” 

Talon’s thought about how he’d introduce Sett, but not seriously. Maybe Sett could just be his little secret that no one else has to know about. He’s not ashamed of him, Talon’s just bad at sharing. But none of his scenarios had involved Katarina suddenly finding out on her own, so when they’re all standing in the kitchen he has no idea what to say or what to do. Sett turns off the stove and waits there awkwardly with his pan.

“Talon—” Katarina says, and points at Sett. “Who’s this?”

Talon swallows thickly. His mouth is dry. “That’s Sett,” he says.

“Hey,” Sett offers carefully, waving the spatula. “Heard about you.”

“Talon—I’m—” Katarina seems genuinely flustered. She stomps over and grabs his wrist. “Let’s have a chat.”

She drags him back to the bedroom and shuts the door and Talon watches her survey the room in dismay, noticing how there’s two phones on the nightstand, and a few extra pairs of shoes scattered on the floor. Katarina’s smart, she turns around.

“Talon. What?” 

The question isn’t specific enough so Talon says nothing.

“Are you dating him?” Katarina asks.

Talon nods. Kind of.

Kat makes an unidentifiable noise. “How long have you been dating? You never told me?”

“Almost a year,” says Talon.

“I’m gonna strangle you,” Kat says. “Talon he’s—” she raises her hand far up above Talon’s head, as if measuring his height. “How?”

Talon frowns. “What.”

“Tal.” She spins in a circle. “Garen and I, we’re like, a match.”

He stares at her.

“Like visually,” she says. “It’s—I’m not calling you ugly, Tal, but—he’s—”

Talon looks down at his feet. He wishes she’d never shown up. He’s too tired for this. “But he wants me.”

“Is he rich? Are you sure he doesn’t want your money?” Kat hisses, exasperatedly.

He pushes her away. “Stop.”

“Talon, I’m worried about you.” She sighs, exasperated. 

“You don’t even know him,” Talon snaps.

“Oh I wonder why!” Kat throws her hands up. “I decide to visit my little brother and find a complete stranger in his underwear.” 

“He’s my boyfriend,” Talon snaps, out of spite. “Why are you here?”

“It’s your adoption day tomorrow, remember?” 

Talon blinks at her. He’d completely forgotten. “Oh,” he mutters.

“Everythin’ okay?” Sett asks, on the other side of the door. 

No, Talon thinks. My sister doesn’t trust my judgment. She doesn’t understand all the care Sett’s taught him, or the ringer that Talon put him through just to let Sett keep him.

“I wanna put on a shirt,” Sett adds, and Talon can picture the way his ears must be folded back.

He wrenches open the door and steps past Sett into the hall. Katarina stares at him, and Talon knows she must be comparing them, trying to fit them together like a puzzle, even though they never matched up to begin with. Sett and him are not typical. They don’t fit the same way others do.

“Listen bucko.” Katarina pokes Sett in the middle of his chest. “I don’t know what your deal is, but if you mess with him—” 

Sett is flat against the wall, looking down at her. “Uh-huh,” he says, and his gaze flickers to Talon’s and back.

“I’ll fucking gut you,” she threatens. “You’ll wish you were never born.”

“Uh—” Sett starts. “You sure you’re not related by blood?”

She pokes him one more time for emphasis and stalks past Talon down the hall. “Be ready tomorrow, Tal. You’ve got so much explaining to do.”

Sett’s ears twitch back when the front door slams.

After another minute Talon shuffles over to lean his forehead against Sett’s chest, and Sett pats his shoulder reassuringly.

“You slept yet?” he asks.

“No,” Talon mumbles. Sett cups his cheek and kind warmth bleeds from his palm. 

“Go lay down,” he reassures. “I’ll be there after I clean up.”

Talon gladly obeys. He curls back up under the blankets, letting his brain go fuzzy again. Maybe Kat’s just mad that Sett is taller than Garen. He’ll ask tomorrow. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t have to.

[kingstrawberry]

HAPPY TSUKIKAGE DAY :D

tkkg living tgt in timeskip and theyre arguing because tsuki has noticed kags being strange and avoidant and he’s like “if u want to break up u can just say so” and kags is insisting he doesn’t want to but when tsuki asks why he’s being avoidant kags doesn’t have an answer

tsuki, looking at kags sadly: should i leave then?

kags: no! stay!

tsuki: then tell me why you’re acting so weird!

kags takes a deep breath. “ok hold on i’ll be right back, just stay here.” and he goes into their bedroom.

tsuki is waiting on the couch for a bit but then he decides to make tea cuz he doesn’t know how long kags is gonna take.

he’s just finished pouring hot water into his cup when kags’ arms wrap around him from behind and a velvet ring box is in front of him. kags gently presses his lips into the back of tsuki’s neck and tsuki sucks a breath between his teeth.

tsuki: what- what is that?

kags, speaking softly: open it

tsuki feels like he’s moving so slowly. ‘the box is too big for an engagement ring, right?’

the box opens smoothly and a matching set of black wedding bands shine in the kitchen light.

tsuki’s voice is small. “kageyama?” he feels another kiss on the back of his neck.

the ring box is steady in kageyama’s hands even though tsuki is shaking like a leaf. “marry me.”

tsuki turns around in kags’ arms. “marry you?” he asks just before giving kags a peck on the lips.

kags puts the ring box on the counter in favor of wrapping his arms around tsuki and smiling up at him. “are you saying no?”

tsuki groans and presses his face into kageyama’s shoulder. “you realize this means you’re stuck with me forever.”

kags squeezes him impossibly closer. “that’s exactly what i want.”

tsuki melts into his fiancé’s embrace. “ok.”

kags snorts. “that’s all you have to say?” he asks as he backs away just enough to look at tsuki. his smile falls as he sees how watery tsuki’s eyes are. “kei?”

“don’t scare me like that!” he says as he pulls kags back to him. “you were being so weird!”

kags tucks his head into the crook of tsuki’s neck, but he’s smiling as he speaks. “i promise i won’t.”

“no scaring me ever again,” tsuki insists, voice muffled as he presses his cheek into kags. “forever.”

kags grins against tsuki’s skin for a second before he looks back up at him. “forever hm? sounds like you want me to marry you~”

tsuki huffs, feigning annoyance even when he can’t suppress the smile on his face. he gently moves kags’ messed up bangs to the side to kiss his forehead. “that’s exactly what i want.”

(insp from this skts fanart: https://twitter.com/cosmofrogg/status/1562819498326908929)

[rousse]

insp