#short sleeves because I’m lazy

[sfv-funnies]

[grapejuicestyless]

People Pleaser

Harry Styles x fem! bandmate reader

summery: Y/n gives too much and Harry is the only one to give back.

Angst(kinda) to fluff!

If you were to ask the public, ‘Who embodies love on tour?’ The majority, if not everybody would be quick to conclude it was Harry. He was the front man, it was his tour. A man who grows flowers with his voice and encourages affection between even the most different strangers.

If you asked the people involved, they would say Y/n Y/l/n.

Y/n is a woman with so much empathy she walked in others shoes more than her own. She spends her free time devoted to helping her friends and family. Constantly doting on them despite how grave the situation seemed.

So yeah, if you were to define HSLOT, it would be Y/n, Y/l/n. The pianist who sat quietly in the back of the stage, tucked away behind Sarah and Pauli, quiet as a mouse.

——————————————————————————

The sun was high, burning into the black chevron of the HSLOT Wembley stage floor. The white and black paint radiating vastly different temperatures in the June heat. The backtracks boomed through the stadium, muffling the farther backstage you got. Humidity suffocated everything in a sticky wetness.

Harry was dancing in a black bunny shirt, sleeves rolled to his shoulders and shorts shorter than my own. Today the sun was more brutal than ever and the effects were obvious. Skin was redder than before and water bottles could be found empty and scattered beneath the instruments. The HSLOT band was huddling under the small amount of shade they could find over the small overhang mounted on the stage. Lucky for me, because of how tucked away my space was, I had full access to the cool shade and the slight breeze of the AC blasting through the backstage area. Mitch, however, due to his front and center stationing, was falling victim to the peak heat of the day.

Harry hummed into the microphone, lazily speaking numbers out of order to get a laugh out of anyone, though the heat seemed to be getting to him too as he seemed out of his usual pre-show element. The only thing there seemed to be more abundance of than Harry’s pitiful jokes, was the sweat drenching each and every one of us.

“Y/n/n?” A soft voice called from just in front of me.

Mitch stood just in front of Pauli who was stuck half in the sun and half in the shade, his body squished into the darkness. His hair was matted with wet and held up tightly in a man bun, his shirt drenched in sweat more so than the rest of us.

“Eh, Im sorry to ask but would you mind if we could just switch positions for just a bit? I’m overheating over there and need a small break.” He pleaded.

Ever the people pleaser, the urge to stay in the shade was pushed down and away as my body moved quicker than my mind. I was eager to make Mitch happy, loving the satisfaction helping a friend out gave me.

He traded me a small hand held fan for my perfect shady spot. Though the plastic wings barely moved and the air barely soothed the heat, the thought was nice enough of him to suggest.

So I stood in the sun, the rays casting down on me like a blanket that could only be described as hell on earth. Sweat collected more aggressively on my forehead but the quick look over to Mitch, who had a lazy smile on his face from the shade and the inconsistent AC gusts made it a whole lot more worth it.

By now we were on Satellite, Harry mumbling the song, waltzing over to Elin to make sure she was still feeling okay. It was moments like this that I believed we were soulmates. Bonded together by the environment that seemed to tug us together like some sort of gravity. His straightforward kindness and appreciation one of his best qualities that I loved.

I let myself marinate in my own wetness, my legs heavy from the heat and my cheeks growing sore from the sun. My eyes grew heavy and the fan grew weaker and weaker. Truthfully, I was struggling.

“Y/n..?” I heard a small yell from Sarah, who I was sure was boiling surrounded by all that plastic and metal, despite the shade. She was still blocked off from the AC air, so the heat might as well have been just as bad.

I nodded to her, making my way over cautiously, the floor slippery with the dew from the humidity and the sweat dripping off our noses.

“What’s up, babe?” I smiled, leaning against the edge of the platform her drums were set on.

“I’m struggling a bit here. I’m a little trapped.” I raised an eyebrow, ready to take a seat to listen to what she had to say. I wondered if it was about the baby or if it was a mental block. I was ready to be a good friend when she needed it.

“Do you think I could borrow that fan? Just for a second? It’s like a hotbox in here.” My eyes drifted to the soft vibrations rumbling through my palm, the soft buzzing sound from the hand held fan spinning softly in all its neon green glory.

Forming my lips into a thin line, I nodded, plastering on a smile and reaching up to hand it to Sarah.

She was thankful for my generosity, flashing me a smile and holding up a weak thumbs up. I reflected her gesture, hunching my shoulders as I spun to return back to the spot I’d taken in the sun.

Just now, I began to realize how much I took that tan for granted. Even the soft wind was able to move the still air that casted over the UK today.

My heavy feet turned into cinder blocks and my eyes became unbearably heavy. I seemed sway on my feet a little, every blink becoming stickier as my eyelashes bunched together more and more. It felt like hours going by. Realistically it had only been five minutes, but everything moved in slow motion now.

I think Harry was singing Matilda now, but it seemed to be silenced by the clogging of my ears. I felt faint suddenly, my body too heavy to hold up. I felt myself stumble. It was usually now I would focus all my attention in on his beautiful melody, but my ears seemed to reject any sound whatsoever other than shouts and belly laughter across the stage.

“Hey Y/n!” I heard loud and clear, the bubbly voice belonging to none other than my best friend. The man who I’d been stuck with since his very first show and the person in my mind that hung the stars and moon single handedly in my life. The closest thing I had to a home on tour, Harry.

I’m not sure if I was able to lift my lips into a smile or not, everything blurring together in a mushy mess. It was like I was on psychedelics while being totally sober.

Trying to remain polite, I tried to be more welcoming to him, reaching up to wave only to find myself stumbling back into the elevated stage platforms, hands slamming into the wood so hard the corners caused red lines to form, blood peaking in blots on my skin.

“Y/n!” He sounded more frantic now, not as light and airy like before. The sound of a microphone falling to the ground was ear piercing, if I could cover my ears I would. His feet sounded heavy, the sound echoing through the empty area like bricks. My elbows collapsed under the pressure of my body and my knees buckled.

I waited for the ground to come, braced for it even. Ready to bruise my face and bleed from the nose. But it never came. Instead I was wrapped in a wet body, my face smushing against a hard chest.

“Shit, can I get some medical help?” Harry. Harry had caught me. How quick he was to rush in to help.

I couldn’t quite make out his face with how jumbled up my brain was from the heatstroke I was almost sure my body was going through right now, all I saw was black dots and blurry pink lips moving quickly. I think he mumbled, “You’re okay, it’s fine.” But maybe that was an illusion I made up for some sort of comfort.

We met eyes, a worried shock painted on Harry’s face before I was met with the soothing darkness of sleep.

——————————————————————————

I woke up to a cooler climate. A buzzing sounding through the vent on the ceiling. Tassels of pink and yellow blowing in the wind. I had an ice pack taped to my forehead and one wrapped around my stomach with velcro.

My head was pounding with one of the worst headaches I’d ever dealt with in my entire life and my eyes were aggressively watering despite my excessive wiping.

I tried to sit up, but could only groan with how sore I was, my hand pressing against the ice pack quickly.

“Y/n, oh thank god.” I felt the couch dip by my head, Harry’s body kneeling on the ground in front of my face and his head hovering over mine as he hunched over me. The carpet ruffled beneath his knees as he settled into place. His breathing was slightly jagged, a little quick. Maybe in his panic it had picked up. Compared to mine, which was slow and steady. A good long sleep will do that to you.

“Did I faint?” My mouth was dry, so everything that came out of my mouth was strained and rough. Sandpaper scratching my vocal cords.

The question was obvious, I knew I had gone down before I even fell. I knew I was going down as soon as I handed away the shady spot and the fan. Maybe not directly, but that small tugging feeling that fought briefly with my body knew. I couldn’t help but let the smallest smirk grace my lips, trying to be funny and light hearted in a time of need.

“Gave everyone a proper scare, really did. Went down pretty fast.” He lifted an arm from his sides to gently move the ice pack from my forehead, sensing the slight discomfort it was giving me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. We watched each other quietly in the quiet of the communal dressing room.

His smile was infectious, always was. Harry had that kind of bunny tooth smile that made my stomach do secret summersaults and flutter occasionally. Despite the strict platonic relationship we’d established, it was hard to not fall for the other half who understood the urge to put others before myself just as well.

Lost in the dreamy thought of him, I snapped back to see the white smile slowly wipe off his face, eyebrows pulling together in worry and his gaze becoming less lighthearted and more serious.

“Was it dramatic? Could I win an Oscar for it?” I joked, lightening up the mood, or attempting to.

“Yes, and yes. Would’ve swept them, I think.” We laughed weakly, not finding the situation funny but the inability to stay so serious for so long amusing.

“We shouldn’t have had soundcheck outside. I knew it was too hot out, I’m sorry.” The warm bareness of his fingers engulfed mine gently, his thumb brushing my knuckles so light it almost barely ghosted over my skin.

“It’s not your fault, I made a couple bad choices that got me there.”

“Such a pushover.” I snorted, removing my hand from his in fake offense to his comment, though it was both true and not in any sense mean or bad intentioned.

“And to think, I had the perfect AC spot in the shade too!” We continued to joke, not finding anything about this at all serious. We probably seemed fucked in the head to the outside perspective. Who treats heat stroke like it meant nothing?

“I need to learn how to say no.” Harry silently agreed, eyes flicking up to mine slowly, almost like he was tracing my body in an outline in his head. Saving a mental photo of his best friend covered in sweat, melted ice and plastic icepacks.

“You do.” I smiled.

“I know.” He raised a brow.

“You do. Can’t have that happening. Scared me.” His sudden confession lacked any previous lightheartedness that we’d bounced off of each other just moments before.

I grabbed his hand again, now my thumb was the one to merely ghost over his skin smoothly.

“I know, I’m sorry. Don’t wanna worry you.” It was the most sincere thing I’d said all day. The only thing I’d truly meant really. All those “My pleasures” and, “Of courses” only being half hearted and made based solely on the idea that someone else could benefit from it more than I would.

“I love you.” Silence hugged the room around his confession. Not that we hadn’t exchanged the sentence consistently. Throwing it around so much it was a habit to tell each other before we left any room or made a joke so good it deserved the praise. But somehow, the words sat different than before. They held more seriousness and more honesty than the other times, and I couldn’t help the giddiness it gave me.

“I love you too.” Maybe if the situation wasn’t so dramatic and the heat wasn’t getting to both of us incredibly bad, maybe then it wouldn’t have happened. Some sort of forced confession out of the blue.

He showed no signs of having any interests in me. Other than the constant presence he seemed to enjoy having in my life and the fact that nobody knew me like him, he could have fooled me completely.

“Yeah?” He laughed through his teeth, breathy and light.

I nodded slowly, sure of myself but shy on the idea he could be playing with me. He would walk me to the door of hope and send me home crying. Maybe it was the feeling of giving so much and never getting anything back. Maybe it was the all too familiar feeling of being used because of the overflowing empathy I was dealt at birth and the nagging persistence in my mind ordering me to please the people around me that was responsible for the twinge of doubt I held to him. But his eyes held kindness and full trust, I couldn’t help but feel that fluttery feeling.

It could have been from the heat, but most likely from him rushing the blood from my heart straight to my cheeks.

“I hope you mean it in the way I think you mean it, because if this is the heat stroke playing with my feelings, I’m about to look really stupid.” My arms outstretched around his neck, pulling him to my lips. My fingers tangling between his puffy curls and damp with the sweat beaded on the back of his tanned neck.

His kiss was just as sweet as I expected it. It wasn’t an intricate make out with a long battle between our tongues. It was needy, but not in a rushed way. It was short, but did more than any sloppy kiss could possibly say.

“Is now a good time to say I only see you as a friend?” I couldn’t help but silently laugh at that. My chest moving up and down while my mouth was pulled into a large smile that broke out on my face.

Harry was still so close, yet to pull back completely as his breath fanned my nose and his forehead almost touched mine.

“Now that I’ve wooed you, does this mean you’ll let me play tonight?” His lips silenced mine, pressing hard and smooth against each other. He pulled away with a wet release.

“No.” For the millionth time, we laughed. We laughed, feeling happy. Content that I was okay, that this was okay. That we were whatever we were. Maybe we had crossed the line between strictly platonic. Maybe we were towing the line between lovers and best friends. But it didn’t matter because whatever we had was warmer than the June heat and bigger than any crowd Wembley could pull in our hearts.

It was all some sappy story of the girl who gave too much and the only man who gave back, very on brand for the HSLOT crew.

Maybe heat strokes could be good.

Read part 2 here!

[eddiesghxst]

PRICE OF FAME (PART 11/12)

gasp she's finally here !!!

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: rockstar!eddie x journalist!reader

summary: the last day of tour has arrived and you're pushed to make a difficult choice

contains: enemies to lovers trope, alcohol consumption, smoking, sexual themes, mentions of oral, angst, and more glimpses of eddie being boyfriend coded <3

word count: 6k

| previous part | next part |

| series masterlist | -main masterlist- |

song inspo for this chappy, thx to my stink @mmunson86 ily hehe:

Sunday mornings are meant for being lazy.

You wake up, you toss around in bed for a bit, maybe turn on the TV, and order food if you’re at a nice hotel like you are now— which had been your plan. You had wanted to try the strawberry crepes here for ages, and you planned to finally order it to start the last day of your short-lived tour on the right foot— but apparently, someone doesn’t believe in the mainstream concept of Sunday morning.

It’s seven in the morning when you get a knock on your door. You want to ignore it— and you have every intention to do so— except the person at the door is incessant and apparently doesn’t get the hint of silence.

It makes sense, though, when you open the door to see who is banging on your door like a madman. Eddie, of course. 

“Housekeeping!”

He’s got a cute, wide smile and damp curls that make your chest flutter even though you still have one foot in a dream. Although, you think the dream might be the man standing before you, clad in jeans and a graphic tee, and beaming at you.

“Eddie, it’s seven in the morning.” You grumble.

Eddie’s smile widens, “I know. Perfect time for a walk in the park.” He says before pushing past you and walking into your room. Your eyebrows furrow as you watch him walk over to your window and open the blinds. You rapidly blink at the sunlight, “I– what? A walk?”

Eddie turns to you, smiling still as he nods, “Yes. Down at Central Park. They’ve always got cute dogs down there, and I know a place with pancakes to die for.”

You’re too tired to even wrap your mind around how cute of an image Eddie with dogs would be, “Woah… woah, woah, wait— Eddie, I— I would love to,” you blink hard, “But I’m still half asleep, and I only got to bed like four hours ago, so I think I’d pass out on a walk right now.” You softly laugh.

You feel a twinge of guilt stir in your gut, so you step forward to Eddie, reaching out to rest a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, “Why don’t we order coffee up and sit on the balcony until my mind warms up a bit?” You offer.

Which, now that you think of it, was a perfect idea because there’s a cool breeze this morning that gives you an excuse to press up against Eddie’s side and curl into the heat of him as you sip on warm coffee and watch Eddie burn through cigarettes. Eddie was bold enough to drag your legs to rest across his lap, and you decide to blame your compliance on lack of sleep rather than desire.

“Are you nervous for tonight?” You wonder aloud, watching as the morning sun cracks through his fluttering eyelashes. Eddie’s lips pull into a smile, “No.” He leans into you, “Are you?”

You snort, pressing your fingers into the warm ceramic mug, “Why would I be nervous?”

Eddie shrugs, “Maybe I’ve got a surprise up my sleeve or something.” He teases. His fingers are warm and send goosebumps across your skin as they dance across your leg, inching up your thigh until you slightly squirm. Eddie doesn’t even try to hide the smirk on his lips.

You ignore his wandering hands as best as you can, although the lick of heat that runs up your spine when he fiddles with the hem of your baggy shirt sends your mind spinning, a dull throb of your center when his knuckles brush the crease of your hip. You raise an eyebrow, gazing at him and cocking your head to the side, “Well, do you?”

Eddie glances at you, busy drawing stars inside your thighs, “No.”

You roll your eyes, shoving your foot into his jean-clad thigh as he barks out a laugh, hands squeezing your bare calves. “That’s not funny, Munson. You’re on probation, you know?”

Eddie tilts his head, dreamy gaze in his eyes as he gently squeezes your calves, “I know. I’m working on it, though… which reminds me—” You take a deep breath, slinking your legs out of his grip and sitting up straight to stretch, “Think I’m in the mood for those pancakes now.” You hum.

Eddie gazes at you, jaw loose as he watches you stand up and completely dodge what he’s been spinning out about for the last twenty-four hours. “Birdie—” “Yeah, I’m starving now that I think of it. Let’s go.” You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug him up, ignoring his grumbles of protest.

It should be studied, the pull Eddie has on you, because here you both are in a booth at an old breakfast diner, and all you can think about is how you want nothing more than to slink over to the other side and burrow yourself in the warmth of his embrace.

But Eddie’s friends are here.

The entire ensemble: Nancy, Robin, Steve, Gareth, Jeff, and even Eric, who you hardly even see because he’s the busiest with groupies out of the Corroded Coffin band.

They caught you and Eddie on your way down to the lobby, and well… they just tagged along. Eddie wasn’t so happy about it, mumbling about how he can never shake these assholes, but you just snickered and told him to be nice.

So, now, you’re sitting across from Eddie in a diner with the smell of pancakes and maple syrup wafting through the air and a friendly chatter ringing throughout the table.

You try your hardest to pay attention to the conversations, but it’s hard when Eddie is glancing at you with these eyes that melt your insides. It doesn’t help when he leans forward on the table, shoulders pressing into the edge as his fingers skim your knee beneath it. You raise an eyebrow when he takes a menu, opens it, and stands it up to block the view of his friends as he beckons you forward. You lean forward, chest fluttering at the sight of Eddie’s pretty eyes so up close, pouty lips and curly hair that you want to reach out and card your fingers through. He’s a dream, no doubt about it.

“Let’s ditch them.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You can’t ditch your friends, Eddie.”

Eddie makes a face, “Why not? They crashed, and I have work to do.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “Work?”

Eddie grumbles, his voice carrying an obvious tone, “Yeah, I’ve only got until tonight to pay my dues.” He reminds you. You hum with a teasing glint, “I reckon that’s a fault on your part, Munson.”

Before Eddie can respond, the menu is torn out of his hands to reveal Gareth and Jeff snickering, “You do know we can still see you two, right?” Eric teases.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I don’t know if you dipshits got the memo, but you definitely weren’t invited to this.”

You giggle, nudging your foot against his shin, “Don’t be rude,” You mumble. “Yeah, Eddie, don’t be rude.” Robin teases. 

Eddie grumbles, ignoring his snickering friends as he stands up, “All of you can fuck right off.” He sticks up a decorated middle finger to his table of friends, and you smile as you slide out of the booth, warmth spreading through your body when he reaches around to grab your sweater. 

“Oh, come on, we were just joking, Eds!”

Eddie waves them off, slinking an arm around your body to rest a hand on the small of your back, gently ushering you toward the exit as his friends create a scene.

“Hey, don’t be late to soundcheck, asshole, we won’t hear the end of it from Richie!” Jeff calls out, but Eddie doesn’t answer because he’s walking you both outside of the diner and muttering something about them being a pain in his ass.

“We could just take a flight out somewhere far away from them, princess. Say the word, and I’ll book it.” Eddie jokingly offers. You smile as you take your sweater from him with a small thanks, “They love you. That’s a good thing to have.” You remind him. Eddie rolls his eyes, scratching at the back of his neck as you begin walking down the street, “Sure, except not when I have important things to do. Which, when are you gonna put me out of my misery and tell me what you think?”

You hum, feing ignorance as you blink up at Eddie, “Think about what, Eddie?” 

Eddie stares at you, blinking once before his lips spread into a smile, “You’re lucky you’re pretty.” He teasingly says through gritted teeth, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in as he jokingly presses his palm to your face, laughing as you squeal and squirm in his hold. “Eddie Munson thinks I’m pretty. How cute.” You mock as you grapple at his wrist, prying his hand from your face, “Only took him a month to figure that out.”

Eddie laughs, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” He drawls, “I always knew you were pretty. I never thought you weren’t pretty. Who told you that?” “Nobody told me that; you just,” you shrug, “Kind of hated my guts, so it went hand in hand.”

Eddie’s eyes soften at that, and your cheeks warm as his gaze zones in on you. You clear your throat, glancing away, “Are we going to eat or what, Munson? I told you I’m starving, and you just dragged me out of that diner, so.” 

Eddie nods, “Yeah, yeah,” He waves before lacing his fingers with yours to drag you along, “I got a place in mind; let’s go.”

“If you wanted strawberries on your pancakes, then you should’ve asked for them.”

Eddie, you are learning, has sticky fingers. Sticky in the metaphorical sense where he just takes things without asking and sticky in the literal sense where he keeps reaching over to steal strawberries from your plate and ends up dipping his fingers in your maple syrup as well.

He’s like a child for fucks sake! Touching things he shouldn’t be touching and grinning at you with a ‘you can’t do anything about it because I’m cute’ glint in his eyes.

You watch as Eddie sucks the syrup off his thumb and smirks at you as he says, “Sharing is caring, you know?”

You look at his plate, tilting your head with a smirk before asking, “Yeah? Then can I have your hash browns?” Eddie glances at his plate, a frown spreading across his lips as he looks at you, “But there’s barely any left.” He points out.

Your eyebrows raise, and he sighs in defeat, cutting into his hash browns to give you half of it. You snicker as he carefully reaches over to put the side dish on your plate, pursing your lips to hold a laugh when you look up at him. “What’s so funny?” He grumbles, stabbing into his food and shoving a fork full into his mouth.

“Nothing. I just, like, hate hash browns.”

Eddie stops midchew, looking up at you for a brief moment. He’s silent as he resumes chewing his food and swallowing, quietly eyeing you for a moment before clearing his throat. “You hate hash browns?” He asks.

You nod as you take a bite of your eggs, and Eddie looks at you like you just told him something concerning. “I—... what do you mean you hate hash browns? Do you like potatoes?”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink, “Sure.”

“Do you like fries?”

“I love fries.”

“Tater tots?”

“I like them every now and then,” You shrug.

Eddie’s head cocks in confusion, eyes narrowing, “So what’s the problem with hash browns?”

Your eyebrows raise, and an amused smile spreads across your lips, “Holy shit. I’m getting the sense that you might, I don’t know… love hash browns or something?”

Eddie scoffs, “Of course I fucking love hash browns. Are you fucking kidding me? Who doesn’t like hash browns?”

“Tommy Lommi.”

“Well then, they’re fucking weird— wait…” Eddie blinks at you and stares like you’ve just discovered time travel. “What do you mean, Tommy Lommi? How do you know Tommy Lommi hates hash browns?”

You shrug, “Ate breakfast with the band a few years ago. They gave him hash browns, and he returned the entire plate. A lot of people hate hash browns, Eddie.”

Eddie waves a hand in dismissal, scooting closer to the table as he responds in a hurried and amused tone, “You had breakfast with Black fucking Sabbath?” He exclaims.

You hold back a smile as you blink at the man before you, his brown eyes wide and blown from adrenaline, “Yeah, it— it was, like, a work thing. I was doing a short piece on them, so Anna and I had lunch with them and their manager.” At the mention of your manager's name, you make a mental note to call and update her on your piece.

Eddie raises two hands to his head, grasping his hair like he’s in distress, as he lets out a loud sound, drawing attention. You giggle, reaching out to grab his wrist and lower him back down to the table, “Eddie, you’re making a scene—” “You met Ozzy, and you just, like, casually forgot to mention that to me? Like he’s not my idol? Like he’s not my literal lord and savior? Do you even care about me?” He exclaims in a loud voice. 

Your eyes widen in amusement as the man practically spins out right in front of you. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think it— wait, haven’t you met him before? Like on a red carpet or something?”

Eddie scoffs, leaning back into the booth and pulling a face like the words you’ve just said are rubbish. “Yeah, right. Like Ozzy Osborne would willingly surround himself with a bunch of untrained nuts like the boys of Corroded Coffin. He’s a professional, Birdie. That’s an insult.”

You giggle, gently nudging your plate away, taking a deep breath from feeling so full as you shrug, “Maybe if you cleaned up your act, it would happen.” You teasingly say.

Eddie looks at you, runs his eyes over your face, and smirks as he folds his arms over his chest, reaching up with one hand to twirl a piece of his hair between his fingers. “Yeah? And how do you suggest we do that?” He slinks his feet forward, gently tapping his shoe against yours before hooking an ankle around yours.

You hum, “I don’t know. Maybe cut back on the parties. Less reckless act and more calculated rockstar. Less groupies… none, if that.” You mutter the last part, and Eddie snickers. He hums as well, tipping his head side to side as if he’s thinking, “And would you say maybe,” He clears his throat, “Like, a girlfriend would do good as well?”

You huff out a laugh, “Nice try, Munson.” You snicker. “You’re far from girlfriend status with me.” 

Eddie lowly hums, taking a deep breath as he shifts in his seat, “Yeah, well, I intend on changing that, so, are you done eating?”

Eddie’s sure that Richie will chew him out.

It’s the last day of tour before the next leg starts in a month, and Eddie is almost an hour late to soundcheck. Richie was adamant about being on schedule for today because it’s the last show, and Richie’s a goddamn perfectionist (who would take on the job of managing a group of rowdy rockstars if they have the personality of a fucking sergeant?). But honestly, Eddie doesn’t have a single bone in him that cares because— well, why would he care when he’s spent all day with you practically pressed into his side? 

You’re Eddie’s every dream compacted into the cutest, kindest, prettiest human he’s ever fucking known, and Eddie keeps having these moments where he wants to smash his head through a brick wall for ever letting a cruel word form on his tongue towards you. He would pay an endless amount of money to rewind time and do it over again, do it right, and give you the respect you deserve.

Then maybe you would stop dodging his kisses.

“Come on, just one?” He begs, watching as you walk a few steps ahead of him. Eddie won’t lie; it’s a great view he’s got from behind. You’re wearing these black ripped jeans that hug your ass and thighs so perfectly Eddie wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you.

You shake your head, “Nope. A kiss has never been a kiss with you, and I’m not too keen on giving Richie more reasons to put me in time-out. You’re also definitely still on probation.”

Eddie grunts, “This is just cruel, sweetheart.”

He jogs a bit to catch up to speed with you, “While we’re on the topic, what’d he say to you?”

You glance at Eddie, brows furrowing, “Who? Richie?”

Eddie nods, and you shrug. “I assume the same thing he told you. Told me to hold off on it until the magazine blows over in the fanbase.”

Eddie hums because, well, that’s not what Richie told Eddie. Actually, Richie told Eddie to just forget it, don’t even attempt to do anything with that woman because when you fuck up, I’m gonna be the one left to clean it up. And isn’t that Richie’s fucking job? Isn’t that precisely why Richie was hired? To clean up the boys’ mess and make their appearance seem squeaky clean. 

“I don’t blame him, though.” 

Eddie’s neck practically snaps in your direction, and he has to stop you from walking any further down the backstage hallways because what the fuck are you saying right now?

“What do you mean?”

You shrug, glancing up at Eddie, “I mean, he’s just doing his job, Eddie. He’s trying to protect your image, and, honestly, I didn’t understand where he was coming from until he pointed out that I’m still practically press in the eyes of the industry, so.”

“Well, that’s bullshit.” Eddie snaps. Doesn’t mean to snap, really. Doesn’t mean to have a harsh tone or sound upset with you because he’s not. He’s upset with the situation and the absolute mess he’s created from having his head up his ass for so long. He’s upset because he doesn’t want to wait until the magazine blows over. He’s upset because he’s finally admitting to what he wants, and you’re right there, and he wants to work on getting you but fucking Richie— jesus christ, Eddie’s going to choke that bastard.

“That doesn’t even fucking make sense,” Eddie exclaims, “I already fucked up. There’s not much to fuck up at this rate.”

“It’s different when there’s feelings involved, Eddie.” And Eddie doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that you sound as if you’re siding with Richie, and he doesn’t like that you’re using your hot ass journalist tone with him. “What difference does it make?” Eddie stresses.

“Because shit could hit the fan. Things could go bad again, and, in Richie’s eyes, I could easily become an enemy. It’s a rational call to make.”

No.

No, no, no, this isn’t what Eddie wants, and it’s not how Eddie wants you picturing what you two could be— a disaster. 

Eddie blinks, heart pounding in his chest because god, he wants you and he’s scared he’s lost you before even getting the chance to fix things. “So… is that— is that what you want? To wait?”

You gaze up at Eddie, “I— no?”

Eddie frowns, stomach churning as you look away to avoid his gaze, “That didn’t sound confident. You don’t want to do this?”

“It’s… That’s not what I’m saying. I just— I’m not quite sure where this is aiming.”

“What do you mean? I told you how I feel.”

You make an exasperated noise, stepping out from the wall Eddie had you caged against, “No, you haven’t told me how you feel. You’ve told me what you want. That’s not enough.”

And you’re looking at Eddie with these eyes that make him want to crack open his chest and let you see it for yourself because fuck, the only time Eddie has ever confessed his feelings to someone, she ended up breaking his heart without a single care in the world.

And for this entire month, you’ve been slipping from Eddie’s hands, but this is the time that he’s actually felt it. He feels dizzy and sick and so angry with himself.

“I— well, how do you feel?” Eddie asks.

It’s like time slows as you gaze up at Eddie, eyes filled with so many words and uncertainty that Eddie has only himself to blame for. “I don’t know.” You softly reply.

Eddie says nothing as he stares back, gently nodding as you slink your arms around yourself, “I don’t know, Eddie. I’m… I don’t know this side of you— and that’s not to say I don’t like or want it, but— but what happens when we get bored without the chase?” 

Eddie’s heart breaks. 

“When?”

Your eyes fall shut, and you shake your head, “That’s not what I meant–” “But that’s what you said.”

“Yes, but I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. You know what I mean, Eddie.”

Eddie scoffs as he steps back, “No, Birdie, honestly, I don’t. I’m actually, like, really fucking confused right now.”

Your face twists in defense and your eyes glint with something that Eddie can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes him want to scream. “You seriously can’t be upset with me for being hesitant on this, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at you, pauses, and holds his breath before shaking his head, “No, I’m—” He steps forward, “I’m sorry. I’m not upset.”

Your lips are pulled into a frown as Eddie reaches out to softly skim his knuckles across your elbow, silently asking for you to stay open for him. “I’m not upset with you.” He repeats. 

You don’t step closer or move away, and Eddie takes that as a win either way. But before either of you can say anything else, Eddie is being whisked away with his assistant and promising to finish the conversation afterward.

You don’t see Eddie for the rest of the day, and for the first time, it’s not Eddie’s fault but yours.

You regret to admit that the small dispute you and Eddie had caused you to spiral within your thoughts, and you spent most of the day holed up in your room packing, writing, pacing, and thinking until you exhausted yourself. On a good note, though, the day passes quickly, and before you know it, you’re making your way down the Madison Square Garden backstage halls.

You’ve walked these halls enough to know your way around by heart now, so you don’t have trouble finding the dressing room. The usual small group of ladies that stand outside are there in their Sunday best for the show finale, passing a blunt between each other— and you don’t even notice the missing leader of the group until she’s storming out of the room.

“Fuck you, Eddie!” She turns to yell into the room. You watch from a few feet away, stunned and slightly terrified. She’s beautiful, even as mad as she is now; her red hair is styled in bouncy curls that jump and jolt with each wave of her hand, her heeled boots clicking on the ground with each stomp of her heel. She steps into the room, pointing at someone who you can only assume to be Eddie, but the door obstructs your view, “I knew you before you had a single fucking dime! If you think for one second she’s gonna stick with you through all of your bullshit rock and roll facade, then you’re wrong!” She snaps.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kenny, please get rid of her.” You hear the familiar grumble of Eddie’s voice. Kenny, the security guard by the door, steps forward and ushers the angry woman away from the threshold. “Don’t fucking touch me.” She snatches her arm from his hold, and Kenny lifts a hand in surrender, “Look, I’m gonna have to get you banned from the building if you don’t leave. Make my job easier, please.” Kenny replies in a bored tone.

The girl scoffs with a roll of her eyes before turning around and storming down the hall, her posse quickly trotting behind.

You don’t hear the usual chatter in the dressing room, so you’re slightly suspicious as you walk up, kindly smiling towards Kenny as he lets you in. The door shuts behind you, and you take in the empty room, void of the usual hustle of band members and staff. 

“Kenny, I swear to god, if it’s another groupie, I’m gonna fire you.” You hear Eddie say from the ensuite restroom. Eddie doesn’t notice you as he walks into the room, busy ruffling his hair up for the show and walking toward the vanity, “I already told you who to let in.” 

Finally, Eddie lifts his head, a cigarette hanging from his lips as his eyes brighten when he sees you through the vanity mirror. You smile, shifting in your spot as Eddie whips around to look at you, “Hi.”

Eddie’s eyes widen as he takes in the view, eyes raking over your body as he blindly snuffs out his cigarette on the wooden vanity, face stunned as he walks over to you, “What the fuck?” He lowly says.

He’s reaching out to loop his fingers around your wrist and bring you closer, eyes traveling further and further down your frame, “What the fuck?” He repeats.

“Eddie,” You groan. “Where the fuck have you been hiding this, princess?” He exclaims.

“It’s nothing. Stop.” You grumble, but Eddie only shakes his head, “Nothing? Are you insane?” He steps back, hand wrapped in yours as his teeth dig into his bottom lip, “Let me look at you, come on.”

Your dress is black, tight, and form-fitting, with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a puffy lace hem matching the long sleeves' scrunchie endings. Two thin black straps hug your shoulders, tauntingly digging into your collarbones. The dress stops just above the middle of your thigh, leaving little to the imagination—- much in Eddie’s favor. Below the dress peeks out a black garter belt, two shiny silver clips winking at Eddie as they hold up your black thigh-high stockings. Your feet are held in shiny black stilettos. Sex.

Eddie nearly whimpers.

Eddie wants to sink to his knees, push up the skirt of your dress, and stuff his face between your legs. He wants to make you cum on his tongue until you’re pushing him away and begging for a break. Wants to feel the nylon stretch of your stockings scratching up against his ears as your legs clamp around his head. God, Eddie wants it, he wants it so fucking bad.

You smell sweet and taste even sweeter when Eddie presses his lips to yours, practically swallowing you whole— he would if he had the choice. Your lips split into a smile against Eddie’s, breathily laughing as he blindly leads you to the vanity, walking until he feels your body softly thud against the counter.

“Jesus. I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it,” Eddie grumbles against your lips, sloppy and wet, as he trails down to your jaw, neck, and collarbones. His hands are greedy as they grapple at your hips, squeezing the thicker parts to tilt you towards him, groaning when your pelvis drags against his quickly hardening length. You pant his name, one hand dropping to steady yourself against the counter as the other hand sinks into his damp, curly strands. Eddie groans, stuffing his face into your neck, licking and biting as he grinds you against him. You’re all whiney breaths and moans, and Eddie just can’t help himself when he nudges his nose against the strap of your dress before sticking his tongue out and dragging it up the length of the flimsy black piece.

Your head drops back, chest rising and falling with a sinful glisten under the vanity lights as Eddie drags his tongue all the way from your shoulder to your chin before smashing his lips back onto yours, fingers curled around the base of your neck. Wet, hot, and heavy.

Your lips curl against Eddie’s mouth, hips grinding against him, “S-should I be concerned about the angry woman that just stormed out of here?” You lowly ask.

Eddie laughs, smearing his lips against yours, teasingly flicking his tongue into your mouth, “Definitely not. Good fucking riddance.” Eddie can’t wait to tell you all about how he learned about Lany’s money-greedy actions that led him to the page of every tabloid with a false girlfriend.

You fail terribly to hold the snort that rises in your throat, and Eddie cuts it off with his mouth, swallowing your hums as he presses his body into yours. 

“Want you.” Eddie needily whispers. You whine, fingers curling against Eddie’s roots to draw a throaty groan from him. “Need to have you, baby—” “I— wait, wait, wait.” Your hands are pressing against Eddie’s shoulders, and god, Eddie feels lightheaded as he pulls away, blown-out eyes blinking down at you.

You huff, squirming against the counter, breath heavy and bated as you reach down to tug your dress down, “We need to talk.” 

Eddie swallows, running a hand through his hair as he gazes at you— and fuck, he’s so hard, and you’re so pretty, and Eddie thinks he might bust just looking at you.

Still, Eddie blinks through the thick fog of arousal and nods, taking a moment to not-so-discreetly adjust himself within his pants. 

Ever the gentleman, Eddie offers you the seat at the vanity, but you only shake your head, and well— fuck, Eddie just wants to get back to kissing you so he doesn’t fight it. He hops up onto the chair and gazes at you as you lean back against the vanity, fingers fidgeting with one another.

You’re avoiding Eddie’s gaze, and Eddie doesn’t like it very much, so he distracts himself by lighting a cigarette, but it does little to aid him in distraction when the words slip from your mouth.

“I think we need time away from each other.”

Eddie’s looking at you like you just told him you killed his dog, and you hate that you start feeling as if you’re wrecking everything when you know— when you both know— this is the best thing for the future.

The unlit cigarette between Eddie’s lips is removed and tossed to the side as he blinks at you, shaking his head with a confused and hurt expression, “W–what do you mean?”

You slink your arms across your body from instinct, mentally pushing yourself to stand on the rocky island you’ve built— because even though you want nothing more than to cave and throw yourself into Eddie’s arms and start over, it’s not right. You didn’t start on a good note, and it’s unfair to yourself or Eddie to avoid fully acknowledging that just because of your intense pull toward one another. You both need time.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just so we can have the space to figure out what we want and need from each other, you know?”

Eddie runs a hand over his face, “Is this about what happened earlier? Because I was being an asshole, I know, and I’m sorry, but just give me a chance–” You shake your head, stepping closer to Eddie and running your fingers over his wrists, “No. No, that’s not what this is about— I mean, it might’ve spurred it on, but it was on my mind before that.”

Eddie’s face twists in defeat, “I want to fix what I did, baby, just give me a chance.” 

You push his long bangs from his eyes, “I am, Eddie. I promise I am. But I need space— we need space.”

Eddie doesn’t even look at you, and your heart aches. “Everything’s been so quick, Eddie. It’s only been a month, and there’s been so many emotions—”

“That’s bullshit, Birdie, and you know it.”

You tense at his harsh tone, “Excuse me?”

“You said when,” He reminds you, “When you get bored. You really expect me to believe you ‘just want space’? You’re scared.” 

Your eyebrows dip in anger then, eyes narrowing at the man in front of you as your chest tightens, “And you’re not?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, ringed hands flailing in exasperation. “Yes, I’m fucking scared, obviously. I never would’ve fucked up this bad if I wasn’t scared.”

Your eyes are brimmed with tears, and you’re beginning to think maybe you shouldn’t have even come tonight. Maybe you should’ve just left without a single word and made Eddie hate you all over again. At least the foundations of your relationship were solid and clearly stated then.

How could everything have gotten so confusing in such little time?

Eddie notices your shifting demeanor and breathes, rubbing his eyes and smudging his eyeliner. You fight the instinct to reach out and fix it for him. “Okay, so… you want time apart.”

You nod, fingers twisting amongst themselves. Eddie turns his rings around his knuckles as silence cracks down on you both. Eddie swallows, eyes catching yours for a split moment, “Okay.” He nods.

You want to sink your hands into his and tell him you’re hurting just as much, wanting him just as much, but if you touch him now, you’re afraid you’ll never let go.

“It’ll be good, Eds.” You softly say.

The curtain of his hair obstructs Eddie’s face, but through the tiny windows, you can see the twitch of pain that flashes across his features. “Are you staying for the show?” He asks, eyes trained on his busy fingers, rings glistening in the lights. God, you want to give in to him so badly.

You shift in your spot, clearing your throat and blinking away tears, “I’ll never leave if I do…”

As if on cue, Kenny opens the door and pokes his head into the room, calling for Eddie to notify him of the running clock. You and Eddie only speak through gazes for a split moment, and you both know if he stays any longer, neither will leave this room. You only have enough strength to nod towards the door.

You can’t even watch Eddie leave. Because watching Eddie go seems to be the recurring theme of the month— but now, you’re sending him away— and it hurts. You were so close yet so far away from justice.

The dressing room is vast and holds Eddie's phantom presence and smell, and you can’t seem to hold the silent tears that end up soaking your cheeks. You can hear the distant screaming of fans, the loud booming of the opening to a song, and deep down, you understand that if you don’t leave now, you’ll end up in the crowd, there’s no doubt.

You don’t recognize the opening song for tonight, but you hear the words and Eddie’s voice crystal clear— tugging you back with every step you take towards the arena's door.

My head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost

I need to feel something, 'cause I'm still so far from home

Cross your heart and hope to die

Promise me you'll never leave my side

…..

So, you can drag me through hell

If it meant I could hold your hand

I will follow you, 'cause I'm under your spell

And you can throw me to the flames

I will follow you, I will follow you

The song echoes in your mind from the time the door slams shut to the moment you step into your cold apartment in Michigan, and it never stops.

————

part twelve

————

a/n: OHHH PLS DONT HATE ME IT HAD TO BE DONE AND IM SORRY THIS IS ON NEW YEARS EVE !!! these two will be back for one more round of fun in 2024. ok let me shut up before i start saying all my sob shit

as always, thank u for reading if you've made it this far and i appreciate any feedback, ILY AND I HOPE YOU ALL HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NEW YEARS, STAY SAFE PLS <3

————

cutie lil taglist: @mastermindmiko @whataboutbibi @ryanmxrie @ihatepeanutss @tlclick73 @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @ye0nvibezzn @eddiesguitarskills @bibieddiesgf @chloe-6123 @micheledawn1975 @demxnicprxncess @emma77645 @sidthedollface2

@daddyhetfield @s-u-t @hereforshmut @mmunson86 @welcometohellsock @lma1986 @birdsinmywalls @animechick555 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @spideydreams00 @lorosette @prestinalove @sirensleepingsoundly @nabiiturner @catherinnn @mossiswriting @kellsck @joannamuns9n @siriuslysmoking

[corroded-hellfire]

Mommy Issues - Eddie Munson x Reader

Note: I think this may be the first time I’ve ever used this term in a nonsexual way? But anyway. When I started to think about what happened to Eddie’s mom, this is what my brain came up with. 

Summary: Eddie’s mother shows up unexpectedly and turns a lazy day on it’s head.

Warnings: talk of parental abandonment, abandonment issues, mentions of domestic abuse, language, i think that’s it?

Words: 3.9k

“Oh God, another one?”

Eddie laughs off your complaint and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You sigh into his neck and scoot in even tighter to his side.

“Baby, you know we can’t just stop with one movie. And you like Star Wars!” Eddie says.

You pull your head back to look up at him with a pout. “Yeah, I do, but they’re really long! And it’s such a nice day outside. Why do we have to stay cooped up on the couch all day?”

“Oh, so you don’t like being all pressed up next to me?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. You were a cuddle-aholic, and though he loves it just as much as you do, you seem to be the one who gets teased for it.

“I can press up against you outside, you know,” you say.

“Do tell,” Eddie says with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Let’s go to the park,” you say, avoiding his attempt at salacious talk. “Or just drive around with the windows down. We can come back when it’s dark and watch the movie. Let’s enjoy the sun!”

Eddie could never deny you anything, so he knew from the first second that he’d be grabbing the keys to his van. He pretends to deliberate for a minute, wanting to leave you squirming next to him.

“Okay. We can grab some food on the way to the park, too. I’m starving,” he finally says.

“When are you not?” You smirk and pinch his tiny waist.

He tackles you down onto the couch, holding your hands down at your sides as he assaults your face with loud, smacking kisses. You laugh fiercely underneath him and squirm, which just eggs him on further.

“Eddie!” you whine out through a laugh.

Eddie releases you and climbs off the couch. You take a moment to catch your breath before sitting up.

“You’re getting off easy. You’re lucky I have to pee before we go,” he says

You snort a laugh at him as he walks down the hallway. Just as Eddie steps into the bathroom, the doorbell rings. It’s rare that Wayne or Eddie get any visitors that aren’t you, so your brow is scrunched in curiosity as you stand up.

Tiptoeing for no particular reason than you don’t want this stranger to hear your footsteps, you move closer to the window that’s closest to the front door. You crane your neck to peek out and see a woman standing on the porch. She’s wearing a white floral short sleeve sweater and a plumb-colored skirt that reaches her knees. You can’t see her face because it’s covered by a curtain of dirty blond hair. The woman is holding the strap of her purse in both hands, rubbing them back and forth over the handle like a nervous twitch.

“Eddie,” you whisper yell down the hallway. “There’s a woman at your door.”

“Okay?” he answers. “Gonna open it?”

“Should I?”

His laugh is heard through the bathroom door. “It is the courteous thing to do when someone rings the bell.”

You huff at him under your breath and take the few steps to the front door. When you pull the door open, the woman’s facial expression changes from nervousness to smiling to try and hide the nervousness. Immediately you know she can’t be a good poker player.

“Hi, can I help you?” you ask.

She has a round face with a sweet smile. It’s her eyes, though. When you look into her large dark chocolate eyes you know exactly who she is.

“Um, yes, hi,” the woman starts. “I was just wondering…do Wayne or Eddie still live here?”

“Yeah,” you tell her. Your brain is already trying to piece out how this is going to go. Your defenses are already up, and protective mode has been activated. “They live here. Why?”

“Oh, I, uh,” she stutters. She looks down at the beige flats she’s wearing on her feet before meeting your eyes again. “I’m looking for either of them. Are they home?”

Behind you, you can hear Eddie’s footsteps coming down the hall. Your hand on the doorknob grips it tighter, and your free hand reaches behind you, blindly asking for Eddie to take it as he comes closer.

“Babe?” He walks up to you and slips his hand in yours, your body and his angle keeping him from seeing who’s outside. “Who was at the door, babe?”

“Yeah,” you tell the woman through a clenched jaw. You know it’s not your place to keep them apart, but for the sake of your boyfriend’s emotions, you really want to. “Eddie’s home.”

The woman takes a deep breath at this new information, and you feel Eddie creeping in closer behind you. His hand brushes your waist, and you know he’s going to see her any moment.

“Babe?” he asks again and leans down to press his lips to your shoulder. His eyes gaze past you and lock with the eyes of the woman on the porch. At his sudden silence, you know you were right. You peek at him over your shoulder and see a stunned Eddie. His face is colored in shock as he moves to step around you, facing the woman fully.

“Mom?”

The word sounds so small falling from his lips. Of course you’d heard him say the word before, but never in that saccharine way. The word didn’t even hold that much emotion the first time he told you about his mom leaving.

“Hi, sweetie,” she says.

At the use of the endearment, your anger rises. What right does she have to use that term with him? Didn’t she waive that away when she left him at the age of six? The way her eyes tear up makes you think you should probably be a little more empathetic, but the way Eddie’s face has somehow become as open and innocent as a child’s shuts down any start of warm feelings towards the woman.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. His eyes are focused on his mother, but his hand slips back into yours and you take the responsibility of being his anchor in this moment very seriously. You give his hand a light squeeze and he does the same in return.

“I came to see you.” She makes it sound like it’s the most casual thing in the world. As if she’d only come to see her son after a semester away at college, and not a decade and a half after abandoning him.

“How’d you know where to find me?” Eddie asks.

His mother shrugs and lets her eyes run over the exterior of the trailer. “Wayne’s always lived here. I figured it would be the best place to start.”

You hear the breath leave Eddie’s lungs and you’re curious if your mind is on the same track as his. So, she knew his dad had gone to jail and he was being raised by Wayne. And she still never reached out.

“Um, come in, I guess.” Eddie doesn’t sound sure as he backs away from the door. You don’t realize you haven’t made an attempt to move out of her way when Eddie gently tugs your hand so you step back towards him. Internally, you’re screaming at this woman to turn around and leave. But this is Eddie’s decision to make.

She steps inside, hands still moving nervously over the strap of her purse. Reluctantly, you close the door behind her. Eddie motions her over to the couch and she takes a seat, tucking one ankle under the other.

“This is y/n,” Eddie says, as if it just occurred to him that you two had never met. “My girlfriend.”

She nods her head at you and gives you the smallest of smiles. “Hello.”

“Hi,” you respond tersely.

Eddie knows you well enough to know that tone of your voice. He brings you along with him over to the barstools across from the couch and holds you against his side as he perches on one.

“I take it that you’ve heard about me,” his mother says, eyes looking down to her lap.

It feels odd that she’s talking to you instead of her son. You don’t know how to respond so you just give her a nod of the head, which you’re not sure she sees since she’s not looking your way. She must know that anything you’ve heard about her can’t be good. Sure, Eddie told you that she was beautiful and used to sing him to sleep. He’d told you that she liked to take him on walks in the fall and he would always jump in big piles of leaves, which would make her laugh. But any of the kind things he told you were severely overshadowed by her leaving. By not even saying goodbye, just slipping out in the night, leaving a poor young boy to wonder where his mom was when he woke up the next day. To leave him alone with no reason, to think that maybe he did something to make his mommy want to leave.

“Why now?” Eddie asks. “Why come find me now?”

After a deep breath, she looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I’ve wanted to for years. This is just the first time I’ve had the nerve to follow through.”

Eddie lets out a sigh and you can only imagine the questions that are circling his mind. He must be so overwhelmed and all you want to do is pull him into your arms and hug him tight, though it’s far from the appropriate time to do so. You settle for reaching over with your free hand to hold his securely in both of yours.

“How’d you know I was living with Wayne?”

A look of pain crosses his mother’s face, and she furrows her brow. “I heard about Dave- your dad,” she corrects herself. It sounds odd in her voice, as out of practice as she is at referring to her ex-husband as “your dad” to someone. “I knew you would be living with Way-.”

“How’d you know?” Eddie licks over his lips. “How did you know Dad went to prison?”

“Lawyers,” she answers quietly. “We were in the middle of negotiating the terms of our divorce when he was arrested.”

He sighs again and rubs his empty hand across his forehead. His mood has moved from shock and is now turning into anger. You run your thumb over the back of his hand and his shoulders relax a fraction.

“Okay.” Eddie lets out a humorless laugh and drops his hand back to his lap. “I have about twenty other questions but I’m just going to skip to the big one. Why?”

Such a simple question, just one word. But the answer held so much. It had probably run through Eddie’s mind his whole life. He had probably thought of every possible answer to that question, from his mom having to leave because she’s secretly a superhero, all the way to just not wanting to be his mom anymore. You can practically feel Eddie’s heart thrumming through his ribs.

“I was scared,” she says.

“Of what?” Eddie asks without giving his mother the chance to continue.

“Of your dad.”

Eddie’s brow pinches in confusion and his grip on your hand tightens.

“Dad? Why?”

“He wasn’t…always the best to me.” She lets out a deep breath and a lone tear sneaks its way out of her eye. Her eyes dart around the room, as if she can’t bear to look at him as she says this. “I know he never would’ve hurt you; I’m not a total monster. He loved you. And maybe me too, but he didn’t show it.”

“He hit you?” Eddie’s voice is so small it makes your heart crack.

His mother nods, still not able to meet his eyes. “For a while.”

Eddie closes his eyes and his tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth. You watch him, concern etched on your face. As if he can feel your gaze on him, he gently pulls you in front of him and wraps his arms around your waist. His arms rest just below your breasts as you lean back against him, letting him rest his chin on your shoulder. He runs his thumb up and down over your ribs, and you move your arms to settle on top of his.

“You never called.” Eddie’s voice so close to your ear startles you. “Or wrote. Or even let me know that you were okay.”

“I know.” Her voice is shaky, but she finally meets her son’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Eddie.”

His grip on you tightens as he sucks in a breath. Part of you feels as if they should be having this conversation without you present, but with the way Eddie is clinging to you, you would never dream of trying to excuse yourself. You can’t help but have the bitter thought that you may have taken care of Eddie more than his own mother did. An inner voice tells you that’s not a fair claim, but you make your subconscious shut up and analyze itself at a later time.

“I don’t think sorry cuts it,” Eddie says. It’s not acerbic, but a plain statement.

“I know,” she answers.

“When he was gone.” Eddie sounds as if he’s trying to forge the words together to get to a question. “After Dad was in jail. You could’ve reached out then. Could’ve… Something. Anything.”

“I know,” is all she says again.

Eddie gently moves you to the side of him so he can stand up. He rubs his palms against the thighs of his jeans. His mother is watching him warily, unsure of what he’s going to do. You’re not sure, either.

“So, where are you now? Where’d you find better than this hellhole?”

“Illinois,” she answers quietly. “Just over the border from Indiana.”

Eddie nods to himself, beginning to pace back and forth in front of you. His eyes stay on the floor the whole time.

“Who with?”

More tears begin to fall from his mother’s eyes, and the pain on her face makes you brace yourself for the pain about to come Eddie’s way.

“My husband. A-And…my daughters.”

Eddie freezes on the spot. He slowly turns towards his mother and lifts his head to meet her eyes. The sad exhale that leaves his mouth makes your eyes start to water and you try to blink them away. You’ve got to try and stay as strong as you can in this moment. You don’t want another reason for Eddie to be upset, and he always hated it when you cried.

“I have sisters?” The words all come out in one harsh breath. He sounds disbelieving, and unbelievably hurt.

“Two.” Her voice is watery, and she reaches up the wipe the tears off her cheeks.

Eddie stumbles backwards a step, and you reach forward to grab his shoulders. He lets you guide him back to the barstool and he pulls himself up on it. His eyes are searching the carpet in front of him, scanning back and forth, as if there are some answers to his pain there. You tuck yourself into his side and wrap your arms around his hips. As you gently rub your thumb against his hip bone, Eddie raises his head back up.

“What are their names?” he asks.

“Melissa is six and Jamie is three.” A small smile is on her lips as she speaks, the names of her daughters bringing it out of her. You wonder if she’s smiled whenever she’s said Eddie’s name since she left. If she had ever said it at all.

Eddie nods again and takes a deep breath as he digests the new information. He opens his mouth to speak again when the front door squeals open on hinges that are in desperate need of oiling. Wayne steps in, his tackle box from his fishing trip clutched in his hand. His eyes first find you and Eddie, and he goes to give you a smile before seeing the heartbreaking looks on both of your faces. It leads him to look across from the two of you, gaze landing on Eddie’s mother. She looks at Wayne but keeps glancing away. It’s as if she can’t look at him for long without pain.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Wayne asks. He drops the tacklebox on the floor with a loud clang. It makes his mother jump, and you cling to Eddie just a little bit tighter.

“I came to see my son.”

“What makes you think he wants to see you?” Wayne takes a step towards her, but it’s nonthreatening. You know Wayne enough to know that he would never hit a woman. Even one he disliked as much as his ex-sister-in-law.

“Wayne, please.” Eddie’s voice is so small it makes Wayne look at his nephew in concern. “You know I’ve always wondered.”

Wayne sighs and shrugs out of his denim jacket.

“I know, boy.”

“I, um,” his mother says as she stands up. “I should go. But I have…” She rifles through her purse and pulls out a folded piece of paper. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Eddie. Not back then and not today.” Wayne lets out a huff which everyone in the room ignores. “I’m staying at a hotel for the next two days. The number to my room is right here. Or-Or if you’re not ready to talk that soon, there’s also my home number. I-If you want to talk at all, that is.”

She holds the paper out and Eddie takes it in trembling fingers. He opens it, looks at the numbers, then slips it in his pocket.

“Okay.”

“Wayne.” She nods her head at the man.

“Jaqueline.” His voice is clipped, but it’s the name that catches your attention. In all the years that you’ve known Eddie, and even known about his mom leaving, you realize you never knew her name. It’s pretty, just like her.

She walks over to the front door, which was still open behind Wayne. She steps out onto the porch and turns around to look at Eddie. He’s glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, as if he can’t bring himself to give her his full attention.

“I do love you, Eddie. I always have.” She closes the door behind her and that’s when Eddie cracks.

The dam opens and the tears flow freely. He instinctively turns in to you, burying his face in your neck. You hug him as tightly as you can while his hands grip at your shoulders. The sounds of sniffles and light sobs in your neck cause your tears to level up as well.

Wayne looks angry as he hangs up his jacket. His clenches and unclenches his fists as he walks over to put his tackle box away.

“How long was she here?” Wayne asks you.

“Not long,” you say through a sniffle.

“Too long,” Wayne huffs.

Eddie’s grip slides down your arms and you turn your full attention back to him. You press kisses to the side of his head and rub your hand up and down his back, just letting him get it all out. 

After a silent dinner of pizza and Eddie takes a shower – where you pretend you didn’t hear him sobbing again – you and Eddie snuggle up in his bed. His head rests on the crook of your shoulder and his arm is secured around your waist. His eyes are red and puffy, and you can’t imagine that yours look much better. He nuzzles his nose against your collarbone and lets out a sigh.

“Do you want to talk?”

Eddie was never one to hide his feelings, but you’d learned that sometimes he needed a little nudge when something was deeply bothering him.

“I don’t know,” he says hoarsely.

“I’d ask if you’re okay, but that seems kind of dumb.”

“You’re making it better,” he tells you.

You press a few kisses against his forehead and tighten your grip around him.

“Tell me how to help you and I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” you tell him.

“I know,” he answers.

He sighs against your skin as you reach up to softly play with his curls. It was instinct at this point to play when his hair when he was stressed. It always calms him down.

“What would you do?” he asks you after a few silent minutes.

“Hmm, baby?”

“Would you call?” he asks. “Would you call her?”

You frown and move your head to rest against his. The question had been going through your mind since Eddie went to take a shower. You thought he might ask this, so you wanted to be prepared. But even after pondering it for so long, you didn’t have an answer.

“Honestly? I don’t know, sweetie.”

He nods against you and slides his hands inside of your shirt to feel your warm skin against his palms.

“Do you think I should?”

“Baby, that’s not my decision to make. Only you can do it.”

He sighs and buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“I know,” he mumbles into your hair. “It’d just be easier if someone could do it for me.”

“Listen, I may pick the movie or what’s for dinner sometimes, but this is a little above me.”

He chuckles into your hair and your body relaxes at the sound.

“Only sometimes?” he asks.

“Okay, most of the time,” you admit. After another kiss to his hair you feel you have to speak. “Can I say one thing about it, though?”

He pulls back so he can look you in the eye.

“Of course.”

“I don’t know if you’ll ever want to see her again, let alone meet your sisters.” The words feel so strange in your mouth. His whole life he’d always believed he was an only child, and suddenly he had two siblings. “But if you ever do meet them, remember they’re innocent in all of this. They didn’t do anything.”

His brow furrows as he frowns. “I know that.”

“I know you know,” you say. “I’m not saying you’d ever be mean to them intentionally. Sometimes people can take their feelings out on innocent kids without meaning to. Like she did to you.”

“Look at you,” he says with a small smirk. “You take one psychology class and you’re a fucking genius.”

You laugh and rest your lips against his forehead.

“It’s weird that I have sisters. That might be the weirdest part of this whole day.”

“They’re really missing out,” you tell him. “You’d be the best big brother.”

“You think?”

“Just ask Dustin.”

He smiles and slides his hands higher up your back. You feel him press a kiss to your neck and he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to decide now. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Or ever, really. She gave you the option, which is more than you had before. Now it’s up to you if you want to take it or leave it. And either way you choose, I’ll support you all the way.”

“You really are the best,” he says.

“Mm, I know,” you hum. “Do you want me to put on the next Star Wars movie? We can fall asleep to it.”

“No,” he mumbles, hugging you tighter. “Don’t want you to move.”

[literaila]

push and pull 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: 

"how are you today? i'm getting a different aura."

you raise a brow, confused. 

warnings: fluff, awkward reader and awkward peter. coffee shop vibes, a lot of miscommunication, tiny bit of angst 

a/n: what can i say? 

*

peter will admit that when he's working--four times a week eight hours a day--he forgets some social cues. 

like what he's supposed to say when someone complains that their coffee is too hot. i'm sorry would you like it iced next time? i'm sorry when you said boiling i thought you actually meant boiling. or what he's supposed to do when someone makes a joke, but not very well, so he's scrambling for an explanation and they're laughing in his face. ha ha ha, you wouldn't believe how many times i've heard that today. or, especially, what he's supposed to do when a girl is flirting with him--outright, with pretty lipgloss and fluttery eyelashes--but all he really wants to do is get her through the line. 

working with people, in any close or not-so-close contact, results in forgetting how to interact with anyone. or so has peter found out. 

but he's not used to this extent of crossing boundaries. 

because he's typically pretty professional. he likes to smile and ask people about their days, and tell them little ways they can make their drink taste better, but he doesn't ever go too far. he doesn't inquire about where he might find this college girl later in the evening, or ask to be invited to a party he doesn't really want to go to. 

but this, peter knows, is overstepping. 

he's been staring at this girl--at you--for the past ten minutes. and technically, it's not completely his fault because his coworker david accidentally spilled hot coffee all over himself and decided that going home was necessary, leaving peter to take orders, make the drinks, all the while trying to keep his workspace clean. 

so it's not his fault that this line hasn't moved very far up. or that you're standing in it, biting your lip and ruffling your hair every couple of seconds, and that peter can't stop staring. 

you're wearing a sweater, sleeves pulled past your hands, wrinkled at the bottom. you're tapping your foot against the floor, looking around like you're trying not to look anywhere. 

and you're in peter's direct eye line. so at least this--at least right now--he excuses. 

he calls another person's name, sliding their drink across the counter and turning back to the register. even he can tell that his smile is a bit lazy. 

"what can i get for you?" he asks this man at the counter, a frown plastered to his face, while also, of course, stealing a glance at you. 

you're three people away now, and peter can see the tiny furrow between your brows. 

he can watch as your eyes flicker over the words on the board above his head, and you purse your lips. he noticed when you look around, almost apologizing to the lady who bumped into you, before turning back around. your foot is tapping nervously on the ground. 

and then there's someone making a very strange noise in front of him. 

"oh," peter whispers, tilting his head and smiling, sheepishly. "sorry, i just--sorry. what can i get you?" 

he's also, effectively, irritating every person who has walked into the coffee shop this morning. and missing out on twenty-percent tips that he really needs. 

but anyway. 

and by the time you're right in front of him, he almost wants to ask a couple of questions about why you look so nervous. or tell you that he's incredibly sorry for the wait. offer to buy you a scone. 

instead, he smiles. "hi," his voice almost breaks. "what can i get for you?" 

"just a coffee black, please." 

you're not making eye contact with him. to be fair, he's been making enough for both of you. 

"that's all?" peter asks before he even thinks about it. "nothing else? no sugar? or whipped cream?" 

who gets whipped cream on the top of their drip coffee? 

"you're busy," you answer, giving him a tight and short smile. "just the coffee, please. a small." 

"i'd rather you'd get something that actually tastes good than save me a couple of seconds."

you stare at him, blinking slowly. peter watches your chest rise and fall. he can hear your heart pounding. 

"a small black coffee," he says aloud, putting it into the pos. "that's $4.28." 

you hand him a five-dollar bill, fingertips just barely grabbing the corner--maybe so he won't be able to touch you. "keep the change." 

peter's eyes meet yours for a millisecond. he nods, instead of answering. 

and then he turns around, pours you a cup of coffee, and puts a lid on the top. he hands it to you, trying to achieve his usual customer service smile--and failing. "have a good day," he tells you, kind of like a threat. 

you nod. and before you go, peter watches you put four more dollars into the tip jar. 

and then there's a lady frowning, asking him what the hell a breve is. 

*

the next time, peter watches you walk through the door. 

he's sitting in the back, playing candy crush on his phone because it's two pm, and no one's gotten out of class yet, so it's just him--and nina, who is studying for an exam at the counter--waiting for the rush they know is coming. 

so when he looks up, he's not expecting much. 

especially not you in a coat, shivering from the cold and brushing snow off of your sleeve. 

nina hasn't even looked up yet, but peter just stares as you look around, seemingly embarrassed to be the only person in there. your eyes widen, your movements slow, and then you're looking up, towards the bar, and meeting peter's eyes. 

again, eyes a bit puffy and tired. 

you look away, continuing to brush snow off of yourself, and peter watches as you take another step back, your fingertips just grazing the handle of the door. 

he walks up to the register, hand going to nina's shoulder. "i've got it," he tells her, gesturing towards the back. "you keep working." 

"you sure?" 

"yeah, yeah. no problem." 

his game is blinking idly, colorbomb long forgotten. 

and he greats you with a smile, standing at the register like a good little worker, waiting for you to come in. it might be just because he's actually looking at you now--without trying to hide it, or act like a complete lunatic because his eyes are glued to one spot--but you take a step forward, making fists with both of your hands. 

"hey," peter rocks on his heels while you get closer, feeling strangely restless. "how are you doing today?" 

one of your hands falls, fingers flexing. "good. you?" 

"i've only got an hour left in my shift," he tells you, tilting his head while grinning. "so i can't complain. is it cold out there?" 

you nod. 

"i can make you something warm if you'd like. or if you're more cold-blooded, i can make you a smoothie." 

your mouth quirks up, teeth scraping against your lips. "something warm, i think." 

peter is still smiling--because he's an idiot, and it has been a shitty day until you walked through that door, peaking something more than his interest. "okay. do you need a minute?" 

you shake your head. "can i get a hot chocolate?" 

"just regular?" peter asks. "not peppermint or snickerdoodle?" 

"regular, please." 

peter nods, finally looking away, and down, pretending to type something in. "what size?" 

"small." 

"small," peter repeats, still nodding. "okay, it should only be a minute." 

peter makes your hot chocolate, whistling while doing it, and gets a couple of weird looks from his coworker--which he promptly ignores--and then he goes back to you, trying to tone down his smile this time. 

"here you go. enjoy." 

your eyes dart from the cup to him, blinking fast. "i haven't paid yet." you're holding some cash, and your other hand goes to push your hair behind your ear. 

peter shakes his head, scrunching his nose. "don't worry about it. i owe ya." 

"um, you don't--" 

"really. it's on the house." 

you bite your lip, looking away from him. peter almost laughs when you hesitate to take the cup from his hands. but you do, eventually, grip tight. "are you sure?" 

"absolutely," peter says. and he doesn't go back to playing on his phone. instead, he stands at the counter, watching you read something and sip on your hot chocolate. 

and he could pretend not to notice--but he does--you leaving when the rush starts. or you slipping a five-dollar bill into the tip jar this time, not bothering to say goodbye. 

*

you come back at the same time next week. and peter is still there, patiently counting the minutes until he can go home--to his bed for forty minutes and then back to work. 

today though, he's manning the register, and david is making the drinks. 

just a bit of payback. 

and also, he's been waiting for you. not that he'll admit to that. 

but you walk in anyway, backpack keeping your head up, fingers playing with a ring around your pinky. your hair is up--which is convenient for peter, because then he can stare closer at your neck, and see the visible tension of your jaw. 

peter's eyebrows lift as you walk up to the counter. "fancy seeing you here," he says, because he is so smooth. "still cold?" 

"better today." 

"yeah," peter nods his head, shrugging. "no ski jacket." 

your tongue pokes at your cheek, and you look away. "yeah. it's still drying out, so..." 

peter almost starts laughing--because he's pretty sure that was a joke, half-assed and a bit awkward--but refrains, just smiling instead. just leaning against the counter so he can get as close as humanly possible to you. 

"what can i get you?" 

you blow out a breath, looking above his head. and then you glance back at him, almost narrowing your eyes. "are you going to let me pay?" 

peter sighs, then nods. "sure. but only because i'm pretty sure he's watching me." 

he can feel david's eyes on his back. and he can see the glare coming from his eyes, even without looking. 

your cheek twitches. "okay. a mocha, then, please." 

"small?" he reaffirms, waiting for you to nod. he enters it in, mostly just so david will make it while he talks to you, hanging his head. "you like chocolate, huh?" 

you're not looking at him, but peter watches as you swallow, eyes contemplating. "it's almost impossible to not like chocolate," you answer, quietly. "with the phenylalanine and all." 

peter's brow furrows. 

you're looking back at him, eyes wide and guilty. "sorry." 

"no, no," peter smiles again. "that's just funny." 

you tilt your head. 

"because i don't like chocolate very much." 

it's your turn to frown, which again, almost makes peter laugh, but then someone is clearing his throat behind him, and peter looks back. 

"here, peter." 

"thanks," he says, meaning anything but. "here you go. you can drink enough serotonin for the both of us." 

"sure," you hand him a ten-dollar bill, grabbing your cup. "thank you." 

"anytime." 

you walk away, and peter watches just a moment longer. and then he realizes that he never gave you your change back. 

*

peter is not working today. 

which, is unfortunate, because he's almost sure that you're going to show up, eyes wide and nose frozen. and this time, one of his coworkers will get the fortune of taking your order. 

so he has to make the most of his day. going to class and getting lunch and heading to the library to study. 

he's in there, looking for a textbook he supposedly needs for a midterm when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. 

tapping fingers, restless legs, and enough movement to draw his attention. you're reaching up to a shelf, trying to grab a book that you're much too short to reach. 

and peter will not admit that he watches for a minute, just because it's a little bit cute (and also because he wasn't expecting to see you today, so he has to mentally prepare himself). 

then he walks over to you, stepping right by your side to grab the book for you. 

and you almost jump back into the bookshelf behind you. 

peter probably should've thought it through a moment longer. or tried to make some noise when he was walking over. 

"whoa," he says, hand at the sole of your back, keeping you from hitting it on the metal. "sorry. i didn't mean to scare you." 

you look at him, then down to the book, back to him. "it's--" you shake your head, blinking. "it's okay. i just didn't notice you there." 

peter offers you a half smile, leaning on his right foot. "is this the book you were trying to reach?" 

"yeah. um, thank you. i'm still growing." 

peter chuckles then, causing your face to relax--or tense, he can't tell. "don't worry, i'm used to it." 

"growing?" you question, frowning. 

"being used for my height. it's more of a burden than a blessing." 

you nod, clicking your tongue. and then you finally take the book from him. "thank you, again." 

"i really didn't mean to scare you." 

you shake your head, telling him that it's okay without the words. 

and peter feels a bit uncomfortable, out of place in this library with you standing there like a regular person--not just the regular he might have a crush on. he holds his hand out. "i'm peter, by the way." 

you blink. "oh, i know." 

"you do?" 

"that guy," you gesture your head like someone is standing behind peter. "said it, um, last week. so, i know. i've known." 

"oh, okay," peter lets an easy smile rest on his face, hand dangling mindless in the air. there's a beat of silence like someone has pressed mute on the two of you. "...what's your name?" 

you wince. "i'm y/n. sorry." and then you shake his hand. 

"that's pretty." 

you take a deep breath, look away from him, and let go of his hand. "thank you for getting me this. i've--i've got to study. but..." 

"oh, yeah, no problem. of course," peter interrupts while you're still talking. 

"i'll probably see you soon. or, around, i mean." 

"yeah. yeah." 

you wince again, eyes closing for half a second. "bye, peter." 

and honestly, his name sounds better than it ever has coming out of your mouth. 

*

it's about three days later that he sees you walking through the doors of the coffee shop. 

it's warmer today; incoming spring vibes to trick all of you when it snows again. you're wearing a t-shirt, tennis shoes. 

and a half smile when you walk up to the counter. today, you speak first. "hi, peter." 

he smiles back, arms crossed as he watches you look away and then look back. "how are you today? i'm getting a different aura." 

you raise a brow, confused. 

"i mean--" peter runs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes at himself. "you look... refreshed. or, well-nourished?" 

you purse your lips. 

"thoughtful?" he tries. 

you shake your head, and peter can hear an echo of a laugh that isn't there. "i like the sun," you tell him. 

"yeah, me too." 

especially when she's standing in front of me, so fucking bright. 

you blink at him, looking away. "can i have an iced tea?" 

"iced? that's a bit far." 

you just shrug. 

"sure. anything in it?" 

you shake your head. 

"okay, that's $3.50. are you going to sit outside? or by the window?" 

you hand him a five, blowing a raspberry--which is, officially, the cutest thing peter has ever seen. "the window, probably." 

peter continues to smile, handing you your drink. "okay. let me know if you need anything." 

*

and it's the very next time that peter decides to just get over himself. you're just a girl, coming into a coffee shop because it's the best place on campus and practically every college student has a caffeine addiction, and he's just a guy, taking orders. 

so he needs to start acting normal. or just professional. needs to learn how to control his smile before he burns someone's face. 

and besides, he's starting to get looks. his coworkers are catching onto the fact that he'll take over the register--sometimes out of pure kindness, but most often--when you walk up. 

so when you walk in that day, peter is on the bar, brewing espresso. 

he can hear your voice as you speak to sarah, his coworker. you're polite enough--just like you are with him--and sarah even gets a little laugh when she tells you that milk burns are just an occupational hazard. 

peter definitely does not still at that, almost looking over to you before stopping himself. 

and he makes a mocha with the same passion he has for everyone's drinks--because peter really cares about his job, and he likes to make people happy. 

and he's being professional. he's trying to leave you be because he just seems to scare you. you've never really laughed at him. 

for just a moment, when peter looks over, noticing you lean against the wall and wait for your drink to be ordered, he enjoys your parted lips and careful eyes and the way you seem to swallow yourself up. 

and then he writes his phone number on the side of your cup. 

*

it's been four days. 

now, peter doesn't know much about the typical amount of time you're supposed to wait to text or call someone after they give you their number. and he also doesn't know if writing your number on the girl you like's cup is appropriate, or allowed, or... 

still, he feels worried. or stupid, or just ridiculous in the first place. he wishes that he had followed his instincts that day instead of his impulses. wishes he had taken your order, or just talked to you, or... 

it's been four days and you haven't texted him. you haven't called. and you haven't been back to the coffee shop. 

briefly, peter even considered going to the library to find you and then decided that doing that would be either heartbreaking or incredibly strange. 

he thinks that maybe you didn't even see it, and the cup was sitting in a trash can somewhere, never to be touched again. 

or that it smudged while you were drinking it, and now the numbers were more creative doodles. 

or that you didn't have a phone. your phone was broken. you spilled your drink on your phone and had no way to text or call him. 

but honestly, the more he thinks about it the worse he feels. 

the more he imagines a full smile from you, or your actual laughter as a response to something he's said, or listening to you talk about school, or your day, or the book you're reading. when he thinks about speaking to you, or taking your order and smiling at the cash you had to him, he just feels those tiny little pinpricks in his heart. 

if you wanted to text him, you would. 

*

then, he watches you walk into the shop. 

it's cold again, and you're wearing a large sweater, rubbing your hands together. he watches you shake your head like you might get the cold off of you. 

he can feel the breeze from the register. 

peter looks up, sighs, tries to decide whether telling nina he needs to go to the bathroom is worth it or not. 

but you're right in front of him, licking your lips and offering him some eye contact that he isn't used to. 

"hi," he says before you can. and it feels short and clipped. different. but he places a smile on his face that he hopes makes up for it. "what can i get you?" 

"oh, um, just a mocha, but--" 

"small or regular?" 

"small." 

peter nods, still smiling. he stands at the screen and feels like it's staring him in the soul--telling him not to be so stupid--and he waits while the receipt prints. "that'll be five dollars and eighty-three cents." 

you hand him a ten, and he can feel your eyes on him. 

"your change is--" 

"keep the change," you tell him, just a tiny wrinkle in your brows. 

peter looks up, finally, into your eyes. "thank you," he says, raising his brows. "your drink will come out over there." he nods his head toward the bar, where nina is making the drinks, and blinks at you. 

you blink back, waiting for a moment. 

peter clears his throat, waving a bit to the line. "i can help who's next." 

this time, it almost feels like he walks away first. 

*

peter's just walking out of the shop when a hand--a couple of fingers, more like--grazes his shoulder. 

he turns, quickly, to see who's touching him, this close, when he's wearing regular clothes. 

and he meets your eyes. wide and worried. 

"peter," you say, his name falling from your lips. "i'm sorry, i didn't--well, i didn't mean to scare you." 

peter furrows his brows, pursing his lips. "it's okay. are you alright?" 

"me?" you look around like someone is watching you. "yeah, yeah. i'm fine. cold, but... fine." 

peter nods, slowly. "okay. i'm gonna go then," he gestures to somewhere behind himself that is definitely not his apartment. 

and he's about to turn, but your hand is out toward him, and you make a tiny sound--tight in the back of your throat, like a squeak. and peter frowns. 

"do you have a minute to talk?" you ask him, hand at your neck, eyes toward the ground. 

embarrassed or worried, or... 

peter blinks, brows shifting. but then he nods, because this is what he's wanted for weeks--an actual chance to talk to you, a moment to hear your voice a little bit breathless and reckless, and right in front of him. 

he might be an idiot, but he's not that big of an idiot. 

you nod your head, small smile meeting your face, then disappearing. you almost laugh. 

peter is very confused. slightly concerned about your mental state. 

"you okay?" he asks, again, just slower. 

you shake your head, trying to smile at him. "i'm good, i just, um..." your voice is drawn out and quick. "i just wanted to say that, that i saw your number on my cup. and that i..." your mouth is open, but no words are coming out. 

peter feels his cheeks flush. of course, you would need to bring this up. the one conversation you've initiated would be about his terrible choices. 

"i, well, i put your number in my phone. and in my contacts. you know, peter," you laugh, quick and nervous. "god, of course, it's peter i'm just--" you shake your head. "i just wanted you to know that i was going to text you. really, i even tried a couple of times. it's just that every time i thought about it--" your voice drifts off. 

peter is watching you talk with your hands. bite the inside of your cheek. 

"i was too nervous to actually do it. and i wanted you to know that it isn't because i wasn't happy that you gave me your number--i was really happy--it's just because i thought about it too much and then i couldn't." 

you stop, jaw tense and hands pausing. you're not really looking at him, but you're also not looking at anything else.

you wince after a second goes by, sighing, hand rubbing at your face. "sorry. i didn't mean to, um, monologue at you. i just wanted to tell you, in case..." 

"you put me in your contacts?" 

peter can feel his cheek twitching, the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

you meet his eyes, nodding. 

"you're not mad about it?" he asks, just to clarify. "or worried that i'm a stalker, or trying to swindle bigger tips out of you?" 

you laugh, finally, shaking your head. "i didn't think that." 

peter blinks. "you were going to text me?" 

"yeah, i--i was." 

and then he actually smiles, nodding with you. 

you both stand there for a moment, almost looking at each other but not quite. despite how terrible the rest of his day was, peter feels like laughing until his ribs hurt. 

he feels like there's some magnetic force pushing him toward you, making him lean in your direction, and feel your breath from four feet away. 

you clear your throat. "i was wondering if i could give you my number? just, so that, you know, i don't--" 

peter nods immediately, hand sliding to his pocket. "yeah. that'd be great." 

"yeah?" you ask him, softly. 

peter smiles. 

*

when you walk into the shop the next week, peter knows a couple of new things about you. 

he knows that you're a junior here--a couple of months younger than him. he knows that you're studying sociology, and that you have an apartment three blocks away from the coffee shop. you have a gap between classes from noon to three, so you always stop in. 

and he knows that you don't know a lot of people at esu and that you don't have a lot of free time for extracurriculars. you like movies and reading. 

and you think that peter's nice. 

"hey, sugar," he says, as you walk up. "did you come all of this way just to see me?" he presses a hand to his heart, mock-honored. 

you purse your lips, eyebrows raised. "i didn't even know you worked here." 

he narrows his eyes at you. "rude." 

you blink. "i'm sorry," you say, softly, "do i know you?" 

peter delights in the way your lip twitches, the small indent in your cheek, and your hands, clasped together. 

"mean," he says, sighing. 

"hi, peter." 

and then he grins. "what kinda coffee?" 

"something sweet?" 

he leans back, tilting his head at you. "are you trying to suggest that i recommend something?" 

"i'm trying to suggest that you just surprise me, but..." 

peter taps a finger to his chin. "hmm, something sweet. is chocolate a requirement?" 

you shake your head. and then the bell rings again, and there's a group of people walking in. 

"okay. david'll make it for you. don't try to spit it on me if you don't like it." 

you half smile. "how much?" 

peter scoffs, crossing his arms. "you don't even know what you're getting. i'm not letting you pay for something you might hate." 

your brows furrow. 

"and don't just put that bill in the tip jar--" peter groans as you do it, giving him a sickly sweet smile. "what did i ever do to you?" 

"we'll see, i guess." you nod at him, moving to the side. and when peter greets the next person in line, it's with a bigger smile than before. 

*

three weeks after that, peter is feeling pretty secure in the relationship he's developing with you. 

you tease him back when he makes a joke, and he's gotten you to full-on laugh at least four times now. when you bite your lip, it's because you're trying not to laugh at him. 

and by secure, of course, peter means that every day he goes into work hoping you'll show up--even if he knows that you have opposite schedules, and he'll be gone before you get out of class. he watches the door, expecting a girl that he's quite fond of to walk through, and when she doesn't, he frowns just a little bit. 

and then he texts you, complaining. 

he doesn't tell you that he has a severe case of butterflies. or a concerning heart murmur every time he hears his phone buzz. 

he doesn't tell you that he thinks you're beautiful, and that he'd like to spend hours just trying to get you to laugh. he can't tell you that he thinks you're incredibly smart, and kind, and that he can't imagine a single person not liking you. 

and by that, of course, he tries to man the register when david is working. mostly because he's slightly afraid of his coworker, and slightly afraid that you might find him more charming than peter. 

but it's three weeks later when peter finally dials your number, fingers tapping against his desk. 

he waits for a moment--telling himself that you might already be asleep, or at a party, or in the shower--listening to the dial tone. 

and then after about ten seconds, he hears a tiny little click. 

your voice, quiet and smooth when you say "hello?" 

"hey, you," peter answers back, trying not to breathe into the microphone. "sorry, i know it's late. did i interrupt anything?" 

there's some ruffling and then your voice: "no, i was just, um, folding laundry. so i guess you saved me." 

his laugh is warm and his heart is pounding. "anytime. are you, uh, are you busy at all tomorrow? in the evening?" 

peter briefly considers that maybe he should've written a script for himself. thinks about scheduling a doctor's appointment. 

"tomorrow?" you repeat. 

peter nods, wincing when he realizes that you can't see it. "yeah, well, there's this band playing at connor's park tomorrow, and i don't--there's no one else i can go with, so i was thinking that you might like to come?" 

there's a beat of silence where peter wants to die. 

"tomorrow," he repeats, "at six." 

"at the park?" 

peter hums. 

"what band?" 

peter swallows. "i actually don't know... a good one? i hope." 

and you laugh, finally, your breath a welcome gesture across five miles and static. "sure, i'd love to. do you want me to meet you there, or...?" 

"how about i pick you up? we can walk." 

"you don't have to do that, peter." 

"i want to," he tells you. "just send me your address and i'll be there around five-thirty tomorrow. okay?" 

"okay," you whisper. 

*

peter picks you up outside your apartment the next day. he's leaning against the wall, thinking about a smirk you gave him a couple of days ago when he couldn't remember the word millennium. 

he's thinking about calling you, just so he can talk to you while you walk down the stairs. 

but then you're opening a door, slipping past it, and standing right next to him. 

and you're wearing a dress. 

it's above your knee, a soft and pretty color, and it almost makes peter want to fall to the floor. he's seen you in giant coats, and torn sweaters, and t-shirts, but never a dress. 

he thanks mother nature for making it just hot enough for this today. 

"whoa," he says to you, smiling and dipping his head a bit, so he can look you in the eyes. "you, you look great." 

you lick your lip. "i don't like these shoes," you tell him, but peter doesn't even look down. 

he's watching your eyes dart from him to the ground, your chest expands as you breathe, and your hand, trying to scratch the dress off. 

peter considers just skipping the whole thing and standing here to look at you for the rest of the night. 

and then you're frowning. "what?" you ask him, looking down. "is there something wrong? tag?" you spin around, searching for some unbelievable flaw that you think you're missing. 

peter smiles. "no, it's just... you look beautiful, is all." 

you look back at him, eyes wide. and then you clear your throat, turning away from him to start walking. "do we have to pay for tickets or anything?" 

peter follows your stride, hand very close to yours. "no, it's just at the amphitheater so we just have to walk up." 

you nod. 

and peter is walking with you, copying your pace, trying to move right and left with you. 

he's also trying to refrain from putting his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. 

"peter?" you say after a couple of minutes. 

"hmm, bug?" 

"do you have any pets?" 

peter looks over to you with a question in his brows but you're looking straight ahead, like this is a normal question. 

he shakes his head. "no." 

"did you have any growing up?" 

"may had a cat when i moved in with them, but nothing besides that. i always wanted a dog." 

"what kind?" 

"any dog. just someone to cause trouble with." 

you exhale, a bit less than a laugh. "that's cute." 

"why'd you ask?" 

you shake your head, walk a couple more feet. "do you have a five-year plan?" 

"what?" peter laughs. 

"like a goal for where you want to be in five years. good career? house? kids?" 

"i'm twenty years old." 

you're shrugging next to him. "i want to buy a new tv in the next five years." 

peter snorts. "okay, well, i want to get into astronaut school in the next two, and on the moon in three." 

"you're too flimsy for space." 

peter's mouth drops. "someone's got some sass today, huh? i'd make a great astronaut, thank you very much." 

"you'd drift away." 

"this hurts, you know," peter says. "this is just mean." 

you're giggling next to him, knuckles sliding past his every thirty seconds, making him want to jump out of his skin. 

"do you want kids?" 

peter almost chokes on his own spit. "wh--what?" 

"i'm just asking." 

"what's with these questions? did you get a list off of the internet, or something?" 

"i--" you pause. "no." 

peter looks over to you, almost laughing. "you did." 

"i didn't," you insist, a bit louder than he's ever heard you. "these are perfectly normal questions for any friend to ask another friend. i don't know why you're being so weird about it." 

"weird?" peter laughs, throwing his head back. and then without even thinking about it, he slings an arm around you, holding you close. "oh, you're too much." 

"peter, you're all sweaty." 

"this is a perfectly normal activity for friends to do together--" 

"smelling each other's armpits?" 

"i learned it online. and google doesn't lie." 

you finally laugh, shame easing from your face. 

"c'mon," peter says, shaking his head at you. "we're going to miss it." 

*

peter buys you a snow cone before the show starts, smiling at the way it turns your tongue and lips blue, and laughing when it starts to drip down your hands. 

he finds you a spot on the grass, sitting down without thinking about it, even when you frown. 

"what?" 

"there's bugs down there." 

peter raises a brow. "don't tell me you're afraid of a little dirt?" 

"i'm afraid of disease. and getting grass stains on my pants." 

peter purses his lips, trying not to laugh at how serious you are, staring down at him with narrowed eyes. "you can sit on my lap if you want." 

you groan and then sit down beside him. "when i die, i'm blaming you." 

"of course," peter responds, easily. 

and he leans a little bit closer to you. 

there are ten minutes before the band starts, and during that time, peter begins to point out people in the crowd. he whispers to you that an old man is sitting on a lawn chair, crossing his arms like he's going to call the police as soon as anyone makes too much noise. he guesses that the couple in front of you is going to start making out within the next five minutes. 

you're leaning into him, your smile almost evident on his neck. it's fun when you play along, guessing that the boy with a cowboy hat on is really an undercover fbi agent and that the girl staring at peter is really a vampire. 

"what girl?" he asks, looking over. 

you almosr grin. "literally any one of them, peter. you've got groupies." 

he looks around again but doesn't see anyone. he just sees you smiling at him. 

and then there's a man walking onto the stage, introducing himself and his band mates, thanking all of them for coming--but peter's not really paying attention. you're much more interesting than a twenty-five-year-old man that he can barely see. 

when the music begins to play, he watches as a small smile falls on your face. sort of like you hadn't even meant to let it get there. 

and as they play, peter can feel you getting closer to him. your skin almost brushing against him, your heart almost knocking into his. 

he looks away, just so he can pretend that he can't feel any of it. 

after a couple of songs and a couple of minutes of playing the game where he looks at you until you look back and peter pretends that he wasn't staring, he leans down to you, mouth right by your ear. 

"do you like it?" he whispers, noticing your hands picking at some grass by your legs. 

"they're good." 

your voice is quiet, and you seem a bit on edge. peter leans back so he can look at you better, frowning. "you okay? is it too loud?" 

you blink and turn to him, eyes wide. "no, it's--" and then you smile at him. and within a second your head is on his shoulder, and he swears that you're trying to kill him. "it's great, peter. thank you for inviting me." 

he spends the next twenty minutes trying to stay completely still. trying to figure out how to glue you this close to him. 

it's almost seven when he looks around, realizing that the sun has gone down and that the crowd has dwindled, leaving only the people that are willing to dance along to the music. 

there are stars right above his head--bright and beautiful--but he'd much rather look at you. 

eventually, you look back. "you okay, peter?" 

he shakes his head, but he's smiling. "perfect." 

your returning smile almost matches his. and your hand is close to his own, and he can feel his thigh touching yours. 

and honestly, if he doesn't do a single thing about it in the next thirty seconds he might have a heart attack. 

"do you want to dance?" he asks you. 

you turn to him again, brows furrowed. "right now?" 

"yeah," peter answers, easily. "right now." and then he stands up, holding a hand out to you. 

there's a moment where you're staring at his hand, then at the ground, heart beating recklessly. 

"i promise i won't step on your feet," peter swears, hand still there, heart still yours. 

finally, your lip twitches, and you nod. "okay." 

your hand is cold in his, but peter feels like he's burning up from the inside. you take a step closer to him, chest almost to his. you're short enough that he could rest his chin on the top of your head, and hold you there forever. 

instead, he waits for your arms to unlock, opening up for him, and he places a hand around your waist, gently pulling you closer. 

his breath is right by your ear, and he can feel it when you shiver. 

you relax into him, arms moving to wrap around his neck, fingertips just barely hitting his hairline. his other hand takes yours, and he sways, softly, feeling you move with him. 

eventually, you lean your head into his chest, letting him hold you up. 

"good?" peter asks, feeling your breath on his skin. 

and you nod against him, letting him move you slowly and softly, heart pounding to the beat of the music. 

but peter can't even hear it anymore. he can feel a single thing but you. 

"thank you for coming," he says. "there's no one else i'd rather be with." 

you look up at him, eyes soft and knowing. "peter," you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. 

he looks back, and there's a moment where he can almost see himself reflected in your eyes--his adoration and heart, all intertwined into something absolutely ridiculous. but it looks beautiful in your pupils, just like everything else. 

he smiles. 

"peter," you whisper again.

his hand moves from your waist, crawling up your sternum to rest against your cheek, keeping you from looking away. peter is almost certain that he's making all of this up. 

his other hand follows, and you let him hold you, let him stare at you while soft music plays in the background. 

it's a bit chilly now, without the sun. but you're close enough to peter that he can feel your body heat, he can push his into you. 

you're blinking softly, breathing harshly--loud enough that he can actually hear it. and finally, you close your eyes like you can't stand to look at him for a moment more. 

"peter," you repeat, one last time. 

"yeah?" 

your eyes open, and your face is soft and nervous when you say, "will you kiss me?" 

peter pauses, his mouth opening, his eyes searching yours, like he might be hallucinating this. like you might just be a dream, some figment of his imagination he's going to miss so dearly when it's gone. 

his eyes dart down to your lips, following up to your nose, and then meeting your eyes again. 

and he leans in--knowing that he can't control the pull toward you anymore. his nose brushes against yours, making you shiver and peter chuckle as a result. 

he stays there for a second, just breathing you in. 

your arms are still around his neck, but one of your hands moves up, trying to pull him even closer. 

finally, peter leans forward, keeping your head tilted and meeting your lips with a desperation he wasn't sure even existed. 

it's soft, and you taste like syrup. and you're moving with him, just a bit uncertain, letting him push and pull at your lips, and not letting you go. 

you're sighing against his mouth, a small breath into his. 

peter can feel you pushing closer to him, standing on your tip-toes so you can reach further. 

he smiles against you. and then he pulls back, giving you both a moment to breathe. 

his heart feels nonexistent in his chest. the flapping of a hummingbird's wings, almost too fast to be seen. 

he laughs at you, or maybe himself, and keeps his forehead on yours, eyes closed. you laugh back, like an echo or a response, or a desperate plead for more. 

peter opens his mouth, feeling his lips just barely brush against yours. "does this mean you'll stop trying to pay for coffee?" he asks. 

and delights in the way you laugh against him. 

*

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys 

[yuusishi]

Bro your writing is literally so cute and it makes me smile so hard man!!

I was wondering if I could request Floyd Ace and Malleus with an Edward Elric reader? (Basically really smart and comes from a non magic world where the powers used is alchemy also is really short for their age (149 cm) and hates when anyone calls them short reader also has a mechanical right arm and left leg)

Imagine Floyd just popping off the reader’s left leg and running away with it or sm and the reader chases after him at full speed with a makeshift leg they made using alchemy

. . . Alchemical Genius

pairings : Floyd Leech , Ace Trappola , Malleus Draconia x gn!Edward Elric!reader

genre : fluff

cws/tws : stealing of prosthetic limbs as a joke?? (<- non graphic descriptions)

a/n : sorry that Malleus’ part is like pretty short compared to the others I’m becoming like really sleepy as I’m finishing this

Floyd Leech !!

Finds your mechanical limbs so damn cool!! There isn’t much merfolk down in the Coral Sea that use prosthetics and he really only was properly introduced to them when he made it on land so he was fascinated with you like a science experiment.

But even if he finds your stuff cool…that won’t stop him from teasing you for your height…

I mean c’mon, he’s 6’1 (185cm) and you’re 4’8 (149cm), he can’t NOT take the opportunity.

Because of it, he tends to pick you up as if you were as light as a feather whenever you started getting annoyed at him. Either running around the hallway or just simply picking you up to spin you around (he holds your mechanical limbs while doing so though because he’s not entirely sure if they can just…fall off.)

But the rule is that only he can do that, only he can tease his Shrimpy like that >:( Anyone else will get squeezed hard with no hesitation.

Comes to you every time he’s too lazy to do alchemy homework and no matter how much you deny him you know you’ll end up giving him the answers, but when you're in the mood you'll just explain things to him (even when he understands it anyways) just to bore him enough to do the homework himself.

In the situation he just outright steals a mechanical limb from you...it could become quite the regular sight, Floyd running with a detached metal leg around the hallways while you blast yourself full speed at him to get it back using a temporary alchemy-made leg.

Ace Trappola !!

Thinks your mechanical limbs are cool v2. And you're good at alchemy? He def scored on friends in his first year.

Him scoring high on friends doesn't mean he scored high in alchemy though, with you not allowing him to copy your answers. And he learned not to bother you about it after the last time Professor Trein had to break him and you apart after he annoyed you a tad bit too much for the alchemy questions...

Honestly he doesn’t really have much to comment about your mechanical limbs like at all. He found them cool at first because “wow you have metal limbs” but after a while it’s just become as normal as biological limbs.

Especially since the most that can be seen is your hand and occasionally your ankle since the NRC uniforms are long sleeves, so they never drew too much attention in the first place.

Unbelievably jealous that you’re one of the top scorers in alchemy class since you were already very well-versed in alchemy from your studies and job in your old world. I mean, how does he even think of besting someone that was the youngest State Alchemist?!

He keeps up with whoever’s on the number one spot during exams since it’s ALWAYS either you, Riddle, or Azul.

You’re the shortest in the friend group and Ace teases about it from time to time but most of the time he just lowkey forgets about it, even when he literally has to look down to talk to you.

Malleus Draconia !!

Extreme height difference v2, this time it qualifies as a long distance relationship.

But also forgets about it, I mean he’s 6’5 and has had Lilia as his guardian for years, he doesn’t care for something as trivial as height differences.

The thing about you that makes him the most curious would be your prosthetics.

The people of Briar Valley heavily rely on magic, so even when there were veterans who’s limbs were cut off during the war they’d just use magic to do day-to-day things.

So having you, a human with replacement limbs, in front of him really piqued his curiosity. He’d ask a few questions and tried not to tread too far and possibly ask something too personal, but sometimes he’d do just that without meaning to.

It ticked you off, yeah, but you tried to understand where he’s coming from and cool down before telling him that you didn’t want to answer it (to which he’d be understanding of.)

He’d also be impressed that you became a State Alchemist back at your world at such a young age, he even pitied you slightly since you seemed to have such a bright future before getting plucked off to Twisted Wonderland.

Occasionally keeps up with whoever’s the top scorer during exams since you, Azul, and Riddle always seem to be competing with each other, this became even more apparent during housewarden meetings (whenever he got invited to it at least.)

[literallyzooble]

The Amazing Digital Marching Band: Beta Designs

WHAT THE HEEEEELLLLLLL OH MY GAWD NO WAYAYAYAYAYAY

Hi hello hi!! I finally got around to designing some beta layouts for my Digital Circus AU! Please tell me what you think and reblog if you can! If I continue to expand upon this AU, I might just make its own blog for it! Just depends when and if I have time :)

Okay under the cut is me infodumping about each design so feel free to like skip allat if you don’t want to read it

Gangle: Color Guard -I wanted to still follow Gangle’s ribbon motif in her design, this is probably the most personalized outfit out of all of them. -The ribbon the makes up her body now continues down and spirals around her legs, sort of to make a “skeleton” of a dress. -I added a bit more flare to her arms, adding extra ribbons that don’t act as limbs, and more as sleeves or decoration. -The bow on her head kind of just ties it all together, again fitting with the ribbon motif that I was going for. -In terms of the first point, the reason why I say “personalized” is that I’m still not sure what I’m going for in terms of outfits. I don’t know if I want them all to be uniform and the same, like a true marching band (in this case, I would have to change Gangle’s outfit), or if I’d like each uniform to have more of a personal style to it (in this case I would keep Gangle’s outfit, and change uniforms to echo the original character’s designs (i.e. changing Ragatha’s uniform to be a bit more dress like).

Pomni: Drum Major -I’m still deciding on the hat, I wanted to try to make a shako with a jester hat motif, but I’ll have to work it out over time. -Her uniform borrows from modern marching uniforms (Stanbury for inspiration) and circus jester clothes (hence the fringe around the waist). -Gloves are the same size as her original gloves, except they’re white. -Pants are classic bibber pants, shoes are classic marching shoes (both black).

Zooble: Snare (Battery) -One of their antennae is a snare stick. I came up with this gimmick that Zooble basically pulls out sticks from everywhere: their head, their arm, their leg, they always have a spare. -I decided to give Zooble two wings for stability, since you don’t want to be tilted to one side while marching, especially for battery. -Their right (looking at the drawing it’s their left) arm has this mechanism where you can easily insert sticks, it’s sort of like one of those things that can extend your pencil when it’s short? It uses the same logic. -I kinda went the craziest on Zooble’s design because I am so normal about them (I am not) -I CHOSE ZOOBLE AS A SNARE BEFORE GOOSE SAID THAT THEY PLAY DRUMS MY BRAIN IS MASSIVE

Ragatha: Flute -Adding on from what I yapped about in Gangle’s tidbit, I had this idea to make the uniforms a bit more personalized to each character, for example giving Ragatha’s uniform a bit more of a “dress” look to math her original design. Of course, this conflicted with my knowledge of marching bands and why everyone has such similar uniforms, so to go with the dress-like design or not, as well as personalizing each of the character’s designs more, is still up in the air. -Woodwinds have gloves that have the fingertips cut off, so their fingers can be more technical. Ragatha’s gloves are black. -The woodwind and brass uniforms are mostly the same, the shakos (color wise) are the only things that differentiate the two. -Classic marching bibber and shoes. -Yes I am self projecting by making Ragatha a flute and BEFORE YOU GO SAYING “erm achchually Ragatha plays Cello-“ FIRSTLY there are no cellos in marching band and SECONDLY within this AU she plays flute for marching season and play cello in the orchestra for concert season :)

Jax: Trumpet -His ears go inside his shako, I’m just too lazy to edit/erase them. -Brass have gloves that have no alterations made to them. Jax’s gloves are also black. -Classic marching bibber and shoes. -Jax gives me “typical crackhead trumpet” energy and I don’t know why. Anyways there’s my reason for putting him on trumpet.

Kinger: Bass Drum And Gong (Pit/Auxiliary) -I want Kinger in this AU to give “How TF Did I Get Dragged Into This” Vibes -Pit percussion members don’t wear shakos, which is sort of cool so we can still recognize the chess piece form. -Since Kinger doesn’t have any legs, his “marching bibber” is more of just a black skirt that surrounds his body. -Pit percussion members don’t wear gloves. Which is a problem. Because Kinger is always wearing gloves. And I do not want to draw whatever is underneath those gloves. Scawy.

Stay tuned for more!! Maybe!! In the near future??? ALSO ALL SHIPS ARE ALLOWED!!! YOU MAY SHIP WHOEVER WITH WHOMEVER!!! AS LONG AS YOU’RE NOT A CREEP!!! YAHOO!!!

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟ kisaki doesn’t mind being late to a meeting, not when it’s because he’s busy dealing with you.

♱ warnings — orgasm control, f!reader, in his office [i gotta do it for all of them sorry], exhibitionism, fingering, idk i think he’s a sucker for his s/o i stand by it. / note. helo more kinktober 4 u guys ! finally getting around 2 writing 4 this man <3

RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST

“you’ll make me late for my meeting, sweetheart.”

kisaki hums from where he’s pressing into you as he gives the expensive watch on his wrist a lazy glance, his hips pushed between your thighs as you lie spread out for him on his desk. but his words are contradictory considering he’s still not given you permission to cum, sharp gaze cutting into you as he sends you a carefully neutral look from behind his glasses.

“tetta.. i’m so close, just—please let me cum.” you’re panting, your voice is wound up tight until it breaks into something whispery and dreamy, and it makes his gaze linger on the pretty expression you’re making for a few seconds too long.

“hm, don’t i spoil you enough?” kisaki intones in your ear, pressing a short kiss against your temple with another languid flick of his wrist, deliberately brushing the pads of his fingers against the swollen spots inside of you. teasing you, before he’s back to grinding his digits just short of the spot again.

you let out a sweet, little desperate moan and you hear him click his tongue before he speaks again, but there’s no annoyance to the sound when he follows it with his thumb pressing down hard on your clit — like he’s bringing your attention back to him, like it ever left. “answer me.”

“ah—yes, you do.. but, i wanna cum, please.” you hear kisaki hum like he’s considering it from where his lips are pressing along the dip of your shoulder, sinking his fingers into you once more as he continues his movements — letting himself build up a pace that has your thighs twitching, like he’s done the last nth times.

“tetta.. please.” he feels the featherlight touch of your fingers along his forearm, tracing up to where he’s rolled his sleeve up to his elbow and it’s undeniable the way your touch alone makes goosebumps burst along his skin. “i’ll be good.”

“you are good, sweetheart. always so good for me.” kisaki replies quickly, his tone unwavering because he believes you’re just that — so sweet and pretty for him, even when he’s been withholding your pleasure from you, you still give in to him and wait so obediently.

you’re perfect.

he rewards you with a perfect push of his fingers along your spots, letting your walls clench around them followed by another sticky circle of his thumb against your clit, until you’re pulling him closer by his expensive dress shirt and letting him kiss you.

he can feel the way your moans vibrate against his lips, and he drinks you up so eagerly — kisaki oozes control in a way that has you melting into him, letting him lick into your mouth with a precision that has you breathless despite the undercurrent of need his movements carry.

“see, so good. you’ve been listening so well.” you feel his praise lick down the curve of your spine as you arch your back, pressing your chest tighter against his while he presses deeper into you — not slowing his movements like he normally would when he feels you getting close.

“i’m gonna..” you jerk, nails dragging along the wooden desk beneath you as you grind your hips against his fingers — bumping your clit against his thumb while he moves away from your lips to mouth at your throat.

“i know. cum for me, my love.” kisaki watches you so intently as you fall apart, his eyes never drifting from your pretty, lewd expression when he feels you stiffen and twist with every grind of his fingers into your pussy.

the way your lips part to moan and the way your features break into something beautiful make him swallow rough, just like he always does in the moments he feels like you steal all the air from his lungs but remind him how to breathe all at once.

your thighs quake around him and kisaki’s other arm almost naturally hooks around your waist to keep you from falling over entirely when you let your head fall back.

he keeps up his movements, letting you ride out your orgasm as you grab at him and jolt with every rub of his thumb along your clit, prolonging your blissful state until your hand is resting over his with a whimper and breathless, soft pants before he pulls himself from you with a short peck to your lips.

“thank you, tetta.” you drawl, your words a little slurred from the aftermath of your tingling pleasure and you watch kisaki pull the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe himself clean, before his hand is resting against your cheek to brush along your cheekbone.

“still so spoiled.” the chuckle that curls from his words makes something warm burst along your skin as he sends you a gentle look, turning his attention to the mess between your thighs and along his desk as he moves to clean you up.

“but.. your meeting! i can clean this.” it was unlike kisaki to ever be late, he was always the one of the first if not the first there — and you didn’t want to get in the way of his routine.

but his movements don’t halt, there’s no urgency to the way he moves to wipe you with the same handkerchief he just used, raising his hand softly as if to shake off any of your concerns as he sends you another whisper of a smile, followed by an affectionate squeeze of his fingers around your thigh as he moves you.

“they’ll wait for me, until i’ve taken care of you.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

I love the at a canes length story.

The power dynamic of him just reclined back watching his partner in their knees for him just does something yk?

Any ideas for him bossing around his partner like that? Or him being able to do what he want and they are not allowed to touch him, even if they beg? (All consensual ofc!!)

we’re all into our darling tease viktor, aren’t we? btw, i’m naming this drabble after my favourite am song.

cw: gn reader, smut, dirty talk, nipple play, i got too carried away and wrote a poetic filthy little thing.

word count: 700~

Normally you wouldn’t dare to complain about your lover’s hands — deliciously nimble, they never failed to tame you with the length of each cautiously curious finger, the callousness of them tortuous, yet professionally precise — just the right spoon of tar in a barrel of sweet honey. They were the hands of a pianist, attached to those lanky, just as much fitting for a musician arms — had your brain stupidly doomed whenever their defiant owner rolled up a ruffled sleeve just high enough to tease you with a sight of a pointy elbow or a weave of cerulean veins under the translucently pale skin. 

However, tonight — they became the hands of a jeweller, short nails the figurative tweezers gently piercing into each pretty bud of your nipples, restraining you with the unbearable thoroughness of Viktor’s most sensual touches — all lazy tugs and languid circles besieging the aureoles. Pure torment — nothing more and nothing less, increasingly intricate considering the utter complacency in the pair of amber eyes ogling at your naked chest — not a single bead of sweat left unnoticed or unkissed away.

And this tactic — although insanely efficient — made you hiss numerous pleas into the softness of a dump pillow, back an impatient arch above the clinging to your sticky skin sheets. Because jewellers are impeccably methodical — most importantly slow, and slow was never your pace of choice, despite all its charming offers of savouring. You wanted him now, invariably inside, shirtless, with spitslick lips and open against the curve of your shoulder mouth: fast, and deep, and eagerly frantic — something a pianist might allow, but a jeweller must strictly avoid. How truly devastating. 

Or, perhaps, not?

His tongue is an unexpected tool — it gently soothes the pinched nipple, dripping with generous, thick moist onto the awakened goosebumps — a welcomed diversity, most perfectly combined with the dexterity of his skilful digits, and you meet it with a string of breathless curses — grateful for the little mercy, yet still not nearly satisfied enough. 

The ‘no touching’ rule effortlessly slips your mind when Viktor’s mouth lingers there — wrapped around the relentlessly teased bud, sucking at it so gently you might just melt into this very bed. You impatiently clutch his tie, clumsily pulling him forward into a pathetic attempt of stealing an open-mouthed kiss, and Viktor instantly regrets he didn’t free his slender neck off it earlier, silently remorsing the missed opportunity of tying your wrists together. 

He sighs, reluctantly peeling his right palm off your covered in saliva chest, and it insistently nudges you off the tie and leads right back where your hands belong — nailed into the pillow right above your head. 

“Was I not clear enough when I kindly asked you to avoid touching me?” his voice is soft — raspy and gentle, not upset with you in the slightest — just genuinely curious, ludicrously polite for a man so eager to torture you. “Or, perhaps, patience is simply not one of your virtues?” 

He offers you a smile — a chaste one, oh that specific stretch of thin lips into an unbearably handsome line — worthy of whatever foreplay-durations he wishes for. 

Now it’s your turn to sigh. 

“It’s just that… I’m afraid you might not be done with me even until dawn,” you mumble sweetly, fingers already itchy to intertwine with his hair — and you wonder if he might be willing to consider this compromise. He simply arches a thick brow, humming with a playful half-turn of a head. 

“I was not aware we were in a rush,” he chuckles, and — oh heavens, finally! — hovers above your flushed face for a split second, picking a feature to award with a long-awaited kiss. 

You’re not surprised when his warm gaze drifts over your lips, evidently recalling the irresistible softness of them. No matter how much into denying it Viktor might be, he is a needy man in the very depth of his heart — and these rare occurrences might just be your favourite moments of his vulnerability. And when you’re almost ready to release an ardent tongue into the blissful heat of his mouth — your precious inventor smirks, cruelly changing his route. 

“Besides,” he whispers — cheeky, and so unbearably hot, brushing the tip of his sharp nose against your earshell. “You’re underestimating me. I intend to proceed until at least next noon.” 

[green-thots]

That Fucking Compression Shirt - Ran Takahashi x Reader

A/N - I’ll be honest this took absolutely forever but my absolute obsession with Ran Takahashi overpowered my writer’s block. Also I’m pissed that Tumblr gets rid of my indents every time I take a story from my docs and I’m too lazy to go back I and add it again.

Warnings - 18+ content, smut, reader is thirsty, lowkey choking, use of “good girl”, brat taming, & edging (if I missed any please tell me)

WC - 2782

I used to hate co-ed practice. The gym would always smell like ass and if it weren’t for the combination of my defense and our libero’s, we never would come close to winning a scrimmage.

But, dating a member of the opposite team makes practice just a bit more fun, especially when he decides to wear that oh-so-slutty compression shirt that he knows drives me crazy.

I’m convinced he only started wearing that to co-ed practice because on our first date, after a few too many drinks, I admitted that I would 100% jump on his dick if he ever wore his practice compression shirt around me ever again.

We’ve been practicing hitting lines for the past fifteen minutes and with the coaches on our ass after the last match, there’s no end in sight. My only saving grace is getting to watch sweaty Ran smack the ball about as hard as I’d like him to smack my ass, but he already knows that.

His shorts are shorter and tighter than usual, allowing me the wonderful view of his quads as he jumps into the air to reach the top of the net. But somehow, my view just gets better. His long sleeves make his biceps look large enough to choke me, which they are, and his abs tight enough to ride. I’ve seen his high school pictures, he definitely grew out of his twink look alike phase.

“I can smell the thirst from here,” Yuji mutters, snapping me out of my trance-like state. He’s standing with his hands on his hips with that self assured smirk on his face.

I turn to him with a glare, “I’m not thirsting over him, he just looks good.”

“Oh, you’re definitely thirsting over him. You’ve been eye-fucking him for practically the entire practice.” Yamauchi chimes in, popping into line behind Yuji and I.

“You two are absolutely insufferable,” I grumble, turning back around to the front of the line.

They both let out a laugh before Yuji spits out, “We’re just simply stating what’s true.” Earning an eye roll from me.

“Alright everybody, we’re switching to digs for a bit,” Coach yells, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention, “y/n, you’re up first.”

Goddamnit, this woman is going to be the death of me. It’s almost like she knows my head is as far away from volleyball right now as physically possible.

I walk into the middle of the court as Ishikawa is getting ready to spike at me.

Ran just so happens to be directly left of me so I bend a little lower than I normally would for a dig just to give him a better view of the ass he’s left his mark on. I smirk at him and his brows furrow, a dangerous glint in his eyes. To an outsider, he looks pissed, but I know that he’s just worked up and I’m more than happy to let him take his anger out on me once we get home.

Ishikawa approaches, swings, and slams the ball down toward the ground. Ishikawa is good, but I’ve been perfecting my digs for years. Just in time, I get my arms under the ball, popping it up into the setters box. The impact stings like a bitch but you get used to it when you’ve been practicing with Olympic level players for almost two years.

I walk back over next to Ran, Yuji taking his place next for digs.

“Stop being a brat,” he mutters in my ear. He side eyes me with a smirk on his lips.

“But it’s just so much fun watching you get all worked up,” I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. He glares at me, adjusting his shorts. Yeah, I knew you couldn’t resist me.

“You won’t be having this much fun when we get home,” he bites out, careful to not let anyone else hear our conversation.

~

After a brutal practice, filled with many more lust filled glares from my lovely boyfriend, I’m shaking in anticipation as I take my gear off and get ready to go home.

Ran walks over to my place on the floor, duffle bag in hand, “Let’s get out of here.”

I nod my head, pulling on my crocs and using his outstretched hand to pull me up off the ground.

“We should all go out for sushi,” Ogawa exclaims, murmurs of agreement sounding off around the gym.

Ran begins to pull me toward the gym doors, “we can’t, we already have plans for the night.” Ogawa pouts in disappointment, he’s always been pretty close with Ran.

As Ran and I walk out the door, Yuji shouts loud enough for the entire gym to hear, ��try not to leave any visible marks this time!” He really never has any shame, even at the expense of me, his self-titled ‘best friend.’

Ran muffles a snort with his other hand. I throw up a middle finger behind me as I walk out the door.

Yuji knows Ran heavily enjoys marking, since after our last team beach trip, I had forgotten about the copious amount of hickies on my thighs until Yuji started cackling hysterically.

“I’m gonna kill him for that,” I say as we step out of the elevator into the parking garage.

~

I barely even get a second to kick off my shoes and drop my bag before I’m being slammed up against the wall, Ran’s lips on mine. His kisses are hungry and devouring.

Pulling away from my lips just barely an inch, he mutters, “why do you always make me pop a boner whenever we’re around friends?”

Although it’s most likely a rhetorical question and he’s not really expecting an answer, I tease, “Because I know you’ll punish me as soon as we get home and we both know I enjoy your punishments much more than I hate them.”

He gives me a knowing look then presses his lips back on mine, biting slightly on my lower lip. “You’ve got such a dirty little mouth on you,” he says against my lips.

I smile, playing with the hem of his shirt, starting to ride it up over his stomach. I drag his shirt up slowly. Over the entirety of his abs, up to his chest, and over his shoulders, pulling it over his head and outstretched arms, throwing it somewhere across the room. Usually, he wouldn’t even let me get this far. He would pin my hands to the wall before I could even touch him and stop any seductive plan I had my mind set on.

He moves his hands to fondle my ass through my shorts, his lips traveling down onto the sweet spot where my jaw connects with my neck. I throw my head back and let out a whimper. It’s almost like he knows my body as well as he knows his own.

I run my hands through the roots of his thick waves, tugging slightly when I reach the crown of his head. He lets out a low growl, continuing his assault on my neck that is sure to leave marks but looking up at me in warning.

I know I’m beginning to tug at the ends of the already short leash he’s letting me have, but it’s just so much fun when he gets mad.

“Jump,” he growls, his face still buried in my neck. Not wanting to push my limits, I oblige. I jump and wrap my legs around his waist, his hands still planted firmly on my ass, holding me in place.

He quickly moves us out of the entryway, up the stairs, and into our bedroom without much hassle. He throws me down onto the bed and lurks over me. I think this might just be my favorite version of Ran. His hair fluffy and wild from my hands just moments ago. He’s breathing heavily and his abs are glistening with the still-lingering sweat from practice. And to put the cherry on top, there is a very obvious tent in his pants, as if the gray sweats didn’t already leave more than enough to the imagination. He’s a heavenly sight. I would even go as far to say he’s god-like in my eyes.

He leans down even closer to me and swipes off my shirt and sports bra in one smooth motion. My nipples harden at the sudden rush of cold air from the constant use of the air conditioner.

Softly but so demanding at the same time, Ran puts one large hand around my throat. He doesn’t apply much pressure, but he uses my neck to push me down flat onto the bed, chiming, “You’re so naughty, aren’t ya’ babe?”

I try to nod with what little motion of my head his hand allows. If I wasn’t dripping while staring at him during practice then I sure am now.

He glides the hand around my throat down to fondle my chest, using his other hand to prop himself up over me.

“I know how much you love it when I feel you up,” He purrs, his breath hot over my stomach, “but I don’t think you deserve that.”

“You’re just gonna keep torturing me all night?” I whine, threading my fingers through his hair once again.

“Maybe,” he says, pausing to leave a kiss right above the waistband of my spandex, “I guess that will depend on how good you are for the remainder of the night.”

With the hand he was using on my chest, he pushes my legs apart. He starts to rub my inner thigh, so close enough to where he knows I want him but so far it’s frustrating the hell out of me. I huff in annoyance and he lets out a short, raspy laugh.

“Well I’m very happy my pain brings you amusement,” I snark, pulling his hair enough to make him jolt a bit.

His eyes are glazed when he looks up at me from in between my legs, “Based on the way your pussy is soaking through your shorts, I know you’re enjoying this.”

Okay, maybe he does have a point.

He grasps the waistband of my shorts and panties, letting his fingers brush against my bikini line. I lift my hips up off the bed, giving Ran the chance to tug them off.

“Motherfucker,” he mutters, just barely loud enough for me to hear, “you must be really worked up.” He runs a finger through the slick that has already gathered at my entrance, a devilish smirk on his face. The sadistic side of him enjoys how much he affects me when in reality he is doing so little.

He leans closer and closer until his nose brushes my clit. He licks a painfully slow stripe up my cunt pulling a moan of both pleasure and annoyance from my lips. He hums in response to my noises, his voice vibrating my pussy in the best way. At an almost torturously slow pace, he circles my clit with his tongue.

“Please,” I beg, “just go faster.”

“Only good girls get to feel good,” Ran hums against me, his words barely even register in my head as he slides a long finger inside of me. He takes it slow but finds my g-spot with the tip of his finger almost immediately.

He thrusts his finger into me, slow enough to tease, but fast enough to keep me from complaining. He slips in a second finger and then a third, keeping pace by upping the speed of the circles around my clit.

I arch my hips closer to him, pressing his face harder into my pussy and trying to get his fingers to go as deep as they can.

With all the anticipation from the day and the yearning from not getting the chance to fuck in almost two weeks, I’m already on the edge.

“Oh my- Fuck,” I moan, squeezing my eyes shut, “I think I’m gonna cum.” Immediately, he stops everything. He stands up, pulling his fingers out of me. They’re slick and nearly dripping. He makes a show out of slowly licking them clean, his glazed over eyes staring so deeply that I’m sure at that moment he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Now why’d you have to go and stop? We were just getting to the fun part,” I pout, throwing my arms over my head. God, being a brat really is my favorite.

He’s stepping out of his sweats and boxers, “Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t going to cum unless you prove you can be good?” Ran shoots back with a hint of humor in his voice. His cock is rock hard, resting against his thigh and the tip is beginning to drip with precum. I just know he must be itching to fuck me into next week right here, right now but he’s holding back all for the sake of teaching me a lesson when we both know I’ll be right back to being a brat within a few days.

He strokes his cock slowly, letting the tip drag up and down my pussy. He uses his other hand to squeeze my thigh, surely leaving bruises that will be hard to cover up during tomorrow’s practice.

“I promise I’ll be good, babe, just please fuck me,” I give him my best puppy dog eyes as I beg. We both know I’m full of shit but Ran takes immense pleasure in watching me beg for just an ounce of pleasure from him.

He lets out a laugh that I truly believe rivals the epitome of happiness and finally slips the tip of his cock into my cunt, “Lucky for you I might cum in my pants if I don’t, but I haven’t decided if you deserve to cum yet.” He’s fucking cruel but I love it.

He slides all seven inches to the hilt, filling me up so good. Although we’ve been fucking like rabbits almost daily since we started dating nearly two years ago, I’ll never get tired of the way he makes me feel so whole. He starts thrusting slowly, his cock head nearly bruising my cervix with every thrust. His hands now rest on my hips, his fingertips digging into my skin, leaving red marks that are sure to turn black and blue eventually.

A mix of my own moans and Ran’s echo around the room as he picks up the speed of his thrusts. His head is thrown back and his eyes are pressed shut. In turn, I’m gazing at the beautiful sight of Ran in pure bliss before me, which enhances my own pleasure tenfold.

“Fuck, y/n,” he moans, his eyes now open and looking down at where our bodies are connected, “god you feel so good.” By now, he’s pounding me so hard I might just struggle to walk in the morning. He has the mix of fast and deep that we both enjoy perfected to the point where I’m at the edge again after only a few minutes.

“I’m gonna cum,” I stutter out, feeling so much pleasure that it takes too much brain power to form just one coherent sentence.

He’s gazing into my eyes now, “I’m nearly there, just wait for me.” If it was even possible to go faster, then he’s picking up his pace to that point, fucking me so fast that my body is vibrating at a frequency that I didn’t even know was possible until now.

“Ran, please, I’ve been so good” I beg, tears in my eyes from pleasure so intense it’s borderline painful. He grunts, his jaw clenched as he reaches to rub my clit with one hand.

“Come on now then, sweets,” he says. I can feel his cock pulsating inside of me telling me that he won’t last much longer either.

With one more thrust, the stimulation becomes too much, pushing me over the edge. I cum with a moan so loud the neighbors two floors down are sure to file a noise complaint again.

Within seconds, Ran is cumming, too, spilling so deeply inside me. He slows to a stop, his cock still buried inside my pussy. His breathing is heavy and the way he’s looking at me can only be described as love in its highest form.

“Maybe you should start being a brat more often if it’s going to result in some of the most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had,” He jokes, pulling out of me to rest on the bed next to me.

“Well then maybe you should start wearing that compression shirt around me more often if you wanna get lucky.”

[stxrshxpxd]

“that’s my girl!” part 6

masterlist

pairing: dr house x reader

word count: 1k

prompt: reader thinks she detects concern and affection from house as he tends to a wound of hers

The annual Christmas party at the hospital had lasted until about midnight and now there were only a few of us left. Those few of us, including Wilson and I, had volunteered to help clean up after the party and naturally House had stayed too, only to spend the time laying on the lunch room couch and throwing popcorn at Wilson’s head.

“You know, I wish I could say this was only because he’s drunk,” Wilson said to me with a lighthearted sigh as another piece of popcorn came flying through the air and hit his temple.

“It’s because he’s twelve,” I nodded and tossed a few more cans and bottles into the overfilled trash bag Wilson held out for me.

“Ew! Are you sleeping with a twelve year old?!” House exclaimed and I rolled my eyes on my way to switching my gaze to lay on him. He did look exceptionally good, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to expose his forearms and his belt hugging his hips nicely. He pulled a face of concentration and aimed for Wilson once again.

“Is no one gonna applaud my perfect aim?” he gushed as he managed to make one popcorn stick in Wilson’s hair for a few seconds, until he dug it out.

“I’m gonna go get another trash bag,” he breathed and gave House a partly joking glare before exiting. House’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight and then he stood up and I felt him edging closer to me where I stood facing the kitchen counter.

“Do you want half an apple?” I asked, remembering I had left one from my lunch earlier in the day. I reached for the fridge to my left and as my hand grabbed my apple House’s hands found my waist from behind.

“Sure.”

He gave my neck a couple lazy kisses as I reached for a knife. The late hour of the night and the few drinks I’d had, mixed with House’s lips on my skin, were making me feel a little drowsy and I almost closed my eyes for a moment while I sliced the apple in half. But my serenity was short lived, when a sharp pain suddenly spread from my index finger. I shot my gaze down to find the two apple halves stained with my blood and a rather deep cut in my finger.

“Fuck!” I hissed and spun around, to find House staring down at my hands with concern clearly written all over his face.

“Come on,” he said quickly and didn’t hesitate a second before unrolling his sleeve and pressing his pale fabric between his grip and my pulsating wound, while gently pulling me out of the lunch room. Once my initial shock had settled, I wasn’t particularly fussed, but House was and was obviously trying to hide it. He limped quickly by my side through the quiet hallway and our steps echoed around the nearly empty floor as he guided me into the next empty patient’s room.

“Put pressure on it and keep it elevated,” he ordered, and carefully yet swiftly removed his sleeve and placed me down on the edge of the tall bed before spinning around to rummage one of the cabinets behind.

“Wow, it’s almost as if you went to medical school,” I joked while he searched the open cabinet further, and I watched my feet swing in the air in the dim room as I squeezed my pumping finger hard. I studied the stain of my blood on his loose sleeve as he huffed and puffed about not finding what he was searching for.

“Here,” he mumbled and hobbled back to me with a cotton pad drenched in disinfectant, which he swiped across my still bleeding cut. I looked up at the deep furrow between his brows and his tense jaw as he skillfully wrapped a compression bandage around my finger and then his hand once again gripped it. He seemed strangely distraught by such a small injury. Had a patient come into the clinic with a cut in their finger he definitely would’ve laughed in their face.

“That should stop the bleeding in a minute,” House muttered, still avoiding eye contact with me as he held my hand up above my head. His features were dark from being backlit by the corridor lights where he stood tall in front of me, sighing at my pulsating finger in his hand. I decided to wait out the silence and took my time studying his piercing eyes and scruffy stubble, as well as his one strong forearm that was still exposed.

“Maybe you should go to culinary school,” he joked suddenly in a deep voice, his eyes carefully searching for mine. I chuckled and nodded and he sat down next to me, the quiet returning for another few moments. I propped my elbow up on his broad shoulder and let my taped up wound stay elevated as I glanced at his lowered head.

“You were worried about me,” I said with a smirk as if we were in fifth grade and I was accusing him of having a crush on me. I searched for answers in his facial expression, because I knew his words weren’t going to give me any. He waited a beat and then replied.

“I was just devastated there won’t be any handjobs for a while.”

House looked up as I laughed with a shake of my head, and he responded with a small smile.

“I’ve still got this one,” I mumbled and squeezed his good thigh with my good hand, looking down at his slightly smirking lips, and House closed the gap between us with a kiss.

[total-drama-shark]

Part 1 of my Pahkitew Island Art Style and Character Design analysis!

I have SO MUCH to talk about regarding Pahkitew’s art direction that I could not possibly fit it all in one singular post , so I’m turning it into a series! The first thing I’m going to talk about is the reuse of assets in the designs of the cast for Pahkitew Island and how they where changed. So, going of alphabetically:

Dave

Dave’s pants and shoes are glaringly similar to Harold’s, it was a detail that annoyed me because I felt it lazy to just reuse the asset of not just any character, but a reoccurring past contestant (though trust me, it’s absolutely not the worst that it gets)

But upon closer inspection you can see a number of changes made to the asset to adapt it to the new character, the one that caught my attention first was how the triangular shape of the heel counter was rounded in one side on Dave’s. This use of rounding out lines will be repeated as we look further.

Other notable changes are how the tongues of the shoes stick out more in Dave’s and the lines of the sole are thinner.

Ella

Ella’s skirt and blouse appears to be inspired by Courtney’s dress in The Princes Bride, which I also love! Of course the fairytale and princess lover would have her fit inspired by a princess dress from the fairytale episode!

The outfits aren’t a clear copies of each other’s but the way their shapes are divided are where the inspiration becomes clearer. The choker, the sleeves, the gloves, the v-neck, the two stripes at the bottom, the poofy parts? (I am not a dress nor skirt expert as you can clearly tell).

I now HC that Ella didn’t just watch WT but also Action and The Princes Bride was her fave episode :)

Jasmine

Jasmines hat is taken from Team Amazon’s hat from when they sing Sheering Sheep in Australia, pretty fitting.

The differences here are easy enough to see, the brim of the hat on Jasmine is less angular and doesn’t fold, the band doesn’t have that braided pattern, the circles are lower, and he hat in general is wider.

Scarlett

Don’t even know if to include this one because, from a distance I could’ve sworn Scarlett’s shoes were the same as Izzy’s, but again, with further inspection you can tell some obvious differences.

Scarlett’s shoes are taller than Izzy’s and there the rare occasion here where the Pahkitew design is more angular than the original.

Shawn

Shawn’s fit is straight up taken from a hobo, the most fitting asset reuse of all time lmao

Their vests are nearly identical with just minor differences in the placement of lines and Shawn's being less angular, the folds in their sweaters are different (and I kinda prefer the Hobo's in this one) and their turtleneck is the most obvious difference.

Sky

Sky’s top and necklaces taken from Cameron’s mother, which, I do not get why. It feels so random.

Anyways as for changes, Sky's body type is different from Cameron's mom so the shirt is adjusted to fit that, and the pearl shaped necklace has some differences, it properly wraps around more in Sky's design and it actually looks like a necklace separate from the shirt, where instead they look attached in Cam's mom design.

Sugar

Now HERE’S the one that pisses me off, nearly Sugar’s EVERYTHING was taken from Sadie, her body type, her fit, her arm I literally just Sadie’s arm, they didn’t even change anything there.

It feels so lazy, so disrespectful to both characters, Sugar made it to the final three but they couldn't bother to give her s unique base?

Their tops are nearly identical with minor details changed, they basically just turned Sadie's shorts into pants for Sugar, their shoes are practically identical I kid you not.

Justice for Sugar she deserved so much more.

Topher

And finally the most obvious one.

Topher is obviously inspired from Chris, the most obvious sign is with his color palette, with his clothes being almost identical in color to Chris.

But second of all is his shoes which are almost identical to Chris's if it weren't for the fact Topher's shoes are wider but less tall than Chris.

Well that's all for part 1, let me know if I missed anything! I think part 2 will center around the backgrounds (my fave part of PI's art style!)

[kendrene]

Prompt: Ava/Beatrice + genderfluid!Ava please?

“Are you mad?” You have to force the words past the lump in your throat, not sure that you really want her to answer. But Beatrice has been quiet since you told her, and she has that faraway look in her eyes, the one she gets when she’s thinking too hard about something. There’s a book open in her lap, and you can tell, you are sure she hasn’t read a single word. 

“Am I-” Beatrice looks up, looks at you for the first time since you’ve said - mumbled, nearly lost in your cup of morning tea - hey, I don’t feel like a girl sometimes, is that okay? - and frowns. “Did you forget to unload the dishwasher again?” 

“Uhm. No?” 

“Ate all my leftovers?”

“Nope.” To be honest, you've been tempted. The kung pao chicken Beatrice ordered last night from Aunt Fēn had smelled very very good.

“Have you taken my fleece without asking? You know, the green one with the sleeves that are too long for you and you have to roll up?” 

God, you love that fleece. It's soft and cozy and above all it always smells of Beatrice, even after washing. 

"It's in the closet. I know because I wanted to wear it, but then I remembered I should ask you for it first."

"Thank you, Ava." Beatrice places a piece of paper in between the pages of her book, closes it and pushes it aside. "Then why are you asking me if I'm mad?"

You frown, shaking a corner of the napkin you've been tearing apart loose from where it stuck to your finger. You expected this conversation to be hard. You had resigned yourself to it. You’re not prepared for it to be confusing.

“Beatrice.” You begin slowly, trying to pick your words with care. It isn’t easy. You’re not the kind of person that often thinks before they speak. “None of the things you’ve asked me about make you mad when I do them.” 

Oh.

You blink.

Ohhhhh.

“Exactly.” Beatrice reaches across the table, squeezes your hand with a gentle smile. “So why would I be mad that you told me about yourself?” 

“I don’t know.” You admit, dropping your gaze. The tea cup’s left a wet ring on the surface of the table, and you dip the tip of a finger in it, drawing lazy figure eights. “Maybe because I kind of sprang it on you? Made you fall madly in love with me then went: surprise! I’m not a girl all the time, actually.”

“Ava.” Beatrice flips your hand palm up, tracing her thumb across it until she’s resting it on top of the small knot of veins at the hinge of your wrist. Your pulse quickens, races fast enough for her to feel. “When I fell in love with you, I didn’t expect you not to change.”

“No?” 

She shakes her head, still smiling. 

“That would be falling in love with an idea. But we all change, we all grow. Sometimes we have parts of us we don’t discover until we’re ready, or until we reach a turning point in life. There’s no time limit on it.” 

“So you’re okay with it? Even though I don’t have it all figured out, yet?” You want to explain that it feels shiny and new, but also familiar, like a pocketful of change you forgot inside an old coat only to be pleasantly surprised when you unearth it a couple seasons later. You want to tell her that some days you look at yourself in the mirror and you do see a girl, but not the kind that Sister Frances had in mind when she had refused to cut your hair as short as you’d have liked and forced you to wear dresses. That at night you lie awake till late, listening to her breathing even out as she falls asleep, and imagine the friction of your nape, shaved bare, against the cotton of the pillow. 

And, sometimes, you think, maybe, you’re a fraud. “What if I’m wrong?” Your voice shakes a little. “What if it turns out this was a waste of time?” 

“Getting to know yourself is never time wasted.” Beatrice lets go of your hand and comes around to your chair, sinking to her knees there. “I love you, Ava” She says and you cling to her words the same way she clings to your wrists, the two of you forming one lifeline. “Even if you eventually decide this label doesn’t fit. Even if it turns out none of them do, I love you.” 

You lean down, rest your forehead against hers and it feels a bit precarious, this position, like when people refer to you as she. But Beatrice loops her arms around you, steady. Ready to catch you.

And you know that, no matter what, she always will be.

[siphoklansan]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒕 ✍︎︎

featuring: Anan Atthakornmetha and Charin Kamolnath

Anan’s bottom fangs are thin, long and it sticks out.

The marks on the corner of his lips aren’t tattoos. It’s kinda like a birth mark (for Yakshas)

Anan has dark brown eyeshadow under his eyes.

His hair is thigh-length (half of his thighs) but when tied up it’s hip-length

Anan wears gold jewelry.

Anan’s (red) sash is near knee length

He wears black derby shoes

Anan’s jacket is always on his shoulders, and is always accompanied by a golden brooch chain.

Without the jacket, his sleeves are rolled all the way up to his shoulders.

He wears archery gloves on his right hand.

Charin has a mullet, and his hair sticks up naturally.

He has short, spiky eyebrows

Has red eye shadow

He wears silver jewelry.

He has small fangs.

The swirly marks on his cheeks are birth marks/ features that monkey yakshas have.

His ears are bigger than Anan’s.

Charin’s tail has the same color as his hair

His tail does not reach the floor

He has two silver rings wrapped around the caudal peduncle

Charin’s jacket is off shoulders at all times.

Charin’s (blue) sash is near knee length.

He wears flip-flops, but with (white) bandages wrapped around his calcaneus and ankles

His shirt collar is not buttoned all the way up and wears a loose neck-tie.

His jacket usually covers his hands in his idle pose.

Wears a short sleeved shirt.

Other Notes✍︎︎

They both wear an orange vest because they’re from a fan-made dorm called Asuri, which is still in progress as well as the dorm’s arm band.

They both wear short sleeved shirts, but Anan just folds it to his shoulders.

Charin has a leaner build than Anan, which makes Anan more muscular.

Charin rarely shows his tail, so it’s not required to draw it.

Ignore the badly drawn feet please </3

tagging @axvwriter because they were the one who asked for the long awaited reference sheet. I’m SO sorry it took so long😭🙏

If you guys noticed, yes, I removed Anan’s chain-thingy on his left hand (based on one of my spams) because I got too lazy with drawing it and it’d be a PAIN to draw it all the time. I fr forgot that bro is not a Genshin character so I don’t need to make his design that complex. So, I added archery gloves on his right hand instead because Anan is a skilled archer!✨

I also added some red highlights in Anan’s eyes and I made him look…a little less intimidating. Actually- I feel like he looks scarier when he’s not colored😟 So if you guys wanna make him intimidating with colors, I suggest drawing his eye brows near his eyes so he can look angy😠

I must confess that I have NEVER drawn them with shoes before. Actually- maybe once in one of the OC interaction asks but it wasn’t that detailed and I was drawing out of my own ass. So this reference sheet made me actually design my characters properly.

I suck at anatomy, never learned it either, so I’m pretty sure their build and limbs are wonky asf and I apologize for that😭🙏 HOWEVERRRR if you guys have any questions about them (design related or not) feel free to ask me in my inbox!💖🤍

[babeeangel]

Hii! I hope you’re having a great day beautiful <3 I read your post “blue lock - how you hold their hands”, and while reading the Nagi section I had an idea. Do you think maybe you could write something (headcannons, short fic, I’m not picky!) where reader stops holding Nagi’s hand/sleeve because whenever reader stops Nagi never seems to try to hold readers hand again, and seems to not care/notice so reader is like “oh, I guess he finds it annoying” and stops holding onto him. Sorry if this was long- hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night/etc!

TYSM FOR ASKING 🧡 This is smart and cute maybe almost angsty and suits nagi x reader sm 😞. I did the easiest for me: half hc and half fic ! (it ended up being a teeny bit long and kinda corny oops). Have a lovely week ~

If you love, let me know (and if you don't, then let me go).

(2014 tumblr really popped off with that one)

Where you stop being affectionate to Nagi, thinking it annoys him. 0.9k words. Fluffy, tiny bit angsty.

[from previous headcanons] So you’re always the one to reach for Nagi’s hand (or sleeve, depending how you prefer it hihi)

On the other hand, he’s not often the first one to let go. He basically lets you do all the work, deciding when it starts and when it ends.

But whether you hold his hand or not, he doesn’t seem to care

And on top of that, you’ve already been told something that stuck with you:

“Y\N, you’re so clingy”.

It was a friend of yours that didn’t like physical touch, but still you questioned yourself. Were you too much ?

But to be fair, you had forgotten that sentence and went on with your life. That is until you started dating Nagi. Since you were now being affectionate, and he didn’t seem to care, you suddenly remembered. 

Therefore you started being self conscious. “Maybe I'm overdoing it and he’s annoyed by it, but won’t say it”. 

It was decided. Starting next day, you’d cut down on the hand-holding and clinginess overall.

It was 3:20pm, and Nagi would arrive anytime now. You and your boyfriend had planned to meet up for a coffee and to wander around. “Hey babe !” You said very keenly as you noticed him. You walked up to him with way more spirit than he did. And when you got close enough, you started going in for a kiss. Until you remembered your resolution: no being over the top ! You swiftly played it off and greeted him with a wave. “Uhm, hi”. Nagi was kinda startled. What stunt did you just pull off? He didn’t say anything though, and you pretended everything was absolutely normal.

He didn’t admit it, but he was really looking forward to a kiss. At least a hug. That’s how you always greet him, it’s so enjoyable it reset the whole day's mood. But ugh, he was too lazy to voice it out. “So where are we going ?”. Nagi asked, looking at you dead in the eyes. “Wherever you please, babe”. “I don’t like choosing. Please take us wherever you think’s best. The closest thing from here if that’s what you want”. It’s nice how Nagi was kind enough to let you make all the choices in your relationship, but to you it also meant he wasn't that involved in it, and let you carry the burden of all decisions alone. 

“It’s okay, follow me then”. You signed him to follow you and come closer while you started walking. As he approached you, he started sticking his hand out, thinking you were going to grab it. But you didn’t. So he just looked stupid with his hand reaching at your turned back. “Oh.” He thought. “That’s how it is today”. As you were a bit ahead of him, he had, to his biggest annoyance, walked a tiny bit faster to catch up to you. He wanted to hold your hand. He even thought about taking the initiative for the first time in his life. But, ahh it seemed bothersome. And he was shy, although he’d never admit it.

“Babe… Are you… mad ?”. You were startled. First of all because Nagi was onto the fact that something was wrong. But mostly because it was the first time *ever* he used a pet name with you. But damn, it sounded good. “You should call me that more often, Nagi. I like the ring of it”. Nagi got sulky. It almost felt like you patronized him. “But no, not at all. Why would you think that ? Is there something that’s weighing on your conscience so bad that you’re getting paranoid ?” You finally answered, playfully. You were still looking right in front of you, scared to give in if you met his eyes. 

“Then why are you acting weird ?” “Weird, what do you mean ? I’m my usual self, and in a good mood too. I was eager to see you”. “Is that so ? Then why, then why… Why didn’t you greet me like always ? With a kiss, a hug and holding hands I mean. And why are you gaslighting me too… Do you think I'm dumb ?” To anyone, his voice sounded as lifeless as always. But someone like you, who knew his kind so well, could hear the poutiness behind it. 

“So you DO notice ! And you care too, is that so ?!” “Of course I do, why wouldn't I ? You really think I'm that oblivious ? So why did you do this today ? Is this a test ?” Nagi was looking you in the eyes and you had finally turned your head to him. “I did it because I thought you disliked it. I’m always the one going in for kisses, hugs or even holding your hand. You never react to it, even when I let go. I figured that, if it mattered that little to you, might as well not bother you. Although i have to say, if you thought i was too much, you could’ve at least said so. I would’ve understood.” 

“Well I didn't say anything like that because I didn't think anything like that. I like being close to you”. “But how could I guess ! You never tell me what’s wrong or what’s right ! Everything I have to figure out on my own because you don't talk to me about it”. “I’m sorry, I thought that me not saying anything meant I liked it that way. If it annoyed me, I would've said so.” “You don't have to only point out what’s wrong ! If you love me, let me know !” you said, teary eyed. “I do love you”. And for the first time ever, Nagi went in for a kiss. A good one at that. 

[cuddlepilefics]

SKZ Season Greetings - 15

Change of scenery

Seungmin had eventually cried himself to sleep in Changbin’s arms, despite Felix’ coughing in the room next to his. Jisung’s heart ached for his twin as he sat on the couch, nibbling some apple slices. Him and Hyunjin had confirmed that his fever was slowly going down, so he should hopefully get over his illness like Changbin and Jeongin soon too. Hyunjin had made it his mission to ensure that Jisung would continue to take it easy to avoid another relapse. “What are you planning to do when you finish that apple?”, the dancer asked softly, as he scrolled through social media. His feed was filled with holiday-themed posts and he couldn’t help but feel jealous, still being too sick to go out and enjoy the season.

Clearing his throat, Jisung admitted: “Don’t really know yet. I’m most definitely done sleeping for a while but I don’t want to make the same mistake again. My mind is telling me that I have no right to be lazy now that I’m doing better but….” – “You’re slowly getting better but that doesn’t equal being better”, Hyunjin pointed out, sniffling into his sleeve, “Don’t let your mind guilt-trip you into working yet because we know how that ended the last time.” Jisung hummed in agreement. No matter how frustrating it was, he should probably refrain from working a little longer.

“Do you have anything you wanna do today, hyung?”, Jisung pouted, hoping the older would have an idea for a distraction, so he wouldn’t feel too guilty about not working. Hyunjin shrugged: “I thought that I might paint something, you know, craving the Christmas spirit. That would mean, having to go over to our dorm though and I don’t wanna be there all along while everyone else is here.” – “I could come with you”, the rapper offered, trying to not sound too eager, “I’d gladly keep you company but you’d have to let me watch or else I’d get bored out of my mind.” Laughing tiredly, Hyunjin agreed: “You can watch me paint. Maybe we can listen to music together but no singing, okay? Your voice still sounds really strained.” – “Deal”, Jisung beamed, “Let’s head over right away? We can leave a note for the others, so we don’t have to wake anyone.”

That was exactly what the pair did, though it took them a bit longer to actually leave because Hyunjin kept fussing with Jisung’s scarf for a couple of minutes, making sure it covered his neck well. The cold air made Hyunjin’s eyes water and his nose run, so his dongsaeng linked their arms to guide him while he miserably sniffled into a damp wad of tissues. As soon as Jisung unlocked the door, Hyunjin kicked off his shoes and blindly stumbled to the bathroom to trade the soaked tissues for fresh ones and to properly tend to his runny nose. Jisung took the opportunity of being back at own dorm to change into a fresh set of clothes that actually belonged to him before going to check in Hyunjin. “I’ll start to set up my stuff in a moment”, the dancer promised after blowing his nose for the second time. He was just recovering from a short sneezing fit, triggered by his first attempt at blowing his nose, and the short walk through the cold had certainly drained him.

Jisung had flopped down on Hyunjin’s bed, laying on his tummy and playing games on his phone while the older set up his art supplies. It had been a while since he last had the time to paint something. Stay would certainly be happy if he could post a seasonal painting. Maybe that could be his Christmas present for Stay if he was too sick to really be active on bubble. This gave him a chance to still do something nice for their fans and if forcing Jisung to keep him company would keep the rapper from working himself sick again, that’d be even better.

What Hyunjin hadn’t expected to be such a bother was his nose. He almost snapped at Jisung when the rapper had broken into giggles somewhere along the line. “I’m sorry”, Jisung choked out between giggles, when he saw the annoyance in Hyunjin’s eyes, “I’m sorry, hyung, but you got some paint right there.” He motioned to the tip of the dancer’s nose, plucking a tissue from the box. Approaching Hyunjin, he caught his wrist and chuckled: “Hold still, you’re making it worse.” With how red the dancer’s nose was,  Jisung was afraid he’d hurt the older if he rubbed the paint off too harshly but his light touch brushing against the tip of his nose tickled badly. Drawing a sharp breath, Hyunjin’s eyes flooded with itchy tears while the back of his sinuses tingled. He scrunched up his nose and squinted at Jisung, hoping the younger would get the hint and hurry up. “Don’t touch your face, I got you”, Jisung promised, glancing at his hyung’s paint-covered hands. He carefully cupped the tissues over Hyunjin’s nose when the dancer’s breath hitched.

The force with which Hyunjin pitched forward, certainly took Jisung by surprise but he made sure to hold the tissues in place. He watched incredulously as his hyung’s eyelids fluttered shut for the fourth time. “Done?”, the rapper asked worriedly, not used to Hyunjin sneezing more than once or twice. He didn’t get a reply, just the older panting with a distant look in his eyes. After the fifth sneeze Hyunjin finally sniffled: “Ndow I’b done. Sorry.” Shushing him quietly, Jisung wiped his nose with the tissues before grabbing a few more. Instructing the older to close his eyes, he gently wiped over his tear-dotted lashes before covering his nose again. “Blow”, the rapper whispered, gently cleaning his friend up, making sure not to irritate his sensitive nose further. “Thank you, Ji”, Hyunjin sniffled tiredly, as he glanced down at the paint on his fingers, “Quokka for the rescue.” Giving the older a crooked smiled, Jisung hummed: “No problem. Be right back.”

After disposing of the tissues, Jisung quickly went to wash his hands. Hyunjin already started to wonder if the boy got lost on his way back because it took him so long to return but when he did, he was carrying a pot of tea along with two cups, so they could share a hot drink. While Jisung poured them a cup each, Hyunjin went to wash the paint of his hands, glad to take a break from painting for a bit because it was starting to aggravate his headache. Cuddling together on Hyunjin’s bed, the pair sipped their tea and startled when Jisung’s phone rang. “Hey, I just found your note. Did the two get tired of us?”, Minho teased. Laughing softly, the rapper explained: “Hyunjin-hyung was the only one awake and he wanted to paint something. My fever went down quite a bit and I got bored, so I tagged along to watch. How are things going?” – “Well, Lixxie is completely knocked out, that’s for sure”, Minho hummed, “That makes it easier to keep Chan in bed though because I can convince him to stay with Lix. Changbin and Jeongin are both awake and feeling better but they’re keeping Seungmin company. Innie said Min is really restless and emotional, so… it’s good he has someone.” – “And how are you, hyung?”, Jisung whispered over the phone, not missing how the older failed to give an update on himself.

After a moment of silence, Minho sighed: “Not much different. ‘m still really sniffly, my head hurts and the fever just doesn’t want to go down. I napped with Chan and Felix but now I can’t sleep anymore and don’t want me being restless to wake them.” – “You wanna join us, hyung?”, Hyunjin offered. “Oh, hey, Jinnie”, the older smiled, only now becoming aware of his fellow dancer listening, “If I wouldn’t be a bother….” Hyunjin and Jisung exchanged a look before the dancer scolded: “We’ve been over this, hyung, haven’t we? You need to stop always assuming you’d be a bother to people. You’re more than welcome over here. If you could do us one favor though… We’re running out of tissues because we only stocked up your dorm, assuming we’d only be there, so….” – “Yeah, sure, I can do that”, Minho chuckled, “I’ll be over in a bit and I’ll bring tissues.”

It didn’t take long till the front door clicked and Minho shuffled in, kicking off his snowy boots. There were still some snowflakes in his hair and he shuddered as he shrugged off his coat. With trembling hands he plucked a tissue from the box he was carrying and caught two stuffy sneezes in it before wiping his cold nose. Jisung emerged from Hyunjin’s room after hearing the commotion and made his way over to his hyung with a wide smile. Throwing his arms around his shivering hyung, Jisung hugged the older tight and offered: “Do you wanna pick a blanket from my bed? You could get all cozy when you join Hyunjin-hyung and me. I’ll just go and grab a cup for you. We have tea in his room.” Minho nodded gratefully, happy to get a change of scenery despite feeling just as sick as he had these past few days.