#spinning them in the washing machine of my mind

[torchmlp]

Quarry ask! Which of the counselors do you think can cook, and which do you think are so bad at it, they could burn water?

Oooh this is a fun ask!

The obvious one who can cook would be Nick since he worked in the kitchen all summer. And I think he'd be really good at it. Obviously his ingredient choices would be limited at camp, but I bet he has a spice rack at home with everything in it, including those spices that no one has ever heard of. Whenever the counselors get together (I fully believe they would have potluck style get togethers), everyone always devours whatever Nick brings. In other words, get that boy a Kiss The Cook apron.

Abi I think would have a basic understanding of cooking. She can make most meals and can follow recipes without issue. I don't think she'd be into any of the real fancy stuff, though, preferring to make simpler meals. She cooks in bulk and then has a lot of leftovers so she doesn't have to worry about cooking every day.

Emma also has basic cooking skills, but I think she'd be more willing to experiment with different things, like looking up recipes online to try if they sound interesting. And then maybe she records it for her followers.

I think for Jacob and Kaitlyn (childhood bffs my beloved) it'd be really funny if Jacob was the one who could cook out of the two of them. And like, he's surprisingly good at it, not Nick levels of good, but still really good. Maybe he had to learn how to make healthy meals for himself when he was in sports because nutrition is important (it's not gonna stop him from splurging on peanut butter butterpops, though). He can also bake really well.

Kaitlyn, if left to her own devices, would eat cheap ramen every day. Could she learn how to cook? Yes. Does she care to learn how to cook? No. I do think she'd know how to make some traditional Chinese meals, but doesn't really bother cooking most days.

I fully subscribe to @ghostradiodylan's headcannon that Dylan is a disaster cook due to his ADHD. He would get distracted and forget that he was heating something until he'd smell smoke and by then it's burnt to a crisp. He just doesn't have the attention span to focus on cooking, especially with recipes that require waiting for something to boil or heat up. Maybe he could do crockpot meals where you just throw the ingredients in, turn it on, and forget about it until the end of the day. But mostly I think he would stick with easy microwave meals (just throw it in the microwave and heat it for however long and then it's ready. No other prep work) as long as he could hear the timer go off when it was ready.

Ryan can definitely cook. He probably learned more out of necessity than anything since he had to help take care of his sister. Maybe he finds it relaxing. I could see him learning some skills from his grandmother for his cooking.

I don't remember who said it in the quarry brainrot discord (come join us!) but Laura is definitely a grill master and has a Grill Daddy apron. The girl can make a mean steak/burger/ribs. I bet she even has her own smoker.

Max straight up can't cook. He's a kitchen disaster. One time he wanted to surprise Laura with breakfast in bed and it ended in him spilling pancake batter everywhere, burning the eggs, undercooking the bacon, and nearly causing a kitchen fire when the toaster short-circuited (he was saved by Laura waking up to the sound of the fire alarm going off and using the extinguisher on the poor toaster. She still said it was one of the best breakfasts she had ever had). He can't cook, but boy can he bake. @itscomingupaces said that Max can make a mean cheesecake and that's 100% true.

Thank you for the ask! What's everyone else's headcannons?

[holysheithyall]

good to see people still love sheith as they should

[vvindication]

dlc ramblings about my tarnished <3 under read more to prevent spoilers

the breaking of Miquella's spell and everyone dedicated to finding him IMMEDIATELY breaking apart and even trying to kill one other (Leda ?!) has me soooo fucked up

I went into the dlc seeing this cobbled together group realizing this is exactly what my tarnished sought out - others that actually seem to understand xir, that share this common goal of wanting kindness despite the cruelty of the world, following in a kind god's footsteps. refusal to bow to the golden order, without the urge to burn the world in retaliation

xe didnt (and dont) get that with xir fellow tarnished, EXCEPT Rogier, but hes dead and gone. most tarnished of the round table are at this point. Gideon remains (for now), but he isnt exactly the most stellar example of teamwork (I know he's a boss fight and I didnt exactly trust him to begin with. smug bitch)

I think xe thought xe might have finally found a place to belong. and its been completely shattered before xe even had time to get used to it. if there is no hope, no chance for kindness to work, why not give in to destiny and burn it all

[swagging-back-to]

also i have like two buckets full of stuff to put out next weekend for a yardsale. any profits I get will go towards buying weed <3

[woso-dreamzzz]

Surgery III

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: Mami wants another one

Because of your superpower, Mami says that you make a lot of assumptions. She says it's because your brain makes lots of different connections that other people wouldn't. Sometimes you just assume things because of it.

You don't know what that means but you just nod and smile because Ingrid says that's what you need to do to get Mami to stop talking sometimes.

You're completely enamoured with the washing machine spinning when Ingrid swears. Or, you think she swears. Sometimes she says stuff in Norwegian that she tells you not to repeat because it's naughty so you assume those are swear words.

She doesn't swear a lot but you know to ignore it anyway, focussing on the way the washing machine spins. You'd tried to get in it once with Bagheera so you could both spin but Mami got angry at you and talked for ages for you smiled and nodded as your mind wandered to whether or not you could fit in Bagheera's cat tree.

"Cub," Ingrid groans and your name makes you turn.

She's holding one of your toy trucks. It's big and yellow and it's like the ones that the people building the apartments down the street use to move all their big rocks.

You smile toothily at Ingrid and reach your hand out for your toy.

"I asked you to clean up your mess a while ago, cub," She says, not giving your toy to you.

You frown. Ingrid did tell you to do that but you'd gotten distracted by Bagheera and then the rumble of the washing machine. You like the washing machine so you sat in front of it.

"My toy," You say.

"We need to clean up," Ingrid says," It's very messy."

You don't see the problem. Your things are strewn all over the room but you know where everything is so it shouldn't be a problem. But Ingrid likes things neat and tidy.

You think that's why Mami is dating her because Mami is messy and she needs someone to organise her things like how Ingrid helps you organise your thoughts.

You like Ingrid though and want to keep her happy because she's the boss in the house.

You get a bit distracted as you go to pick up your digger, making little engine noises with your mouth. You're not really sure how engine noises sound so you just mimic the sound of the washing machine instead.

You ram it into the wall a few times as Mami comes into the room.

She's holding Bagheera.

"Oh, please, Ingrid," Mami says," It won't be much trouble. Please, let's get another one."

You wonder what Mami is talking about. You put your truck away and reach for your lion cub, making it purr like the washing machine as you get out your magic wiggles.

You mull over Mami's words. You don't go to nursery a lot (Ingrid says that they don't accommodate your add with an h somewhere well so you only go when you absolutely have to) but the last time you went, there was a little boy who said that his mum begged his papa for another baby and she got one.

If that's what Mami is talking about, you don't like it. You don't want a new baby because if Mami gets a new baby then maybe you won't be lion cub anymore because the baby will be younger than you so they'll get your nickname.

You don't want a new nickname because you're Mami and Ingrid's cub.

Your thoughts make your magic wiggles a bit worse than better, especially when Mami mentions your name.

"It'd be good for y/n," She says," You've always said it was good for you when you were younger."

Ingrid makes a face. "That's different and you know it. We had a bigger house when I was younger. There's not enough space here."

You're glad Ingrid is speaking up because adults don't always listen to little kids. You know this because sometimes the adults at nursery don't like you running around when you have the magic wiggles even though Ingrid tells you it's the best way to get them out.

You hope Mami listens to Ingrid because you definitely don't want the new baby that Mami must want.

"Please, Ingrid," Mami says," We can make room! y/n would love it! It could share her bed."

You freeze instantly. Your brain screeches to a halt as you work out what Mami's just said.

You're up on your feet, throwing your lion cub to the ground and screeching. It's very high pitched and it makes your ears ring a little bit. You stamp your foot.

"No!" You say," Not in my bed!"

You don't want to share your bed anymore than you want to share your Mami and your Ingrid.

"No! No! No!" You cry.

You couldn't get your magic wiggles out earlier but they're all coming out now as you scream and cry as much as your little body will allow.

"Why?" Mami asks," You let Bagheera sleep in bed with you."

"My Bagheera!" You say through your tears.

Mami tries to go to soothe you but you shriek again and hide behind Ingrid because she doesn't want this new baby either and she won't betray you like Mami is.

"Si," Mami says," Your Bagheera. But you love Bagheera a lot."

You nod.

"Don't you want to have another friend to play with?"

You shake your head. "No! No new baby! Just me!"

Mami looks at you strangely. "I know," She says," You're the only baby we'll have. We know that."

It's your turn to look strange at Mami now and you peek out from behind Ingrid's leg to look at her. You sniffle. "Why're you askin' for another one if you know it's just me?"

Mami laughs slightly, a smiling tugging at her lips. "I'm sorry, cub. I should have been more clear."

"Mapi," Ingrid says warningly," No."

"Oh come on, it'll be good for her. It'll teach her responsibility."

You frown. "What will?"

"I've been thinking." Mami eases down to your height. "You're a big girl now and you love Bagheera a lot but she's technically Mami's, right?"

You nod.

"Well, how about we get you a kitten for yourself? Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Mapi!"

You nod quickly and Mami smiles.

"Well," She says," You just have to convince Ingrid. Because she's the boss, remember?"

[sehodreams]

I had a thought!!

the MTL in riize to get hard like a teenager when they see you walking without a bra and that they can see your nipples?? Like it's embarrassing but even just the side of boobs or the under boob make them hard ???

Don't forget to stay hydrated <3

Aww thank you so much for the message, I'll make sure to drink lots of water!!!

TW and tags: hella suggestive, this is a boob account at this point hahaha (I love that)

Most

Anton

Sungchan

Seunghan

Sohee

Wonbin

Eunseok

Shotaro

Least

Anton is still kind of immature, he's learning how to control himself, and he LOVES boobs, so it's no surprise his eyes are always on your chest. Still, he does his best, but the minute he sees the outline of your nipples, his mind starts spinning, hurrying you up to finish whatever you were doing to take you home, sitting and covering his lap with your bag until the Uber arrives. (Also, I have a headcanon of him with a swimmer teammate going to a hotel pool and getting in even if the water is cold, and then when she goes out and her hard nipples are visible through the swimsuit, he would have his first boner to a girl he knows in real life. He loves to see the underside of your boob when you wear bikinis too.)

Sungchan loves it when you go to the gym with him and keep him company. Talking to you between sets and helping you put or remove weight from the machines you use feels like a dream come true for him, but if he sees you taking off your t-shirt and you only wearing a sports bra, he'd start getting anxious, and not being able to concentrate on what he's doing with the image of you in front of him exercising with your boobs shaking because of the force you're using, he'd drop everything to take you home and lift your bra to show him properly what you have there.

Seunghan would be the one telling you to go out without a bra, after all, we're just going to the store, so who cares? well, he cares, a lot, but he wouldn't get embarrassed or anything, he'd just get a little lost on your pretty nipples poking your shirt since he can perfectly imagine them naked, and to be honest, he'd sneak a little touch between aisles after making sure no one was around.

Sohee would watch your nipples with attention, but he'd be okay, however, seeing the soft side of your boob? That would drive him mad. He gave you one of his sleeveless shirts because your coffee ruined your white blouse and you had to put it immediately in his washing machine, it wasn't nothing out of the ordinary, you knew how to use it, but he never thought you'd toss in your bra too, and seeing that little flesh of yours whenever you moved made him dizzy, it wasn't even your nipples what made him nervous, but that little plump skin, and before you notice, he's sneaking a hand inside to feel it better.

Wonbin is just like Sohee, nipples make him want to steal a few glances, but the flesh of your skin is the only thing that would make him shift uncomfortable on his seat, "I like that dress" he'd say, convincing you to wear it more, but you shake your head "too much skin" you say, not knowing how insane you're making him showing him the side of your ribcage, and especially, the side of your boobs.

Eunseok knows how to control himself, he won't get hard just with the image of your sweet chest calling for him to get a taste, but he'd have a hard time not looking at your nipples show through your t-shirt, and if you were in the privacy of his/your room, he'd tease you a lot, ''If you wanted my attention you could've just asked for it with words'', pulling you closer and playing with them over the fabric of your clothes.

Shotaro is not a kid, he won't get hard just from seeing your boobs through your clothes, but he'd get hard when his hand brushes them (on purpose), smiling and pretending he didn't mean to touch them.

[winterarmyy]

Just a passing thought but what if dark!stalker!bucky is infatuated with this lovely girl who he often sees at the local library…

He never approached her, of course. God, no. How can he? He was literally dripped with the vibe of a ‘serial killer’, dark and brood and dangerous and she was just everything soft and sweet. She’d be running scared if he approached her first. So he decided to be patient, to wait for the bunny to walk into the wolf’s den on her own. Though, that didn’t stop Bucky from watching her in the shadows, or sending death threats to all the men she went on dates with, or setting up hidden cameras all over her apartment. 

Bucky made himself comfortable on his bed, fingers lazily tapping on his phone, checking each camera to make sure none of them were out of order. “Perfect. Now, where’s my sweet bunny?”

Honestly, Bucky never expected anything from this, oh who was he kidding? He was kinda expecting to see her curled up in her comfy chair, buried behind a book like how he often sees her in the library and maybe see her spend hours on rubbing her skin with those perfumed moisturizer because she always smelled so fucking good.

I mean, he did see those things, but more. So much more. And he was not ready for it. He didn’t know why it never came across his mind, maybe because of how soft and sweet she was acting with other people but…. there she was; doing the weirdest, silliest, quirkiest, stupid things when she's alone.

Bucky is so baffled and confused at first; like how did this shy and quiet girl just change completely? Oh, but he loves it. He can’t remember the last time he laughed this loud, this genuine. Not since he fell off that train, not when he reunited with Steve just to be left alone again. 

Now? God damn, he laughs every day. Now, he is rolling on his bed, tears threaten to spill out from the corners of his eyes.

He just witnessed how she abruptly threw the knife and carrot in her hands at the sound of the Samsung washing machine going off from a distance. She glided and slid her way to the laundry room, as if drawn to the rhythmic beep. Her face was set with utmost seriousness, but her body began to sway, moving with the same well-choreographed dance that she always performed when lost in her own little world of domestic rhythms.

Her movements were both precise and fluid, a blend of graceful steps and playful spins while maintaining the same laser-focused expression on her face. She twirled in time with the washing machine’s vibrations, as if the appliance had its own secret beat that only she could hear. When the song ended, she straightened up and walked back to the kitchen. 

She picked up the knife and carrot with the same efficiency as before, seamlessly returning to the task of prepping her veggies as if the dance had never happened at all. 

Yeah, sure. Bucky jerked off to her some nights; of course he would . Especially when she was moaning and whimpering so sweetly as she played with her clit. But this? The random crazy shit she does? He loves to see it.

Fuck, he loves her.

“Oh, bunny. Looks like I’m gonna need to chase you now that you refuse to come to me.”

Just a thought tho...

[gingiesworld]

Confusion

Leigh Shaw x Step Sibling GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop @marvelogic @dopeyouth @karsonromanoff @bimad (if you want to be added to my taglist, please DM me or comment)

18+ MINORS DNI

Since the moment Leigh had ended her fling with Danny, her dead husband’s brother, she had been in a kind of limbo. She has been moody, depressed, afraid that she can’t escape her old life, unable to move forward.

“You’ll be fine Leigh.” Jules comforted her one night as she cried, after having a dream about Matt.

“He won’t leave me alone.” She sobbed as Jule’s grip tightened around her.

“Maybe you should move on.” She tried as Leigh shook her head no.

“I tried that.” She told her as Jules chuckled.

“I mean move on away from the Greer family.” She told her. “Maybe Y/N.” She teased as Leigh shook her head.

“They’re my step sibling.” She told her as she shoved Jules away with a laugh.

“Well, that’s never really stopped their obvious crush on you.” Jules told her as Leigh raised a brow. “Ever since we have been kids, they’ve always had heart eyes for you.”

“No.” She shook her head as Jules nodded. “That can’t be.” Her words trailed off.

After that moment, she spent days racking her brain as she remembered every moment from their childhood, from the moment her father married Y/N’s mom before she passed. Every time they had done something for her without asking, helping her with homework that she didn’t understand. Even defending her in high school when she would get bullied by the cheerleaders and the jocks.

It had been weeks since Jules’s revelation, every time she had seen Y/N around her father’s home, fixing things that needed to be fixed, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander, but she never realised that she would have to see them so soon.

“Hi?” She questioned as she answered the door to them, unsure of why they’re there with their tools.

“Your mom told me she had a problem with the washing machine.” Y/N told her as she nodded, letting them inside and watching as they walked through to the utility room. Once she closed the door, she took a deep breath before following them, watching as they started to take apart the drum.

“Do you want some coffee or water?” She asked them.

“Coffee please.” They answered with a smile, a smile that had made Leigh’s heart skip a beat for the first time. As she waited for the coffee to brew, her thoughts were plagued by them, unholy thoughts as she watched them start with the washing machine. She has already seen how strong they are, seeing them work on the new construction sight.

“Are you ok?” They asked her as they entered the kitchen.

“Yeah.” She breathed out as she kept her eyes on their movements, watching as they reached under the sink. “What are you doing?” She asked them.

“Just some bicarb, it helps with the belt.” They told her. “It was full of grime so it wasn’t spinning as well as it should have been so I've cleaned most of it but putting it on a drum wash with a cup of this inside will help more.”

“How do you know this stuff?” She asked them as they shrugged.

“I guess I’ve always liked the idea of mending things that are broken.” They told her before leaving to head into the utility room, soon followed by Leigh and two cups of coffee in her hand.

“What if you come across something you can’t fix?” She asked them as they shrugged, sipping the coffee from their cup.

“I guess if I can’t repair it, it doesn't matter how much research I do but I won’t be able to fix it, I just have to move on.” They told her as she nodded, thinking of what to say next.

“Why have you barely spoken to me since college?” She asked them.

“I don’t know.” They spoke unsurely. “I never really thought about it.”

“It’s been since the moment I met Matt.” She stated as they finished their coffee before packing away their tools, wanting to get out of the house and away from the conversation. “Is it because of your feelings for me?”

“How do you?” Y/N asked her, hurt in their eyes as she raised a brow. “I have to go.” They tried to walk past her but she stopped them.

“Just tell me the truth. I deserve that at least!” She yelled as they squeezed her eyes closed.

“Yes!” They yelled, their eyes glazed with tears. “I have been in love with you since I can remember, and yes, I became distant when you and Matt started seeing each other because it wasn’t me. It would never be me so I left you alone.” Leigh listened as they poured their heart out. “So I tried to move on from you, from this hold you have on me but I can’t and I hate it!” She watched as they stepped around her, leaving the house as Leigh remained frozen in her place.

As the hours passed, Leigh remained locked in her thoughts, wanting to apologise to Y/N but they were ignoring her calls, so she decided to ask her dad for their address. Soon racing through the city towards their house, she smiled as she remembered how they always said they wanted a nice little house, never really seeing the appeal of an apartment.

“Leigh?” They spoke unsurely as she walked around to find them chopping up firewood. “What do you want?”

“I want to apologise.” She told them. “I was out of line.”

“I respected you.” They told her. “That’s why I never acted on my feelings for you, that’s why I kept my distance because I respect you, I respect your boundaries.”

“I know that.” She tried as they shook their head.

“You don’t.” They whispered as she approached them. “I have loved you for as long as I can remember, when we were kids, you used to say that you would marry me one day.” She sighed as she remembered the moments when her father and their mom dated. “You said you would always love me more than life itself but I grew up realising that everything we had felt, it was all one sided.” They sighed as they put the axe down. “You never loved me the way I love you.”

“You don’t know that!” She yelled as she now stood before them. “We’re siblings.” She told them. “We still are.”

“I never saw you as one.” They told her. “I saw you as the one who owned my heart but I guess the joke’s on me.” She watched as they entered their house, following them as they washed their hands.

“What can I do?” She asked them as they shook their head with a dry chuckle.

“You can leave me alone.” They told her. “Just let me try to move on from you.”

“But.” She tried as Y/N gave her a sad look.

“I just need to move on from you, from what will never be because I can’t deal with this.” They told her. “So please leave.”

“No.” She whispered as they clenched their fists.

“I need you to leave.” They told her in a broken whisper. “Just leave me be and move on with your life.” They opened the door for her, waiting for her to move before she stopped before them.

“You do know that you are one of the most important people in my life.” She told them.

“Just not important enough.” They told her before closing the door behind her. Sighing as they leaned against it, squeezing their eyes as they heard her car door close, but not hearing the footsteps as she climbed the steps and knocked on the door again. Y/N opened the door reluctantly, seeing a confused Leigh, watching as she cupped their cheek, gazing into their eyes.

“I just need to see something.” She whispered as Y/N remained frozen, eyes closing as they felt her breath fan over their face, sighing as they felt her lips on theirs, kissing tenderly before their hands moved to wrap around her waist, soon finding themselves lost within each other as Leigh pushed them inside the house, kicking the door closed as she pushed them down on the sofa, straddling their lap as she felt everything and more with each passing moment, every action igniting her being as she found herself beneath them, panting and moaning as they moved down her body.

The two of them lay cuddling on the sofa, just a blanket wrapped around them as Y/N’s arms held her close. She smiled as she felt alive for the first time in years, even just the slightest touch of their fingers brushing her arm softly ignited her.

“What are you thinking?” She asked as she looked up into their eyes.

“I don’t know if this is real to you.” They told her honestly. “I just need to know because I don’t think I can stay if this doesn’t mean anything to you.” She shuffled to straddle their lap, cupping their face as she looked into their eyes.

“I guess you can say that I needed to open my eyes to what was in front of me.” She told them. “This feeling I have right now is the most alive I have felt in my life, I guess it has always been you. It’s always going to be you Y/N.” She kissed them softly before the two smiled. “We should shower.” She whispered as her hands massaged their sweaty shoulders, Y/N nodded before picking her up, carrying her up the stairs as she giggled. The two happy and content.

[angelbaby-fics]

Just saw my first picture of Ransom in the sweater during Autumn It has me thinking about Ransom where him being independent and less of a rich meanie, he is doing laundry and shrinks his sweater. THE sweater. So little gets a sweater just like cg Ransom. And he has to go buy another so they can match ♡ and they cuddle and eat cookies together ♡ that sounds like a nice day to me ♡

-♡

Sweater Weather

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: OMGGGGGGG anon this is such a cute idea!! i had to write it as a full fic & i even have some inklings of a part 2 in mind 😳 ahhh i'd give anything to hug him in that big comfy cozy sweater omg 🥺💕

Ransom could absolutely, one hundred percent do his own laundry. Seriously, how hard could it be? All he had to do was put the clothes in the machine, pour in some soap, and press start. Just because it took him until his forties to start doing this on his own didn’t mean you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Ransom was committed to setting a good example for you, teaching you how to be self-sustaining and not just a spoiled brat like he’d once been. As a result of this decision, the maid now only came every two weeks instead of weekly, and Ransom was responsible for everything in between. 

Dragging the hamper down into the laundry room, Ransom sighed as he tossed handfuls of dirty clothes into the washing machine. He slammed the metal door shut with a roll of his eyes; just because he could do the laundry didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. As the water began to fill up the drum of the machine, Ransom went back upstairs, settling into his big armchair to enjoy a book while he waited for you to wake up. The coffee he’d made earlier that morning was already room temperature by now, but he decided he’d rather just bear it than get up and make a new one. One chore was enough to deal with right now. When less than five minutes remained on the wash cycle, Ransom heard you stirring in your room upstairs. 

He took the stairs two at a time, not wasting a second to get you into his arms. Lifting you out of your crib, he rocked you back and forth, patting your back to soothe away a sob that hadn’t yet come. Ransom bounced you on his hip for a few minutes as you adjusted to the new morning, whispering sweet affirmations as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. He carried you over to the window, and you hid your face into his chest as he opened the curtains to let in the sunshine. Your daddy smelled like wood and cinnamon and love all wrapped up in one man.

The buzzer of the washing machine went off just as Ransom and you reached the bottom of the stairs. You looked up at him with wide eyes, frightened by the sudden noise, but he comforted you once more. “Shh baby, don’t worry,” Ransom soothed, “It's just the laundry.” He picked your blanket and pacifier up from the couch, adorning you with both. “Do you wanna help me put it all in the dryer?” You nodded, always eager for quality time with your daddy. He carried you back down to the basement where the laundry room was. You rarely saw this part of the house as you rarely needed to, aside from laundry it was mostly used for storage and guest accommodations if the upstairs guest rooms were taken. Curiously, you gazed all around you, taking in all the aspects of this new part of your daddy’s massive house. 

Ransom sat you on top of the dryer. Opening the doors of both machines, he began to take out damp clothes and hand them to you. It was your job to toss the clothes into the opening of the dryer below you. Finally, when all the clothes were loaded in, Ransom handed you a dryer sheet to put in with it all. It smelled like fresh lavender, the familiar scent of your sheets and blankets. You grinned behind your paci, so proud to be part of what made your house a home. Ransom picked you up off the dryer and set you down on the floor so you could push the door closed all by yourself, and you waved at your clothes through the clear window as they began to spin. 

To pass the time while the clothes dried, Ransom made you breakfast and helped you eat it at the kitchen table. He was just wiping off your face with the corner of your bib when he heard the buzzer on the dryer. This time you weren’t scared, you knew what the sound meant. 

“Is ready?” You asked with excitement.

“It sure is! Do you wanna help me organize it?” Ransom offered, happy to have his favorite little helper make the chores less boring.

Ransom removed your bib and lifted you back onto his hip. He put you back on top of the dryer and scooped all the warm, clean clothes into a hamper to take back upstairs.

“I’m sorry baby, but you gotta walk up with me.” He said with a sigh. “Daddy can’t hold you and the basket at the same time!”

But being the stubborn and spoiled little angel that you were, that wasn’t gonna happen. So Ransom carried you back upstairs, settled you into his big comfy bed, handed you a stuffy to watch you for the moment, and then retrieved the laundry on a second trip. When he got back upstairs, he dumped the warm clothes on top of you, making you giggle as the fresh laundry rained down on you in a flurry of cozy smells and soft textures. You emerged from the pile like a baby chicky from an egg. Ransom kissed your nose before starting to pick the clothes off of you one by one, folding each one as he went. One of your t-shirts, then another, a pair of his socks, and a cute little sweater of yours. 

Except… he couldn’t remember buying a sweater like this for you. In fact, it looked an awful lot like one of his sweaters but smaller.

“Oh, come on!” Ransom whined, dropping the shrunken sweater on the bed with frustrated force.

“What’s wrong, daddy?” You asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ransom replied, taking out his phone and furrowing his brows as he typed. 

Turns out, laundry was indeed more complicated than Ransom had assumed. If he’d been more careful, he would have known that some clothes needed special settings, or else the heat could warp the fibers and make them shrink. Thus, his favorite cream-colored cable knit sweater was now far too small for his giant frame.

It was perfect for you, however.

Thinking quickly, Ransom picked the sweater back up and held it up to you. Your eyes widened with glee. A new sweater just for you? And you’d be matching with daddy! You eagerly took the sweater out of his hands and put it on over your shirt. It fit you perfectly, the sleeves just slightly too long in the most perfectly cozy way. Wearing it felt like a constant hug from Ransom. Despite having just been washed, you could still smell him under the lavender scent. The threads of the knit were comfortably lived in, frayed around the hem from years of wear and anxious fiddling. That’s when you realized it was Ransom’s sweater all along, shrunken down to your size.

“But daddy…. It’s s’posed to be yours!” You said, looking up at him with a nervous look. 

As happy as you were to be the new owner of your favorite sweater, it saddened you to think you would never see him wear it again. Your eyes started to water, mourning the vision of your daddy as you always imagined him, snuggled up in the piece of clothing he’d owned the longest and worn most often. Change was hard for you to take, and Ransom understood that. “Hey, it's okay baby, you can have it now!” Ransom tried to cheer you up, gently wiping the tears from your face with his soft fingers.

“But I want you to have it!” You cried into the sleeves.

“It's too small for me, baby!” He laughed, a smile breaking through your sobs as you imagined Ransom squeezed into a tiny sweater. “But if you want, I can buy a new one for myself. Then we can match!”

You smiled, nodding leaning forward into his arms.

“Yeah? You like that idea?” Random asked, and you nodded again, killing two birds with one stone as you used the action to dry your tears on his shirt. “Alright baby, let's go out and buy a new sweater for daddy.”

[arabellavernierwrites]

overwhelmed. s.r.

summary: when you had an overwhelming day at work, spencer is there to pick up the pieces.

word count: 612

warnings: mentions of stress, slight ranting

a/n: hello everyone ! thank you so much for being so incredible to me these past few stories. i really appreciate how supportive you all are. thank you for taking the time to read my work, it means so much to me. today i wanted to make something a little shorter, the idea came to me and i wanted you all to be able to read it. please, if you have any requests at all, send them in! i really only do reader works (meaning i don’t do ships) and don’t often write smut, but am open to the idea. thank you all so much, again! have an amazing wonderful day, love you all!

the world seemed to spin around you. as if someone had locked you in a washing machine and allowed you to tumble.

you had your days when the stress of work was overwhelming. too much paperwork, too many emails, too many people needing assistance with something or another. today was one of those days where you were simply pushed too far, and your mind was swimming.

you jostled your apartment door open, greeted by your boyfriend, spencer, leaning over the sink, washing dishes.

“hello, how was your day?” he asked as you tossed your bag, coat, and shoes on the floor. spencer looked up, a playful kindness in his eyes.

your lower lip began to quiver, his face fell, “sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

he quickly swept you up in his arms, wrapping you in his sweater, your face pressed to his chest.

you took a deep breath and tangled your hands together behind his back, “everybody needed something at work, paperwork, emails, coffee. and then my shoe broke when i was walking out of the building. my car started making that clicking sound again on the way home, my key wouldn’t fit in the door, and that stupid dishwasher is still broken-”

“breathe,” he whispered, his fingers twisting through your hair.

“i know, i’m sorry,” you quickly sucked in your breath.

“there’s nothing to be sorry for,” you could hear the frown on his face.

you had a problem with saying sorry, it worsened when you were stressed. the feeling of stepping on everyone’s toes, being a bother, occupying too much space or time. it was overwhelming on an average day, but when mixed with anxiety, it was suffocating.

“it’s just,” you stepped back, spencer’s arms remaining around your waist, “stress”.

“stress is a very powerful thing,” he spoke sincerely.

“i know,” you shook your head.

you tried to turn around, hide from the issue in your bedroom as you changed your clothes, hoping the conversation would die out.

spencer was faster, pulling you back towards him, “hey, what did we talk about?”

“not pushing you away when i need help,” you stated, quietly, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“and what are you doing?” his eyebrows raised.

“pushing you away when i need help,” you tried to hide the twinge of shame in your voice, knowing you promised spencer to not go full lockdown mode whenever you weren’t feeling well.

“i’m sorry work was hard on you today. we’ll figure out your shoe before work, if your car is still making the clicking sound i’ll take it to the shop when i get home, and no need to worry about the dishwasher. i called the repairman and he’s coming over tomorrow to handle it,” he reached up and placed a hand on either side of your face, “is there anything you need? is there anything i can do to help you?”

you held back tears of gratitude for him. his big brown eyes were sweet. they were kind and gentle, filled with pure love and admiration. but you could see worry danced through his irises as he waited for a solution.

“i think a shower would be nice,” you thought for a moment, “and then we can have a cup of tea and start that new show”.

spencer couldn’t hold his smile in anymore, “which tea would you like?”

“cinnamon,” you whispered.

“we’ll go take a shower and i’ll make some while you put your pajamas on, okay?” he whispered back.

you nodded, raising your hand to hold it on the back of his, “thank you”.

“anything for you,” he leaned down, placing a soft kiss on your lips, “come on”.

[penaltyboxboxbox]

Dave, I gotta say, perceiving charlos as qunari/elf pairing made my mind spin like a washing machine on drugs. 28373638 out of 10 idea. The implications……. I shan’t speak or I will be jailed.

Also loving the lore you have with this series, it’s such transformative piece of media. You love it, you hate it but you can never have enough. And the new games comes out soooo soon (hopefully). Cannot wait to spend 100+ hours in the world of dragon age again 😭😭

qunari/elf charlos my beloved.......my little storyline i have in mind of them is that charles is struggling with nightmares and such and theres whisperings in the circle that he will be made tranquil...so pierre being a better friend than he is templar helps charles sneak out of the circle so now YAY HES AN APOSTATE and i think while he's out running away in the woods thats where he bumps into Carlos...they both start with very harsh views on one another (qun and mages are not usually getting along lol) they end up traveling together and building a rivalrous little friendship...they bicker about things...carlos always thinks he knows best (qun is best obvs) but he still listens when charles pushes back on him (which is often).

also they are yaoiful of course. thank you 🫡

[unofficialadamtaurus]

I am chronically unable to keep fics to myself so enjoy this thing that's been on my mind since I reread an old ask

Adam knows oblivion. He didn’t used to; for twenty-three years of life, it was a concept and nothing more.

By its very nature it is unknowable until he is, at once and without warning, exhumed from it. Sensation crashes through his spinning mind: the ground under his boots, the weight and feel of his clothes, the air rushing into his lungs when he pulls in a reflexive breath.

His remaining senses wash over him in the aftershock of abrupt existence: the oily scents of industry and garbage; the clash of steel and shouted cries; and his sight. White at first, it clears to permit him a view of the fight reaching his ears.

He’s in a warehouse. Some kind of shipping hub, judging by the towering shelves full of boxes and stacked pallets. On, around, and between those shelves are swarms of people dueling in the deep shadows. Faunus. White Fang, by their clothes. Brightly dressed figures occupy the centers of the chaos.

He’s been aware and taking all of this in for a mere second before he’s moving. It’s not his own will that guides him, not really. It’s an urge. A need. He has to protect the one behind him. He has to.

And so he watches in horror as his blade carves through every White Fang member in his path. The first few don’t even move. They’re staring at him as he’s staring at them, all of them struck dumb.

What he sees of himself explains their reactions as much as his violence does: his limbs and weapons are icy white and blue, trailing frost like smoke.

He tries to stop but his body is a machine that bucks his control. Corpses fall around him. The faunus are shouting now, screaming his name, except they’re not targeting him except to slow him down. They’re trying to get to the one behind him—

They cannot do that.

He moves faster. His face is carved into a snarl but it’s the visage of a beast with its leg in a trap. He can’t escape whatever has a hold on him. He can’t let them get to her. He wants to but he can’t.

He wants to close his eyes. Apologize. Order the ones who haven't already run to get away from him, from whatever puppets him. He wants to and he can’t. There’s a wall between his will and his flesh. He’s a tool. A weapon. Nothing more.

Blood stains his blade, his hands, his face. The few Fang remaining have thrown down their weapons. Held up their hands. Fallen to their knees.

Back away, he begs himself. He steps closer.

Sheath your sword, he pleads. He raises it.

“STOP!”

He freezes. The boy he’d nearly decapitated—a teenager, no older than sixteen—looks up at him in abject fear. There’s blood on his face too, the blood of all his friends Adam had just killed.

It’s silent, or nearly so. The woman who’d cried for him to stop is gasping. She sinks to her knees with an audible thunk of flesh on concrete.

“How?” someone he can’t see whispers. His skin crawls; he knows that voice.

“Weiss?” Another voice, less familiar.

“Who is that?” A third voice, younger than the other two.

All the speakers are behind him. All he sees are the four kids trembling at his feet. Not so long ago he would’ve relished their fear as a sign of his growing power. Now, it makes his stomach churn.

Blood still drips from his sword. He tries to lower it. He tries to sheath it. He tries to tell them to run. It all, again, fails. He digs ragged mental fingers into that wall.

The gasps behind him turn to disbelieving sobs. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—not him! I-I couldn’t—“

“Breathe,” the third speaker advises. “Just breathe.”

He endures another round of unsteady sobs briefly interrupted by attempts at steady breathing. The wall between him and his body cracks under his mental assault; his fingers twitch. The faunus flinch.

“I-I don’t know what happened. They’re always difficult to c-control at first but,” she hiccuped, “this was different. It—he—wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t even trying to summon him!”

The wall shakes. He gains control of his face.

“Run,” he mouths at the faunus. They stare. Glance at each other. And then scramble to their feet and away, leaving their weapons behind in their fear.

“What—“

“Hey!”

Adam spins and levels his sword at the red-cloaked girl trying to run after them. She goes still with wide silver eyes that fix on his.

“Weiss?” she asks.

“I can’t dispel him, Ruby. I’m trying!”

Dispel. Dispel him? He tightens his grip on this ghostly version of Wilt.

“Are your summons…sentient?”

“N-no. Not really. I mean, they’ve all been Grimm until—until now.”

When Ruby next speaks, the question is directed at him: “Who are you?”

His weapon dips. Past her, he sees the blonde whose arm he severed so long ago. He sees Blake. And he finally sees the one controlling him. White hair, white skin, white clothes. Revulsion rips through him, revulsion so deep it obliterates the wall’s remains and slams barefaced into the howling need to protect the Schnee.

[ashonheavenscloud]

Sensitive || Seo Changbin

Sensitive || Seo Changbin for kinktober

🔞CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT! MINORS DNI!🔞

warnings: dom!changbin, sub!fem!reader, oral, swearing, voice kink, body worshipping, praise, size kink, lil bit of possessiveness, breast play HAHAHA good luck friends🫡

word count: 2.6K

🎧: Okay - Chase Atlantic

—————————————————————————

Your boyfriend was in big trouble.

You heaved a sigh, staring into the washing machine at the wet pile of clothes Changbin had, once again, forgotten about in his daily rush. You knew he was busy, but in his forgetfulness he’d left your beloved sweatpants to soak. You forced your eyes away from the tragic scene. Maybe you were being a bit dramatic, but you’d been at work for eight hours today and all you’d wanted was to come home and drown in your favourite baggy clothes.

Oh, it looked like your favourite sweater was in there too. Great.

You lugged a basket to empty Changbin’s load of laundry from the dryer, and flipped your dripping load into the machine. Spinning the dial, you turned on the dryer for an hour, and washed as it began to spin.

All that was left to do was… wait.

You heaved Changbin’s laundry into the living room, glancing at your phone to check the time after setting it down on the floor. Half an hour until he got home, give or take a couple minutes. He always came home at the same time on Friday’s, to spend the end of the work week with you. A small thing that melted your heart every time.

You started to fold Changbin’s laundry, figuring it would be a nice surprise for him to come back to. It was in the little things that you loved him, like the laundry. And even if he forgot to flip over the loads sometimes, it was the thought that really mattered.

You reached into the hamper, and pulled out a pair of Changbin’s joggers, folding them and setting them into the pile. But you froze, staring at the joggers, an idea popping into your mind.

If your sweatpants were wet… why not borrow another pair?

…

It wasn’t like Changbin hadn’t ever seen you wearing his clothes. But usually you were fucked out, hazy-eyed on his bed when he helped you into one of his t-shirt. Or you’d pull on a shirt after your shower, the sole purpose to attempt your skincare routine while he fingered you from behind.

Never his sweatpants, though. And they were hella comfy. You smoothed your hands over the soft fabric, sucking a breath through your teeth. Why were they so nice? 

“I could get used to this.” You murmured to yourself, burying yourself further in one of his thick grey hoodies, appreciating the smell of laundry detergent on them

“Used to what-”

You froze, spinning to lock eyes with Changbin, standing in the doorway with wide eyes. For some reason, you felt caught, even though he’d seen you pretty much every way imaginable. You bundled deeper into the hoodie, feeling heat rise to your face. “I- my sweatpants were still in the washer. You forgot to change it over- which is fine, it’s fine- but I just thought I’d borrow yours.”

Changbin was frozen for a minute, and you didn’t understand. Why was he just… staring at you? But then he’d pulled his coat off, draping over the loveseat as he approached you slowly. His gaze was all over your body, your face, and you noticed a faint tinge of red on his ears.

“I like it.” He murmured, a small smirk tilting up his lips. “You should wear them more often.”

You couldn’t help but flush at the compliment- but even more so at the way he was looking at you, eyes sparkling, full of admiration. “Really? They’re a bit big, even if they’re comfy-”

“No, but it suits you…” He whispered, hand sliding around your waist, sparking a wild rage of butterflies in your stomach. His eyes flickered up your body to meet yours, making your breath catch at the intensity in them. His breath fanned your face. “You look so…”

But whatever he was going to say faded from his tongue, cut off by his lips gently meeting yours. You quietly sighed at the feeling of his warm lips, hand faltering over his chest. Your mind grew fuzzy as he kissed you, softly taking in your lips, like he was purposefully feeling every bit of your mouth. Then slowly, he eased you backwards, forcing you to sit down when your knees hit the couch. He followed you, never letting his lips part from yours as he sat beside you on the cushions, hands moving to pull you in; one cupped your jaw, and the other kept a firm hold on your waist.

It wasn’t long before his kisses turned greedy, pressing deeper into you with every added touch of his lips. Your skin was tingling, arms circling around his neck to hold him close while his hands gripped your waist, body leaning into your touch. Your hands wound through his hair, tangling them into fists as the boy moaned into your mouth, murmuring a low, “fuck.” under his breath and pushing even closer, faster. And you wanted to feel him everywhere, have absolutely no space between the two of you, and soon enough, your clothes preventing that became unbearably frustrating.

You snapped at the same moment as Changbin, parting only for a brief second to pull your shirt over your head as your boyfriend did the same. He whipped it to the side before taking your face in his hands and pulling you back to his for a long, languid kiss, breaths coming in sharp intakes as you kissed him back with fervour, hands back in his curls. 

Then he was moving on top of you, laying you down on the couch with his body hovered over yours, caging you to the cushions. His bare chest pressed against yours, all flexing muscle and flushed skin. His kisses never ceased, growing ever more needy and sloppy, hands slipping to your hips to skim the waistband of his sweatpants snug around your hips.

“Look so perfect-” He panted between kisses. “Look so damn perfect in my clothes… just wanna ruin you… make you feel good…”

His words lit fire in your midsection, making your legs subconsciously close around his waist. The brush of his firm dick through your clothes made you both whine, desperation coursing through your body.

“Binnie-”

“Fuck, my name sounds so pretty on your tongue.” He groaned, pulling back to wipe the sweat already forming on his forehead, hair messy from the tug of your fingers. Quickly, he discarded his jeans, clearly much too tight around his girth now straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. Your core clenched painfully at the thought of how full he always made you feel, anticipation rising in your gut.

Changbin moved back to kissing you briefly before his mouth wandered to your neck, finding the sweet spot at the junction of your jawline. He gifted you with open mouthed kisses and wet presses of his tongue that had you squirming, softly whining at the delicious feeling. He sucked slowly, taking his time leaving hickeys that were sure to last at least a week or more, a trail of love bites that quickly descended to your breasts. 

“Ah-” You couldn’t help but moan when Changbin’s mouth found the bud of your right breast, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nipple. You arched your back at the toe-curling sensation, hands finding his biceps and holding on for dear life.

He chuckled at that. “You’re always so sensitive here.” He mumbled, gently kissing your spit-soaked nipple. “Cute.”

He switched sides, lips abusing your left breast as his hand came up to massage and tease the other. Unbearable heat continued to grow in your core with every tease of your nipples, legs tensing as they wound tighter around his hips to pull him close.

At this Changbin giggled. “Impatient?”

“Fuck yes.” You whined, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming pleasure to your sensitive tits. “Stop teasing.”

“You’re just too cute, I can’t help it.” Changbin cooed, but luckily he didn’t make you ask again. Quickly his boxers were tugged off, erection springing free, angrily red and veiny and divine. The very sight made your mouth water. 

His lips were back on you, nipping at the flesh of your breasts as his fingers slipped past your waistband to pull them down with your panties, leaving you fully exposed before him.

Changbin pulled back to look at you fully, eyes drifting down with a small smirk. “Now I see why you were so impatient.” He murmured, swiping his fingers through your slick folds. You shivered at his touch, watching him pull his fingers back to admire the wetness glistening over them.

“Fucking gorgeous.” He whispered, the slight growl in his voice making you shiver as he leaned down, to press long kisses on your stomach, sucking slowly at the skin. “My pretty baby all laid out for me… you look fucking beautiful.”

You whimpered as his mouth slipped lower, kissing along your pelvis until he reached your folds, slowly dragging his tongue through your slit. You jolted, the warmth of his mouth making your eyes flicker shut as you moaned. Changbin only chuckled in response before digging in and finding your clit, using his tongue to rub up and down the sensitive bud. Your hands flew to his scalp to tug on his curls, eliciting growls from the back of Changbin’s throat that vibrated against your clit. Your legs wound tighter around Changbin’s shoulders as he closed his lips around your clit and slowly sucked on the bundle of nerves. 

You wanted to scream. Overwhelming pleasure pulsed through you as you moaned again and again- and he wasn’t even fucking inside you yet. Changbin seemed to have no intention of speeding things up, though, tongue winding around your clit to tease you further. 

“Fuck,” he mumbled in between licks. “You sound so hot… keep going, baby.”

Like you could stop.

He spent what felt like hours just nursing your clit, sucking it into his cheek and gracing it with swipes of his tongue. You had stars in your eyes by the time he finally sat back, and massaged your legs further apart.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, almost to himself, and you opened your eyes to see him staring right back. His eyes were pooled with lust and love, and fuck, the way he looked right now. His hair was a tangled mess from your constant tugging, and there were still remnants of your slick around his chin and mouth. His lips were chapped and red, his chest heaving and flexed, and he’d never looked so sexy in this entire life. You nearly groaned just at the sight, core pulsing and beyond ready to take him in.

Changbin’s mouth found yours again, not caring for the mess that you both were as he sucked on your bottom lip. It wasn’t long before his lips trailed south, across your shoulder and down the hills of your breasts. “Look at you,” he whispered, pausing to gently kiss your perked nipples. “My sweet little mess. You’re beautiful… fuck, let me ruin you baby…”

“Changbin…” you whined, begging him to get on with it, and he obliged, hooking one arm under your knees and pushing your legs forward for easier access to your pussy.

His eyes drifted to your dripping core and he cursed under his breath. Almost subconsciously, his hand drifted down to jerk his shaft a couple times. “Ready?”

He smirked when he said it, the fucking tease, and you whined. Changbin didn’t need anything else; without another second to waste, he lined himself up with your entrance and eased himself inside you.

And you knew Changbin was big- shit, everything about him was exclusively big. His arms that tensed as they pushed your legs back to your chest, his broad shoulders that made you feel so small next to him, his thighs that sat next to your ass, flexing as he pushed himself into you. But his thick girth was something that, no matter how many times he fucked you, you could never get used to.

And it offered you overwhelming amounts of pleasure every single time.

“Fuck…” Changbin groaned, panting as he slowly eased further into you. “So wet, oh my god…”

You whined as he bottomed out, hissing through his teeth as you clenched hard around him, body begging for every inch that he could give you. Both your chests were heaving and your mind was spinning at the sheer size of him, pulsing and rubbing inside you as he shifted, moaning.

“Holy shit, baby…” his grip on your thighs tightened when you clenched and he grunted, bucking into you. “You feel so good, nice and tight for me, body begging for me…”

You shivered at his words as he traced his hands down to your ass, scooping your hips to pull you right up to him, shoving himself right into you. Your legs found their way around him again as he gripped your ass to hold you in place and began to rock. Back, and forward. Back, and forward.

The cushions shifted, the couch springs creaked, and Changbin ducked down to litter your chest with bruises, sucking long hickeys on your skin as your arms found his biceps, holding onto the taunt muscle, huge and firm, flexing with every push into you.

“Good girl,” he moaned when you clenched around him again, crying out from the building pressure in your core. His one hand slipped up to circle your clit, slowly and purposefully, causing a low moan to rise from your throat. Your eyes rolled shut at a particularly harsh thrust, waves of pleasuring heating up your body; you were practically steaming at this point, and you weren’t entirely sure how much more you could take.

Changbin leaned forward, chest resting against yours, wet kisses slipping up behind your ear, long touches of his tongue making you shiver and moan again. He chuckled softly, and you could feel his smirk next to your ear. 

“You’re taking me so well, aren’t you?” He whispered, his languid pace picking up speed. “My sweet baby, so fucked out already… you’re so good for me, aren’t you? Hmm?”

“For you…”

“For me.” He hissed, letting his fingers explore your sopping folds, rubbing patterns over your clit. The knot in your stomach tightened, and you whimpered.

“I’m almost… almost…”

“Come on, there’s my girl…” He whispered into your ear, voice raspy. You clenched and he moaned, the sound like music to your senses. “Y-you’ve been so good… come for me, my love… my good girl…”

It was his voice, in the end, that pushed you to the edge. A long string of moans poured from your lips as your high washed over you in waves of pleasure, coming around Changbin’s cock. Your release immediately did him in, and with a deep, prolonged groan he broke, burying himself into you a few more times for good measure. At last, he lowered himself, half draped over you, face buried in your neck.

“Fuck, that was amazing.” He whispered, peppering your neck with quick, loving kisses. “You should wear my clothes more often.”

“Maybe I should.” You giggled, drawing patterns over his scalp with your fingers, feeling his shiver at the touch.

“You should.” He smirked, softly kissing your ear several times before murmuring, “But when you do, I can’t promise you’ll be wearing them for long.”

[shygirl4991]

Brewing Romance Chapter 3 By Your Side

A Collab Story with @lizaluvsthis SMG3 and SMG4 design for the AU by Liz!

Last Chapter Next Chapter

Summary:SMG4 starts to struggle with his finances when he learns living in his newly built castle is more pricey than he thought. So when he gets an invite to the grand opening of SMG3 Coffee n Bombs he manages to land himself a second job as the cafe waiter where both men will learn that coffee won't be the only thing brewing in this cafe.

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, comedy, just two idiots in love, love confession, first kiss, angst, blood and injury

SMG3 smiles as he gets up from his desk,  he stretches and flinches at the pain in his hands. He was clumsy, in his rush to finish the hat in time for the uniform to arrive he managed to constantly prick his fingers. Annoyed he walks to the bathroom fighting his sleep, he cleans up his hand and bandages them up.  He then goes to clean his mess ignoring the pain in his hands. He turned to look at the hat he made and smiled “Heh Now that idiot won't look so weird!” 

He sets the hat near his own uniform as he throws himself to bed, as he starts to drift to sleep his alarm rings. He shoots up looking at the time “Oh god…i pulled a SMG4,” he sighs realizing he has gotten zero sleep. He gets up to take a shower then gets ready for work, exhausted  he puts his bun together lazily. It was always under his hat anyways, not like something will happen to cause his bun to come loose. 

Making himself black coffee in hopes it keeps him awake for the day he looks at the hat he has hiding behind the counter. He felt his heart flutter at the thought of SMG4 wearing something he made, rolling his eyes at the strange feeling,he finished his drink to open for the day. 

SMG4 was excited as he opened the box and put on his new uniform, putting on his new skates he started to spin and do tricks in the main room.  He smiles brightly as he skates up to a mirror and checks himself out, the uniform was comfy much to his surprise. He removes his hat to tie up his hair, the only downside to the uniform was lack of hat. 

Looking at the time he decided it wouldn't hurt to visit Three and get some coffee before his shift. He heads to the cafe and uses his skates to slide up close to Three “Hello~ I know I'm early but I was hoping my awesome boss will let me drink some coffee before we open?” 

SMG3 sighs as he walks to the machine and makes two cups, once done they both take a seat together. One thing Three is thankful about is that Four and him have the same taste in coffee, it made him wonder what else they have in common while tempted to ask the man questions on his taste he decided better of it.  Remembering the hat he gets up and goes behind the counter “Hey Three, you know when we have coffee together the rule is to not walk away!” 

SMG3 walks up to Four “Hey underling, i got you something.”

Four looks up at the man confused, SMG3 wasn't the type of person to just hand you a gift. Cautious, he gets up “What's that?” he watches as he takes something from behind his back. Suddenly SMG3 slams a hat on Fours head, Three smirks at him “Your new hat enjoy~”

Confused, he reaches up and touches the hat “You bought this too?”  SMG3 hums as he sips his coffee not saying anything, getting annoyed with how cocky Three was acting he was going to give the man a piece of his mind. Then SMG3 grins at him and waves his hand, where he notices stains on the glove. Three finishes his coffee and walks off to wash the cups, Four stares at Three’s fingers getting a better look at the stains, it was blood. He takes the hat off and stares at it with wide eyes. Did SMG3 make the hat?

SMG4 blushes and smiles at the hat, “Oi! Finish your coffee, it's almost time to open, I don't hire lazy workers!”

Hearing this he chugs his coffee and places the hat back on his head, he turns giving a thumbs up to three. Once three walks to the back room Four whispers “Thank you,” then goes to wash his own cup. 

The work day started as SMG4 delivered orders and did tricks with his skates, his two assistants Eggdog and Beeg would help him with small dances and moves to keep customers entertained. SMG3 rolls his eyes watching the man “Feels like Memewarts all over again,” he grabs a tray to hand to Four. His hand starts to shake as he feels the pain from his hand, he was so asleep he didn't notice how badly he hurt himself. 

SMG4 turns around with a huge smile to show off to Three when he notices the man's hand shaking, flashes of the past hit him seeing the pain in SMG3's face. In a panic he skates up to his boss taking the tray “I got it!” In a flash he drops off the coffees. SMG3 glares at him, his feelings on things being a lot like Memewarts only grew. Later that day someone called in an order of bombs, SMG3 kissed the last bomb he put in the box as his way of saying goodbye before shutting the box. He was going to lift it up before he flinched from the pain, out of nowhere SMG4 showed up and started to push the box “I got it!” SMG3 glares then gets next to four and pushes “No,  i got it!” The pair kept pushing the box that at the end the two delivered the package leaving Karen in charge till they returned. 

The way SMG4 was acting felt familiar to him, as he thinks back on it, it clicks. Slowly he touches his right eye, that's right SMG4 was strangely protective and overly helpful when he almost lost his eye. He found it odd that Four would suddenly act this way with him, he groans feeling he can't do anything in his own cafe due to SMG4 being overly helpful. 

SMG3 was sick of this, he couldn't pick anything up without Four coming out of nowhere “Would you stop! THIS ISN'T LIKE WHAT HAPPENED WITH ZERO!” SMG4 freezes hearing the man's words. He takes a step back “I know this isn't the same…but your hand is shaking holding trays..your gloves have blood stains on them. DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO NOTHING!” 

SMG3 glares at four “Don't worry about my gloves, just do your job,” suddenly SMG4 grabs Three tie and pulls him close “DON'T WORRY?! I CARE ABOUT YOU ASSHOLE IS THAT SO WRONG!” Noticing that the screaming was bringing attention he drags SMG3 to the back room

Once in the backroom he pushes SMG3 to the couch “Listen Three, i don't know how you hurt your hand. But I can tell your hands can't handle a lot of weight.” he gently holds Three’s hand making the man blush. He looks down making eye contact “Remember what i promise you, let me take care of everything and for the love of memes change your gloves!” 

Three sighs pulling his hand back “Fine…sorry for bringing up zero,” he gets up and smiles softly at SMG4 “Thanks for the help,” he walks off to clean his hands and change gloves. SMG4 stays standing there with his heart racing, has SMG3 always had such a charming smile?

He turns to go back to work, his face still pink from seeing the soft smile Three gave him. Sure he has seen SMG3 smile before with Eggdog but something about this smile felt different, he hopes he can see it again as he grabs a tray. 

Every Time he saw SMG3  about to lift something heavy he would skate up with a glare, only to get an annoyed comment before he let Four take over. It was obvious that Three wasn't happy about the arrangement, the glares and insults he would throw at SMG4 made it clear. Four sighs as the day came to an end, he was thankful that it was almost time to close. He wasn't sure how much longer he could withstand the glares his boss was giving him.

He locks the door with a smile, he waves goodbye to Karen as he goes to clean the tables. SMG3 watches the man cleaning then frowns, thanks to his mistake SMG4 didn't even get to enjoy his lunch.  He decides to make coffee and sets it on the counter with two donuts “Hey four come here, seems we had left over coffee and snacks...want some?”

He looks away hoping the man wouldn't notice his blush, SMG4 smiles brightly as he sips the coffee “Wow and the leftover coffee happens to be my favorite, I must be lucky!” he teases as he takes a bite from his donut. Seeing the second donut he picks it up and hands it to Three “I know i must have been annoying mister do it yourself, but you're not alone anymore.”

SMG3 glares at Four as he takes the donut. “I lived my life alone, it's not something I can just flip a switch and suddenly I'm all for you helping me. Being a villain…it's not as easy as you think, it's lonely…painful.” he frowns looking at the donut in his hand.

SMG4 walks closer to three, finishing his donut. “I know it's easy for me to say, but we are friends now so I hope one day you will let me in.”

SMG3 sets the donut down then turns to face SMG4 “And i hope one day you will stop holding the guilt of what happened…you keep everything to yourself like an idiot. Not like I care if you're taking your mental health seriously.”  He rubs his arm thinking about what he should do. Even though he still can't stand the idiot, he knows that Four’s fear is losing his loved ones which is why the man never talks about his problems. He wasn't one for physical contact like Four, thinking of what to do he turns and takes out a red sticky note and starts to fold it. Then he hands a tiny origami rose to SMG4 “Don't take this the wrong way! But no matter what I will always be by your side. So if you need to talk..i'm here.”

SMG4 blushes as he takes the origami flower, a hat now this, he wasn't sure if he was dead or SMG3 was replaced. Three sighs looking out the window as Four stares at him “Thank you Three, it means a lot to hear you say that.” SMG3 grabs the donut and breaks it in half, he then hands one of the halves to Four. He takes it and they eat in silence, seeing Three’s softer side stir something in SMG4. He felt himself getting nervous, his face felt warm looking at the origami rose. 

He then looks at SMG3's hand, remembering the pained face he had brought back horrible memories, slowly he reaches out and holds Three’s hand “Please don't leave me..” hearing four’s words made SMG3 bite his tongue to complain how gay it was for them to hold hands in the cafe. “I’m not going anywhere,” slowly he intertwined his fingers with SMG4.  They both stand next to each other in silence holding hands for comfort. 

[chiquititaosita]

Hi!!

I just loved your writing! I rlly wish(as a latina too) that you could write the monter trio with a y/n that is teaching them to dance piseiro (brazilian dance)

I think it would be pretty cool actually 😫💞

bear note 🤩🤩 pillali! (Hello in nahuatl) Tlazohcamati (thank you so much) thank you so much for your request this made my day. I really love to give diversity to latine community. Because as a latine and an indigenous (mexica and huestaco descent) i want to see how y/n will be come into life. But I thought you’d never ask my love :> it may take me a bit because ill be researching when it comes to culture appreciation and not appropriation.

Context: much like the quebradora (the break in español) its almost similar to pisero. It kinda contains the same movements but lots of hips moving on both dance partners. Sometimes there are lifts and spins and turns enjoy!!!

Cw: slight nsfw (suggestive).

Monster trio learning to do Piseiro (dance) with Brazilian (latina) s/o (latine reader)

post type: headcannon

pairing: luffy x reader, zoro x reader, sanji x reader

reader: Latina reader

Luffy

reference video

-“ no wait wait! You gotta do this.” you show him the foot work again and corrected him once more

-instantly would drop you if he saw a rack of meat. then immediately apologize after.

-no ifs or buts. It’s canon

- “HYAHHAAHA!!”

- “and spinnnnn!!!” He’s gonna want to be spun around too. Which he does.

- you’ll be falling on your butt 💀

- ngl luffy dances better in the dirt than on tile floors.

- again he uses his hips to try and get in sync with you. But it doesn’t add up sometimes

-“ how are you doing this? Lu?”

-“easy by using my gomu gomu hip moves!” It’s giving very much washing machine moves

-“and dip you to the floorr!!!” It’s so cute to watch him show you what he learned from you! Especially IF YALL DANCED AT CARNIVAL OMGGGGGGG 🤩🤩🤩🤩

-epic show stoppers

-he’ll definitely step on your toes unintentionally. HE DONT EVEN KNOW HOW STRONG HIS GRIPPERS ARE!

-unfortunately dry humping happens to you. If You’ll look miserable nami and robin will try to rescue you :)

-You’ll both most likely dance barefoot because it helps luffy get stimulated and used to it. (If does wear shoes, from what i see he DONT)

- “yeah!- we did this move where I pick up y/n and let her fly a bit! And I kinda grab her how she grabs my hair when I eat he-“ it was the only you could explain it to him.

-“ LUFFY! CALA A BOCA!!” Nami and sanji will smack him for you.

-“SHISHISHI you love me and you know it y/n channn!!!”

Zoro

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRCV4cjo/ < reference

-“absolutely not!!!”

-“I’m not doing it.”

-“THIS!! IS!! BULLSHIT!! !”

- CHINGOW GÜEY!

-So getting zoro to do piseiro , he had to have at least 5 drinks worth of sake to get it in his system.

- but teaching him was actually not too bad

-“Why are you doing it this way?”

-“isn’t it easier this way, it just makes this so complicated!!!!”

-since he can only see with one eye it’s a little bit harder for him (if it was pre time skip, that’d be a major difference) it’s just that he doesn’t want you to get hurt

-poor moss heads hips are too stiff

-“ow OW! zoro! That’s my foot.” You huff in frustration.

-“what I’m sorry!-.”

- he’s going try and carry you at least once. It won’t go well at least in your eyes.

-but it goes well in his eyes.

-“and dip? And dip.”He’ll just mutter in the back of his mind. Thinking in the back of his mind.

-“I’m surprised you’re not even complaining.” You whisper into his ear as he blushed

-“ I can’t let that bastard cook take my woman on the dance floor now can I?”

- Shaking your hips damn girl, he attempts to cover your ass if you’re ever like about to shake whatcha mama gave ya, he’s like “NOPE!!!! NOPE! THATS MINE!!”

-he’s a softie for sure when it comes to the love of his life.

- if y’all do the spins, y’all are for sure gonna get lost, but luckily you find y’all’s way back (y’all wouldn’t even be that far away)

Sanji

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbTJkrb/ <reference

-an absolute menace

- seriously, he’s gonna be dead the minute you start shaking your ass

-ussopp and chopper almost had to resuscitate him and do chest compressions.

-THE AMOUNT OF NOSE BLEEEDS THIS MAN GOES THROUGH

-His hips don’t lie and that’s on period

- I’ll say that he loves to watch you smile and dance

-ass grabber indeed.

-“Y/n!!! You should teach some more moves like this in private like in your bed room!”

-“y/n-chwannnn!!!!~ y-your ass it’s on m-my.”

-will immediately take you to another room to strictly eat you out

[passivenovember]

West.

(For my darling @cuepickle , ILYSM!)

--

Washed in fire-cracker light from a pit in Steve Harrington’s backyard, Billy swallows an entire topaz ocean from a can and stops wishing for California.

Because he’s piss-drunk, crinkling aluminum in his fist to keep from reaching out, into the flame, to prove that it’s all a dream. A feeling that will pass. And Steve’s smoking through Billy’s pack of Marlboro reds, one right after the other, the little train that could.

It doesn’t make Billy angry. It used to. Because he wanted to be the lighter in Steve’s hand and the smoke in Steve’s lungs and the blood rushing, confident, through his veins, and he never knew it.

That’s the thing about Billy. If it’s not coming from a textbook, he’s slow on the uptake and eager to swing out of misplaced anger. But once he figured out what this was, catching butterflies in his hands, he settled for friendship and he’s happy about it. Thrilled and content to share his cigarettes until the stars stop spinning like they’re caught in a washing machine, and he hopes against hope, that. Steve’ll stay put.

That they’ll sit close enough to touch all night long.

That even though people keep trying to drag Harrington back into the house, where they’ve got a game of beer-pong going and the stereo thumping so loud Billy thinks the Earth might crack open–he hopes that Steve will stop searching for tomorrow’s bright spring rays, too.

So, Billy stops dreaming of California.

“This is nice,” Steve says. The wind tousles his hair, kicking up notes of leather, coffee grounds, and vanilla ice cream. Billy wants to bottle it and make a fortune.

“Yeah,” He determines, instead. There’ll be time for masterplans and grand crimes later when Harrington’s the first to fall asleep.

Steve leans to scratch his leg, staring out at his empty swimming pool. “You’re having a nice time?” He asks, and Billy thinks all the color is gone from his face. But maybe it’s just the shadow of the new year closing in. Maybe it’s the moon.

Billy wants to make him smile. “Yeah.”

“That all you can say, Hargrove?” Steve glances over, cheeks red from the cold.

And he's gorgeous.

Billy's never seen anything like him in all the world, so he keeps a textbook full of moments exactly like this one. He never loses track of them, leafing through their worn and well-loved pages whenever he's lost in seas of brown.

A smile plays at the corners of Steve's lips, "Me too," he says, soft and secret and so like an eclipsing planet even though beyond a scraggly line of ferns and balding oak trees, tripping all the way along a path of bronze sandstone, all of Hawkins is getting trashed on the sloppy seconds from the Harrington’s Christmas party.

Steve doesn’t mind it. He’s got the world in his hand, a wristwatch that’s stopped working, and all of Billy’s attention focused as a searchlight, on his pretty, pretty face.

The whole cheerleading team is probably wondering where they are.

Billy can’t get his legs to work, they’ve turned to vanilla pudding. “What’d you get for Christmas, richie-rich?”

Steve shrugs and turns back to the pool. “Pair of Nike’s, that new Queen record, a pack of cool-ranch sunflower seeds, some kettle corn-–”

“Wow, Momsie and Papa couldn’t roll the savings account for you? Aren’t you an only child?”

“I got a Playboy desk calendar, too,” Steve passes his-their-Billy’s cigarette without a second thought. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

Suddenly the backdoor opens, and a pinpoint of yellow flashes in a sea of dark, dark winter.

Billy uses his free hand to shield his eyes.

Steve clicks his teeth, annoyed when he shouts, “I’m busy,” to the short, pissed-off figure that calls his name into the night.

“It’s fine,” Billy tells him, swinging his legs over the side of the pool chair so he can get his feet under him, “They’re probably lost in there without you.”

“No,” Steve snaps. The thick gold band he stole from Billy’s gym bag after training camp this summer taps a frantic tune on the metal chair beneath him.

And Billy gets the sense that this isn’t a casual conversation.

That Steve’s got speeches and roadmaps snaking like candy-land fields in his mind, a clear goal trapping them in this moment on the last Friday of winter break, two hours past midnight on the first day of a brand new year.

Steve looks at him. Studies him.

Says, after a long, weightless moment, “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” and Billy’s mind goes a hundred and one places. None of them good, all of them baring teeth and claws and spikey bones from years of rotting decay.

"Feeling brave, Harrington,"

Steve grins in spite of himself, "Maybe,"

And somewhere behind them, the pinpoint of light goes out.

Steve takes a deep, uneasy breath. “I’ve been thinking about graduation.” He starts, and the world tilts sideways.

Frosted blades of grass crunch underfoot of someone drawing closer and closer to whatever grenade Steve’s about to throw on their perfect, carefree night. A stranger, or friend, or–-

Neil, for all Billy knows, is set to get a front-row seat to Steve’s admission.

I know what you are, Billy imagines him saying, kind eyes finally slicing Billy open after so many months of liquid care, I know how you feel about me and what happens in your gym shorts when you see my ass in the showers. I’ve seen how you fuck yourself open on your fingers imagining that I’m pressing myself inside you because we’re in love with each other–-

Steve gulps down the rest of his beer and turns, so their knees knock.

It hurts, and it doesn’t. He swallows panic, anyway.

Billy gets like that at the first sign of trouble. Sensitive as an overripe peach. All those times they put their hands on each other and Billy doubts Harrington knows that he bruises easily. That he carried Steve’s fingerprints on his skin for weeks after--

“It’s just,” Steve says, eyes cast to the ground. To the crust of the Earth, knocking politely on the lid of Billy’s sneakers, “When I think about my future, it gets fuzzy.”

“Yeah, that’s normal, I think.” Billy turns, eyes straining through the darkness to find the owner of those clandestine footsteps. The yard is empty. He passes the unlit cigarette back to Steve and wonders, through a cloud of haze and terrifying anxiety, if he imagined the whole thing.

Maybe they’re alone, after all. Maybe Steve will go easy on him. Maybe—

Steve lets the cigarette fall to the ground.

“Wasteful,” Billy says, trying to cast light on the mood.

“I don’t care, I’ll buy more."

On the tip of Billy’s tongue, he feels red-hot jealousy inflate like blown glass. Typical, he wants to say, you rich bitches don’t give two shits about the resources you deplete or the mouths you take them from, and still–-

Call it a habit.

Billy’s trying to file his own edges down. Doesn’t want to be that guy to Steve anymore, the one who says those things and means it, because–-

Billy bites down until he tastes blood to stop from saying something stupid. But the thought comes an hour and four beers too late.

Steve won’t look at him and Billy’s trying to find the hole in their lifeboat before their friendship sinks. There’ve been a lot of parties this break. A lot of weed smoke, a lot of tequila shots, and stolen six packs exchanged for frozen pizza, and Billy thinks for an endless moment that maybe he said something, once.

Got shitfaced and lost in the pink feeling when Steve carried him home and put Billy to bed and crawled under the sheets with him, so close but not touching, until they both fell to dreams.

Maybe Billy got too comfortable in their safe, easy friendship, and ruined everything.

Maybe Steve knows.

“My future,” Steve tries again, eyebrows pinched in a way that’ll give him wrinkles before he turns thirty-five, “It only makes sense if I imagine–-”

“Jesus Christ, It's fucking freezing out here."

Billy cranes his neck and Robin appears, windswept and higher than a kite, balancing along the abandoned edge of the pool. Her cheeks are red from the cold despite the insulated overalls that still hold last month's mustard stains, and the leather jacket she stole from Billy’s room and never gave back is slung around her shoulders.

They stare at her for a long, breathless moment.

“Y’all scared me,” She says, rubbing her hands together, "Am I interrupting something?"

Billy turns back around, "Not really," He says, at the same time, Harrington snaps, "Kinda," All teeth and none of that sappy best-friends-who-can-read-each other's-minds bullshit that he keeps on tap.

“You knew we were out here,” Steve clarifies. He flicks a cluster of ash from his sun lounger. “You were standing at the door, calling my name.”

“I was calling both your names.”

“Bullshit,” Billy tells her, chuckling.

“Not shit,” Robin says, plopping down on the pool lounger next to him, “I called both your names and when I heard Steve’s voice I thought maybe you went into the woods together.”

“How much dope have you had tonight?” When Robin waggles her eyebrows, Steve frowns, “We wouldn't go into the woods. Don’t go into the woods, Bucks.”

“Too late, I already did,” Robin snatches their cigarette off the ground and takes the lighter that’s offered, pinching the filter between her front teeth, “It’s fucking freezing out here–-”

Billy grins. "You already said that."

“We were talking,” Steve bristles. His eyes are narrowed, pools of honey covered in bees and wasps and he doesn’t say what Billy so clearly sees between the lines. We were talking–-

And you interrupted us.

Robin frowns. “What could you possibly be doing out here that couldn’t happen inside?”

“You mean the very same inside that’s caught under the mind-numbing cadence of Wham! and the watchful eye of half the school?” Billy shrugs, “Wasn’t my bag.” Billy takes robins-his-Steve’s cigarette and tells the truth. “Harrington’s waxing poetic about the future.”

“My future,” Steve says.

“His future,” Billy clarifies.

“Jesus Christ. It’s the last Friday of winter break, can we please not do the college thing?”

“Quick, check her head for bumps,” Billy deadpans, stealing his cigarette back. It’s comical, coming from Mrs. SAT herself.

Robin knocks her shoulder into Billy. Hard. “I’m serious. You guys put too much pressure on yourselves.”

“I got into UC Berkeley and it was my first choice,” Billy teases, “Don’t worry about little Hargrove, he’ll be shouldering summer road trips and bags of dope in four years' time.”

“Four and a half years, let’s not jump the gun,” Steve says, He fiddles with the sanded edge of his beer can, a thousand and one thoughts racing by like taxi cabs behind the curtain of hair on his forehead. “I can do that, now,” He says like it means something.

“Steve,” Robin begins softly, “What’s wrong?”

“God, nothing,”

And Billy’s smart enough to know when a bomb’s set to explode. Harrington’s got fire in him, it burns on a simmer like the focused light from an oil lamp, high in a tower overlooking the sea. He’s good at steering conversations and batting his spindly shutters to get what he wants.

It’s what makes him the King.

And Billy has to physically swallow his own tongue to stop from saying that Robin’s efforts are pointless.

Steve’ll talk when he’s ready if he ever gets there at all, and to be honest, Billy hopes the train doesn’t arrive tonight.

Billy’s feeling selfish.

Wants so desperately to skip the big, emotional conversations and for the light to return to the sky. For the last Friday before the spring semester to lose twenty pounds so it can fit, cookie-cutter and all, into the mold of Billy’s senior year. He doesn’t want to think about the future, there’s plenty of time for that.

Mostly, he wants to go inside and get drunk.

“C’mon,” Robin tries, kicking the toe of her boot and Steve’s sneaker together until he grinds his molars, “You can talk to us,”

Billy groans.

“Just because Hargrove and I are going to the same school-–”

“Buckley, leave the kid alone.”

Steve is silent for so long that Billy grows a headful of gray.

"I don't care about Berkely, I just care about California," He says. He looks at Billy, peers right through him and Steve’s eyes are glittering like a million wayward stars. Like he might cry. “I wanted to-–”

Billy springs to his feet.

“Jesus, can we just go inside?” Billy’s fingers itch for the comforting cylinder of aluminum. He wants to dance, and he’d take Cher or Madonna. George Michael–-

He pats the seat of his pants, instead, so it looks like he’s searching for something to smoke.

He doesn’t miss the hurt that flashes, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, across Steve’s face.

“Alright,” Harrington crumples his beer can and tosses it, sharply, into the dark hollow of his swimming pool.

“C’mon, Steve, Bills is just being an asshole,” Robin’s nose wrinkles. She’s trying really hard to look serious and interested and sober. “What were you going to say?”

“It wasn’t important.”

“It was important enough for you to hold Billy hostage for the last hour and a half,” She takes the last puff from her cigarette, losing steam in this conversation, “You know Heather Duke was playing twenty questions, trying to figure out where Billy ran off to?”

“I don’t care about Heather Duke,” Steve says bluntly, “What makes you think I would ever give a shit about–-”

Robin is unphased, “Seems kinda like you give a shit about Heather Duke.”

And all at once, Steve snaps.

It’s like watching a tree fall in the woods. Silent, and then all hell breaks loose and the world ends.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” Steve says, about as even and gentle as the aftershocks of a hurricane, “You could’ve stayed inside with everyone else.”

“God, you’re such an asshole when you drink brown beer, it makes you delusional-–”

Billy sits back down.

“--Shoot me for wanting to make sure my best friends are okay,” Robin tells him, dry as an old desert bone.

“We were fine,” Steve snaps.

“You drank a bunch of beer and then fucking vanished.”

“If you think I’d ever let anything happen to him–-”

“--Harrington-–”

“--You’re out of your mind, Buckley.”

“Fuck you,” Robin throws her cigarette at Steve’s face. “Come find me when you’re done acting like you’re the only one who’s got feelings,” She says, and then she’s off. Stomping across the frosted lawn until the french doors slam shut behind her, harsh and final.

Steve kicks his sun lounger.

“Hey, easy, pretty boy.”

“We were having a private conversation,” Steve snaps. When he looks at Billy his eyes are glossed over, wet, huge, and afraid. “We were talking, and then–-”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?”

Steve frowns, spine going taught like the string of a bow, poised to kill.

Billy shrugs, confused to the very core of him. “In all the months I’ve known you and crashed on your couch and gotten piss-drunk in your shitty fucking car I’ve never seen you act like this. Robs mentions Heather Duke and-–”

“What, you care about Heather Duke, all of a sudden?” Steve scoffs like Billy’s the most irrational, irritating, piece-of-shit guy on the planet. “You know her dad bought her a nose job, like, two weeks before you moved here?”

“Oh my god, who gives a shit? I’m here with you. Right? I’m right here,” Billy shouts, uncaring for how his voice echoes against the bark of a million barren, dying trees, “Can we try and have a good night? It’s the–-”

“If you say it’s the last Friday of break one more fucking time–-”

Billy wonders what crashed Steve’s yacht into the rocks. What’s got his panties bunched up, and why Steve feels like he’s got any authority to stop Billy from getting a few good orgasms in before sunrise.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask.

Steve rubs the wet from his cheeks. “Forget it,” He says, “Let’s just. Let’s go back to the party, alright?”

“Steve-–”

But he’s gone.

Before Billy even has a chance to say that everything will be alright, Steve’s gone.

It’s another hour before Billy has the courage to chase after him.

—

In a room full of piss-drunk kids and aluminum barrels and honey-comb ashtrays that look like they’ve spit up all over Mrs. Harrington’s nice coffee table, Billy drinks the edge away.

Steve said he was going back to the party but he’s nowhere in sight. Robin’s missing, too, and Billy has no doubt they’ve hugged and made up. They’ve got a Care Bear cut to them, you know, can never go to bed angry.

Billy imagines that they’re in the mast bathroom right now. Swimming in Ma Harrington’s jet tub, or painting their toenails in the guest bedroom that overlooks the west-facing tree line. He wonders if they’re drunk enough to talk, hushed and trepid, about their fears.

Billy wonders if he’ll ever fully fit in with them. If he could ever belong anywhere else.

Eventually, the house starts to empty. Tommy H. says some dumb shit about being hung out to dry, all, if Harrington wanted to fuck the weird girl in a quiet house all he had to do was say something, but everyone else is too drunk to fake a laugh.

Billy tells him he should move the party to his. “Your parents are in Aspen, right?” Billy wonders, swallowing the last sip of his last beer for the ‘85 season.

“Yeah,” Tommy H. slurs, so he uses Billy’s head as a push lever to stand on the coffee table and knocks Mr. Harrington’s ashtray onto the carpet. Says, “Hey guys, afterparty at my house,”

No one in their right mind wants to go home plastered.

So the house clears.

Billy sinks into silence about as easily as a rock in the ocean. It swallows him, the distant drone of the heater is his only companion as he vacuums drifts of cigarette and marijuana ash from the carpet.

He runs the loud machine about the whole room to tidy up, imagining that with this invention Billy is cleaning up the last, terrible dregs of a very long year.

It’s freeing.

Billy’s weightless, so on cloud nine that when someone thumps on the floor upstairs he wonders who could be so high above him. Higher than his crown of mussy curls, taller than God himself.

Billy takes the stairs leisurely, focusing every free inch of brainpower on putting one foot in front of the other.

And the thing about Steve’s house is that there are a million long, winding corridors that Billy can’t navigate even when he’s operating at peak performance, you know. Drinking lots of water and eating root vegetables and laying off the cigarettes and following the thread of gold that trails after Steve like toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

Billy’s shitfaced and out of breath by the time he’s run out of guest rooms to investigate.

There’s no one here, Billy thinks.

No one but me, and the pipes–-

“Billy?”

Steve’s in his pajamas. He looks a little bit like Winnie the Pooh, in red flannel, rubbing at his eyes like maybe something woke him from a deep, dreamless sleep but Steve isn’t angry about it. Because he sat up all night waiting.

“Thought you left,” Steve mumbles, eyes squinted as if every bulb in the house is burning at once.

“Why would I leave?”

“I thought maybe I pissed you off and you went home with someone else,” Steve pads forward, voice soft and warm with curling tendrils of exhaustion.

Billy wants to touch him. Billy aches to run his fingers through Steve’s hair and pull and tug until the guilt is smoothed from his face.

Most of all, Billy wants to kiss him.

And he’s so used to that feeling sitting like a hot coal in the very center of him, heating words and emotions to boiling until they bubble up and spill over in ways Billy could never stifle, even with a lid to the flame.

Billy’s so used to it that he shrugs, instead. “I’m wasted,” He admits, because it takes the sting away from the thought that Harrington’s suspicious of him. That once the alcohol burned everything away, Billy whored himself out. Chose someone else. Abandoned ship even though–-

“I know,” Steve smiles softly, “Me too.”

“Where’s Robin?”

“Asleep,” Steve confesses. They stare at each other for a moment and Steve’s expression melts. His smile is washed away, happiness swallowed by grief. “Listen, Billy–-”

Billy pads toward the bedroom. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“But I–-”

Billy takes his shirt off, slipping out of his boots and trousers on autopilot. There have been so many nights exactly like this one, so many beer-filled memories of slipping under the covers and feeling Steve, warm and soft, curl up behind him.

But it’s almost like a switch has flipped and after their friendly spat by the pool, they’ve been sucked into an alternate dimension where the awkwardness that stuck like wet paint to their friendship and never really dried.

Steve stands next to the bed, now, teeth rattling from the cold.

Everything’s quiet.

“I was an asshole,” Steve tells him.

Billy’s exhausted. “Stevie, get in bed.”

“Things are changing so fast and I just-–”

Billy’s already half asleep. “I don’t give a shit about that, Steve, it’s alright,” Billy settles in with Robin. She snuffles, rolling over until she’s settled enough to begin drooling slick over Billy’s left nipple.

He lets his eyes slip closed, breath calm even as the mattress feels like it’s lost at sea.

Billy cracks open one eye, glaring up at Steve where he’s watching Robin and Billy with a small, sweet curl to his lips. “Come cuddle, you shithead,” Billy mutters, knowing he’ll be embarrassed about that tomorrow.

Steve looks afraid. Young and frightened and so uncertain.

It’s a strange, unusual look to see on Steve’s face.

Billy’s heart pinches, shuddering painfully in his chest. “C’mon, Harrington, I’m cold,” Billy tries again. He knows he won’t be able to fall asleep without Steve. It’s a dorky, pathetic development as ancient as the stars.

Even when he’s home, lounging in his own bed on Cherry lane; even when the days are decent with no fights and swinging fists because Billy did his chores and minded his tongue, when there’s nothing to cry about and nothing be up early for, Billy doesn’t dream as easy as he does here.

With Steve.

So Billy shuffles toward the edge of the bed, smirking when Robin flips over onto her stomach. “If you get in here with me you can tell me all about it, alright?”

“And you’ll listen?”

“And I’ll listen,” Billy swears.

Steve bites his lip. He shuffles for another few seconds and then gives in, laying on the other side of Billy.

And Billy is too drunk to notice the way their bodies naturally curl around each other. Like clinging vines and stone houses, soft greenery seeking warmth. Billy puts his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, pushing into the calloused fingertips that trace the curve of his spine.

He’s warm.

He’s already asleep, dreams lapping like warm ocean water against his toes.

“I was thinking,” Steve says, “About the future?”

Billy makes a noise, floating on Steve’s mattress.

“I just. I want you–” Someone’s snoring. “Goddammit, Robin.”

Billy curls away from the sound, slinging one leg over the waist of that soft, murmuring voice to stop it from disappearing. It blends in with the texture of the night. It slips away but that doesn’t matter.

“Billy?”

Billy dreams of the boy it’s attached to, and he falls asleep, succumbing to the mystery of the future.

–-

“This is your fault,” Robin says. She dips a green bean in tarter sauce and licks all of it off before chewing, “Well. Mostly it’s your fault.”

It’s fish-fry day. Reminds Billy, like a spot of paint on a big bright canvas, just the tiniest bit of home. He’s in a good mood, taking his time with his mashed potatoes, hasn’t even cracked open his Pepsi, and it’s like the afternoon catches on a low-hanging branch and pops open. Ripped at the seams.

Billy’s slow on the draw, mouth smeared with lazy ease. “What now?”

“Steve,” She says. Like duh. Like, “It’s your fault.”

Billy stabs his last fish stick. Imagines blood and guts, little water-logged voices screaming in pain, “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m full of astute observations,” Robin tells him, looking around and leaning forward like anyone in first lunch gives a damn about Steve or either of them, for that matter.

Billy’s cool died, right along with his heart, the first time Steve smiled at him.

“You really need to pay more attention to the people around you.” Robin continues loudly, “Just because we don’t have 20-pack abs-–”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Buckley?”

“You were there. You saw how Steve blew a fuse.”

“Wasn’t like he was running in tip-top shape anyhow,” Billy spots Heather Duke across the room, batting her lashes so hard it looks like she’s got something in her eye. "Are we really talking about this?"

She waves.

Billy doesn’t wave back.

“Stop making fuck-me eyes at your girlfriend,”

“Buckley,” Billy warns, eyes snapping, poised to kill, on Robin’s face, “You’re on thin ice.”

“I’m always on thin ice,”

“More than usual,” Billy clarifies. He leans forward, close enough that he hopes his tarter-sauce breath kills Robin on the spot. “I’m not taking the blame for the Princess’ shitty New Years' mood.”

Robin doesn’t plug her nose. “Well, you should.”

“Why, because I’m a reformed asshole and that makes me a scapegoat for everyone else’s neurosis?”

“No,” Robin says dryly, “You’re probably the only person on the entire planet who can let him know everything’s going to be okay.”

Billy flops back in his seat, scrubbing at his face and tugging at his hair like maybe if he buffs hard enough, he can be a new person. Shiny and clean. The type that does shit like this, who can open like a spring flower and not care about the bees.

Eventually, Billy inflates again. “Steve hasn’t said anything to me about anything.”

“He’s probably embarrassed.”

“--The guy who brags about being best friends with a Middle Schooler–-”

“Okay, then he’s worried you’ll reject him,” Robin says.

And.

The first boy who ever had a crush on Billy pulled his chair out from under him. Billy cracked his head on the desk and had to get four stitches. Billy’s mom drove him to Urgent Care and said boys only do that when they’re in love with you.

Because they can’t find the words, she’d told him.

In retrospect, it makes sense to Billy that his mother would say that. All she ever knew was love the color of fresh bruises.

But the thing about Steve is, he’s full of words.

He drips honeyed dad jokes and terrible made-up song lyrics about the cowlick that floats in Billy’s hair when he’s had too much to drink. Steve spins stories about the future and says things like when we’re at college together and when we’re roommates and I get to trap you forever by my side–-

He’s stuffed to bursting with sunlight and easy promises.

And the thing about Billy is, his whole life has been about death. Rebirth, too. Over and over and over again. He’s had to rework what love looks like from all sides, proving to himself time after time that nice boys don’t leave bruises when they hold you in their arms. They don’t crack skulls and split lips with anything but their teeth.

And when blood spills, it’s all by accident.

They clean it up with their mouth. They spit it out again, and it's golden healing.

Billy’s pretty sure he falls through the chair.

Or maybe, the legs break out from under him. And the Earth crawls away, nursing split crust and shattered plates. And the cosmos burns up, like. In one fell swoop.

That first crush times a million and Steve isn’t even here.

“What,” Billy rasps. He clears his throat. Chokes and tries again, climbing up a mountain of truth. “What does that mean?”

Robin won’t look at him.

Billy leans forward. “He’s worried that I’ll stop hanging out if he’s vulnerable with me?”

Robin’s cheeks are red. So pink Billy would chew a roll of HubbaBubba to color match with the fuzzy damp of her skin.

“Did Steve say Friday was my fault?”

She picks at her food.

“Robin,” Billy says.

Robin shakes her head. She won’t look at him.

Billy grinds his teeth, “Robin.”

“No, Billy.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I’m not getting involved–-"

“You’re getting a head full of mashed potato if you don’t tell me what you’re talking about,” Billy scoops what’s left off his tray, gripping the handle of his spoon so hard he’s sure his palm starts bleeding.

“Billy,” Robin starts.

Billy raises his eyebrows in a venomous threat, leveraging the spoonful of mashed potatoes he’s got locked and loaded.

He’ll do it. He’ll fire the first shot and every blow that comes after and Robin knows he will.

She shifts in her chair, “I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

Robin shakes her head. “I was supposed to keep quiet.”

“Dammit Robin, why the fuck are you speaking in riddles? Why are you acting like you can point fingers and pin blame all from the comfort of your fucking high horse and not get your shit rocked for it?”

“I’m not on my high horse–-”

“Bullshit,” Billy slams his spoon on the table. “You can’t tell me that everything is my fault and not speak the fuck up.”

Billy won’t stand for it.

Robin frowns. “Maybe ‘everything,’ was a bit dramatic.”

“Ugh, Robin.”

“Maybe I should’ve chosen my words a little more carefully,” She dodges the mound of potatoes that goes flying, cheeks red as the sun. “I would’ve. If I could do it over again, I would.”

“Spare me.”

“You know I can’t control my mouth once it gets going, I get, like. Verbal diarrhea.”

Billy jerks into motion and starts gathering his lunch scraps.

Because he’s got a thing about blame, at the root of him. Being saddled with the weight of everything. Everyone’s shit mood and shit decisions and shit consequences, all smeared down the front of his heart just because he’s strong enough to hold it.

Robin stares at him as he slings his backpack over one shoulder. The calculus textbook he’s read twice cover to cover, sits like a familiar childhood blanket against his shoulder blades. His heart rate slows, everything grinds to a halt, and that’s when he realizes that Robin’s about three seconds away from crying.

At lunch.

In the lunchroom.

“Steve’s been such a good friend to me,” Robins says quietly. “He’s never aired my shit, you know? Or put himself in the middle of something that didn’t concern him.”

“Steve’s a good person, he wouldn’t do that.”

“But he could’ve,” Robin scrubs at her face just to make sure it stays dry. “I guess I'm still a little pissed off about Friday.”

Billy slides out of his backpack. “I don’t really blame you. Something’s bothering him, I’ve never seen him flip his lid like that.”

“I’m really worried about him, Bills.”

“And you think I’m not?”

“No, I know you are, it’s just,” Robin bites her lip again, so hard Billy worries that blood will trickle onto the Formica table top. “Have you talked to him about his acceptance letters?”

“His college acceptance letters?”

“Yes,”

Billy blinks, more confused than he’s ever been in his life.

He’s embarrassed to admit that it’s been the farthest thing from his mind. After Billy got into Berkeley and Robin followed close behind, like a toppling domino hellbent on majoring in Forestry, Billy just sort of assumed, that–

“Steve didn’t get in.”

Robin studies her picked-over lunch tray and the table beneath that, like maybe the wood grain will hold the key to the universe if she stares hard enough.

Billy slips into his backpack.

Robin jerks up at him, frowning, “Where are you–”

“Steve’s got free period next, right?”

“Yeah–”

“I’ll be back in time for Calc.” Billy kisses Robin’s cheek, immediately wiping the taste of nosey lesbian from his lips.

Chapter Management

Edit Chapter

Chapter 2

: as long as you followChapter Text

Whatever Steve’s supposed to do with his life is a distant cloud on the horizon until it’s not.

And as his father would say, hardly glancing from the dotted line splayed on the desk in front of him, that Steve’s wrapped in a Molotov of distraction.

He’s never had to work a day in his life, really work, because Steve’s mother wanted him to have a bright and easy childhood. And because of the angelic grace given to him as the result of a long line of lovers who wanted better for their love, Steve won’t make anything of his life.

He digs his heels into that truth, ever his father’s son, making sure to take chunks out of it.

He wants to gather that harshness into a pile and create something else. Build a home or a treehouse or a getaway car.

So he drinks and smokes and fucks his way down the river. Past roiling clouds of semester finals and homecoming games , never really clocking that behemoth milestone in the distance.

Until Billy, who makes Steve so crazy he feels radioactive.

Billy talks about the future all the time. With a curl to his lips and a beer in his hand, ribs and knuckles bruised. When I’m finally out of here and I’m back home, standing in the summer waves—

He makes grand statements. He could sell Steve a plot of land at the edge of the world, his bare feet dangling in the cosmos because anywhere is a step up from here.

And at first, college is a welcome ticket out of Hawkins and away from Billy and all the confusing, fucked up things he makes Steve feel. But then, just as quickly, it becomes about doing everything in his power to stop the wedge of the future from coming between them.

It becomes about giving Billy something to hold onto. It becomes about all those gnarled things his father told him about failure and family names.

Steve’s future starts to look less and less like what he’d never fully imagined. It  doesn’t belong to himself, or to his father, but to Billy.

Just like everything else, it.

It becomes about mortaring a foundation and building a thatched roof to come home to when the stars grow cold.

But love doesn’t change his transcript.

And all the money Steve would rather die than take from his father to make every problem swallow itself doesn’t chip away at reality. For Billy, doors, and windows have opened into bright, golden pastures flanked by possibility as deep as the Pacific ocean, and Steve.

Steve will only hold him back.

–-

He chews on that for a while.

It grows thick and gummy from unsheathed worries and unshed tears and Steve wishes, into the empty well of his endless swimming pool on New Year's Eve, that things were different. That all the money he’s sitting on like a lucky dragon with a pocketful of coins could change the fork in the road.

Steve tries to ignore it.

Billy’s leaving in four months and he’s taking Robin with him and Steve wants that. Wind in Billy’s hair, you know.

Life.

It’s killing him. Robin knows, but only because Steve was wasting away.

She thinks he’s being a dumbass. “Just talk to him,” She says, “You never know what he might say, right? He could–”

What? Steve doesn’t tell her. Billy could give up his dream and stay here in Hawkins and rot and rot and hate me forever.

Billy asks him, “What the fuck has gotten into you,” That night and so many times before. Astute and scholarly and beautiful like an open flame when Steve can’t fake any more smiles.

Billy’s got to fly away. And Steve, regardless of whether he’s earned his wings, wants to jump after him.

–-

He’s parked at the quarry and the sun’s playing peek-a-boo.

On the hood of his car, Steve digs at his jean pockets and tires to imagine that the future could be like this. That maybe, without Robin’s big mouth and Billy’s fierce protection, Steve could find spots of sunlight to bask in so he won’t freeze to death.

But, really, every day is overcast.

He’s tired of pretending otherwise.

So it’s fitting that right as Steve considers walking ten extra feet to the lip of the rocky ground, Billy’s car pulls to a thundering halt and almost skids past the rope barrier, careening off the cliff and into the raging waters below. Steve imagines jumping after him. He would. He–

“You didn’t get into Berk,”

There are countless clouds on the horizon. “Nope,” Steve says, and he pop’s the P because it feels right. New Year New Steve–

Billy shoves him off the car hood. “You’re an asshole.”

Steve can’t fight anymore, “I know,”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

There’s so much he could’ve said then. And now. And always.

I love you, he tries, staring out at a distant line of trees, I want to give you the world.

Steve shrugs his shoulders. “Nothing will change it.”

“Your parents have money, Steve,” Billy tries, and that’s just like him. Steve’s biggest cheerleader.

But Steve lost, alright? The game. The guy.

“It’s not any kind of money I want.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Billy shoves him again. His eyes get caught on Steve’s collarbone, tracing the line of his sweater. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

“‘M not cold,”

“Your lips are almost blue.”

“So I’ll freeze to death,” Steve admits, like. Big whoop.

But then Billy’s shrugging out of his jacket, “Here,” He says. Pissed and venomous like it’s going against his personal code of ethics to keep Steve alive when all he’s ever been is a dumbass with a hazard sign taped to his ass.

When Steve doesn’t take the warmth that’s offered to him, Billy steps close–

So close Steve gets wind of the ylang-ylang oil Max got him for Christmas

–and drapes the jacket over Steve’s shoulders.

It’s sweet.

It’s exactly the kind of thing Steve would’ve done for Nancy, back when he thought he knew what love was supposed to taste like. It chokes him up, gets those huge, impossible words lodged in the back of his throat so when Billy lights a cigarette and hands it over, Steve nearly chokes to death.

He lives.

Billy sits on the hood of the Beemer. “What are you gonna do now?” He asks.

Steve puffs on the Marlboro, “Maybe I’ll work at my dad’s office.”

“You’re not doing that, Steve.”

“Okay, then I’ll go missing,” He passes the cigarette back over, trying to brush Billy’s skin with his fingertips one last time, “Maybe I’ll die if I’m–”

“What happened to Marine Biology?” Billy shifts on the hood of the car so his knees press, sharp as knives, into Steve’s hip bone.

He looks so open. Earnest and dead-set on solving all of Steve’s problems for him, making a way, and forging a path in fire when the road won’t yield its secrets. It’s so Billy, so exactly the reason Steve loves him, that. He can’t hold onto it anymore.

“That was a lie,” Steve admits, “I don’t know shit about biology or the ocean beyond what I’ve seen on the History channel, I just. Wanted to be with you.”

The truth lands like cold water on Billy’s lap.

Steve flicks ash from the end of the last cigarette he’ll ever share with Billy, and. Thinks this is what love tastes like. Truth and smoke and clear, bright wintery air.

“My whole life, nothing and no one ever really made sense. For so long I was avoiding every turn that brought the future because I didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, but then–”

“But then?” Billy asks, so quiet Steve almost misses it.

He takes a deep breath. “I met you,” He admits.

And it feels good.

It’s almost as good as flying, so Steve takes a deep breath and says, “I met you and everything made sense. You talk about the ocean so much that I really did want to learn more. I thought, if he loves it then I could, too. Because I love him and I would do anything, be anyone, if it would make him smile. I wanted to study its ways and become fluent in its language so when you spoke, I could talk back. I wanted to be good enough to make you love me, good enough to take you away from here, But I’m not.”

Steve scrubs a hand across his face.

“You don’t need me to take you away from here, though. I think I always knew that. You’re strong enough to do that yourself. I’m sorry I’m not good enough, Bill.”

The sun disappears behind a bank of thick, gray clouds, and Steve imagines freezing solid.

It’s fitting. A neon sign that proves Steve was right.

Billy takes the cigarette when it’s offered to him. He doesn’t say anything for so long that Steve starts the grieving process, truly dawning a black veil for the death of what was and what never will be.

Steve slides off the hood of the car.

“Do you want to see the West with me?”

He looks over his shoulder. The wind kicks Billy’s curls into his face, hiding his eyes so he looks like a mysterious figure, an ancient God, offering the world on a silver tray.

“I,” Steve mutters, “I don’t understand–”

“You can’t stay here.”

Steve stands his ground. “I can. I have to.”

“I’m not letting you go,” Billy determines. Because he’s beautiful and stubborn and when the wind flows into the east, his eyes bore holes into the cosmos.

Billy slips off the hood of the Beemer, heels cracking so even though they’re standing on even ground all of a sudden, Steve imagines toppling through the crater left behind and voyaging to the center of the Earth.

Billy must pick up on Steve’s master plan.

He sets his jaw in a cut line that has always and will always mean business. “You can’t offer me the world and then take it away because you’re scared,” Billy tells him. He steps close, fingers toying with the hair at the base of Steve’s skull. “I want to get out of this fucking town, Harrington,”

“You should,” Steve blubbers. He’s crying, when did he start– “You should run away and never look back, you know?”

“I plan to,” Billy says bluntly, “And you’re coming with me.”

“Billy–”

“Here’s the plan,” Billy wipes at Steve’s tears, his own eyes dry and resolute. “Over spring break, we’ll take that trip to California just like we said we would. We’ll smoke a lot of dope and I’ll teach you to surf and Robin and I will look around campus–”

“--That sounds great-–”

“--And we’ll find an apartment,” Billy insists, somehow eclipsing the sun and the entire vast, endless spread of the Earth behind him. “We’ll find an apartment, and you’ll go to community college and even if you decide to write terrible poetry and do nothing else for the rest of your fucking life, it won’t matter. Because we’re gonna grow old together, okay?”

He grips the ends of Steve’s hair and tugs, yanking until Steve finally cracks a smile.

“Okay,” Steve says.

When Billy kisses him, it’s like falling apart and fusing together, over and over again until Steve is made new.

Somewhere between the past and the future, the sun escapes the bank of clouds

They hardly notice.