#the thing is the kitchen door doesn’t close all the way because it’s a shitty screen door. haaaaaaaa

[with-my-calamitous-love]

BAREFOOT IN THE KITCHEN / SACRED NEW BEGINNINGS

shouto todoroki x reader

shouto makes a mental checklist of all the things he loves about his home. (you.)

inspired by cornelia street

houses and homes are two different things for many different people.

for shouto, a house was simply a structure that sheltered the most personal details of ones life. the family, the fights, the scars… a house was a place he was forced to be in, forced to grow up in. it was never happy for him.

and shouto knew his childhood house well, as if there were key signs that warned him of incoming disaster. the stillness of the house, even the old floorboards refusing to move. the sudden change of tension in the air the moment the front door opens. the lack of his siblings laughter, all hiding away from him.

the worst kinds of hurt come from the people who should be protecting you.

so he’s hesitant when it comes to getting close to people. his worst fear, now as an independent pro-hero, is going back to one of those still, tear-filled houses.

and you can’t blame him. he doesn’t know what a home is, at first.

1) home is your apartment.

first, shouto learns that home is going to your apartment after work, because he knows your fridge is actually filled and you’ll have clean towels for him to dry off. as self sufficient as he may be, he’s a youngest child at heart. that means be loves to have people to lean on- though they’re far and in between.

as he drives through the city, its as though the street lights point him in your direction. he’s completely mystified, wanting nothing more than to seek your refuge. he barely has a chance to fumble with his keys before you’re already opening the front door for him, as if you just sensed his presence.

“how was work?” he asks you, wrapping his arms around your waist while you cook food on the stove. you love him when he walks out of the shower, wearing nothing but his black sweatpants with a loosely tied jaw string. his perfect muscles are glistening with water, and his hair smells like your shampoo.

he hums as he listens to you, clinging with zero interest of letting go. he loves this, and loves coming home to you after gruelling days at work. sure, his house was bigger, maybe more lavish with unreasonable monthly rent, but all of that doesn’t compare to your laughter at his shitty jokes. it pails in comparison to your favourite mug and the specific way you take your coffee. its the mundane things that make you so beautiful to him.

2) home is your cooking.

he’s used to running on an empty stomach. he doesn’t pay too much attention to his self care, despite his status and previous training. he simply just doesn’t have the time to sit down and have a proper meal, not when he has to work hard and maintain his rank.

all of that changes, however, when you begin your ritual of making soba for him every friday night. at first, he’s confused- not that its incredibly hard to make, or that it would take you that much time- no. he’s confused as to why you did it specifically for him. i mean, sure, you two are dating, and it was a really sweet gesture, but it was also so personal. you could have surprised him with flowers, or treats, or lacy lingerie, but instead you crafted the dish he loves so much.

and it tastes so good.

“your mom told me its your favourite.” you sheepishly admit, referring to the phone call you had with rei earlier. “did she?” shouto smiles, slurping up that last piece of soba eagerly. it makes him warm, knowing that you actively talk with his mom, even when he’s not around.

and she loves you, because you’re an extension of who shouto is. and he will proudly announce that to his family, wanting to share that love with others too. he wants to thank you not just for the food, but for everything else too. though he can’t quite grasp just everything you’ve done for him.

3) home is your smile.

its a no brainer that shouto has money. he grew up rich, and has become one of the most successful pro heroes to date. he loves to spoil you, because he loves seeing the way your eyes light up when he hands you a bouquet of your favourite flowers or that new book you’ve been raving about.

he’s also a man of style. he loves to buy quality clothes and comfortable fabrics, obviously for himself but more so for you. he loves seeing that the jacket around your shoulders is his, walking around in the autumn air.

“you’ll get cold.” you almost whine, but fail to make an actual protest as he leaves his long trench coat around your shoulders. you love the smell, his cologne on your skin. shouto just smiles- he’s never really been impacted by temperatures too much anyway. “its alright, beautiful. it looks better on you, anyway.”

he loves to see you basking in the summer sun, walking through the subtle crisp of autumn leaves, spring pollen making your nose scrunch up adorably, or the way the snowflakes sit on your eyelashes. he loves you all the time.

or the fancy dates he takes you out on, long nights of drinking and laughter. and he’ll happily call you two a taxi, hoping that the person on the other end of the line can excuse his happy-intoxicated slurs. you two sit in the backseat, drunk on something stronger than the drinks in the bar.

“you’re so cute when you’re drunk, love.”

“you’re -hic!- just as drunk as me, sho.”

“am i?”

he’s also the type to almost forget your address when the driver asks- he’s way too drunk, half off of the alcohol and half off of you.

4) home is your arguments.

familial arguments aren’t a new thing for shouto. he’s used to it- the tears, the yelling, the scars that cut deep. but for the first time, maybe ever, he doesn’t want to back his bags and leave before you even know he’s gone.

he finds himself wanting to stay, wanting to make things right. he’ll distance himself, let himself cool off before going to talk with you. he doesn’t dare to say the wrong thing, to let something slip at the heat of the moment. he needs you to know that he loves you not just through every kiss, but through every argument too. he’s here for the good and the bad.

he hates seeing you cry. your pain, the person he loves more than anything being in pain is a kind of heartbreak time could never mend. he’s terrified if you ever walk away. you’re the one person he can’t lose. absolutely not.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous.” he hums, laying down on the bed next to you. he makes it impossible to stay mad at him, for whatever has happened. you just sigh, any traces of anger disappearing when he touches you, pulling you in and forcing you to look at him. he has puppy dog eyes and doesn’t even know what they do to you- and it drives you insane. “i’m sorry too.”

you don’t say anything else, but you opt to leave a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose before drifting off to sleep in his arms. in the morning he’ll call in sick for you and bring you your coffee in bed. it doesn’t matter how stupid, how petty or how hurtful the argument was- you two will make up.

5) home is the memories you’ve made.

shouto can’t dance. and for a man who is supposedly good at everything, you find that absolutely adorable.

“am i doing this right?” he asks, holding your waist close to him as the two of you sway together. the lights are off, the soft glow of the refrigerator light illuminating the two of you like a snow globe, round and round.

you nod reassuringly, the sounds of some american singer playing on the radio. both of your bare feet creak beneath the wooden floorboards, as if the house itself was humming along to the tune.

this is your religion. and this is a sacred new beginning for shouto. the first house he had ever felt was home.

“i love you.” you whisper, getting on your tip-toes slightly to kiss his jawline. “i love you so much, darling.” he hums back, vowing to remember this moment forever.

6) home is wherever you two are, together.

he never wants to lose you. he physically, cannot lose the floorboards, the streets, and the home he’s loved you on. he’d never walk these streets again. if they don’t lead to you, they don’t lead home.

[christhopersturniolo]

୨ PINKY PROMISE ୧

Summary: Y/n finally confronts her abusive dad, leading to a massive argument, where she leaves the house.

Warnings: Angst, daddy issues, violence, cussing.

Notes: English is not my first language, so I’m sorry about any mistake!

୨୧

Im on the living room couch since my dad left the house. My eyes blink slowly, struggling to stay open. I see on my phone, 2AM. The big yellow light only makes me drowsier at each second that goes by. As soon as my eyes close, I hear the door opening, automatically getting my attention.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. I watch the old man walking through the living room with a bottle of beer in his hand. The familiar smell of alcohol fills the room. He looks in my direction, his eyes narrowing as they land on me. “What the hell are you doing still up?" He asks with a tone of accusation.

I hesitate before answering, finding the right words. “I.. I was just waiting for you, dad.” I reply. The tension in the room is big.

"Waiting for me? More like waiting to nag me, you little brat." He scoffs as he walks over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and getting another alcoholic drink.

I feel the rage burning inside me, but I push it down, knowing it will only make things worse. “I was worried about you” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “You were gone for hours, and..”

But before I can finish my sentence, he cuts me off with a bit of a laugh. “You are just like your mother, always putting your nose where you are not called” He takes another swig from the bottle. I put my phone in my pocket. I start getting up, maybe going to bed was actually the best idea, but it looks like he still has things to say. “You're the last person who should be worried about me, little bitch.”

All his words just remind me of how much I hate him. Since my mom died, nothing has been the same. He started getting into alcohol, drinking every day. I have bruises from all the times he had ever hit me. I hate when he mentions my mom, like he didn’t even loved her. I turn myself to him. “It’s not my fault you go out to drink like a fucking addicted, just because you can’t stand the idea of mom not being here anymore!” I say. “And I shouldn’t be worried?!”

“You are just like her” He looks at me with disgusted eyes. “Always running your mouth, just like your goddamn mother.” He gets closer, his breath hitting my face. “If she was here, she would be embarrassed of having you as a daughter, just like I am.” He pauses. “You are just a mistake. I wish I had used a condom that night. No one can fucking stand you.”

I shake my head. “That’s not true.” I try to convince myself. Some tears running down my face, I just can’t avoid them. I feel more and more angry.

He simply keeps talking. “And let me tell you,“ He points an accusing finger at me. “That shitty boyfriend of yours? He’s just with you out of pity.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about. You don’t know him, dad.” My breath gets heavier.

“He’s just using you, like everyone around you, piece of shit. You will see, as soon as he finds someone bett-“

Suddenly, before he could finish talking, I push him away from me, making him lose balance, almost getting him on the floor. “Stop! Just shut the fuck up already! Leave me the fuck alone!” I scream, tears blur my vision.

But my father’s rage only seems to intensify. He doesn’t give up. He comes back, his hand connects with my cheek, slapping me across the face, leaving a red mark. For some moments, I froze. “I hate you!” I yell "I hate being here! I hate every moment spent under this roof with you!"

“Ungrateful brat! That’s all you are!” He affirms, louder than me.

“I hate the way you treat me, the way you talk to me, the way you make me feel like I'm worthless! I’m out of here!” I use the same tone as him, but this time sobbing. And with that, I start walking towards the front door, I open it.

“Sure! get the fuck out of my house! And I don’t wanna see your ass back here when you realize the shit you’ve made!” He tells me. I take one last look at him before shutting the door.

I start crying uncontrollably as I walk through the dark streets. I don’t even have where to go, I just wanna get out of this place. The only thing I can think of is Chris. I need him. He’s the only one who will understand me.

The panic just builds up as I walk the fastest I can to his house. Each step that I take doesn’t feel real. How the fuck is this actually happening. After an eternity, I finally reach his house. I ring on the doorbell, nothing. It just makes me cry more and more. I ring again, still nothing. Until I finally see the door opening. His eyes half closed, shirtless only with his pajama pants on. He blinks in confusion.

“Y/n? What’s.. What’s wrong? What are you doing here?” He asks with his husky voice.

“Chris.. Im sorry.. I..” I try to speak but the words catch in my throat, I’m only able to cry. He pulls me into a hug, my head buries on the crook of his neck as I keep breaking down. He holds me tightly, as I cling to him, my tears soaking his bare skin.

He kisses the top of my head a few times “Shh it’s okay..” He whispers. “You don’t gotta say anything right now, I just need you to breathe, love. I’ve got you..” We stay like this for some moments, until I calm down a bit.

He pulls me back from the hug, making me look at him. “Why don’t you come in so we can talk better, huh?” He questions me calmly. Chris leads me to his room, always holding my hand. As we get there, he closes the door behind us.

“Let me get you something more comfortable to wear” He looks on his wardrobe. As soon as he finds it, he hands me an oversized hoodie and some fluffy pajama pants. Once I'm settled into the cozy clothes, my boyfriend guides me to his bed. We lay down, my head on his chest as a pillow. He strokes my hair gently. “I hate seeing you like this.. Do you talk about what happened?”

I sniff. “It’s just.. Everything with my dad..” My voice shakes as I talk. I start tearing up once again. ”We argued again, but this time.. I said I wasn’t coming back there, but I don’t even have anywhere to go..” I go back to crying.

“Listen to me, you do. You have me, you are staying here for how long you need to. I’m sorry I didn’t got you out of that house earlier.” He rubs my back.

I sigh. I look up at him with my watery eyes. “Can I make you a question?” I whisper.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you ever.. Do you ever regret being with me? Do you ever wish you were with someone else?”

Chris's brows furrow with concern as he looks into my tear-filled eyes. “Hey, hey, hey.. Why are you asking me that?”

“I don’t know.. My dad is always telling me how you are going to leave me and.. I.. I don’t know..” I say insecure.

Chris cups my face with his hands. “Y/n listen to me, those are just lies. Im not going to leave you and I don’t regret being with you, I love you.”

“Do you promise me?” He wipes away my tears with his thumb.

He extends his pinky finger towards me. “Wanna make a pinky promise?” His sentence makes me chuckle a bit, like a little kid. Slowly, I reach out and intertwine my pinky finger with his. “I promise that I will always be here for you, Y/n.” He smiles. “Now can you promise me that you will never doubt about it?”

“I promise Chris.” He gives me a soft peck on my lips.

୨୧

omg this end was so shitty

taglist: @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @orangelala @annamcdonalds67 @lilo7sworld @soso-scarlettolivia @junnniiieee07

[auras-moonstone]

hi! i love the way you write and was hoping if you had time for this rec :) ethan x reader

it's inspired by 'the summer i turned pretty'

y/n is the bailey's childhood friend, she was very close to ethan and quinn growing up, but when she comes back to newyork, richie is suddenly very interested in her and the shitty brother that he is, he know that ethan had a thing for her.

"You think she's pretty?" richie asked ethan one day.

"Yeah, and you do too," ethan replied already annoyed, trying to brush it off.

"I hadn't noticed, really," richie said, smirking.

"Come on, man. I've noticed you noticing"

richie is the it-boy of the town, always gets what he wants, cocky and arrogant. y/n was the only thing ethan had for himself only.

sorry if its long 😭😭 its mostly angsty id say, y/n is surprised someone like richie likes her but her heart has always been yearning for ethan whom she thinks will never see her that way.

childhood best friends to lovers is one of my favorite tropes so i really had a lot of fun writing this! hope you like it💓🫶🏻

you’re my best friend — ethan landry

word count: 2,465

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: when y/n goes back to new york city she finds out two things—she’s still crushing on ethan and richie took an interest in her.

WHEN Y/N AND HIS FAMILY HAD TO LEAVE NEW YORK FOR LONDON, THE BAILEY’S WERE LEFT HEARTBROKEN, ESPECIALLY QUINN AND ETHAN. Both of their families had been close since forever, so Quinn, Ethan, Y/N and Richie grew up together and the first three developed a really close friendship.

Y/N’s dad got a promotion, so they had to move to England, where Y/N finished high school and started college. Now, though, her dad had been offered to go back to New York if he wanted. And because he missed the city and his friends, he said yes.

The first thing Y/N did when she found out was text her best friends—Quinn and Ethan, with whom she had kept contact with despite the distance. She was excited to see them, and wondered what she would feel when she finally saw Ethan again. She’d like to think she got over her crush, but that’s because they hadn’t seen each other in four years.

And there she was, about to find out. Y/N was standing in front of the Bailey’s house with her parents behind her. The door opened and Y/N’s chest grew tight in anticipation, and then she held a sigh of disappointment when Wayne’s face appeared.

The older man greeted her parents with enthusiasm, and when it was her time to say hello, the man opened his mouth in shock “Oh my! You’ve grown a lot! It’s nice to see you again, Y/N”

“You too, Wayne” she hugged him awkwardly. Y/N wasn’t his biggest fan, she still remember all too well the way he treated Ethan. Always comparing him to Richie, making him feel like garbage.

“Quinn and Richie are in the kitchen” he informed her. She nodded and made her way to said place.

As soon as she set foot on the big kitchen, she was attacked by a hug. “Oh my god! You’re here!” she recognized the voice of Quinn.

“I’m here! I missed you” she broke the hug to take a look at her friend’s new hairstyle “Red is definitely your color, Q. You look so good.”

“And London certainly benefited you, holy shit. You look hot. Give me a chance?” the red-head joked.

“Absolutely” she laughed, hugging her once more. “I can’t believe I’m back”

“Hi, Y/N” Richie finally managed to find his voice. He had been completely entranced by the girl. Quinn was right, she got hot. He had never noticed her, because well, he had always seen her as his sibling’s friend and because she had been 15 when she left. Now, she was 19 and super attractive.

“Oh, sorry. Hi, Richie. Nice to see you again” she gave him a little wave. Y/N wasn’t sure she liked the way Richie was shamelessly checking her out. “Where is Eth?” she tried not to sound so excited.

“Oh, he’s in his room, as always. Drowning himself in text books and having no social life whatsoever” Richie rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“He doesn’t know you’re coming today, so go surprise him” Quinn said, eyeing the way Y/N’s knuckles turned white. She had always hated when people talked badly about Ethan, and apparently, it didn’t change.

Y/N walked up the stairs, anguish filling her stomach and her heart beating so fast it made her cheeks turn red. She stood in front of the door, trying to gain the courage to knock. There was just one door separating her from Ethan, the guy who had been her first crush ever. Her best friend in the entire world.

“Come in” she heard, and almost fainted. Not because she was seconds away from seeing his face after four years, but because she noticed the change in his voice. It was deeper, raspier and… hot.

Y/N took a deep breath and opened the door. There he was, lying on his bed, headphones flattening his perfect curly hair and book open on his lap.

His round brown eyes found hers, and he jumped off the bed so fast he got dizzy. Y/N laughed and ran into his arms, that were instantly wrapped around her lower back to pull her up and against his chest. Her legs locked around his waist.

“Please tell me you’re real and I’m not making you up” Ethan said, face between her neck and shoulder blades.

“I’m real” she laughed. “And I’m back to stay. Holy shit, you got so fucking tall”

“And you have not grown and inch” he joked, letting her feet touch the ground again.

“Mean” Y/N punched his arm playfully. “Where is your Justin Bieber haircut?!”

“That was a phase I don’t want to remember” he shook his head. “What, you don’t like my curls?”

“No… I love them. You have amazing hair” Y/N complimented.

Ethan blushed, and took his time to let his eyes take in her face. Her factions were more defined, her lips were fuller, eyes a little darker but still very bright, and smile as warm as ever. She had grown a bit, but she was still short compared to him, her head barely reached his shoulders. She looked even prettier than before, and Ethan couldn’t believe he would be able to see her everyday.

The tall boy had also changed a lot, and Y/N needed to figure out how to stop looking at him before she weirded him out. His jawline was sharp as a diamond, his cheekbones more defined, and surprisingly, he had muscles. Enthralling, captivating muscles. He was pretty, adorable and hot at the same time and Y/N’s doubts faded away—her crush on him was still very much intact.

“You look stunning, Y/N/N. I missed you” he said in a low voice. They were so close, his arms still around her, and the moment felt intimate and cozy. It was at that moment Y/N realized how much she had missed her home.

“I missed you too” she smiled, happiness was radiating off her. Y/N was so happy she could cry. “Can I hug you again?”

“You don’t have to ask. You know I love your hugs, and I missed them. So, you’ll have to hug me a lot to make up for the lost time” Ethan answered, chest almost exploding for the amount of adoration he felt for her.

None of them knew for how long they stayed in each others arms, if it had been just minutes or hours, but they did know that either way, it hadn’t been enough. They could’ve stayed like that forever.

SAYING THAT Y/N CAUGHT THE ATTENTION OF EVERY BLACKMORE STUDENTS WOULD BE GOING A LITTLE TOO FAR, but she certainly had the attention of the people she had classes with. Not only because of her looks, but also because she entered in the middle of the semester, which was extremely unusual. Y/N hated the twenty pairs of eyes on her, but she was thankful she at least had Ethan by her side.

The nerdy boy felt a little uneased by the reaction Y/N caused. She had always been someone only Ethan used to notice—thought he never understood why, because she was the most amazing girl in the world—, and the thought of that changing made him panic. Because there were so many guys who were better than him, and now that she had options, Ethan knew Y/N would never choose him.

“How is your first day going?” to her surprise, Richie asked.

“Um, good?” she said, unsure. It was weird, Richie and her had never been friends. He had never cared about her well-being, what was his deal now? She didn’t know.

But Ethan did, he could see it in his brother’s eyes. Richie was interested in Y/N and it made his blood boil. He knew Ethan had feelings for her, but of course he didn’t care.

“Great. If you need anything, feel free to tell me” he said, winking at her before leaving.

“That’s the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. Is he okay? Did he fell from the stairs and hit his head or something?” Y/N asked Ethan.

The brunet laughed “He kind of became the ‘it’ boy of college, which fed his ego and makes him brave enough to flirt with every hot girl that crosses his path. You’re his next target.”

Richie had always been popular amongst girls—he was attractive, had that attitude girls found hot, and was sometimes funny—and exactly the type who would never look at Y/N’s way, or so she thought.

She couldn’t imagine herself with him, not only because ‘it’ boys weren’t her kind of boys, but also because her heart yearned for Ethan. Even when she knew he would never look at her as more than a friend.

“Well, time to damage it boy’s ego” Y/N said.

Ethan looked at her surprised “You are not into him?”

“Ethan, what the actual fuck? No!“ she laughed in shock. Wasn’t it painfully obvious that she had a crush on him and not Richie? Guess not. Or maybe Ethan was way too oblivious.

“Okay” wasn’t she imagine it or did she actually hear relief in his voice?

ETHAN AND RICHIE SAT ON THE BEACH CHAIRS NEXT TO THEIR POOL, THEIR EYES ON THE VOLEY MATCH HAPPENING IN FRONT OF THEM. It was Quinn and Y/N vs. Tara and Mindy, and Ethan’s eyes were specifically focused on Y/N’s figure. Richie couldn’t pass the opportunity to tease him.

"You think she's pretty?" Richie asked him, sarcasm present in his voice.

"Yeah, and you do too," his brother replied, already annoyed, trying to brush it off.

"I hadn't noticed, really," Richie said, smirking. He enjoyed seeing his brother angry so much, and he knew Y/N was his weak point.

"Come on, man. I've noticed you noticing. And she did too” Ethan said, frowning.

“She does? Maybe I should ask her out, then.” Richie said, hoping this would make Ethan fume.

However, the nerdy boy gave him a smile. “Do it.” he tried to suppress a smirk at his brother’s confused reaction.

“Hey, enjoyed the game?” Y/N asked. They had been so sumerged in their conversation they hadn’t noticed the match ended.

Ethan flashed her his sweet pretty smile, which she mirrored “You’re good, Y/N/N.”

“Thanks, Eth” if her cheeks hadn’t been already red from the heat and the exercise, Ethan would’ve noticed the effect his words had on her.

“Do you want water, gorgeous?” Richie asked, with a sly grin. Ethan clenched his jaw and Y/N tried not to make a disgusted face.

“Yes, but I’ll go get it” Y/N said walking to the kitchen before Richie could beat her. Ethan followed her, feeling Richie’s eyes on the back of his head. “Does he not get the hint? I have given no signs that I like him”

“I should probably warn you, he’s going to ask you out” Ethan told her, leaning against the counter and she poured water in a glass.

“Oh god, you know what? It’s fine, I’m just going to tell him he’s not the one I’m interested in” Y/N said.

Ethan stiffened “What do you mean by that? You’re interested in someone?” his chest contracted.

Y/N then realized what she had said. “Oh… well, yeah.”

The boy nodded, trying not to show how much it hurt “Are they from London?”

Y/N shook her head “No, he is from here.” she admitted.

“Oh… you met him at college?” he asked. Why was he asking? He was a fucking masochist.

“No… but he goes to our college”

“So that means you met him before you moved to London” Ethan deduced.

Y/N nodded “Waay before I moved. I have known him my whole life” she said. He’s got to figure it out now.

“I have no fricking idea” Ethan laughed. “I don’t remember you hanging out with someone who wasn’t Quinn or me.”

“Ethan are you serious?” Y/N groaned. Guess he really was oblivious. Ethan looked at her, very lost. “I’m talking about you, you idiot. Honestly, for someone that smart you can really be dumb sometimes.”

“Me? You like me?” Ethan pointed at himself in disbelief.

“I have liked you since we were fourteen, Eth. Never stopped liking you” Y/N smiled nervously. What was going to happen next? Rejection or reciprocation?

“Are you sure?” he asked in a low tone.

Y/N let out a giggle “Yes, Ethan, pretty sure I know my emotions. Do you know yours?”

“I win” Ethan said, making her frown, not understanding what he meant. “I have liked you since we were thirteen. So I won.”

The girl rolled her eyes, smile painted on her face as she walked closer to him and hugged him. “Well, guess the loser is the one who has to ask the question” Ethan raised his eyebrows in amusement, liking were this conversation was going. “Ethan, would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“I would love to be your boyfriend, Y/N” he replied. Y/N could feel his heartbeats through his shirt as his arms were wrapped around her lower back. “Can I kiss you, girlfriend?”

“Yes, you can, boyfriend” she closed her arms around his neck and brought him down to meet her lips. Mint got mixed with cherry, and their soft lips danced with each other in one perfect and very awaited kiss.

The slow and calm kiss turned into a rougher and wilder one. His hands went under her white tank top as hers messed with his soft curls. Ethan turned them around, so that she was now pressed against the counter. But soon, he lifted her up and set her on it. She opened her legs so he could step between them and deepened the kiss.

“You’re my best friend” Y/N whispered breathlessly against his lips.

Ethan smiled “You’re my best friend, too. I love you”

“I love you” she said back, before kissing him once again.

Quinn, Richie, Tara and Mindy entered the kitchen and stood still at the scene happening in front of them. The two teenagers were so engrossed in their lustful kiss that they didn’t notice them until Quinn yelled “Not in the counter, we use it to cook!”

“Kids nowadays have zero respect” Mindy shook her head.

“This is a family house!” Tara exclaimed. Richie just stood there completely dumbfounded, which made Ethan feel even more victorious.

“Oh, we have been waiting this for years, leave us alone” Y/N rolled her eyes, but got off the counter anyways. Ethan draped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“They’re cute, you have to give them that” Tara said to Quinn.

“Are you two official?” Quinn asked, now unable to hide her smile.

“Yes” they said in unison, smiling to each other.

[flashbangstars]

Monday Miscommunications N.J.M

Pairing. Jaemin x Female reader 18+ wc: 2021

Summary. I really liked writing the roommate series so I decided to try and write a extended/expand upon the original post. Basically you are Jaemin's roommate and you two and he's insufferable and sexy. brain rot from domestic roommate Jaemin.

Genre. Suggestive, ready and Jaemin get a bit hot and heavy... in a video game chair. fluff/suggestive

Warnings: mentions of violence in a joking manner, suggestive

I went a little haywire with the elipses in this so ignore that.

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You two were about 7 months deep and you swear you got more confused with him the more time you spent together. Given the fact he lived next door to you all last year, it was confusing that he was the same person who would greet you in the morning.

Things were weirdly coming to a peak as of late, He had been extremely touchy MORE than usual, and was spending way more time in the apartment than he usually would. He now opted for his friends to come over instead of him going to them, and he was now making an effort to introduce you to them when they were over . This afternoon was no different.

Things were weirdly coming to a peak as of late, He had been extremely touchy MORE than usual, and was spending way more time in the apartment than he usually would. He now opted for his friends to come over instead of him going to them, and he was now making an effort to introduce you to them when they were over . This afternoon was no different.

You opened the door to the apartment and dropped the keys into the bowl. Feet dragging, eyes sagging today fucking sucked. You had dropped your phone the screen had shattered and your computer died during a three-hour lecture… 45 minutes in, you needed either alcohol or for someone to take you out of your misery at this point.

Standing in the kitchen you rested your head on the counter and closed your eyes. The cold surface pressed against your forehead and the heating in the apartment lowly humming. You needed to eat something and then pass out.

The door opened and you heard a second set of keys being dropped into the bowl. Lifting your head from the counter and turning, there was Jaemin walking in, kitten sweats and bucket hat in all their glory.

“Hey! Oh!..you look like shit,” he said with that pretty smile and pretty teeth.. bastard.

“Fuck you” you mutter dropping your head back to the counter. You hear his bag drop to the floor and his shoes get kicked off to the side, the Converse with the backs of them folded in because for some reason he doesn’t like to put his shoes on.

His socked feet pad across the wood floor and stop next to you in the kitchen, you watch as his feet inch closer to you and then you feel an arm lay across your back, and then a hand settle on your waist.

“I’m sorry baby, did something happen today?” Jaemin coos in a higher-pitched-up voice. Despite the day being so unbelievably shitty, the only thing you were able to think about was; the multiple bright red flags going off as to what just happened in this right here kitchen.

His hand was burning fucking hot on your side (not really you’re just insane!) and the proximity was something that wasn’t normally common for your dynamic, was he a freak? Yes! But this was a bit much. You didn’t know whether the right thing to do was to now stand up, or to stay in this position because you were tired, and a little coddling never hurt anyone. You decided with the first because you're a grown-ass woman who didn’t need any man and you stood up and blinked a couple of times refusing to turn to face Jaemin.

Now standing though, the closeness of you two was a lot more apparent, his hip was touching yours and his hand stayed behind you. He tilted his head in front of you to catch your eyesight and asked again if you were okay.

“I’m fine today was just a lot, I just need it to be over haha” Did you just verbALLY say HAHA?

Turning around so your butt pressed against the edge of the counter you started rubbing your hands on your face out of exasperation. Missing the movement from your side. Opening your eyes to Jaemin having moved to be standing right in front of you with both hands on the counter behind you.

Oh honey, what is this!?

He stared this time into your eyes and you could feel the slight blush coming up from your neck and you forced yourself to make eye contact with him. “Well if you need anything please let me know, I’m sorry you had such a bad day,” he said in a grossly endearing tone (you thought that shit was hot) and then stood up, patted your hip, and walked to his room. He is so mistaken if he thinks you won’t get on your knees in this damn kitchen! Jesus Christ DECORum!

Now you weren’t even upset about your day, you were upset about whatever the fuck that was. Jaemin and you had known each other for 2 years now and you had never gotten the vibe he wanted to fuck you? But this now domesticity and nurturing agenda he had was fucking with your head and your vagina. Who just casually acts like that? OUT OF NO WHERE?? You stood in the kitchen, and then consequently decided to not stand on business. Marching your way down the hallway to Jaemin’s room Opening the door, Jaemin was sat at his Gamer ass desk set up. Upon hearing you enter the chair swiveled around, and Jaemin smiled widely seeing you.

“Hi sweetheart, what do you need?” He asked uncrossing his legs. Sweetheart?!?? You walked closer and stood crossing your arms “Can you explain what happened in the kitchen just now?” You huffed leaning in and pushing your index finger into his chest disapprovingly. His eyes searched yours and then morphed into a devious look. Before you could lean back both of his arms shot out, grabbing your waist. Spinning you and placing you back down in his lap. HUHHHHH???

“I was just making sure you were okay! It makes me feel terrible when you look so upset. If you want something to do, I’m setting up my online calendar and you can just sit here and look pretty while I do so!” he said in a sweet but fast voice, not letting you get a single word in, He spun the chair again and pushed you both into the desk.

You felt the redness creeping up your neck, and your face was burning hot. I think… I think he’s going insane… that is the only answer to this. Using your brute woman strength, you put your arms out and pushed both away from the desk.

Not yet leaving his lap due to the one arm swung around your waist (and also like it was comfy, sue me!). You angle your head and slowly turn to face him.

“Did you hit your fucking head or something, cause what the fuck is this?” you say grabbing his wrist off your waist. You say a little bit more annoyed this time. Jaemin’s demeanor faltered for a split second, his eyebrows falling into a pout for a millisecond, but returning to the very toothy smile Inching closer to your face “Well a little birdie told me that you had been talking about your hot roommate, and how never would think he would go after someone like you” Jaemin taunted a bit, his voice lilting towards the end of the sentence in a faux pout.

Suddenly like That’s So Raven it all hit you, the conversation you had with Jisung on the bus about your little crush on Jaemin was replaying on loudspeakers in the theater of your mind. You had mentioned how you found Jaemin very attractive but could never see him going for someone like you due to his track record.

Determined to not lose to Jaemin in whatever battle of strength this was, you relaxed a bit “Oh well now I have to kill Jisung I guess” you said keeping eye contact with Jaemin. Despite your efforts to come out victorious, folding immediately as a hand comes up and brushes your hair behind your ear making you tense up again.

“And you didn’t even try to deny it,” he said with a smug look. …. Well damn.

“ Wish you would’ve said something, do you know how hard it is to live with someone like you? Smart, Pretty, determined to be oblivious to every single move I try to make” Now you two were an inch away from each other's face

“I…am not… oblivious,” you say your voice raised a bit above a whisper in protest of his claims on your character. Your hands were probably shaking now, and in any minute You think you were going to explode probably if this continued for I don’t know, maybe 5 seconds more.

“Yes, you are. You know people ask if we are dating? Jeno and Jisung have been making fun of me because no matter how hard I’ve tried to get you to notice, you just don’t, But now I get home and treat you extra nice, and all of sudden you are sitting in my lap so what am I suppose to think?” Jaemin said lowly his voice rasping from beside you, but to you, it sounded like he was screaming straight into your clit. Your awareness of your position in his lap feels like a bucket of ice water.

Staring at him you tried to collect your thoughts as to what would be your next move. On one hand, you could engage with the enemy and follow through with the sinful acts he is proposing. Or you could stand up and walk away and laugh about this whole thing tomorrow!

But like… what fun would that be?

Mustering up the strength, you relaxed a bit into his hold and let your weight rest against his chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice,” you said shrugging. Jaemin tightened his hold once he felt you relax and his fingers were now pressing into the soft flesh of your side, slipping under the fabric of your t-shirt.

“It's alright, I think we both are on the same page now, am I right princess?” Tilting his head so now you two were dangerously close to each other. Leaning in extending his eye contact to almost asking for permission, you nodded.

Jaemin pressed his lips against yours softly and his grip around you tightened even more, one of his hands moving up to tilt your chin to give him more access, parting your lips and deepening the kiss, silently thanking god you had had a piece of gum in before you got home. Your hands go up to press against his chest. His hand on your side moved up and now creeping along the hem of your bra, teasing the strap your t-shirt now shoved above your bra.

He got more intense with his movements, and you felt the arm of his desk chair pressing into the middle of your back reminding you of the situation you were in. Pushing against his chest and separating you two from each other before he succeeded in devouring you.

“It is 3 pm…. On a Monday… hold on” you said between breaths. “And…?” He asked with his annoying pretty smile.

“I need a second…” Staring blankly at you as if expecting something Jaemin didn’t move “I like you…I promise..I just need to go uh… send Jisung a death threat and maybe a thank you card and go and scream into my pillow, then we can continue this..on the bed.. hopefully,” you promise nodding your head surely at the end of your sentence.

Standing up and straightening out your pants… and… pulling your shirt back down over your boobs. You bowed a bit and left his room. WHY DID YOU BOW? You heard a soft laugh come from the same video game chair you had just been almost fucked on and didn’t dare to turn around again. Going straight down the hallway to your room.

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Thank you for reading! if you guys are interested in more of these from the roommate series pls let me know!

[bidisastersanji]

It's Sunday night so why not read part 3/3 of "Zoro gets lost because he uses the red string of fate like a compass" ? Part 1 here, part 2 here, ao3 here Hope you guys like it ;)

Sanji is being weird. Ever since that day on Thriller Bark, he’s definitely been avoiding him, only interacting with him when strictly necessary (to feed him), never making eye contact for too long, and leaving as quickly as he came. 

Shitty cook. What’s his fuckin’ deal? 

Zoro lets it sit for a couple of days, too injured to move out of the infirmary or to do anything about it anyways, before he comes up with a potential reason for the cook’s strange behaviour. It must be because of the self-sacrifice thing. It can’t be because of that... other thing, he muses. 

Back at the Baratie, when they’d first met, Zoro could immediately tell that Sanji didn’t know. The blonde couldn’t see it, or feel it...nothin’. It was painfully obvious. (It didn’t make him feel hollow at all!) So, he hadn’t said anything- what would’ve been the point? It wasn’t like it mattered to him either way: his goal was already fixed. Become the world’s greatest swordsman. Then, maybe look for the person tied to his soul. 

He didn’t expect to meet them so soon. 

He also didn’t expect for him to come aboard and join the crew. Sure, the ridiculous moron grew on him much faster than he expected, and he took great satisfaction from having someone of comparable strength look over their crew with him, someone who could handle him, his power, his ambition, his rough edges and biting words. He wouldn’t deny that. But he also hated how the proximity made his little...navigation problem way worse. 

Learning that Sanji grew up on a moving restaurant in the East Blue certainly explained why the thread moved around so much. Being on the same boat, however, brought the realisation that the closer they were to each other, the more the thread moved- and when living in such close quarters, stuck on a ship, the thread was constantly bobbing around as the cook moved around his kitchen, the pantry, the bridge, happily serving freshly prepared meals and snacks to his crewmates. 

If there was one good use that he got out of this, it's that he could always find the best time to sneak some booze from the kitchen- the red string a reliable indicator of Sanji being busy elsewhere. The downside was, of course, all the teasing his nakama, especially that witch Nami, made him endure. And it’s not like he could even reciprocate the teasing the day her tattoo turned the exact shade of a certain Miss Wednesday’s hair. He couldn’t risk his debt going up. 

Even when off the ship, Zoro’s sense of direction had never been as comically bad before. Using the red thread to move around was like breathing to him, and it constantly caught his eye, getting him lost- even in the midst of battle- going up the wrong stairs, running off in the wrong direction, finding himself in the most unlikely of places because the damn cook wouldn’t. stop. moving. Around. (Somewhere in his mind, Zoro was aware that he couldn’t expect Sanji to not move- he just was oh so tired of getting lost.) 

He noticed that Sanji never had problems finding him. Zoro’s chest felt light whenever he did. He didn’t linger on it. 

His chest feels anything but light now that Sanji is avoiding him like the plague. 

Strong enough to stand after a few days’ rest, Zoro follows the red thread to the galley. He pushes the door open and catches the sweet smell of Sanji’s stress baking. Of course. 

“I’m not giving you booze, marimo.” Sanji doesn’t look up from behind the counter, hands meticulously working to decorate whatever baked goods he’s whipped up today. 

“’m not here for booze, cook.” 

“Then get the hell out of my kitchen, it’s not lunchtime yet.” 

Zoro regards him cooly, standing between the counter and the dining table, and waits for him to look up. He has time. 

“...You gonna stand here all day, shithead?” 

“Mn.” 

Sanji sighs and meets his gaze with an affronted look, hands finally stilling in his decorating. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Zoro’s not one to beat around the bush. “Is this about what happened with Kuma?” 

Sanji stays silent, absentmindedly worrying his lower lip. 

“Look, I’m never gonna apologise for knockin’ you out and doing what I did- especially since everything turned out ok in the end. The crew couldn’t lose you, curls. This was my burden to bear. How can we move past this-” 

His blue eyes look furious, like burning ice. “We can’t,” he bites out. Sanji reaches for his cigarettes, soothing himself with the familiar motion of placing it between his lips. It wobbles as he speaks. “And the fuck do you even mean, they couldn’t lose me- they can’t lose you, dumbass. You still have to beat Mihawk and become the greatest, right?” 

Zoro sighs, tuning the cook out a bit as he nags him. Why Sanji can never see his own value, his importance to the crew, to him, he doesn’t know. He knows it’s not something he can fix with just a few words. 

“Why would you even,” Sanji starts losing his words from his frustration. His thumb and forefinger pinch his cigarette and he waves it around angrily. “you silly moss- I can’t understand you!” 

“That’s my line. Why did you try to take my place? Spoutin’ all that bullshit about finding another cook, huh?” 

Sanji blanches, mouthing silent words as he looks for a way to answer Zoro’s question. His visible eye flits to Zoro’s hand on his chest. The swordsman notices. 

“Y-you wouldn’t understand...” his face contorts painfully, brow furrowed. 

Zoro takes it all in. Where he’s looking, the way he’s been acting strange...it was more than what happened on Thriller Bark, then. “Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“All right. Then why don’t I let you in on a little secret.”  

Zoro’s face is impassible as ever, and the cook seems intrigued.  

“...sure, why the hell not.” Then, to break the tension, “You gonna tell me the secret to your ridiculous hair colour?” 

“Better. ‘m gonna tell you why I get lost all the time.” 

“...so you are self-aware. Good job, marimo. Maybe next you’ll figure out basic hygiene.” Sanji’s jeer doesn’t mask how intently he’s waiting for Zoro to reveal his secret. 

The swordsman comes closer to the counter, placing his forearms and hands on the cool granite. Sanji’s eye follows the movement and seems to linger on the thread before returning to meet his own. This helps steel the swordsman in his decision. 

“You see, the reason I get turned around and lost is ‘cause I don’t navigate like most folk do. Growing up, I relied on my inner compass, and it worked just fine- I could always tell where North was, back then. No matter where I was.” 

“What changed?” 

“My north started movin’ around,” he huffs. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yeah, didn’t make sense to me either. But then my friend told me that the red string on my finger wasn’t a compass.” 

From how close they’re standing; Zoro hears Sanji’s breath hitch. He grins and brings his hand up from the counter, wiggling his pinky. 

“Y-you can see it?” Sanji’s face is twisted with shock and confusion. 

“Always have.” 

“But then why- why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Could tell that you didn’t see it too. Didn’t wanna make a fuss.”  

Sanji’s mouth opens on an inhale- ready to retort, but Zoro cuts him off before he gets the chance. “Think, cook. How would’ve you had reacted if I’d told you?” 

That shuts him up. Head slightly hanging, his unlit cigarette is in pieces, wrung out by his nervous hands. 

Always a contrarian, Zoro feels calm, his chest now warm and light like bread fresh from the oven. He can feel his lips stretch into a lazy smile despite himself. The shitty cook can see it. He can see the thread. It’s a start. 

“Sanji.” 

His blue eyes are cloudy, distant, deep in thought, and it takes him a few seconds to realise that swordsman said his name. His actual name. Zoro’s chest feels a little tight at the cute blush that dusts his cheeks, spreading to his ears. Tempers the urge to tease him about it, watch it deepen. He should probably say the important stuff first, do what he came here to do in the first place. 

“I won’t apologise for Thriller Bark because I'm selfish. I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Zoro prefers to speak with actions, not words, and he hopes that this action was loud enough. 

Listen, cook. Please listen. 

Sanji ponders his words for a moment, eyes searching his face with an intensity that keeps Zoro rooted to the spot. Under his crisp white button up, his chest rises and falls with a deep, deep sigh. He seems to come to a decision, and Zoro can’t deny his sweaty palms are itching to fidget with his earrings as he watches Sanji join him on his side of the counter. His footsteps suddenly feel quite loud, the light a bit too bright- but Zoro keeps his face schooled in a neutral expression and turns to face his crewmate. 

The thread is short, now, their bodies, close.  

“You won’t apologise.” 

Zoro shakes his head no. 

“Then you better be ready to make it up to me your whole life, you shitty marimo.” 

I hear you. 

Zoro’s heart beats like war drums, victorious and bold and indomitable, blood racing, making his body sizzle with restless energy. He watches in awe as Sanji’s hand- the one with a delicately corded red rope tied to the pinky- reaches for his own, interlocking their hands between them. It looks nice, the red string bright and proud against their skins’ neutral tones. Evidence of their unique bond. 

His face must be saying something because Sanji looks handsomely mischievious, pearly whites peeking out from an idiotic grin. 

“So, you’re gonna kiss me or what?” 

Zoro doesn’t need to be asked twice, and for once, does as Sanji says. 

[viisator]

Two words of love - P.Sunghoon

Pairings: Park Sunghoon X F!Reader

Genre: Thriller. Horror(little bit). Drama.

Warning: death.

Description: Have you ever felt like you're living to survive? What if someone you dearly love brought you to hell? What if you're no longer able to survive? Will you kill yourself, or him instead?

Not Proofread

(the description is shitty but I went through my drafts again and saw that this is finished...one of my favs but the first half part is boring...but the ending is kinda cute so...yeah. I'll be in senior high btw.)

• • • • •

Flesh and bone met each other as the sweet taste of iron filled Y/n’s mouth. She hugged her shudders as she lay her whole body on the cold floor, waiting for another pain to touch her in a few seconds. But there came none.

9:41. She closed her eyes as she listened closely to Sunghoon’s movements. She heard him walk away from her as the door creaked open and closed.

It’s been that way since they married three years ago. It’s been her job to ease his stress whenever Park Sunghoon’s been beaten up with his career, and still…all this time she said none. She’d gladly do his meal, do his laundry, clean all the things he had that should be clean, massage him whenever he needed it, sing him a lullaby if he could not sleep, tell him all sorts of lies to ease his worries, but all of those—best. it should suit his taste. It should be perfect. It should be something like him. It should be the best. Park Sunghoon does not need Y/n’s advice, doesn’t need her to complain, and doesn’t want her poor work; she must do all things to perfection. He just could not accept it if anything’s not to his taste if she complained—no. she should never. He does not need her voice to speak with any kind of authority and complaints; after all, he had never brought money to her table less than any job she’d had, paid her. But even requesting food or asking her what she wants for dinner is forbidden.

Y/n pulled herself up from the floor before her whole body turned cold from lying for too long. Lifting her heavy bruised head, the wall clock ticked for midnight. She had been lying for three hours without any kind of movements but her breathing. She looked around her, the whole house was neat, the floor could even pass as a bed, but the broken pitcher on the kitchen floor—she needed to clean it up before Sunghoon felt his thirst. So as fast as her beaten bruised body could do, she grabbed all the shards on the floor, hastily picking every piece of glass—she needed to hurry because probably in no time, he might wake up from the loud noise her chest was making…Y/n can see red. She needs to clean it up. But the glass. Clean the glasses first then clean the red on the floor, clean the red on her hands, clean her shaking hands, clean her wobbly feet, clean her shivering body. She could not breathe, she could barely see the shards she was picking. If only she could turn it all back and never loved him—never married him.

The sound of pouring water, and the burning of the wounds and bruises all around Y/n’s body made her wince in pain. If only the water were quiet whenever it hit the bathroom floor, and if only the pain in her back never made her make such a sound. She’s afraid he’ll wake up and hurt her again. _______

Y/n tapped her screen to turn off the alarm. 6:04. Pulling herself from the couch, she heaved a sigh. An hour from now, Sunghoon will be awake for work. Y/n wasted no more seconds and went to the kitchen, rinsed white rice then proceeded to turn on the rice cooker, broke an egg, cut a sausage in half, and threw it on the hot oiled pan. Y/n can barely feel the cuts on her palms, and can hardly complain about the throbbing of her body.

She heard the shower open and the door slammed closed. 6:57. That fast? Pouring water into the kettle, she hastily put two scoops of tea into the teapot. 7:06. He should be putting on clothes now and should be done in a moment. Y/n put a plate on the table as neatly as possible, took a pair of chopsticks, and took Sunghoon’s favorite seasoning from the cabinet.

Sunghoon didn’t say a word as he pulled the chair and sat down soundlessly. Y/n put a half teaspoon of nutmeg into his rice, poured the boiling water into the teapot, and served her peaceful husband a cup of tea.

They stayed quiet as Y/n cut three carrots, while Sunghoon eat his meal. Y/n can still remember the night they first met, the jobs that made them so close, and the whole moment of their wedding. Now Y/n could only wait for him to leave so she could sleep at least just for an hour.

“Karin will be eating dinner with me.” Sunghoon will not be home until tomorrow afternoon. Y/n could sleep a day, or at least walk Gauel to the park later or tomorrow morning. But Sunghoon must not see her slacking off. He doesn't like it when she rest.

After Sunghoon put down his utensils and stood up, Y/n ran to fetch a coat for him and grabbed his things while she waited for him by the door. She held the coat wide for him to wear and gave him his things, held the door open until he stepped outside their apartment.

“Come back safely.” Sunghoon went on his way without answering—like usual—and Y/n locked the door once he was out of sight.

Park Sunghoon is a former idol and is currently big in the modeling industry. Eleven years ago when he started his modeling, after a year of being a minor model, he became a Vogue cover, went to different countries, endorsed, modeled, and walked through the runway with different luxury brands. In the years of his success, there he met Lee Y/n. Y/n was Sunghoon’s makeup artist for seven years, and she’s the sister of one of his friends Lee Heeseung. There were times and events when Y/n and Sunghoon interacted outside of work because of their connection with Lee Heeseung. Time passed. They fell in love and dated for four years.

Sunghoon was the sweetest when they dated. Always checking on her, asking for what she thinks, and what she likes. He’d take care of her when she was unable to take care of herself. He’d act like a child just to get her attention. She always felt like the most significant person in the world. The most important person to him. She didn’t know what happened.

_____

The feeling of knocking loudly on the hard tiled floor, and the feeling of feeling nothing at all—Park Sunghoon lifted himself from laying, then eventually felt warm hands on his shoulders and back, guiding him on the pillow to lean on his back, then he slap the hands away.

The last thing Sunghoon remembered was that he was feeling sick, then suddenly lost consciousness, unable to register what was happening around him, then eventually knocked himself down while on shoot.

“I was worried—”

“You did this, didn’t you?” Voice lashed with cold, he looked up at Y/n who met his eyes.

“Did what...?”

He couldn’t believe her. How could she act all innocent? Was she jealous of Karin that’s why she did this. Was she mad at him because of what happened last time with their date? Just what is wrong with her?

“Put nutmeg on my food every single meal.” His face was solid rock. His brows met each other while his jaw clench hard.

Y/n creased a confused face. She thought he liked it when she added a little nutmeg on his rice. What is it this time? Y/n truly is getting tired.

“You—you said you liked it when I add nutmeg into your rice?” She whispered as she held her hands tightly below her, preventing them from shaking.

“We’ll talk later at home.” Sunghoon managed to say on gritted teeth, while Y/n swallowed whatever she could swallow.

Was it her fault again? She didn’t know why he fainted, the doctor didn’t say anything to her, all she knew was that he fainted while on the shoot...but she wished he’d not hurt her, she wished he’d just forget whatever her sin was, she would gladly apologies to him—kneel and beg for forgiveness, ask for him not to give her another cut and bruise to fix and cover.

Sunghoon slowly pushed himself off the bed, and as he stood up, he couldn’t help but wince in pain, slowly, he put his hand on his temples. Y/n called out to him, helping him to sit down again.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon—wha—whatever happened, I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please, if you could ever give me time to make it up—please forgive me—”

“SHUT UP!” Y/n didn’t cry because he slapped her hands away, it was his unforgiving voice that startled at her. She could feel her throat clench.

Slowly and gently, she tried to catch Sunghoon’s hands. He didn’t resist nor slap her hands away this time, but Y/n could feel his hard fist.

“Let’s go home.” Y/n followed quietly.

_____

Park Sunghoon once complimented Lee Y/n’s cooking when they were still mare acquaintances. It was a normal Monday at work and Y/n always packed her lunch, and unexpectedly, Park Sunghoon came up to her to eat lunch together. Sunghoon liked the rice…the rice had nutmeg at that time.

Earlier at 8:21 at work, Sunghoon felt weird sensations in the pit of his stomach, while his surroundings danced around him. It wasn’t the first time it happened at work, and it wasn’t the first time that it happened anywhere. There are times when he constantly feels nauseous while having severe headaches, while everything around him seems to change shapes. He thought it was his overworking.

The last thing Sunghoon heard was ringing and Karin’s soft voice called over him and then he passed out. He woke up lying in the hospital bed with a doctor hovering over him. The doctor said that his constant nausea and hallucinations were the effect of digesting too much nutmeg, and the only one making his meal was his wife. It was always ordered food whenever he and Karin had meals.

Back at home, Y/n and Sunghoon sat still on the couch. Y/n’s looking at her trembling hands as Sunghoon stare at her with gritted teeth. Y/n whispered out trying to break the silence.

“You—You once told me you liked rice with nutmeg—” A loud bang cut through her words. Sunghoon smashed the wooden table separating them, as Y/n tried to cover her mouth, swallowing her cries.

“Y/n.” Sunghoon called out. But Y/n couldn’t look him in the eyes, her line of view could only register his clenching fist on the table through tear eyed sight.

“I’ve been feeling sick—I thought I was dying!” He raised his voice, she made a whimper.

“I’ve been blaming my work! And it’s all because you! You were trying to kill me—you tried to kill me, Y/n!” finally she looked him in the eye shaking her head.

“No—no, Sunghoon that’s not—” Y/n extended her arms to hold him by the table as she lifted herself up from sitting, but he raised his hand high above her, then she lay still on the floor, staring at the tiled ground with tears swelling her eyes. She couldn’t help it anymore, the whole apartment echoed her loud cries. Then, in a second the bedroom door slammed closed, and she was left alone with her silent whimpers.

She didn’t mean it, she only wants his approval, his acknowledgement; she only wanted Sunghoon to eat with her at dinner instead of spending all his night with Karin. She only wanted him to return and be the man she loved once.

Y/n wasn’t ignorant about the effect of too much nutmeg, that’s why she only added a little every meal. But when Sunghoon started to eat dinner with Karin and come back home late, and sometimes not returning home at all—Y/n took the opportunity to add a half tea spoon of nutmeg into his every breakfast. A part of Y/n knew that she added nutmeg with ill intent. While most part wants him to acknowledge and notice her. Then, it really was her fault…

After lunch earlier, when her phone rang with an unknown caller ID and told her the news of her husband passing out, she immediately put down Gauel and rushed to the hospital. When she arrived, the doctor only told her that he already woke up last hour, and eventually returned back to sleep. Then the doctor said nothing more.

When Sunghoon woke up and told her about the nutmeg, she was shaken, she thought she could kill herself for being the one who caused danger to her husband—now, she could only swallow her cries when he lifted his fist and broke from her touch. He hit her face strong enough to send her frozen on the floor.

Whenever Sunghoon is angry, often at her, Y/n slept at the spare room while Sunghoon locked himself alone in their bedroom. The first time they had a fight, Sunghoon told her that he wanted to be alone and slept at the spare room. But to Y/n’s conscience, she begged Sunghoon to sleep at their room instead since it’s much comfortable there than sleeping on the dusted bed at the spare room. Now, whenever Sunghoon’s mad at her, Sunghoon would locked himself alone in their room, with her no way of getting inside. She often felt like he already abandoned her, but he also needed a slave to take care of him, that’s why until now Sunghoon haven’t chased her out.

Like the usual, Y/n would get up at 5-6 am to prepare his meal, then see him off at the door. But today, after arranging his breakfast at the table, Sunghoon spared her no glance and went out without telling her a word. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t trust her.

So Y/n sat down and ate his meal instead. Seconds passed and her head’s already flooded with thoughts. Minutes passed and her thoughts made her burst out crying.

Why did everything turned out to be like this? Why did he turned out to be like this? Is he still Sunghoon? The one she loved? Or was this someone else? It must have been his façade. He must’ve tricked her, and she fell in love with the idea of him without actually knowing him. It was all her fault was it? Should she die and end everything with her last breath? Or should he die and free herself?

Y/n spent her all morning thinking of ways to get rid of her pains, until Gauel barked at her to snap out of it. She saw Park Sunghoon in red just then. She slapped herself for the ridicule she’s been thinking and proceeded to do her chores.

Late that evening, she baked tiramisu—Sunghoon’s favorite—and cooked galbi jjim with other various dishes, also opened a bottle of soju, and message him at 6:03, apologizing and wishing him home, telling him she cooked his favorite and she didn’t add nutmeg in any of the dishes nor the rice.

8:37. Y/n had already set up the table and the dishes, and somewhere between 8-9, Sunghoon will be home. So she patiently readied herself sitting on the chair, checked her phone if he had already replied, but unfortunately, he left her on read. Well, at least he read. He knows she’s making all the efforts to apologize. Y/n let out a sigh and wished that he’d show up.

11:21. All the dishes had already run cold. Y/n was broken from her trance when Gauel approached her and barked. Her phone rang. it was Sunghoon’s caller ID.

“Oh!” It was a girl’s giggle with mumblings over the background.

“Uhm, who is this?”

“Y/n!” Y/n recognized the voice, it was her old coworker’s voice, before she resigned and married Sunghoon. It was Karin’s. Y/n couldn’t help but swallowed the lumps forming on her throat.

“Su—Sunghoon won’t be home for a while…” Karin’s voice was sloppy and uneven. She must be drunk.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“What? Of course not! Silly Y/n—” She hiccupped. “Just wanted to tell you Sunghoon’s unavailable to see you for dinner tonight.” Low grunts from the background made Y/n’s shoulder shiver.

“Why are you telling me this, where is he?” Y/n’s voice must’ve been shacking, she could feel her throat and chest throbbing.

“Hmm? What is it?” seconds of pause and Karin laughed on the other line.

“Sunghoon’s asleep honey! Bye~”

“wait! Kari—” Karin’s voice was replaced with ringing. Y/n slowly put the phone down, stood up and entered their bedroom, leaving the dishes cold on the table. Sunghoon’s probably drunk with Karin, doing who knows what…Y/n couldn’t take it anymore.

Sunghoon didn’t mean to not return home after three whole days…he just wanted a time alone and free himself from stress; it’s just that, Y/n has been giving her head ache for these past few days, and he wanted to clear his head, though Karin has been with him throughout those past three days.

Sunghoon slowly turned the knob. The whole apartment is pitch black, while there was an unpleasant smell lingers the air. Sunghoon ran and turned the lights open. There, at the table lays bowls, plates, and cups of rotten dishes. Sunghoon registered the decaying smell of gochujang and the smell close to a dead rat. In instinct he put his arms on his mouth and nose. What the hell is this? Where is Y/n?

Sunghoon wasted no more time and burst the bedroom door open and turned on the lights. No sign of his wife. He then strode to the bathroom door, pushed the curtains away, and no one’s there. He checked the spare room, checked the roof deck, checked the longue again, shuffled through Y/n’s dresser and closet. Her stuff is still there.

Y/n must’ve left since the night she last messaged him about the meal she made…she was apologizing to him, and he was with Karin. He remembered there were a time that night when Karin borrowed his phone and called someone. Was it Y/n? Sunghoon roughly shuffled his hair, scratched his palms, massaged his temples. Karin must’ve said something to Y/n. As far as he could remember, Karin drove him to the hotel he stayed at, then stopped in the middle of the road to borrow his phone, then when he’s inside the hotel room, he locked the door and said goodbyes to Karin. That’s all that happened that night…

Sunghoon grabbed his coat, turned off the lights and went outside. He needs to find Y/n. He must’ve been hard on her. Just what the hell did Park Sunghoon do?

Sunghoon felt the cold wind brush through his hair once he went down the apartment stairs, and now he stands alone in the roads. With his messy and scattered thoughts, the muffled screams of vehicle horns, yells of the drivers ahead of him, and the sound of his far distance apologies—he ran his eyes around him, he didn’t care if he’s in the middle of the road, but he’ll find his wife. He needed to find his wife.

To no avail, Park Sunghoon never had any trace of her. Slowly, with no energy left from his body, he opened the door and slam it close behind him. Something lunged at him...then burning and chocking—he could not breath. Sunghoon held the belt around his throat. With all his strength, he tried to lift up the person behind him as his sight blur while his breathing shortens, and a loud weight hitting the floor made his lungs finally grasps for air. Park Sunghoon stared at his wife slowly lifting herself up from the floor. Is he seeing this right? Y/n—Y/n…she—Y/n. His Y/n was trying to kill him…

Sunghoon couldn’t move on his feet. His eyes are wide open, his breathings are accelerating and accelerating until a quiet shriek left his mouth. His whole body was frozen when his wife lifted her head up to look at him. Tears flooded her eyes as she slowly stands up. Her whole body was shaking, and her loud cries filled Sunghoon’s hearing. Y/n lunge at him, running, tackling him down on the floor, Sunghoon held her wrist as she pushed her whole strength into the knife she’s holding. Sunghoon called out her name, but her cries only got louder and louder until his grip on her loosen. One, two, three...six—she stabbed and stab and stab. Sunghoon stared at his lovely wife. Her hair loose on their tight bun, he badly wants to hug her on her pink blooded apron she always wore whenever she cooks him meal. Slowly and gently, Park Sunghoon touched her wet cheeks. Little by little, her skin turned red as he kept on caressing her softly. Y/n screamed her pain and Sunghoon could only smile at her, because now he understands, he wasn’t able to be a good husband for her.

“I’m sorry,”

With the last of his strength, and the last burning of his breath, he held her hands tightly, and closed his eyes. Y/n lifted an axe.

The first time Park Sunghoon saw her was at Lee Heeseung’s 20th birthday, back in the times they were newly debut. She wore a ridiculous ankle pink boots and a twin messy braid. He remembered Heeseung and her argued about Heeseung not informing her that his friends will come, she should’ve wore something decent. But Park Sunghoon loved that outfit. That’s the outfit he always loved.

It was snowing hard outside when they first met at work. Y/n was newly hired as Sunghoon’s makeup artist. She remembered his soft smile that burned her cheeks, she remembered when Sunghoon first asked her out, she remembered when he first kissed her, she remembered his heat all over her—not like this, cold and still.

The taste of sweet, salty and savory erected at Y/n’s tongue. The sensation of chewy and juicy flooded her mouth, and when she swallowed, a great feeling of longing, sorrow and grief left her body weak. The body-less of Park Sunghoon’s head stare at Park Y/n as she opened her mouth, bringing a spoon full of his love for her to digest.

masterlist

Note: HI! all the infos about nutmeg is from google...so...pls don't attack me. Btw i'm sorry Sunghoon died. and i'm sorry i was dead for too long....so yeah...

[disenchantedif]

Here’s a commission I did for @stephschoices and her MC Lili since we’re all in a Luci mood lol. While I code the rest of Luci’s scenes, here’s this to tide you all over 🤲

Remembering the anniversary of a relationship that’s ended is a unique kind of torture, you think. It was once a day you celebrated and now it caused nothing but pain. Time is ruthless, and nothing stays the same.

Well, some things stay the same.

Like how your heart skips a beat when you see him slumped over the railing in the hallway, looking out at the night sky. That’s never changed, and you don’t think it ever will. Lucien Rivera will, perhaps unfortunately, always take your breath away. Then your heart sinks as you see the ruffled wings, the whiskey bottle dangling between limp fingers, the way his head is bowed as if in prayer.

He’s not praying, you know that much. Despite being part angel, Lucien never had much faith in anything.

You approach quietly, your steps silent against the concrete. He’s too far gone to hear you anyways, you realize, reaching out a gentle hand to nudge his shoulder. He spins around, the shitty overhead light reflected in his wide eyes.

It’s quiet for a moment, then your name tumbles out of his clumsy lips, “Leliana…”

Maybe it’s providence, be it of fate or the divine or something you aren’t even aware of, that you brought you both here. Maybe it’s your shit luck, or maybe it’s a chance you’ve been wishing for in the depths of your heart. Either way, he’s here and so are you.

“Lucien,” You force his name out, and it feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, “I think…I think you’ve had enough.”

You glance pointedly down at the bottle. He looks away.

“I’d disagree,” He mutters.

When you hold your hand out, you don’t expect him to actually hand the whiskey over. He does, though, obediently and with shaking hands. There’s no lid in sight, which tells you he fully planned on drinking the whole thing tonight.

“Is Cameron back at your dorm?” You ask, and the knowledge that you don’t know the ins and outs of his life anymore is like acid on your tongue.

Lucien gives a stilted laugh, “No. He’s with his aunt.”

You offer your arm when he tries to stand on wobbling legs. He stares at it for a long moment, like he isn’t quite sure if he’s imagining it or not. Then he moves gingerly to take it, his skin on yours both foreign and familiar.

You know very well where his dorm is. Perhaps you’re over conscious of it, the fact that he lives just down the hall. It was stinging, at first, that he was so close yet so far. That seems to be the common theme between the two of you.

“Why?” Lucien asks, his gaze dismal.

“You need help,” You say, as if it isn’t tearing you apart from the inside out to be so close to him.

The look he gives you calls you out on the lie, but he’s retained enough manners to say nothing.

You reach his dorm, and he’s left the door unlocked. You’d fret about safety if it was anyone else, but it’s Lucien, so you push the urge down. He ambles to the couch when you release him, sitting in a heap of mussed curls and disheveled feathers. You open the fridge, cringing slightly at the lack of food as you get a bottle of water.

“Drink this,” You say, handing it to him before you drift back into the small kitchen.

The crinkling plastic tells you he listened as you pour the rest of the whiskey out. He doesn’t object, despite seeing you do it. When you turn, his eyes are locked on you, a half empty bottle held in his hands.

“Do you need anything?” You can’t help but ask, surprised when the question makes him wince away.

“You,” He mumbles, sullen and slurred.

At first, you think there’s more to what he’s saying. That he has some request for you. You almost ask a question, to clarify, when the realization strikes you.

It’s just…you.

Perhaps you sit next to him because your knees are weak, or because you feel like you can’t quite breathe, but either way you end up on the couch. His hand is so close to yours, and you long to reach out. When you look up at him, you see he’s looking down at your hands as well. You wonder if he has the same impulse, the same desire.

You think he does. You hope he does.

“Do you-“ You swallow the words down, unsure if you should ask.

Does he remember? Does he know what today is? Or is it just another thing lost, another thing time has consumed in its ruthless pursuit of your memory?

You already risk forgetting his touch, his skin, his smile. The way his voice used to sound, so kind and in love.

“I remember.” He says, voice rough.

Is that better or worse? You don’t know. Then his fingers brush yours, bold, and you lose track of any thoughts you’d been scraping together.

“You should rest,” You say, instead of the thousand other words that threaten to spill out.

“I…” He hesitates, his lip trembling before he bites it, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh.

“I can stay,” You offer, unsure if it’s wanted.

“Please,” He whispers.

It’s wanted. You’re wanted. You thought being forgotten was torture, but this is so much worse. Knowing he wants you and you want him but history and pain and things that can’t be taken back are pushing you apart…

You curse fate, the divine, your luck, whatever it is that brought the two of you to this point.

“Okay,” You nod slightly, “I’ll stay for a bit.”

He leans forward, curling into the couch, tucking his wings around him like a blanket. He keeps ahold of your hand, though, clutching it like a lifeline. He rests his head on the stiff upholstery, turned so he can still watch you.

“Would you sing?” He asks, his voice painfully small.

You falter slightly. He squeezes your hand. He wants you to sing, so you sing. It’s a lullaby, one that lingers in your memory from a past long gone. Just another thing time has ripped away. The Latin spills out easily, as if you know it by heart, your voice shaking just like your mother’s used to.

He doesn’t care. Not about the shaking, or the way your hand trembles in his. He looks at you with shining eyes, fighting the fatigue that threatens to close them. He doesn’t want this to end, and neither do you. In the dim light of the living room, he watches you sing like he’s finally found faith.

[brinabees]

Wild and Eager

4.7k of dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader. 18+

Summary: You’ve had a thing for your dad’s smuggling partner for years, despite (or maybe because of) his fearsome reputation. A deal gone wrong strands Joel at your apartment after curfew. Will this finally give you a chance to push the boundaries with your dad’s closest friend?

Set pre-show/game in the Boston QZ, Tess doesn’t exist, sorry Tess I love you. 

Content: 18+, unsafe sex, too many pet names, age difference

Notes: This is my first real go at fanfic, so be gentle with me! I also can’t be arsed to proofread, so sorry if there’s any mistakes.

Fucked. That’s what you were. Totally, irredeemably fucked. Why? Well, it’s all because of Joel Miller. Your dad’s favorite “business associate” (read: smuggling partner) and the most devastatingly sexy guy you’ve ever laid eyes on. He and your dad have similarly unsavory pasts, so when Joel first arrived at the Boston QZ he fit right in with him and his smuggler buddies. Most of the other guys your dad works with always give you the creeps, but not Joel, with his unruly, dark curls and surprisingly soft, brown eyes. No, Joel did not give you the creeps, despite what little you knew of his tumultuous past. As far as you’d gathered, he’d survived as a raider, killing indiscriminately and taking whatever he needed. Your dad had tried to shelter you from the worst of his own misdeeds, but you knew the truth. Your dad and his cohort were all the same, all comfortable taking any life that got in their way. 

That’s why you typically kept your distance from anyone who worked with your dad, a distance your father was only too happy to enforce, always wanting to protect you. But, as soon as Joel came into the picture, you couldn’t help yourself. Suddenly, you’d linger outside closed doors when they were having important “business meetings,” hoping to catch the sound of Joel’s deep voice. He seemed to be a man of few words, but when he did speak, no one else dared interrupt or challenge him. You lived for those moments, when the whole room went quiet and you could take in the sound of him. When your dad and his buddies would hang out in the kitchen afterwards, drinking home-brewed beer and sharing stories of past triumphs, you found reasons to join them. Of course, your dad never liked you hanging around these men, and usually he ushered you out as soon as you’d gotten the glass of water you didn’t really need or the canned food you weren’t actually hungry for.

And so it went. Anytime Joel was over at your shitty QZ apartment, your world suddenly revolved around him. Catching glimpses of him, listening to him talk, finding any reason you could to be near him just for a little while. As far as you could tell, your infatuation wasn’t returned. Joel rarely spoke directly to you or even acknowledged your existence. Whenever you tried to catch his eye, he always found something else to look at. You figured he probably didn’t think twice about his partner’s young, sheltered daughter. 

So there you were. Totally infatuated and totally fucked. 

All that changed one night, when your dad and Joel burst into the apartment mere minutes before curfew. They both looked like they’d been through some serious shit, their clothes torn and their skin bruised. 

“What the hell happened to you two?” you asked.

“Deal went bad, don’t worry about it honey.” Your dad’s shutdown was as swift and final as always, and you knew you wouldn’t get anymore details from him about what really went down.

Your dad turned to Joel and clapped him on the back, thanking him for presumably saving his ass.

“Joel, it’s past curfew and with our luck today, I think trying to sneak past FEDRA maybe isn’t the smartest move. You can crash on our couch tonight,” your dad offered.

It was like a dream come true! Joel fucking Miller, in your apartment for a whole night. You felt giddy.

Your dad and Joel took turns cleaning themselves up in your single, cramped bathroom, before you all sat down to eat. Rations distribution hadn’t been kind that week, so all you had were a can each of baked beans and sliced peaches. Hardly a culinary match made in heaven, but it was all you had. The three of you ate in silence, all too preoccupied to hold a conversation. The two of them were likely thinking of their deal gone wrong, but you had other things on your mind. Well, other thing. All you could think of was Joel. How close he was sitting next to you at the small, round kitchen table, his knees nearly bumping yours. How he commanded the room with his presence even while not saying a thing. How he was covered in bruises and had a small cut on his left cheek, wounds you wanted so desperately to soothe. How he smelled, like leather and sweat and smoke. You wanted to bottle that smell and spray it on your pillow every night.

After you all finished eating, your father announced he was turning in early after his rough day and went to his bedroom. That left you and Joel alone. You’d never been alone with him before, and it practically made you gasp. You stood awkwardly from your seat at the table and then, feeling bold, brushed your hand over Joel’s shoulders as you passed him. A quick touch, easily dismissed as accidental, and yet, Joel’s hand immediately shot up and grabbed you roughly by the wrist. For a second, you both just stared at each other, the most eye contact you two had ever made. You felt a throbbing between your legs, induced purely by this one act. 

But, then Joel moved your hand off his shoulder and dropped it at your side. The loss of contact made you want to cry. You’d been too forward, touching him without preamble or permission, and now you’d gone and made it awkward for the both of you. You practically ran out of the kitchen to your room, where you grabbed an extra pillow and a spare blanket for Joel to use. 

“Here, you can use these, hopefully the couch isn’t too uncomfortable for you,” you said as you laid everything out on the couch. He grunted in what you assumed was thanks, and you turned around and went back to your room to get ready for bed. You didn’t know what was going on with you tonight, but even after the complete failure of the shoulder graze, you still felt driven to take advantage of this rare time alone with Joel. So, rather than dressing in your usual, frumpy flannel pajamas, you put on a baggy t-shirt and your sexiest pair of underwear. They were just plain black, but sexy was a relative term when you’re trying to find underwear in the apocalypse. You took a check look in the mirror, noting how the shirt was just a little bit too short to cover your whole ass cheeks. Perfect. 

You left your room and headed to the bathroom to brush your teeth, making sure to saunter right past where Joel was now sitting quietly on the couch. After you were finished, you asked him if he needed anything else before you went to bed.

For a long time he didn’t say a word, and you were about to turn on your heel and go right to bed, accepting that your meager attempt at seduction hadn’t done the job, when he finally spoke.

“I can’t have what I really need.”

Well, that stopped you in your tracks. What the hell did that mean? When he didn’t say anything more, you gathered your courage and asked, “and what is it that you really need?”

Joel stood, took one glance at your dad’s closed bedroom door, and walked over to you, stalking like a big cat hunting its prey. He crowded your space and then some, forcing you to step back until you felt your back hit the wall. You’d never been this close to him. His scent nearly overwhelmed you, and your breaths were coming in quick, sharp gasps. 

“What do I need? I need for my partner’s daughter to stop staring at me all the time.” Your heart fell. “I need her to stop trying to touch me. I need her to stop walking around in nothing but her panties like a slut.” At that, you gasped. 

“But most of all, I need this girl, but I can’t have her” he said, stepping closer, so close that your chest was touching his. Your heart stopped. Surely he wasn’t really saying he needed you, that was ridiculous. But the hard press of his erection against your lower stomach told a different story. 

You stayed that way for a while, chests rising and falling as you both breathed each other in. Finally you gathered enough courage to respond, “why can’t you have her? She’s right here for the taking.” He released a rough groan. 

“You know why baby girl. Can’t be messing around with my partner’s innocent little daughter.”

“One second I’m a slut, now I’m innocent, make up your mind.”

“You’re an innocent, acting like a slut to try and get what you want.”

“What we both want,” you argued. 

“Your dad would kill me. Rip my guts out and string them up as decoration.”

“So, you’re scared?” At that he growled. Good, you were getting him riled up, just like you wanted.

“Baby, I’m not scared of anyone, including your old man. I just can’t go messing up my business for a quick lay.” 

“Oh, so it’d be quick? How disappointing.” Another growl left his lips. He raised his arms, putting his hands on the wall on either side of your trembling body. 

“You better stop teasing me little girl”

“Or what, you’ll punish me?” This was going better than you could have dreamed. 

And then he slapped you. Right across the cheek, which now burned in his wake. As you recovered from the shock of it, you noticed Joel staring at your father’s door, as if he could will him to sleep through the noise. When no light turned on, no door opened, you could see him breathe a sigh of relief before turning his gaze back to you.

“See what you made me do? Almost made me wake your dad and have him catch us like this. Doubt I’d get a word out before he ripped me off you.” You didn’t disagree, your dad was exactly that protective. 

“Go to bed, baby girl,” he said, almost softly. But you shook your head at him.

“What about what I need?” You’re all I can think about some days, Joel.” You figured it was time to lay it all on the line. “I ache for you. Want you so bad it drives me crazy.”

He groaned audibly, before tipping his head down and resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re really that obsessed with me, huh?” His tone is bordering on mocking. But you had no more shame, nodding your head in affirmation immediately. “Bet you’re up late every night, stuffing those pretty little fingers into your cunt, wishing they were mine. Wishing they were my cock.” You nodded again, blushing.

“Want you so bad, ever since the first time I saw you,” you said breathily. You could see him raise his brows. You were barely 18 when he first came to the QZ.

“Naughty little girl, lusting after your dad’s friend for so long. Tell me, sweet thing, are you a virgin? Have you been saving yourself for this dick?”

You hadn’t. You’d had a one night stand with a childhood friend from just before the outbreak, who you happened to cross paths with after the world had already ended and you’d both grown into curious teens. You both seized the rare chance at some intimacy in this messed up world. But, would Joel be mad?

“No... I did it once, with a friend. I’m sorry Joel.” Your words were almost whispered, treading lightly with this beast of a man.

But his face softened a little at the sound of his name on your lips, and Joel brought his hand to your cheek almost gently. 

“No, pretty girl, don’t apologize. I’m not mad. Just means I gotta work a little harder to make sure you forget him,” he said with a smirk. You thought it wouldn’t actually take very much work for you to forget your single stumbling night in the dark... Not when Joel was like this, so hungry, so possessive. It made your core ache with need to see him so unleashed. He hadn’t even kissed you yet and he already had you panting with his words alone. “I like it when you say my name,” he whispered directly into your ear. His intentions of restraint were nearly forgotten in the depths of his need for you. 

“Joel. Can you kiss me already?” 

“I make the demands here, not you, baby girl. Don’t make me punish you, we can’t afford to wake your dad now, can we?” he said, throwing a glance at the still closed bedroom door. You nodded your head no. “Gotta have some privacy to do that,” he said with a wicked grin. You dearly hoped he’d let you find out what kind of punishment he had in mind for you. As much as you wanted to push his buttons, this really wasn’t the time for that kind of fun, so you resolved to let him lead. 

“I’m sorry Joel. I’ve just spent so long waiting for this.”

“I know, I know.” His hands landed on your hips and skimmed their way up your sides. You shivered at the gentle touch from such a rough man. His hands fell back to your hips and suddenly he was gripping you tightly, so tight you thought you might find bruises the next day. It was only a fraction of his true strength, you knew, and the thought of that made you so wet. Between his dirty words and his captivating hands, you knew you had likely soaked your underwear. 

And then, finally, finally, he was kissing you. His lips came down on yours with a bruising intensity, as he brought one hand up to cup the back of your neck. You released a moan at finally getting what you wanted, no, needed, so badly. Joel fucking Miller was kissing you. And he was kissing you well, slipping his tongue between your lips and tangling it with yours. You felt emboldened enough to slip your hands around his waist, sliding one down to grab at his ass. He grunted in surprised approval. 

Suddenly, he pulled his lips from yours and grabbed you by the shoulders, guiding you towards the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to climb into his lap, and like a good girl you proceeded to straddle him. You could feel his hardness pressed right against your core and you were dying for more. No one had ever made you feel like this. You ground your hips down into his, drawing moans from you both. One of Joel’s hands on your hip guides you to press even harder into him, while the other reaches up to toy with your breast. He cups his hand around it and squeezes gently, before bringing two fingers to pinch at your nipple through your shirt. You gasp in pleasure at the slight pain.

Feeling wild and eager to please, you brought your own hands down to the hem of your shirt, knocking his hands aside so you could pull it off over your head. You knew it was a stupid risk, that your dad could wake up and come outside at any moment, catching you straddling his best friend in nothing but your panties. You almost thought Joel would chastise you for taking the lead again, but he was too busy staring at the bounty of your tits revealed right in front of his face. That look alone made it worth the risk of getting caught.

He nuzzled his face between your breasts, inhaling deeply through his nose. You gazed down at him in awe, still half unbelieving that this was really happening. He turned his head from side to side, his nose and lips touching each breast in turn, a sort of gentle motorboat. He seemed to luxuriate in the scent and feel of you, finally getting to revel in this forbidden fruit. He’d noticed you right away when he first came to the QZ, the shy but mischievous daughter of his new smuggling partner. Noticed you, and promptly filed you away in his mind as “untouchable.” 

Well, he was certainly touching you now. His hands roamed across your back and then down to grip your ass, while his mouth began leaving open mouthed kisses on your sternum. 

He pulled away just long enough to say, “Lemme see how bad you need me, pretty girl,” and then his lips were at your nipple and his fingers fell to the top of your panties. Sucking and biting at your sensitive nub, he simultaneously slipped his hand into the waistband of your underwear and down to your dripping pussy. He gathered the moisture there with his fingers, before taking them out and bringing them to his mouth. He slipped two fingers into his mouth and tasted your essence, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“Fuck, you taste so damned sweet. If we had the time and the privacy, I’d lay you down and eat you out like a feast, really make ya scream.”

“Joel, please,” you begged breathlessly. “I need you so bad.”

“Aw, does my sweet baby girl need her cunt stuffed full of my dick? Is she really just a cock hungry little whore?” 

Your already inflamed cheeks flushed even redder at his words, but you nodded your head, too far gone to care about anything as silly as dignity. You had wanted this man for years and now finally you were going to fuck him. Who needs dignity when you’ve got dreams coming true right in front of you? 

“Get up, darlin’, and take off those panties for me”

You practically leaped off his lap with eagerness and immediately slipped off your panties. You dangled them loosely from one hand, putting the other on your hip as you watched Joel take his time. He leisurely unbuckled his belt before unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, slipping them down low just low enough to allow him to free himself from his briefs. Your mouth hangs open at the sight of him, long and impressively thick, with a pronounced head even wider than the shaft, a slick of precum already trickling out. You were by no means an expert, but you pretty much thought Joel Miller’s dick was fucking perfect. You were so busy staring, you barely noticed when Joel reached forward and snatched your panties right out of your hand, before bringing them up to his nose and inhaling deeply. He groaned at the scent of you and then dropped your panties to the couch in favor of grabbing you by the hips and bringing you back down to straddle him, skin to skin. 

You could feel the hard length of him nestled right against your pussy, lightly nudging your clit in a way that made you want to fall apart for him already. You rose up to allow him access to your entrance, but Joel quickly pulled you back down, muttering, “Not yet, baby girl, gotta get you ready for me first.”

“I’m ready now, Joel, please,” you whined. But he just gave you a dismissing look and directed your hips back far enough to give him access to your dripping cunt. Without preamble he inserted one finger deep inside you, making you moan. “More, I need more Joel.” Not one to disappoint, he added another finger, pumping both in and out of you at a steady pace, curling them towards your g-spot. Your head fell to his shoulder as you writhed in pleasure, and Joel’s lips found your neck, suckling lightly. “No marks, Joel, my dad’ll see,” you managed to get out while his fingers continued driving you towards oblivion. 

“Gotta mark what’s mine, baby. But fine, I’ll just have to mark you somewhere a little more private.” With that, his lips made their way to the underside of one of your breasts, sucking harder and nibbling lightly with his teeth. “I’m the only one who gets to see you here, got it? You’re mine now.” You nodded fervently, tipping your head back to look him in the eye once more. “My best friend’s daughter, all mine, practically begging for my cock.”

“Give it to me Joel, I’m ready, I need it.” His fingers pumped more furiously in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby, is that right? You ready for me?”

“Yes, yes, god, please!” you begged, louder than you should have given your dad was sleeping only a door away. 

Suddenly he was wrapping his arms around you and flipping you over, crushing you into the couch cushions with the weight of his body. Then he sat back, admiration in his eyes as he gazed down at you. He fisted his dick with one hand and began to rub the head up and down your wet slit. Everytime he grazed your clit, your entire body seemed to jolt with pleasure. 

“Joel, I swear to god if you don’t put it in right now I’m going to tell dad you were fucking with his little girl.” You’d had enough of his teasing.

“What did I say about giving me orders? Naughty little thing, I really will have to punish you next time.”

“Next time? How’s about you get the first time going before you start worrying about that,” you let out with a giggle. 

“Fine, little minx, I’ll give you what you need so badly.” And then he was notching himself at your entrance before pushing in completely in a single, rough thrust. You felt so utterly full. 

“Fuck, Joel, your cock is so good...” You were babbling nearly incoherently by then. When he began thrusting in long, deep strokes, you could feel the head of his cock drag across the most delicious spot inside of you, over and over. You could feel yourself building towards climax already. 

“Tell me, did that boy make you come?” Joel asked as if he already knew the answer.

“No, no, I’ll only come for you Joel, it’s always been you.”

Joel picked up the pace, slamming into you rough and fast with every thrust of his hips. The sound of skin slapping together filled the room, all worries about waking your sleeping father forgotten. Still inside you, Joel sat back on his knees and reached his hands around to cup your ass, lifting it into the air so he could piston his hips into yours even faster. 

“This ass is all mine, pretty girl,” he said as he kneaded your cheeks with his hands. “Wanna see my girl come for me, but only when I say so.” He took one hand off your ass in favor of stroking his fingers across your clit, rubbing little circles. You could feel your peak approaching, but held yourself back from falling over the edge. You wanted to be good for him.

“Joel, please, I’m so close.” Your words came out in a soft whimper.

“Alright baby girl, come all over this cock.” His words were all you needed, and suddenly you were freefalling into an ocean of pure pleasure. This put any climax you’d ever given yourself to shame. Joel just kept fucking you through it, still stroking your clit as you fell apart around him. 

You came back to yourself slowly while Joel continued to hold you up and fuck you like a rag doll. You could tell he was no longer concerned with your pleasure, fucking you just like he wanted regardless of your oversensitized pussy. It turned you on, to see him so lost to his own desires; a predator gone feral. 

“Come inside me, please Joel I need you to fill me up.” You weren’t quite sure where that reckless desire came from. You knew you’d regret it in the morning, but at that moment you were too lost to pleasure to care. 

“Fuck, filthy girl, you know I shouldn’t.” But you couldn’t stop begging for it, desperate to feel the hot rush of his seed spilling inside you. “Just this once, wild girl,” he grunted out. He couldn’t deny the thought of coming deep inside you turned him on to no end. 

His thrusts began to lose their consistent rhythm, though they remained rough and deep. With a last guttural moan, he thrust in once, twice, three more times and then you could feel the warm rush of his cum inside of you. It felt so right, even though it was a stupid risk, even though it was your dad’s off-limits friend. 

Joel shuddered one last time before letting go of you, your ass hitting the couch as his softening cock slipped out of you. He gazed down at your used pussy, a devilish grin crossing his face as he watched a trickle of his cum leak out of you. Not wanting any to go to waste, you brought your hand down to your cunt and swiped through the mess you found there. After scooping up some cum, you brought your fingers up to your mouth and licked them clean, making a show of it. 

“Fuck me, you perfect, naughty little thing,” Joel muttered almost to himself. As you both came down from the high of your lovemaking, you remembered where you were and both glanced in panic at your dad’s bedroom door. Thankfully, there were no signs of his waking, and you silently thanked the universe that he was such a heavy sleeper. Joel tucked his cock back into his briefs, pulling his jeans back up around his hips.

As you both sat side by side on the couch, Joel rested his head in his hands and whispered, “Fuck, we should not have done that.” That had your head snapping up instantly. He regretted the best sexual experience of your life?

“What happened to there being a next time?” you said timidly, trying to hold in your emotions which would surely only scare him away. But you felt like he was ripping your heart out of your chest. 

“That was just dirty talk, darlin’, you’ve gotta forget about this. This, us, can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” You could hear the desperation creeping into your voice but were powerless to hold it in. 

“You know why baby girl, can’t go fucking my partner’s innocent little daughter, let alone knocking her up.” You knew you were stupid for thinking it, but you’d really hoped he might see you as something more than just his friend’s daughter. But there it was. All you were to him was a quick forbidden fuck, never to be revisited. 

“Fine,” you said, glancing down at your still naked body. Suddenly you were cold, the Boston chill seeping back into your bones. You picked your shirt up off the floor and tugged it over your head before standing and searching the couch for your panties. “Where the fuck did my underwear go? The least you can do is help me look for them. If dad finds them he’ll have some fucking questions.” But Joel just shrugged his shoulders, glancing around half-heartedly.

You knew you were about 5 seconds from breaking down and you didn’t want him to see you cry, so you gave up looking for your underwear and stormed off to your bedroom, shutting the door and climbing into bed. As hot tears began to flow from your eyes, you realized you could still feel his cum dripping out of you.

______________________________________________________________

Back in the living room, Joel still sat on the couch, thinking about what the fuck he’s just done. He fucked his best friend’s little girl. Fucked her hard. Came inside of her. And fucking loved every forbidden second of it. Jesus christ he was so fucked. Despite his harsh dismissal of you, his own resolve was crumbling as fast as it had when he’d seen you in nothing but that shirt and those panties. Those panties that he now slipped out of his pocket and brought to his nose once more, inhaling your musk. 

Yeah, he was fucked. 

[dan-whoell]

borrowed

Word count: 1754

Dan borrows an outfit to go down to the corner shop.

Read on AO3

The first thought Dan has when he wakes is that it’s too fucking bright. Someone needs to turn down the sun immediately or he might actually burst into flames. The second thought is that there shouldn't be sunlight in his bedroom (thank you blackout curtains) and its presence must mean he’s not in his own bed. If he’s not at home, then he must be at Phil’s. Which explains everything, mild headache included. They were up late drinking wine and watching trash television before tumbling into bed together.

“Phil,” he mumbles, rolling over to bury his face in his boyfriend’s back. “The sun is too bright. Make it stop.” 

Of course Phil says nothing, because the man could sleep through an actual freight train running through his flat and he probably wouldn’t even notice the mess it left behind. “Phil,” he tries again, and although the hitch in Phil’s breathing feels promising, it quickly evens back out and Dan knows he is alone in this fight. 

He groans, rolling back the other way to force himself out of bed. He adores Phil, really, but he fucking hates sleeping here. The flat is tiny and there’s no bedside table and there’s an atrocious amount of direct sunlight in the morning, which is his exact grievance today. He rifles blindly through one of Phil’s dresser drawers in search of a pair of sweatpants. Phil won’t actually mind, but they’ll have a playful little argument about it that will end in Dan suggesting that if Phil has such a problem with Dan in his sweats, maybe he should fucking do something about it. He doesn’t bother with a t-shirt. His happened to be in an inopportune spot last night and is no longer in a wearable condition, and Phil’s wardrobe is full of too much color for Dan’s liking.  

For himself, at least. Big fan of it on Phil, though to be fair he’s a pretty big fan of anything on Phil. Also nothing at all. And half dressed, boxers and socks and a bare chest. Phil is hot, is the bottom line here. As he makes his way to the kitchen he thinks, not for the first time, how fucking lucky he is to have Phil in his life. Does the man have flaws? Sure. He gets hyperactive and a little overly enthusiastic, he can be pretty messy and leaves nearly every cabinet door open behind him, and he rarely takes I’m just tired as an excuse for Dan’s frequent gray moods. He always wants Dan to open up, to be honest, to share the dark parts of himself that Dan is so sure are going to scare him off. And then he holds Dan, kisses his tears away and promises not to go anywhere. 

It’s fucking bewildering, honestly. 

But for reasons Dan cannot begin to fathom, Phil means every word. So Dan is going to hold on for as long as he can, cleaning up little messes and closing cabinet doors and making shitty instant coffee in the mornings. 

If, that is, Phil had actually bought coffee. There had been a whole conversation about it last night before they convened here, Dan on the phone reminding him that he said he’d run out the previous morning, and since Phil was literally in the supermarket and Dan was picking up takeout, it was a chore that fell to Phil. Apparently, though, Phil had been too focused on bringing up the when are you actually going to move in argument, refusing to accept that Dan was locked into a lease, and it would be six months before he could get out of it. Besides, he hated Phil’s flat, the only thing even remotely appealing about it was Phil himself. It should have been a conversation for months down the road, when they could easily agree to look for a new apartment together, and save themselves a lot of mild irritation. 

Including this right now, the dawning realization that he has to leave the apartment to go get coffee. If it were just Dan, he’d figure out how to live without it, cup of tea or a red bull or something, but not Phil. He might say it’s fine, but Dan knows he’ll be disappointed, and he can’t live with himself if he doesn’t do everything in his power to prevent that. 

He allows himself one moment of true annoyance about the situation, then takes a deep breath and heads back into the bedroom, once again rifling through Phil’s drawers for something to wear. He doesn’t have it in him to change into jeans, deciding the black sweatpants will have to be good enough. He ends up in a white graphic tee and Phil’s ugly blue and purple jacket, refusing to remember what the hell he did with his own. It’s one of the many items that Phil owns that somehow look incredible on him even though nothing about it is actual appeals to Dan whatsoever, and he’d almost rather freeze than have to wear it himself. 

Almost being the operative word. 

He doesn’t bother even trying to wake Phil, knowing it’s a lost cause. Even if he did manage to get him up, Phil would insist that he stay in, that they try to figure something else out. He’s not about to let Phil make any concessions this morning. Instead he swipes a pair of mismatched novelty socks (cereal brands, for some fucking reason) and shoves his feet into a pair of Vans that Phil dyed green when Dan went to visit his family. He’s not a fan of these either, but they’re by the front door and they’re more convenient than lacing up his own boots. 

Twenty minutes later he’s browsing the aisles of a corner shop, container of instant coffee already in hand. If he’d been thinking more clearly he would have checked for anything else they might need, but thanks to the mild hangover and the overall annoyance of the situation, it hadn’t occurred to him. On a whim he grabs a bag of Maltesers and some crisps, figuring that even if Phil did buy some they can always use more. 

The girl at the counter seems to survey him, and he assumes it’s because he looks like exactly what he is: a hungover homosexual who had to borrow his boyfriend’s clothes in order to pop down to the shop. Whatever. He’s done with feeling embarrassed about the decisions he makes, especially when those decisions involve Phil. He gives her a bright, too cheery smile, and she only pops her gum in response. 

Phil has only just gotten up when he gets back, and is searching, Dan assumes, through his cabinets for the very thing Dan has in a paper bag. 

“You were out,” Dan says flatly, dropping the shopping bag onto the counter. “You’re welcome.” 

Phil begins to turn around. “I could have sworn I bought-” He stops short, eyes widening as they land on Dan. “What are you wearing?” 

“My clothes were gross.” 

“Are those my socks?” 

“They were clean, okay, what else did you want me to do?” In retrospect the socks may have been a mistake. He could have just as easily scrounged down to the bottom of the drawer and found two plain black ones that Phil would have forgotten about. Instead he went with the most blatantly Phil pair possible, for reasons he doesn't feel like unpacking right now. 

Phil takes a half step toward him then stops, hands flat on the counter. “I- you- Goddammit Dan, why’d you have to- fuck.”  

Of all the responses he thought he might get wearing Phil’s clothes, this was not one of them. “Oh, sorry for going to the shop for your coffee, next time I won’t borrow anything and just let you suffer without caffeine. Or maybe I’ll just go naked.” 

“It’s not the borrowing, it’s-” Phil’s eyes rake over him for a beat, settling at the place the light blue collar meets his neck. “I’m not used to you in color. It suits you.” 

Dan does not understand the conversation they’re having. “So the problem is I’m hot?” 

“In part.” 

Now Dan steps forward, moving around the counter to reach out for Phil. “You sure knew what to do about that last night.” 

But Phil steps out of his grasp, leaning back against the stove they never use. “Yeah, but last night you didn’t give me the perfect argument for you moving in.” 

He groans. “No, don’t start this.” 

“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t have to borrow my clothes- clothes you look really good in by the way- if you just had all of your stuff here.” He hikes an eyebrow, but Dan can tell he’s fighting a losing battle with a smile. 

“I can’t break my lease, and I’m not paying rent for a place I don’t live.” 

“You went to law school for five minutes, surely-” 

“Oh fuck off!” But they’re both giggling, and this time when Dan reaches out Phil let’s himself be pulled, letting out a little contented sigh as Dan’s fingers curl into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Tell you what,” Dan says against his mouth, forcing himself to say the words that have been rattling around in his head for the last couple of months. “When both of our leases are up, we’ll find a place together.” 

Phil pulls back. “Wait really? You’ll actually live with me?” 

“Well obviously.” Dan rolls his eyes, smiling. “On the condition that we get black out curtains.” 

“And you wear more color.” 

“You wear more black.” The counter is immediate, hardly a thought before it’s out if his mouth, but he finds that it’s an excellent demand. Like most things, Phil looks incredible in black. It's a conclusion he's only recently come to, thanks to some black graphic tees that have made the rotation. But he wants Phil in proper black, styled specifically to contrast to his pale skin and hair. 

Phil blinks at him in surprise. “Really? You think I suit black?” 

“Are you kidding? You’re hot as is, but in black?” He shakes his head, reconsidering. “On second thought, I’m not sure I could handle it.” It’s bait, a little bit, and they both know it. 

“What if we stay at yours tonight, and I try on all your clothes and you tell me how good I look?” Phil asks with a grin. 

It is, possibly, the best way he can imagine spending his evening. 

[bari-the-witch]

Couples Quiz Night Part 1

Part 2

Heya dear people of the fandom!

I originall wanted to post this as a whole but because my private life is a bitch right now it's going to take a while to finish this. I decided to post the first part now, so you don't have to wait for something to read. Don't worry, I didn't ditch this. I have too much fun writing this!

A few people wanted me to tag them. So, here they are:

@swimmingbirdrunningrock @grtwdsmwhr @lightwoodbanethings @eggrollofchaos01 @gamerdano @miss-hit @photoaesthetic @alexdesappho @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring (with cherries on top ;D) @gay-stranger-things @hopefulcookieoperatorpersona @thepainisspicy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @alienace @ashwinmeird @satan-is-obsessed @ninjapirateunicorns

Hope you enjoy!

And beware: English is not my native language so there might be a few mistakes here and there. Even though I used two different spell checkers/grammar programs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indianapolis, Indiana

July 10, 1987

“Honey, I’m home,” Steve called as he entered the apartment, toeing off his shoes and placing them neatly beside Eddie’s beaten-up sneakers and Robin’s red Converse before slowly making his way to the kitchen.

They had moved to Indianapolis half a year ago, leaving Hawkins behind for good. Between Steve’s shitty parents, Robin’s desire for freedom, and Eddie’s problems with the dear citizens of Hawkins even though his innocence was proven, it wasn’t a particularly difficult decision to make. They were still close enough in case their friends needed help but far enough away to finally heal.

Fortunately, they quickly found a three-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city and were able to afford it with their combined financial forces. Steve was glad he had taken the leap of faith to move here.

His life was a lot better now.

“Welcome back dingus,” Robin greeted him with a mock salute while Eddie just waved. They were both sitting on the kitchen counter together (although they had a small dining table not two feet away), sipping something that looked suspiciously like red wine.

“Already started without me?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you came back home this late,” Robin protested.

“Rob, you literally pressured me into letting you leave earlier so you could get,” Steve eyed the wine glass in her hands, “ready for tonight. I see you’re using your time wisely.”

“It’s totally Eddie’s fault. I swear!”

“Hey! You’re the one who wanted to crack a bottle to get all nice and tipsy before our night out. So you won’t lose your nerves because of Nan-.”

“Shut it, Munson!” Robin grinds out through gritted teeth, a deep blush darkening her cheeks. She smacked a hand over Eddie’s mouth to silence him....only for her to draw it back in disgust immediately. “Eww. Did you just lick my hand? What are you, twelve?”

“Why are you so embarrassed, Bucks? It’s not exactly a secret,” Eddie replied nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Robin hung her head in defeat and sighed. “I know. It’s just… every time I meet her, I make a total ass out of myself, you know? I just want to be this cool person that doesn’t start spewing out unnecessary facts no one cares about.”

“With alcohol?” Steve asked amusedly, holding up his hands in defense when she glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Come on, Rob. Nancy likes you. Even your rambling. She thinks it’s endearing.”

“She does?”

Steve nodded. Nancy had told him a few weeks ago when they met up in a small cafe during their lunch break. She also said a few other things about Robin but it wasn’t Steve’s place to tell her that.

“That’s-. I need to get ready. I- Boys, see you later!” she exclaimed dramatically and hopped off the counter, marching straight into her room, and closing the door behind her.

“Well, she sure seems excited now,” Eddie chuckled.

They’re alone in the kitchen right now, and Steve is well aware of that. You see the thing is, moving to the big city and living together with his friends had not only made his life better but also significantly more complicated.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t always found men attractive. However, growing up in the Harrington household had taught him to keep these kinds of thoughts buried deep inside him. His father wasn’t very fond of queer people (an understatement) and would not have liked his son to be one of them (also an understatement). Moving here, living together with Eddie day after day, and finally being free from his father’s clutches had thrown him into the biggest sexuality crisis known to mankind.

At first, it was just mild infatuation that soon grew and spread into a full-blown crush, leaving him scared and confused. But it was OK, really. There wouldn't be anything coming out of it anyway. Steve was positively sure Eddie didn’t even like men that way, let alone him. So all he had to do was wait for this to blow over.

Well, that is, until Eddie decided to tear down Steve’s most effective defense mechanisms by outing himself a few weeks after moving in.

Suddenly, Eddie didn’t seem out of reach anymore, throwing Steve into the next crisis on top of the first. It got so obvious there was something wrong with him that Robin pulled him aside one night when it was just the two of them.

He finally spilled his beans that night. From the fact that he seemed to always have liked men as equally as women (bisexuality, Robin called it), down to his embarrassing all-consuming crush on Eddie.

She listened intently, asking a few questions here and there but otherwise letting him do the talking.

“What makes you think he doesn’t like you that way?” Robin asked earnestly.

“I just know,” Steve answered dejectedly and Robin didn’t press.

“Hey, Steve. You in there?”

Steve snapped out of his thoughts and shifted his attention back to the present. Eddie was standing in front of him, a worried expression on his handsome face.

“Huh? Sorry I- just got lost in my own head.”

“Shit, you really scared me there, man. Didn't we talk about not spacing out at random?" Eddie asked, relief evident in his voice. “For a second, I thought Vecna was back or something.”

“I know, I know, sorry.”

Only now did Steve realize how close they were. And that Eddie was grabbing both of his shoulders, the touch sending a spark of something through his body. The fact that Eddie was a very tactile person, touching Steve whenever he had the opportunity to, didn’t make dealing with his crush any easier.

"I, um," Steve started, trying hard not to stare at Eddie’s lips. “I need to get ready. For later. Shower, yes.” He stumbled over his words like a pre-schooler talking to his crush for the first time. Jesus, get it together. What happened to your famous Harrington charm?

“I mean, I’m gonna head to the shower. Or do you wanna go first?”

“Nah, I already did, so… It’s all yours,” Eddie answered before finally releasing his shoulders, and taking a step back. Steve nearly breathed out in relief.

“Well then, see you later.” Eddie patted him on the shoulder, grabbed the wine glass from the kitchen counter behind him, and made his way to his room. Before he stepped inside, he turned around again, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh and Steve? Just take your time. I know how much you like getting all dolled up for me.”

Heat shot to Steve’s cheeks while his heart did a full ballet routine in his chest. But befor he had the chance to react, Eddie disappeared inside and closed the door behind him.

Oh, did he forget to mention that Eddie was a notorious flirt, too?

Steve slammed the bathroom door with more force than necessary. He stripped down angrily and stood under the warm spray of the shower, trying to relax.

Fuck, he used to be good at this. Really good. With girls swooning left and right, just looking at them. He had been King Steve for fucks sake.

But then Eddie appeared and Steve’s famous Harrington charm, which was already in a nosedive anyway, crashed and burned to the ground, shattering into a million useless pieces. Eddie, with his stupid wide-brown doe-eyes, his equally ridiculous dark curly hair, and this fucking dimpled smile that always made Steve tremble and weak in the knees. And don’t forget all the stupid pet names he threw at him like candy, coming up with a new one every week.

Don’t get him wrong. Most of the time he’s glad the King Steve days are over. He just missed it sometimes, being that cocky, self-confident guy, strutting the halls of High School instead of this easily flustered tongue-tied idiot he was now.

Standing in front of the mirror after his shower, Steve had to resist the urge not to style his hair just to teach Eddie a lesson.

He dismissed that thought quickly, though. Not even that would make him leave the house looking like that. He still had some self-respect after all.

Steve stayed holed up in his room until Robin told him it was time to leave. He knew it wasn’t a permanent solution to his problem, not with them living and spending so much time together, but he just needed a break to collect himself.

The next few hours will be exhausting enough.

Going out tonight was all Robin's idea.

Since moving to the big city she had used every opportunity to get out of the house and into every gay bar she could get her hands on. She called it her ‘mandatory gay experience’ and Steve was glad she finally popped out of the shell she had built around herself while living in Hawkins.

And because Steve was such a good friend (the best) he tagged along when she asked him to, week after week. Sometimes just the two of the, sometimes with Eddie and Nancy in tow.

And so it happened that Steve found himself at one of those bars again on a Friday night, pressed against Eddie’s side, while Robin and Nancy sat across from them. The seating arrangement hadn’t exactly been Steve’s decision, but Robin had nearly knocked out his teeth trying to scramble into the booth beside Nancy. This left him with no other choice than to sit beside Eddie.

It was beautiful and terrible at the same time.

This close, Steve could feel Eddie's warmth through the layers of their clothes, leaving a tingling feeling wherever they touched. He tried not to show how much it affected him, but from the smirk, Robin was giving him from across the table, he was failing miserably.

Meanwhile, Eddie didn’t seem affected at all. He was his usual animated self, gesticulating around widely while telling Nancy a story about one of his co-workers who almost burned down the kitchen.

Unable to tear his eyes away, Steve followed the movement of Eddie’s mouth with his eyes. How he licked his lips from time to time or the way he bit his lower lip when trying to keep himself from laughing at his own story.

God, those damn kissable lips…

Stabbing pain shooting through his shin made Steve tear his eyes from Eddie’s mouth immediately.

He glared at Robin, who had a far too innocent expression on her face and only mumbled a soft “You’re staring again dingus” in return, before turning back to the conversation.

Oh shit. Had he been that obvious again?

Fortunately, Eddie didn’t seem to have noticed Steve’s brief staring contest with his lips (or so he hoped), being far too engrossed in telling the girls his funny story.

Thank God.

Later, Robin and Nancy had gone to get them a new round of drinks and from what Steve could see, it would take them a while to get back to the table. As the night progressed the bar had gotten steadily more packed which wasn’t surprising considering it was a Friday night. Steve was glad they had gotten here early.

As the girls returned with fresh drinks in tow and sat down again, Robin slid something into the middle of the table.

“You boys wouldn’t believe me what we’ve found,” she said delightedly, tapping at the small piece of paper with her finger Steve could identify as a flyer now. “Sounds pretty interesting to me.”

Next to her, Nancy nodded approvingly, sipping at her drink.

Eddie snatched it before Steve could take a closer look, tossing it back on the table with a snort a few seconds after.

“Couples Quiz Night, huh? I think I’d rather stab myself than join this, thank you very much.”

“What? Is that too uncool for lil’ ol’ Eddie?” Robin asked challengingly.

“You bet, Bucks. That shit’s only for couples that desperately try to make others jealous by showing how great they are.”

Eddie’s reply started a bickering match about the pros and cons of couples quiz night between him and Robin. Steve just rolled his eyes fondly, glad that the two most important people in his life had become such good friends and got along so well. He didn’t want to imagine a world where those two weren’t part of it at the same time.

Curious, Steve decided to take a look at it and grabbed the flyer off the table. Trying to tune out the agitated chatter of his friends he started to read.

The hand-sized flyer didn’t contain much information besides the name and date of the event written in big bold green letters and something about a prize you could win. Steve remembered doing something like this with his girlfriend Lisa (now an ex-girlfriend, fortunately) back in Hawkins. It ended in a complete and utter disaster because he and Lisa hadn’t even gotten one question right. It wasn’t exactly one of his proudest moments as a boyfriend.

"What?"

Steve flinched at Eddie's ear-splitting screech, immediately scanning the room for any signs of danger, his shoulders sagging in relief when he couldn't find any.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I need them!"

Eddie looked at his friends one by one with big pleading eyes and, to top it off, even jutted out his lower lip. When no one seemed to take the bait right away, because they were all used to Eddie's antics, he fixed his gaze on Steve who still was none the wiser about what brought on Eddie's over the top reaction.

“Stevie?”

Steve quickly averted his eyes. He knew he couldn't say no to Eddie (to whatever he would ask of him) if he kept looking at him like that.

“Wait. That’s actually not a terrible idea,” Nancy said, sipping her drink like the traitor she is. “I mean, this is a gay bar, right? So there shouldn’t be any problems. And you two are so close, I bet you can easily fake it.”

Huh? Fake it?

Robin seemed to have noticed Steve’s confusion because she immediately started to explain. “Eddie wants to take part in the couples quiz night since he found out what the super secret prize is.”

“And … what does this have to do with me?” A sense of dread started to creep up on him.

“He wants you to join him,” Nancy answered matter-of-factly. “It’s a couples quiz after all.”

“But we aren’t a couple?” Steve asked perplexed. “Unless I missed something.”

The thought of him and Eddie being a couple made his insides all gooey and he quickly shoved it away.

“That’s why we’re gonna fake it, sweetheart!” Eddie laughed and threw an arm around, pressing him snuggly into his side.

Wait, what?

“You want me,” Steve pointed a trembling finger to himself and then at Eddie while trying to keep his voice even, “to fake a relationship with you to win a stupid prize at a Couples Quiz Night?”

“Hey, the prize is not stupid. How dare-”

“Yup. That’s exactly what he said.” Nancy answered nonchalantly, before taking a sip from her drink, giving Steve a look from under her lashes he didn’t like one bit.

“Yeah, come on, Steve, don’t be a spoilsport. It'll be fun!” Robin backed her up, of course, with a dangerous gleam in her eyes.

“Yes, Stevie. Listen to our friends."

“What happened to ‘rather stabbing yourself than joining this?’” Steve asked dryly, a last desperate attempt to wiggle out of this somehow.

“Steve. Steve-o. My best friend. Light of my life, did you not listen to anything the guy said?" Eddie asked sweetly and huffed when Steve only shrugged his shoulders. "It’s fucking tickets for a Metallica concert at Market Square Arena. That shit’s been sold out for weeks! Dude, I’d sell my soul for this if I could. So screw what I said before. I. Want. Those. Tickets.”

Steve felt his resolve start to crumble like a house of cards. He knew how much those tickets meant to Eddie. The guy literally hadn’t stopped talking about it for weeks and was totally crushed when he heard it was sold out.

Steve sighed deeply and closed his eyes.

He was absolutely sure that this was going to end in total disaster as it did with Lisa. And then Eddie would be mad at him about not winning those tickets, about him not being able to answer some stupid questions in a stupid quiz and -

- and then he made the mistake of looking into Eddie's pleading eyes.

Shit.

Rookie mistake.

Steve sighed, getting ready to succumb to his inevitable fate.

“Fine. But if we’re doing this, you owe me, Munson. Big time.”

“Oh my god, thank you! You’re absolutely the best! You won't regret it. Promise!” Eddie clapped his hands together a few times with barely concealed glee, bouncing on his seat like a maniac. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him that he regretted it the moment he agreed to do it.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t cream your-. Hey, what are you doing?”

Eddie nearly shoved him off the booth and Steve quickly stood up to prevent himself from planting his face on the floor.

"What the hell, Munson?"

"Come on, come on. There are two Metallica tickets with our names on them, I heard.”

“I don’t think-.”

“Less talking, more walking, Stevie,” Eddie tutted, grabbind Steve around the wrist and dragging Steve mercilessly behind him without waiting for a response.

Glancing at the girls for help, Steve was only met with a thumbs up from Nancy and an overdramatic smooching gesture from Robin.

Screw Nancy's guns. He was so going to strangle them after this was over.

Eddie made it through the crowd with relative ease, slipping smoothly between the bodies on his way over to the bar while Steve bumped into people left and right, receiving tons of dirty looks in return. He didn't even have time to apologize, not with Eddie dragging him behind him like this.

At the bar, Eddie squeezed himself between two scrawny-looking guys, eagerly waving the bartender over. With Eddie's hand still clasped around his wrist, Steve didn't have much choice than to stand way too close behind him.

“Yeah? What can I get ya?”

“Hey, we heard about a quiz tonight and really wanted to join. Because I somehow can’t convince this knucklehead," Eddie turned back to him and had the fucking audacity to wink, then turned tack to the baarkeeper. "that we’re made for each other.” He put a hand on his heart, sighing deeply like he was carrying the whole world on his shoulders. “Maybe that’ll finally make him see it. You know?”

God, Eddie really was a theater kid, huh?

No way in hell someone would buy this little performance. Not when Eddie was laying it on this thick. Not in a million years.

But to Steve’s horror, the guy took a pen and a piece of paper from somewhere and shoved it over the counter. “Relationships are tough, man,” he nodded with a sigh, a look of pity in his eyes. Steve wondered if the guy was either a newbie or simply not good at reading people.

“Just write down your names here. We’re starting in ten minutes. So you better be ready.”

Then he left them alone to tend to some other customers demanding his attention.

“Ten minutes?” Steve hissed into Eddie’s ear from behind, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach running amok. “How should we come up with matching answers in ten minutes?”

Unimpressed by Steve’s tiny little freak-out, Eddie scribbled down their names in his neat handwriting before turning around. Their faces were barely a hair's breadth away and if Steve wanted to he just could lean forward and - no. Nope. Bad idea.

“Relax,” Eddie said, his breath caressing Steve’s lips, nearly driving him insane. “We don’t even know what they’re going to ask so I guess we just have to trust in the power of our relationship.”

“Which doesn’t exist," Steve replied dryly, proud of how even his voice sounded. "Listen, it’s always the same shit, like favorite color, favorite food, who kissed the other first yadda yadda yadda. So we need to-.”

“Wait wait wait. You did something like this before?” Eddie raised his eyebrows, his mouth twisting into a grin. “Stevie, you absolute romantic! You really know how to make a girl feel special,” he giggled, twisting a curl around his finger like a girl in those corny teenage movies Robin always made them watch as punishment for whatever.

“Yeah, I bet Lisa would disagree with you on that,” Steve grimaced, shuddering at the memory. “Whatever. Do you wanna go over some possible questions or not?”

Eddie tapped a finger against his lips, weighing his head left and right a few times like he was thinking really hard about his answer.

But then he leaned forward, bridging the gap between them and pressing his lips against Steve’s cheek. Just a short peck.

Steve's eyes widened in shock.

“I don’t think we’re going to need that, sweetheart,” he whispered softly before drawing back again. Which isn’t very far because they’re still unbelievably close, their noses almost touching. "Just trust in us, ok?"

Steve, whose brain had shut down the moment Eddie’s lips touched his face, nodded dumbly, his mouth open. Eddie’s smile grew and he took Steve’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers before pulling him toward the stage.

[abiiors]

bestie could we get a lil ross angst/fluffiness about saying goodbye to him before he goes on tour?? xx

this turned into hurt/comfort because i am in that mood rn lol but i hope you like it <33

ross is in a shitty mood. you can tell. 

he hasn’t stopped shuffling (sulking) around the house, opening cupboards with more force than necessary and slamming them shut much to your growing annoyance. even when he was loading the dishwasher before, you were afraid he was going to break your precious china. 

“ross, can you not?” you ask after another door-slam. so fine, he’s in a bad mood. you don’t feel so peachy yourself. and all the noise isn’t helping. 

“not what,” he retorts, going back to yanking a plate out of the dishwasher. it clinks against the other stuff, the noise grating on you again. 

“stop that!” you chastise, this time with a raised voice. “you’re going to chip them.”

ross huffs, setting the plate down much harder than necessary. “can’t do anything well enough, can i?”

his voice is laced with irritation, his brows knitted. when you gape at him, ross turns around. 

“i didn’t say that!”

“we have been together long enough for me to know what you’re thinking,” he mumbles. if his intention was to mumble it to himself, he’s failed because you hear it clear as day. 

“ross. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“nothing.”

“it’s not nothing! you’ve been moping all day!” now your voice is properly raised. and ross still hasn’t turned around, continuing his assault on your precious plates. 

“can you at least talk to me?” you try to be gentle, you do, but it ends up coming out as a screech.

“jesus fucking christ, can’t deal with you right now.” he slams the plate down and storms out of the kitchen, leaving you staring at the half-empty dishwasher. 

in a few moments, you hear the bedroom door thudding shut. great…

soon enough, the anger trickles out though, leaving you filled with worry and an empty kind of sadness that only creeps in after you and ross have a fight. and even though you know that this was more of an argument, you still can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that something is wrong. 

so you swallow your pride, and make your way upstairs, fully prepared to apologise. 

as soon as you open the bedroom door, you’re greeted with the sight of ross sitting on the edge of the bed, head hanging, as he stares at his lap. he barely even looks up when he hears you walk in. doesn’t move at all until you’re kneeling in front of him, making him look at you. 

“baby, come on…” this time, your voice is gentle. “i’m sorry about yelling at you before. i really wasn’t thinking that, i promise.”

ross only shakes his head, gesturing for you to sit next to him. 

“i know,” he sighs. “i’m sorry too, i–i know that’s not what you were trying to say. it’s just…” he swallows, clearly struggling to get the words out. 

ross shakes his head. you move to get closer to him, holding his hand in yours. “you know you can tell me anything right?”

“yeah…” he sighs again, finally looking up at you. the little crease between his eyebrows deepens. 

“they’re adding new dates to the tour,” he whispers, “one of them falls on your birthday. i… i am going to miss that.”

oh. 

so that’s what this is about. 

you’re about to speak up, telling him that it’s not ideal but it’s not the end of the world but now that he’s started speaking, he wants to get it all out. 

“last year, i missed our anniversary. this year we barely got to have one because of the album release and now… now i’m going to miss your birthday,” he shakes his head, a few strands come loose. 

“i’m already leaving in a few days and here i am, fighting with you for no reason. i’m so sorry sweetheart, for taking my anger out on you.”

the sight of him breaks your heart, he looks so sad. it wasn’t anger, you realise. it was guilt. his comment about you thinking he couldn’t do things well enough… that was him projecting. 

“oh, ross…” you place a hand on his cheek. he nuzzles into it, closing his eyes. 

“i keep missing all these important days. i keep missing you so much when i’m away. what happens when… what happens when you decide you’re done feeling like this? what happens when you feel like you just want a normal man. a normal relationship.” his voice sounds like he’s speaking through a lump in his throat. it checks out when you take in his red-rimmed eyes. 

you move, shifting to sit on his lap so you can cradle his face in your hands. he holds onto you, leaning into your touch. 

“i don’t want a so-called normal relationship, do you hear me? i want you.” your voice comes out firm; no room for argument. nothing he can dispute. “sure, missing birthdays and anniversaries is not ideal but that’s still months away, my love. we can figure something out. i can come visit you, does that sound good?”

he nods, turning his head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. 

“ross, i love you, i am not going to leave over something so trivial…”

he nods again, mumbling a small “i love you” back. you continue. “next time if you’re spiraling, just come talk to me, yeah? we’re supposed to be partners. you can’t let things like these eat at you and suffer in silence.”

“i know i…” ross clears his throat, breathing in deeply. “i should have talked to you days ago. i shouldn’t have let it fester. forgive me?”

“forgiven,” you reply instantly, smiling at him. “now give me a kiss. let’s just write today off. be lazy in bed. we can figure out everything else tomorrow.”

“i would like that,” he speaks, already leaning in for a kiss, already looking much better than before. 

[helpinghanikan]

Wanna talk about it?

Carol Danvers x reader

for @mxqdii

AN: Wrote this super quick because I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Hopefully this was what you were looking for.

It’s amazing how quickly everything tends to stick together or pile up throughout the day. One little thing in the morning, before you even got dressed, and it just goes down hill from there. By the time you’re finally able to head come there’s a weight on your being too heavy to be carried alone.

The drive back home was made in relative silence. Sometimes, when the day kicks your ass, it’s too much effort to even turn the radio on. This quiet made it that much more impactful when your phone dings in the cup holder.

‘Im making din see you soon’ You dared to read, although this is not recommended to do while driving.

You didn’t need to see the name to know it was Carol. Not only from her inability to text properly, but from how suddenly she announces her arrival. The only time your phone’s connected was when she was within the Earth’s atmosphere. Any other time you want to talk to her, and some massive amount of tech is needed.

It’s nice to know Carol is near, it’s not enough to help with today’s burden. You do start driving just a bit faster, though.

Music could be heard through your house’s front door. Had it been anyone else you would have grumbled about the volume pumping through the door. Dad rock was great and all, but not after a long shift and before a warm meal.

“Carol?” You asked before the door is open all the way.

Instead of Carol you are greeted by orange hair and a bad attitude. Goose stretched and blinked slowly as you entered fully. Giving you a look as if to wonder why you were here, in your own home, and interrupting his nap.

He seems pleased when you give him some scratches. Although not technically a cat he sure did purr like one.

“Carol?” You called again, shoes off and coat gone by the time you reach the kitchen.

In another universe Carol would be a wonderful wife to always come home to. Dad rock playing from the counter, oven steaming from cooking noodles and tomato sauce, and the promise of a warm night in.

Carol smiles at you through the steam. Her smile is too powerful to be stopped by something so weak as boiling water. Although it faulters as you get closer, and she can start to see the fatigue in your eyes, she’s still waiting for you.

Without thinking, almost as if under possession, you step up behind her. Around Carol’s stomach, cheek against her back, and a tight squeeze that will never be enough.

“Hey, Babe,” She says, leaning her weight back just a bit to give a semblance of a hug back.

Her voice is warm and welcoming like hot chocolate. Her smell is slightly mechanical and earthy that one could get drunk on. Although her muscles are pronounced and something to be proud of, this doesn’t stop you from squeezing her close. Hugging like she may disappear into beautiful light you let go for even a second.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asks, stirring a pot as if you weren’t using her as a stuffed animal.

A dark part of your mind tells you to keep quiet. That it wouldn’t be fair to complain to Carol, to THE Captain Marvel, about the shitty day you were having. Not when this woman had traveled several thousands of miles to make you spaghetti. Especially not when whatever small problem Carol could be having was twelve time bigger than yours.

Carol has a heat to her like a furnace on fire. Sometimes, if Carol weren’t careful, she could actually burn the people around her. Although this has never happened to you the threat was still there. So you stay as close as you can, nuzzling into her back sighing as the heat relaxes your muscles like a warm shower after a long walk.

“Not right now,” You mumble into her back, “I missed you too much.”

You could have fallen asleep like this. Standing up and everything, but it was the clicking of the stove the ruined your serene moment. Granted, this was to replace with an even better moment as Carol turns around to hold you properly in a hug.

Every bit of chill or cold that might have lived inside of you was now gone. It was replaced with warm love you’d never forget the feeling of.

[alwritey-aphrodite]

I would live TASM and breakfast outside 🤩 So excited for summer

2024 Summer Blurbs

There are many things you love about your admittedly shitty New York City apartment. You love the view from the windows looking out over the street, high enough to people watch without anyone being able to look back at you. You love all the light that streams into your small kitchen, you love knowing all the right ways to close doors and cabinets without them sticking, you love the hardwood floors that are absolutely freezing every single morning.

Most of all, though, you love the window off the kitchen that opens up to a small balcony, just big enough for two people and some cushions. Out of every single spot in all of New York, that balcony is your favorite.

While the weather doesn’t always make it easy for you to take advantage of your hidden gem, in the summertime, you spend as much time out there as possible. Sometimes when you’re really lucky, the sun will hit your apartment just right and turn your balcony into the perfect spot for tanning, and you spend all afternoon out there with a book and a cool drink. It’s rare for Peter to come home in the afternoon and find you anywhere except the balcony, and he’s started closing the door with just enough force for you to always hear him.

As much as you love your time alone on the balcony, soaking up the sun and taking in all the sounds of the city, your favorite moments on the balcony are always ones where Peter is right there beside you. It’s a difficult squeeze getting out there sometimes with Peter’s long limbs, but the two of you fit perfectly once you get settled onto your cushions, feet dangling off the edge through the fencing meant to keep you from falling.

“Wanna eat outside?” You ask, cutting fruit for a meal that’s closer to lunch than to breakfast, but it’s Saturday and you’re adults and no one can tell you when to get out of bed. Before you even ask, you know Peter will say yes, that saying yes to you comes as easy as breathing and that he enjoys your slightly dangerous balcony almost as much as you do. He’s already pulling the window up, taking the plate of fruit from your outstretched hand to set it outside and make it easier for both of you to climb through the window.

You pass him the plates and watch as he sets them all gently outside before he steps back, letting you get the first pick of the cushions. He steadies his hands on your waist as you climb through the window, even though you both know you’ve maneuvered your way through successfully on your own no less than a hundred times, you both enjoy the safety and the closeness and the care of the simple act. Peter climbs through himself once you’ve gotten settled, folding his gangly limbs a bit awkwardly to make it through, but then you’re both outside and the weather is perfect and your breakfast is waiting, and nothing could be better.

The two of you stay out there long after your breakfast is finished, letting the sun warm your skin as you discuss all sorts of plans for your near and distant future. It’s the kind of morning you’d have dreamed about years ago, all sun-warmed and full and next to the person you love most. You’ve got no reason to go back inside except to grab more food or take a nap once the sunshine starts to make you drowsy, but it doesn’t matter because you’ve got no plans and you know Peter is always willing to follow your whims. For now, though, the sunshine and the company are all that you need.

[hb-writes]

Had this slightly shitty, slightly hilarious idea when reading through the prompts list you reposted and thought about number one “(Will you please just give me a hand?”) with Charlie and Harvey. It’s a scenario where Harvey needs help with something or other (obvs), Charlie’s uninterested or distracted or just doesn’t want to help, and when he asks about her giving him a hand, she just gives him a single glove. I’m not sure if you can make this fit or even work but I have faith 😂

(this one needs a bit of a warning for parental loss. RIP Gordon 😔)

Harvey slid the lunch he had picked up on his way home from the office into the fridge and glanced around the room. He'd gotten take out from one of Charlie's favorite spots, but his sister hadn't bothered to join him, claiming from her bedroom doorway that she wasn't hungry.

Harvey felt something like annoyance surge through his body at Charlie's rejection, but before he reacted, Harvey had taken a beat, reminding himself that he'd been up since the crack of dawn working on the case and that he hadn't eaten yet. Maybe he'd feel different after he ate. Maybe he'd feel better able to deal with his sister and whatever was going on with her.

Maybe, he had thought, and now that he'd eaten, he was feeling a little better. A little more stable. A little less what Charlie always labeled as 'hangry.'

But even if he was feeling better, the apartment was still a mess, just as it was when he'd left this morning.

Harvey's apartment was usually immaculate. Between the two of them and their beloved cleaning lady, they kept the place spotless, but the cleaning lady was currently on vacation and both Specters had had overly busy weeks—Harvey was working on an impossible case and Charlie was in the middle of exams at school.

They'd come to a silent agreement that it was a problem to be dealt with at the weekend.

Neither of them had started tackling the problem yet, but Harvey had left a note asking his sister to tidy up a bit while he spent the morning at the office. After all, most of the shit strewn about was hers, but he had come back to find Charlie still in her bedroom with her crap still everywhere and the sink still overflowing with dishes.

Harvey closed his eyes as he leaned against the counter, taking a breath so large, you'd have thought he did it on purpose, trying to calm some part of him, but he'd done it out of desperation. Out of need. Because suddenly there was a weight on him, a pressure that was so painful and tight in his chest that subconsciously, he knew he needed the air to ease it.

Because the kitchen sink wasn't the only thing overflowing in their lives. Their living room, not the only thing messy. Charlie and Harvey had been at each other's throats for weeks now, the tension between them growing steadily worse as the days passed by.

"Charlie, come help with this mess," Harvey called down the hall, his voice cracking just the slightest as he voiced the request.

He knew his sister was tired. He knew she'd been studying as hard as he'd been working all week, and he'd tried to cut her some slack when he was in control of himself enough to be conscious of it, but that awareness fought against the fact that Harvey was tired, too. Harvey was bone tired and his apartment was a mess and...

"Charlotte!" Harvey shouted as he took two steps down the hallway leading to her bedroom.

Charlie pulled open the door, her music suddenly spilling out. No wonder she hadn't heard him...

"What?" she snapped.

Her tone jabbed at him, the word coated in a exasperatingly thick layer of attitude, the same attitude she'd given him when he told her to come eat some lunch.

"I asked you to clean this goddamned stuff up," he answered. "I was gone for 5 hours and all you did was add more dishes to the pile."

Or, a single dish. The only thing she'd added to the pile was her now-empty coffee cup, but Charlie didn't bother arguing that, too focused on managing the sudden bit of emotion swelling within her.

Charlie had felt angry all week, on the edge of tears for days, every interaction having the potential to push her over an edge she wasn't certain she'd be able to pull back from. And though the emotion was so close, and it would've been a relief to let it all out, she held back, willing herself to remain in control. To push it down like her brother always did.

Harvey noticed the shift and incorrectly clocked it as his sister softening a bit. He clocked it as a bit of regret. As her realizing she should've just done as he asked and cleaned up a bit while he was out in the first place.

"Will you please just give me a hand?" he asked, his tone a bit kinder. "We'll clean up the mess, and you can get back to brooding in your room."

Charlie scoffed, shaking her head as she silently retreated through the doorway, marching toward him a moment later with two baseball gloves in hand. She hadn't softened a bit, her emotions hardening to the point of fragility.

"You want a hand?" she asked, thrusting the gloves at Harvey's chest. "Here's two."

Harvey scrambled to keep hold of the gloves she'd spent the past hour digging around the apartment to find. It had taken all of three seconds of the morning news for Charlie to realize what day it was, and what they'd forgotten to celebrate. Why they'd been feeling so angry this week, annoyed with each other even more than usual.

Harvey's face fell as the same thing clicked for him, and all that he'd forgotten suddenly rushed back to him. It was almost as if Donna was there in his head, telling him that it wasn't just a busy week that had had both Charlie and Harvey frustrated and tired and neglecting their chores, all of it getting steadily worse as the weekend approached.

It was Father's Day.

And even though he was busy and stressed and tired because of everything happening at work, it wasn't any of those things that had him conveniently forgetting what day it was. Harvey remembered now the plans he and Charlie made months ago. Marcus had his kids and wife to celebrate him, to distract him, but Father's Day was different for Charlie and Harvey. He remembered now that they had agreed to keep the day low key. They had agreed to celebrate their father in their own way. They'd go to the park and toss the ball, something he'd always done with his kids. And then they'd enjoy his favorite foods and listen to some of his music and...

"Charlie," Harvey said, following her down the hall to her bedroom.

She left her door open, but Harvey still expected his sister to snap at him. He deserved it, Harvey thought. But instead Harvey found Charlie seated on the end of her bed with her eyes clenched shut.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't clean up, okay?" Charlie pushed her hands to her face, willing her palms to stop the tears leaking through. "I didn't sleep well last night so I woke up late and I remembered what today is and I didn't see your note and we've been so...everything's messed up and—"

"It doesn't matter," Harvey answered, shaking his head. "Forget about the cleaning. Just get dressed. Let's go to the park."

"But the apartment's a—"

A fucking mess, Harvey thought to himself. And Charlie's bedroom was an even worse mess, but he willed himself to forget about that for now, sitting down beside her as he pulled her into his side, handing over one of the gloves.

"The dishes will be here when we're done. Alright?"

Charlie turned the glove over in her hands, sniffling.

Harvey held his sister to his side, feeling more at ease than he had all week, even amongst the chaos of her bedroom. Even knowing the case he'd been pouring himself into wasn't looking good.

"Alright," he said after a minute. "C'mon, kid. Buck up. There’s no crying in—"

Charlie swung the glove, a satisfying thump sounding as it crashed into Harvey's arm. "Don't even say it, Harvey," she warned.

Harvey scoffed. "Are you trying to tell me this isn't the perfect time to quote A League of Their Own?

"Oh, you zip it, Harvey."

Harvey smirked. "You're worse than me, you know? Probably know that movie backwards and forwards."

Charlie shrugged. She had seen it probably close to a hundred times with her dad, so indulgent he was with her obsession. Charlie gathered up the gloves, thrusting them back in Harvey's arms before she pulled him from the bed.

"Let's make like a bread truck and haul buns ladies," she said, a final quote offered as she pushed her brother towards the door so she could get dressed, a bit of lightness in both of their hearts that hadn't been there before. A bit of gratefulness for each other and their father. A bit of love for the man they both would've given anything to be celebrating today.

Send me a drabble-ish prompt.

[witchersmistress]

Snooping and Library Sex 2.0

Hello my Darlings! Im in decisive af so i have here another version of Snooping, i changed the characters around and added some details but its basically the same.

Trigger Warnings: rough sex, orgasm denial, destruction of books, back sassying

Word count: 4K

as usual my darlings, you do not have my permission to copy, translate or use my work in anyway. if you do i will haunt you for the rest of your days k?

I can feel the angry energy roiling under my skin after my encounter with Napoleon, all the sated, relaxed feeling from the self induced orgasms is nothing but a distant memory already. I’m on edge and pissed off, and I hate it.

It’s like the ground is shifting out from beneath me, like I can’t find solid footing anywhere, and that unbalanced sensation makes me want to lash out. It would make the most sense to go up to my room and hide out until I feel better, but for some reason, I don’t want to do that. Being idle sounds shitty, so after depositing my shit upstairs, I stalk around the house instead, feeling defiant. So far, I haven’t poked around their space too much. I go from the room they gave me to the kitchen and sometimes to the living room, but not really beyond that. Now I don’t stop myself from doing what I want, striding from room to room as if the whole house is my personal domain.

 I yank open a door down a corridor off the main entryway and find a well-kept baby grand piano inside. I roll my eyes at the fucking luxury these assholes clearly live in and look the instrument over. One of them must play. Even though they have so much nice shit, it would be stupid to have a whole-ass piano in here if it didn’t get used. Which one is it, I wonder? Staring at it doesn’t yield any answers, so I march back out, closing the door behind me. Another couple of doors just lead to closets, and I bypass them, not caring enough to rifle through coats and boxes and shit. But the next door I try reveals a small library. That’s the only good word for the room full of books. There are shelves lining three of the walls, and an armchair with a small end table beside it tucked into a corner. It looks like the kind of place that gets a lot of use, which is surprising as hell since none of the guys seem like the intellectual types. Just the thought of Napoleon or Syverson sitting in that chair with a cup of tea and a thick book is almost enough to make me laugh. It’s a toss-up with Napoleon, and August could go either way too. There’s a set of encyclopedias on one of the shelves, and I roll my eyes because apparently we’re back in the dark ages or some shit.

 I move on from those and find a stretch of classic books. The titles stand out in gold on the spines, things like The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Prince, The Odyssey, and The Iliad. Books like they make you read in high school, full of shit you’ll never care about again. I take a couple off the shelves and check them out, running my hands over the smooth leather of the covers and the embossed letters of the titles. I flip through one, The Odyssey, and am surprised to see little notes in the margins. Whole passages have been underlined, and the handwriting is cramped off to the side, but I can just make some of it out. I don’t know anything about books, but reading the stuff in the margins feels like getting a peek into someone’s soul. Whoever wrote these notes had a soul full of rage and pain, and they were connected with the pain felt by the characters in the books. Each book I pull off the shelf to look through is like that, with little notes off to the side and underlined parts. Some words are circled, others crossed out. It’s like whoever did it dedicated themselves to reading each book and finding the parts that either pissed them off or resonated with them the most. I’m putting a few of them back and reaching for another one when someone steps into the room. “What the fuck are you doing?” a deep voice intones behind me. August. And he’s pissed. As usual. I turn around to look at him, and something in the way his face looks so guarded and angry makes me pretty damn sure these books are his. I’m still on edge, feeling exposed from what happened with Napoleon. I hate that 2these men have gotten under my skin. That was never supposed to be part of the plan. I was just supposed to fuck with them, not let them fuck with me back. “Just exploring,” I tell him, shrugging. “Seeing what there is to see in here. Found these books.” “You shouldn’t go poking around in other people’s shit,” he snaps, his broad frame looming in the doorway. I shrug. “It was all just here, so I figured, why not? They’re yours, aren’t they? Or at least, you’re the one who wrote these things in them.” His jade eyes flash with irritation, and I know I’m right. He wouldn’t care so much if they weren’t his and he wasn’t the one who’d gone through all the trouble to make these notes. “So what’s all this about, then?” I ask, flipping open one of the books to a random page. It’s got so many notes on it I can barely make them all out, and I lift an eyebrow. “There’s some heavy stuff in here. One of the characters is talking about… I don’t even know what. The suffering they’re going through. And then you wrote a whole tiny little paragraph about how they don’t even know what true suffering is.” “Stop it,” he grits out, a warning in each syllable. I don’t stop, though. Because this feels good. More addictive than any drug. I want to poke at him, want to get under his skin the way they’ve all gotten under mine. “This part right here about the ‘darkness that you can’t escape’ is pretty poetic,” I say with a little smirk. “Maybe you’re in the wrong business. You should stop abducting women from alleys and take up writing full time.

 It seems like you’d have a lot to pull from for inspiration, judging from what you wrote here.” That seems to be the last straw. August moves forward, marching up to me and yanking the book out of my hand. He crowds into my space, pressing me up against the shelf until the wooden ridges of it dig into my back. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he hisses. “So you should shut your mouth.” He’s so close, but I don’t back down. “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I want to know more. Maybe I want to figure out what makes you work, August. How you ended up the way you are.” “That wasn’t the deal,” he snaps. “Fuck the deal,” I reply. “I’m guessing you used to live in that shithole apartment building you took me to.” “What?” “I’m not an idiot. You knew it way too well for it to be somewhere new to you, or somewhere you only go when you need information. Plus, Meredith talked to you like she cared. That shit takes time. what's up with that?”

“None of your fucking business.” I can feel the rage pouring off him, but I don’t back down. He’s not going to hurt me—that wouldn’t be in his best interests, considering he needs me alive to kill Ivan—and if he did try to, I could just hurt him back. So all he can really do is stand there while I push his buttons, getting more and more pissed off with no real outlet for it. It feels good to be on the instigating end, finally, to be the one doing the pushing instead of getting pushed. And I keep riding the waves of that, leaning into August and not letting him get away with his non-answers. “What was it like?” I press. “Living there? How old were you? Young?” “Shut up.” His expression closes down some, fury blurring out any other emotion. He’s uncomfortable, but relying on anger to get through it is a tried-and-true method. I know that well myself. “Why don’t you want to talk about it? You took me there, so it’s not like I don’t know.” “That was for a purpose,” he spits. “Not for you to go digging around in my life.” “Oh, it sucks when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?” I shoot back. “Maybe I don’t want to let you off the hook that easily.” “Maybe I don’t give a fuck what you want.” “Well, that’s obvious. If you did, I wouldn’t be here. You’re holding me hostage in your fucking house, and you won’t even give me anything entertaining to keep myself occupied. Tell me why these books.” “I’m not telling you anything!” The words rip out of him, and there’s pure rage behind them. His eyes are snapping with it, and he’s practically growling at me. “Just a little hint?” I ask, putting on a pleading face. “Small one? Were you some kind of nerd in school? You don’t seem like the type.” Before I can get out another taunt, he grabs my upper arms in a tight grip. I can feel the strength and anger in the press of his fingers, and I know I’ll have marks there later. I half expect him to shove me forcibly out of the room, but instead, he drops his head and crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me hard enough to bruise.

August kisses me hard, biting down on my lower lip and dragging it into his mouth to suck on it before releasing it with a loud pop. A little noise of frustrated pleasure spills from my mouth, and I grab his shirt, hauling him back in for more. He doesn’t resist, devouring my mouth with his, hot and slick and messy. It’s the same thing I did with Napoleon earlier, kissing him to get him to shut up and stop saying shit I didn’t want to hear. I know that’s what he’s doing right now. But somehow, I don’t care. His hands roam over my shoulders and down my arms, finding their way around to fit in between my back and the bookshelf I’m still pressed against. He manages to grab twin handfuls of my ass, groping me hard, and I moan into his mouth all over again. I can’t control my reaction to it, and I don’t even try that hard, really. It’s all happening too fast. All the anger and hate between us is coming out as this hot, intense sexual desire, and I feel like it would burn me up if I tried to ignore it. I can feel how hard August is as he presses forward, grinding into me. I press back against him, rubbing against the hardness of his body. With a little growl of desire, his mouth moves from mine down to my jaw, leaving biting, open-mouthed kisses as he blazes a trail to my neck.

 I gasp when he bites at just the right spot, arching against him and tipping my head back. That seems to give him an idea, and one hand releases my ass to fist in my hair, yanking it enough to one side that he has complete access to my neck. His mouth is hot and wet, and it feels like it’s everywhere as he kisses me, my body responding eagerly to his touch no matter what my mind might think about him. My nipples go hard and tight, and my pussy throbs with need. It still feels too empty from when Napoleon rejected me, and it’s almost like it can sense that there’s a chance to fix that right now. “Fuck,” I groan, pulling against August’s hold on my hair just to feel the sharp pain that comes from the resistance. He doesn’t say anything, releasing my hair after a moment and letting the silvery strands fall over my shoulders as his hands start roaming again. They find my nipples, and he pinches and tweaks them through my shirt at first before sliding his hands under the fabric and shoving my bra out of the way. His mouth trails down lower, and he presses those hot, feverish kisses along the skin of my chest and my tits, tugging down the neckline of my shirt until he finds one nipple and takes it between his teeth, biting down and none too gently.

 I cry out at the sharp sting of it, squirming against the shelves while he practically feasts on my tits, leaving even more biting kisses in his wake. Pinned in place, it’s all I can do to stay upright against the shelves, letting him run his mouth over my skin and my nipples. My pussy is wet again, so desperate to be touched or filled or something, and I grind even harder against him, searching for the friction to take the edge off. August finally looks up again, and his jade green eyes are dark now. There’s still anger there, but it’s being crowded out by the raw lust emanating from him. It’s a damn good look on him, and I reach up to grab ahold of the back of his neck, pulling him down so I can kiss him again. He grunts out something that might be a curse or might be my name, but I swallow the sound either way, shoving my tongue into his mouth and almost daring him to keep up with me. And he does. He kisses back with equal intensity, matching my pace until we’re both breathless. I’m the first one to pull back, needing to catch my breath while my head spins. August takes advantage of the moment and rips my shirt over my head, exposing my bare chest to the air of the room. He yanks my bra off, and I half expect him to go back to my tits, but instead, his hands go down lower, undoing the button and zipper on my jeans so he can drag them down. August’s already dark eyes turn almost black as he stares down at me. 

Without saying a thing, he drops to his knees in front of me and takes those kisses down to my pussy. He sucks and licks at it like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all year, his tongue working itself along my folds and circling my hole with precision. I can’t help the way I shiver at how it feels, the heat and pleasure of it shooting through me. I still feel sensitive from Napoleon making me fall apart so many times less than an hour ago, and August’s mouth on me feels amplified, as if every sensation is turned up to eleven. He’s messy with it, eating me out and making his face and my thighs slick with my arousal. I look down at him while he drags his tongue over me, breathing hard and still feeling spiteful. “You’re lapping up Napoleon’s cum, you know,” I taunt breathlessly. That’s enough to get him to jerk back, but he doesn’t seem disgusted or squeamish about it. Instead, his eyes are dark with anger again, and his face twists into a mask of fury. “You fucked Napoleon?” he demands. I can’t tell if he’s mad about me fucking Napoleon in general or me fucking Napoleon instead of him. I could easily lie and say that yeah, we fucked, but it bothers me for some reason that the answer is no. I was right there, mostly naked and still a mess from the rolling orgasms Napoleon gave me, and he didn’t want to finish what he fucking started. It sits sourly in my belly, the sting of rejection still present and irritating. So I refuse to answer August, just raising an eyebrow and shrugging one shoulder. Let him think whatever he wants about that.

 He narrows his eyes, a hard look coming over his face. Then he slaps my pussy hard with one hand. I jerk and moan in surprise, taken aback by the sudden harshness. When he does it again, harder, a flash of pain bursts through me before my clit starts to throb with need. “Fuck.” It’s basically the only thing I can think to say to express that it felt fucking good, but August doesn’t seem to need more than that. He dives back in, hands gripping my hips hard while he licks me with even more vicious determination than before. Even with the knowledge that he’s licking the remnants of Napoleon’s cum out of me, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem like he’s put off at all. It’s more like he wants to lick me clean or something, to overtake what Napoleon did to me and wipe it out of my memory.

And he’s fucking good at it, too. I don’t know where August falls on the spectrum of Syverson to Napoleon in terms of how often he likes to fuck, but he knows what he’s doing. His tongue curls along my clit, teasing it and working me up. I thread my fingers into his hair, holding on tight and rolling my hips as the sensation builds and builds and builds. I can feel my orgasm rising, threatening to overtake me. And then, when I’m right there on the edge, about to tip over into a fucking amazing orgasm, August stops and pulls back. “What the shit?” I gasp out, sounding hoarse and breathless. “I was close.” He doesn’t say anything, just gets up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My legs are shaky, and I’m ready to be pissed off as hell if he thinks he’s going to walk away without getting me off after all that. But then he grabs me again and turns me around so I’m facing the bookshelves. He grabs my hands and braces them against the wood, moving me where he wants me. I should be pissed off. I am pissed off. But that’s not the only reason my heart is racing. He grabs my pants where they’re pooled around my ankles and pulls them up just enough that they wedge my thighs together, keeping my legs tightly closed so I can’t open them. Just how he wants me. I’m about to turn around and tell him to get the fuck on with it, when he drives into me hard enough to leave me breathless. Like this, with my legs pressed together, I’m even tighter than usual, and it’s like I can feel him everywhere, pressing against my walls, filling me up.

 August isn’t gentle with it either. He grabs my hips hard, fingers digging into my flesh as he fucks me even harder. His cock drives into me with punishing force, the sound of our skin slapping together ringing out in the room. I don’t bother to hold back my sounds of pleasure. I probably couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not with the way he’s fucking me hard and dirty, making sure that each thrust sends the whole length of his cock slamming into me, hitting that spot inside me that makes me cry out almost every time. Heat and electric sensation curl through me, radiating out from my center to spread into my whole body. I was already on edge before, from his mouth on me, and this is just another step closer to throwing me into an orgasm headfirst. I move my hand, ready to rub at my clit until I come from it all, but August growls behind me. He grabs my wrist and puts my hand back where it was, holding it down with almost bruising force. “No,” he pants. “You don’t get to touch yourself.” It flashes through my mind to tell him where he can shove his bossy bullshit, but then he slams into me so hard that it’s all I can do to stay upright. My heart is pounding almost as forcefully as the way he’s fucking me, bashing against my ribs and making it hard to catch a full breath. Books fall from the shelves around us as my tight grip on the bookshelf makes the whole thing shake. My back is arched, my eyes half closed. My whole body is on fire. I’m so close, right there on the edge, ready to tip over into that well of pleasure that’s been building steadily, but August doesn’t let me. He doesn’t give me that last little push I need. Instead, he starts fucking me more shallowly, letting his cock dip in and out of my pussy without driving all the way in. A noise of helpless frustration spills out of my mouth, and I ball my hands into fists against the wood of the shelf. August doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even taunt me for being needy and desperate. He just keeps his hips moving, turning those shallow thrusts into long, slow ones that still don’t give me all that I need. He’s holding out for as long as he can, clearly, and it’s driving me fucking insane. I thrust my hips back, trying to take him to the hilt, trying to get more, and he just makes a low noise and digs his fingers in harder. 

Maybe it’s a warning, maybe it’s a reaction. I don’t know and I don’t fucking care. All I know is that if I don’t come, I’m going to go insane. My core throbs, spasming around his dick like it’s desperate to milk it dry once I’m allowed to come, and I whine low in my throat, feeling all that sensation keep building like it’s going to snap. Finally, he seems to be at the end of his tether. I can feel his hips stuttering, the stamina he’s been using to drive me nuts finally giving out. He reaches around and down and pinches my clit hard. The pain and stimulation are enough to set me off like a bomb, and I nearly scream, getting a hand up over my mouth in time to muffle it as I explode in pleasure. I can barely breathe, barely keep my body from shaking itself apart as I come, gushing on his cock and squeezing it hard. August follows me over the edge, letting out a low groan as he pumps me full of his release. I’m breathless, slumped against the shelves, trying to remember how to move or do anything. My body is still trembling from the force of my pleasure, and I nearly stagger when August pulls out and steps back. By the time I can turn around to look at him, he’s pulling his pants up and tucking his cock away. Even though I’m positive he was just as into that as I was, he looks more put together, since he’s dressed and not oozing cum the way I am. “Clean up the fucking books,” he says, back to that angry, flat tone. Then he turns and walks out, leaving me there with the mess. Whatever bliss I was feeling a second ago evaporates instantly on the heels of my anger, and I’m pissed off all over again. Not about fucking him, but about the fact that it feels like he’s won something. Like he’s the one who came out ahead and has the higher ground now, even though I’m the one who instigated the confrontation.

 He walked out like he was fine and nothing had changed, but I’m the one slumped against a shelf like I’ve lost my equilibrium. August definitely had the upper hand while we were fucking. I needed him at that moment, and I hate that more than anything. He practically had me begging, poised on the edge of an orgasm I could only get from him, and he knew it. “Fucking asshole,” I spit, even though there’s no one there to hear it. I don’t need anybody. Least of all August. Or any of these fucking guys. “I’ll pick up your stupid books,” I mutter under my breath. I gather up the ones that fell off the shelves and make sure to smear his cum on the pages before slapping them shut and putting them away. The pages will get stuck together, and it’ll serve him fucking right.

[thedevilinmybrain]

this is the fic i was talking about that i started and just...never did anything with

Despite what television and movies would have one believe, once you've attended one college party - you've attended them all. It doesn't matter if it's in a cramped dorm room or a shitty apartment across town, it's always the same thing, the same cast of characters, the same outcome. Somehow, a fist fight will almost always break out. Someone will be left crying on the curb, waiting to be dragged home by friends. A couple will do a little too much in a too public place. And there is always a mess, sticky and suspicious, left on the floors and countertops.

It doesn't mean that the monotony doesn't have its own charms though. One can look around the room and finally settle into something that vaguely resembles home. There is an odd sense of serenity in knowing the gaggle of faces crammed into someone’s shitty apartment, recognizing who to approach and who to avoid, even the same pulsing, vibrating beat of the music has a certain familiarity with it.

After three months of the grueling summer heat, a sleepy college town emptied down to the locals, it's like a true revival to be here again. Louis lets himself sink into it, the atmosphere washing over him from the moment Zayn and him had wedged themselves in through the front door. It's an overwhelming and overstimulating experience. The lights are mostly off, just a few low lamps and a string of brittle Christmas lights strung up along the top half of the living room. It's enough to give some illusion of ambience, a  subtle glow that makes faces vague and wandering hands mostly in shadow.

It's not that the decor really matters anyway - it's the thick press of bodies - people shoved together, talking, laughing, shouting that makes it feel more intense. Someone has wedged the large couch against the wall, a tangle of people crowded into the center rug as a make-shift dance floor. They're the reason so many people are shoved to the perimeter of the space, little clusters of friends perched around, leaning close, not minding when they get shuffled this way and that.

Someone has been wise enough to tape Tupperware containers over the smoke detectors. The curl of smoke hangs over it all, thick and coiling, the sharp scent of cloves mixing with another sharper - more exact.

As it is, Louis is settled against the wall in the hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room, a six pack of Magic Hat between his feet. Because, as he’d learned early in his college part career, if you want to drink the good stuff at parties – you bring your own and you keep it with you. It's doing a good job of keeping his pregaming at a steady level, the vodka they had shared in a water bottle on the way over still sitting warm in his chest.

"How was your summer?" Matt - a guy from Louis' figure drawing class last year - leans into his space, shouting to be heard over the music. His dark hair is cut short, curling up on the edges from sweat and humidity, a large chest tattoo peaking out from his v-neck.

"Boring. Glad to be back. You?" Louis asks, tries to remember if he's even spoken to Matt before. Probably, maybe a group project last fall?

"It was good. Spent some time road tripping in Virginia. Really nice down there. Was really good for like, my muse, ya know?" With a small scuffle, Matt's speckled Doc Martens bump into Louis' Vans, squeezing himself close as a group of girls wedge themselves by. They're laughing loudly, Smirnoff Ice held above their heads. "Do you hike at all?"

"What?" Louis turns his head, tilts his ear up.

"Do you hike? Like are you into hiking?" Matt repeats himself, his breath warm on Louis' neck. "Or outdoorsy stuff?"

"I mean, sure. Who doesn't like a night out under the stars, am I right?" Louis is lying. He's lying so well he almost believes himself. When was the last time he went camping? Maybe that overnight field trip with the Boy Scouts in third grade?

"You should come with next time." Matt grins, his teeth flashing even in the low light. It makes his face appear oddly young, the stubble around his lips thin and patchy. “Me and my friends did some molly and I swear, it really woke up my chakra, ya know? Like, I felt so intune with nature. I painted for like six hours. Some of my best shit."

"Oh yeah?" Eyebrows raised, Louis nods his head slowly. He could really use another beer, or five, or at least a shot of the tequila that he can barely make out on the kitchen counter.

He's saved a moment later from having to say anything when a warm arm suddenly slings around his waist, a shock of bleach blond hair nudging into his shoulder. Zayn is burning up, his thin tank top clinging to his chest, the sides cut open along his ribs. It's too hot in the apartment for all of the people that have managed to cram in, but it doesn't seem to dissuade anyone.

"Where have you been?" Zayn hollers, his voice sharp and loud directly in Louis' ear. "I've been lookin' for you! I left for two minutes and you disappeared!"

"I've been here!" Louis shrugs, has to shift his weight, spread a little wider to keep them both upright. Zayn's pupils are so blow his eyes look black, staring at Louis' through a scrunched brow. "Where have you been?"

"I went to the bathroom and fuck." Zayn keeps his grip firm on Louis' hip, reaches down, tugs a bottle out of the cardboard holder between Louis' feet. "I don't know. Fuck it. I'm here now though. Who is this?"

"Matt." Louis points between the two of them. "This is Zayn. Zayn, this is Matt."

"Yeah, man, nice to meet you." Zayn nods, fumbling his beer a little as he pats himself. "Ah, shit."

Matt just stands there, giving a close inspection of the two of them. Louis already knows the conclusion he's going to draw, wouldn't be the first, as Zayn gives up on his own pockets and reaches for Louis instead. It's the easy way Zayn fits against Louis' side, his hand curling casually into the front pocket of his skinny means to pluck out Louis' lighter. He uses the bottom of it to pop the top on his beer, lets the metal clink to somewhere on the floor, lost in the mass of feet. It's too familiar of a touch, too intimate, and Louis watches as Matt's mouth turns down a little bit more.

"Uh, hey man." Matt hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll catch you later, yeah?" He makes a little aborted motion with his hand, stumbles away with his 40 cradled to his chest before Louis can even reaction.

"<i>Shiiit.</i>" Zayn drawls, lets go of Louis to lean on the wall in the now vacated spot. "Were you trying to pull? I fucked it up, didn't I?"

"No." Louis rolls his eyes, takes the lighter back from Zayn's limp fingers and pulls his smokes out. He lights a cigarette, passing it over, before getting one started for himself. "He was trying to get me to go do molly with him and camp in Virginia and awaken my inner muse or some shit. I don't fucking know."

"You camping?" Zayn snorts derisively, shaking his head. "Outside? With bugs? And no wifi?"

"It's not the camping." Louis exhales a cloud of smoke up towards the ceiling, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh. Come on, Lou. You don't want to go out there and, let me guess? Become one with the higher powers of art?" Zayn's cackle is half drunk and half scathing. "Let's all just get in touch with ourselves and one another?"

"Semester hasn't started yet so if you could cut the hipster bullshit." Louis reaches out fast, flicks Zayn's ear. "<i>Thanks</i>."

Zayn makes to retaliate, hand already raised, when it's caught out of the air. A long arm covered in ink comes into view and suddenly Liam is stumbling forward into the them with a solid clunk. His beer bottle has dented the plaster a bit, a long scuff in the paint, but he doesn't even seem to notice as he smears a kiss to Zayn's cheek. Then one to Louis' temple.

"Oi! Payno, christ's sake!" Louis grumbles loudly, barely gets out of Liam's grasps as he means to drag the three of them into a group hug.

"My boys!" Liam croons, his face flushed and eyes glassy. They hadn't seen him when they came in, so there is no telling how long Liam's been here. His t-shirt is wet on the bottom though, wrinkled from what looks like the edge of a table. Liam's never been one to resist a beer pong tournament and his glassy eyes, red face give away that he was champion for a while.

"Easy, easy!" Zayn is laughing, leaning his cheek against Liam's as they straight up, nearly toppling into the couple making out behind them. "God, you fucking bear. Don't gotta maul me."

"Yeah? Thought you liked that?" Liam has that look in his eye suddenly, glinting as his eyes shamelessly roam over Zayn. This is a new development, barely started since the beginning of summer. They're still so new that the excitement hasn't even really started yet.

Louis lets his eyes roll away from them, tilts his body so he can see past and into the living room. It's dark in there, a collection of shadows and vague shapes, all milling around and dancing. Louis has half a mind to go out there, his cigarette now sitting in the bottom of his nearly empty beer. He could lose himself in the press of warm skin, strangers with wandering hands and sickly sweet breath. He knows he's already lost Zayn and Liam's attention, both of them still just staring at each other, having one of their silent conversations.

It’s not like he's big into dancing, not really, but the crowd is mostly just swaying into each other – bumping and pressed tight into a mass of moving part. Louis could do it, just wedge himself between some people and let the heat take over. It’s only a fleeting thought though, nothing coming of it. Through the sea of twisting legs, sprawled bodies, Louis catches the full view of the couch. There are half a dozen people squeeze onto the dark leather and Louis instantly scowls, feels the hackles on the back of his neck raise when he recognizes the man sitting directly in the center.

Colton Montgomery.

At least, that's what his name actually is. But a guy like that doesn't deserve to be called anything other than what he is. So, Louis refers to him as Asshole and Asshole only. Capital letter. Proper noun. Full stop. It's not like Louis to hate people like this - he's a people person! An extrovert with a loud mouth and a strong opinion. But there is a special spot in Louis' mind reserved for this guy.

Tall and blond and ridiculously handsome, Colton is the epitome of old money privilege. He's got an easy way of commanding a room, just steps through the door and grabs attention, draws a crowd. Maybe it's the luxury brands always draped across him or the perpetual tan that screams 'I just stepped off my yacht.' Or maybe it's the rumor that he's second cousins to the Rothschilds. Either way, where Colton goes, eyes follow.

That is until he ultimately opens his fucking mouth. All it had taken was one side eye, one long glance during Orientation Week for any awe to turn to ash on Louis' tongue. Colton and Louis had been assigned in the same dorm building, same floor even. And yet it was his cold, blue eyes glancing over Louis’ ripped jeans, his scuffed and holey Vans, a generic hoodie on, before contempt had settled in.

“They really will give anyone a scholarship here, huh?” Colton had sneered at his friends, his companions in vintage luxury brands, perfectly combed Martha’s Vineyard haircuts. It was all in that phrase, that hinted edge, the very unspoken hiss of ‘white trash’ and Louis had been done.

Sneering, Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. It was just bad luck that Colton and him seemed to show up at the same parties, were always seeing each other on campus, had suffered through a class together last year. In a private art school though, it is almost expected. Louis can’t fucking escape him. He’s always around and always with those side long glances, that sneering mouth.

Louis watches through the haze of smoke as Colton slings his arm around the shoulders of someone, his head tilted back in a slow, lazy grin. The guy, small and pretty, tucks himself into Colton's sided, a hand pressed to his chest. It's clear where this is heading - all coy with heavy eyes made glassy with alcohol - leaning in to whisper to one another. It's a party after all, but it's just the way Colton goes around it - cocky and spread out on the couch, like a king to his subjects.

Louis French exhales, lets the smoke spill out from his nose as he means to turn back to his friends, put the Asshole out of his mind, when something else draws his attention. More of a someone than a something. There is a guy cutting through the crowd, uses his arm to wedge between people. He's tall, head tilted down so the wave of his dark curls falls like a curtain over his face. He tosses it back with a quick hand, crushes it to the side, and Louis can see the edge of his sharp jawline, big eyes illuminated in the dim, Christmas lights. His full mouth is twisted into a thin line, only deepening the closer he gets to the edge of the dance floor.

Hands placed on thin hips, the guy stomps in front of Colton, motions his hand between him and the pretty boy tucked into his side. It's too far away and way too dark to make anything out as far as words, but whatever the guy says makes Colton pull back. He's shaking his head then, saying something placating and pushing the smaller guy away from him, hands up in something like faux innocence. The curl haired one instantly takes the now vacated sea, sits with his knees close together, a pronounced space between where he's sitting and Colton's thighs rest.

Louis keeps watching, can't look away, as the guy starts talking, his hands raised in a sharp shrug. Colton laughs at him, sharp and loud even over the music, but the guy doesn't smile back. Instead, he flinches hard, his ringed hand coming to rest against the base of his throat, like he's holding himself back, swallowing it down.

"Oi. Payno?" Louis drags his thumb along the length of his beer, scratches halfheartedly at the label. He's trying hard not to stare anymore, keeps sneaking glances up from his eyelashes. The guy is illuminated by the Christmas lights now, the glow  highlighting the pretty contours of his face. "Who is that?"

“Who?” Liam swivels his head wildly to the side, tries to grab a glance of who Louis is referring. He's in every club on campus; practically an expert on the whole student body. “Who’s who?”

“Stop making it obvious!” Louis hisses, reaches forward with his foot and purposefully presses the toe of his Vans into the top of Liam’s shoes. “Behind us. Long hair. Open shirt. Talking to <i>Asshole</i>.”

Liam turns his head again, uses Zayn’s shoulder as a bit of a shield as he stares down the length of the hallway and into the living room. It’s not hard to figure out who Louis is referring to, the boy perched on the very edge of his seat, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Whatever <i>Asshole</i> – Colton – is saying to him, he doesn’t look very happy.

“Oh, um, I think that’s Harry?” Liam squints a little. His cheeks are blotchy and red, his beer sweating all over Zayn’s tank top as he leans heavily into the other boy. “Styles. Yeah. Had an Art History class with him last semester.”

“Oh. Cool.” Louis makes a point of looking disinterested, apathetically shrugging his shoulders, but Zayn is fast. He’s known Louis since Freshman Orientation. He knows all of his tells.

“Oh. Oh no. Lou no.” Slumping on the wall, Zayn rests a hand heavily on Louis’ shoulder, shaking his head. “Look at who he’s with! He has trust fund written all over him.”

“I wasn’t-“ Louis instantly defends, hope that the darkness of the hallway covers his slow blush. “I was just wondering.”

"If you want to pull, I'll help you out." Liam slings an arm around Louis' shoulder, glances around at the people milling by. "Saw some Freshmen in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Lookin' like they could use some company."

"I'm not going to pull an eighteen-year-old. Thanks. Not desperate enough yet to rob a cradle." Louis shudders, thinks of his own teenage sisters back at home. It's only a three-year age gap but it feels like eons. "I'm going to get some air."

"Louis." Zayn tries this time, wraps his hand around Louis' wrist. “I was just playing.”

"I'll be back. Don't leave without me."

Louis leaves them too it, sees out of the corner of his eye as Liam tucks Zayn back against the wall. He's sure they'll be there when he gets back, preoccupied with staring at each other or doing whatever it is that they do now. It's still too new to be anything other than desperate touching, but Louis is waiting for a bit longer before he starts to pry.

Outside, the air is thick with summer humidity, the cicadas chirping loud and shrill in the trees. Louis finds himself alone on the back porch, just the lone alleyway street lamp to keep him company. His throat is starting to feel raw, dried out from the alcohol and the smoke inside. He combats it by taking another swig of his beer, digs his Marlboros out of his pocket again.  

The new semester starts in two days. Monday hanging like an omen - foreboding and dark. Louis will be a junior this year, nearly finished, halfway there. It's hard to put into words how he's feeling about it. Art has never been about being a release for him, as so many other people say. It's something else. When Louis creates something, he's not releasing anything. He's pulling it from within himself, he's making himself raw, bloody, bruised. There is a fragility, a kind of selfish selflessness in letting himself be known and then judged for it. It's exposing self inflicted scars and then praying that someone sees them and understands, views the beauty in the creation.

With photography, it feels even more genuine. Sure, you can create with lighting, angles, forced perspective, but there is a point where you can't hide anymore. It's not like other mediums where a vague shape or a color choice can be metaphor’d away. With photography, at the end of the day, it is what it is. All that is left as a barrier is the view of the artist and the view of the audience.

Louis thinks maybe he's been a little morose about it, should probably not be so introspective when he's sat in the dark on someone's back porch outside of the first party of the semester. Thankfully, he's only a third of a way through his cigarette and he's interrupted a moment later.

With a sharp bang, the backdoor opens and then closes, lets out a burst of noise from the party within and then muffles it in the same moment. The man who steps out is tall, thin shoulders hunched as he shuffles across the back porch, steps haggard in a way that is most likely from alcohol as the beer bottle in his hand knocks against the far bannister.

It's hard to make out any features other than his long legs, wrapped up in jeans and ending in a pair of boots, until the alley light catches on his face. It's a sharp contrast - the soft curl of his hair against a sharp jawline, the curve of a cupid's bow and full mouth, the pale light gleaming on the wetness of his cheeks. With a rough sniffle, he rubs the side of his hand under his nose in a sharp, jerking motion.

"You know." Louis can't help it, sets his hands on the banister so he can lean out of the shadows of the house. Call it liquid courage or maybe just dumb fucking instinct. Zayn’s not out here to tell him not to. "You really are too pretty to be outside crying at a party."

"Excuse me?" The man jolts a little, turning to see where Louis is perched, the curl of smoke from his cigarette coiling around the end of the deck.

"Just seems a shame." Louis grins a little, just the corner of his mouth tilted up. "Feel like you should be in there, holding court with a couple fashion majors or something, dancing your heart out. Not out here by yourself, crying over some fucking prick."

"I'm not- What-" The man blinks, rolls his shoulders back. There is a dainty silver chain hanging around his neck, a small circle pendant resting in the center of his sternum, shiny with sweat. "Who are you?"

“An unbiased observer.” Louis swings his legs, watches the guy shifting around on his feet. “And someone who knows that you’re wasting your time if you think some pretentious asshole is worth your time. Colton is a dickhead. You should find someone else.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brushing his hair over his shoulder, the guy rubs a hand along his cheek, mouth pulled down in a pout. He’s eying Louis now, gaze drifting over what he can see in the shadow of the house. “And I think you should mind your own business.”

“Alright. Sorry.” Carefully raising his hands, Louis relents as he slips off the bannister, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t trying to pry or anything. Just seemed like a shit reason to ruin a perfectly good party. First of the semester and all.”

“It’s a dumb party anyways.” The guy mutters, wipes at his other cheek now, a few stray tears still clinging to his jaw. “Who celebrates coming back to school anyways?”

“Ah, I don’t know about that.” Louis tilts his head back, watches the soft curve of the man’s mouth, lips flushed red from biting at them. “Why don’t you let me take you back inside? Get a drink and a dance? Take your mind off of it?”

“I-“ Looking up, a delicious sort of flush takes over his cheeks, and the guy looks decidedly certain before the backdoor is slamming open, Colton stepping onto the deck.

“Seriously? Jesus, Harry. It was a fucking joke. You’re always so sensitive.” Colton’s long, sun kissed arm thrusts forward, hand wrapping around the guy’s – Harry’s – wrist. “Are you seriously crying over – Oh!”

He stops when he spots Louis, takes one long look between the cigarette perched between Louis’ fingers, the blown out knees of his jeans, the cheap beer in hand. Louis’ entire outfit probably cost less than one of Colton’s shoes, the leather gleaming in the light. Colton seems to cataloguing it all away too – the way Louis is staring and the way Harry is standing – only a few feet between them. Drawing conclusions, his grin turns brittle, haughty and sharp, tugging Harry half a step back and into his side.

“Tomlinson.”

“Asshole.” Louis greets, resists the urge to draw himself up. Colton only has a few inches on him, but it feels like miles.

“Haven’t dropped out yet?” Colton smirks, ignores the way Harry has gone stiff beside him, rubbing at his cheek. “They still letting you paying tuition in coins?”

“Well, you know what they say, it’s better to be given a scholarship based on talent than flash your daddy’s name and bribe your way in.” Louis snarls, feels his teeth grind together around the words.

“Bribe? Why would I need to bribe anyone?” Colton does that scoffing laugh of his, the sound sharp and scathing. “I know it must be hard for you to understand, but I didn’t bribe my way into this school. I was formally invited.”