#tn fic

[jesuistrestriste]

thinking about college!art inviting patrick to spend the night at his campus apartment

and when patrick arrives and sees you (art’s roommate) on the couch, he’s completely bewildered by how fucking hot you are.

“how could you not hit that?” he murmurs lowly and cheekily into art’s ear as the blonde shows him around the apartment unit

art just scoffs and shakes his head and pushes patrick’s shoulder roughly

“don’t. she’s nice and we have a good thing going. she does the dishes and i take out the trash,” he explains, “i’m not gonna ruin that.”

but patrick can’t stop thinking about you and your body and the way you waved to him when he walked in and set his bags down.

it’s all muddled in his head. and he slowly but surely coaxes art into divulging more information about you throughout the afternoon and early evening.

“yeah, she’s single.”

“yeah, she’s openminded.”

“yeah, she’s adventurous.”

somehow the night ends with the three of you on the couch in the living room; drinking and watching a stupid horror movie.

you all laugh and point and make comments about the main character’s faults. and then patrick’s hand is on your left thigh, and art’s is on your other. and then you’re all kissing; a clash of tongue and teeth and heavy breathing. and then they’re both messily grasping at your shirt and your pajama bottoms, tugging them off and tossing them aside as they groan into your neck and your mouth.

in the next instant, patrick is flipping you over and positioning you on your hands and knees on the cushions, your head facing art’s crotch while your ass is being grinded against by the front of the brunette’s tented shorts.

one torn-open wallet condom later, and patrick is actively thrusting into your sopping cunt while he holds your hips and watches your hands fumble with the tie of art’s sweatpants

art’s hips lift as he pushes his bottoms down, along with his boxers, and then he’s gently coaxing your head down to suck his cock while his best-friend fucks you senseless from behind

you’re moaning around the precome and aching flesh throbbing in your mouth, but you suck art until he whimpers and comes down your throat with a sharp, shaky moan; hips jolting and accidentally forcing more of himself inside as he gushes and you swallow

patrick finishes in the condom not even ten seconds later, spurred on by the sound of art’s release and the way your core clenches around him, and he’s groaning heavily as his length floods the latex. his body curls in forward, his chest against your back, and he reaches down to squeeze your tits in his palms as he shudders out the last waves of his high

art had potentially changed (ruined?) his platonic roommate relationship with you forever, but patrick had gotten his fill. and art had too, even if he didn’t want to admit it. he’d been pining for long enough, and all he needed was a push from his former doubles partner to give in.

art thinks it was worth it.

[johnslittlespoon]

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) ♡

'Gale looks unfairly handsome in the soft golden light of the late evening, but even more unfair is the fact that John can’t just bridge the gap between them and kiss his feelings away. The more time he spends around Gale, the more it feels like he’s being consumed by his overwhelming infatuation, and there’s not a single thing he can do about it that doesn’t involve the risk of scaring the man out of his life.

So he shuts the truck door behind him after promising Gale he’ll text when he’s safe inside, and he tries not to stare too forlornly as the truck putters off down the street and rounds the corner.'

[ AO3 ]

[otrtbs]

what are your favourite fics!!! i am in desperate need of recs and i trust your taste in life🫡

aksjfhkghweruh RAHH HELLO IM GIVING U FICS

all time favorite fic of all time ever is: For All Those Pages Thumbed by Star_flaming

Filch is the art conservator at hogwarts and takes care of all the paintings and the art history and the magical blended together is soOOo good. So. Good. trust me on this.

stop all the clocks (this is the last time i'm leaving without you) by firethesound

Drarry. Leaves you with that achy hollow feeling at the end. I still get a lump in my throat thinking about the last lines.

running on air by eleventy7

drarry again. the feeling this fic leaves you with is something so specific and indescribable. but if you've ever been driving at night with all the windows down with a great playlist and the person you love next to you where everything is soft and safe and maybe there's a sea breeze where you can smell the salt in the air or the hazy lights of the city. but you have never been more content and at peace THAT. that is the vibe of this fic.

blends by rvltn909

wolfstar. coffee.shop. need i say more? i think no. great read for your rainy autumn.

A Wolf's Heart by MizDiz

wolfstar againnnn. you will cry and die and cry again. also. no, the book isn't real. :(

Alice, Look at Me by rollercoasterwords

Alcissa. people died dead and by people i mean me, i died dead. and often think of the line "This is how life is: January cracks like an eggshell, spilling out the yellow yolk of time." changed my life.... (also shout out to nothing fades like the light (jegulus) by rae as well. 13/10 reading experience

Kill Your Darlings by MesserMoon

i cried, i giggled like a maniac, i screamed into my pillow, i was plagued by these characters when i was away from them. i had an overwhelming desire to sink my teeth into bcj. hockey AU.

[pricelessemotion]

sweet dreams, tennessee

summary: [4.5k] Upon visiting your grandma for the summer, you're greeted by more than one familiar face.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: references to alcohol and death of a parent, childhood friends to lovers, slow burn (?)

series masterlist | navigation

Chapter One: Welcome home, Honeybee

An hour or so outside of Nashville is a town called Sweet Dreams, too small to show up on any map. The ones who want to make it out, bask in the irony. They say this town is exactly the place where dreams go to die. 

Most people who have the privilege of leaving Sweet Dreams don’t come back. They watch the dust kick up in the rear-view mirror and say good riddance. But you’re not like most people. 

You tip the taxi driver extra, even though he’s dropping you off at the edge of the property and you have to tug two suitcases and a backpack through a quarter mile of dusty road. The walk gives you time to think. Time to breathe. The air is different here, fresher. You can’t remember the last time you got to walk outside in the middle of the day and only have birdsong to keep your thoughts company. You’d thought that the vast emptiness would be a good change of scenery. You’d thought that the neverending din of the city was clogging up your brain, making your thoughts scramble like eggs in a hot skillet on Sunday. Now, they echo back to you, sung back in the form of mockingbirds. You don’t know if it's better. It’s just different. 

By the time you make it to the paved driveway, your arms are aching and there’s a current of sweat making its way down your back. You’re barely twenty feet from the door when Nana appears in the open front doorway. Upon catching sight of you, she’s barreling down the porch steps, holding her sun hat to the top of her head so that it doesn’t fly off. Dropping the handles of your bags, you allow the woman who basically raised you to engulf you in the best hug this side of the Mississippi. She smells like fresh soil, powdery perfume, and everything that’s good about the world. 

“You’re here! I told you that I’d pick you up at the airport! You didn’t have to call a cab,” She admonishes, before smacking kisses all over your face. “I missed you sweet pea.”

She looks older now, and the thought tugs at your chest. Her hair is more silver than anything and the lines around her eyes and mouth are deeper than in your memory. It’s only been a few years, but your grandmother wears an entire new lifetime lived without you on her face.

“I missed you too.” You let out a laugh but there’s a melancholy feeling to your words. You know that if you stir on them just a little bit more tears will start flowing out and never stop. You bury your face into the collar of her blouse, willing yourself not to cry.

“Well,” She says, taking a step back and putting her calloused hands on your shoulders. “Let me get a good look at you.” 

You smile, doing a little spin for her amusement. 

“Just like I thought. Even more gorgeous than the last time I saw you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks in response. You never quite knew how to take her constant compliments. Not only about your beauty, but your intelligence. 

“How’s your daddy doin’?” Her words are casual but her tone is clipped. Her lips curl in and she busies herself with brushing imaginary dust off your bare shoulders, looking at you like she’s trying to commit the sight to memory. 

You breathe out a sigh, “As good as he’s ever doing.” Which is usually not good, you think but don’t say. 

Nana only purses her lips, nodding in agreement. 

Both of you know that your dad hasn’t been the same since Mama died. Mama was a realist. That’s why she left Sweet Dreams in the first place. Your dad was a dreamer. Without your mom to anchor him to this world he was adrift. He was careless with what he had when he had it. Now, he doesn’t know what to do now that it’s gone. 

You fiddle with the strap of your backpack, feeling the weight of everything you brought with you digging into your shoulders. You should probably call him to let him know that you got here safely. 

“You must be exhausted after traveling,” Nana says, breaking you out of your reverie. “Let me just put my gardening stuff aside real quick, you can go ahead into the kitchen and I’ll fix you up something to eat.”

You nod and step inside the house, taking your baggage with you.

—

The fridge, or as Nana likes to call it the frigidaire, looks exactly the same as you remember it. Magnetic alphabet letters are used to hang up reminders and photos. She still has the same drawing that you gave her for Mother’s Day all those years ago, the crude crayon stick figures of the two of you standing side by side in a wide-open field. Now, there are signs of aging, the paper yellowed and curled at the edges. 

Aside from your childhood art, there are wedding announcements and Christmas cards a plenty. You recognize one of the faces. James wasn’t related to you but that didn’t matter. In Sweet Dreams, everyone was family. He was getting married to a woman named Elizabeth at the end of the summer. You can’t help but smile at the picture of him, his future wife, and his daughter. 

The last time you saw Winnie, James’ daughter, her mother had still been alive. The news of her untimely demise and James’ sudden status as not only a young widower but a single father had caused aftershocks that made their way all the way out to you in California. It was nice to see how happy the three of them looked together. You remind yourself to let Nana know that you want to see them soon. 

“Miss Mellie? I’m done with the car. There was something wrong with the fuel tank.” A man comes into the kitchen through the back door, dressed in a white tank top and blue jeans, wiping the grease from his hands with a rag.

He stops, eyeing you curiously. “You’re not Miss Mellie.” 

“I’m not,” You say, dropping your backpack onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. 

Just then the screen on the kitchen door bursts open. The bottom has been busted for years and never repaired, for the benefit of the four-legged basset hound that’s bounding towards you. You light up at the sight of him, but your joy is cut short by the comment of the strange man who has yet to introduce himself.

“Careful. Jackson gets nervous around strangers.”

Jackson only pants in response to the man’s statement, gleefully sniffing your shoes before licking the exposed skin of your calves. 

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’m not a stranger.” You mutter leaning down to scratch the dog behind his ears. “You don’t have to tell me about my dog, I was there the day he was born.” 

Jackson was the runt of the litter. You had picked him out, seeing how he was weaker and smaller, being trampled over by his brothers and sisters. Your father had given you a funny look when you pointed at the weak little thing and said that one! The look quickly went away once Nana gave him a look of her own.

“No shit.” The man leans back on the counter with all of the comforts of someone who knows this house like the back of his hand. He puts down the greasy rag, running a now clean hand along the sharp line of his jaw, his expression a mixture of disbelief and recognition. 

“Now,” You huff, standing straight again much to the chagrin of the dog still panting at your feet. “Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing in my house?”

Your snippy attitude doesn’t seem to have the desired effect because he only looks right back at you with an easy smile. 

“Y’know, I’m a little offended that you don’t remember me, Honeybee.” 

Despite the heat of the Tennessee summer, you’re frozen. Only a handful of people have ever called you that. One of them bursts through the kitchen doors, holding a stack of mail in her hands. 

“Steven!” Nana exclaims, confirming your suspicions. “You all done with the car?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Oh please Steven, you know you don’t need to call me that.” Her tone is lightly scolding but from the curl of her lips, you can tell that she likes it. Nana has always been a stickler for good manners. “I see you’ve found my grandbaby. Isn’t she a beauty?”

His smirk only grows deeper as he tips his head. “Must run in the family.” 

She turns her attention to you. “You remember Steven, don’t you sweet pea? The truck was making a noise that was something awful. He offered to fix it up for me.” 

Steve looks decidedly bashful, shaking his head and casting his gaze down to the floor. “It was nothing.” 

Nana doesn’t even take into account his modesty, instead barreling through the rest of the conversation like she always does. It’s a wonder that she’s thrived in such a slow and peaceful town all her life when she constantly lives and talks at twice the speed of everyone around her. Everyone else is left trying desperately to keep up. “The two of you used to be thick as thieves, I swear. Could never find one without the other.” 

“I remember,” You murmur, only chancing a glance at the boy across the room who seems to have turned into a man overnight. You guess that’s what six years apart will get you.  

You remember Steve’s mother. She was a sweet woman when she wanted to be, if a little self-absorbed. Every summer they spent in Sweet Dreams her accent would fall into its natural rhythm and syncopation, annoying the hell out of Mr. Harrington. He always had a sneer on his face, screwed up like he had just taken a bite out of a lemon and was waiting for the sting to subside. He only showed up for the first and last week of the season, to usher his family in and out of his wife’s hometown. 

Steve always acted a bit tougher with his father around, puffed out his chest, and forced his voice to go deeper. You once pointed this out to him and he gave you a nasty look and told you that he had no idea what you were talking about. 

You apologized and Steve forgave you in the way that kids do, over brown lunch bag trading sessions, with plastic-wrapped treats being exchanged between sticky fingers. You never brought up his father again. For all of his father’s watchful eyes, his mother was the complete opposite. She was one of those people who believed that children shouldn’t be seen or heard. So, she pawned Steve off to the dusty streets of Sweet Dreams, knowing that whatever trouble he could possibly amount to was limited by the fact that the town was so small. 

But Sweet Dreams didn’t always feel so small. In fact, when you were a kid the entire world seemed only to exist in a twenty-mile radius. 

Steve clears his throat. “Well, if that’s everything I’ll go get cleaned up.” 

“Oh! Actually, could you be a dear and take the luggage that’s by the front door into the guest room?” Nana asks. 

Steve flashes an award-winning smile. “Anything for you, Miss Mellie.”

Nana shoos him out of the kitchen with promises of a good dinner and even more thanks. You’re still stuck on the fact that Steve Harrington is in Sweet Dreams and apparently has been for a while if the way your grandmother was interacting with him was any indication. 

“He’s staying in the old shed.” She explains, sensing your confusion. She’s already opening the fridge, pulling out a pitcher of iced tea that immediately starts sweating in the Tennessee heat. Your mind is stuck on the soft thudding of heavy footsteps on the wooden staircase. The sixth step still creaks after all this time. “Fixed it up and everything. It already had a bathroom and a waterline, so all he had to do was make it livable.”

You can only think of offering a hum in response, grabbing one of the floral glasses from the cabinet, and pouring yourself a cup. It tastes like home. 

“I’ve got you all set up in your Mama’s old room. Figured you’d like the sunlight. I pulled out the yellow bedspread, I remember that one being your favorite.”

Tears collect in your eyes. It’s been a while since anyone has paid attention to you long enough to remember anything insignificant about you. Nana collects every small detail like they’re precious, saving them for a rainy day so she can show you just how much you mean to her. 

“Thank you, Nana.” You manage to choke out. You want to say more. You want to give her an explanation for why you dropped everything and showed up at her door. You’re not ready for any of that. 

“Of course, darlin’.” She says simply, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s good to have you home.” 

“It’s good to be home.”

—

Nana tells you to go upstairs and unpack–she purposefully set today aside for you to relax and unwind, knowing that you would probably be exhausted after traveling for so long. The reprieve is temporary, though. She’s assured you that the entire town has been informed of your stay and that her birthday party will also serve as a welcome home party for you.

Despite your insistence that you don’t want to take away the spotlight from her, she only winked and told you no one can take the spotlight from me, sweetie. Everything’s been prepared for the party tomorrow night. You’re already dreading the questions that you don’t have the answers to. 

You make your way upstairs, avoiding that creaky sixth step. The walk to the room is daunting. The bedroom door has been left slightly ajar, and rays of sun are peeking through the crack, the only source of light in the dark hallway. 

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open. It looks exactly as you remember it. The curtains are drawn, allowing the north-facing windows to showcase the wide-open fields and dusty roads that you know and love. 

The yellow bedspread is there, just like Nana said it would be. It’s sunbleached after so many years, but it still feels soft and comforting. 

Your mother’s painting is still in the same spot. Looking at it, you can tell it’s never been moved the way the corners of the wallpaper around it give it away. Anyone with a keen eye can see how the pale sage green walls were once deep and rich, having faded away like so many other things in Sweet Dreams do. By sitting right where it always was.

Taking a deep breath, you move to unpack everything. The drawers in the vanity are all empty, except the one in the very center. It’s locked, and despite your best efforts, remains that way. 

On the vanity, there’s an old picture frame. The photograph inside is of a memory you cannot believe you’d forgotten. You’re sitting cuddled up next to your mom. It was the day that you’d gotten Jackson, and he was so small you could still hold him in your little eight-year-old hands. 

You’d refrained from smiling for weeks at that point, utterly mortified at the gaps in your mouth from losing your two front teeth at the same time. In that moment, though, you were smiling so wide. Jackson had gone from sitting quietly in your lap, to jumping up to lick you on the chin. The shock and subsequent squeal of laughter had been captured and kept. 

You move the frame to the bedside table. It’s good to be home, you tell yourself. For the first time today, you’re not quite sure if you mean it.

—

“Is James coming tonight?” You ask in between bites of fresh strawberries and buttered toast.

The temperature in the kitchen is nothing less than sweltering. You’d been spoiled out in California, living near the bay and rarely having to worry about the weather climbing above seventy-five degrees. The room is in a state of organized chaos, with all of the food being prepared and cooked for the party. Nana stands at the back end of the kitchen, her back to you. She’s been up since the crack of dawn, placating your insistence to help her with food and conversation.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. He called this morning. Winnie’s got a toothache and he and Betty decided to stay home with her. I know you were looking forward to seeing them.”

“It’s okay,” You assure her. “Just would’ve been nice to see a friendly face.” 

She turns the dough on the counter before folding it over and kneading it. There’s flour all up and down her forearms and most likely butter under her fingernails. “Steven’s coming,” She reminds you as if that fact is supposed to be reassuring.

“Right, of course.” You try to keep the apprehension out of your voice. “Steven.”

The truth is that you don’t know where you stand with him. You’d heard his voice from the top of the stairs last night, all full of polite regret that something had come up and he couldn’t attend dinner. The next sight you caught of him was his back as he rode off into the distance.

“He’s single, y’know,” Nana says, punching circles into the dough and setting them onto a baking tray. “He’s been working on the farm for about a year now. Real helpful.” 

You know the farm isn’t what it used to be. After the passing of your grandfather, a lot of the acreage was sliced up and sold off to neighboring farms. They give your Nana tiny cuts of the profit, something to do with southern hospitality and it being a widow’s homestead. She’s still gardening, though she probably shouldn’t given her old age. Trying to take gardening gloves from Nana Monroe is like trying to wrangle a wild horse. Still, Steve’s wage must be meager, all things considered. No wonder why he’s living in a shed. 

“Nana, I didn’t come here to date.”

“Well, what did you come here for?” She says, turning around and crossing her arms. Then, realizing the harshness of her words, she sighs. Dusting flour off of her palms and onto her worn apron, she rubs her thumb across your cheekbone. You can’t help but revel in the gesture. “You know I love having you around darlin’, but I know you didn’t decide to come spend the summer with your grandma just for kicks.”

The truth of the matter wasn’t easy. It was hard to swallow and tasted a lot like failure.

“I haven’t figured it out just yet, but when I do I’ll let you know.” 

—

Drinks have been poured, food has been served, and the birthday cake has been cut. It seems the entire population of Sweet Dreams has overtaken the living and dining rooms, and you wouldn’t be shocked if that ended up being the case. If you had to count the number of inane conversations where you repeated the same five facts about yourself to people who haven’t seen you since you were fifteen, you might combust.

Everyone assumes that just because you go to school in California, you must be living the high life. Beaches and parties and sunsets on the West Coast seemed like a dream to those who live and die in land-locked states, yearning for the smell of salt air and sand beneath their toes.

You know better. California does have all the glitz and glam and charm that they seem to think it does, but it also is an agricultural state. The cities that aren’t highly populated, with bustling nightlife and celebrity mansions, are mostly cow towns. You’ve seen these places while driving down the 5 highway. It doesn’t escape your notice that the exact places that remind you the most of home, are the same ones that people pass by in hopes of getting to somewhere better. They sit in their air-conditioned cars and breathe through their mouths, hoping to drown out the stench of cow manure. 

Never mind the fact that the curtains for your dorm were too sheer to block out the city lights, leaving you up for all hours of the night. Or the fact that, while you loved the beach, sometimes you longed for freshwater and mud between your toes rather than salt and sand. You still brought back pictures from when you and your friends decided to take a weekend trip, forking over small amounts of gas money and bartering meal plans in lieu of cash. The pictures spin a different story. One of a girl who knows what she’s doing and living her best life. Never mind that the thread being spun felt more like you were coming unraveled. 

The back porch has always been your refuge when parties get too loud and the temperature inside gets so hot that it seems like even the floral wallpaper has started wilting. You sneak out through the kitchen door, relieved that there’s no one there to catch you. Nana usually would have noticed your absence by now, but she’s distracted. Uncle Chuck brought out his acoustic guitar and your grandmother has never passed up an opportunity to perform for others. 

You sigh, taking one last bite of rhubarb pie before setting the paper plate down on the ground next to you. Testing the porch swing, you’re delighted to find that it’s still just as sturdy as ever. It used to be that you’d have to sit at the very edge of the seat in order to get it to swing without help, the tips of your sneakers barely grazing the ground. Now, you lean back and your feet are planted steady on the wooden planks below. 

You and Steve used to play pirates here, pretending that the sway of the swing was the rocking of the ocean against a mighty ship. You’ve never felt more unmoored.  

The screen door creaks as it swings open, and you brace yourself for Nana’s lilting voice, telling you to come inside and entertain guests. It doesn’t come. Instead, a deep timbre casts itself out into the night air. Despite the lingering warmth of the day’s heat and the lack of a night breeze, you feel goosebumps rise up on your arms. 

“Not having a good time?” Steve asks. His figure is backlit, bathed in the golden light of the kitchen.

“No, I am. Just–” You take a moment to think of an explanation that won’t give too much away. “Needed a breather, I guess.”

He hesitates. “Maybe I should go then.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been told I take people’s breath away.” 

You roll your eyes in annoyance, but you can barely hide the smile that tugs at your lips. “You are insufferable, Steve Harrington.”

The smirk on his face grows into a full-blown grin. “It’s one of my better qualities.” 

Steve sidles up next to you, hand wrapped around a beer. It’s amazing to think that the last time you saw him, the two of you would have to bend backward to sneak the bitter liquor out of the coolers without anyone noticing. Now, you’re both of age to where nobody blinks an eye. The thought makes your chest feel tight. 

“So why are you out here?”

“Do you mean why am I in Tennessee? Or why am I on the porch?”

He shrugs. “Either one.”

You shrug your shoulders, sitting back and letting your feet swing and scrape across the wooden floorboards of the porch. “I just felt like I needed to come back. Remind myself of some things I felt like I was forgetting.”

Steve nods like he gets it, and opens his mouth as if to say something but decides against it. What instead comes out is an olive branch. 

“I’m sorry if I offended you with the whole Jackson thing yesterday.” He offers sincerely. “And about missing dinner. I was so busy working on the car yesterday that I forgot I had to fix the Tillman’s chicken coop.”

You put on an air of faux contemplation. “I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” 

“Thank god, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” He playfully puts his hand over his heart before letting it drop to his side, lingering in the limited space between you. “Took me a second to recognize you–you look so different.”

Steve looks different, too. Baby fat has melted away to reveal high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Once gangly limbs have filled out into broad shoulders and muscles that strain against the cotton of his t-shirt. He was always cute, you’d be remiss to pretend that he wasn’t. But the year in Sweet Dreams seems to have been treating him well because now he resides on this side of ruggedly handsome. 

“Good different or bad different?” There’s an underlying current of something in your question, but you’re not sure what. 

“Good different.” He casts a sidelong glance at you before looking out at the backyard, saying the next statement into the lip of his beer bottle. “Same bratty attitude though.” 

“Hey!” You squeal in mock offense, lightly smacking the back of your hand against his chest. The movement comes like a second nature, remnants from childhood squabbles. In the microseconds it takes for you to draw your hand away, you take notice of the solid mass of muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt.

He’s full-on smirking now. “Nice to know some things never change.” 

“You’re one to talk,” You retort. He quirks a brow at you. “You’ve always been such a charmer. I’m pretty sure you’ve got the entire female population of Sweet Dreams wrapped around your finger.”

He gives you a meaningful look. “Not the entire female population.”

You have a sharp reply sitting at the tip of your tongue, pointing directly at Steve, when someone calls his name from inside. It’s Uncle Chuck, insisting that the man sitting next to you join him in a duet.

“Well,” He stands up, brushing his palms on his denim-clad legs. “I should probably head back inside.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, only ever so slightly disappointed, but make no move to leave your spot on the porch swing. “Don’t let me keep you.” 

Steve opens the screen door but props it open with his foot. The golden light from the kitchen is on his face now, and you can see the soft edges of the boy you once knew.

“Welcome home, honeybee,” He says simply, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

With that, he steps back inside and the screen door slams shut. You’re left alone on the back porch, breathless. 

—

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

taglist: @corrodedseraphine

[rqsser]

GREASE AU - CLEGAN

“Bucky has always been independent. He finds comfort in someone for maybe three hours at most in one night, but then he’s gone like nothing ever happened. Oftentimes, he walks the shoreline down at the beach to find peace. But now, he’s found himself at ease in the presence of someone, he can’t seem to get him off of his mind…”

[astrobei]

hi everyone! i will be trying my hardest to get my current fic out by tonight as a little bday present from me to myself (finishing and publishing a wip🥳) and also from me to you guys (finishing and publishing a wip🥳)! thank you for all the bday wishes you guys are for real the sweetest <3

[cryobabyy]

another late night at the office (my bedroom) crunching numbers and responding to emails (writing slasher dilf fanfiction)

[mopopshop]

Angel out here breaking THEE Candace Parker’s double-double record.

And just like that… In her 20th WNBA game, Angel Reese has earned her 13th double-double in a row, surpassing Candace Parker’s previous record of 12.

AS A ROOKIE, SHE IS NOW THE WNBA ALL-TIME *AND* SINGLE SEASON RECORD HOLDER FOR CONSECUTIVE DOUBLE-DOUBLES!

That’s my ROTY!!!

[swans-chirping-in-the-distance]

Tam Song appreciation post

[mattscoquette]

i need to finish this she’s sitting pretty in my drafts collecting DUST

[johnslittlespoon]

what if. i wrote gale giving john a thighjob (not thighfucking, as hot as that is– i'm talking 'repetitive hip movements are too obvious in a room full of men so gale has john press up against his back and squeezes his thighs around his cock like the pulse of a heartbeat while john buries his face in the crook of his neck to muffle his noises and reaches around to jerk gale off simultaneously') while stalag bunk–sharing in yad(iym) lolllll. lol?

[nullapophenia]

{You want to make him happy.}

{You have to say it.}

[majorbaby]

re: the clairvoyant corporal

first and foremost it’s a running gag that henry and radar, as a seamless comedic duo, get a ton of mileage out of. i know that, but whatever: 

radar isn’t psychic, he’s just got his finger on the pulse of the war. his finger was nailed into place there by the united states army. he’s knows the ins and the outs of the 4077th, its various schedules, its needs, strengths and weaknesses. he could run it with his eyes closed. he’s not psychic, but he can read the war’s mind, like you and your best friend can communicate telepathically. 

he adjusts well to the 4077th because he’s good at adjusting. he’s a farm boy, so he’s accustomed to being in an environment that needs to run on a strict schedule. he’s from a rural america, so he’s accustomed to being stepped on and underestimated by enlightened middle class urbanites. sometimes he follows their example, falling into the trap of mistreating others he perceives as being beneath him. 

he’s versatile. he’s scrappy. he’s a good kid. sometimes he’s a bad kid. he’s a kid. 

he’s susceptible to being taken advantage of by people he cares about or looks up to. sometimes he has to trust that they won’t take it too far. he’s not stupid. he’s not a doctor, but he can do a lot of things the doctors can’t. administrative personnel are pillars of our society to this day. he’s a kid.

he organizes the enlisted men. he knows the fastest way to get under hawkeye’s skin is to treat him and trapper like officers. hawkeye disagrees in theory that the o-club should be closed to enlisted men, but radar forces his hand and makes hawkeye put it into practice. he knows the people in his unit. he knows the war. 

he puts too much weight on hawkeye’s shoulders. he’s not alone in that, he’s just the only one with an episode about it. he’s too old for hero-worship, but he’s younger than the rest. they all could stand to do better by hawkeye. 

maybe he is a little psychic, in the fantastical sense of the word. maybe he stills when he senses approaching choppers the way bugs and animals still when they sense approaching storms. when they (bugs, animals, people) realize what comes after the stillness, everyone scrambles into place. 

[pricelessemotion]

sweet dreams, tennessee | masterlist

summary: the sleepy town of sweet dreams holds many childhood memories for you. in the summer of '88, you make your way back to your hometown to visit your grandma and figure things out. when you get there, you're surprised to find you're not the only one who's taking a walk down memory lane.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

chapter one: welcome home, honeybee

chapter two

chapter three

a/n: this fic is shamelessly (and loosely) inspired by the Hannah Montana movie so all credit where credit is due, this is just for fun! :)

[s0fti3w1tch]

Promoting my friend's AU time (why? because I feel like it)

ROTTMNT AU Rec:

The Night

A Leo-Centric ROTTMNT separated AU Comic

Author: @y0unginhumans (formerly known as raymustardd)

You can read it on his comic account: @the-saturn-project

Summary:

Content warnings: Appropriate trigger warnings have been put where each subject is breached. Depictions of neglect, of child abuse, depiction of self-harm, and similarly themed topics that may not be suitable for all readers.

"Depression AU" as Ray likes to call it

All the turtles are raised separated. Raph with The Foot Clan, Donnie with Big Mama, and Mikey with Draxum. Meanwhile, Leo (or "Green"), is raised by Splinter.

The AU's story centers on Leo navigating the prospect of re-found family while also dealing with his depression. It's a journey he didn't expect to be involved in, but he's bored and doesn't want to be stuck in his head all day— Y'know what, sure! he'll follow the mutant softshell turtle who knocked him out via blunt-force he got better don't worry saying "I'm your brother." He seems pretty cool.

And wowza, he gets into a lot more than he bargained for. Hey, at least this something other than being bored!

THE NIGHT Masterpost Link! (AU Status: Ongoing)

Go read it :))

[stolenslumber]

though the stars walk backward (sjy) (preview)

Your first encounter with Jake Sim ends with ketchup on your clothes and his burger in his friend's lap. The second encounter doesn't go so smoothly, either. He thinks he might have gotten the hang of it by the third time, but as the saying goes: there is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

PAIRING: sim jaeyun x female reader GENRE: college au, one-sided enemies-to-lovers (the e2l part is short-lived lol sry), friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff, romance, jake as a star soccer player but also loser physics nerd WARNINGS: swearing, eventual kissing and suggestive content/sexual themes, familial angst/generational trauma (it's present and it's heavy but it's not suuuuuper heavy) WORD COUNT: ~2.5k (preview); final word count is, again, btwn me and god PUBLISH DATE: reallyyyyyyy hoping to get this out before my next semester starts but We'll See About That...

“Don’t freak out, but I think the girl you stare at in the library is staring back at you.”

Jake freezes with his burger halfway to his open mouth. “What? Where? And I don’t stare at her in the library—”

Jay nudges his friend’s jaw upwards. “I said don’t freak out.”

“At least he didn’t turn in her direction,” Sunghoon offers. But he says it while looking disdainfully at the ketchup dripping from Jake’s burger onto the dining hall table, so Jake isn’t all that comforted by it. 

Instead, he repeats “Where?” through gritted teeth. 

“At your four o’clock, but I wouldn’t get too excited about it.” Jay squints. “I’m pretty sure she’s glaring at you, honestly. Okay, seriously do not freak out, but she’s coming over here…”

Jake tries to figure out what to do with himself as you approach with alarming speed— should he fix his hair, or tuck his shirt in? Damn it, he doesn’t even remember if he’s wearing something clean today. Before he can fully comprehend it, you’re standing in front of him, looking as pretty as ever in a silky dress that floats down to your ankles. 

Your mouth opens to say something, and there’s a deep furrow between your brows that Jake longs to smooth out, but then his hands clamp down on his burger, and— “Oh shit, dude, I’m so sorry!” 

Bright red ketchup decorates the front of your pristine white dress.

Your jaw drops, as does your gaze, fixated on the ugly red splotch spreading over the fabric covering your stomach. Everything you’d been meaning to say to him flies out of your head, replaced by blood rushing in your ears as your anger grows at the foolish oaf in front of you. “This is dry clean only,” you hiss.

Jake drops his burger in Jay’s lap, ignoring his friend’s squawk of indignation. Hurriedly, he wipes his hands on some napkins and tries offering them to you before cowing under your withering glare. “I am so sorry,” he repeats. His arms flail at his sides before he picks up the cardigan lying next to him and hands it to you. “You have a library shift coming up, right? Please feel free to wear this until you can get home and change. I have class until two, but I can take your clothes to the dry cleaners afterwards. I’m really so sorry!”

Your mouth shapes around air a few times as you work out exactly how to respond to him, but then your phone buzzes to remind you of your library shift— it is coming up— and you decide that you’ll deal with this— and him— later. Unhappily, you grab the proffered cardigan. “Two o’clock. Don’t be late.” And then you twist on your heel and depart, leaving Jake to stare sadly at the swish of your hair against your back.

“Are you gonna take my clothes to the dry cleaners, too?” Jay intones dryly from beside him.

Jake groans and sinks back down into the booth, covering his face with his hands and shaking his head repeatedly. “I can’t believe that just happened. I have to walk into traffic now.” Before Jay can say anything else, Jake tacks on, “And yeah, give me your pants.”

“Damn, take me to dinner first. Oh, wait, I guess you did offer me food.” Jay plucks the burger out of his lap and deposits it onto Jake’s plate pointedly.

Sunghoon lets out a whistle between his teeth. “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone fumble so badly. Like, seriously, that should be studied in a lab.”

“I got nervous!” Jake exclaims. 

Sunghoon chortles. “Clearly. Cute girl comes over, and you not only call her dude, but you also squirt ketchup all over her.”

Jake kicks him in the shin, hard. “Can you not pile on?” 

“Sorry, sorry.” Sunghoon holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Was that the first time you interacted with her?”

Unhelpfully, Jay pipes up. “Unless you count staring at her in the library interacting, I’d say yes. Speaking of, how do you know her schedule, bro? You’re creepier than I thought.”

Jake jabs him with an elbow. “My class got canceled once and I saw her at the library then, okay? Some of us actually have homework, Socrates and Warren Buffet.” He rolls his eyes at Sunghoon (philosophy) and Jay (business) in turn. “And again, I don’t stare!”

A few hours later, Jake stares at the back of your head.

He’s not in his usual spot in the library, which is a round table near the windows on the mezzanine level— straight line of sight to one of the reference desks, but he did not pick that spot on purpose, no matter how much his friends like to joke that he did. He’s been sitting in that spot since the first day of his freshman year; he’d chosen it because he like being able to see out into the quad, and the noise level in that area is perfect for him (not too quiet, which would make him fall asleep, and not too loud, which would just make him want to join in on wherever the fun was). He couldn’t have known that you would show up halfway through last year, get a job as one of the students manning the reference desk, and then occupy the exact spot his eyes tend to rest on when he zones out.

And he really couldn’t have known that you would be so pretty.

It doesn’t help that you’re in practically all of his classes this year, and he’s had the opportunity to talk to you every day for the past two weeks if he wanted to. He’s not the most shameless person in the world (Sunghoon), but he’s also not scared of his own reflection (Heeseung), so why couldn’t he have just introduced himself like a normal person on the first day of classes and avoided this whole ketchup fiasco?

Someone comes up to the desk to ask a question, and your head tilts toward them as the afternoon sunlight frames your face just so; Jake gulps and thinks, Oh yeah, that’s why. So pretty. And dizzyingly smart, if the way he sees your pencil fly over quizzes is anything to go by.

As if sensing his eyes on you, you twist around fully to catch him staring after you’ve answered the question of the person in front of you. Jake blinks deer-in-headlights eyes at you; if this was a cartoon, there would be a ?! above his head.

Your own eyes narrow at him and you jerk your head in your own direction. Get over here.

Jake gulps and straightens up before shuffling over to you. He kind of feels like he’s walking to the gallows, but on a flower-lined path, because his cardigan on you softens you around the edges, and you look right at home in it. 

“Heeeeeeey.” He raises a hand and waves at you, even though he’s right in front of you. He winces before you can even raise a skeptical eyebrow at him, but then you do, so he grimaces. “Sorry, that was weird. Uh, hi.”

You nod curtly at him. “Hi. I’m done in two minutes. Thanks for being on time.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he mumbles to the floor. Luckily, you don’t catch it because you’re packing away the problem set you were doing in between answering student questions, which he chances a glance at because hey, he’d been having trouble with page 157.

Of course, you catch that. “What are you, twelve? Do your own work.”

“Wait, what? Hold on a second, I’m not trying to cheat off of you— hey, wait up!” He scrambles to catch up with you where you’re already halfway down the stairs. Panicked, he speeds past you and plants himself in your path, greeted by your look of supreme irritation for the second time that day. “I wasn’t trying to cheat off of you,” he says, more firmly this time. “I was just gonna ask you how you did with page 157, because I was having some trouble with it earlier.”

You scoff and slide to the left to go around him, only to be met by him mirroring you. “Are you serious right now? Get out of my way.”

“We’re going to the same place!”

“Yeah, and now I’ve remembered that I can pay for my own dry cleaning. Move.” You go right, and he follows.

“I’m still coming— I gotta take Jay’s pants there. I dropped my burger in his lap earlier when, well, you know.”

You go left again, and he follows once more. “Okay, for real? Let me go, asshole.”

Jake drops his backpack off his shoulders and hoists it onto his knee, rummaging around in it while still blocking your path. You think he’s officially lost it, but you’re also never one to miss an opportunity, so you feint to the right and then go left, but he’s faster and blocks you again with his head halfway buried in his backpack. Damn it, he’s good. You don’t realize you’ve said it out loud until he looks up at you and smiles sheepishly. “Soccer team,” he explains. Oh— that reminds you why you were approaching him at the dining hall in the first place, and real anger resurfaces in your blood. 

“Like I care,” you snap. You’re about to just shove him down the stairs and call it an easy day when you’re met with a crumpled piece of graph paper waved in front of your face. “What the hell is this?”

“Next week’s problem set! See, look, I finished everything except the problems on page 157, and I did get started, but I just wanted to check if I was on the right path, okay? I promise, I wasn’t trying to cheat off of you.” He frowns. “These aren’t even graded for quality. It’s just a submission for completion.”

Your eyebrows climb up your forehead. Though his handwriting is shit, you can see that he’s telling the truth. The fact that he’s doing the problem set for next week probably should have tipped you off in and of itself, but what surprises you is the simple elegance with which his calculations come out. “Hey, how’d you do that on number 89 on page 151—” You cut yourself off. “Never mind. Fine, I believe you. Can you move now? We’re blocking the entire stairway.”

Jake seems to finally notice the build-up of annoyed students in front of and behind you both. “Right, oops.” He zips up his backpack and slings it over one shoulder before descending the stairs with quick steps. He turns around and tilts his head quizzically at you when you don’t follow. 

Truthfully, you’re trying to decide if you should make a break for it and go up the stairs so you can take a different set of stairs down, but then you realize how childish that sounds. So, it’s with less dignity than you’d like that you meet him at the bottom of the staircase. But you don’t stop where he’s standing; instead, you breeze past him so smoothly that he finds himself staring at the back of your head for a few seconds before springing into motion after you. 

“Soooooo… dry cleaner’s?” He offers you a tentative smile once he’s fallen into step with you.

You seem to have made your mind up about something, because you turn to him with a dazzling smile that knocks the breath right out of his lungs. “Lead the way.”

“O-Okay.” He’s taken aback by your sudden about-face, but he’s not going to question it.

He tells you that he’s happy to drive there, and you’re perfectly agreeable about it. You even start talking about the problem set that had been the source of such strife just minutes earlier. At the dry cleaner, you give him the biggest surprise yet when you ask for his number. Obviously, he gives it to you, and he has to pretend like he isn’t perturbed by the cryptic, almost manic look in your eyes when you promise that you’ll be in touch.

But then you’re gone without so much as a goodbye, and it’s only when he gets back to his place that he realizes he doesn’t even know how you got home, and he can’t text you because he doesn’t have your number.

Still. A win is a win.

ball sports (derogatory) (heeseung, jay, jake, sunghoon) 

jake: this has been the strangest and possibly greatest day of my life

sunghoon: ur preaching to the choir ketchup boy

sunghoon: yizhuo told me i was hotter with blonde hair

sunghoon: so like hell yeah she thinks im hot but hell no now i have to dye my hair back

jake: ????? did i ask

jake: i’m talking about MY day

jay: she actually did not say you were hotter with blonde hair. in fact none of those words came out of her mouth 

jay: you asked if she liked your new hair and she said no

sunghoon: hop off my dick tf????

heeseung: so what happened jake

sunghoon: oh i can tell u this it’s old news

sunghoon: jake fumbled his first interaction w/ the girl he stares at in the library

jake: BUT she asked for my number and said she’d be in touch!!!!

sunghoon: right so u can pay for her dry cleaning bill

jake: OR maybe she wants to be friends

jake: to lovers&lt;3

jay: idk she kinda looked like she wanted to take you out when she was coming over to us at lunch today

jake: LIKE ON A DATE?????

jay: no like

jay: lethally

women’s rights and wrongs (you, minjeong, aeri, somi)

you: so you know how i was gonna confront jake today

yizhuo: yeah i heard that went poorly

yizhuo: sunghoon said something about ketchup????

you: nvm all that. i have a Better Plan. i’m gonna ruin his life

minjeong: cool

somi: noooooo he’s hot

you: HE RUINED MY BROTHER’S LIFE

somi: girl u have to let that go

somi: ur brother is 10 and made it to the B team for club soccer

somi: i think he’ll be fine

you: BUT HE SHOULD’VE BEEN IN THE A TEAM. I SAW JAKE’S BEADY EYES SINGLING HIM OUT UNFAIRLY

somi: he actually has like insane puppy dog eyes

you: anyways i’m going to systematically but subtly make his life more and more difficult as soon as i start assistant managing his soccer team on monday. but he will never know it’s me bc i’m going to be so nice and normal to his face BUT ACTUALLY i’m gonna make him my bitch

yizhuo: “nice and normal to his face” u have the worst poker face i’ve ever seen

minjeong: technically speaking if ur an assistant manager aren’t u THEIR bitch