#two burner gas stove

[omichef]

And O for "OH MY GOD"

This sleek designed well looking handsome buoy will make every one say that, when they see this on your kitchen shelf!

#omichefofficial #omichef #cook #cheflife #cooking #outstanding #gas gasstove #brass #brassburn #brassburner #trending #explorepage #kitchendesign #kitchen#branding #amazing #instagood #instagram #sleek #kitchendesign #designed #kitchen #shelf #kitchenshelves #chef #newpost #new

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 4

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

CW: medical drama; food control; sexual assault

-

The first seizure comes out of the blue. 

“Did you leave the gas on?” 

“Of course not.” 

Johnny sniffs the air. “C’n smell it.”

Simon sighs a little. Against his better judgment, he leans back in his chair at the table, stretching away from the Jenga tower so that he can see around the kitchen island and confirm what he already knew: all four of the stove’s gas burners are in the off position.

Johnny has been using everything in his power to try to distract Simon from this game meant to help him attune his fine motor skills. Twice he’s gone to take a piss in ten minutes. Already once he’s knocked down the tower on purpose by bouncing his foot beneath the table. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if he were hoping the apartment would burn to the ground—anything to keep him from having to reach out with his left hand and work a tile free from the tower. 

“Gas is off,” Simon says. 

When he looks back, Johnny is gone. He’s right there, seated stiffly in his chair, but his stare is a thousand miles away, his mouth parted like he has lost his thought in the middle of a sentence. Then the sounds start: wet smacks of his mouth as he licks his lips again and again. 

“Johnny.” 

No response. 

Simon knocks his chair clean over standing up out of it. He takes Johnny by the shoulders and feels the stiffness in his muscles, the unwillingness to move. He doesn’t quite know what it is, not yet, but the possibilities whirl in his head like a cyclone: seizure maybe, or a stroke, or a burst aneurysm. Maybe Johnny’s brain is bleeding again, the pressure building inside his skull. Maybe this time, he’ll die. 

Not on Simon’s fucking watch. 

-

Johnny is already coming-to by the time the paramedics arrive. He is confused, convinced that he is missing school and his mother will take him o’er her knee. Simon stands there like the most useless lump in the world while the medics flash lights in Johnny’s eyes and take his blood pressure and listen to his heart.

“Sounds like a seizure,” one of the medics tells him. “But the hospitalists will be able to tell you more.”

“He’s not going to be happy about that.” 

“Who ever is?”

They have to fight him to get him on one of the stretchers to take him to the ambulance, and Simon feels liable to shatter watching them strap him down just like they did so often in the hospital when he first woke up, when he couldn’t even remember his own name or where his arm had gone. When all he knew was pain and his own fury.

Do something, you useless idiot, his mind whispers. He pushes through the paramedics (who are used to being bullied around by patients and family, but perhaps are not used to being bullied around by someone who looks like Simon, so they part like water for Moses) and takes Johnny’s hand, pulls it to his mouth and swears he tastes blood. Johnny’s wild, confused eyes find him. 

“Johnny. Calm down. Let ‘em do their jobs, yeah?” 

“Who are you?” Johnny bellows, trying to wrench his hand free. He nearly topples the stretcher, unaware of his own strength. He will ache something fierce in the morning. “Get out of my house! Ma! Ma-a!”

The hallway appears empty, but Simon can feel the eyes on him: eyes from behind peepholes and brave souls who crack their doors open, eager to see the latest in apartment building drama. Turning Johnny and his pain into a fucking spectacle. 

He sees you, then, your eye ringed in healing, yellowing bruises, looking out through a crack in your door. When you see him, the door opens a little more, revealing your slack, horrified face. Your mouth moves, forming Johnny’s name. 

But Simon has no time for you. He turns and follows the paramedics and the sound of Johnny’s screams. 

-

They sedate Johnny which turns him into a drooling mess for four hours. Simon isn’t sure if it’s preferable to the screaming; but it’s probably less painful for Johnny, which is all that matters. They scan his brain and load him full of Keppra to keep him from suffering from secondary generalization. Simon doesn’t understand the medical terms precisely—knows more about broken bones and cuts and trauma from the field, trauma that kills a man, not the kind that a man has to live with—but he comes to understand that they believe this was a minor seizure, and that Johnny might be headed for bigger, deeper waters. 

The pressure on his brain has been steadily lessening. The doctors say that epilepsy induced by a traumatic brain injury is rare, but Johnny’s specific injuries—bruising and blood on the brain, so much compression—are like a perfect storm to maximize his odds. He’ll be on anti-seizure medicine for the rest of his life, and if they are lucky, he’ll never have to suffer a Big one. 

“Where have you been?” Johnny asks him, throat raw, when he finally begins to come out of the fog of his medicine. Simon chose to sit on the side of the bed where he can hold Johnny’s hand, even if it means the nurses and doctors are walking around his hulking figure every time they need to get his vital signs. 

“Been here all this time,” Simon says. 

“Did I win?” 

“Did you win what?” 

“Jenga.” 

Simon laughs. It sounds wet. “Keep dreaming.” 

-

You lace your fingers together to keep them from shaking, resting them tidily in your lap like you are about to dip your head in prayer. Across from you, your boyfriend—fiance, he calls himself, though there is no ring, nor had he ever been down on one knee—sits eating the meal you carefully crafted for him: you’re becoming a very good cook. Necessity begs adaptation.

“I want my phone back,” you say as calmly as you can. 

He hums, his own phone flat on the table beside his plate as he scrolls while he eats. “Well. I don’t know. Did you learn your lesson?” 

“What lesson was that?” 

He stops scrolling, eyes flickering upward. He stops chewing even. A slow smile spreads across his face. It is a handsome one—the face and the smile. Once, that smile gave you butterflies. Now it spawns great moths inside you, eating away at your belly like an old woman’s age-worn clothes. 

There’s nothing that makes him happier than a good struggle (hadn’t he just whispered that in your ear last night, your body pressed into the bed while he took you, his words searching for the crack in your armor that they would find sooner or later, inevitable as the rise of the sun. He had kissed your neck and whispered into your ear that he missed the days when you fought back), and he senses one coming like a shark senses blood in the water. 

He’s not as smart as he thinks he is, if he doesn’t see you fighting back when you’re lying still. 

“You don’t remember?” he wonders. 

You say nothing. 

With two fingers, he slides his plate across the table to you and laughs. “You look so scared! It’s not a trick question. I don’t remember either. Are you hungry? Eat.” 

You pick up the fork, even though this is a game you’ve played often enough. You are hungry. There is a little lock on the refrigerator that you haven’t managed to pick. Not yet. The last meal you had was a greasy grilled cheese eaten standing up in the break room at work between shifts two days ago, and it had come out of your paycheck. 

He stands and leaves the room and comes back with your phone, setting it on the table between you both. 

“Let’s negotiate,” he says. 

-

When Simon and Johnny return two days later from the hospital, they nearly step on the piece of paper slid beneath the door, the one that reads: GOT A PHONE. TEXT ME—7C

[royallyprincesslilly]

Cautionary Tale on Carbon Monoxide

So, for the last 2 weeks or so my smoke alarm/carbon monoxide alarm has been beeping sporadically. I paid it no mind because there was no smoke, nothing was burning and I did not think it could be anything else. I assumed the alarm or batteries were going bad because they had been here forever ago.

So, we changed the batteries and bought a new alarm, and installed them through the house a week ago. The beeping stopped. However, a few days ago while I was cooking the beeping came back. Again, no smoke in the home and nothing was burning. We are searching trying to figure out why it keeps going off.

I constantly have my essential oil diffuser plugged in and running so some searches came back saying certain essential oils might set off the alarm if strong enough and my 16-year-old has been fear rubbing herself with Citronella essential oils(repellent for mosquitoes) because whenever the door opened these new breed mosquitos fly in and she is terrified if her face and body looking like a swollen pepperoni pizza🙄😂. (The concerns of a 16-year-old who was looking out for her upcoming first day of school face card status lmao)

Finally, after some YT videos and Google searches, we began to suspect it was beeping because of carbon monoxide. So we hurry and get out of the house, food still on the stove half cooked, and wait for the gas/electric company to come to investigate and fix the problem.

When the tech comes he walks inside the house and instantly the machine he carried to check the PPM set off a reading of 41. This level is highly dangerous and prolonged exposure can result in health risks and possibly death.😳

He continued to walk through the house and found pockets in the house where the PPM was 38-41(still dangerous). He goes into the kitchen and instantly says, I see your problem. He goes to the stove and points to my favorite, can't live without have used almost every time I cook 11" Copper Chef casserole pot and says this is the culprit.

Apparently, the size of the pot covers my entire burner so there is no ventilation happening under the pot which is bad. He then points to another favorite pot on the back burner and says this one is also bad because of the size of the pot. He turned on the fire under the Copper Chef pot and instantly his machine went up to 144 PPM😳.

I was appalled. He asked about how we all were feeling and asked who the cook in the house was and of course it was me✋🏽. I felt fine. I usually always have headaches and feel tired, he said I could be suffering from long-term carbon monoxide exposure and should go to the hospital to be sure.

To make this longer story just plain ol' long, I say all of this to caution you guys on pot sizes for your gas stove burners and to say it could be the things/ways you least expect.

Tips from the gas/electric company tech

-Make sure your pot is not bigger/wider than your burner flames.

-Turn on your overhead vent or open your kitchen windows when cooking for either or both of these: 1) If your pots are bigger than the burner flames or 2) To take an extra level of safety.

-If you are using bigger pots try to open closet doors throughout your home because the carbon monoxide can creep into the closed closet and remain there for hours.

-In your gas using ovens do not have any liners or protectors(the ones you put down to prevent spills or drips as you bake) on the bottom of the oven if they come anywhere near the two ventilation slits in the oven(where the flames/heat rises).

-If you have done all of the above and constantly feel lightheaded, dizzy, persistent headaches, fatigue, sleepiness, be safe and just get it checked out in the ER or Urgent Care.

Be safe out there y'all. Carbon Monoxide is known as a silent killer.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

the walls are thin - epilogue

in which atsumu is your college neighbor with whom you share a wall. previous | epilogue [masterlist]

// proudly unpredictable and awestrukenly trusting ~ ᴀᴛsᴜᴍᴜ x ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 12504 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni omg even more smut, lots of fluff!, established relationships, seriously just a lot of fluff, we get to see all our favs, gatherings, party vibes, threesome, oral m!receive, throat fucking, oral f!receive, slight objectification but its hot?, afab she/her pronouns

a note from ♡ tori ♡: ah okay guys, i can't believe we're finally here. the END of twrt. i really didn't think that it would get this much love and all the interactions really just made me so happy and like would make my days, every week, all the time. tysm and ah, i can't wait for you guys to read THIS. it's like, ah, my fav. <3 <3 <3 can't wait to hear your guys' last thoughts on this silly little fic. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

ever since you woke up 3 hours ago, you’ve been an anxious mess. productive, sure, but still uneasy. even now, you’re tidying, moving about the kitchen, wiping down the counters, putting away dishes, moving with purpose, quick, short movements from task to task. 

“can ya stop pacing? it’s making me nervous,” atsumu calls from the living room, clicking his tongue and shaking his head as he emerges in the archway.

“how are you not more nervous already?” you ask, not stopping a single bit, actually pacing more now. before it was a way of getting around between chores, now you’re heel to toe, heel to toe, heel to heel toe until you reach the edge of the invisible barrier between your kitchen and dining room and then you turn 180° and repeat the process again.

it’s much roomier here than the kitchen in your apartment. the distance between your 180s is much longer than you had the luxury of before. you’re grateful for that, more time to overthink before spinning around. 

you’re grateful for a lot of things in this kitchen compared to the last. the countertops are much nicer, shinier, easier to clean. the cupboards are roomier, don’t slam as loudly. the sink is big, spacious, with a spraying feature that actually gets the food off of the dishes. the stove has gas burners and there are two ovens instead of one really shitty one (though, those were a part of the non negotiable luxuries list you and atsumu came up with months ago). the fridge makes ice without having to fill the trays and the freezer has built-in shelves. 

you’re grateful for the little things scattered around the kitchen too, the things that make it feel like home. the electric kettle is a matte sage and it matches your tea green dishware. the two cacti on the window sill, the hanging flowers to the right of the sink. photos of you and atsumu and friends, stupid lovey notes, oikawa and iwaizumi’s save the date, all attached to the fridge with tasteful souvenir magnets. the notepad on the freezer door where you and atsumu write your meal plan for the week. a dry erase calendar sprinkled with events in both yours and atsumu’s handwriting. 

“hey, c’mon,” he says, walking over to you, reaching out his hand and wrapping it around your wrist gently to stop your repetitive motions. “makin’ me dizzy too.” he lets your hand fall as you stop, walking a few more steps away from him, deeper into the kitchen.

you huff, leaning your lower back against the cool countertop, heels digging into the tile floor as you cross your arms over your chest. “seriously, tsumu, how are you not nervous?”

he leans against the adjacent counter, palms gripping the edge, “what exactly are you worried about?”

“i don’t know,” you mumble, head tilting forward slowly, base leaving your spine, chin coming into soft contact with your chest as you take a deep breath. 

you can’t see atsumu as he moves towards you, too busy looking down at your feet, but his voice is close to you as he speaks, “yea you do.” it’s soft, knowing, but patient. 

“i just…,” you trail off. atsumu waits a few moments, trying to let you articulate whatever you’re feeling and wherever your worries are stemming from, but you look up at him and you’re not making any attempts to explain, so he tries to fill it in. 

“everyone will get along, i promise. i know it’s been awhile, but that doesn’t mean that-,” he starts explaining.

you cut him off, shaking your head, “no it’s not that…”

“then what, baby?” he asks, nudging your legs apart, stepping in between them until the outsides of his thighs are pressed against the insides of yours. he grips onto the counter on either side of your hips.

you speak, small and somewhat under your breath, “we haven’t seen everyone in too long, i just really want everything to go well so i can enjoy the night.”

“come here,” he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest, smoothing his hand over your hair as he presses a soft kiss onto the top. you let him move you, embrace you, wrapping your arms around his waist and finally taking a much needed deep breath. 

you’re already feeling so much better, but he keeps explaining, “we get to see friends, some that we haven’t seen in years, all in one place, under this roof, our roof,” he pulls you back gently, kissing your cheek and then your cheekbones, “we own this roof,” he says, kissing you again and you giggle, “and we get to just hang out and play stupid games and catch up with everyone.”

atsumu steps back from you, interlocking his fingers with yours and spinning you around until your back is pressed up against his chest, swaying with you. “and we will play terrible music and feel so weird when two obscure friends talk to each other and we don’t even have to worry about stupid downstairs neighbors,” he says, spinning you back so he can see your adorable face again, watch the worry melt right off of it as he often gets to do because he’s so good at the melting, “and everyone will give us gifts, some really cool and some really bad, and we get to just have a really great night with everyone all in exchange for hours of veggie prep and hundreds of dollars in sliced meats and days of setting up and coming days of cleaning up.”

well, fuck, you can’t even remember why you were so worried a second ago. 

“we still have so much work to do before everyone shows up at 6,” you note, no longer hurriedly anxious but still aware of how quickly time seems to pass when you’re being smothered in kisses by atsumu. your eyes flick to the clock above the stove that reads 10:15 am, but you don’t move an inch. even after all of this time, you’re still painfully aware of how difficult it is to unravel from a comforting atsumu.

bzz bzz. atsumu sits up, kisses your forehead quickly, and then walks back to the living room where his phone is buzzing. well, maybe it’s not so difficult for him. you almost yell out a pout, but realize that this sudden interruption should probably be welcomed, allowing you to actually focus on getting the house perfectly ready. 

“hey,” atsumu says into the phone, muffled by the distance of being two rooms over now. “yea.” … “great!” … “okay.” …. “alright.” …. “okay. see you then.” …. “love you too.”

you scan your list of things to do, open the fridge to truly take in the quantity of vegetables and amount of side prepping you have to do, put the last dishes from the dishwasher away, and make a tiny note to remind atsumu to grab the mini burners from the basement. “who was that?” you call out. 

“god, it’s a good thing we did all the shopping yesterday, or you’d be an even bigger mess today,” atsumu says, popping into the kitchen again, jumping up onto your freshly cleaned counter. 

you throw him a look, eyes narrowed and jaw open in faux shock. “i literally just cleaned that,” you say, gesturing to the counter he is now sitting on, “also, i probably would be a smaller mess if someone was a bit more helpful.” you can’t help your smile as he shrugs his shoulders, playing along. just as you spent the entire morning cleaning the kitchen, atsumu had spent the entire morning cleaning the living room. the two of you both knew this. 

you walk over to him. “can’t believe i’ve had to do everything today,” you shake your head at him, smile even wider as he leans forward and kisses it. “in return, i’d like you to go downstairs and find those stupid burners and also bring up the extra tables so i can set them.” 

even amidst the chaos, clock ticking down with your to-do list still impossibly full, atsumu has a way of pulling you into these small moments. he always has, your entire relationship. it doesn’t matter what you were worried about, how you were feeling, what you were doing, he always creates space for you and him to just enjoy each other. 

most of the time, just like this time, it comes in the form of teasing and poking fun. “y’know,” you tack on, leaning forward and kissing him back, “because you haven’t really done anything,” you explain.  

he wraps his arms around your waist, leans back pulling you with him, kissing the side of your face, “oh is that so?” 

you squirm to get out of his arms, but he holds tight, laughing now as he continues to press kiss after kiss after kiss wherever he can reach. “yes! it is so!!” you yell, laughter making it nearly unintelligible. 

“right, the living room cleaned itself?” he asks.

you can’t stop laughing as you quip back, “magic, maybe.” 

he lets you go completely now and shakes his head at you. “just like the table is going to magically find its way up here?” he asks, tilting his head. 

you place your hands on his knees. “nope. that’s all you,” you tease.

knock knock knock. the fear creeps up on you quickly, all rational thought leaving in an instant as you worry about how much time could have passed, wrong information you could’ve sent out, unexpected people that it could be. 

the crooked smile on atsumu’s face combats it instantly. “it’s a good thing i recruited back up then, huh?” atsumu says, nodding in the vague direction of your front door. your eyebrows knit together in confusion, but atsumu doesn’t say anything else, nods in the same direction again.

you make your way to the front door, tip toeing on perfectly cleaned hardwood floors and over brand new decorative rugs. just a week ago, this place was filled with boxes and disassembled furniture. now, in their places are the trinkets that filled them and the put together pieces.

the front door doesn’t even have a chance to open completely before you’re jumping into his arms, squeak of excitement leaving you, hanging off of his neck. whatever he was holding in his arms is set gently onto the ground so that he’s able to reciprocate the tightness of the hug. 

you pull back, eyes wide and smile even wider before wrapping your arms around him once more and hugging him even tighter. you’re so enveloped in his embrace that you don’t hear atsumu approach behind you, only notice that he’s there when he scoffs loudly.

“what was one of the first things i said when you learned that he existed?” atsumu jokingly scolds. you pull away from your hug, half turning to see atsumu’s smitten smile and teasing head shakes. “i said that you weren’t allowed to like my brother more than me.”

you take a step back from the doorway, allowing osamu to actually step into the house. osamu reaches down to pick up his bags, one neatly packaged reusable kitchen bag and a just as neatly packaged gift bag. “that is somethin’ he usually has to say,” osamu says, looking in your direction, “when people meet atsumu first, it sets the bar pretty low.”

atsumu reaches forward to hit the side of osamu’s head, but osamu ducks out of the way like he’s been anticipating it from the moment the thought popped into his head. “besides, most people can’t help it,” osamu loudly whispers to you, smirking, “i’m just the better twin.”

“never shoulda invited ya,” atsumu shakes his head.

“but i’m so much help,” osamu replies, leaving his shoes neatly to the right of the door. 

“yea, you’re just in time to go get stuff from the basement,” atsumu points out, nodding towards the basement door down the hallway.

“oh, absolutely not,” you step in front of atsumu’s nodding, blocking the view to the basement as if to prove a point. “samu’s gonna help me in the kitchen because duh and also so he can tell me all about the onigiri miya drama,” you explain to atsumu, shifting your weight forward onto the tips of your toes and smiling huge.

“god, i made a mistake inviting you over to help prep, didn’t i?” atsumu asks, but you’re already pulling osamu by the forearm into the kitchen, loudly excited to tell him every little detail about your new kitchen.

“you remember the old kitchen, right?” 

“yea, of course, was kinda shitty.”

“i know, i know, but look! look at this, samu, 2 ovens.”

“gas stove too?”

“yea! works much better with the pans you got tsumu and i last christmas.”

“oh! do ya wanna see the housewarming gift i got ya?”

“now?!”

“why not?”

“then, yea! duh!”

nope. definitely not a mistake.

atsumu peaks his head into the archway with every intention of telling you that he’s heading to the basement and asking you if you could think of anything else that was down there that he needed to bring up. instead, he gets to watch this scene unfold, doesn’t dare to interrupt as you tear the tissue paper out of the bag, throw it onto the floor that you were so worried about moments ago, dig your hand around inside to feel for the contents, and then pull out a wooden box. “no way,” you say under your breath, turning quickly to set it down on the counter with excessive care. “my own?”

“come on, yn, every time you and sumu were at my place when ya came to visit, ya wouldn’t stop talkin’ about it,” osamu says, beaming, watching you closely as you gently pop open the latch. 

“yea but then i went home and tsumu and i looked up how much it was and then we couldn’t stop randomly bringing up how much you spent on a fucking knife for 3 weeks straight,” you explain, shaking your head. you reach down into the box, running your fingers over the engraving on the side and it takes everything in you not to burst into tears as you read it. miya. 

“i heard ya had a lot of veggies to prep,” osamu says, shrugging, “you’ll get enough use out of it today alone, i bet.”

“this is insane, samu, fuck,” you say, turning towards him and hugging him for the third time today already. “thank you so much.”

“of course,” osamu says, hugging you back.

“not really a gift for tsumu, though, huh?” you ask.

“the gift for sumu was how happy it makes you,” he replies without missing a beat, as if he actually thought it all the way through when buying it, saw the price tag, and took into account how happy his brother would be if he bought it for you. you can’t stop smiling.

the food prep flies by, not just because of your incredible new knife, but also because of the company. it’s actually been hours by the time you get everything washed, chopped, prepped, and plated, but the entire time was spent catching up on months worth of onigiri miya drama and the trips that you and atsumu had recently taken.

the second that the door to the basement closes, you lean in close to osamu, “so how is it going with that girl who keeps coming in right before closing?” you don’t have to be as close as you are to osamu to notice how flustered he gets instantly. 

“i’m gonna switch jobs with sumu,” osamu threatens, shaking his head as he brings packages of vegetables to the sink.

you follow right along. “evading the question is just going to make it worse,” you explain.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, evidently evading the question.

“the last you told me, she was still coming in and you were still staying open just to make her food,” you say, turning off the faucet so that he pays attention to you. “is that still happening?” he doesn’t respond. “you have to at least give me that!”

he sighs, turning his attention to you. “the second that atsumu walks up those stairs, you don’t say another word about this,” he says, finger in your face.

“deal! deal deal deal!” you say, nodding along. “is it still happening?”

“and,” he adds, “you let me wash the veggies while we talk about this.” you reach over and turn the faucet on again, smiling. he continues, “yes, it’s still happening.”

“have you told her that you like her?” you ask, not contributing a single bit to the prep that osamu is doing.

“well, i’m not 12, so, no?” he replies.

you hit his shoulder, “you don’t have to be 12 to have a crush on someone, samu. but, seriously, do you get that vibe?”

“probably just hungry after work or something,” osamu mumbles.

“so nothing has happened since we last talked that would make it seem like maybe she’s into you?” you ask, squinting at him despite the fact that his attention is solely on washing the bunches of broccoli.

you hear the sound of ascending steps from the basement, the door knob jiggle open, and you know osamu does too as he quickly says, “i mean, maybe the one time we were chatting until 4 am.” the door squeaks open and osamu raises his eyebrows at you and shakes his head. you will get this information out of him later. 

it’s not long until it’s just a few short hours of everyone arriving. the decorating is mostly done, the food is prepped in the fridge, the tables are mostly set up. you entrust the rest of the prep to the miya twins- which might be a terrible idea, you’ll have to see once you come back downstairs- as you go upstairs to get yourself ready.

“i will keep an eye on him,” osamu says, flinging his arm around atsumu.

atsumu instantly pushes osamu’s arm off of him, shaking his head and reaching to smack the side of his head again. “it’s my house!” atsumu yells, missing once again and then instantly trying to hit him again. when osamu keeps moving out of the way, atsumu jumps at osamu, sending the two of them flying backwards and into one of the tables that needs to be finished setting up. the table bumps against the wall and even from your place on the stairs, you can see the ding in the freshly painted wall.

atsumu and osamu look at the wall and then up at you, waiting to see how you’ll react and how much they should start blaming each other. you just laugh, “the first of many, i suppose.” and then you make your way upstairs. 

/++/

5:39pm and you walk downstairs, breath held because you’re not exactly sure what the state of the house is going to be in, but whatever expectations that you had are surpassed. everything looks exactly how you want it to look.

atsumu and osamu are standing side by side looking down at the large, mostly empty table where, in an hour’s time, your closest friends will be gathered, enjoying food and each other’s company. “i still think we should just set up the broths and vegetables,” atsumu says. 

your torn between pulling out the camera or committing this adorable scene to memory, atsumu and osamu in the same exact pose, arms folded across their chests, posture mimicked, head tilted to the same degree. you opt for the camera. it’s more replicable that way, more provable. 

it’s over all too soon, osamu bumping his shoulder into atsumu’s and shaking his head. “i told ya already, stupid,” osamu jeers, “if people aren’t eatin’ for another hour, there’s no need to bring em out yet. ya don’t even have to do anything, just hafta take the plastic wrap off of em.”

“yeah, but when we’re-,” atsumu starts to argue.

“yer wrong, just be wrong, sumu,” osamu interrupts. 

atsumu moves to hit him again, but you speak up, “we can just bring it out when everyone arrives and settles.” the two of them turn to face you and atsumu can’t help the smitten face that quickly takes over, doesn’t even have the heart to argue with you right now. “seriously, everything looks great, guys, thank you.”

osamu sends back a quick, not a problem that you don’t have a chance to reply to, because atsumu meets you in two quick strides, kissing the side of your cheek. “you look a lot less stressed,” he says against your skin and then moves to pull away. osamu, the most perfect man in the world who can read any room and react with impeccable timing, tells the two of you that he’s going to finish cleaning up the prep mess in the kitchen.

you place both of your hands on either side of atsumu’s face, pulling him to kiss you. “you’re really good to me, y’know that?” you ask.

“ya look really good tonight, y’know that?�� he asks back.

you shake your head at his evaded question. you know that he knows that. you kiss him again. “don’t you have to get ready? people are going to walk through that door any minute.”

“yes,” he says quickly, kisses you once more, and is then bounding up the stairs, “i’ll be 10 minutes tops!” he yells from your bedroom. 

/++/

atsumu is the third person that shows up to your party and that’s not including you and osamu. the first person that shows up is maki at 5:58pm because, sure, he could’ve waited for those 2 minutes and shown up right on time, but that would’ve been 2 minutes that he could’ve been spending with you. he earns a hug just as hard as osamu, harder even, longer, despite the fact that you saw maki just last week when he helped you move in. 

“you’re early, y’know that?” you ask when you pull away. maki steps inside of your house as if he’s been there a million times, leaves his shoes right next to osamu’s and nods. 

“2 whole minutes,” maki replies, shrugging, “issei’s on his way and i’m sure oikawa and iwa will be late,” he informs you and you nod along. sure, maki had helped you move in, but he hadn’t gotten to see your house put together like it is now. he takes the liberty of exploring the rooms of the ground floor and you follow him around as you ask him how his drive was. 

when you make it into the kitchen, excited to start rattling off everything about it that you love, osamu is in there casually on his phone. osamu and maki had met before, several times. it was inevitable, really, the most important person in your life other than atsumu and the most important person in his life other than you knowing one another. and you’re grateful for the fact that you don’t need to introduce or entertain the two of them as they instantly start a conversation because someone is already at the door and atsumu is nowhere to be seen.

the second person that shows up at your party is kita at 6:00pm on the dot. you know everyone that’s coming to the party, but you know kita the least and yet, the second that he starts talking, you feel like you’ve known him forever. you’ve only really met one other time, but kita steps inside and tells you how gorgeous the entryway to your house is and hands you a small gift and you understand very quickly why atsumu and osamu have raved about this person for years. 

atsumu makes his way downstairs, quickly and haphazardly and almost falling on his ass, at 6:14pm. he just barely beats out sakusa and hinata who show up together at 6:15pm. in fact, he’s there to greet them at the door with you. they’re the first people that you greet as a couple and it, along with the soft chatter in the kitchen from osamu, maki, and kita, is making the night feel very real. 

sakusa and hinata don’t need any introductions or hand-holding. even though they have never been in your house, they make themselves feel at home, walking in and leaving the two of you in the doorway as they explore. “this is crazy, right?” you ask atsumu, unable to focus on one conversation that’s happening and it’s filling you with a joy that is unmatched. 

he answers by pressing a kiss into your forehead and nodding down the hall where hinata is touching something that he maybe shouldn’t be and sakusa is scolding him, something about how he’s so glad bo isn’t here yet. you can’t help but laugh, taking a single step in their direction before the next person is knocking on the door. 

issei shows up at 6:16pm. he’s the first person to say the word, congratulations! to the two of you and it feels warm on your mind and in your chest. “maki’s already here, right? he said he was coming early to see you,” issei says, peering down your hallway.

“two minutes, issei,” you say, shaking your head, “he was two minutes early and it’s a good thing too, because i haven’t been able to spare anything other than those two minutes.”

“ah, there’s that college you,” issei jokes, pulling you in for a hug, “i knew it was in there somewhere, that interesting mixture of super stressed and in love with atsumu.” you narrow your eyes at him, but can’t get a comeback out as he continues, “where’s kawa and hajime, anyway?”

“come on,” you check your imaginary watch, “it’s still practically six o’clock.”

“true, but iwa did say that he was really going to try to get oikawa here on time,” issei notes as you shut the door behind him.

“and i’m saying that even really trying, there’s no way oikawa shows up before 7pm,” you shoot back and pull issei into the direction of the kitchen. you make quick eye contact with atsumu who gives you a warm smile and gestures towards the living room, making his way over there as soon as you return an affirming nod. 

“i know you’re right, but sometimes i just want to have faith in them, y’know,” issei says, the two of you entering the kitchen. maki immediately (and politely) leaves his current conversation to join you guys when he sees you. 

“who?” maki asks, quickly and very nosy.

“hajime trying to get oikawa here early,” you reply.

“oh, there’s no way that oikawa shows up before 7pm,” maki says matter-of-factly.

you grab onto his shoulder, nodding with your whole body because it’s really nice to have someone in your life who understands you as much as maki does. “that’s what i said!!!!”

the three of you catch up as much as three people who are in four different group chats and who talk to each other every day can catch up with one another. it is different, though. you hadn’t seen issei in months and maki hadn’t seen him in almost as long as you and you feel like you’re back in college in the best way possible and you really wish oikawa and iwaizumi were here.

you’re so immersed in your conversation that you actually don’t hear the door open. instead, you hear the voices traveling from the foyer, through the halls, and to the kitchen at 6:43pm.

“i don’t think you’re supposed to just walk in, rin,” you hear a familiar voice at the front door. 

“well, then, maybe they should lock their door, aran,” you hear a different familiar voice reply.

you excuse yourself, walking to go greet the two people at the door. atsumu beats you to it, practically running down the hallway and pulling aran and then suna into a half hug. “yo, careful, atsumu, geez,” suna pokes, but hugs him right back. “you’re gonna break whatever this gift is.”

“how do you not know what it is?” atsumu asks, grabbing the large bag from him.

“because rin just asked if we could get something together so he wouldn’t have to go shopping,” aran says before suna could offer any sort of bullshit excuse. suna doesn’t deny it then, only lets a knowing, lazy smile creep onto his face. 

“yea, guilty,” suna shrugs, “but to be fair, it was really expensive, whatever it is.”

aran nods, “it was really expensive.”

atsumu shakes his head, “you guys really didn’t hafta get us anything.”

“i mean, if it was just you, we wouldn’t have,” suna explains, looking passed atsumu and walking towards you. “thanks for havin’ us.”

you are pulled into two more hugs. you should have been keeping count of the amount of hugs you’re giving out tonight because the number is definitely getting up there and you’re not sure that it’s going to stop anytime soon.

“of course,” you reply, “thank you for whatever this really expensive gift is.”

“yea, whatever it is,” suna laughs.

you rest your hand on aran’s shoulder, “kita’s already here and osamu’s been here all day.”

“what? where was our all day invite?” suna asks.

“we’re literally here 45 minutes late, rin,” aran says, face unphased but voice questioning.

“yea, and you wouldn’t have helped,” atsumu tacks on.

“alright, yea,” suna says and the four of you walk into the kitchen. you note in your head that another thing you’re very grateful for about this kitchen is how much bigger it is than your last one, the open connection to the dining area granting the ability to fit everyone without having to worry about being too cramped. 

you note the different groups of people forming, the different conversations that are taking place. you’re still playing host right now, walking from group to group and adding a few words or giving a side hug or asking if anyone wants a drink.

“who else is coming?” aran asks when you interrupt his conversation with kita and sakusa.

“oh, my friends, oikawa and iwaizumi, and then bo, i think, right?” you answer and ask atsumu across the room.

“yup,” atsumu nods, returning his attention to the conversation that he’s having with issei and suna. 

“oikawa and iwaizumi are usually this late, but i’m not sure why bo is so late,” you say, thoughtful, but then shrug your shoulders. as if on cue, there is a knock at the door. “oh! that’s probably him.”

you rush over to the door and are very surprised to see oikawa and iwaizumi at 7:02pm. “i’m sorry that we’re late. i really tried this time,” iwaizumi says, looking at oikawa with a death stare rather than you with an apologetic one. you laugh, shaking your head. you hug them both, one arm around each of their necks as you squeeze them tight.

you hadn’t seen them even longer than you hadn’t seen issei, almost an entire year. sure, you kept in contact all the time, but you hadn’t physically been able to hug them and see them in far too long. they had just been much too busy with life and travel and wedding plans and life. “‘ts fine, but you’re staying later to make up for it,” you reply, still not letting go.

“oh, we’re staying in town for a few days, actually,” oikawa smiles, “surprise?”

“oh my god!” you say, indeed surprised. “that’s incredible!”

“yeah, atsumu helped us set the whole thing up the second we even made a mention in passing,” oikawa explains. 

“guess that’s why kawa thought it would be okay to be the last people here?” iwaizumi says, evidently still playfully bitter about the fact that oikawa made them late again.

“actually,” you say, “not the last people to get here. somehow.”

“dammit! no way?” iwaizumi says in disbelief. you’re about to question why that’s such a bad thing, but oikawa’s sweet smile contorts into mischief and told ya so. 

“ha! pay up! i told you, hajime,” oikawa says, poking his finger into the side of iwaizumi’s cheek.

“ridiculous,” iwaizumi shakes his head, “who else?”

“oh, just bokuto. i’m still really not sure why he’s so late. i thought you guys were him,” you reply, shaking your head. “i’ll send him a text-.”

“hajime,” oikawa says monotonously, cutting you off, “pay. up.”

“what? not here?” iwaizumi says, shaking his head, eyebrows furrowed like oikawa has just asked for something he should not have. knowing oikawa, he probably did exactly that.

“yes, here. pay up!” oikawa says, nodding back in the direction that they came from. you tilt your head curiously, wanting to ask questions, but just letting whatever is happening unfold.

“absolutely not,” iwaizumi refuses.

“no, because i said that-,” oikawa starts, finger in iwaizumi’s face once again.

“okay, okay, fine,” iwaizumi gives in. you’ve known the two of them long enough to know exactly what’s going through iwaizumi’s brain. there were times before that he didn’t give in to oikawa as quickly as this, but all three of you know that when oikawa starts droning on about whatever he said, it never ends in iwaizumi getting his way. 

“it’s in the car,” oikawa smiles.

“i’ll be back,” iwaizumi grumbles, turning around and then he’s gone again. 

you choose not to ask any questions because oikawa is not responding to your very confused face and instead starts asking you about your new home. you only get halfway into a partial conversation when iwaizumi shows back up at the door, shaking his head, sighing heavily with a white t-shirt that reads oikawa was right. “perfect,” oikawa says, placing his palm against the words and patting softly. 

he walks down the hallway on his toes, swaying back and forth proudly, “issei, come look at this stupid fucking shirt that hajime’s wearing!” within seconds, issei appears in the hallway, attacking oikawa with a hug and then pointing at iwaizumi, shaking his head and laughing. maki follows behind with less force, but all of his composure vanishes the second he sees the shirt. 

“god, i can’t believe i get to marry that idiot,” iwaizumi says softly and you know that if anyone else were standing here with him, he wouldn’t have let it slip out into the air, but he knows that you get it more than anyone. 

once everyone is settled, back into small groups conversing, you take out your phone to shoot bokuto a text message to at least ask him where he’s at. he responds in seconds.

> bokkun ♡ /  7:14 pm> SORRY. walking up now ♡♡♡♡♡♡

“well, well, well,” you say, clicking your tongue as you open the door. you’re there before he’s even knocked. “you’re very late, bokuto.” 

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry,” he says, leaning down and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into an enveloping, warm, tight hug. “but i have a good reason?” he says as he steps back.

emerging from behind him is akaashi with an almost embarrassed, sheepish smile.

“oh my god! i haven’t seen you in so long! ah!” you say, greeting him with a hug as well. it’s less warm, more friendly than bokuto’s, and you can feel how nervous he is. you met akaashi a few times before and really hit it off. he was easily one of your favorite people even though you’ve known him much less than some of the other people at this party. but he didn’t live in the area and neither of you were very good at keeping up with each other.

“i’m sorry i dropped by uninvited, but bokuto said that it would be okay and-,” akaashi smiles apologetically. 

“of course it’s okay!” you say, pulling him inside. 

“well, okay, i didn’t bring kaashi so that you would ignore me,” bokuto says, stepping inside on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

“me? ignore you? come on, you’ve gotta be joking,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck, practically hanging off of him. “tsumu!” you yell excitedly, walking as quickly as you can with bokuto attached to your hip into the living room where everyone has migrated, “bo is here!” you emerge from the hallway. “and look who he brought!”

you’re so excited to start introducing anyone who doesn’t know akaashi to akaashi because everyone loves akaashi, but just as you’re about to start pointing everyone out and giving names to faces, akaashi speaks, soft and timid in this room of so many people, but clear nonetheless. “samu?”

osamu’s head swivels around quickly, following that voice that he evidently knows so well, because the word is already coming out of his mouth, before he’s even made eye contact with him. “keiji?” there are conversations still happening, people still chatting, but a few of them stop, and most importantly you hear it and notice it. 

“you two know each other?” bokuto asks, surprised and excited all in one.

for you, it’s more about figuring out what’s happening than being excited and happy that they already know each other. “you two know each other that well?” you question.

osamu turns away, tilts his head down to the floor and clears his throat, but akaashi isn’t that quick. you watch the blush spread across his nose and cheeks.

“yeah, i work near onigiri miya and i usually stop there after work,” akaashi explains, “samu- er, osamu is usually kind enough to let me stay and eat while he cleans up.” 

it all clicks.

you can’t stop the expression from creeping onto your face. the warning glance that osamu sends your way is just more proof of how heavily it’s showing. you have so many questions, need so many answers, at the very least want some sort of confirmation that you are as right about this as you feel and akaashi gives you just that.

he laughs, light and airy, and you can see the effects that it has on osamu. “just the other day he let me stay until like,” akaashi lowers his head, slightly embarrassed, “i had a really annoying day at work and he let me hang out in the restaurant until like 4 in the morning. and you had to be in at like 9 the next day, didn’t you?” he asks osamu.

“oh, even earlier, actually,” osamu teases back, “like 7 or something ridiculous.”

akaashi shakes his head, tucks a piece of hair behind his ear and exhales, “i’m not even going to make any promises that i won’t do it again.”

“well, i would never ask that of ya,” osamu says and you can feel how genuine it is and it’s not even pointed at you. 

atsumu shoots you a questioning look, very aware of the silent exchanges between you and osamu. you shoot him back a wide-eyed, excited expression and mouth the word, later to him. atsumu nods back at you, gives you a quick thumbs up, and then continues talking with hinata, sakusa, aran, and suna. 

osamu and akaashi practically don’t talk to anyone else that night, moving over to the quiet corner of the living room. osamu takes it upon himself to drag him into the kitchen, to grab him a drink, to ask him about work, and to tell him that he looks really nice tonight. 

“it’s just because i’m actually freshened up,” akaashi reasons.

“no way.”

“yes way. you usually see me after an 8 hour shift.”

“or maybe it’s just because i always think it, but we’re finally outside of my restaurant and so i can say things like that.”

a pause. “well, i think you look better in your onigiri miya shirt.”

“oh is that so, keiji?”

“yeah. you look good in black.”

“well, i’ll have to keep that in mind.”

now that everyone is here, you’re leaving host mode. everyone is settled. everyone is having their own conversations. everyone looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. you scan the people, the different groups that everyone is forming and then reforming. it’s weird, but deeply moving, to see every single facet of your life come together like this. people that would have otherwise never have met, all together in the same room. interactions that you never could have predicted, going really well. and all within these walls, your walls. 

everyone eats and everyone laughs and you get to show off your new knife to everyone and halfway through the night, atsumu pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist, and you know that this night was meant to see everyone and mingle, but you’re not sure that you want to move from this very spot for the rest of the night and neither does he. in fact, he orders osamu around from his place at the table, telling osamu to clear the table and to grab the game that’s in the cabinet of the tv stand. 

osamu doesn’t want to listen, really, he doesn’t, but akaashi starts walking towards the tasks before osamu can refuse. akaashi helps clear the dishes and laughs when atsumu starts yelling at osamu for making akaashi do his work and before you know it, everyone is at the table and all of the dishes are in the sink and the food is put away and there is two stacks of cards in the middle of everyone.

“game’s real easy, even samu can play,” atsumu explains, nodding towards the colorful cards. osamu doesn’t even bite back, just seems happy to be sharing a bench with akaashi. “someone draws a question card and they have to answer it or drink unless someone at the table uses their veto card which they can accrue more of by doing the dares in the other card pile, got it?”

everyone nods. “honestly, we’ve never played with this many people or this many veto cards, so it should be interesting,” you say.

“so, basically, no one is getting out of not answering a question,” sakusa replies.

“that is definitely what that means,” aran agrees.

“alright, atsumu should go first,” osamu says, “it’s only fair.”

“fine, fine,” atsumu says, waving his hand, grabbing a card from the pile, “who is the worst dressed person in this room?” he reads. “okay, actually, a lot of them are like this and there are a lot of people here.”

“well, are you going to drink or answer it?” kita asks.

“you gotta answer it,” hinata says.

“well, someone would be stupid to use their veto on this anyway, because it’s obviously iwa,” atsumu answers quickly, shaking his head and throwing the card down. iwaizumi nods in agreement as oikawa stands up in his seat.

“hey! that shirt is the best piece of clothing hajime owns!” oikawa says.

plenty of insults fly across the table as the game continues. atsumu wasn’t lying. a lot of the cards are very similar in nature, just calling out people in the room for various things like being a bad kisser or still being caught up on an ex. no one even has to use a veto card. they’re all harmless enough, poking fun and joking around, or no one cares enough to force someone to answer.

until it’s your turn.

you reach forward, getting out of atsumu’s lap for just a second to draw the card before he’s pulling you back into him. you and atsumu read the question at the same time, but atsumu reacts much quicker than you do, laughing loudly. if he had been drinking something when you pulled the card, he would have made a huge mess.

“what does it say?” maki asks, nosy, trying to peer over your shoulder and at the card before you read it.

you move away from him, cheeks warm, hoping, praying, if there’s a god out there, that no one uses their veto. you move your hand, ready to drink already as you read, “if you could have sex with any of your partner’s friends, who would it be?”

the only people in the room that aren’t laughing are akaashi and kita and even they are giggling and wide eyed at the question. “i’m drinking,” you say, already bringing the cup to your lips.

“not so fast,” oikawa says, slamming his veto card down on the table, “i’m sure i’m not the only person who would have done this anyway. and besides, i can use hajime’s card later if i need it.”

“no, you will not,” iwaizumi scoffs.

“fine, then you want me to take my card back?” oikawa asks.

“no, obviously not, i want to know yn’s answer,” iwaizumi laughs, directing his attention back to you. in fact, everyone’s attention is on you.

“i don’t think this question was designed to be played when every one of my partner’s closest friends are in the same room?” you challenge.

“tough shit, answer the question,” suna says, pointing his finger in your direction.

“right, and to clarify, that doesn’t include people that used to just be your friends like iwa and maki,” issei says, “because then obviously we know your answer would be me.”

you shake your head, ignoring his comment and taking a deep breath, “this is so stupid.”

“come on, ya gotta play the game,” osamu jeers.

atsumu squeezes your waist, pressing a kiss into the back of your shoulder, “yea, babe, you gotta play the game.” you turn your head and narrow your eyes at him. 

“ridiculous that the first thing you two agree on is making me answer this in front of everyone right now,” you scold.

“just get it over with,” atsumu teases, “it’s not hard. even i know it.”

“no you don’t,” you scoff. 

“so there is someone on your mind right now?” maki says, leaning forward as if that will make the answer come faster.

“i-,” you start, but anything that you could think of saying would just dig this hole deeper. “well, i-.”

“come on, just say it,” sakusa pokes.

your eyes flick over to him quickly, face burning, absolutely radiating heat now, you’re sure. and you’re sure that everyone can tell how flustered you’re getting, because there is an obvious answer in your mind, one that’s been in your mind since the moment you met him.

“obviously, it’s bokkun,” you mumble and atsumu, true to his word, does know it. he says the name right alongside you, laughing at how perfectly the syllables align. you and atsumu seem to be the only two people at this table that are expecting this answer because the rest of the table is in an uproar now. symphonies of what?!?!?! and bokuto?!!?! and what about me?!?? arise in stereo. 

“me?” bokuto asks, floored and flustered in a way that affirms your answer perfectly. you’re feeling just as shy as before and everyone is screaming around you and at atsumu and each other and bokuto, but you offer a small nod to bokuto, just to bokuto, and you watch him attempt, and fail, to hide a smile.

after everything calms down, you’re able to play a few more rounds, thankfully not getting any other question that tops that one, not even when you get the question that reads, was your ex good in bed? and you answered a quick yes and then pushed forward. 

the clock is ticking down, the night is getting later and later and as the game is packed up and put back in its safe place beneath the tv, people start to trickle home. hinata and sakusa, issei, kita, aran and suna. you offer goodbyes and thank you for comings and when you walk oikawa, iwaizumi, and maki to the door, you say a very sincere, “i don’t want it to be this long until we do something like this again.”

“come on,” oikawa says, shaking his head, “hajime and i are getting married in less than two months.” oikawa lifts his hand, showing off his dainty ring as if you forgot that they were engaged. 

“shit, it’s already that close?” you ask.

“yea,” oikawa nods along, smiling, “most of those dumbasses are invited too, so, it won’t be long, i promise. it’ll be louder, and i’ll be the happiest i’ve ever been, but it won’t be too long.”

you nod, hugging oikawa tightly and then iwaizumi and then maki. “seriously, thank you guys for coming.”

“wouldn’t miss it for the world,” maki says, smiling, “i’m crashing your guys’ lunch tomorrow, so i’ll see you then.”

“obviously,” you reply, locking the door behind them once they’ve left.

the only people left in your living room that don’t live there are bokuto, akaashi, and osamu. before you can make your way back in there, atsumu grabs your forearm and pulls you into him, kissing you hard, hand cupping your cheek, fingers scratching over your jaw. 

“what was that for?” you ask when he finally pulls away.

“because i can,” he shrugs, and you take that as an okay to start to move again, but he holds you in place, “and because look at this house we own together, isn’t that crazy?”

you laugh, “yes, yes it is.” you wait to see if there’s anything else.

there is.

“and because i trust you more than anything in this world.”

you cock your head. “okay…,” you say, hesitant.

“and if you want to have sex with bokuto tonight, i would be okay with that,” atsumu finishes, proudly unpredictable and awestruckenly trusting. 

you physically have to jump back, unable to process that sentence any other way. “what?!” you ask, loudly, and atsumu can’t stop laughing, shushing you and shaking his head. “no! what?! why would you say that?”

“because i’ve known that you’ve wanted to fuck bokuto our entire relationship and if you want to ask him if he wants to spend the night with us, that would be okay with me,” atsumu says, calmly. way too calmly for what’s coming out of his mouth, you have to admit.

you don’t know what to say. you can barely think or understand what he’s saying, let alone how to respond. “with us?” you ask for clarification.

atsumu nods, “i’m sure he will not be difficult to convince if that’s what you want.”

you’re afraid to ask it because you’re afraid that all of this is just some elaborate joke. or, rather, you’re afraid for only a second after thinking it, because atsumu doesn’t surprise you anymore. he squeezes your forearm, looks you directly in the eyes as you ask, “and it’s something you want?”

“i offered, didn’t i?” he asks back and you nod.

“okay,” you say, nodding again. “i’ll ask him.”

it’s easy enough to pull bokuto aside with osamu and akaashi being as involved in their own conversation as they are. you don’t really know how to approach it, not completely. how do you just ask someone that? but the second that you pull him into the kitchen and away from the few people that are still in your house, he exhales and steps close to you. and it’s not anything that you’ve said all night, it’s just how he’s always acted around you. 

you lean against the counter and he follows, shaking his head and standing right in front of you. “you’ve got a lot of cool friends, y’know that?”

“oh, yea,” you nod, punching his shoulder and then poking your finger into the middle of his chest, “the coolest.” he laughs and you can feel it against the tip of your pointer finger. you can hear murmuring in the living room. it fills up the comfortable spaces of silence. you look up at bokuto, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “i don’t really know how to ask this,” you say back, softly enough so that the people in the other room can’t hear your murmur.

bokuto tilts his head, “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“no, yea, really great,” you say, nodding and then you take a deep breath. just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it, just say it. “would you,” you say, you curl your fingers against his chest, “want to spend the night?”

the first emotion to come to the surface is excitement and then quickly after that confusion hits bokuto’s face much harder, like his mind filled in the blanks, but didn’t let himself get his hopes up. “like…,” he trails off, hoping that you’ll explain further without him having to ask.

you reach forward and tug on his forearm, coaxing him closer to you. “like…,” you say, heart beating violently against your chest. you try to evade his gaze, head down, focusing on the feeling of his soft skin against yours, nails scraping against it eliciting a tiny shiver from bokuto. 

he reaches down, places his finger beneath your chin, and tilts your head upwards. “like?” he asks, eyes evidently flickering down to your lips. it couldn’t be helped, the way your tongue swipes against your lips and your breath catches in your throat. you just nod. 

before his lips meet yours, you both talk at the same time, overlapping one another, but hearing the other perfectly.

“is this okay with atsumu?”

“like, with atsumu too.”

you put both of your hands into bokuto’s hair and he reciprocates quickly, putting both of his hands on either sides of your face and pulling you towards him, lips crashing into his. it’s like he reads your mind, one arm around your waist, one hand bracing the back of your thigh as he props you up on the counter to get closer to you.

you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper into your lips, leaning forward as if there was any space for you to move into. large hands grip onto the fats of your hips, sliding you to the edge of the counter, stomach pressed up against his, arms sliding down his back, fingernails dragging against the fabric of his shirt. 

bokuto pulls away, laughing softly, “so this is why tsum tsum comes into practice complaining about his back.”

“it actually gets much worse than this,” you say back, low and airy, pressing your forehead against his and kissing him once more, quick.

atsumu appears in the archway, leaning against the wall, not an ounce of jealousy on his face, but rather, a very devilish smile. you feel warm regardless, but you don’t make a move to untangle from bo. “so, are you staying the night, bokkun?”

bokuto almost immediately says yes, but then hesitates. “god, yea, i’d really love that, but i-,” he sighs, “i have to make sure akaashi gets home and-”

“i can take akaashi home,” osamu calls from the living room. 

“oh, you don’t have to do that, i can just get an uber or something-,” akaashi dismisses.

“no way,” osamu says, shaking his head. from where atsumu is standing, he can peer around the corner and see his brother’s hand grasped around the back of akaashi’s elbow. “let me take you home, keiji.”

“whose home, samu?” akaashi says so quietly that if you were not actively listening for whatever akaashi’s response is, you would not have heard. you decide that that’s enough eavesdropping, actually, allowing them their private conversation and turning your attention back to bo, having your own private conversation as you repeat atsumu’s question.

“so, are you staying the night, bokkun?” you mimic exactly.

he nods, about to say something else maybe or try to kiss you again, but it’s interrupted very quickly as osamu calls out, “we’re out of here.” you barely have time for bo to help you hop off the counter before osamu and akaashi appear in the archway behind atsumu hand in hand. 

you look directly at their interlocked fingers and akaashi’s pinkish cheeks and you tilt your head at osamu. osamu looks at bokuto’s hand on your hip and your disheveled hair and he tilts his head at you. you decide to call it even. 

you contemplate letting them walk out on their own because there is nothing else in your mind right now than bokuto, atsumu, and a whole bunch of fantasies coming to realization. you don’t do that. you leave bokuto’s grasp, walking towards the front door with akaashi and osamu. atsumu offers a goodbye to akaashi and osamu, unbothered because he’s sure he’ll see osamu a few more times this weekend before he makes his way back home. atsumu is much more concerned with having a very quiet conversation with bokuto.

you only catch bokuto’s concerned, “are you sure about this?” as his head moving back and forth from you to atsumu. and atsumu’s assured, “i’m the one that brought it up.”

“have a safe drive home,” you say to osamu and akaashi at the doorstep. “and a fun rest of your night.”

“yn,” osamu warns, but you just feign ignorance.

“you also have a fun rest of your night, yn,” akaashi says in the same exact tone, tugging on osamu’s hand, placing the other on his bicep. 

“ha!” osamu laughs, turning around and pulling akaashi to the car. it’s like he can’t get out of here fast enough. “thanks for having us!” osamu calls from the car window and then they’re gone. 

when you shut the door, locking it for the last time, you realize how quiet the house is without the different areas of chatter. in fact, you can’t even hear the conversation that you know is happening in your dining room. 

except, there isn’t a conversation happening in your dining room. instead, there is atsumu, the love of your life, the most important person in the world to you making out with bokuto, your closest friend of atsumu’s, the one person you’ve wanted to fuck other than atsumu in the last 4 years. your voice is small, not because you’re timid or embarrassed, but because you think if you speak any louder, a whimper will come alongside it. “can you take me to bed?”

the whimper escapes you anyway as a tiny string of spit connects atsumu and bokuto’s lips and as atsumu looks like he’s trying to regain composure and as he leans over to bokuto and says, “i get to do it all the time, you go ahead.” your stomach is doing a million flips and as bokuto approaches you, your mind goes blank. not that you need it. 

because bokuto picks you up, same hold as before. his touch feels familiar and his grasp feels strong. “i don’t even know where i’m going,” bokuto admits as he reaches the top of the stairs. you gesture in the direction of your bedroom and open the door as he walks close enough to it. he leaves the door open, lays you down on the bed and as if he’s pictured this in his mind a million times, he quickly and assuredly kisses down your clothed chest, lifting up the bottom of your shirt to press kisses into your stomach before sinking onto the floor. 

everything is happening so fast and you cannot explain how grateful you are because you’ve wanted this for so long and you’re finally getting it. bokuto doesn’t waste a second in hooking his arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs, and ducking under your skirt. your thighs squeeze the sides of his cheeks as you feel his warm breath between your legs. 

“enjoying yourself, pretty girl?” atsumu asks as he sinks into the bed beside your head, smoothing over your head and lifting your shirt. you can feel both pairs of hands on you independently, but somehow moving in perfect time with each other. it’s overwhelming in the best way. atsumu doesn’t even take your shirt off, just pulls it up far enough for your bra to show and then pulls your bra down enough for your tits to pop out and the way that you are so clothed, but so exposed all at the same time is making you grow warm between your legs. 

you whimper at the question, nodding as atsumu runs his hands down your sides and then back up to your tits and then off of you all at once. without them, you can feel bokuto’s completely, nothing to distract you from how big they feel on the inside of your thighs. with him under your skirt, you can’t see anything at all and you want to watch him, but the fact that you don’t know what’s happening, relying on touch alone, is causing you to flood.

he licks a strip into your panties, harsh enough to cause them to push between your lips, digging his tongue into your hole, slipping past the fabric, thick tongue pushing them out of the way with no help at all. you roll your hips into the sensation. “shit,” you breathe.

so focused on the feeling between your legs, you don’t notice atsumu’s cock until he’s pressing the spongy tip against your slightly parted lips. you turn your head for a better angle, parting your lips further, opening your jaw, and taking him in your mouth. atsumu puts his hands on the back of your head, pulling you onto his cock. you’ve had years and years of practice with this which means atsumu knows your limits and capabilities and he gets to move you however he wants as a result.

bokuto’s hand creeps up your inner thigh as he laps at your clothed pussy, sucking the fabric into his mouth and swallowing all of the accumulated juices before slipping his finger into you. your jaw opens further, moaning around atsumu’s cock involuntarily and atsumu needs to feel that again. “shit, bokkun, ‘m gonna need ya to do whatever ya just did again.”

he laughs against your pussy, adding another finger inside of you and you already feel so full. his fingers are so thick, they’re so fucking thick, like four of your tiny fingers are jammed inside of you in two motions, but they’re longer than your fingers too, can reach so much deeper. you’re squirming on his fingers, moving your hips to fuck yourself on bokuto’s fingers and you can’t help how much your hums and whimpers and whines are effecting atsumu. “holy fuck, don’t stop,” atsumu says, hips pressing forward, hands pulling you onto his cock to meet his thrust. 

the angle is still slightly awkward, hitting the back of your cheek rather than sliding down your perfect, tight throat like he loves so much, so he swings his leg overtop of you, both knees on either side of your head, balls resting on your chin as he lifts your head and places a pillow underneath. “fuck, that’s better, baby,” he says, barely giving you a warning before fucking into your mouth, letting you hollow your cheeks on his head, tiny movements of his hips pulling the tip in and out of your tight lips. 

“she’s close,” bokuto announces into the room, talking about you, not to you, and you tighten around his fingers even more. bokuto pushes his fingers inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, pushes inside of you completely, pulls them out to the tips, and then he curls them over and over again, and you come so fucking hard that you can’t even imagine the mess underneath your skirt. 

“so fucking wet,” bokuto says, mumbles against your cunt as he moves your panties to the side, pulls his thick fingers out of you and uses the tip of his tongue to coax the come out of your fluttering hole and down his throat. the lewd sounds are filling the room and your ears even more than the sound of atsumu whining and whimpering watching his cock disappear between your lips.

“shit, fuckin’ mouth feels so goddamn good, fuck,” atsumu growls, pulling you by your hair onto his cock and you can barely breathe, spit drooling out the sides of your mouth and down your chin and neck. his strokes are long and slow, relishing the feeling of his length being squeezed by your tight throat. “gonna fuck yer throat all fucking night. won’t even be able to talk tomorrow.”

“fuck,” bokuto says, “gotta- fuck-” all at once you feel even more fucking full. bokuto slips inside of you without a word, stretching your drenched hole around his huge cock. you can feel it in your fucking guts, so fucking deep, speared. you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him in place because you don’t want to not feel him so fucking deep in you. you need to feel him this deep in you forever. 

you feel the breeze on your stomach, on your sloppy clit, as bokuto pushes your skirt up and out of the way, not that you could see anything anyway with atsumu where he is and his cock destroying your throat how it is. bokuto reaches down, rubbing small circles into your sensitive, swollen, pretty clit with his thumb. “so pretty,” bokuto mumbles.

you pull bokuto closer with your legs, moving your hips to meet him and he understands perfectly, pulling his hips back and slamming into you. his moans are lower than atsumu’s, more grunts than whimpers, and the fact that you can hear them both is making your walls flutter around bokuto’s thick length. “god, so fucking tight,” bokuto praises, “shit.”

“i know,” atsumu replies, rolling his hips, sliding the underside of his cock against your tongue. “feels so fuckin’ good.” he presses forward, pulls your head onto him until his head hits the back of your throat and then he holds you there. you can’t breathe, gagging on his thick head in your throat, but the noises that are coming out of him are well worth it. they always are. you swallow around his length and something breaks in him.

bokuto starts fucking into you faster, harder, the inside of your thighs already sore and very reminiscent of another first time you had. his fingers are gripping into your waist and your fingers are gripping onto the sheets, unsure of where else to put this pure need, unable to reach atsumu’s back or arms. atsumu sees you, hands moving across the bed, looking for somewhere to root as you take all of the abuse that’s coming to you. 

he removes his grip from your hair for a moment, reaching over and grabbing your hand. “pretty girl, hey, baby, here,” he guides your hands to his thighs and tears are streaming from the corners of your eyes because your cunt is throbbing and your throat is burning and you can’t breathe and atsumu is still there to take care of you in ways that you don’t even understand. 

you curl your fingers around his toned thighs and everything feels right in the world, everything feels more manageable. it’s something for you to ground yourself on, the feeling of the soft, toned muscle in your hands, against your fingernails, scraping and digging. “shit, doll, feels good, harder, yea?” you nod, effectively shoving atsumu’s cock down your throat even further. you dig your fingernails into the skin harder, harder, not dragging across, but digging into. “fuck, baby.”

bokuto is fucked out of his mind with the feeling of how tight and perfect you are around him and the exchange that’s happening in front of him with you and atsumu. it’s all so fucking much. he can’t stop pounding into you, fucking as deep as he can, slamming the tops of his thighs against the insides of yours, holding you in place with his large hands spanning over your stomach. “fuck, gonna come,” bokuto breathes, stare not pulling away from the way that atsumu and him are making you feel so used, so good. 

atsumu answers for you because you couldn’t be expected to answer with your mouth as full as it is. “you can come inside,” atsumu says, looking down at your tear-pricked eyes and swollen lips as you hum an affirmative plea. “she wants you to come inside,” he corrects himself. 

“fuck,” bokuto says with a shaky exhale, because he wasn’t exactly expecting that, but it’s exactly what he wanted. 

“and where do you want me to come, pretty?” atsumu asks, relentlessly fucking into your throat. the only air that you’ve gotten is in tiny breaths between harsh strokes and inhales from your nose. you feel lightheaded, but the fact that it’s about to be over is much worse than your inability to get a proper breath. 

you can’t speak so you move your hand from his thigh, dragging your finger down your throat and fuck, if that wasn’t the cutest gesture atsumu had ever seen. there’s a lack of pressure on your chest as atsumu changes positions, leaning forward, bracing himself against the wall as he changes angles so that he can get even deeper in your throat, can fuck your throat like a pretty cunt. 

bokuto watches this unfold and he can’t fucking hold it any longer. it’s so much different than atsumu, the way that bokuto unloads inside of you. he doesn’t still, doesn’t stutter. his hips keep moving at an abusive pace, fucking you even harder than before as stream after stream of his thick come coats your gummy walls. you’re coming around his cock, sobs trying to escape you, but failing because of atsumu’s cock crammed down your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin with every quick stroke inside of you. 

bokuto’s come is spilling out of you. it was inevitable with how fast he was still fucking you and how much he was coming inside of you. it feels like it’s never ending, coupled right along with the noises that are leaving bokuto, low and needy. even after he’s finished filling you, he stays completely inside of you, breath catching, not ready to pull out just yet. 

atsumu’s cock is throbbing against your tongue, pulsing, leaking, and he shoves it as far as he can fit it and you’re so sure that he’s going to pump his come directly down your throat, but then he pulls out, opening your mouth with his thumb, letting his tongue fall open in hopes that you mimic it and you do. “needa see it all pretty on yer tongue, baby, open, yea, fuck.”

he doesn’t even stroke himself, comes at the sight of you with your tongue out and messy eyes and swollen lips and gasping for air. his thick come doesn’t spray in ropes against the inside of your mouth, it drools onto your tongue. it leaks out of the tip lazily, pooling and collecting on the dip in your tongue until there’s too much to fit and a part of the fat glob slips down the back of your tongue and he grunts, replacing whatever disappeared down your throat. “all of it, baby, suck,” he directs, tilting your head, placing the tip between your lips and coaxing you to suck whatever’s left from his sensitive slit. you do exactly as you're told and as a reward, you get to hear the sob tear from his throat and watch him wipe away the tiny tears that threaten to fall. 

everything is quiet. no one moves for at least two minutes. it takes the entire time for you to catch your breath.

“fuck, shit, i’m sorry i didn’t savor that more,” bokuto breaks the silence, shaking his head, inhale and exhale heavy as he stands up completely, putting his boxers back on.

atsumu takes this as a cue to move as well, getting off of you maybe as he should’ve from the very beginning to help you recover faster. though, you’re actually certain that lack of immediate movement is what allowed you to feel as okay as you do this quickly.

“next time,” you say, or try to say, because it hurts and it comes out shaky and hoarse. atsumu leans down and presses a kiss into your neck and then the side of your face and then your lips. he would be more phased by this if it wasn’t a weekly occurrence. 

“yea, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu says, confirming. 

“don’t say that,” bokuto says, shaking his head, “because i really will.”

“then, maybe come to town more often,” atsumu repeats, a tiny smirk forming on his lips.

“alright,” boktuo affirms. 

atsumu leans down, places a kiss on your forehead. “c’mon, let's get you cleaned up,” he says, helping you up. you don’t try for a thank you or a yes, just give a small nod and move towards the attached bathroom. 

“do you have a guest room or something in this cool big house?” bokuto asks, clearly feeling like he’s invading. 

“we do, but,” atsumu says, walking out of the bathroom, over to the dresser and pulling out a big t-shirt. he disappears into the bathroom again, water running, clothes shuffling, and emerges with your clothes in hand. he throws them into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. “you’re welcome to spend the night here.”

“oh! no, no, i wouldn’t want to-,” bokuto starts, but is interrupted by the sink running again, teeth brushing, and now he really feels like he’s invading. but then you walk out of the bathroom, as fresh and clean as you can be without having taken a shower, and you wrap your arms around bo’s bicep. the feeling of displacement fades pretty quickly then.

“yea,” atsumu says, hand on the back of his neck, “someone gets a bit clingy after sex.” atsumu nods towards you and you playfully scowl back at him even though you know it is very true. “just until she falls asleep though. in the morning, she’s usually like, tsumu, fuck off, i’m trying to sleep. it’s weird, really.”

“i mean, if you- yea, i’ll stay if you want me to,” bokuto says and looks down at you nodding very convincingly. you walk over to the bed, pulling bokuto along by the arm and you crawl under the covers, laying perfectly in the middle of the bed. this wasn’t the exact use that you thought you would get out of your king size bed, but you can add it to the list of splurge items that are turning out to be very worth it. 

“didja need anything before ya go to bed?” atsumu asks because he knows it’s something that you would ask if you weren’t so unable to ask. bokuto shakes his head no. he can’t imagine needing anything at this moment. “cool.” atsumu shuts the light off and the room goes very dark. 

it’s awkward first, weird for only a few moments, figuring out your place in all of this, and then it just kinda works out. 

huh, reminds you of something.

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[sortagaysortahigh]

Sex Education P.1 | Steve Harrington

A/N: I present the first part of my new series! This follows the childhood friends to fwb to lovers trope, and honestly this first part is very dialogue heavy but it’s important for the plot, i hope yall enjoy :)

Summary: Steve Harrington has an issue, and Y/n Y/l/n is the only one brutally honest enough to help him solve it. 

Warnings: SMUT, spelling and grammar errors, cursing, mentions of P*rn*gr*phy, mentions of piss kinks (LMAO THE READER AND STEVE DO NOT HAVE ONE OKAY ITS A FUNNY JOKEY JOKE), mentions of insecurities, talks about secksi time, P in V protected sex, fingering, slight handjobs, steve has a thing for choking and degredation (does not occur YET), praise kinks, mentions of oral (m + f receiving), pet names (baby, pretty girl), honestly just two idiots trying to have sex bye

Word Count: 7.7k

Series Masterlist

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader 

(He’s like a lost puppy i love him)

Y/n Y/l/n and Steve Harrington had been friends for eight years. The two met on the Hawkin’s Swim Team when they were twelve, and even through the tragedy that was the ‘King Steve’ rise and fall-Y/n still remained close with him. Of course she was always the one to tell him to stop acting like a pompous ass, she was the person that refused to hang out with him when Tommy, Carol, and the rest of their minions were around, and she argued with him constantly because Steve Harrington needed to learn what humility was in high school. 

However, falling in love with Nancy Wheeler, then getting his heart broken when she cheated on him with Jonathan Byers was enough to teach him that lesson. Some people were hard headed and had to learn through experience-Steve was one of those people.

Anytime he needed advice he went to Y/n, not because he was for sure going to follow it, but because he knew that she was going to be honest with him. It was one of the reasons that people either loved or hated her, she was always honest, speaking her mind whenever asked, and quite frankly it didn’t bother her when people got upset. If they asked for her input on something, she’d give her input. 

Which was the exact reason he showed up to her house at nine in the morning on a Wednesday. He knew her parents weren’t home so he rang her doorbell until the sound woke her up and when she reluctantly opened the door he knew he was in for it-especially at her disheveled state-the oversized Motley Crue shirt, braided hair messy and frizzy, eyes slightly swollen-remnants of sleep still there, and she was lacking in any other clothing from what he could tell. He was definitely in deep shit for waking her up.

She never woke up early on Wednesdays, it was the singular day of the week that she had nothing to do, no work, no school, nothing. It was her time to relax and to sleep in, however Steve had interrupted that and he knew she’d probably rip his head off-but this was an emergency.

He was now pacing back and forth in her bedroom, his hands on his hips while he was lost in thought, Y/n sitting on her bed with the most annoyed expression he’d seen on her face in years. She pulled her large purple comforter around her figure while she reluctantly remained awake. She’d already brushed her teeth-so there was no point in going back to sleep.

When he hadn’t said anything after ten minutes she rolled her eyes, getting out of her bed and walking out of the room-blanket dragging on the floor behind her as she walked. He followed suit, still in thought-trying to formulate his words while she walked down the hallway then into the kitchen.

She was thankful her house only had a main level and a basement-if she had to walk down stairs she would’ve probably pushed Steve. 

Once inside of the kitchen she grabbed the water kettle from the stove, filling it up before placing it back on top of the metal burner and turning the gas on-waiting for the familiar ‘clicking’ sound to ensure it was properly ignited before turning the heat down slightly. She then moved away from the stove, leaning against one of the counters-pulling the blanket around herself tighter while staring at Steve.

“Are you going to explain why you felt the need to come here this early? It’s not even ten yet” she sounded tired, and for a few seconds he felt slightly guilty about showing up unannounced. However, he then snapped out of that and nodded his head, hands on his hips while he started pacing again-ignoring the way she groaned.

“I need your help-your advice” she rolled her eyes “with what? What is so urgent that you showed up this early?” he nodded his head while he paced, licking his lips, brows knit together in concentration as he tried to figure out what to say-or how to word things.

“Well, okay so I’ve been running into a problem-an issue-a big one” she nodded slowly-when he glanced at her she widened her eyes, shaking her head slightly with her brows raised-waiting for him to continue “Okay good, you’re listening. So you know how I’ve been going on a lot of dates for the past few months” she nodded her head.

“-Steve stop pacing it’s making me dizzy” he stopped in his steps, now turning to face her before continuing “so I’ve been going on dates-and y’know” before he could finish the kettle started whistling, so she shushed him, walking over to the stove-turning it off before grabbing the kettle-pouring some of the hot water into a yellow mug, then she placed a tea bag inside of it and let it sit. 

“So what exactly is your issue with your dates?” he blinked a few times, running his hands through his hair “see the dates aren’t the issue-or maybe they are I can’t really tell-but last night i went on another one” she nodded her head.

“With Brenda right? The blonde with the big tits?” he scoffed “don’t be so vulgar-that’s also kind of objectifying” she blinked, tilting her head in confusion “you literally went after her because she has big tits? But Suddenly I say it outloud and it’s objectifying?” he shrugged “she has a nice personality”

“You sound unsure of yourself, next time practice your lies in front of a mirror with more confidence” his jaw dropped slightly-sure she was right-but she didn’t need to say it that harshly. He watched as she grabbed a spoon and stirred her tea before he sighed.

“Okay fine, yeah it was Brenda with the big tits-but she’s a pretty girl okay!” she nodded ‘you say that about every girl you go out with, I get it you swear you have good taste, airheads with pretty faces are definitely a nice change of pace for you” her sarcasm made him groan, running a hand through his already messy hair-watching as she trailed her eyes along his figure. He knew she was skeptical about something, putting two and two together-realizing he had on the same clothes he was wearing yesterday during their shift with Robin at Family Video.

“Did you really do a walk of shame then show up to my house? Did you even shower? Ew-I already know the answer” he felt himself blushing, the heat in his neck evident-he was slightly embarrassed but he knew it’d pass. She always managed to do that to him, even after eight years it still somehow surprised him that she saw right through him.

“Yes-but that’s not important. So last night, y’know after the date we were getting down to business and I think it was going pretty well, but it was kinda fast? Like abnormally quick?” she blinked a few times “you said this was an emergency-your shitty sex is not reason to wake me up at nine in the morning Steve” 

He rolled his eyes “I’m not finished yet! But yeah, I think it’s an emergency-besides you owe me one!” she furrowed her brows, taking a sip of her tea that was already cooling down with the rate that Steve was rambling “-Junior year, the night you lost your virginity” her eyes widened “Yeah, I haven’t pulled that one, I’m cashing in the fake emergency card right now” she scoffed.

“Fine, go on” He nodded his head, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Okay so here’s the issue, everything felt like it was going well, then it just went really fast. Usually it lasts longer than like fifteen minutes-unless it’s one of those moments you get what I mean-anyways I think she faked it?” he sounded unsure of himself, and Y/n could see the insecurity on his features while he ranted.

“Based on the way you’re questioning yourself I’m gonna assume she did, like is it like eating you up or something?” he nodded his head, brows knit together while he pursed his lips inward, hands back on his hips as he took a deep breath. 

“It’s not really that-okay well it is-but then this morning she was like ‘the rumors aren’t true huh’ but before I could even ask her about it she kicked me out, then I drove across town here” she blinked a few times, taking another drink from her tea. 

“The rumors as in the bullshit ‘king steve has a big dick’ rumors or the ones about you being some sex God?” he blinked a few times, the evident blush on his face making Y/n snicker. 

“Once again-vulgar. But I guess? I’d say the ladder? I think I’m pretty gifted downstairs” she scoffed “I’ve always thought you were the one who started the big dick rumor-it makes sense now that you say that out loud” he rolled his eyes, taking another breath.

“That’s not important right now Y/n, okay but be honest with me here-you’re like my best friend-” she gave him a faux look of appreciation-jutting her bottom lip before mumbling an ‘aw how cute’ to which he rolled his eyes in response.

“Like I was saying, you’re my best friend-” she cut him off “get on with it Harrington, my tea is getting cold” he nodded his head, now he was nervous-granted he’d been somewhat nervous the entire time he was explaining things, but the expectant look on her face had his palms sweating.

“Do you think I’m bad at sex? Not that we’ve like had sex or anything but if we did and if I was bad at sex would you tell me?” He rambled on and she couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out of her lips. He groaned, throwing his head back slightly “Y/n! It’s not funny! I need you to be honest here!” 

She nodded, clearing her throat, holding in a giggle “okay, sorry. Are you sure you want me to be honest here?” he furrowed his brows “obviously!” she nodded again, placing her mug on the countertop. 

“You talk about all of the fucking you do so often that I assume you’re decent at sex and really overconfident mostly because you also never really sleep with the same girl twice. I’d say out of ten you're a six, like you make a girl cum once but that's it” he scoffed, looking taken aback by her words, swallowing harshly as he pursed his lips together-holding in a breath.

“I’m sorry-that was kind of mean-but you wanted me to be honest and Stevie, as much as I love you, you don’t seem like some sex God to me, but I mean hey! You’re only twenty so like you have time to figure things out!” she tried to cheer him up, his confidence clearly taking a hit by her brutal honesty. But when he remained silent, now staring anywhere but her-she rolled her eyes, walking around the kitchen island he stood behind-then pulling him into a hug-slightly wrapping the blanket around him as well.

He hugged her back, his head resting in the crook of her neck while he groaned.

She knew he was feeling insecure, and as much as she wanted to literally smack some sense into him, she knew that Steve was the person who needed comfort and what she considered to be ‘soft love’, rather than tough love. She started swaying back and forth slightly with him-hoping that it would help-and it clearly did based on the way a muffled laugh left his lips before the two pulled apart.

“What would I do without you?” she shrugged “probably cry into your pillows” he rolled his eyes-however as he held eye contact with her an idea popped into his head. There was a fifty-fifty chance that she’d agree to it-more like twenty-five seventy-five, but the worst she’d do is slap him. Actually, she’d probably do worse but that wasn’t on his mind right now.

She looked confused while he stared at her, something clearly on his mind.

“Spit it out Harrington” he blinked rapidly, nodding his head.

“What if-hear me out before you hit me okay?-what if you helped me figure things out” Y/n was confused, her eyes slightly squinted while her brows knit together as she craned her neck forward the slightest bit. “Helped you figure things out how exactly? Like am I supposed to be your sex therapist, I’m an English major Steve-I don’t know shit about psychology or sexology or whatever they call it”.

He nodded his head a few times, in all reality he was trying to get himself to say it out loud-but asking his best friend to  be in a friends with benefits relationship in order to help him figure out how to get better at sex wasn’t really something that could just casually be said. Especially when his best friend happened to be one of the most beautifully intimidating people he’d ever met. 

Y/n was every guy’s type-it wasn’t an opinion-it was a fact. Not because she was beautiful and hot-well that clearly played a role in things-but because she carried herself with confidence. She was smart, funny, a complete dork when she was comfortable with someone, and she was always honest-even if that would eventually be her downfall in any situation. She knew who she was-and even if she didn’t she acted as if she did-and that was enough to bring a plethora of attention her way.

But she always brushed guys off, she was picky about the people in her life-whether that be platonically or romantically. All of which only made this more difficult for Steve, and yet he was holding on to the hope that if she were to decline his extremely forward request that she wouldn’t completely cut him off after smacking him and cursing him out.

“But you do know about sex” she blinked a few times “I’m pretty sure everyone over the age of sixteen knows about sex?” he nodded his head, biting his lip for a second before he started rambling.

“Yeah, so you’re totally completely right, but what if I wanted you to uh-physically help me in that aspect. Not like totally unreciprocated or anything like that-I mean sure i’d appreciate a blow job-but that’s totally not necessary at all uh unless you’d want to-not saying you would! But what if we were to have-y’know-uh sex-together-as friends though! As friends in order to get better at it?” 

She blinked a few times, processing his words while she took a few steps away from him. 

“What the fuck Steve?” he swallowed slightly, his entire face, neck, ears, and chest felt like they were on fire and he was almost positive that she could see how red he was getting. 

“You don’t have to say yes, uh, it’s just a thought! An idea! I mean I totally don’t know much about how you are in the sack-not saying that this is what that’s about! But I figured you’re the only girl I know that would be brutally honest with me after the fact, or even during-kind of like giving instructions but more like giving direction if that makes sense? Once again you don’t have to say yes-I totally get that-I’ve never seen you naked-you’ve never seen me naked-not that I want to see you naked I mean sure it’d be cool-but not necessary no-uh-uhm yea” 

Y/n held the blanket around her figure while she stared at him, blatant confusion across her features as she tried to process what it is he was saying, granted the idea wasn’t terrible-but she wasn’t entirely sure about just jumping straight into bed with Steve Harrington.

Yes he was her best friend, but she’d never exactly slept with any of her friends, granted-if she were to sleep with any of them she’d probably pick Steve over the rest of them. He was a sweetheart when he wasn’t being a try hard douchebag, he was great with kids, he made her laugh, he wasn’t ugly whatsoever-and his hair was really soft, plus she trusted him which was probably the number one thing that she needed before having sex with anyone.

Not to mention that while she had experience, she knew that she could honestly benefit from trying things out and figuring out what she did and didn’t enjoy past the realm of vanilla sex-and who better to try it with than her obnoxious-yet attractive-best friend. 

“So you want me to have sex with you in order for you to get better at having sex?” he slowly nodded his head “So I’m like your test dummy or some shit?” his eyes widened and he immediately started shaking his head “no-no not at all-I uh was hoping it’d be mutually beneficial?” she blinked a few times.

“Steve, you literally could’ve just asked if I wanted to be friends with benefits with you. There’s a literal term for it. If I were to agree to this we’d have to have common ground, and written rules-preferably in a pink glitter gel pen.”

His heart was practically pounding against his chest as she nodded, it was as if a wave of relief had set in-but another wave of anxiety was hitting at the thought of sleeping with Y/n because what if he really was as bad as he thought-or what if he was worse. She’d have to experience that.

It was like Y/n could read her mind as she rolled her eyes, walking over to the dining room table-grabbing her bag that she’d left there the night before-pulling out the pouch she carried her pens in and a notebook

“Get out of your head Harrington, if we have sex and it’s bad I’ll tell you how to fix it” she spoke as she faced away from him, his eyes widening while he watched her sit down on one of the wooden chairs, uncapping the pen before writing on the paper in front of her-she then looked back at him. “Come sit down, we don’t have all day, I’m going back to sleep when we finish here, you can either stay, take a shower, and nap with me-or go home-it’s really up to you.”

He blinked a few times, nodding his head as he rushed across the kitchen-his shoes squeaking against the tiled floors before he made it to her dining table, pulling the chair next to her out and sitting down-watching her write ‘FWB Rules’ followed by ‘if either party breaks any of these rules, the deal is off and Steve can continue to be bad at sex’.

He scoffed “really? You didn’t need to write that” she shrugged “I may or may not be agreeing to let you fuck me and you’re bothered that I said you’re bad at sex-when you admitted that Brenda faked it then basically told you you’re bad at sex” he blinked twice, rolling his eyes “you don’t have to always be so blunt y’know”

“Stop complaining and c’mon we need to figure this out, but I have a non-negotiable clause. You can’t sleep with anyone else if we’re having sex-I’m dead serious. You don’t sleep around, I don’t sleep around.” he nodded his head, watching as she wrote it down.

Something about that gave him butterflies-but he chose to ignore them-instead focusing on her writing everything out on the page, then she moved to rule two, and without even saying anything she wrote ‘talk about new things first-don’t automatically try them without asking’, and when she glanced at him he nodded his head in approval.

That’s how the next twenty minutes went, the two of them going back and forth over the rules and figuring out what should be set in stone-or in this case set in pink glitter gel pen ink. 

Then they moved to a category Y/n listed as ‘off limits’.

“So what exactly is off limits for you? Cause for me, I’m cool with just about anything other than like pissing-Don’t look at me like that! The only reason I know is because I had to restock the porn section okay!” She slowly nodded her head, a look of disgust evident on her features while she wrote ‘Pissing - Steve claims he learned it from th-’ he took the pen from her hand-scratching out the latter half before giving the pen back.

“You’re childish Harrington” he scoffed “Me? I’m childish-you’re the one who wrote that down!” she shrugged “it was funny! Anyways-back to what matters” he nodded his head, staring at her expectantly “you’re supposed to answer the question Y/n” she knit her brows together, eyes scanning along the paper in front of her as she thought about what would truly be ‘off limits’ for her.

“Honestly, I don’t know? Is that weird?” he shrugged “does that mean I can try the backdoor?” His joke made her choke on air, coughing a few times before looking up at him, her lips parted as she stared at him in shock. “No! Oh my god! Steve!” she didn’t hesitate to smack his arm “My ass is off limits Harrington!” he rolled his eyes “why? This is supposed to be a learning experience-trying new things with someone you trust-all that jazz?” she scoffed.

“No! You’re not fucking me in the ass! Jesus Christ, that one of your fantasies or something?” he looked away as she said that-his gaze now focused on the page in front of her, making her eyes widen “Steve! Oh my god it is!” he rolled his eyes “Shut it Y/l/n” she clicked her tongue while wiggling her brows a few times, now teasing him “I thought you were a boob guy?” he was officially blushing again.

“Can’t a man want the best of both worlds?” she scoffed “so you’re saying you’d fu-” he cut her off “don’t start with me! I really don’t wanna get hard right now Y/n-and you’re making things difficult for me, either write down that your ass is off limits or shut it so we can move on!” 

She couldn’t stop her laughter-she tried to control it when he groaned and ran a hand through his hair-however she only laughed harder-holding her sides while the comforter slumped against her legs and the back of the chair. 

Usually Steve saying something like that would’ve had her slightly flustered-but given their current circumstance she couldn’t help but laugh. She was comfortable enough around him to be open to being his friend with benefits-so hearing him talk about getting hard at the idea of anal only made her giggle like a schoolgirl. Honestly it wasn’t that funny, however the way that Steve looked so frustrated only made her laugh more-her eyes practically watering while she tried to calm herself down.

“I’m sorry-please Steve-fix your face-it’s funny okay!” he rolled his eyes, the evident rose tint on his cheeks only getting worse as she laughed. 

Once she finally calmed down she wrote ‘Full blown anal - for now’, which only made him blush even more. She shoved him lightly “relax, I’m not judging your fantasies!”

Little did Y/n know that a lot of his fantasies involved her, it was the entire reason that he was blushing so much. He could talk about this with almost anyone else and be fine-but with Y/n-especially knowing that she might actually be saying yes to the entire arrangement had his mind melting into a pile of mush.

“So you’ll let me do it” she shushed him, rolling her eyes before adding ‘anything foot related’ to the list, earning a hum of agreement from Steve. With that she drew two lines, writing her signature on one before handing him to pen-shifting the page towards him.

“Sign it Harrington” he raised a brow “if I sign it does that mean that this-” he motioned between the two of them with the pen “-is gonna happen?” she rolled her eyes “You’re so obnoxious, because I genuinely trust you-and because I think we could both benefit from our weird twisted fucked up version of Sex Ed-yes. But if you do anything out of line, I’ll cut off your dick and put it in my dad’s meat grinder” She deadpanned as she stared at him.

He slowly nodded his head at her words, then he signed the page before putting the cap back on the pink pen. 

“Question-” she groaned “what now?” “Does this mean-” he pointed to the clause surrounding butt stuff “-that I’m allowed to eat your ass?” she gasped, jaw dropping. 

“I’m going back to sleep you pervert, you know the rules, but if you stay you have to shower” She stood up, shoving the notebook and pen into her backpack-grabbing it alongside her blanket before making her way back to her bedroom. He quickly stood up and followed behind her.

“It was just a question!” she shook her head, rolling her eyes while she walked ahead of him “Steve you’re not eating my ass the first time! Jesus! You’re such a perv!” he scoffed, mumbling “It’d probably feel good” as the two walked into her bedroom.

He knew his way around her house and room like the back of his hand, practically memorizing the layout of everything years ago-it didn’t take him long to open the bottom drawer of her white dresser, grabbing one of his shirts and a pair of sweats-after sifting through the clothes he’d left at hers over the past few months anytime he showered there or stayed over because he and his father were fighting.

Then he kicked off his shoes and made his way to the bathroom across the hall.

“Get your own towels Steve!” he turned back, looking at her through the doorway “Nope” she scoffed, rolling her eyes-knowing she’d have to put a new set in the bathroom again. It wasn’t the first time he used hers-claiming they were ‘fluffier than the rest of the ones in the house’ which was true but it still slightly annoyed her. 

However she simply got back into her bed, moving some of her excess pillows off of the bed-knowing Steve was most likely going to sleep next to her after his shower-then she pulled a few blankets over herself and put all of her efforts into falling back asleep.

By the time she woke up it was closer to three in the afternoon, Steve’s arm wrapped around her waist as his face was nuzzled into her neck-her back pressed to his chest-and she was enveloped in his warmth-however when she tried to move-she felt something nudging against her lower back-her eyes widening. 

Her mind raced while she tried to figure out the best way to move, of course he was hard right now-it wasn’t the first time they’d woken up like this-usually she just shoved him off of her and followed it with ‘Ew Steve, really? Go fix that or something!’ however this time it felt different-probably because she’d agreed to being friends with benefits with him-and something about that lit a small fire in her body that she tried her best to ignore.

He groaned against her skin “you smell so good” she rolled her eyes, the rasp in his voice bringing heat to her cheeks “Y’know-we could try something right now” his lips brushed against her heated skin as he spoke, then he peppered a few light kisses along her neck. 

“You’re such a perv Harrington” he smiled at her words, she tried to say them as confidently as possible, however he noticed the way they slightly wavered. He laughed slightly, nodding his head, the slight stubble along his chin tickling her skin-making her let out a soft giggle. 

She shoved him back slightly-now rolling over to face him “you’re such a dweeb” he scoffed, a smile on his face “Coming from the one who reads Lord of the Rings before going to sleep at night” she rolled her eyes “it’s good to read before bed asshole, besides, it’s interesting!” he raised his brows at her.

“Have you always been this pretty?” she rolled her eyes again “Is this how you sweet talk all the girls?” he smiled at that “only you-the other girls usually take the compliments. You like to argue over them-always have” she tried to hold in her smile, pursing her lips inwards at his words. “See, even now you wanna argue” she shoved him slightly-however he grabbed her hand-interlocking their fingers together with a smirk on his face.

It wasn’t the first time they’d held hands-actually Y/n usually held his hand when she was nervous about something, or when she was trying to get him to follow her somewhere. She’d always been touchy with Steve-but right now the feeling of their hands together only made the fire within her burn hotter.

“Quit it!” he smiled, biting his bottom lip “quit what?” “doing that! And stop giving me your ‘fuck me eyes’!” he scoffed “I do not have fuck me eyes” she nodded her head “oh you absolutely do Steve-you’re giving me them right now as we speak” he bit his lip again “is it working?” she had to stop herself from smiling again-instead opting to stay quiet.

“It is working isn’t it” she rolled her eyes “You’re an idiot” he nodded his head “Y’know I like being degraded sometimes, keep going” she couldn’t stop laughing at his words-the two were holding eye contact.

Then he gently moved his hand that was holding hers-pushing her onto her back before holding himself up above her. She raised her brows at him “so dearest Stevie, are we about to have sex?” he faked a ‘lost in thought’ expression “I think so, I’m gonna need a few pointers-don’t be mean to me though-unless you choke me first” her eyes widened at his words.

“Steve!” he licked his lips “what! You gotta get used to the shit I’m into, and I gotta get used to the shit you’re into! We have to talk about it sometime, it’s written in pink-set in stone” she rolled her eyes-the smile on her face evident. He gave her an expectant look “well, I’m waiting to know what I can and can’t do-or rather what you want me to do”

“You make having sex with you difficult Harrington” he nodded his head a few times “usually I’m a lot smoother, besides I’m painfully hard right now-and if you want to just go with the flow we can-but I just gotta know if that’s what you want” she laughed at him again, nodding her head “that’s fine Steve”

With that he leaned down, his lips against her jawline-peppering open mouthed kisses along her warm skin, then he moved down her throat-now taking time to leave wet kisses along her skin, sucking lightly-earning a few small whimpers from her-then he found her sweet spot right below her ear and as he sucked a mark into her skin she moaned, her hands now slightly gripping the sheets under her.

He smirked at the sound of her moans and whimpers-he was committed to making her feel good, he wanted their arrangement to work out-and most importantly he wanted to please Y/n, of course he knew he’d need pointers and direction-but he didn’t want that to stop this.

He moved one of his hands off of the bed, now supporting his weight with his left arm, his right hand trailing along her figure, sliding under her t-shirt-fingers gently brushing against her warm skin as he shifted the shirt up. She moved her hands-tugging the shirt up before shoving him back slightly, giving her just enough room to pull it off-tossing it on the ground-his eyes widening at the sight of her bare chest.

She bit back a laugh at the sight of his wide eyes staring right at her tits, his jaw dropping while he looked down at her. 

“So is this usually how you react to seeing tits?” he shook his head, gaze still focused on hers, licking his lips slightly “n-no, only yours-jesus christ, they’re so nice, fuck-look at you” with that he went back to trailing kisses along her skin-his right hand now cupping her right breast, squeezing it and needing into the flesh-leading her to moan-then he kissed along her left side, leaving marks in her soft skin, bringing her nipple into his mouth-earning a series of loud elicit moans.

She arched her back slightly as he sucked against her hardened peak, using his fingers to tug at the other one while he ground his teeth against her before switching sides-making sure he left marks along both of her tits-lapping his tongue over them-listening to her whimpers.

“You’re so sensitive-fuck-” she nodded her head at his words, her hands now moving to his hair-feeling the soft brown locks as she tugged at them-causing him to moan against her skin “keep doing that and I might cum in my fucking pants” he spoke with slight dominance, his tone shift made her whimper while she nodded her head.

“St-Steve as good as that feels-I need you to fuck me or something” he bit his lip, moving back, looking up at her while nodding his head. He sat up, pulling his shirt off and tossing it on the ground-her brows knit together at the sight of his chest hair “when did you decide to keep it?” he scoffed “not important right now baby” he sounded somewhat desperate, eyes focused on her figure below him.

If someone were to tell him that he’d be having sex with his best friend two weeks ago he’d laugh at them and probably reply with ‘Y/n? She’d kick my ass before that could happen’. He was still processing this happening-and part of him was even nervous about it.

She knew-she always knew when he was nervous-so she sat up on her elbows, looking up at him “I promise I won’t judge you if you’re bad at sex” her joking tone broke the ice, he rolled his eyes, laughing at her, while she winked at him-then she moved one of her arms-pulling him back down “now c’mon, I want your hands” he nodded his head, sliding his right hand between their bodies all the while Y/n pulled him into a kiss.

Her lips felt so soft against his, the two molded perfectly together, and as he gained confidence she let him lead the way, one of her hands in his hair-lightly tugging at it while the other was on his side-fingers gently grazing his heated skin. All the while he slid his hand into her panties-earning a whimper from her as he did his best to gather her wetness on two of his fingers-sliding them along her cunt before attempting to find her clit.

She pulled away from the kiss, slightly out of breath, feeling his fingers lightly brush against the hood above her clit “a little lower-fuck-right there Steve-shit” she spoke between moans, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he rubbed soft circles into her clit “a little harder-oh fuck Steve”

He bit his lip at the sound of her moaning his name, it made his heart race and ears ring, he was painfully hard at this point, cock straining against the cotton of his sweats. He was focused on her-his gaze held her face, watching as her eyes fluttered closed, moans leaving her lips.

“M-more, your fingers Steve” her words had a slight slur to them, but he nodded his head, shifting his hand lower, one finger gently grazing her entrance-sliding into her. He started off too fast, Y/n grabbing his forearm “slow down-just like that” he nodded his head, moving his finger in and out of her, curling it against her walls. She noticed him changing the angle-a dopey smile on her face “a little higher-yeah-oh fuck-Steve-Steve” she dragged his name in a moan, her eyes shutting as he hit that soft velvety spot inside of her.

“A-another one-please-” he had to hold in a moan at her whiny tone his brows knit together in concentration while he slid a second finger into her sopping hole, he did his best to keep the same angle, curling his fingers as they moved in and out of her “faster-please” she whimpered-her head thrown back against the plush pillows-Steve leaning down-trailing more kisses along her neck.

“Just like that-I’m gonna cum-fuck Steve-fuck” her breathing picked up, her hands now on his back-fingers digging into his skin as she moaned, her back arching into his figure, toes curling, as the coil in her abdomen tightened, she was so close “keep going-please-please” he nodded his head “c’mon pretty girl, just like that” his words made her whimper, her orgasm overtaking her system as she moaned Steve’s name, his fingers coated in her slick.

As she came down from her high, she smiled, biting her bottom lip while she opened her eyes-looking right at him. “You’re not that bad after all” he scoffed “you’re obnoxious” she nodded “and you’re a slut, next comment?” he blushed at her words “what’d I tell you about that?” she raised her brows “I’m not choking you and doing all that dominatrix shit today”

“Thank god because I really wanna fuck you” she nodded her head “of course you do” he groaned “stop being a smart ass for five minutes” with that she rolled her eyes, pointing to the table to her right “condoms are in there prince charming” he reached over, and in the moment Y/n trailed her eyes along his figure, watching as his muscles flexed while he moved-then she moved to his chest, moving down, biting her lip at his evident happy trail leading to the large tent in his pants-and she couldn’t even stop herself from trailing a hand along his skin-then sliding it right under his waistband-a loud moan leaving his lips the second she gripped the base of his cock.

“Oh-oh shit” she smirked at the sound of his moans, slowly sliding her hand along the length of his cock-slightly surprised at how big he actually was. He let out heavy breaths, finally finding the condoms, pulling one out and ripping it open with his teeth. “As much as I love the feeling of you touching my dick, I’m gonna cum in my fucking pants if you don’t stop” 

She couldn’t stop the giggle that left her lips, and it only made Steve moan, feeling the way she pulled his cock out of it’s restraints-jerking him off as it rested against his stomach, her thumb spreading his precum along the tip-all while she stared up at him. He bit his bottom lip, hooded eyes looking down at her all the while he tried to hold his composure. He kicked off his sweats in a fast motion, trying to catch his breath while she stroked his cock.

“Are you always like this? So needy Steve?” he moaned at her words “shut the fuck up Y/n, you’re pissing me off” he spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes shut for a second before he looked down at her, the smirk on her face only motivating him to ruin her-granted he knew that it wouldn’t necessarily happen today-but by the end of whatever this was between the two-he’d have her in tears begging. 

She took the condom from his shaky hand, pulling it from the aluminum, tossing the trash on the floor next to their clothes before sliding it onto his cock. 

“For what it’s worth-you do have a big dick” even through the fog in his mind he managed to laugh at that, rolling his eyes while she lined him up with her cunt, one hand pulling her panties to the side-the other gripping his cock.

“c’mon Harrington-fuck me” her teasing tone was all it took for him to bottom out inside of her in one quick stroke, her eyes squeezed shut as she whimpered-she felt so full her mind hazy and as he tried to move she gripped his bicep “I need a sec-fuck Steve-so big-oh my God” 

He had to admit, that was an ego boost, but he simply nodded his head, giving her time to adjust to the fullness and the stretch-her grip on his bicep eventually loosening as she nodded her head, swallowing harshly “okay-you can move-” he slowly pulled out of her until just the head of his cock was there-then he slowly thrusted inside of her, ignoring the way her soft moans tugged at his heart strings.

“You can go a little faster Steve-I promise I’m not made of glass” he nodded his head, picking up his pace just the slightest bit-earning loud whimpers and moans from her. He was filling her to the brim and she loved every second of it. Her hands moving to his back-gripping his skin, nails slightly digging into it as he found a smooth rhythm. 

He kissed her as he fucked into her, one of her hands now in his hair while she kissed him back, their lips moving in sync-tongues against one another as they fought for control of the kiss-however when Steve realized he was losing, he picked up the pace of his hips-earning a loud moan from her as she tugged on his hair-breaking apart from the kiss for a few seconds.

“Y-you asshole” he smirked-lips centimeters away from hers “gotta-keep you on your toes” he spoke between thrusts, she whimpered, biting her bottom lip and as great as it felt-she needed more “I c-can’t c-cum like this” he furrowed his brows at her broken words, keeping his rhythm up, moving his upper body up slightly, his right hand shifting between their bodies-two fingers finding her clit-earning a loud whine from her.

“This good?” she nodded her head “just like that-fuck just like that-so good Steve-so fucking good” he moaned at her praise, her toes slightly curling as she felt the coil in her abdomen forming again, and as her cunt fluttered around his cock-Steve knew she was getting close.

He moaned as she did it again, having to mentally remind himself not to finish until she did-but fuck the way she was squeezing him, moaning his name, the way her fingers gripped his skin-and the sight of her below him-was all driving him insane. She looked so ethereal-the way her swollen lips parted and hooded eyes looked right at her, the thin layer of sweat coating her body-he wanted to memorize this moment in time forever-she looked so beautiful like this.

He shifted his hips-albeit accidentally-but she moaned “right there-fuck-right there Steve-so good-fuck” her words were choked out, her senses slightly overwhelmed by pleasure, as she looked at Steve-the two holding eye contact while he fucked into her. “C’mon pretty girl, just like that” she nodded her head, feeling the pleasure overtake her senses, her vision slightly blurring as her head fell back, eyes squeezed shut while her nails dug into his skin-sure to leave marks-her orgasm bursting through her body.

It didn’t take long for Steve to follow suit, letting out a loud moan as he came-the two in the same position for a few minutes-both coming down from their high before he slowly pulled out of her-tugging the condom off-tying it-then tossing it into the trash can near her desk. 

Then he collapsed next to her-the two of them catching their breath staring at the ceiling.

“So out of ten what would you give that?” she giggled at his question, grabbing the sheet and pulling it over her bare figure. 

“I’d say a seven” he scoffed “seriously? After all that?” she rolled her eyes “did you expect a perfect ten?” The two turned to look at eachother at the same time, Steve now pulling part of the sheet over his lower body.

“I mean that was at least an eight” she knit her brows together “no, definitely a seven, you need a lot of direction-and also the way you literally fucked into me at first-that shit was a lot-I should dock you a point for that. There’s a time and place for that” 

His jaw dropped slightly “are you serious?” she nodded her head “dead serious, I felt like you split me in two-and yea sure sometimes that’s hot and all-but that’s the kind of sex you wanna have after arguing or something-y’know it’s okay to go slow sometimes” he bit his lip at her words.

“Also, do you eat pussy usually?” he blushed at her words, eyes widening again, she rolled her eyes “Steve-we just had sex-I can say pussy-get a grip” he let out a ‘pssh’ sound before answering her question “uh when I was in a relationship yea-but usually not during my random hookups” she nodded slowly “why?” he didn’t really know the answer to her question.

“I mean like if a girl gives me head then yea I’ll do it, but I don’t like jump to do it all the time” she squinted at him, confusion evident on her features “you literally asked me if you could eat my ass, and you don’t eat pussy regularly?” he bit his lip “I mean if you want me to eat you out, I’ll do it right now without a doubt-I enjoy doing it-I just don’t really like doing it to random girls I guess?” 

“You’re such a weirdo Harrington-but we can save that for a different day-I think your face would make a nice seat” his eyes widened at that and he started blushing-she even went as far to poke him in the nose as she spoke “you have a big nose-it’d feel good” he nodded his head, almost entranced at her words. 

“But today, overall you get a seven out of ten, but I’m glad you found my clit-already doing better than my ex, now get up, you’re helping me wash my sheets” he groaned, laying closer to her-nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck-wrapping an arm around her “why can’t we just lay here all day” she smiled at that, rolling her eyes.

“When my parents get home at seven and see you in my bed naked you can explain everything to them” he groaned “okay what if I put my clothes on?” 

“Get up Harrington, besides you have work at six, can’t just abandon Rob”

“Fine-and out of ten I’d rate you an eight-you’re a good instructor-but you whine a lot” she scoffed, hitting him slightly 

“Asshole!” 

-

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[oaksvalley]

There was only one bed

“Don’t you worry about me, farmer,” Willy assures, stepping into the empty living room with his duffle bag. He wasn’t expecting a fully furnished guest bedroom in the small, newly refurbished house on Ginger Island. In fact, Willy had helped the farmer lug over construction supplies and the bare minimum appliances from Pelican town, so he knew he would most likely have to sleep on the floor. He is surprised the farmer even has a bed to begin with since that hadn’t been in the stuff they brought here a month or two ago. It showed just how crafty the farmer had become since arriving to the valley. “This living room is more than enough. I’m used to sleepin’ on wooden planks anyway.”

“You sure?” The farmer asks, wringing their hands. Their cheeks are flushed pink from the rain and wind outside but also from embarrassment. It’s their fault Willy is stuck on the island in the first place. They forgot to check the weather forecast before booking this trip and a nasty storm started to roll in, preventing Willy from going back.

“I’d ’preciate a blanket and maybe a pillow if you could spare?”

“Of course!” The farmer scurries off to their bedroom. Their cheeks further reden. Why didn’t they think to offer first? They open the bedroom closet and grab a thick quilt and blanket before snatching one of the pillows from their bed. When the farmer makes it back to the living room, Willy is off to the side, kneeling in front of his duffel bag to look for a change of clothes. The farmer folds the quilt to make a sort of futon, and gingerly sets it next to where the fisherman is. They place the pillow on one end and the blanket on top before glancing at Willy.

The man grins at them, “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” the farmer sheepishly mumbles. “Uhm, if you’d like to freshen up I can heat some water on the stove for a bath.”

“That would be grand,” Willy smiles pleasantly.

“Alright,” the farmer says, walking to the kitchen area. Willy follows after them. “The bathroom is through my room to the left. Well, I call it a bathroom, but really it’s just a wet room with a wooden tub. The door in there connects to the outhouse.”

Willy hums, looking around. There’s a wood burner to heat the house, small gas stove, equally small sink, and fridge all lined up nicely along the wall. He frowns, questioning the safety of having the gas stove so close to the wood burner. He’s about to ask when there’s flash of white followed immediately by a sharp cracking noise and rumble that rattles the windows.

The farmer yelps and drops the large pot they were taking out of the cabinet. The pot falls onto the counter with a metallic clatter. The loud noise only makes the farmer recoil further. They cover their ears and shut their eyes tight, crouching down and make themselves even smaller.

Willy immediately kneels down in front of them. His hands cradle the farmer’s face and he starts talking to them. His soft tone and warm touch coax the farmer to open their eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the farmer wobbly apologizes. They bring their shaking hands down to their knees, and Willy shifts to hold their hands up in his own firm grip. The slight pressure helps ground the farmer. “I- well, I don’t do well with storms anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” Willy soothes, noticing the farmer starting to shiver. They still haven’t changed out of their soaked clothes. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

The fisherman gently pulls the farmer up and guides them to their room. Willy waits at the door frame with his back turned to give the farmer some privacy.

Quickly and more than a bit flustered, the farmer haphazardly shrugs off their soaked clothes and puts on pijamas. “Willy, I—

Suddenly there is another flash of light and thunder. The farmer whimpers and flees under their covers. They really don’t want to be alone until the storm passes, or at least until the thunder and lightning stop. Before they can think too much about it, the farmer blurts out, “Can you stay with me? Please.”

The silence is deafening. The farmer’s anxiety increases, so they start to ramble, “There’s more than enough room for the two of us. Only if you want of course. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Actually, if you’d rather not—”

Willy interrupts, “Let me get changed. Be right back.”

From under the covers, the farmer silently counts the seconds it takes for Willy to come back. It helps calm their nevers, but it also makes them truly think about what they just asked. They wonder if it was really okay with Willy. What if they ruined whatever rapport they had with him? Soon they hear Willy’s approaching footsteps.

“I’m back,” Willy says moments later. He hesitates and stands beside the other side of the bed. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” is all the farmer replies. The bed dips as Willy climbs on, but he doesn’t get under the covers. The farmer inches their way closer to Willy when lightning strikes again.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” Willy speaks. He gathers the farmer closer to himself. “It’ll be over soon.”

A wave of comfort washes over the farmer with Willy’s firm grip on their midsection. There’s a faint smell of the ocean and coffee. It isn’t long before the farmer fully relaxes and falls asleep in the safety of the older man’s arms.

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Premonitions of Love - Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆ HAPPY VALENTINES DAY Summary: You bite your lower lip, peering up at him, “I’m tired of waiting, Komaeda.” You give him a shaky little smile, “What if I don’t find anyone, what if I die in here before I get the chance.” He swallows, and you can hear that his voice is shaking when he says, “then maybe I could-” Contains: AFAB Reader, No pronouns used, Explicit Sexual Content, Ultimate Matchmaker!Reader Word Count: 3809

Read on Ao3

The tiles in the kitchen are cold, but the air is warm. It took a few weeks for you to get used to the endless summer heat of the island, but it at least made your frequent nightly trips more comfortable. Some evenings you go sit out by the ocean long after Monokuma’s nighttime announcement. On nights like tonight, you instead head to the dining hall and make yourself a drink. Your bare feet pad quietly as you cross the room and bend down to pull the teapot out from the lower cupboard, it is old, the sort that needs heating up on the stove and whistles when it’s done. Sitting in the lonely kitchen is better than stewing in your cabin anyway, so you don’t mind that it takes longer to boil the water. 

The small window above the sink is half open, letting an occasional cool breeze into the kitchen. Despite everything, you really like breathing in the ocean air. It dances through the short strands of hair that you haven’t been able to pull up into a bun as you hold down the gas knob on the stove and click the igniter. The burner lights up with a satisfying whoosh, and you set the teapot down on top of it. Getting to sleep has always been hard for you, overthinking and planning often keep you up until the AM and given the stresses of your current situation, you are awake at night more than ever. There is something nice about being able to go out and not need to worry about seeing anyone, you don’t dislike any of your cohort but you are introspective and often need time to yourself. Ironic considering your talent. 

The water in the teapot is only just starting to simmer, so you take some time to pull a mug and a box of tea leaves down from the cupboard. You drop one sugar cube into the mug, and then quickly add two more when you remember no one was watching. There had been a strainer in the cupboard last time you made a late-night tea, but someone has moved it. You don’t feel like filtering tea leaves through your teeth, so you kneel down to rifle through some of the lower cupboards hoping to find it. 

Times like these are always when the uselessness of your talent bothers you. Sure, Souda wouldn’t have any more luck digging through a cupboard than you, but it always makes you wonder. Wouldn’t a simple talent suit you better? Something helpful but altogether inconsequential? Like a talent that helps you find lost objects or something that makes you smarter. Anything but matchmaking. Sure, back in middle school other kids would pay you to tell them which locker to leave a love letter in, or which desk to place chocolates on. You’d even managed to convince teachers to give you higher grades with your infallible romantic advice. But now? In a killing game? You are useless, worse than garbage.

You are elbow deep in one of the cupboards when you hear the sound of a foot hitting the wooden floor of the dining hall. You freeze. Not sure if the best course of action is to climb out of the window or just stay put and hope they don’t notice you. The rapid beat of your heart is making it hard to think, no one would actually kill you, right? There hasn’t been a new motive, and you are quiet, you mostly keep to yourself. Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, and your knees start to ache from the awkward crouch you are stuck in.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” you hear a voice say, and then breathe a sigh of relief when Komaeda rounds the doorframe. He is more likely to ask you to kill him than he is to try anything himself.

“Oh!” He starts, “My apologies. Have I interrupted something?” 

You scramble to your feet and tug your shorts back down. They had ridden up something terrible while you were crouched on the floor. Komaeda is still standing on the other side of the room with one hand on the doorframe, he has also been trying to sleep if his messy hair and sweatpants are any indication. 

“No no! I was just...uh-” you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly aware of how revealing your pyjamas are, “-I couldn't sleep.”

“Ahh.” The tension in his shoulders melts and he takes a few steps towards you. He isn’t wearing shoes either. “I was also having trouble getting to sleep. I came by for a snack.”

You nod loosely, trying to swallow your shyness, “Do you...want a drink?” You ask, gesturing to the teapot on the stove.

Komaeda chuckles, “No, I already have what I need, thank you.” He tosses an apple up in the air and catches it, he must have grabbed it from the fruit bowl in the dining hall, “I was planning to go straight back to my cabin, but I heard sounds in here and thought someone might have been planning a murder! I was going to offer my assistance!”

“Oh uh…” you clear your throat, “sorry to disappoint.”

Admittedly, you have been working out appropriate matches for all of the classmates you are left on the island with, mostly to keep yourself busy. Komaeda is a hard one. For a while, you thought Sonia, her oblivious nature and penchant for the occult would have worked decently before you realised she was perfect for Tanaka. Nanami’s quiet disposition and the way she always put her friends first would have suited just fine. Togami’s leadership skills and desire to protect everyone would have been perfect if he was still alive. And Hinata, well. He was the one who was putting in the effort.

It is true that he wasn’t difficult to place due to a lack of options. The real reason was a lot less diplomatic, It is because you want him for yourself. You know it’s selfish, barbaric even. Yet still, you leave him alone and don’t meddle. Because part of you hopes that...well...

“Oh no! Please don't misunderstand, I am still very happy to be in the presence of an ultimate!” 

You lean backwards with your elbows up on the bench, “Even one as useless as me?” You say, laughing to yourself.

Komaeda blinks at you, curious, “Why would you say something like that about yourself?” You give him a coy smile, “Why would you?” “Ah.” He chuckles behind a hand, “My luck is paltry compared to a talent like yours, that’s why.” “The usefulness of a talent is circumstantial.” You say with a shrug, “Luck is going to be far more helpful in a situation like this than matchmaking is.”

The teapot starts whistling, and you can't help but wonder if Komaeda’s luck is the cause. You are sure that he wanted out of that awkward conversation as much as you did. Stepping past him, you head over to the stove and turn off the burner, Komaeda is lingering behind you. A little too close. As you pour the tea into your cup, you can feel your hands shaking, all you can think about is him looming over you. He is a good head and a half taller than you were, all he would need to do is spin you around and he’d have you pinned right on the-

“Three sugar cubes?” He asks, and you feel yourself turning pink. 

“Uh, yeah.” You say, taking the teapot over to the bin and shaking out the leftover leaves, “I like my tea sweet.” 

He laughs politely, and your breath catches in your throat. He has his hip resting against the bench, a sliver of pale skin visible where his shirt is riding up. You can tell he is tired, his eyes are sleepy and half-lidded when they meet your gaze. You want to bury your hands in his hair, you grip your mug tight to stop yourself from trying.

Komaeda tilts his head to the side, “Are you okay? You’re looking at me strangely.” 

“Huh!?” You squeak, “No! I wasn’t looking at you!”

“How shameful of me…” he mutters, crossing his arms and casting his eyes down to the floor, “implying that you would even look at trash like me.”

You bristle a little at that, heading over to the bench across from where he is standing. You place your tea down and hoist yourself up to sit on the bench, making yourself tall enough to meet his eyes without craning your head upwards, “You aren’t trash, Komaeda-san and I’m grateful for your company.”

It is weird being up high enough to see his face properly. His eyes are outlined with dark circles and spidery lashes brush his cheeks every time he blinks, his lips are a lot pinker than they looked from lower down. The gentle breeze in from the open window is dancing through his hair and the light of the moon makes it look almost shimmery. You take a sip of your tea to calm yourself.

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but it genuinely doesn't matter.” He says with a tired smile.

You swing your legs back and forth as you watch him. Komaeda smiles a lot, but it rarely reaches his eyes, a tight pull of his cheeks that is rendered entirely ungenuine with even the most minor of examinations. You want to see him smile properly, for his eyes to pinch in the corners and his nose to wrinkle. His cheeks would be pretty if they were flushed pink. You wish you could do that to him. “It matters to me.” You say, taking another sip of your tea, “I like seeing people happy.”

He smiles another fake smile, “Ah, that shouldn’t come as a surprise given your talent.” One of his hands stretches out toward you in a grasping claw until he thinks better of it, letting his hand drop back to his side, “What is matchmaking but helping others find ultimate happiness?” You scoff, “Love is hardly the ultimate happiness. Many people find that without a significant other.” you lower your mug to rest on your bare thighs, it’s warm, “My talent doesn’t guarantee a perfect relationship either, those take work, I’m only a little better than a quiz in a magazine.” Komaeda frowns then, his brow furrows and it’s incredibly cute, “I find that difficult to believe, someone as amazing as you debasing yourself in front of a pathetic worm like me…I don’t understand it.”

You give him a shaky half smile and set your tea down beside you on the bench, “You’re not pathetic, and I’m not amazing. Can’t we just be equals, for a little while?” 

“Why?” He asks, and you can hear the airy breathlessness in his voice.

“I want to know you better.” You reply nervously, quickly clearing your throat and recovering with, “You know, because I can’t make matches if I don’t know people very well.” Komaeda bursts into a bought of laughter that have you taken aback. He is far less intimidating in his pyjamas, but any reminder of that deadly first trial has your hair on end. 

Even if you still blush when he looks in your direction. 

“You would waste your talent on someone like me?” Another one of those smiles slashes his cheeks in half, “Who would ever accept me as their partner?” You would.

“I’m just being thorough.” You reply, “There aren’t many people on the island so I need to cover all my bases.”

“By all means, then.” He says, his smile turning syrupy, “Use me however you desire” You swallow, averting your eyes and pressing your thighs together. He must know the effect he has on you. Komaeda is many things, but he surely isn't unobservant. 

“What about yourself?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. You blink, “Sorry?” “Do you include yourself in the viable options?” He clarifies, “I can’t imagine you would include me but not yourself, and yet I haven’t noticed you involving yourself with the others all that much.”

“Ah.” You say, withering a little as you set your mug down on the bench next to you, “I don’t have a perfect match, or at least my talent doesn’t help me to find one.” His brow furrows, “Does that bother you?” You can feel tears beading in your eyes, but force a smile anyway, “I thought it didn’t, but it’s harder to stomach the older I get.” You shrug one shoulder, “I’ve consulted constellations, the positions of the sun and the moon. Hell, I even tried tarot at one point and nothing. No red string of fate, just loneliness for the rest of my life.” 

You cast your eyes down at Komaeda’s feet, too ashamed to meet his gaze, “I know it’s stupid, that plenty of people live happy and full lives without falling in love but it just feels...it feels so cruel that I’ve been put on this planet to find love for other people but I can never find it myself.”

Komaeda scoffs aloud, and you look up at him in surprise. He’s never made such a dismissive sound around you before, “Someone as amazing as you…is going to be alone forever?” He laughs, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I find that incredibly difficult to believe. With a talent as wonderful, as hopeful as yours. It’s nearly, no it is impossible to imagine that there is no potential for love in your life.” “But I-” He laughs again, louder this time, eyes growing wider, “Your talent makes others happy, everyone is happy just by being around you. The way you so perfectly knot lives together may be reserved for other people, but surely you can see that you are amazing enough not to need the help.” He makes a sound, half a sigh, half a moan, “You should have people falling at your feet.”

At some point during his tirade, he had come closer to you. He is almost standing between your open legs. Your hands are gripping the edge of the bench tight so he won’t notice the shaking. 

You bite your lower lip, peering up at him, “I’m tired of waiting, Komaeda.” You give him a shaky little smile, “What if I don’t find anyone, what if I die in here before I get the chance.” He stares at you appraisingly for a moment, the moonlight catching in his hair as his pale eyes dart around your face. He wets his lips, and begins speaking in a low, serious voice, “I know that I'm just a piece of trash, not even worthy to kiss the ground you walk on. But if you want someone so desperately…” He swallows, and you can hear that his voice is shaking when he says, “then maybe I could-”

“Yes.” You breathe. Your heart is racing like it is trying to burst forth from your chest. Yes, a million times yes.

Komaeda blinks a few times, like he is stunned, “what- you...you actually?”

“Komaeda.” You lick your lips, and he definitely notices, “please”

His throat bobs as he steps towards you, nestling in between your open thighs. You can feel his breath on your face, he slowly brings up a hand to cup your cheek and you can see that he is shaking. He takes one step towards you and crashes his lips into yours. One hand gripping tightly at your waist and the other tugging at your hair. His lips are soft, and he smells like cheap camomile soap, you want more.

Komaeda grunts when you instinctively wrap one of your legs around his narrow waist, desperate to tug him ever closer. His boney fingers slide up and over the length of your ribcage, between frantic messy kisses, you can hear him whimpering and moaning against your lips. You gasp aloud when he pulls your hair tight, he laughs breathlessly and whispers, “Do you like when I do that?” close enough that his lips touch yours as he speaks.

“Y-Yes…” you reply, one of your own hands sliding up the ridges of his spine and into his hair, you grab a handful at the nap of his neck and yank, “Do you like it?” He pulls far enough away from you that you can meet his eyes, wide and desperate, darting around every inch of your face like he is trying to commit you to memory, “I like it very much.” he says lowly, and you can feel the sound of it vibrating through your chest, “But what I like is of little significance.”

He sinks down to his knees and tugs you forward by your thighs, “I want to know what you like.”

You can feel your heart racing through your whole body, heaving a shaky breath and leaning back on your elbows. Komaeda’s hands are cold when they reach up and grab the waistband of your shorts, tugging them and your panties down. Your shorts fall straight to the floor, but your panties get caught dangling around your ankle, and Komaeda seems content to leave them there. 

“Relax.” He breathes, cold hands holding your legs apart as he leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, “Let me worship you.”

Fuck. You couldn’t say no to that even if you wanted to.

Komaeda takes his time. You aren’t sure whether you appreciate that or just want him to get on with it. He plants small kisses the whole way up the inside of your thigh, from knee all the way to pelvis, and for one excruciating moment, you feel his breath ghost over your sex before he moves to the other leg and repeats the process. 

“Damn it.” You hiss under your breath, quivering for any sort of stimulation.

Komaeda pauses his ministrations for a moment, giggling under his breath, “There’s no need to rush, we have all night.” You choke, the thought of him worshipping you all night sends a bolt of arousal down between your thighs and you hide your face with a forearm so he doesn't realise you are turning red. 

He sucks a large bruise onto your inner thigh, kissing it gently to soothe the ache, and then pulling back to admire his handiwork. He moans, just from the sight of it, and immediately dives back in to do it again. You can’t help but imagine yourself lounging at the beach in a swimsuit, and somebody noticing the constellation of bruises covering your inner thighs. Knowing who it was that did it to you. 

Then you yelp, snapping back to attention at the sight of Komaeda’s eyes peering up at you from between your thighs. He gives your clit another lick, and you instinctively grab his unruly hair for leverage. He smirks at you and goes back to kissing your thigh. “Komaeda please!” You cry out, unable to stop your hips bucking towards him, desperate for attention. 

He leans his head against your thigh, his smile saccharine and syrupy. For someone who acts so subservient and weak, he sure is exuding confidence right now, “Hm? Did you need something?”

You bark a laugh, “Yes! Obviously!” He closes his eyes, and another moan rolls through him. When his eyes open again, they are half-lidded and nearly sinister, “Does this help?” He whispers, one of his long fingers gently running up the full length of your sex and completing one tight circle over your clit. 

“God, fuck, yes! More!” You cry out, head lolling backwards. 

You feel his lips press against your thigh, and Komaedas finger continues gently stroking you, just enough that you are able to feel it, but still not enough. Enough to leave you shivery and desperate for more. Every gentle touch up over your clit has your hips bucking towards him, your whole body shaking. 

Your breath hitches when you feel his finger finally slip in between your folds, finally finally touching you directly. 

Komaeda whimpers, “You’re so wet…”

You let out a keening moan when his digit presses against your entrance, teasing you with the addictive taste of true penetration, “P-Please…” 

His finger slips inside, only to the second knuckle, but it’s enough to have your toes curling. Komaeda stares down at where his finger is now pressed inside you, blinking slowly in utter awe. Then his finger curls upward, and you howl. Both hands were now buried in his hair, hips grinding up into his hand. 

“Beautiful…” he whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

You barely even hear him over the sounds of your own moans when he strokes your insides again. 

“I can’t believe you are letting me do this to you.” He breathes, and you can feel his warm breath against your wetness when he whispers, “How very lucky.”

Then his mouth is on you. 

You lose yourself completely, in the warmth, the wetness. He’s still teasing of course, only offering tantalising little licks when you really want him to suck, but you are already so desperate, so wanton, that even the little he is willing to give you has pathetic mewls jumping out from your throat. Then you feel the stretch of a second finger entering beside the first, and he slowly begins pumping them in and out of your sex, being sure to curl them upwards with every thrust. 

The tightness in your core is growing unbearable. A fluctuating, unending warmth that just feels good, but it isn't enough, it feels like it will never be enough. That Komaeda will have you drooling, grinding and whimpering over his touches until the end of time. 

“P…Please…Komaeda…Please…” you stammer, barely even able to speak as the pleasure roils under your fragile skin. 

He moans against you, and you can feel it vibrate up through your body. 

“I want…I want to cum…please” He laughs again, breathless and completely wild, “I can do that for you.” The feeling of his lips finally wrapping around your clit has you completely lost to the earth. Glass shatters behind your eyes, your heart rebounds wildly inside your ribcage, and you moan so hard that it hurts. Your talent goes crazy, you can see the stars colliding, personality matrixes with a perfect score, birth charts, star signs and a red string tied so tightly to your finger that it cuts off circulation. 

His fingers curl inside you again, and he whines and whimpers and moans as he eats you out like a man starved, your fingers bury tightly in his hair, pulling so hard that his fragile locks break off in chunks. 

And it’s Komaeda. Komaeda. Komaeda. Komaeda. Somehow it has always been Komaeda. 

He sucks hard, heaving a wheezing breath-

And you shatter.

[shywhumpauthor]

Two Weeks of Whump—Day Six

Kitchen Knife // Gunshot Wound // Gag

Masterlist

Cw: (implied) pet whump, accidental self-injury, implied past abuse, self deprecating thoughts, fear/anticipation

Quiet music filled the kitchen, airy songs drifting along the fragrant aromas. Soft light filtered through the half open sheet curtains above the sink, casting the wooden cabinets in the golden glow of the lowering sun.

The comforting atmosphere was almost enough to cover the tension, lingering heavy and low against the evening’s calm.

Whumpee wasn’t sure why they were so nervous. Their hands shook with the slightest tremble as they carried an empty pot over to the sink, setting it just besides on the counter before twisting the faucet so the water would run into it when they twisted the handle to turn on the water.

Caretaker had done absolutely nothing to warrant this kind of anxiety towards them. No, no, they were good. Kind, with a lot more patience than Whumpee deserved. It had only been a few weeks since they had bought Whumpee, cheap from a second-hand shelter. Caretaker was their fourth, and after so long of having served as a domestic companion, it was pitiful how Whumpee kept making mistakes.

Caretaker had been so nice. Genuinely, so much nicer than Whumpee deserved. The first few days had been surprising but also somewhat expected, somewhere deep in their memories of their past owners. They always started nice. Patient, allowing Whumpee to learn. Learn what they were like, what the house was like, what they were expected to do, the dynamics. Caretaker had been just like that, encouraging and guiding them through the first long hours.

Whumpee knew, that initial kindness never lasted for long. Usually gone within a week, a crucial turning point where they were no longer learning but expected to know.

That… hadn’t come yet, with Caretaker. They didn’t get mad if Whumpee forgot how they liked their coffee in the morning, or if the eggs were a little over cooked because Whumpee had never used a gas stove before. They were soft spoken and collected as they explained to Whumpee, never so much as raising their voice. Then they would leave notes, written neatly on post-its that they would leave on the counter for Whumpee to reference. They took their coffee black, with two spoonfuls of sugar, in one of the colorful ceramic collectors mugs, not the good porcelain ones. Use the back burners for slow cooks, the front two for quick heating. The sink’s single faucet handle turned up for cold, down for hot, and there was a small button on the back that would switch the water flow to the spray nozzle.

And even when Whumpee still managed to mess some of those up, Caretaker just brushed it off and guided them in how to fix it.

Really, there was nothing they had done to provoke any sort of negative feelings. Whumpee knew they weren’t supposed to, but they liked Caretaker. They wanted to do good for them. And they were petrified of the moment that they would fuck things up grandly enough to finally break Caretaker’s good natured composure.

They turned the water off when the pot was about halfway full, using both hands to support it as they carried it over to the stove. On the counter to the side, Caretaker worked to cut up and season a few slabs of chicken breast, minding their own business as the two worked together yet separate. This was Whumpee’s first time cooking with Caretaker. Up until then, they had done it all by themself, except for the nights Caretaker wanted to cook themself. They usually were able to use the kitchen however they saw fit, following the habits they had learned from past owners and recipes. What if they didn’t do things the way Caretaker liked? What if they used the wrong cookware, or the wrong utensils? Whumpee liked to gather all their materials at the start, lay them across the counter so they knew exactly what needed to be done, but what if Caretaker didn’t like the clutter?

Whumpee turned the stove on, a small burst of heat washing over their hands as the blue flames sparked to life below the burner. They checked to make sure the pot was on right, that it wasn’t going to fall off or anything, before stepping over to the other side of the kitchen to their next task.

Soup. That should have been easy enough. Caretaker offered to handle the meat and the noodles, while Whumpee was left to the vegetables and setting the table, which they had already done. That was another thing that offset them, they had never been allowed to eat at the table before. Not with any of their other owners. Caretaker didn’t care, though, so long as they didn’t make a mess and cleaned up after themself.

The cutting board was already out, the vegetables freshly washed and in a bowl to the side. Another smaller bowl rested next to it, so when Whumpee was finished with one they could empty it into the pot and keep their space open for the next.

What if there was a specific order Caretaker wanted them to add the vegetables in? Should they ask? Or would that just annoy them?

Celery it is, Whumpee decided, grabbing the stalks in a handful and laying them out on the board. The knife was already there, clean and waiting.

They had cut vegetables dozens of times—hundreds. They shouldn’t mess it up, their hands were practiced. Familiar with the motions, how to complete the task quickly without letting that speed mess them up. They wouldn’t mess up.

But Whumpee’s hands were shaking. They braced a finger against the back of the knife’s blade, curling their opposing thumb under their hand as they held the celery in place. They knew how to do this.

They should have at least gotten through the celery.

“Hey Whumpee,“ Caretaker called across the room out of nowhere, shattering the silence and making the other flinch with a sharp gasp as the knife slipped from their hand. “Do you have the broth cubes over there?”

Whumpee blinked. They saw the blood before they felt the pain. Thick, red droplets leaking across the stalks laid in front of them, falling against the blade they had dropped.

It stung worse than anything, as Whumpee quickly wrenched their hand away from the vegetables before they could ruin any of the others. A deep slit, on the side of their hand right below where their index joint connected to their palm. A moment of panic flashed through their mind, and Whumpee quickly pressed their other hand to the wound, trying to stop the blood from welling. It didn’t, a few beads dripping to the floor as they stepped even further back from the counter.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker repeated, pausing their own task to look back over their shoulder. “Do you- shit, what happened?” Caretaker’s question dropped along with their expression, the calm, content look melting away into an expression of alarm. Unlike Whumpee, they didn’t hesitate, quickly moving across the kitchen to grab the hand towel hanging above the drying rack, more decorative than functional. They were in front of Whumpee in a moment, tugging their hand away and quickly winding the towel around their palm.

“Hold that- go to the bathroom, I’ll be there in a second,” Caretaker grabbed Whumpee’s other hand, pressing it to hold the towel in place. When Whumpee didn’t move immediately, they gave them a small push, more of a nudge than anything. “Go, Whumpee. Turn on the sink,” they ordered, stepping back themself and to the kitchen sink, throwing on the water as they grabbed the dish soap and quickly began scrubbing their palms.

“Go!” The sharpness of their tone was what finally got Whumpee moving, stumbling half a step before they scurried to the hall bathroom. The pain nothing more than a buzz in the back of their mind, anxiety was all they felt, creeping up and swelling in their throat.

Something sickening churned in Whumpee’s stomach as they turned the sink on with a trembling, bloody hand.

They’d finally fucked it up.

————————————————————

@promptsforyourwhumpfic

Oops it’s ten pm. Well, ten thirty. Oopsie. Noah content tomorrow! Pinky promise! (Not twow, just a fun little drabble. Maybe. If u don’t post it someone scream at me)

[cricketcat9]

Babcia's technical adventures!

I wanted to have my friend Emily's miso soup for lunch. Gas stove sputtering, no more gas. Checking the gas tank, exchanging for a full one (schlepping the full tank, heavy AF*! for about 35 meters). Same result. Some *technical* thinking... Checking the burners, they are fine. Dragging the stove out, checking the gas pipe, fine. Unscrewing the gas valves from the kitchen tank, and the water heater tank -about 35 meters apart. Exchanging the.valves. Pushing the stove back into its place; stove works. The kitchen tank's valve obviouly broken, water heater, of course, "sin gas" now. Seems that my two other tanks are rather empty, schlepping them back about 35m. Running to the ferretería ( hardware store) tomorrow morning, no shower, for the new valve, calling the gas guy, hoping 🙏 he works Saturdays, or no hot water until Monday. ..

All this for your soup, Emily! 🥺

All of you dreaming about a cozy cottage, how about cooking and heating? Wood stove? Is there electricity in your dream cottage? A kerosene lamp? Just curious...

[theahole]

How I make chocolate oatmeal

This recipe makes enough oatmeal to keep me going until lunch, or two smaller servings if you don't have my appetite. It can also be halved (half a tablespoon is 1 and 1/2 teaspoons).

What you need:

2 quart saucepan (this stuff bubbles up high and fast, and you don't want it on your stove OR your skin) stirring spoon or spoonula 1 cup dry measuring cup 1 wet measuring cup measuring spoons bowl eating spoon butter knife stove top burner

You can use a metal or silicon or wood spoon to stir this. I use this spoon/spatula I stole when I moved because I was the only person using it anyway. Do NOT use one of those cheap plastic mixing spoons they sell in bags of 4 at Dollar Tree, because this is what will happen:

Ingredients:

1 tablespoon brown sugar, no need to pack it--I use light and dark interchangeably, whatever you got 1 cup cold water 1 cup quick oats 1 tablespoon cocoa powder scant 1/4 teaspoon salt (I forgot to put it in the shot, but it's hiding behind the coffee pot) 1 pat butter (not shown) toppings (optional, up to you)

You are going to want to remember the salt, the oatmeal will be bland without it.

Pour the water into your pot and put the pot on the burner you'll use. Once you get this down to a science, you can start the water boiling and get everything ready before it does, but on a first try you'd better measure everything first and then wait the two or so minutes it takes a cup of water to boil.

I always measure the brown sugar into the bottom of the bowl I will be eating out of first, because I'd rather get sugar in the cocoa than cocoa in the sugar. But do what you want.

Measure 1 cup of oats (I used to scoop and sweep this, but it's easier to just dip the cup in the oats, and accuracy is not a big deal here), and add 1 tablespoon of cocoa. You can mix these in a separate bowl if you want, but I always do this:

Dump the cocoa on top of the oats in the measuring cup.

Which can get messy if you're not careful, but is, once again, easy and fast. The less time I spend on my feet, the better.

Start the water boiling on high, and when it starts to boil, add the salt. Once the boil really gets going, reduce the heat (in my experience it's the 4 or 3 on an electric stove and the lowest setting you can fucking get on a gas stove), and pour in the oats and cocoa. Start stirring IMMEDIATELY! You need to stir constantly so that the mixture all gets wet, cooks evenly, and doesn't stick or burn to the bottom of the pan. Once the mixture thickens, which takes about a minute, maybe less, take the pan off the heat and remember to turn off the burner.

Scoop the oatmeal into your bowl or bowls. If a chunk falls on the counter or over the rim of the pan, you may get an urge to put it in your mouth. Do not. At this point, unsweetened, the oatmeal will only taste bitter and salty.

You have to let the oatmeal sit for about a minute to finish cooking. I like to wash the utensils and such and leave the pot to soak while this goes on. If you want just plain chocolate oatmeal, add your butter and there you go. I like to add toppings, though. My favorites are a big spoonful of peanut butter from a large jar of processed store brand and a handful of chocolate chips. Mini chips melt better, but you get 2 ounces less per bag. You can add whatever you want--flavored peanut butter, other nut butters, flavored baking chips.. though I have tried cinnamon chips and would rather just add cinnamon, and the only mint ones I could find are Andes and they are VERY strong. Just be sure not to add anything cold to the oatmeal until after it's sat for the whole minute.

Stir vigorously (did you remember the sugar?) and enjoy.

This is over-explained and probably posted at the very worst time, but I hope it's useful too.

[hackedpitabread]

ℕ𝕚𝕜𝕠𝕝𝕒 𝕋𝕖𝕤𝕝𝕒 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Notes: takes place in the historical time, not during Ragnarok. Reader gender not specified.

It had been a long day, everything just seemed to be going wrong. Owning a business was never easy, you knew that going in, but today was just more stressful than the rest. Every customer seemed to have a problem that your workers couldn’t fix, and you got several earfuls from a handful of unreasonable customers. With Christmas quickly approaching, you had more work than ever cut out for you. You couldn’t wait to get home and relax, maybe you’d continue the novel you were reading, or have a nice relaxing bath. Maybe you could have a nice moment with your husband, have a cup of tea, ask him about his day, or even just sit in a peaceful silence.

You hadn’t even noticed the New York streets pass you by as you walked home, so tired from your day and busy fantasizing about how you were going to relax once you got home. Your home wasn’t the newest, but it was a home and you were lucky enough to inherit the land and building from your parents. You lived on the upper east-side of Manhattan, but up until the last decade, it had been mostly farmland. Your home had four bedrooms (one of which was converted into an office), indoor plumbing and hot water, two above ground stories, and a basement laboratory.

You reached for your keys, having the sudden realization that you had been spacing out the whole way home, despite the cold, snowy weather. Sighing, you unlocked your heavy wooden door. You must be really out of it if you made it this far without realizing where you were. You quickly entered the house and shut the door behind you to not let the warm air out. You unwrapped your scarf from the secure spot around your neck, hung up your thick winter coat, and shook the snow off your boots before slipping into a pair of house shoes. This was your daily routine, and perfectly on time was the sound of your husband’s foot steps up the basement stairs.

You walked to the kitchen out of habit. You and your husband both had a particular order you had to do things in, and it just so happened you always met in the kitchen after you came home from work. You grabbed your favorite mug from the cabinet before grabbing the kettle to fill it wit water. You were really craving a nice hot mug of chamomile tea, and the first step to hot tea, was hot water.

As you were filling up the kettle wit water, you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your stomach gently, as Nikola rested his chin on your shoulder.

“You look tired.” He commented, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“You have no idea, the holidays always bring out the worst in people.” You sighed, turning off the faucet and closing the kettle. But suddenly, the kettle was gently snatched from your hands. You looked at the culprit with a confused and exasperated look on your face.

“Let me take over your tea.” Nikola said, releasing you from the hug before lighting the gas stove. “There’s a hot bath upstairs if you’d like to relax.”

Your heart soared and you swear you fell in love with him all over again in that moment. These were the types of moments where you were reminded of how caring and amazing your husband could be.

“You know me too well dear, thank you so much.” You kissed him on the cheek as he placed the kettle on the burner with care, making sure not to spill any of the water.

“Of course, but you should hurry before the water gets cold.” He said with a teasing smile before you hurried upstairs to claim your relaxing bath.

The bath was absolutely perfect, it was as if someone calculated how to get the perfect water temperature by the time you got home. Actually, knowing Nikola, he most likely did. The foamy mountain of bubbles only added to the relaxation, and after a couple of minutes you felt your stress from the day just melt away.

After your bath had cooled and you were all washed up, you changed into a set of clean pajamas after seeing how late it was. You made your way to the downstairs living room, where you found hear the peaceful sound of a crackling fire. There, in front of the brick fireplace, sat your husband, blankets on the floor, and two cups of chamomile tea in hand.

When you saw him smile at you, your heart felt like it would explode right out of your chest from how sweet this man is.

Maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

[chadillacboseman]

Panicked

Pairing: Courtland Gentry (Sierra Six) x F!Reader Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of injury, just sweetness at the end. Word Count: 1.5k A/N: Kinda boring, I'm sorry lol.

--

Courtland Gentry wasn't immortal, that much you knew. In his line of work, death was common, and something you had to come to terms with quickly.

He often went "dark" for days at a time, leaving you wringing your hands in worry while pacing the floor of the kitchen.

This was one of those times- "Six" as he was known in the field hadn't so much as checked in in a full two weeks; you knew he was on a mission in Bangkok with another agent. He had told you it could get dicey, and that he might not be able to contact you for several days.

That wasn't what worried you.

What worried you was Fitzroy's troubling silence. When Claire didn't pick up the emergency phone, genuine panic set in in your chest.

Of course this was a scenario you had planned for in the past.

You had braced for it as one might brace before an impact on many an occasion. You packed your go bag quickly, tossing the necessities into the duffel haphazardly- clothes, burner phone, gun; it pained you to pass over the many keepsakes in the home you had built together.

You glanced once more at the burner phone and sighed.

Nothing.

You slung the duffel over your shoulder and glanced once more around the home you had called your own for years. There was an ache in your heart that you couldn't seem to rid yourself of.

You said one last mental goodbye as you flipped on the gas supply to the stove. As you walked out the back door into the darkness, you flipped the switch hidden behind the azalea bush by the window.

You knew you had about seven seconds to make it to your car before-

BOOM

The house erupted in flames as you put the car in drive and screeched down the alleyway in a plume of dust.

--

You hated safe houses.

They were so unbelievably boring- no windows, no decor. Often, they didn't even have basic appliances or toiletries.

This one Court had at least tried to spruce up, you had to give him that. He had bought the property in the woods back when the two of you first got serious- a little cabin in the middle of nowhere with a locked gate and steel doors. He called it an insurance policy in case the agency ever decided he was a little too expendable.

Had that time finally come?

You tried to push the thought from your mind, but it nagged at you, buzzing in your skull like an angry hornet.

What if he's dead?

Stop it. Stop it stop it-

What if he's bleeding out right now on the floor of some Bangkok hotel, alone and afraid?

STOP IT!

You gripped the edge of the sink and choked back a sob, trying desperately to clear your head of the darkness that threatened to overtake you.

He's fine. Court's fine. Everything will be okay.

Right?

You tried to sleep, you really did, but every sound woke you with a jolt and had you panting in the darkness and reaching for your gun.

When you did sleep, you dreamed of Court- bloodied and broken lying in some grimy alleyway. No matter how many times you talked yourself down from the ledge, it didn't matter.

The dreams kept coming back, vivid and painful, leaving you breathless and sobbing into the quiet air.

When you awoke the next morning, you felt as if you hadn't slept at all- dark circles haloed your dull eyes as you examined your face in the bathroom mirror.

You sighed and washed your face with frigid water before toweling off and heading back into the bedroom. A small sliver of orange light splashed across the bed from the tiny window. Outside, you could see the pine trees swaying with wind.

At least the view was nice.

It had now been almost a full month since Court's silence began. You'd ventured out a few times to grab supplies with the cash stashed under the floorboards in the kitchen. Meager and modest things you couldn't live without.

There was a sort of general store alongside the highway that you used- run by an old man who had met Court and yourself when he first bought the property. He assumed you were a young couple in love looking for a "fixer upper".

You supposed he wasn't entirely wrong.

You returned to the house this time with cup noodle and bottled water in tow, tossing the bags onto the counter haphazardly before going to check the encrypted messaging on your computer.

Nothing. Exactly as you'd expected.

You settled onto the couch as the microwave hummed and flipped on the tv. News of your house fire being investigated had finally stopped- ruled an accident by the fire marshal. They'd declared you 'missing', but you knew an 'ad absentia' death would soon follow. You had no vehicles registered in your real name and no accounts that could be used. They'd have no choice.

The microwave dinged and you retrieved your noodles, setting them on the counter to cool.

A floorboard creaked somewhere in the front entry.

CREEEEAK

It sounded deafening. Your ears pricked, listening intently for another.

It didn't come.

You scrambled quietly for your pistol, leaving the TV on so the intruder was none the wiser. You crouched behind the couch and watched the mirror on the far side of the room, waiting for any sign of feet to appear.

When they did, they were dark boots, scuffed and stained with dark, red splotches.

You let out a shaky breath and tried to remember the shooting lessons Court had given you-

"Plant your feet, yeah, just like that. Shoulder-width apart. Cup the other hand under the clip- yeah, that's it. Now shoot."

You sprung up from behind the couch and aimed down the iron sights at the intruder. In an instant, you felt your breath snatched from your lungs.

"Court-" you gasped his name and he flashed you a grin between chews of his gum.

"In the flesh."

His face had healing bruises and several new wounds were splashed across the skin. You took in his appearance for another few seconds, eyes raking over him as if he was a hallucination.

When you finally broke your trance, you ran to him and threw your arms around him, choking back tears as he wrapped his own arms around your frame.

"I was so worried," you sobbed against his broad chest, "I thought you were dead, Court."

His heart soared at the sound of his name on your lips- no one called him that anymore but you.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into your hair, "Things got bad. Fitz is...gone."

Your heart sank at the news of Fitzroy's death- he had taken care of Court when no one else had.

"And Claire?" you pulled back and wiped tears from your eyes.

Court grinned and jerked his head backward. The small, dark-haired girl was standing in the hall, her hands clasped in front of her with a small smile on her face.

"Claire!" you broke away from Court and hugged her tightly. She felt smaller than she had before, shrunken as if she'd not been eating.

You knew you'd have to fix that.

"I'm sorry about Don," you tucked her hair behind hear ear and she shrugged, trying her best to keep up her tough exterior as Court settled in to eat your now cold noodles.

"Is Claire going to be alright?" you curled into Court's embrace in the bed, finding your usual spot as you had so many nights before. It still felt unreal having him back- you had thought he was dead just hours before.

"With time, yeah," he traced his fingers along your exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake, "She saw a lot of things I didn't want her to."

You shuddered at the thought.

"Are we safe?"

Court pondered that question for a moment- he had killed dozens of people in his effort to retrieve Claire and free himself from imprisonment. But Lloyd Hansen was dead and he knew that Miranda would have to step over at least ten bodies just to find the evidence of his escape.

He thought she was wise enough to leave it be.

"I think so," he planted a kiss on the top of your head and you hummed in response.

"I love you," his words surprised you- you knew he loved you, of course, but he didn't say it often. A hazard of working for a three letter agency- detachment came standard with the job. He felt as if he admitted how much you mattered, that you'd be taken away in an instant. Swept up into the shadows like everything else he had loved.

But Court did love you. God, did he love you.

During the fiasco with Lloyd, the thought of you was all that had kept him going- all that kept him from simply giving in and letting the man kill him.

"I love you too, Court."

"You know, your shooting stance wasn't half bad," you could almost hear the smile in his words.

"Yeah?" you craned your neck to look up at him and he nodded.

"I think you'd have hit me if you'd been quicker on the draw."

"Well, maybe you can give me some more lessons?" you grinned up at him and he returned it.

"I'd like that."

--

TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC (sorry it took so long): @wadiyatalkinabeet1 @thefictionalgemini

[parkeryangs]

matt woebegone "they have accidentally caused a fire - how did they do it and how do they react to it?"

x

Matt was trying to make breakfast.

It was he and Mike's first morning in their new apartment. The place wasn't great; Mike had already found a mouse hiding in his bedroom the evening before, they didn't have any hot water yet and had to carry their trash half a mile to the nearest dumpster, but—well—it was home.

Mike is sleeping in and Matt is currently having trouble with the stove. Preheating the oven was simple enough, if the rapidly rising red numbers on the small display are anything to go by, but the stovetop seems to have it out for him in particular. The knobs keep catching, and, with Matt being used to electric stoves, the gas heating element alone is a new sort of beast, but after a few shameful Google searches and nervous frowns at the sharp exhale of gas from the lines, he gets it lit.

Dressed in nothing but boxers and a ratty old band t-shirt he’d probably stolen from Mike, Matt grins in satisfaction at the flames licking up around the back left burner and then digs through the cabinets for the secondhand skillet they’d unpacked the day prior, before a whirlwind of a shopping trip for the necessary groceries.

As much as he loves him, Matt hates shopping with Mike, for groceries in particular. Trips to a bookstore or anything of the sort were fine, but if they were buying food, Mike was never one to stray from the predetermined list, or spend more time in a store than was needed, even though Matt likes to wander and shop without a hyperspecific list in his mind. Usually they rush through it and will still manage to forget an item or two, but after a quick glance through the fridge, Matt thinks they've made it out fine enough.

He settles on making bacon and biscuits and gravy. The gravy was a mix that had come in a pouch, and the biscuits were canned, but Matt, well aware of his limitations in the kitchen, figures that Mike probably wouldn't even notice in his early morning haze, and would just be glad there was any food to eat, as they hadn't picked up anything prepackaged after Mike’s claim that they needed ingredients first, before anything else.

Still—fifteen minutes pass and the biscuits are in the oven, the gravy is done and thick enough to cut with a fork, just the way Mike likes it, and Matt is standing at the stove nudging strips of bacon around on the skillet. He feels Mike before he hears him, when two arms encircle his waist, the other clearly pleased as he then rumbles, voice heavy with sleep, “You really know the way to a man's heart, Possum,”

“Good morning,” Matt drawls in response, spine straightening with the unexpected touch. “Also, when did you get so quiet? Jesus, Mikey, I’ll have to put a bell on you,” Mike laughs at that, and Matt can already imagine the sort of smile that's crossed the other man's face, sleepy and sweet. Yearning to see it for himself, he gives the bacon a few more experimental prods with a fork before flipping them over, then twisting in Mike’s grasp amidst the low sizzle of the meat, coming essentially face-to-face with the other man as he shifts.

“You made breakfast,” Mike states flatly, though he's still grinning and there's a bright gleam of pleasure that Matt catches in his eye. “You made biscuits and gravy,”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I know how serious you are about biscuits and gravy. I, uh, hope it's edible; this stove is weird,” Matt says, all too focused on the soft curve of Mike's mouth in the dim half-light of the kitchen. He kisses him, then, just because he can, one hand finding its way to Mike's jaw as the other earnestly deepens the kiss.

Mike mumbles something about being glad he’d brushed his teeth already, then nudges Matt away from the stove, backing him hurriedly up against the fridge. Matt hears a magnet fall as his spine collides slightly too roughly with the stainless steel door, but can't find it in himself to really be bothered, all too enamored with the way Mike is already clinging to him like a lifeline.

Truthfully, neither of them can be sure when the fire started after that.

Matt smells it first—the sudden rush of smoke mixed with charred meat—and he all but tears himself away from Mike, hitting his head on the fridge door in the process. He curses at the spark of pain, then curses again when he sees the now-flaming pan, still perched neatly over the burner. “What the— I-I’m going to burn the fucking apartment down on our first day,” he hisses, then falling into another string of swears.

To his part, Mike has accepted this turn of events rather well, turning off the burner before darting towards the pantry and chattering half to himself about whether or not they'd grabbed a box of baking soda.

“Fuck,” Matt snaps again, frantically tearing through the drawers before snagging another pan, flipping it over to crush the flaming bacon beneath it and the other pan. This has the desired effect of killing the source of oxygen, treating him only to another nasty cloud of smoke after he lifts the pan off of the charred remains of their breakfast following an agonizingly long wait.

The other then opens the kitchen window without a word, fanning the smoke uselessly towards it. “Well. I think we should probably change the battery in the smoke detector soon, huh.”

Matt can't help but laugh, fidgeting with the burnt pieces of bacon in the pan. “I hope you like your bacon…crispy?” he offers with a shaky laugh, tipping the skillet to show Mike the wrecked remains. “Maybe ashy is a better word. I think it’d crumble if you tried to eat it; sorry about breakfast. I-I wanted to surprise you,”

“I’m plenty surprised,” Mike snarks quickly in return, before his gaze flicks in the direction of the pot of gravy and biscuits, untouched by the fire. “That still looks edible, though. A-and once you get past the burnt smell, it does smell good in here. You did good,”

Matt smiles, and, leaving the remains of the bacon behind, they eat biscuits and gravy on the floor of their living room, paper plates cradled in their laps and shoulders brushing together whenever one of them moves.

[shecagobaby]

Love of My Life Chapter Three: 'Breakfast in Bed'

Hi beautiful babies! I'm sorry it took me so long to get this new chapter out. Chapter four is almost done, so I'll have it out in the next day or two, then I will be working on all of your requests. For some reason I had a difficult time getting this the way I wanted, so instead of continuing to tweak it I'm just going to say screw it and post it. I love you all, thank you so much for the support! Enjoy! <3

Warnings: Smut, smut, and more smut. 18+

I woke up when I felt Joseph shift next to me. He exhaled deeply as he moved onto his back. I sighed and rolled over to look at him. I bit my lip, he looked so gorgeous as he slept. His full lashes rested on his cheeks, his lips set in what was almost a soft smile, his soft snores like a lullaby. 

    I groaned as i lifted myself out of bed, stumbling on my tired limbs, realizing last nights activities had taken a lot out me. I grabbed Joseph’s disregarded shirt off the floor and tugged it over my head and walked to the bathroom, rubbing my eyes. I smiled as Mikey stood at the door stretching, “good morning, handsome man,” I smiled at him. He barked and rubbed his paws on his face in response. I shushed him bending down, immediately trotting over to me, “hey, be quiet. Let your daddy sleep.” I said as he licked my nose. “Give me a minute, okay?” He huffed and laid on the bathroom floor watching me. 

   I stood and looked at myself, blinking hard. I dug my fingers in my eyes, plucking out the dry contacts. I quickly grabbed my glasses and slipped them on my face. My vision improved making the dark marks all over my neck extremely obvious. Normally I would be annoyed that I would have to spend lots of time attempting to cover them, but this time they made me smile as I ran my hand over them. 

    I turned to leave the bathroom, tiptoeing past a sleeping Joseph. I patted my hip gesturing for Mikey to follow me out of the room and he happily trotted to my side as I quietly closed the door. I stepped lightly as I made my way to the kitchen my sleeping boyfriend breakfast.

 I threw some food in Mikey’s bowl before I opened the fridge and scanned for ingredients. I pulled out a carton of eggs, bacon, and butter. I carried them over to the counter next to the stove before reaching up to the cabinet on my tiptoes to retrieve the juicer, i shivered as Joseph’s shirt rode up and exposed my bare ass to the cool air of the apartment. I grabbed a few oranges from the basket of fruit we kept and cut them in half before pressing them onto the juicer. 

   “Alexa, shuffle songs by Harry Styles,” I smiled as ‘Watermelon Sugar’ began to quietly play, grabbing a pan from the drawer under the stove. I set it on the burner, struggling to turn on the gas on the old appliance. I unwrapped the bacon and placed a few slices in the pan. I lazily swayed to the music as i twisted the knob to adjust the heat. 

    I jumped when i felt two strong hands on my waist, “G’morning, love,” Joseph said as he brought his chin to my shoulder and placed a lingering kiss on my cheek. 

   I whined, “wanted you to sleep in, Joseph.” Still turning my head to place a soft kiss to his lips. 

    He chuckled against my mouth, “couldn’t fall back to sleep once you got up.” 

   I nudged him, “you were awake?”

   He hummed a yes as his hands slipped under the fabric of my shirt and ran over my bare stomach, “missed ya too much.” 

    His hands traveled to my chest, lifting his shirt that covered my torso with it, tossing it to the kitchen floor leaving us both completely naked. I giggled as his facial hair tickled my shoulder, “babe, I’m cooking bacon I kinda need a shirt,” I said as the grease popped, making me squeal and back closer into him. He laughed and kissed my shoulder. “hope you’re hungry,” i breathed. 

   He moved my wild hair off of my shoulder in order to place a kiss under my ear, “‘m not hungry,” he mumbled as he reached forward and turned off the stove. 

   I laughed, “you’re kidding, right? you’re always hungry.” Joe had the appetite of a teenage boy, his metabolism worked at the speed of light. I remember when i told Joseph that i usually skipped breakfast. He had cooked a huge breakfast after the first time I slept over. He gave me a concerned look, ‘no you eat it every day from now on, it’s the most important meal.’ 

   He smiled against my neck, “hmmm,” he hummed with a mischievous chuckle, “not hungry for food.” 

   He rubbed his naked erection against my ass as he nibbled at my earlobe. I moaned and reached back to tangle my fingers in his curls, “horny bastard,” i groaned. 

   He flicked his tongue on my pulse point, “you know you love it.” His gravelly voice vibrating through my body. 

   I turned in his arms, scanning over his sleepy face. His eyes were puffy, hair disheveled, and his lips were a deeper shade of red due to the rough kisses from the night before. I ran my thumb against his chin, examining the hair growing there. “I like this,” I mumbled. Joseph was usually clean shaven for the majority of our relationship, occasionally growing a little bit of facial hair when he was feeling lazy or for a role; But it was clear that he hadn’t shaved since he stopped filming. 

   He chuckled, “good, I’m tired of shaving. Shaved every damn day on set.” 

    I placed my lips on his, earning a happy moan from the gorgeous man. “I love it, kind of tickles,” i smiled against his mouth. 

   “Yeah?” He removed his lips from mine and ghosted his lips on my cheek, letting the short hairs run along my skin. 

    I bit my lip, my mind immediately turned dirty. I couldn’t help but think about how good it would feel when he kissed my inner thighs. I felt my face heat up at the thought. He brought his lips back to mine, his hands traveling from my lower back and to my ass. 

   “Ya know, we made a deal last night,” he said before slipping his tongue in my mouth. How could morning breath taste so good? 

    “What?” I asked in between kisses, my hands exploring his chest. 

    He smiled, “said ya would sit on my face today,” his voice becoming deeper.

   I cleared my throat, “you mean right now?” I turned to look at the clock and it read 6:53. I couldn’t believe he was up, I assumed jet lag would have caught up to him, let alone be this revved up. I bit my lip, ready to tease him, “want my pussy on your tongue before 7?” 

    He gave my ass a tight squeeze, “I always want ya on my tongue.” He moved his lips to my jaw before moving to my neck, I hummed and leaned my head to the side to give him better access. “So what ya say,” he hummed, “can I have you for breakfast?” 

   I gently shoved his chest and moaned when i could feel his erection becoming more prominent against my leg. I ran hand down his chest to his stomach, fingers lingering on his soft happy trail. He shivered when my hands came closer to his cock, gently scratching at the area right above his pubic hair before reaching for the base of his cock. I smiled when i heard him groan before i slowly started stroking him. 

   “‘S that a yes, love?” He said as he lightly bit down on my neck. I whined at the slight pain before nodding and mumbling ‘mm-hmm.’ 

   Before I had a moment to think, Joseph hoisted me over his shoulder and started making his way to our bedroom. I squealed, “Joe! Put me down!” I laughed, hanging upside down, using one hand to keep my glasses on my face and another to pinch his adorable butt.

   “Hey!” He said, jumping, “want me to drop ya?” He punctuated his statement with a slap to my ass, making me squeal again. 

   When we entered the bedroom, he bent down and placed me back on my feet. I giggled as i slightly stumbled backwards. Joseph steadied me as he stayed kneeled in front of me. His big brown eyes stared up at me as he grabbed one of my legs and threw it over his shoulder, keeping his strong hands on my ass. “Jos- fuck!” I groaned as he licked up my cunt. 

   He hummed and flashed me a mischievous grin, “taste like heaven, Y/N.” I whined at his words and brought my fingers to his curls, pulling him back to my core. He chuckled and started to suckle at my clit while keeping his eyes locked on mine. I bit my lip and tugged hard on his hair. He groaned against my cunt, making me gasp as a vibration shot through my body. 

   He pulled away from me, before i could protest he pushed me on to the edge of the bed. He spread my legs wide, placing wet kisses along my inner thigh. I smiled to myself as I propped myself up on my elbows to watch him. I bit my lip. I was right, his facial hair made the sensation much stronger. I moaned as he bit down on my soft flesh. 

   He brought his thumb to my clit, watching my face closely. I blushed and bit my lip hard to hold back a moan. “Fuck. you’re so gorgeous, Y/N,” he mumbled before he replaced his thumb with mouth. 

   I threw my head back at the sensation, his mouth feeling like complete ecstasy. I moaned his name loudly, his tongue quickly flicking against my sensitive nub before wrapping his lips around it. 

    I fell back as he took turns sucking on my clit and rolling his tongue around it. I wrapped my legs around his head to keep him as close to my cunt as possible. 

   Joseph intentionally hummed against my clit, earning a scream from me. He brought one hand up to my chest to roll my hard nipple between his middle finger and thumb, the other came to lace his fingers with mine. I squeezed his hand hard as his tongue left my clit and started to run through my folds. “Fuck,” i whined, bringing my eyes back to his. 

   His hand left my chest and removed his tongue from my cunt, replacing it with his fingers. He tongue peeked out from between his lips, concentrating hard as he watched his fingers trace up and down my slit before slowly pushing two in. He pumped them in and out slowly, curling them upwards every time he reached my g-spot. My breathing became uneven when he brought his gaze back to my face. He smirked at me, winking before he put his mouth back on my clit. 

    I groaned and i could feel myself already clenching around his fingers before i breathed, “cheeky fucking bastard.” I was almost annoyed that his wink was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Joe always became somewhat cocky when he had his head between my legs because he knew I was putty in his hands. He chuckled against my clit, his tongue working quickly as his fingers moved at an agonizingly slow pace. 

    I rolled my hips to meet each of his thrusts, “that’s it,” he mumbled against my core. I could feel my climax approaching, the combination of his tongue and fingers making a tight knot form in my belly. “Cum for me, love. I know you’re close, I can feel ya squeezing my fingers.” 

   “Mmm, don’t stop,” i whined as he brought his mouth back to my clit. He stopped pumping his fingers, instead repeatedly tapping them on the sensitive spot deep inside me. I started to squirm, my eyes rolling back him my head. He released my hand and brought it to my thigh to hold me still, my fingers immediately tangling in his curls. “Shit, s-so good, Joe.” 

   He started humming as he sucked on my clit, the constant vibration making my toes curl. My hips bucked against his mouth as i felt the beginning of my orgasm wash over me. Each sound that left my mouth sounded more pornographic than the one preceding it as I started to clench around his fingers. He kissed my thighs as his fingers gently worked me through my orgasm. 

   When my breathing slowed he climbed up my body, pushing my hair out of my face and peppering kisses along my cheeks. “Hey,” he mumbled. I realized my eyes were still squeezed shut. I slowly opened them and met his eyes, they were scanning my face as a soft smile formed on his wet lips. “God, you look so beautiful,” he breathed. 

   I smiled and slightly looked away, “I probably look crazy,” my voice shaky. i cleared my throat, “and I’m wearing my glasses.” 

   He turned my head to face him again, “I love you like this, all fucked out. You look breathtaking,” he said placing a soft kiss to my lips. “And your glasses are adorable,” he mumbled against my lips. 

   I smiled into the kiss. His tongue gently grazed my bottom lip asking for entry, which I happily granted. Our tongues tangled together while I moved my hand from his chest, down to his cock. We both groaned when i wrapped my hand around the base. I was shocked he was still fully erect, i started to pump him in my hand. 

   “Fuck,” he groaned as i ran my thumb over his tip. Joseph shivered when I ran my tongue along his bottom lip as I collected the pre cum that was leaking out of his cock.  He grabbed my hips and pulled me on top of him. I immediately straddled him, lining his hard cock up with my wet slit. He gripped my waist hard stopping me from sinking down on his length. I whined looking up at him. He shook his head, “that wasn’t the deal, love.” 

    I groaned, his cocky tone reappearing. I never understood how he could be so sweet and loving one second and then a greedy horn dog the next.  “C’mon Joseph, I wanna feel you. You teased me all las- ah!” 

    Before I could finish my thought, he was pulling me up his torso until my cunt was hovering over his face. “I’m not done tasting you,” he mumbled before slipping his tongue along my slit. I bit my lip and looked down at him, his eyes wide and dark were on me. He pulled back a little, i shivered when i could feel his breath fanning over my cunt. “I’ve missed the way you taste, it’s my favorite flavor and I haven’t had it in months, please?” 

   I sighed, there was the Joseph that made my heart melt. At the end of the day, if I didn’t want him to do something, he would stop immediately. A fact that I was very much aware of, I could pull away if I wanted to and he wouldn’t even be mad; but I also knew I had missed this just as much as he had. I sighed and nodded. Although I couldn’t see his mouth, I could tell there was a smile on his lips. I smiled back briefly before a moan ripped through me as he pulled my hips down onto his tongue. I was no longer hovering over his face, i was fully seated and he was devouring me. His tongue running over every inch of my cunt. 

   My breathing became erratic again, grinding myself against his tongue. I reached back and took his cock in my hand. Joseph shut his eyes as a feral sound escaped from his mouth and shot through my core. 

    Every time I rocked my hips, his tongue buried deeper inside me. I whined when his nose started to bump against my clit. I pumped him faster and his grip tightened around me, lifting me up. “‘m not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he grunted. 

   I brought my hand away as he rolled his tongue over my clit. I spit in my hand bringing it back to his cock so my hand could glide more easily. His eyes fluttered shut and he hummed. “Mmmm, Joe,” i whined, “Wanna feel you cum in me, babe.” 

    He sucked hard on my clit one last time, making me throw my head back. He released my clit with a pop and ran his tongue along my slit one last time before before he breathed, “Wanna ride my cock, love?” I moaned and nodded quickly. He placed a kiss to my clit before releasing his hold on me. My shaky legs moved off his face. 

   Joe inched back so he could rest against the bed frame. I moved down to straddle him, but first stopped to admire his cock. I took it in my hand, letting a drop of spit fall from my tongue and drip on to his bright red tip before stroking it. I then realized he had been hard for an hour with very little relief. I looked at his face, his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were red and wet, his chest rapidly moving up and down There were very few times in our sex life where i felt I was the one in control. It wasn’t that he was necessarily dominant, but he loved making me feel good which often led to me feeling like I neglected him. I would try to take care of him but often he would have my hands trapped in his so I couldn’t touch him or I’d be four orgasms deep and couldn’t remember my own name, let alone stroke his cock. Right now he looked spent and i could easily tease him like crazy. 

   I bit my lip and looked at his cock again, it was red and angry. “Does it hurt?” I asked. He nodded, looking at me through hooded eyes. “Can i take care of you?” He sighed, giving me a look. I knew he understood me. He knew i was asking to take control and make him cum whether I did or not. I gave him a pleading look. 

   He groaned and finally gave me a small nod. I smiled and brought my lips to his giving him a soft, sweet kiss. Joseph whined as i moved to straddle him. He sighed as i slowly slid down on his cock. I saw the immediate relief on his face as i fully seated on his cock. His hands moved to the back of my neck, pulling my face closer to his. “Thank you,” he choked out. 

   I started to bounce on his cock, slowly at first so I could adjust before reaching a steady pace. I watched his face contort as i rode him. “So pretty,” I mumbled as I brought my hand to his cheek. He blushed and it felt so natural how our roles had reversed. I stopped bouncing and let his cock fill me all the way up. I moaned and started grinding against him. He bit his lip and a mischievous grin spread over my face. I wanted to see him cum and I knew how to do it. I slightly pushed away from him and grabbed his hand. I placed it on the lowest point of my stomach before rolling my hips again, “feel that, babe? Feel how full you make me?” 

   I smiled as he whined at his own trick, I held his hand there as i continued my movements. I leaned forward to attach my lips to his neck, sucking a mark onto his neck. He released a choked moan as i moved to nibble on his ear lobe. 

   “Cum for me baby, wanna feel you fill me up,” I hummed, speeding my movements up. His cock felt amazing, but I didn’t want to try to chase my own release.  I knew it would only take me a little longer, but I was dying to help him reach his. I reached one hand behind me and cupped his balls in my hand. 

   “Fu-uck!” He whimpered, his voice catching in his throat. I rolled my hips two more times before he grabbed my hips to still my movements. 

   I pulled his hair, forcing him to look at me as he started to fill me up. I bit my lip, his cock twitching in me felt like bliss, “I love you,” i moaned, “love you so much.” 

   He held me tight against him, bringing his face to the crook of my neck, “thank you,” he chuckled, “i needed that.” I continued to roll my hips slowly. I nodded and kissed his temple. He sighed, I could feel his contentment and the feeling was mutual. “You’re the love of my life, ya know that?” he mumbled. 

   I smiled, and hummed in agreement. “Glad I’m not the only one,”i mumbled as he held me close. I ran my fingers through his hair, “tired?” I asked in a low voice. He nodded, “jet lag?” He yawned and nodded again. I kissed his cheek before I slid off his cock, earning a desperate whine similar to the ones to the ones I make when he pulls out of me. I couldn’t help but blush as I thought, ‘god, is that what i sound like?’ 

   He immediately pulled me to his side so I could put my head on his chest, I nuzzled my head in his neck and placed a soft kiss there. He sighed, “you didn’t cum,” he sounded frustrated. 

    I rolled my eyes at the ridiculous man, it was like he didn’t remember the countless earth shattering orgasms I’ve had since he came home. “That’s alright, I know you’ll make it up to me,” I laughed, he squeezed me tight and nodded with a breathy chuckle. I rubbed his chest and stomach before closing my eyes. I felt his stomach rumble against my palm. “Let’s take a nap and then we’ll get take out, okay?” He pulled me closer, squeezing my shoulders. I took his soft snores as an agreement to my suggestion.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

I don’t hate you

When - 40ish minutes after The first Christmas ‘without,’ Part 2. You were unable to successfully nap. And the turkey is still not ready to eat, but there are cookies!

What - there are cookies!, skimming stones, yearning, forgiveness (working on it), reconciliation, healing, found-family and a slow burn Daryl x You at Christmastime, y’all. You spend time with Rick to remind yourself that you don’t hate him.

Genre - found family fluff and slow burning

Perspective - You 2nd person, Daryl 3rd Person

Pronouns - neutral they/them

TWs? - some language, some anger, and Carl looks at mushrooms growing on a tree stump eww

Which stories should I have read first? - A fu--in’ great Christmas, The first Christmas ‘without’ Part 1 and 2. Like a traditional Sunday dinner will help you know what they’re talking about while y’all are eating cookies. There’s reference to souls stripped bare.  Then, read every other chapter!

How much time will I need to read it, troublemaker? - 25 minutes? It depends :D

Do you have a Masterlist? - there are two for The Slowpoke Series, the main one here in publishing order (recommended), and this one here in chronological order if you prefer!

      40ish minutes later

Him

............................

“Who got the most?”

Y/N turns from their spot on the ground facing the lake and subtly does that hand gesture thing that means they were finishing up a prayer. “Beth, then Glenn, Mags and me tied for third, Carl came in fourth. Oh, and Glenn was trying to convince us to do a chicken swim at some point while we’re here.”

He hums, smiles (on the inside) at the memory, then wonders how would he have done if he joined the rock-skipping contest?

You know what, why wonder? He’s gonna try skimming stones right now.

“Careful about gettin’ too close to me, Daryl, I’m almost done eating a spoonful of peanut butter.” They hold up the spoon with the extra long handle and wave it a little in warning.

“Nasty.”

Y/N shakes their head and winks. “Delicious.”

Confused at himself as to why he suddenly feels shy, he picks up a smooth-ish rock and looks sideways at his friend and tries to digest all the damn butterflies in his stomach. “Shoulder still good after pelting rocks?”

They nod and take the spoon out of their mouth to confirm, “Very. Not to brag, but I haven’t grieved it up in a over a month.”

He rounds his arm, throws—aw, shit, the only thing it did was go ploosh. Well, that was embarrassing, fuck.

“That was the warm-up, try again,” Y/N chuckles.

He grabs another, flings it.

Ha, that’s right! Three skips, motherfucker!

Take that, you fucking lake.

As his friend bursts out laughing, he becomes aware that he said the lake thing out loud.

Cheeks flaming up like a burner on a gas stove, he holds back a snort and deadpans, “I’m here to entertain,” as he reaches down to find another rock that was flat enough for skipping. He peeks behind him. “Gonna join?”

A pretend whine detailing how they “just got comfy, exceptin’ the fact that my butt is an ice pop,” comes before they stand up and grab a stone of their own. With a twist to the side to fling their rock onto the lake, they naturally mimic his “‘Take that, ya fuckin’ lake,’” as they throw. Their rock makes two big skips and one little one.

That they’re smiling makes him smile. He wonders if they saw him smiling like an idiot when they waved at him from over on the rock when they were sitting with Glenn. He then wonders if they were smiling back…

His turn, so he hurls another one out there and gets—four skips? Hell yeah!

“Four? Nice!” they praise. Already prepped with another rock, they take their turn and toss out there, getting two short hops. With a shrug and a smile, they tell him, “You could give Rick a run for his money, he’s good at this.” Y/N then wipes the dirt off their fingers and looks out at the water, tucking their hands under their scarf to warm up. “Did you notice that asshole’s ambidextrous?”

Which came out…not at all how they sound when they’re joking around. “You feelin’ any better than before?”

There’s a longer pause before they respond, “Y-yeah, I think so.”

“Quarter.”

Y/N makes a little huff and, sorry, that shit still makes Daryl smile on the inside. He unbuttons the pocket of his coat and pulls out his new nicotine gum. Let’s see if the stuff works… “Want me to kick his ass for ya?” he grunts (as a joke), poking out a piece from the foil packet.

Y/N lightly elbows him. Their eyes look brighter. “One of these days I might could say yes—you’d best be mindful of those offers, sunshine.”

He pops the gum into his mouth and shrugs. “I can kick his ass, no problem.”

“Ain’t saying you can’t.” Good, they’re close to giggling, he can tell.

“That ambidextrous thing, though,” he mumbles, “that coulda complicated stuff, thanks for the heads up.”

“Nah, Shane always bested him, you’d do fine.”

“Shane bested me, too, so, I dunno.” He chews the gum and few times and adds, “So did you, for that matter. You even fought T-Dog off unt—”

—ohhh shit. Okay, that was intended as an honest observation, the way they’d been able to fend off more than one person like that was badass and impressive as fuck, but reminding them of that night was brainless as fuck. The imaginary knee that hasn’t kicked his balls in something like two months shows up and knees him good.

That night, most of the group, in one way or another, had helped to either take Y/N’s weapons away, physically restrain them, or talk ’em down.

Then they’d left, which was huge for them. Huge for everyone. It didn’t last long, he’s damn grateful for it, like, they’d even told Carl it was temporary. But still. Them leaving ‘their’ Carl was big.

And he gets one final knee to his danglers when his friend makes light of it. “But together, y’all conquered, and a good time was had by all.”

Always with the making light, this one, even when they’re clearly trying to swallow so they don’t cry, and smiling even though it’s not fooling anyone. Such as right this damn minute. Well done, Daryl.

He can’t seem to grab the right words to smack into a sentence, what’s the protocol for this?

Also, why are they smiling at him? And pointing a spoon at him?

“Uh-oh, dude, if you’re fixing to get all awkward and apologetic or uncomfortable around me, I’ll go scoop more peanut butter onto this spoon and chase you with it.”

Hands up in surrender, he catches himself cracking up. “I’ll go get the jar right now, slowpoke, where’s it at?”

With another head shake and a giggle, they lightly cup their hand on his upper arm. “Alright, s’go back, Dary-bear. Carol, T-Dog and Beth were making a surprise, let’s see if it’s ready yet.”

............................

You

............................

New baking secret learned today: baking cookies on a piece of tinfoil on top of a woodstove is somewhat tricky and requires flipping, however, it makes the room smell heavenly! They weren’t ready when you and Daryl poked your heads in, but after you and Lori came back from doing laundry, the water department building was toasty warm and smelled like a bakery.

Another secret you learned about two hours ago, unrelated to baking, is to not forget to push the front seats back when napping in the truck. This way, when you roll over in your sleep, you don’t fall into the wedge between the backseat and the floor; your nap was very short (nonexistant), and the mp3 ran out of charge anyway.

Back to the cookies, they were made with farina, corn starch, applesauce from those little sealed cups, some of the sugar rations, other stuff. You started bouncing as soon as you took your first bite. You’re still bouncing at your spot by the window where you’re doing your shoulder PT while nibbling on one.

Lori is cranking up the little rainproof crank radio with the plugs and charging ports (and flashlight!) in it. It’s got a little solar arm out to speed up the process, but all told, it’s not very efficient.

And there’s no turkey ready for consumption just yet, but there are cookies.

“Lore, want another?”

“I want more than just another,” she muses under her breath. “I’m gonna stick with the two I already ate. I might take a walk around the lake to get way from them, in fact,” she laughs. “The mp3 is almost at four bars.”

The nod you make in response that the music player is almost ready doesn’t match the uneasy look on your face. You can feel your facial muscles not cooperating to make you look relaxed and chill.

Best change the subject: “It is Christmas Day, it’s a requirement to eat too many cookies. Besides, you can relax the willpower a little when you’ve got a baby in there. Oh! I’m gonna find the Frog and Toad story about the cookies and read it to your belly!” you babble.

Her hand briefly rubs along her very tiny bump. Crazy that she was able to feel them moving two or three weeks ago, it was so early! “People are already beginning to…” she pauses, then shifts closer to you. “You know how Hershel doesn’t want to be treated as delicate? How you don’t like needing help or admitting when you need to take it easy?”

“That’s never happened ever,” you deadpan, which makes her smile.

“As the months go on, I’m going to need more help, and, and attention, whether I want it or not. So before that, I-I don’t want to accept any special treatment. You understand.”

Munch, munch, munch. You chew slowly in an attempt to make a point. “It’s a cookie.”

“No special treatment. And I’m just so…” Her eyes shut for a moment. She opens them and looks embarrassed. “Oh, Y/N, I’m just so hungry,” she softly confesses. “All the time. At the house, there was an old box of baking soda in the closet.” She opens her eyes and appears embarrassed. “I almost tossed it into the toilet to stop myself from eating it. I had to give it to Carol. That’s what I’ve started craving, it’s — anyway, I’m pretty certain I’ll lose it and pig out in front of everyone one of these days. And we’ve already been far too,” a pause to find the right word, “humbled enough around each other.”

“And she draws the line at eatin’ a third cookie, ladies and gentleman,” you poke fun while pausing your PT to book it over to the med bag for the vitamin supplements. Lori tends to get nauseated when she takes them, but craving baking soda, something non-nutritive? An extra vitamin can’t hurt. “Just a sec, that’s the cute name for this new cookie recipe. Why, we should oughta make ‘special treatments’ every Christmas henceforth!”

“Yo, why are we saying ‘henceforth?’” Glenn calls over with his mouth full.

“I named the cookie special treatments and said we’ll have to make ’em every Christmas henceforth.”

“What does that even mean? That name sucks, dude.”

True. Rude. “Well, what grand name do you got?”

“The ‘water departments.’”

“Eesh, y’all stink at names,” is all T-Dog will deign to say as he paces around doing a little food dance of his own while he savors every bite. “How about: the ‘apocalyptic masterpi’—nah, that won’t work, this ain’t the Apocalypse, it was just an outbreak of a novel or mutated disease, most likely a viral one,” he narrates to himself. That’s what all the news stations had been reporting before they went out. Dr. Jenner had seemed to echo that hypothesis, you guess.

Maggie starts chuckling to herself over “The water treatments, is that a better name?”

“The, um, special departments…” is Beth’s contribution, and the lengthy “special water department treatments,” is what Carl giggles from the floor where he and Beth are laying, staring at out the window while they indoor cloud-watch.

“The water department specials?” Lori offers, accepting the vitamins from you and quickly taking them down with some leftover coffee.

In terms of the other choices, that was pretty solid. Sounds more like a civic tax discount, but, “Yeah, I’d eat those.”

Glenn’s grinning wide. “Now we have something to serve with our trademarked drink.”

Trademarked drink? “Hold up, you mean ‘The CDC?’ Or did we go with the ‘Dr. Jenn—no, not that name, I’m deletin’ it,” you mutter.

Glenn hesitates, “‘The CDC’ is an okay name.”

“I guess,” you start to think, but catch eyes with T-Dog. “Teddy, you remember how Glenn drained his so quick?”

“And all that wine, and how he felt the following morning, yes I do.”

Maggie starts laughing. She’s heard the story quite a few times. You grin at her as you lean against the windowsill by Lori and say, “How about we rename the drink ‘The Glenn?’ That sounds cool.”

The namesake seems cool with it. “Oh heck yes! You know why that name sounds cool?”

“’Cause he is the coolest,” you drawl, as cheerful as you’d felt this morning when you all prepped for making sure Christmas would still feel relatively normal, especially for Carl.

The cheerfulness goes *poof* when you hear Lori calmly tell you in your ear, “It’s charged up, honey.”

You turn.

Look.

She’s holding out the mp3 player and new(ish) earbuds you just been gifted.

To explain: back closer to when it happened, it was how she’d help you to spend time with Rick, how you could stay calm but still reestablish your bond with him. That’s why you brought it up to him earlier, you’d figured it was a good idea…

Lori also knows that during that big fight with Glenn you’d had about a month back, when he name-called you ‘Nurse Ratched,’ you’d taken that very personally. It hit as if he were saying you’d lost yourself the way Shane had, like your conscience had become deformed. Whenever you fight with Glenn about Hershel, you kinda might could still be scared that others see you as a cruel, unfeeling ticking time-bomb.

Back to your music-listening with Rick, a plus was that it gave you full leave to get some of your aggression out via (playfully?) insulting his taste in rockabilly.

Your eldest sister had just about every genre on her old mp3 she gave you; hard rock, screamer, Motown, Gregorian chants, big band, P&W, R&B, Bollywood, reggae, classical, musicals, pop, Latin, Korean—you name it, she had it. She also added music and made playlists for friends and family. Including rockabilly for her good friend’s husband/stepbrother’s best friend.

Which isn’t so bad, it’s just mildly entertaining how into it Rick is compared to stuff like Zeppelin or Jimi or Cash. In his defense, he can’t help but bounce along to Britney, though.

Right, you have to answer Lori, don’t you?

“I don’t want to” is what untactfully hops out of your mouth. You were supposed to be subtle about it, Y/N.

“Honey.”

“I’m meant, um, I’m good now. I don’t need to.” It’s too late, stop trying.

“Maybe he needs you to,” she gently hints.

Needs you to? Did Rick—Rick noticed that you’d gotten angry about him again, didn’t he? That asshole always notices.

“Lori, he’s the resident atheist, he’s not gonna wanna sit though me playin’ Christmas carols, anyways, you know how he gets about God stuff.”

She still holds out the music player.

Fine. Mindful that you are on the grumpy side after your failed attempt at a nap, you accept the mp3 from her hand and put your hat back on. But before you bust out there to listen to music with (say it, Y/N) your brother, you first call out the door, “Daryl, can I have my coat back?”

As much as you don’t want to take off Daryl’s poncho, you’d like your other, deceased brother’s coat back on.

Either to remind Rick of him or because you feel more grounded in that old coat because it still smells like Shane and home a little bit, you aren’t clear.

............................

      1 minute later

............................

Daryl’s letting you keep the poncho on, he says he’s comfortable in just his leather jacket for now. In thanks, you impulsively took your scarf off and flopped it around his neck (you were worried that he’d get cold in just the jacket. It’s darned chilly out.)

You feel better that you can keep his poncho on. Safer, you guess.

Is that silly? It’s not like it’s armor. 

And why would you need armor in the first place?

............................

Him

............................

He figured he could keep watch while he and Maggie were about to start guard duty, anyway. It was regular guard duty, by the way; the group stopped being on edge about Y/N being unaccompanied around Rick the second week after their brother was killed, it hadn’t taken long.

And it’s not like he’s gonna stand over them, he’ll just be nearby. No big deal. He’s just — it’s not the weird, nice feeling in his chest this time exactly, it’s more of that damn invisible string thing happening again. When it happens, it feels right to be a little closer to Y/N, make sure they’re safe, he guesses. And seeing them wearing his clothes makes him wanna stand taller, so he turned down his poncho even though he’s kinda cold.

Right, um, anyway, walkers had a way of sneaking up on people, never mind that other living people could be a way bigger threat to his two distracted friends listening to music and staring out at the lake. So, he’ll keep an eye on them.

There are some bolts he needs to sterilize and sharpen, anyway.

............................

     1 more minute later

You

............................

Sleeping bag in hand so your butts won’t get too cold, you silently walk with Rick around the edge of the lake as to be in view of the little building. You get to the water’s edge and flop the sleeping bag on the mossy part near the bank. The water’s frozen over just a bit.

Through your yawn, you state, “You get one Ronnie Dawson song and Yakety Yak, then it’s carols, Rick.”

He catches your yawn and stretches as he replies, “Sounds good.”

You both sit and silently look out at the water. But it’s in your periphery that you notice you aren’t quite alone. With a glance first at Rick, you turn and stare openly for a moment because you’re slightly annoyed.

Is he the babysitter or something? That he’s whittling the points of his bolts isn’t fooling you.

Murmuring to Rick in a light, self-deprecating tease, “Daryl’s our warden this time,” you hold out one earbud for him and gesture toward where your favorite redneck is loitering.

“It’s not like that,” Rick murmurs back.

What you’d probably describe as a knowing smile spreads across your face. “Is it not?”

“No.”

You nudge him softly with your arm as what anger remains inside you is carried off in the breeze. “Not even a little, though?”

“Go on, troublemaker, let’s listen to some music,” he ribs in response. “And believe it or not, I wouldn’t mind carols. It’s been a fuckin’ great Christmas.”

Your mouth falls open because, first off, Rick doesn’t cuss. Second off (is that a term?), that’s the exact phrase Daryl said earlier. Your cheeks heat again and you’re smiling like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Did my punk repeat something he should oughtn’t have?”

His eyes crinkle and he chuckles, “I ‘might could’ have overheard you and Daryl with him around the fire earlier.”

“Well, now your son is one quarter richer.”

“We’ll have to put it in the bank, save it up for college.”

Once he’s got the earbud in his ear and he gets comfortable, you click play. It’s the live version of one of his favorites. The opening lyrics “Gimme the downbeat, maestro!” bleat out, and, per usual, Rick cannot help but jive along (and snap off-rhythm). It’s very cute.

He mouths along with the lyrics, too, knows them all. Two and a half minutes later, you feel up to joining him in singing along to final words, “Hear me? Whoa! Action packed!”

The next song is equally bouncy and old, so much that you drowsily check to see if your boots turned into saddle shoes.

Your fatigue is briefly overcome when ‘Toxic’ starts to play. Rick snorts and starts to giggle like a little kid while you mouth every lyric (you don’t actually know the exact lyrics, just what they sound like, you feel?) and grooving along to the tempo. His off-rhythm snapping comes back with a vengeance until the song ends.

The Christmas carols finally start after, and your sleepiness returns and goes into overdrive. You lean against the rock behind you. Rick does, too. The sun is shining enough to keep you cozy, the music is softer.

Ricks yawns and stretches again. When the instrumental version of Oh Come, Oh Come Emmanuel plays, your eyelids are sinking…

............................

Him

............................

Are they both asleep?

Shit, look at that. Both just snoozing, like, right there.

How long’ve they been like that? Damn, it’s a good thing he’s out here keeping watch—keeping watch in general, not specifically on them.

But yeah, might as well let them cop some Z’s.

............................

    ? minutes later?

You

............................

A familiar tune that you haven’t heard in over three months stirs you very awake. You’ve been avoiding it on purpose, why is it playing? Make it stop, make it stop, make it st—

—You pull the earbud out and sit up with a sharp inhale.

“Kiddo, you okay?” He only uses ‘kiddo,’ when he’s feeling protective.

“Yeah, um, ain’t nothing, it, it j-just got to be too much noise,” you make up on the spot. It sounded casual enough, right? You blink the grogginess away and blindly stare at the clouds as you rest your arms on your knees.

“I saw you were still out, figured that one would help you stay asleep. Your family’s song.”

“You’d think we was making commission, how often Mama or the girls or Shane played it over the years.”

“Shane listened to that song for everything. Insomnia, break-ups, failed tests, rough calls, arrests he didn’t feel right about. In fact he,” his voice gets softer. “He played that song almost nonstop, absolutely nothing else other than that for three whole weeks after your dad passed.”

“Mama replayed her Boyz 2 Men cassette durin’ that.” You were very young when that happened, but that’s the most vivid memory you have. That and the smell of all the casseroles neighbors and such brought over.

“I still remember the streaky sounds the CD player would make when he’d hit the back button. It was something, he ended up not being able to stand the song for four months after.”

“Imagine that,” you mumble. You’ve got the ‘22’ pendant between your fingers again. “Well, Shane was a drama-king,” you joke.  

“In his defense, so am I,” Rick almost sounds nervous to joke back.

“At least you’re more Shakespearean than he was. Stronger moral backbone, too.” Fuck it, you’ll speak honestly. You loved him, you would’ve killed and would’ve been killed for him, and you pray that he’s resting in peace, but you know what Shane’s faults were.

“Shakespearean?” Rick repeats.

“Yeah, Shane sounded like a hillbilly compared to you, the way you always talk good and give speeches.”

A groan follows you comment about ‘speeches,’ but then he gets a mischievous look on his face. “I talk ‘good?’”

Aw man, you walked straight into that one. Your mildly British accent comes back out. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, I meant to say that you speak well.”

He gets brave enough to use Shane’s old nickname for you. “Weirdo.”

You don’t mind, you gave him an old nickname, too. “Pork-chop.”

The quiet tinkling of the pendant’s loop running over the small links in the chain as you pull it back and forth, back and forth, fills the silence that follows. It’s an okay silence, too. You’re glad that Lori convinced you to do this today, you think, as you snuggle deeper into your coat and inhale deeply—wait.

You sniff again.

Again.

Your stomach drops to the ground.

Crap. “D-did Daryl smoke in this?”

“Barely. You know how he’s been doing short little spurts, less than a minute. Hey, Y/N, why are you taking the jacket off? It’s cold out.”

“Just checkin’ something.” The chill doesn’t bother you as you press the collar to your nose and sniff. Cigarettes. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You try sniffing the back of the collar. Daryl. Wood-smoke.

You check the shoulders. Wood-smoke.

Finally, when you try lower down on the coat, you relax and hug it in relief.

Shane’s scent isn’t all gone yet, neither is the faintest hint of Mama’s perfume that would always linger on things she wore.

A few tears well up and flow out as you feel your pulse going down.

“Does it still smell like him?” Rick wonders very quietly.

“Mmhm,” you mumble, your cheek resting against the soft, fluffy, very worn lining. You bury your face in the fluff and breathe in again.

“Y/N, I wish th—” he stops abruptly and doesn’t finish his thought.

There’s a lump in your throat you try to swallow away.

The sounds of geese flying overhead fill the air. A gentle, cold breeze picks up and you could swear you get a whiff of peanut butter. You start to feel cold again.

From the little building, laughter reaches your ears. Carl, Beth, Glenn. Lori and T-Dog’s voices you think you hear, too.

“Wanna wear it for a while, Ricky? It’s a good coat,” leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t seem to know how/what to reply, so you decide for him and hand it over. Doing that thing where someone looks at another but not in their eyes, he unzips his coat and trades with you.

Oo, his jacket is warm! You begin to unzip the hoodie you have on, quickly remove the poncho underneath, then just as fast zip your hoodie back on and bundle into Rick’s coat before all the body warmth on it disappears in the wintry chill.

His coat also has a fuzzy lining around the neck so you rub your cheek on it. You can imagine Daryl asking “What are ya, a cat?” and it makes you grin.

Rick’s got the music player in his hand, but you see him peering at you — in the eyes, this time. “Why did you switch coats with him today?”

You’re mid-shrug when you notice how you’re hugging the poncho to yourself like a blankie. “I was shiverin’ this morning and he offered.”

“That was kind of him.” It’s unclear to you whether or not he’s teasing you about it (he never has), but either way, this is good. You’re really glad you’re doing this.

“It was,” you answer simply, feeling at peace.

“So, what are we listening to next? I’ll put carols back on?”

“Can you replay the song, Rick?”

“The Zeppelin one?”

You nod. “You can pick which version.”

“Um, sure, of cour—sorry, there are versions?”

“She uploaded the remastered version, the mandolin cover, a live recording from YouTube.”

The poncho, you finally pull back over your head and wear it properly this time, over everything else instead of under. “I feel like an old-timey gunslinger in this.”

With a quiet chuckle, Rick nods. He click, click, clicks through the mp3 for the song. “Of course she made a playlist of only this one.”

A smile forms on your lips. Yeah, your eldest sister made a playlist of only Going to California, with three versions in a row repeated three times. It was for (her step)Mama and (stepbrother) Shane.

He hands you the earbud you’d torn off. You thank him and place it back into your right ear.

The gentle strumming of the guitar starts to play.

Clouds pass overhead as the song washes over you. Three months, you haven’t listened to it. Barely touched Zeppelin entirely, Shane enjoyed them too much.

The mandolin soon joins the guitar’s pretty, soft melody. You don’t feel sick to your stomach this time.

Robert Plant’s voice begins to sing those silly, nonsensical lyrics. Man, you’ve missed this song.

You hear Rick make a shaky inhale, so turn to look. He’s all bleary-eyed, same as you.

“I don’t know why, but something about the tune gets me going,” he hushes.

A sob forms in your throat, so you nudge him with your foot and tease, “Drama-king.” You scoot closer to him. He scoots closer to you.

“Are we okay?” you hear him ask.

“’Course we are. We have been. It was just the holiday gettin’ to me earlier.” And you aren’t just saying it, you mean it. “We’re family.”

Rick swallows and rubs the scruff on his jaw. His eyes are now completely bloodshot. “So was he,” he whispers.

The sob moved up when you heard him repeat the exact three words you’d said to him that bad, bad night. Four simple phrases, nothing fancy or profoundly heartbreaking. But the first one, “So was he,” you dunno, but it hit him like kryptonite, so you learned.

Like, obviously there’s more to it, but no, you’re not gonna delve back down; what’s done is done.

Forgiveness, in it’s fullest sense (which means your anger has gotta go) is something you’re working on, therefore accepting the past and not living in it is important. And for Rick, your brother, he’s in desperate need of forgiving himself.

Though, because of that night, instead of saying ‘I love you,’ as true as those words are, when things are hard, you have a temporary, different way of wording them with him…

“Rick? I don’t hate you.” It’s a false equivalent, you know, but it’s what needs to be used as the translation for the time being

His breath hitches. Rick turns his head away and tugs at his hair for a moment before turning back. “Y/N? I don’t hate you, either.”

You wipe your eyes and say it again. “I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiles a little while staring at the lake. “Good, ’cause I don’t hate you at all, either.”

............................

Him

............................

Nice, they’re sitting close. Good sign. And good cookie, hot damn. Carol snuck some more out and was sharing them. “Thanks for not makin’ them peanut butter,” he remembers to tell her. Shit, a crumb fell out of his mouth when he said that. Damn.

“They would’ve come out so much better if we did, pookie, just letting you know.”

“Yeah, T-Dog reminded me.”

“He’s, um…” What’s she smiling all shy about? “He’s actually making peanut butter ones outside over the fire right now.”

He turns to look. Oh yeah, check it out. T-Dog’s got the flat pan thing balanced over the makeshift grill. “Nasty.”

“Better stay downwind,” is her suggestion. She’s smirking only a little.

He did not expect to become such good friends with Carol, of all people, but he’s real happy it turned out this way. Definitely didn’t expect to become friends with T-Dog, neither. Hell, at first, he couldn’t imagine becoming friends and getting close enough for that damn invisible string to tug every so often with Y/N.

Didn’t expect to stay with or get close to any of the people here, to be honest. It was the last idea in his head that he was gonna stay, and that they’d want him to stick around.

“Would you like another, Daryl?”

“Hell yeah.”

She pulls out a napkin-wrapped small bundle from her coat pocket and hands him two more. He shoves a whole one in his mouth, it’s so damn nice to have a fresh cookie.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Baby Spice Beth by the fire, waving to them from beside T-Dog as he calls over, “Carol! I think it’s go-time for our turkey!”

Beth’s teeny little voice shouts what he thinks is “I got all the fixin’s ready!”

He’s not at all ready for Y/N and Rick to suddenly start shouting, handguns out, “T-Dog, we’re coming!” and “Beth, get Carl and Lori and run to the Hyundai and hide, we’ll get you when it’s safe! T-Dog, find Hershel!”

From the other side, Maggie then shouted something like, “Is Beth hurt? What’s goin’ on?”

What the hell?

............................

You

............................

Today is just full of lessons, ain’t it?

Turns out that you and Rick having music playing loudly in one ear leads to the two of you, upon hearing raised voices but not hearing what they were saying, to immediately assume the worst and jump into action. You’d both thought your people were being attacked or overrun...

A minor ruckus ensued, it’s, um, it’s fine now.

Hershel was amused. You heard him sigh all the way from where he was, then watched as he waved his hand with the yellow walkie in it and continued ambling along on his constitutional around the lake. It’s good that he’s keeping his scarf over his mouth and nose to warm the air while he’s out and about.

Carol told you both that you and Rick looked “kinda cool” when you’d leapt up together and started making for the completely imagined emergency. “It was like one of those movies with the sheriff and the rookie.”

You, obviously, were quick to coo “Aw Rick, you looked like a rookie!”

It was good to see him smiling. When you’d heard the shouts, he’d gone from normal to sweaty in the approximate 10 or so seconds worth of time it took for y’all to get up-in-arms and ready to bust some heads → to becoming some sort of emotion in between embarrassed, confused, and annoyed at having reacted so strongly.

Not that you still won’t occasionally refer to Rick as ‘dicktator,’ but that man is constantly on-alert because he genuinely wants the group safe and protected. He took all responsibility upon himself that bad, bad night. And no matter your opinion on it, the other people in your group rolled with it; you don’t control their choices.

They concluded that it was safer together (which it is, and you’d have it no other way) and they openly accepted those really shitty terms and conditions Rick laid out (which you did not and aren’t pretending to).

You’re pretty sure Rick’s still concerned about the group splitting, or that the group was still “broken,” as Dale had said just over three months ago (which reminds you that you still haven’t done the kaddish thing for him yet today!).

Truly, that stopped being an issue over two months ago. It was only after his initial dick-tator speech and when you were still postal that your people had been flight risks.

The group isn’t broken. It took only like a week for you to calm down, therefore for the group to calm down, but Rick can’t…forgive himself, therefore thinks he can’t ‘fail,’ even in appearance, after having done what he did.

He’ll get there.

While he’s off with Lori and trying to process that today is a good day and he can rest, you took a guard shift early to relieve Maggie. Carl is beside you, just to hang. He’s of course got his deputy hat on, with his little pistol out.

“You’ve got the safety on, baby?”

After a playful whine, he reminds you “Not a baby.”

“Hey. I changed your diapers, you’ll always be a baby to me. Punk,” you correct yourself.

“The safety’s on.”

And you know he hasn’t fired it since two days ago so his gun is still fully loaded minus three rounds. When was the barrel last cleaned and oiled, though? “And you took it apart and cleaned it with your dad earlier, right?”

“Yeah.”

Why did that sound uneasy?

You turn to get a good look at him.

He’s still maintaining proper gun handling, but his head is stooped.

Timidly, he calls your name. “Are you sad about Uncle Shane today?”

“I was. I-I still am, a little,” you confess. Lying isn’t your thing, and besides, that boy notices things the way Daryl does. With a lift of your shoulder, you concede “I miss all of them, just like you do.”

Him and Lori were crying a little yesterday night about Evie (Lori’s sister, Carl’s auntie). After New Year’s last year, she’d secured leave for her first Christmas at home in like four years. When Lori remembered that this was supposed to be the first Christmas with Evie again, she crumpled. Carl, too. “It’s normal that around special days like Christmas, one can feel a stronger sense of loss.”

“But it’s different with Shane!” he blurts out. Wiping his nose, he then starts to shuffle one foot around the twigs and acorns and dried leaves on the ground.

“I know, bud,” you sigh.

He sniffs and starts to pace. You rub your thumb along Dale’s big watch on your wrist and wish there was more you could do to make things better. For stuff like this, it just takes time. Some days are simply gonna be not-so-good. You send up some prayers and ask what to do, then you worry: your nephew didn’t start to feel scared of Rick again, did he?

You’d hoped that was just a one-off thing from that bad, bad night. “Carl, did you feel unsafe around him today or yesterday?”

You have to turn to see him shaking his head. “Sometimes, when he’s angry,” he quietly admits. “But not today. It was, um, it was when I saw…” He sniffs again and runs his sneaker over an acorn. “It’s just that you were playing with the necklace a lot yesterday and today. Then I overheard you talking with Mom earlier…” His little mouth twists and his brows knit close. “Was it okay that I gave Dad the picture with him and Shane and us?”

“Yes.”

“Did it hurt your feelings?”

“Not one bit, I was proud of you.”

Now he’s staring at his shoes. “Are you angry at dad again, Y/N?”

Deep breath. “I was for a short while.”

He gives a little nod and looks down, then back into your eyes, mouth still twisted as if he’s nervous about your answer. “Did you hate him again today?”

“No. I didn’t hate him today, I ain’t truly hated him in a long time.” You shrug. “Today, I simply remembered what it was like to.”

“I know he’s…not a bad man,” he says more cautiously than he should be.

“He’s a great one and a good one. And I don’t hate him, I love him.”

A shy smile twists his mouth and he relaxes his grip on his gun.

Ew, but now he’s staring at some type of orangey, shiny, fairly large fungus. Funguses? Fungi? Whatev.

Grossed-out and wondering how you hadn’t noticed them until now, you automatically guide him back from it just in case of, you don’t know, um…spores (that’s a thing, right? Mushrooms are just so creepy).

But a sudden flashback to the way you’d been holding Carl so he wouldn’t get any closer to that buck—right before they both got shot—causes you to flinch and let go of his shoulders.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, just went back to that day with the buck, kiddo, my bad,” you mumble. “Hey, if um, if you go get your mama, she might will know what that one’s called.” Lori’s the resident mushroom expert. Back in the before-times, you’d thought it was a disgusting unusual hobby. Joke’s on you, now. It’s a great skill to have when civilization collapses.

“They look cool.” His face lights up. “Wanna bet if we can eat those?”

“Ew, I’m bettin’ no way.”

“I’m betting yes way.”

You squint at him. “What’s the bet?”

“If I lose, I’ll give you one of my puddings.”

“High stakes, then. And I would give you what’s left in my can of Crazy-Cheez, but I don’t anticipate havin’ to. Are you sure you wanna bet the pudding, baby?”

What’s that mischievous look he’s making for? “I can’t wear your boyfriend’s poncho instead?”

Oh, that’s why. “Sure, yeah, totally — now since when are he and me behavin’ romantic, punk?”

“Well, why are you wearing his poncho? And he was wearing Shane’s co—”

“—My coat, not Shane’s. Daryl and I switched for funsies, how’s that?”

“Y/N, are you still scared of dating?”

Good Moses, kid. “I’m cautious and careful. Now, go get your mama, a puddin’ cup, and a spoon, please, ya punk-ass.”

“Pretty sure you owe a quarter for that,” he teases, holstering his pistol. He takes a few steps to head back, but turns around. “Don’t you like him?”

“I like everybody here.”

He huffs in a way not dissimilar to how you tend to. “You know what I mean.”

“I guess I don’t hate him. Happy?”

When you watch the punk-ass raise his eyebrows, redden, and start to giggle, you smile, confused, because: what just happened that you’re missing?

Well, whatever it was, Carl wags his fingers and scurries off to the little water department building, so, you shrug and get back to your guard duty. You chuckle despite the good/scared sensation in your stomach.

Sometimes, you get a tugging sensation from your chest toward that darn mangy hick, ever since that day he’d almost gotten himself killed trying to find Sophia. Other times, it’s just your standard butterflies. But every so often, it’s a good/secure/safe/nervous feeling in your gut.

Peeking back through the trees to make sure nobody is looking in your direction, you wrap the poncho tighter around yourself and you happily swing back and forth, grateful for the temporary peace and solitude. Your people are healthy, together, and happy…they’ve begun teasing you about you and Daryl…you get to wear his poncho…you can listen to Going to California again…

Tipping your head skyward, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Then it hits you: Carl noticed two and a half months ago how you (and his dad) started saying “I don’t hate you,” instead of “I love you” to each other…

Good Moses, and you just told him that…you didn’t hate…Daryl.

Oh my.

Ohh my.

Oh, poop, that punk-ass! That wasn’t what you meant, you love that mangy hick the way you love everybody here!

“Carl!”

............................................

> Masterlist link here <

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[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 24 - Not breathing / Burns

TW: minor whumpee (16), abuse, burning / branding, stockholm syndrome

@medwhumpmay

Fetch had to be careful. No matter how impatient or pissed he was, he couldn't always just do whatever he felt like to Erick. He had to make sure they weren't seen or heard, and he had to make sure any scars could be hidden or at least explained away.

Fetch had to be creative.

"Where the fuck have you been?!"

Erick jumped, not expecting the sudden outburst as he'd just popped his head into the kitchen to see if Fetch was still awake, only to find him jumping up in rage.

"I-I was with Jaime, I—"

"I told you to be home by ten!" Fetch interrupted, "it's fucking midnight!"

"W-we lost track of time, Jaime and I both tried to text you," Erick said.

"I know, I know, the network is down," Fetch said, "but that doesn't explain how you're two hours late!"

"I-it just happened?" Erick said, "I-I left as soon as I saw the time, honest!"

Fetch rolled his eyes, and simply gestured for him to come closer. Erick reluctantly stepped into the kitchen. It was as if he could already tell it was going to hurt, whatever he had planned. Though, maybe he wouldn't go as far, since he didn't want to risk Jaime finding out behind the true nature of their relationship...

"Since a physical fucking clock isn't enough, I'm gonna give you another reminder," Fetch said.

"But Jaime—"

Smack!

Erick had to catch himself on the kitchen table as Fetch's backhand surprised him. He gasped, feeling the familiar sting it left on his cheek and swallowing hard before looking back up at Fetch.

"Don't talk back to me," he just said, before grabbing him by the front of his shirt and dragging him towards the kitchen counter.

Erick still wasn't sure what to expect, but his predictions were beginning to lean towards pain as Fetch manhandled him. They stopped at the stove, Fetch's grip moving from the teen's shirt to his upper arm, keeping him close as he turned on the large burner. It was a gas stove, the flame springing up high before settling just below the cast iron grid.

"Here's what we're going to do," Fetch said, while Erick nervously eyed the fire, "we're gonna wait for that stove to get nice and hot—hot enough to leave a decent mark. And if anyone asks, you just had a lil clumsy moment while cooking up breakfast, understood?"

"P-please, I'm sorry—"

Fetch cut him off as he grabbed a fistful of his hair.

"Understood?" he repeated.

Erick bit his lip, though that didn't stop him from tearing up a bit. He nodded reluctantly, only to have his hair yanked again.

"Say it."

"I-I understand!" Erick quickly said.

Fetch thankfully let go after that, pushing the teen's head forward. He could feel the heat rising from the stove. A gentle warmth from this distance washing over his face. But he knew it wouldn't stay gentle.

Time seemed to drag on slowly, yet it also passed far too fast. Fetch waited about five minutes for the flames to heat up the iron grid, leaving Erick in increasing suspense the entire time. He was shaking as he leaned against the counter, waiting for the inevitable. And when Fetch reached for the knob to turn the stove off, he broke.

"P-please! P-please I won't do it again! Fetch please—"

Fetch ignored his pleas, simply clamping a hand over his mouth, while grabbing his wrist with his other hand. Erick tried to pull his arm free, but Fetch simply twisted it until it hurt too much to pull, before pressing it down onto the stove.

"Mmmgh!"

Erick yelped into Fetch's hand as the iron grid burned the skin on his lower arm and the palm of his hand. It wasn't hot enough to sizzle or leave a smell, but it was still hot enough to hurt, especially since he couldn't pull away until Fetch finally let go.

Erick gasped for air as he collapsed onto the ground, dropping to his knees and leaning against the cupboards while looking at his arm. Red and pink welts lined his arm and hand perpendicular to each other. Taking a couple of wheezing breaths, he looked back up at Fetch.

Fetch just leaned back against the kitchen table, not even the slightest hint of pity in his eyes as he lit a cigarette and took a slow drag.

"You should cool that," he finally said, "looks like a decent second-degree."

Erick took a shaky breath, trying to calm down before slowly getting back to his feet. He turned to the kitchen sink, opening the tap and holding his arm underneath the streaming water. He gasped quietly as the cool water stung the fresh burn.

"So how'd you burn yourself?" Fetch asked.

Erick gulped, using his free hand to wipe at the tears rolling down his cheeks while trying to think of an answer.

"I-I was trying to reach for the pot lid, a-and leaned on the stove that I'd just used," he said quietly.

"You're so clumsy, aren't you?" Fetch said, "You're lucky I know how to treat burns or you'd be in pain all night without my help."

"...y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Alright, kid. Keep the water running for another ten minutes, after that I'll get you some salve and a bandage," Fetch said, before moving towards the living room.

Erick didn't respond, he just waited by the sink until he couldn't hear Fetch's footsteps anymore before daring to let out a quiet sob. He covered his mouth with his free hand to try and further mute the sound before sobbing again. As if all the tension from before was trying to force itself out now.

A lil dive into the darker part of their relationship. Fetch will go to any length to maintain control over Erick, especially when he first begins slipping away.

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Taglist for the dynamic duo: @lavndvrr