#//this post brought to you by pine's writer

[gotta-pet-em-all]

hey. Pine here. poking my head because. wow, you're really enjoying Fluff doing this, huh? (had a brief moment of "oh gods WHAT did I do" before I remembered I was technically logged into Fluff's blog and that she was just getting a lot of asks rn. way more than I ever get on my main lol. though my main is also just Not connected to the multiverse, which is tragic)

anyway, don't get me wrong! Undertale is one of my favorite games of all time for good reason, and I'm glad you're enjoying Fluff doing this!

but for the love of the gods,

let Fluff play the damn game!

she's absorbed a good deal of info about it via osmosis (mostly from me) over the years but she is still playing this fairly blind. don't ruin it for her. don't micromanage what she does. if she doesn't do something "right" her first run, that's okay, the game is meant to be replayed multiple times!

let her make her own damn choices, you guys. Fluff's already self-conscious about being behind the curve when she really isn't, she's honestly doing better than I was on my first run, and I don't want to have to vet every single ask that comes into that inbox to make sure you aren't spoiling important things.

here's a cold boi to thank you for reading this and, hopefully, taking it to heart.

[An image is attached of a Glaceon blepping. The Glaceon is held in the arms of someone whose face is obscured with an emoji, but she has blonde hair in an undercut.]

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 3 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments on the couch

warnings (TW): mdni, contains mature/suggestive content, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

tags: mature/suggestive content (in act iii), fluff, early relationship described, pining, affection

notes: please note that there is heavily implied/suggestive/mature content in act iii of this posting (after the second break)- if you do not wish to interact with this type of content i swear to you you can completely skip it if you like, i attempt to not tie TOO much significance to the written scene- and if you would prefer that the postings stray away from this kind of content i will attempt to better balance it in the future! i am in no shape or form a very “smutty” writer (mainly bc i have never written it), so i hope the scene isnt like… terrible ya know lol (also i don’t consider it much for “smut”- i am def using said word very loosly). annnnyyywayyys hope you enjoy and as always my dms are open for suggestions in the future and general conversation and encouragement! enjoy!

also to note! I believe the story is best read in order- i put certain dependences on certain words and bring descriptions back to really solidify the importance of certain scenes/interactions ! but completely up to you, lol

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked the up to date masterlist for this series- thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

word count: 4.5k

| masterlist | part iv |

She had caught him sleeping on the couch in the early heat of June. 

They had a late night on the couch, discussing Ford’s margin notes and rewatching The Price is Wrong. Stan had a certain affinity for price matching, and she was more than a little stunned to learn of it the first couple of months they resided in the shack together. 

She just didn’t expect this 30-year-old man to know the price of most common household appliances. 

After his divulgence last month, in which he had confided a little bit of his background in sales, she began to piece together that although Stan considered himself a conman in every way but words, she considered it pure brilliance. 

So she quickly got used to late-night T.V. shows, as they discussed next steps back and forth, with Stan interrupting conversations to yell out extremely accurate prices at the small box T.V. in front of the couch. It had grown on her, actually, and had turned rather… endearing. 

If not also incredibly hilarious, as he was so passionate about his own accuracy he usually forgot his volume, and sometimes took to ranting at her. 

“Hun! Hun! This is a load of malarkey I tell ya! That vacuum price is way too high! It don’t even come with added nozzle attachments!” 

She would laugh, and he would revel in making her do so. 

They had concluded the night in a similar fashion, and she had stumbled up to her bedroom. The first one on the right from the stairs. But he had lingered in the living room, muttering about tidying up some soda cans and taking the trash out quickly. 

She had shrugged it off, giving her goodnight, and made her way up the stairs. She had fallen asleep so quickly, she hadn’t heard the usual meandering steps of Stan as he made for his own room across the hall from her. 

She almost never woke up before him, another thing that surprised her. She figured he was the type to doze in and out in the early morning, but he seemed to be quick to rise and even quicker to make a pot of coffee, usually stumbling down the stairs thirty minutes before she could manage to roll out of bed. 

So she thought it odd to look down the stairs and not see the usual kitchen light on, and the usual grumble of the shitty coffee machine either. 

She found him snoring on his back, the throw blanket she had brought with her half on half off him. It had grown a little muggy in the shack, due to the distinct lack of central air, but Stan’s solution seemed to be very simple. 

Just wear less clothes. 

Something that wouldn’t disturb her in the slightest, if it were not for, well… Stan. 

She was a scientist, a usual logical thinker, and only slightly prude (due to her upbringing), but she was no idiot, and she knew the man she was cohabitating with was attractive. 

I mean, he was also funny- made her laugh more times than she could count. He was oddly sincere for his age and even more oddly protective. He was flippantly affectionate and even more flippantly kind to her. 

And he was also shirtless. 

Something she takes note of instantly, instinctually. Whipping her head to make for the kitchen, and trying to forget the curve of his broad shoulders and the slight swell of his stomach. The smattering of dark hair on his chest all the way down to the crisp edge of the boxers she had folded two days ago. 

Coffee, coffee coffee! 

She didn’t make as good of a cup as he did, she had never had to before. Something he scoffed at, but quickly took to doing himself. He made it every morning, now. Always up before her, with her mug waiting for her by her worn kitchen chair. 

She turned to the stove instead, moving pans and turning on the burner. She’d make breakfast for them instead of her shitty burnt coffee special. Pulling eggs and bacon out of the small fridge she went to work. 

The smell woke him up, and she noted his groggy fumbling to redress himself. Glancing out the archway from kitchen to living room she watched him pass to the stairs, still shirtless. He takes the stairs two at a time, back up to his room to retrieve new clothes she presumed. 

He returns in minutes, in typical fashion it took him not too long to get ready in the morning. 

He walks in, still stretching, with hair muddled from sleep. A pair of work jeans that had seen a lot of love in the past month, and a shirt that was quickly growing too tight around his arms and shoulders. She decided to ignore that sliver of stomach that peaked out when he raised his arms a little too high, otherwise, the bacon would burn. 

He made his way to the coffee machine, beginning the usual morning routine as it spurred to life. Moving to the sink he began washing their shared mugs. 

Breakfast was always a little quiet like they both couldn’t be bothered to open their mouths beyond sating their appetite. They still moved the same, instinctually and without words. Falling into their unassigned assigned seats, Stan moving to grab her feet and drag them across his lap, while she moved the salt and pepper between them both. She always reached across to his plate, grabbing his toast to butter first and then moving to her own. 

She had decided to interrupt their usual silence this morning, looking across to Stan as he fumbled with the morning paper. He always went straight to the comics in the morning, hoping to pick up on a joke to read to her that day, hoping to make her laugh first before anything else in the morning. 

But she had thrown a wrench in his usual plan (that she still hadn’t picked up on yet). 

“Why were you on the couch?” She asked, biting around her toast. 

“It’s cooler down here hun.” 

“I know heat rises Stan, but the sun rises on my side of the house in the morning. It ain’t that hot upstairs yet. Is there something wrong with your bed?” 

When first rearranging rooms he had resolved to take Stanford's old one. He didn’t want her to have to live in the shell his brother had left behind. His more intimate nick-nacks and sticky notes had been scattered around what is now Stan’s room. Along with his random mismatched socks and sweater vests, and his cologne. And he didn’t want to think about having her live around the last remnants of Stanford, because she got this weird look in her eyes already when she retraced his brother's writings and he couldn’t stand it. He had lived with Stanford for eighteen years, and sometimes entering the room was at least therapeutic. 

Except Stanford always had a weird affinity for sleeping on the ground. 

It’s the main reason Stanley even had the top bunk during their preteen years to begin with, because Stanford would find himself stiff on the floor most mornings. His brother had a tendency to doze away on any hard surface he could rest his head on, starting at his desk most nights, moving to his bed, but usually rolling off it in favor of the floor. Stanford was… not one for restful sleep. And his hard ass mattress showed it. 

“Ya.” Stan muttered behind the newspaper. “‘Ford trying to fuck my back up from another dimension.” 

“You can have my bed?” She offered up her own mattress, one she had splurged on with her own money. He still remembers her playing Goldilocks that day at the flash mattress sale she had circled in the classifieds the week before. 

He shook his head at the memory, them both laying side by side on each bed as she had discussed odds and ends. She had argued that she needed approximately 5 minutes on each mattress to sink into each, and that she couldn’t be intrinsically thinking about her comfort when doing so. So she had him lay beside her and talk to her, as she flipped from her back to her side testing out her comfort and considered the gravelness of his voice. Until she had landed on the right bed, the tenth one, declaring it her perfect match as she looked over at him beside her. 

“Nah, I can’t take your perfect match, hun, your one true love.” He joked, folding up the newspaper with the comics up, setting it aside in favor of looking at her. “Besides my bed is fine for now. I just… sometimes I like being close to the door.” 

She hummed. “I can rearrange the living room today? Do you want to move your bed downstairs?” She hadn’t even questioned it, still searching for something to sate his comfort. 

He laughed at this, he would never let her rearrange things without him and she knew it. He had hovered something harsh those first three months, moving around most things for her as she pointed from object to object. 

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I just, I ain’t used to sleeping in a room without a straight way out of it yet.” He admits, munching on his bacon, shrugging like he was discussing the weather. “So sometimes I just, sleep on the couch. No big deal.” 

She sits back in her seat, shock marring her face. He had spent so long hopping from place to place she had forgotten he hadn’t had a place to call home in a decade- besides his car. Something that may have four walls, but had no heart. 

Hotels, to cars, to floors of shelters, he had slept in questionable places for far too long, and in some cases Stanford’s room sometimes felt like a new prison, or at least reminded him of a certain Colombian one. Except this one contained taunting memories and a stupid amount of sweaters. 

It hurt more, to open his door to find hers closed, for some reason. He didn’t like the thought of her trapped either, nestled in a part of the house he couldn’t get to. But he didn’t know how to voice this to her without sounding mad in a way. Or obsessive maybe. 

She digs her toes into the junction of his ribs, grabbing his attention. She’s smiling across from him, and standing before he can ask why. Grabbing his hand, she pulls him up the stairs to their own parallel doors, not even hesitating to walk through the door Stanford used to call his own. 

She’s muttering under her breath as he stands in the doorway, landlocked by witnessing her in this exact space for some reason. She moves to the window, opening it all the way and fumbling with the screen. She gets it off and makes to climb out the window before he can protest. 

“If you want a way out, you got it right here!” She grunts, footing her way through to the shingled roof, his protests falling on deaf ears. 

“Get the fuck back in here!” He leans out, making to grab her. “Ain’t no way this shack's roof is any good!” 

She prances around, slightly mocking him by moving away from his waving arm. “Stan! It’s fine!” She laughs, the sun shining on her figure. Suddenly serious she stops, hands on her hips. “Seriously, if you need a way out, keep the window open, okay?” 

She crawls back through the window a moment later, using Stan’s hand as a weight as she balances back on the wooden floor. 

Still serious, she continues, “Stan if you need to keep the window open, you can keep the door open also if you feel like it.” 

She smiles like she has a brilliant idea, moving across the hall she opens her own room to display her own mess of things. “I can keep mine open also if it helps.” 

How the fuck had she read his mind? He was continually dumbfounded by her unquantifiable amounts of patience she had for him. Like it was a reserve she tapped into, to specifically deal with all his dumb bullshit. He would let it pile in the back of his head, but she’d reach back in and shake him awake, present him with a solution, and he forgets himself in his need to question “why?”. 

He had taken too long to respond, and she stands in the hall, hands wringing her too large t-shirt and looking surprisingly bashful. “Is this okay?” She asks, is this what you need? Vying for his approval as she continues. “Because really I don’t mind you sleeping on the couch, I really don’t, you can keep doing it if you like! Really! I just… I just…” 

Unspoken between them, he already knew. She meant well, she meant the best actually. She wanted him to be comfortable, here, with her. Wanted him to stop moving from place to place in the house because no where felt right because it all felt like a trap. Wanted him to know the four walls they shared could never be a prison, and that she didn’t want him to hop around anymore searching and clawing his way out of it. To not have to Goldilocks around the house, because across the hall from her had to be just right. 

And it was. Because she had read his mind as usual, and he was almost tired of being absolutely astounded by it. 

He nodded, smiling across from her, his confirmation in the squeeze he gave her hand as he reached for her again, and in the ruffling of her hair he gave her as he slipped from the house later. Making his way outside to his work, somehow lighter than usual.

They ended up on the couch most weekends, or at least most Saturday nights. 

She had insisted, against his better nature, that it was not appropriate to drink yourself into a stupor on a weekday. So he had gotten used to the shared moments on the weekend, routinely looking forward to shitty VHS movies and even shittier boxed wine and beer. 

She laughed at fucking everything when she was drunk. He almost wondered if she had ever been high, or if she even needed to be. He might as well be a stand up comedian most weekends, because if he thought he had a great audience Monday through Friday, well he had an even more endearing one on the weekends. 

It was a hot July night, and she had scoffed at his light beer that resided in the back of the fridge. Tisking at him as she danced around the kitchen, pouring sweet red wine into mugs (their only cups), and shooing him back to the couch. Only wine in the summer, only wine when it was this hot.

And it was hot, and humid, unsurprising for Oregon really. So hot in fact, that she had decided pjs were appropriate attire for the night, luckily for him. So he shed his jeans in favor of loose boxers and a well worn shirt. Unluckily for him, she had decided upon much the same wardrobe, which was odd for her and only uncomfortable for sober him. 

But he wasn’t sober anymore, and he had to admit she was rather enchanting hunched over on the couch, laughing at his shitty jokes with one of his old band t-shirts on, shorts that she made no indication of even owning, bagging up around the tops of her thighs. 

He had been intoxicated on numerous amounts of things, nothing, of course, too hard or addictive per say, but it’d be the first time he was this drunk on wine. 

And it was… different. 

He had scoffed at the movie she chose originally tonight. She always chose the second movie, and he chose the first. They had a habit of in depth discussing during films, especially when more intoxicated. 

But he had never been so incredibly invested in a romantic comedy in his entire life, he blamed his company and the alcohol. 

“I can’t believe that he thinks he stands a chance with the likes of her! She’s sacrificed so much! Her jobs on the line here and he won’t even consider marrying her for a green card!” He yelled, just about jumping at the screen. This man in the movie was ridiculous, demanding things from his assistant and throwing her away the next. 

She ran back into the room, mugs full with their next round. She had become the bartender tonight, waiting on him and grabbing snacks when he’d ask in exchange for rubbing her aching shoulders. 

“What did I miss!” She rushed back, handing him his mug and taking her seat back in front of him on the floor, her throw blanket being used as a cushion. 

He takes a sip, setting the mug aside her own on the floor and moving back to place his hands on her tense shoulders. 

“She’s being kicked out of the country right in front of her boss and he ain’t gonna do anything about it! She basically does everything for this man, why doesn’t he see he needs her?” 

She groans below him, her head rocking back as she takes her own drink. “Are we gonna discuss the intricates of them having a relationship though? I love marriage of convenience, don’t get me wrong, but that’s her boss! Isn’t there a weird power dynamic here?” 

“Oh ya!” He agrees, nodding along as his fingers began to dig into her muscles. “We gotta talk about that because if this gets creepy we gotta pick out a different one. He’s already pissing me off!” 

She looks up at him, eyes glowing with an idea. Enchanted, she moves away from him, crawling to the cabinet beside the T.V., and he really swears that he tries to look away. But he also reasons that it’ll be a while before he gets the chance to see her in shorts again. And fuck. 

She turns back, a new VHS in hand. “This!” She exclaims. “Now this is my favorite rom-com!” 

A shitty picture is well worn on the front of the movie sleeve, a VHS he doesn’t recognize from the donation bin sitting in her hands. She must have brought it with her, and she must have had it for a while. 

She crawls forward, movie in hand and a bright, flushed smile on her face. 

“Please, please, please Stanley! This one!” She all but yelled as she leaned up into him. His legs had already been parted to accommodate her sitting in front of him, but now were warm with her torso between them, as she crawled into his lap, movie still in hand and smile still on her face. She leaned up onto his chest, a fake pout on her lips as she looked up at him. 

He forgot himself for a minute, excusing her silently for calling him Stanley in her drunken plee. His hand finding her waist as he answered. 

“Okay, okay!” He snorted. “Better be a better love interest because this guy sucks.” 

He missed her as soon as she left, but his heart still felt something sick when she yelled victoriously on the ground, hand raised in celebration, movie clutched to her chest. Rolling from her current position to the VHS player and popping out the current horrendous movie. All the while she giggled, and he followed in much the same manner. Laughing while running his hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself to forget her warmth. 

She crawled back to him (fuck) settling back into his knees from her position on the ground. The title screen flashed, but he was much too busy watching it illuminate her face. Heart sick again when she leaned her head all the way back, hair across his knees and thighs, she smiles up at him, a thank you on her lips. Clutching his mug in her hands, bringing it to her lips for a sip before passing it up to him too. 

And when he carried her to bed that night he wondered when the tight sickness would leave him. He never closed either of their doors. 

It didn’t happen like this, that night. 

Not from what he could remember anyway, but he felt too groggy to care about accuracy and too intoxicated by the image of her to care much for what was right. 

Her hands had continued up his thighs from her place knelt in front of him, his back hot against the living room couch. She had climbed up on top of him, creeping up to sit on his knees and thighs like she had been there before. Her smile turned sweet into something twisted as she leaned in close to his face, the closest she had ever gotten to it. Whispering something between the heat between the two of them, something lost on him, as he tried to lean closer, tried to bridge the gap between their chests, aching to feel her against the very front of him. 

He knew it was different because she had never worn this in front of him before, at least willingly. He had caught her in the middle of the night, stumbling from her open bedroom door to the bathroom down the hall, panties striped and endearing on her ass. He had seen them in the washer, had seen her fold them and tuck them away. And she was in them, sitting on his fucking lap. 

His hands made for her, reaching behind her and dragging her close, his fingers edging the back of the band of her striped panties. 

She gasps like she does when she’s happy for him, always jumping from her position on the couch cheering along with him when he gets a stupid fucking The Price is Wrong answer right. 

And it’s how he imagined it, fuck, how he was currently dreaming of her noises. In bits and pieces he could remember, his brain scrambling to paint an image of her wanting him.  

Her hands edge along the back of his head, running through his long hair, and tracing to the front along his jaw. Mouth open, her fingers glide along the bottom of his lip, teasing. 

She whispers again, closer now. Her chest heaving against his own, her ass waits precariously positioned above right where he dreamt of her being. Right along the space he places her feet every morning, right where he thought she may kill him.

He catches it this time, between them. Her voice wavering like it had that day in the car when she had apologized for calling him him. He thought of begging for it, allowing her to say his name, but she had read his mind like she always fucking managed to do. 

“Please, Stanley.” 

He had surged forward like his own tidal wave, meeting her in the hot space between them. But he could only imagine a kiss with her, dream of it here. 

He imagined it slow, and building. Imagined her hesitation and the pout of her lip between his fucking teeth, imagined her moan when he eventually came back for more. 

Her hands pulled at his fucking hair, the only time she had placed them there to harm, and he groaned as she pulled him forward, meeting again in the middle of the heat they shared there on the couch. She moaned, her hips rushing to his own, making a new heat between them. 

The friction between them was the same as the kiss, slow and building. Grinding herself in the curve of his lap, right where they both needed each other. Every pass slightly faster, every groan from her more imagined, more unreal. 

The pressure felt real though, and her fingers in his hair felt even more so. His head thrown back on the couch, he looked down his nose at her, a groan leaving his throat as she makes a home in his shoulder, as her hips cause waves against his fucking lap. 

Her breath is hot on his neck, something real, and her echoing noises move up his shoulder to his ear and it makes him hotter than he could imagine. Her groans come to a precipice, getting higher in octave and volume and she thinks to fucking bite him there, right on his shoulder. 

The image she makes shakes him, his hands remembering where they are on her ass and hips, as he makes to work them harder, to somehow bring her closer and harder to the crook of his boxers. Her teeth nestle into him, and it makes him groan more, her hot breath and aching moans reverb off his skin back to him. 

It sends him reeling forward, his own head rushing off the back of the couch, groaning in heat, moving in blind passion. His head rests against the top of her own, his big hands digging into the fat of her behind, finger creeping in through the top of her panties. 

“Fuck.” He groans between them. “Fuck, honey.” His hips canting up, her moans echoing again, her teeth unlaching, like she can’t ground herself to him anymore, because all the movement is him now. He’s fucking using her, the pressure hot, and she peels back to look at him, a heat in her eyes he can’t have imagined. He must have seen it before, marring her face. He had, he swears, seen her with this heat in her eyes before.

He was using her. 

It stops just as abruptly as it began, and he wakes to his discomfort. His room is cool despite the morning sun, the curtains by his windows billowing out with September wind. His door wide open, and his hand curled around something that no longer needed relief. 

His other hand, clutching his hair in a fist. The back of his head tender from the pressure, and his fingers heavy from sleep. 

He got up quicker than usual, his heart still pounding oddly in his chest as he attempted to catch a breath he didn’t remember losing. On his way out of his room, dresssed for the day, he peaks into her parallel room, her door wide open like it was every day now. 

He groans low, she’s wearing the fucking stripes. 

He tries not to think about it the rest of the day, tries not to be disgusted with himself, but his chest aches something odd and his stride is somehow uneven for the rest of the day. His heart carries something sickly when he sees her that day, and she pretends it doesn’t hurt he’s oddly quiet that day, or that he doesn’t read her the morning comics like usual. 

She thinks it has something to do with how flushed he is, when she catches his staring that evening, as they sit beside each other on the couch, T.V. echoing in the background.

[winterarmyy]

winterarmyy's masterlist

Disclaimer: This masterlist may contain works with adult contents that is not appropriate for those who are under the age of 18. Please proceed at your own risk. Thank you.

Taglist: I do not use taglist system for my work anymore. You may follow me and turn on the notification for new updates. Don't worry about spamming, my blog posts are only consist of fic updates and asks replies.

Navigation: For now I only write for Bucky Barnes and all of my works are complete unless stated otherwise. Each of the work under a specific universe are listed chronologically based on the story's timeline.

Genre tags:  🥀 - angst    ⛓ - smut    🐇 - fluff    🖤 - dark

FRIENDLY REMINDER

• I will block you if you...

MY WORK

Plot Twist Universe ft. mafia!bucky

An arranged marriage with mafia!bucky.

♥︎ Plot Twist (🐇)(⛓) - Part I | Part II | Part III

♥︎ Around My Scars (🐇)(⛓) (🥀)

Behind The Facades Universe ft. avenger!bucky

An unrequited pining over a certain super soldier.

♥︎ Behind The Facades (🥀) - Part I | Part II | Part III

And You're Mine Universe ft. alpha!bucky

How grumpy chubby alpha!bucky finally found his omega.

♥︎ Must Be Fate (🐇)

♥︎ And You're Mine (🐇) (🥀)

♥︎ Baby, Fever & Cuddles (🐇)

♥︎ Steal Me Away (🐇)

Welcome Home... Soldat? Universe ft. winter soldier!bucky

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

♥︎ Welcome Home... Soldat? (🐇) (⛓) - Part I | Part II | Part III

♥︎ Welcome Home, Daddy (🖤) (🥀) (🐇)

Promise Me Universe ft. 40s!bucky / tfatws!bucky

When he was sent out for war, Bucky made a promise to his lover that might just last through several lifetimes.

♥︎ Promise Me (🥀) (🐇) - Part I | Part II | Part III

Thin Walls, Thin Lines Universe ft. fuckboy!bucky

What will happen if a fuckboy falls in love with a hopeless romantic?

♥︎ Thin Walls, Thin Lines (🥀)(🐇)(⛓) + Deleted Scene

Against All Odd Universe ft. medieval!bucky

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky

♥︎ Against All Odds (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) - Part I | Part II | Part III

A Series of Bucky Drabbles

♥︎ Until Then (🥀) (🐇) ft. 40s!bucky / avenger!bucky

A mission back in time brought Y/N to an unexpected encounter with the man she fell in love with. (Inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift)

♥︎ I'm Not Like Her (🥀) (🐇) ft. avenger!bucky

Y/N had her heart broken when some agents made fun of how her body looks and Bucky came in clutch with the rescue.

♥︎ Never Lie To Me (⛓) ft. winter soldier!bucky

In which Y/N's sinful thoughts towards the Asset is reciprocated. (Inspired by I Can See You by Taylor Swift )

♥︎ My Person (🐇)(⛓) ft. tfatws!bucky

In which Sam's question forces Bucky to reveal his true feelings to his so called "friend", Y/N.

♥︎ Kiss It Better (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky

In which the reader refused to let Bucky go down on her lately because she's embarrassed of the chafing marks on her inner thighs.

♥︎ He Hates Me, Doesn't He? (🥀) ft. tfatws!bucky

You hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you.

♥︎ Sleepy Heads (🐇) ft. tfatws!bucky

That time when the reader accidentally fell asleep on a stranger’s shoulder in the subway ride home. The stranger in question, however, is none other than the former Winter Soldier, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

♥︎ A Fucking Treasure (⛓)(🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky

A date gone wrong? Same old, same old. But, having Bucky pinning her against the wall, now that’s new.

♥︎ I Knew It Then (🐇)(🥀) ft. avenger!bucky

If it was supposed to be a casual thing, then why does it hurts so much?

More drabbles coming soon...

A Series of Random Bucky Blurbs

Midnight Rain (🥀) ft. 40's!bucky

Breast-pumping Routine (🐇) ft. avenger!bucky

Forced Marriage (🐇) (⛓) ft. duke's illegitimate son!bucky

Dark!Bucky stalking the reader (🐇) (⛓) ft. dark!tfatws!bucky

Reader shuts down emotionally (🥀) ft. avenger!bucky

MY RECOMMENDATIONS

Support other writers here: #fic rec

All my recommendations are consist of Sebastian Stan's characters.

[partyanimal167]

Okay so I SHOULD be working on the next chapter of my Miguel fic...and I promise I am. But I can't stop thinking about this post from @luxthestrange with my lovely man, Crocodile (also ignoring the fact that I'm behind on updating his fic by alot...) So here's a little something to get the writer vibes flowing

cw: none, blurb, one-sided pining, gn reader

Sir Crocodile x Ex-Secretary!Reader

You never thought that you'd end up having a WANTED poster, but you made some questionable choices as a youth which made entering the 'normal' world extremely hard and ultimately not worth it after awhile.

You did managed to get a desk job, but that didn't last long when it was revealed to have owed some money to a dangerous, business-smart pirate named Sir Crocodile. Amidst the raid, you were called out by said captain as it was your questioning of the numbers and certain other connections that brought some attention to what your then-boss was doing. (Oops). Either way, you expected to get interrogated then disposed of.

You got a handshake and job offer instead.

Now of course, you didn't immediately join Crocodile's side, but he noticed your attention to details and ease of conversing with even the seemingly shadiest of connects. Crocodile didn't think you were a pirate, but you certainly weren't a normal civilian either.

The secretary offer came after Crocodile witnessed you boldly standing up to one Warlord (Doffy) when he tried to barge into Crocodile's office while he was on a phone call. You were merely passing by. But you knew that Sir Crocodile didn't like to be interrupted, and the secretary then wasn't holding his place against the giant man.

Doflamingo was pissed. But Crocodile approved.

So then started the years of partnership and endless work where you kept tabs and details organized for Crocodile's use while you were rewarded in both finances and work benefits.

You enjoyed it, so you were a bit let down when things hit the fan and your boss in jail.

However, you were able to start an underground consulting business while hiding from the Marines. It was quite successful. When news came of Crocodile's escape, it was easy enough to track him down and send him a wealth of information ranging from old contacts to accounts that were still untouched. As a courtesy...

Sir Crocodile was quick to send over a bouquet of flowers and a beautiful invitation to welcome you back to working for him. You gracefully declined citing your new business adventure and gave warm wishes.

And so started a relentless array of attempts of winning you back. Several initial consultations for 'new clients' were just lunches of the man trying to convince you. Each time, you'd just sit and listen before taking the check for your time. Gifts of your favorite fragrances, coffees, pastries, and the like were always welcoming you either home or to your office. It did surprise you a bit how much the man knew about you. Your actual clients seemed to nervous to be caught between you both since Crocodile was trying to scare them off, and you were stern in getting your demands and continuing your work.

After some time though, it had been silent. You caught wind of Crocodile's new partners, and you felt some relief that others were able to take on and work with the man. Things would be easier now. You'd both cross paths maybe as partners or each other's clients in the future.

A knock at the door rattles your calm evening and tea. You stood from your living room and peek out your peephole. However, you didn't see anything. You were just about to walk away when you could've sworn you smelled a familiar robust smoke and opened the door.

You nearly gasped when you see Crocodile on his knees with the largest ramo of lilacs, Adam's needles, and roses you'd ever seen--although they were on the ground under his hand. He looked up at you with both desire, stress, and relief.

He puffed out his smoke before yanking out his cigar and pleading. "You are the most competent, skilled, and amazing person I know. I need you back in my life even more now. Please dear, come back to me."

~~~

Teehee

[ramp-it-up]

II Most Wanted Pt. 2: Pedal so heavy 

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: The feelings are getting real as you make a decision about giving Jake Syverson the time of day (or night, rather) at your 20 year reunion.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Flashbacks, horny teenagers being horny (over 18 tho). Prom night, early 2000's music, mentions of sex acts, "Captain" kink, mentions of teenage pregnancy, divorce, breakups. The Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Reckless driving?

Read at your own risk.  Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N:  This is the second installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

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

May 2024

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

When you heard that, you went into fight or flight mode. Rage, regret, and sadness all flooded your body at once, and Sy’s eyes flicked down to your dominant hand which was curling into a fist. A wry smile started on his lips, and then he straightened up and looked you in the eye as he started to speak again.

“Butter-”

You shook your head, which silenced him. Then you raised your chin, released your fist, and turned your back, walking toward your friends.

—---

Get out (LEAVE!)

Right now

It’s the end of you and me

It’s too late (NOW!)

And I can’t wait 

For you to be gone…

Carla and Tiffani followed as you fled to the restroom.

“Why did you even tell him I liked him? I blame both of you.”

You were hurt, so you brought up a 20 year old slight and lashed out weakly at your friends. You were trying to ascribe meaning to your emotions.

How could everything still hurt this much? 

Carla wasn’t having it.

“Unh unh. No. Nope. We were sick of you running your mouth all the time about how cute he was. And Jakey boy had heart eyes for you since the day you walked into school, despite Becca the Bitch. After they broke up, we had to put you both out of your misery. It had to be done.”

Tiffani was nodding her head in agreement.

You sighed.

“‘M sorry guys,” you sat on the bathroom vanity and smiled to yourself about your Powerpuff councils in the 3rd floor Central High bathroom all those years ago. Then you grimaced when you thought of Sy.

“I just… Can’t…”

“So what just happened?”

Despite your surliness, Carla was ready to go to war for you.

“He wants me to go talk with him, ‘someplace quiet.’”

“Wow. Your air quotes are kind of aggressive.”

Sweet Tiffani was also calling you out.

“Maybe you do need to talk to him. I heard what happened, and it’s kind of a lot. A hell of a story.”

“Tiff has a point. You forbid us to say his name after you two broke up…”

You interrupted Carla.

“After he found out Becca was pregnant, you mean..”

“...That is a part of the story you need to hear. She did him dirty. They split when he finished his first tour. He asked about you, but you were already engaged to Scott…”

You’d heard that Sy enlisted instead of going to State for football like he planned when Becca fell pregnant, but the bit about the split hit you like a ton of bricks.

But why? And what did it matter now? 

“Sy spent the better part of the last 20 years in Afghanistan, and I think it’s because…But that’s not our story to tell. You really ought to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do-”

Your voice was a little shrill and you closed your mouth when you heard yourself. You stood in the bathroom awkwardly until the familiar beginning of a song wafted into the room:

“Teen drinking is very bad.”

Carla and Tiff started screaming the next line:

“Yo, I got a fake ID tho.”

The beat dropped and they pulled you out of the bathroom onto the dance floor.

One, here comes the two to the three to the four Everybody drunk out on the dance floor Baby girl ass jiggle like she want more Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour...

…..Everybody in this bitch getting Tipsy.

This was your thot song, and after a minute of standing there, fake offended by their dancing, soon you were shaking your ass with your lifelong friends.

—-----

Sy knew how much he was trying it when he asked you to talk, but he had been waiting 20 years for this chance. 

Tonight was the night.

And he wasn’t going to let the night pass without shooting his shot. But the truth needed to be told first. He hoped that you still cared enough to let it happen.

When you stared at him blankly, he started to sweat. He knew you lived your life since then. He feared that any feelings you may have had for him were over and done with. But then he saw your hand balled into a fist, and hope entered his heart.

Sy never shrank from a fight; hell, he’d started too many, but he never wished for someone to sock him in the mouth as much as you.

He wanted to fight with you. 

And he wanted to make it up to you. 

His heart dropped when you walked away, but he decided to let it ride and give you some space. After you disappeared into the bathroom with Carla and Tiffani, Sy ventured into the venue, ready to interact with others now that he had laid down the challenge with you.

—---

You were having a ball dancing with the girls until that song came on. You stopped moving, the hair raised on the back of your neck. When you turned you found Sy staring right at you. You’d managed to ignore him the entire night, but this song and his blue eyes were wearing you down.

I'd sure hate to break down here Nothin' up ahead or in the rear view mirror Out in the middle of nowhere, knowin' I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin' So, God help me, keep me movin' somehow Don't let me start wishin' I was with him now

You walked toward Sy, drawn to him as if on a string. You had that feeling in the small of your back as you stood before him, the one that you hadn’t felt in ages, and suddenly everything felt inevitable.

Just like it did 20 years earlier. 

—---

May 2004

On Prom night, you came out of your bedroom and Sy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes never strayed from your face as he murmured,

“You look amazing.”

You blushed and smiled while your mom ‘awwwed’ and went to get her camera. You approached your boyfriend and he took your hand to twirl you around as he appraised the rest of you in your sleek emerald green dress. When you faced him again, he was licking his lips, trying to make the look on his face respectable. You smiled because you could read his mind.

Sy didn’t flinch as your mom called him “Jacob,” and you didn’t have it in you to be annoyed as she took a couple of pictures. Sy’s hand on your waist and his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin at the opening on the side of your dress made you shiver in anticipation.

You were caught up.

Soon, Sy was loading your bag into the back of Betty, and pulling off, your mom having accepted your explanation of staying over Tiffani’s after going bowling with the group after the prom.

In reality, a bunch of the crew were renting a huge chalet in the mountains, 45 minutes away. You and Sy had your own room, and you were ready to give him everything that night. You were distracted, imagining having your way with him that night.

And Sy was right there with you.

“Y’know, Buttercup, we can just head on up to the chalet.” 

He cut his eyes over to you to watch your reaction. When you didn’t answer and just bit your lip, that’s when he knew.

“Our suite has its own bathroom with a shower in it. We’re definitely using that this weekend. Can’t wait to see you all soapy and wet. ‘S all I could think about in the shower tonight. Almost jerked off to the image, but I decided to save it all for later…”

Sy knew you too well, and had keyed into how you responded when he talked dirty to you. He was priming the pump for later.

You pictured Sy in the shower, his lithe muscles clenched as he fisted himself, made you suddenly need a drink of water. You cleared your throat and found your voice.

“We have to go, Sy. I spent so much time getting ready. And you look so handsome in this tux….”

You skimmed your hand down his lapel, down his torso to his thigh, and you quickly ascertained his situation. He grinned at you.

“You’re right.”

Sy winked, smiled and concentrated on the road while you tried not to be a slut in the passenger seat. By the time you reached the venue, you had yourself under control. He parked, then turned toward you. 

“Let’s have a good time tonight, Buttercup. Think you can keep your hands offa me for a couple of hours?”

You scoffed, and Sy took your hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed your palm, smoothing the joke away because in reality, It was him who couldn’t help touching you.

“Don’t want to mess up your makeup right now… might ruin it later tho.”

You whimpered in his grip as he kissed up your arm and you tucked a long errant curl behind his ear. 

Sy’s eyes went soft and he held your hands in your lap.

“Y’know, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can dance all night if you want to. Bowl the blue balls away.”

You laughed and Sy fell in love even more. You were so beautiful.

“I love you, Buttercup, and us having sex or not won’t change that, not one bit.”

You melted as you stared at your handsome fella. He was fiddling with your hand, and then you felt something cold on your finger. You pulled your hand back and saw the delicate white gold ring with a tiny perfect diamond in the center that had been his grandmother’s.

You gasped.

“Sy!”

You looked from him to his grandmother’s ring. You’d come across it the first time you were over his house, ‘studying’ in his room on a chilly November night after football practice. You were being nosy and looking at everything you could touch as he went to get some snacks.

Sy was embarrassed when he came back and saw you with it. You thought he was mad at you for snooping, but he wasn’t. He’d told you that it was just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, not worth anything,’ and that no one would want it, but that his Gran had left it for him to give to his future wife. 

“But, I’ll propose to someone with a bigger ring than this.”

Sy’s denim blue eyes held yours for a beat. Your heart flipped. You didn’t know why, because you’d only been talking for a couple of weeks and this was the first time you were alone together. 

You didn’t know that Sy was repeating something Becca had told him when she turned her nose up at the antique when she happened to see it, and you didn’t care as you took the black box and sat down on his bed. You stared at the ring inside like it was the crown jewels, and after about 5 minutes of studying it, you looked up at him. 

“Well. I think this ring is beautiful and precious. The detail is stunning. Your future wife would be lucky to get it.” 

That was exactly when Sy realized that he was in love with you.

Back in the Bronco outside of the prom, you were in disbelief.

“What are you doing Sy….?”

All of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. But after only six short months together, Sy knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Calm down, Buttercup, this is just a promise ring.” 

He kissed your hand again. 

“I know we're jumpin' the gun, and we're both still young.” 

Those eyes held you in a trance.

“But one day, we won't be.”

“Oh, Sy…”

“It’s my promise to you, Buttercup. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”

And it seemed kinda crazy. But you believed him.

—-

May 2024

I made it this far without cryin' a single tear An' I'd sure hate to break down here Oh, no

It was either the music, the dancing, or the alcohol, or all three that made your mind up, but you were ready to listen to what Sy had to say. 

Stephanie Prince, the class president, was calling the Homecoming court up to the stage, and Sy looked that way. Anger bloomed again inside you.

Damnit, Sy needed to choose you this time.

“You still wanna talk, Sy?”

Your body language that screamed aggression: the cocked hip, the crossed arms that pushed up your tits, the tapping foot in those heels, all made Sy soft on the inside and hard on the outside for you. When he answered you, his voice broke. 

“Ye– yeah.”

Christ, you had him weak. But he made a decision, found his strength, and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the Marriott.

You followed him obediently, and that set him on fire. He stopped and turned around when he reached the Bronco. 

But he didn’t let go of your hand.

You two stared at each other in the late spring night air, stars winking down on you two.

“So where we goin’, Sy?”

Being this close to him again, and the feeling of his touch made all those 20 year old pheromones perk up again. Damn, this man. 

This huge, handsome, hairy man.

“Where do you wanna go, Buttercup?”

What your brain was doing was insane, so you just kept silent.

Becoming mute was one of your tells. Sy was elated that maybe you wanted him, at least physically. He was so thirsty for you.

“Hm.”

Sy grunted, straightened up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, all while still holding your hand. It was like he didn’t want to let you go. 

And he didn’t.

“Tell you what. Let’s take a spin in Betty. See what’s up in the ol’ town.”

Your eyes flicked toward the truck, and you knew it was dangerous.

But you were grown now. 

And so was Sy.

Sy led you around to the passenger side door to help you up into the high profile vehicle, leaning over you to buckle you in, only releasing you to put his hand on the door.

“I can’t believe you still have her,” you whispered, indicating the Bronco. “How is she still the exact same condition?”

“She’s been in storage for the better part of 20 years. Thought about her everyday though.”

Sy was looking at your lips, and the memories came flooding back.

“I bet she missed you.”

Sy cocked his head and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His voice came out gruff and he had to clear his throat again. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Sy.”

Any smooth line was lost as his brain short circuited with the concentration it took to not kiss you right now. 

“Well, we’re about to have some fun together again, you, me, and Betty. Sit tight, pretty lady.” 

Your cheeks heated at the compliment.

“Ok, Captain.”

Sy actually blushed, shook his head and closed the door, leaving you to breathe in the old leather smell of the Bronco with your eyes closed, conveniently leaving him to pump his fist behind the car unseen by you. 

He got back in the car, jacket off. And he leaned near you to place it on the back seat, you got a whiff of him, the familiar cologne adding another dimension to your roiling senses.

When you opened your eyes, you witnessed him rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He caught you ogling him and you gulped and crossed your own arms and legs, angling yourself to look out of the open window.

Sy looked over at you closing yourself off from him, then smashed the gas to make sure that you'd squeal and grab his arm like the good ol’ days as he peeled out of the parking lot, pedal so heavy like you were the two most wanted criminals in town.

—---

Hit reblog if you like it!

Next part Here

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

The Red Tieflings Bachelors (Rolan and Zevlor) Reacting to You (Tav) Thanking Them

Featuring: Rolan/Tav; Zevlor/Tav

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my mind while working to clear the writer's block. I was feeling very low the last week or two, so I apologize for my inactivity here. And then I was on vacation with my family. Thankfully, I’m feeling better now. (Currently working on Yandere! Alucard Part 4 and the next ask. Yan! Part 4 will probably take a while because it's long-form (not hc), so expect the ask after that to be posted first.) 

Rolan

🔮 It was just another bustling day in Sorcerous Sundries when you decided to stop by,  a newfound magical item in hand. To no one’s surprise, it appeared your favorite tiefling wizard was too busy sorting through the inventory of Ramazith's Tower to man his shop, seeing it was his programmed illusion who greeted you with a relatively uncharacteristic amiable tone.  

“Welcome to the Sorcerous Sundries. Is there something in particular you’re looking for today?” 

Knowing Rolan, in reality, his body was pacing around Razamith’s Tower, nearly tearing his hair out, as he obsessively mumbled, sorting through the piles and piles of books and scrolls Lorroakan had gathered in his time. The compelling image in your mind was such a stark contrast to the one before you, that you bit your lip to prevent your signature mischievous smile from dawning across your face. 

“I believe Rolan left something upstairs for me.” 

The illusion looked at you, eyes narrowed, presumably scanning its programming for an appropriate response. Yet, just as Rolan’s Projection opened his mouth to speak (in all probability to deny you entry) your conversation was interrupted by a boisterous halfling patron, hoisting an item that he declared comprised of defective magic. 

Never one to waste a distraction, you took the opportunity to make your way up the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries to its second floor and into the correct portal leading to Razamith Towers. 

Upon entering the portal, you were met with the familiar sound of Lia and Cal bickering with none other than the new proprietor of Sorcerous Sundries himself. 

“If you simply spoke to them instead of pining inside this tower all day and night…” Lia went straight to the point as usual. 

“I am not pining!” You could hear Rolan answer, in his usual defensive tone. 

“I think what Lia means to say is, it would be easier for all involved if you were to simply ask them-” Always the mediator, Cal must have jumped in. It did not surprise you, seeing as how he was rather skilled when it came to talking his siblings down. 

“Ask who what?” You interrupted, the concrete visage of Razamith’s Towers finally greeting you. Despite having known the tiefling family for months now, you were always amused by their antics. “Does Rolan have his heart set on an apprenticeship with yet another asinine wizarding master?” You had a feeling Cal and Lia were referring to something else entirely, but you’d prefer to speak to Rolan alone about that. 

Rolan rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by both your sudden presence and your insistence on teasing him. “I no longer require a master, nor a teacher. Lorroakan gathered enough magical books and knowledge within these walls for me to teach myself all I could ever wish to know.” Behind him, his pointed tail lashed sideways, always ending with an upward flick of the point. To a fellow tiefling, his irritation would have been quite obvious. Then again, you were not a fellow tiefling. 

You nodded, ignoring Rolan’s wilful tone. You had become accustomed to his many displays of false irritation and indignation. More often than not, your headstrong ally was more bark than bite. “That may be,” you continued. “But in case it isn’t, I’ve brought you one more tome for your collection.”

Rolan’s entire posture, tail included, stiffened upon hearing your words. The tiefling wizard was in disbelief. A gift? For him? But, why?

Lia smirked, before elbowing Cal, whose own knowing expression soon followed suit, spreading across his face. Nodding to each other, two brother-sister duo walked off, leaving you and Rolan alone, standing in a near deafening silence. 

“It’s a tome on the origins of The Weave, or, at least I think it is. That’s what Gale told me anyway.” 

Rolan's previously erect shoulders slumped at the mention of your former traveling companion’s name. “Ah yes, Gale, The Great Wizard of Waterdeep. How is he faring these days?” 

“Better,” you answered honestly. “It seems not living with a ticking time bomb just inside your chest does a man some good.” 

Rolan brushed off your attempt at lightening the mood, pushing past you to a stack of unsorted books piled on an end table to your left. “I assume the two of you have kept in touch then?” 

“Rolan!” You mock gasped. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” 

“Pfft, you’ve clearly let the title of Hero go to your head. Why would I be jealous of a mere professor at Blackstaff Academy when I possess an entire library of magical writings, a shop full of magical items, and several arcane cannons to defend all of the former?” 

“He’s a very respected professor, and there’s something to be said for enjoying the simpler things in life.” 

Rolan scoffed once again. “He had the power to be a God and turned it down. After enduring all your group did, taking on the shadow curse, fighting the goblins, destroying the Absolute, a job instructing ungrateful, know-it-all brats hardly seems like a reward.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Well, it’s what Gale wanted. But I do have to wonder,” you slowly stalked towards the red tiefling, “If a very coveted and respected position of authority isn’t something you'd consider a reward, what exactly qualifies as recompense to the mighty Wizard of Razamith’s Tower?” 

Slowly, you trailed a finger up along Rolan’s robed arm, delighting in the little gasp that slipped from his lips. 

He both hated and loved how you could make him feel like this. How just one word, one look from you could leave him a needy, wanton mess, how he longed for you to step even closer, for his body to press up entirely against yours. In the back of his mind, he imagined what it would feel like for your strong weathered hands to run down his red infernal skin, but that time, with no gloves or thick robes in the way. 

Rolan was certain you knew the degree of power you held over him. He was sure you delighted in pushing and prodding at his buttons, drawing out each one of your visits with flirtation and playful verbal sparring.

“What… about…a…?” you enunciated each word with another swipe of your finger across his robe’s velvety material, your face moving ever so slowly closer to his. 

Finding his composure, Rolan shrugged off your advances with a shaky sigh. “Spit it out already. I don’t have all day.” Defiantly, he turned to face you, calling your bluff. His lips were mere inches from yours: red, plump, and just begging to be kissed. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, you continued to press forward, pressing your lips to his. 

With a breathy sigh, Rolan’s tension melted away as he melded his mouth back onto yours. 

Reaching up with one hand, you cupped the back of his head, ever so gently pulling him even closer to you. 

Rolan moaned into the kiss and moved to grab your waist, but before his hands could secure you in his grasp, you stepped away just as smoothly and silently as you had stepped forward. 

Embarrassed and flustered, Rolan flashed you his pointy teeth in a frustrated groan. “Why must you tease me so? Have you not grown tired, frequently coming here just to pester me?” 

You beamed, proud to see your previous suspicions confirmed. “No,” you stated, matter-of-factly. “It’s too much fun! Besides,” you held the book out for him to take. “You didn’t seem all that excited about my earlier thanks, and that simply wouldn’t do.” 

Rolan rolled his eyes, accepting the tome with a huff, his tail back to swishing violently behind him. “Was that what that was? And here I thought you were trying to come up with new ways to annoy me.” 

“Annoy you?!” You mock gasped. “Surely my kiss was not that bad.” 

“For a ‘thank you’, that kiss was highly inappropriate, it! Well…” he trailed off, his cheeks somehow blushing an even warmer shade of red. 

You tilted your head, encouraging the tiefling to go on. 

Rolan avoided your gaze, pretending to find interest in the book you had just gifted him. His voice was quiet, but also self-assured. “It was entirely too short of a kiss to count as a ‘thank you’. You might as well just have given me a peck on the cheek.” 

Rolan continued flipping pages of the tome, doing his best to act uninterested in your kiss and your presence, even though the both of you knew all too well it was a lie. 

“Don’t worry,” you started to take your leave, giving Rolan a playful pat on the shoulder. You paused for a moment, leaning into his ear to whisper, “I’ll make sure the next time I pester you goes more in your favor.”    

Watching your form retreat into the portal, Rolan brought a finger to lips, just ghosting along the surface you had latched onto not seconds before. 

Emerging from their eavesdropping positions, Cal and Lia could not help but give Rolan a pair of mischievous smiles. 

Watching as the whirls of the portal spun around you, you overheard one last bit of conversation just before your body was transported back to the upper floor of Sorcerous Sundries.

“Not one word,” Rolan warned, his stern body language failing to conceal the pleased sound within his voice. 

“Told you to just ask them out.” 

“Lia!” 

Zevlor

⚔️ It had been some time since you defeated The Absolute. Of course, despite the changing season, much of Baldur’s Gate was in need of repair and renovation. While Halsin had taken many refugees to his new settlement in Reithwin, a part of the former Shadow-Cursed Lands, many chose to remain in the city and restart their lives there. Being a frequent flyer of the city yourself, you found it easy to visit those who chose to stay behind. One such individual, a former Hellrider called Zevlor, was someone you found yourself visiting more than the others. 

You shifted the rather large rectangle basket within your grasp, moving it so it rested within the crook of your left arm as you freed your right hand, before raising it to knock upon the unmarked door before you. Faintly, you could make out whispered gossip floating up from the stairs behind you, but you paid the hushed voices no mind. Sure, to outsiders it may have seemed odd that the savior of Badlur’s Gate was so keen on visiting the same acquaintance, one who resided in such simple dwellings, but to you the luxury afforded as a hero and adventurer paled in comparison to a good conversation between friends. 

‘Friends’. The word echoed in your head, like a schoolmarm repeating the dishonest words of a misbehaved child. 

In truth, you found yourself more drawn to the older paladin than perhaps you’d like to admit. You found your admiration and respect for the former Hellrider only grew with each passing visit, and now, there was hardly a day the tiefling did not fondly cross your mind. 

Then again, those silly girlish feelings would no doubt ruin the peaceful nature of your current relationship with Zevlor, so you pushed them aside in favor of maintaining a friendship while pining rather than speaking your truth and risking having no relationship at all. 

Hearing a shuffle of objects on the other side of the door, you smiled and released a breath you didn't know you were holding. It was just like any other day, there was no reason to get nervous now. 

“Ah, Tav,” Zevlor opened the door with a soft smile, “Right on time, as usual.” Always the gentleman, Zevlor stepped back, holding the door open for you. 

“My parents always said punctuality is a virtue,” you smiled, remembering their words fondly. “As much as I try to embody their lessons, this life doesn’t present many opportunities to do so, so I like to fit them in where I can.” 

Zevlor hummed, closing the door behind you. “They must be proud of you. Not every parent can claim their daughter is one of the great heroes of Baldur’s Gate.” 

Walking over to the settee just beyond the door, you took your usual spot seated on the right-hand side of the rather cramped sitting area. Despite being inside Zevlor’s home many times, you still found yourself amazed at how the tiefling managed to move around without knocking his tail into everything. 

The furnished room Zevlor currently resided in was a single-room loft, settled above a rather quaint little cafe spot in the lower part of the city. It wasn’t much, and it had very little privacy, especially for visitors, but that was little concern of yours. And despite Zevlor’s constant apologies for the small space, you felt more at home seated inside his little apartment than you did your camp at times. 

In the corner opposite the door, a cast-iron stove and a washing basin with a faucet were secluded just beyond a shutter-style room divider. You knew from previous visits that was where Zevlor always warmed the kettle for your meeting tea. Next to the settee you were seated on was a single dresser, about waist high. Upon it sat the few various plates and utensils Zevlor used daily as well as the collection of mismatched tea cups and teapots. And despite never seeing the inside of them, you assumed the drawers of the dresser housed his clothing and armor. Although, you must admit you were rather curious as to how he got his chainmail and breastplate to fit. 

Directly across from the settee, on the opposite wall was a twin-sized bed, undoubtedly too small for the tiefling paladin, even if he was never one to complain. Zevlor always kept it neatly made, the sheets all tucked in evenly, almost as if no one had slept in it the night prior. You supposed he had no choice, if he wished to entertain guests, as there was no way for their eyes to avoid it. Then again, a part of you had a feeling that order and precision were just key elements of who Zevlor was. Despite no longer being a Hellrider, and having long broken his oath as a paladin, several of his attributes like discipline and respect went far beyond any former occupation or title. 

Setting your surprise gift onto the wooden coffee/dining table before you, you answered Zevlor’s observation with a much more melancholy smile. “I’d like to think that, if they were still here, that yes, they’d be proud.” 

Taken aback by your revelation, Zevlor’s face fell before he recanted. “Tav, forgive me. I did not know your parents had passed. But I do still believe that regardless of where their souls may be now, they are looking upon you with pride.” 

Careful not to accidentally knock you with his tail, Zevlor retrieved the teapot, ready with tea already steeping, and two of the mismatched cups, before he returned to be seated next to you. 

Due to the tight nature of the room’s layout, and the small stature of the settee, every visit between the two of you resulted in your knees touching. In the beginning, Zevlor was overly apologetic, insisting he could instead sit on the bed, and allow you to have the sofa all to yourself, but you insisted the proximity was more than fine. You knew many people still saw tieflings as devils, monsters, or hellspawns, but you were not among them. The tieflings were just like any other race you had encountered on your journey: they were simply doing their best to survive. 

If anything, the hardships Zevlor and the tiefling refugees endured before arriving in Emerald Grove only made you respect them more. You were no stranger to hardship. You knew how difficult it was to have to get back up after you’ve been beaten; particularly how hard it was to accomplish the sixth or seventh time around, but it was something Zevlor managed to do with dignity when leading his people. 

You knew he did not see it similarly, his mind having been temporarily corrupted by The Absolute, but you would have fared no better if it was not for The Emperor’s intrusion. Truth be told, few minds ever could have resisted such a powerful psychic force. And even though several of Zevlor’s former tiefling friends and allies held him in contempt to this day, you could not bring yourself to agree with them. 

After the tea had been poured and sipped, your comfortable silence gave way to conversation. 

“How long will you be in the city this time? Any adventures planned for the future?” Zevlor asked. 

“I do have some news,” you admitted, placing your teacup down. “I’ve been thinking of this for a while now, but I needed some time to come to terms with it.” 

Zevlor motioned for you to go on. 

“Well, it’s been nearly seven months since our victory against The Absolute, against Gortash, Orin, and Ketheric Thorm. The former Shadow-Cursed Lands have blossomed into a new hope for so many people. I’ve thought about hanging up my adventurer’s hat. At least for now.” 

“I see. And what will you do with all your spare time? Travel? The Sword Coast has much to see, or so I’m told.” 

You shook your head. “I’ve been thinking of settling down.” You fiddled with your fingers, hands resting in your lap. “Maybe starting a family.” 

“Oh,” came Zevlor’s deflated response. “I see.”  

You placed a reassuring hand on Zevlor’s shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, I love helping people. And I want to continue to do it. But I think I can do it differently, in a way where I can have both, ya know?” 

Zevlor nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, certainly. It makes sense. You’re young, you want to live life to the fullest but you also don’t want to live it alone. I understand perfectly.” 

Seeing Zevlor’s downtrodden posture, you brought your hand down from his shoulder and placed it on top of his. “The reason I wanted to tell you was because, well, I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to come with me?” 

Zevlor’s eyes snapped up. “I’m- I’m sorry?” 

“I found a house, a cottage in east of Reithwin. It’s nothing fancy, and it’s most certainly in need of some major repairs but there are two rooms. It’d be away from the chaos of the city, in a town itself that is starting anew. I thought, there’d be a chance, you’d prefer those circumstances as opposed to living here.” 

Zevlor swallowed harshly. “I’m not certain what to say. You’ve already been such a help to me and my people. You’ve forgiven me even after… I do not know if such an old tiefling like myself is worthy of such kindness.” 

“Oh Zevlor,” you sighed, pulling the older man in for a reassuring hug. “You deserve this kindness and more. You’ve survived so much, and you’re the reason so many others have survived. You stood up and fought The Absolute’s Army when it descended upon the city. You could have hidden. You knew what kind of power it had, you knew all too well the way it could destroy your mind. But you chose to do the right thing. You’re incredibly brave, and I wish you could hear me say that and believe it.” 

Letting Zevlor go, you could see the faintest bit of water welling up within his eyes. But to further spare the former Hellrider any embarrassment, you thought it best if you took this time to go. 

Standing up, you carefully slid over the rectangle box towards Zevlor before making your way toward the door. 

“What’s this?” Zevlor asked, taking a good look at the box. 

“Oh, I saw them at the market the other day, and I wanted you to have them.” 

“Tav, please,” Zevlor started, his hands held up in protest. “You’ve already given me so much. I couldn’t possibly-” 

You cut him off before he could start his whole self-deprecating spiel up again. “It’s nothing big, just a token. I wanted you to have your own set. That way, even if you don’t wish to come along with me, we’ll be able to use and enjoy them when I come and visit you here.” 

You opened the door, letting yourself out. But before you descended the stairs, you turned to face Zevlor one more time. “I’ll be at the Elfsong Tavern for a few more days, I have some things to get in order, some other people to see. I want you to know we’ll still be… friends if you don’t change your mind. Although,” you spoke, a relaxed smile upon your face. “I truly hope you will.” 

You reached for the doorknob, pulling it closed behind you. 

Zevlor waited, listening to your footsteps as your boots descended the stairs. When he was sure you were not going to return, his clawed fingers moved to carefully remove the top of the box, being mindful not to scratch the contents inside. Once the lid was off, the softest of gasps escaped his red lips. 

Nestled in the box was a matching tea set: one teapot, three teacups, three saucers, one sugar bowl, and one cream pitcher. The rims of everything were painted to look gold, and the main design itself was a collection of watercolor flowers, each very dainty yet boldly elegant. 

Gently, one of Zevlor’s hands grazed over his knee on the part where yours rested against his just moments ago. 

“Friends,” Zevlor spoke aloud. The word repeated inside the Hellriders mind. But unlike the commanding voice of The Absolute, it was soft and sweet and entirely in your tone. And in its echo a second word emerged, although similar in sound and nature, the weight of it felt differently settled upon his heart. 

‘Family,’ Zevlor thought looking down at the tea set you gifted him. ‘Yes, I do think I would like that.’ 

A/N 2.0: Can you tell how much of a soft spot I have for Zevlor? Related Fun fact I took a BG3 personality quiz once, and it said that I’m him due to my longtime suffering and constant masochist desire to keep doing the right thing even though life punishes me for it…

(个_个)

As always, please Like and most importantly, REBLOG!

Also if you enjoyed it, consider Tipping Me Via Kofi! <3 

[serinesaccade]

Les mis Enjoltaire ficrec list part 1

Hi all, I decided I'd do a scan of my extensive bookmarks list to bring together basically everything I've consumed of enjoltaire. I have not been publishing much but I can still share what brought me joy. These are not in a reasonable order (just by my reading history chronologically) and I'll be limiting them on a one-fic-per-author basis so I don't just recommend you my fave authors 100 times. See below the readmooore for the first part of this effort (page 1-5 of my bookmarks)

dressing apollo by Tegami

Model Enjolras and hot mess designer Grantaire on a reality TV show, handled brilliantly. What else do I need to say.  how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame is also essential reading.

With My Feelings On Fire (Guess I'm a Bad Liar) by pumpkinspiceprouvaire

Enjolras and Grantaire enter the stupidest and pining-est arrangement of all time. This list is going to make it very obvious that I have trope preferences and frankly, I don’t care. This is Delicious and so is basically everything else by this author

Walk Me Home by kjack89 for serinesaccade

It is impossible to pick a good fic by kjack89 out of their infinite library of good fic so I cheated and picked the one written for me

no more cyanide kisses (i’m methylene blue) by Mousetrap

Hurts so good

send you my love on a wire by blairs

Hilarious fics, gotta love blairs

i looked to you instead by Anonymous

suckerpunch by televisionbodies

say my name a million times (and i still haven’t heard you say it enough) by dyhtps

the road not taken by Petr1chor

Another heavy debate over which fic to pick out of many greats

Revolution Barbie by StrangeOccurrence

Lesbiabs but like weirdly serious and sexual

It's You And It's Been From the Start by stellatundra

Screaming

best practices in seasonal dessert distribution: a primer by twofrontteethstillcrooked for stardust_and_sunlight

Brownie sweet

Beautiful & Good by Riotstar

Emotionally difficult for me to read like I am not sure I can continue but? Important?

in momentum. by AnnaBolena for ShitpostingfromtheBarricade

how long it's gonna be (before we get on the bus and cause no fuss) by samarskite 

The Finer Points of Communication by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade

God I love this author

And Pages To Go by femmebingley

here i am leaving you clues, by moonswinger

you can’t kill me after this fic bc I am already dead

Ho, Ho, Oh No by catstrophysics

stuck together by whooves

fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings by sarahyyy

Classic bigtime writer with big big list

the first time we met we hated each other by mariuscourf

I get so excited when they post

Silvertongue by resnovae

Compromise by Akigriffin

I am a sucker for acespec

What’s it like to date someone? by Wildrivver

Patron Saint of Silent Restraint by vivalataire for emmettcadrian

If It Ain't Baroque, Don't Fix It by vivalataire

Lost in Translation by ellevaire

It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster

Insanely cute and deeply real, I read it over and over

Witchboy by tothewillofthepeople

Ughh how does one write so good

[braxlrose]

Heyy i LOVE your writing your my of my favs writers

was wondering if u could do like hc of tom with a reader like childhood bffs to dating only if you can ❤

a/n: i love this trope so much so im so glad someone requested! imo it's one of the best and cutest tropes to ever exist. it's actually the one I'm using for my DR 💀 this is also kind of like a pt 2 for this post except with Tom instead of bill and there's not much mentioned of georg and gustav

childhood friends to lovers w/ tom

tom x fem!reader

• you met tom and bill when your mom moved you to Loitsche when you were 5 years old, right next to tom and bills house. their mother met yours when their mother went over to introduce herself to you guys. that's when she mentioned that she had a daughter the same age as her sons.

• that night, your mom brought you over there for dinner and you played with Tom and Bill. you guys had tons of fun and ended up becoming great friends that night.

• after that, you guys hung out every day and hung out at school. you were their new bestfriend and as I mentioned in this post, you helped them switch back and forth and confuse the teachers.

• the teachers were already used to their antics but with you, it just got worse and more complex. your mom scolded you a ton and ever had a fight with Tom and Bills mom because you kept getting into trouble but there was nothing they could do to stop you guys from hanging out.

• it was really hard to tell them apart when they were younger so you got relieved as they got older and started to have their own style

• you guys went bike riding all the time together and would ride for hours doing random shit

• you, bill, and tom would always go to the pet store to see all the cute little animals

• you would pick flowers for bill and make him a flower crown and even know tom refuses to admit it, he wishes you made him one too.

• both bill and tom were very over protective of you, but tom mostly. if he ever found out that anybody hurt you in anyway, he'd be pissed.

• you went trick or treating with bill and tom every year. (even though it wasn't too popular yet in the 90s in Germany)

• sharing and switching candy with them was a must

• you and tom were a bit closer than you and bill but you were still friends with both of them. it's not like you had a choice anyways.

• you always slept in toms bed whenever slept over (which was pretty much almost every night) and you two were always cuddling.

• bill and tom had bunk beds, so whenever you slept over you guys would put blankets around the edge of the top bunk and then tell scary stories

• you guys would sneak onto the ice cream truck and steal as much as you could. you'd always end up puking after because of how much you ate.

• you and tom would sit next to eachother every time in class and whine whenever you two had to move or got told to move because you guys were talking

• tom has a massive sweet tooth and you guys would steal stuff from the corner store

• you, bill and tom would hang out at the pool tons.

• you and tom would practice playing guitar allllll the time

• you were apart of the original "band" and played for weddings and other gigs with them

• you helped their mom bake a cake for their birthday every year and you always had so much fun with her. she even taught you how to write their names on a cake

• you went cd shopping with Tom for new cds and other old cds he didn't have.

• when tom had his first kiss (WITH A 16 YR OLD GIRL AT 9 YEARS OLD 😨😨😨) you didn't really know what to feel. you weren't even sure what you were feeling but you didn't like that he was kissing another girl

• you never said anything though, what could you even say?

• you and tom started out as just friends, no feelings at all not until you guys were pre-teens.

• as you guys grew older, tom and bill started getting girlfriends. you never dated anybody though; mostly because of your insanely massive crush on Tom.

• you basically just pined for him while he dated other girls. but you did feel nice sometimes. you got to see the side of him other girls didn't. you got to see how sweet and fun and nice he was with you. he was always different with you and if any girl had a problem with that, he'd drop them immediately.

• you got to sleep in his bed and cuddle with him and stay up late and hang out with him 24/7. they didn't get to do that, you did. and that gave you a sense of security.

• when the band started to actually become a band and you guys started getting more gigs, you and tom would always play next to eachother and even created your own style of playing with eachother

• you helped tom pick out his red guitar

• you and tom also have matching stickers on your guitars

• whenever girls flirted with Tom, you'd always get jealous and sometimes even try and steer tom away from them. like if they started flirting, you'd come up to tom and say "we need to get to band practice" or "Bill needs you for something" etc. etc.

• after a while, you'd come to the conclusion you just weren't his type and he'd never have feelings for you like you did for him.

• when tom first told you guys he lost his virginity, your heart dropped. tom, your tom, lost his virginity. you wanted to cry but you couldn't, they wouldn't get it, they wouldn't understand. so you just laughed along with the guys and make jokes.

• when durch den monsun came out, more and more girls were all over tom. but at this point, you'd gotten used to it. when you realized how many girls he was sleeping with, you just shoved all your feelings down and locked them away. feelings would ruin your friendship, right?

• your hotel room was right next to toms so you could hear basically everything they were doing. it was absolute torture. why couldn't tom see your feelings, why didn't he feel the same way?

• tom treated you like a little sister. it was awful. you wanted to cry everytime he called you dude or bro. he would never call you baby, or babe, or sexy. like he does other girls. he'd never see you like that.

• when you guys are at clubs, you try your best not to watch him flirt with other girls. it's easier that way. but along with that, you just end up getting drunk.

• tom would come running into your room at like 11 pm at night asking you for a condom. this became routine, and over time your heart shattered a little bit less only because you'd gotten used to this. used to him liking other girls.

• one night, while you guys were out at a club. you got sloppy. when you were drinking you ended up stumbling over to tom and dragging him to another room. and that's where you confessed to him down you were feeling.

• you ended up bawling your eyes out and saying how stupid it was because you know he'd never feel the same and that he doesn't want a serious relationship but you couldn't "help how you feel".

• tom took you back home that night and cuddled you and rubbed your back until you fell asleep. little did you know he felt the exact same way about you...

edit: I'm super tired and wanna go to bed, but let me know if you want dating headcanons for this bc I will do it, I'm just so tired.

taglist: @hearts4kaulitz @burntb4bydoll @spelaelamela @bored0writer @fishinaband @billsleftnutt @tokiiohot @bluepoptartwithsprinkles @saumspam @5hyslv7 @killed-kiss @memog1rl @80s-tingz @billybabeskaulitz @victryzvv9 @banshailey

[heartthrobin]

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

comment and repost <3 mwah!

[withyouwithoutthem]

Eat, Sleep, Wake (Nothing But You) Ellie Williams

Modern College AU. Dealer!Ellie x F!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Ellie find themselves locked in a room together they’re forced to face the misunderstanding that occurred between them three years prior. Reader isn’t ready to let it go, but Ellie is willing to persuade her otherwise. 

WC: 9.5k Buckle up, it’s a long one.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!!! consumption of alcohol, smoking marijuana, brief description of reader’s outfit, mentions of divorced parents and foster care, ANGST, mutual pining, reader and ellie are both idiots, ellie being a little manipulative, SMUT, fingering and oral sex (r recieving)

A/N: i got super stoned last night and considered not posting this. second half is NOT proof read and feels a bit rushed. it's also very different from anything else i’ve written and i don’t know how i feel about it. initially i didn't intend for it to be this long (like 18 pages in gdocs, might be overkill) but it seems i don’t know how to write anything that’s not shakespearean in length, so sincere apologies. are people even into fics this long? i know i am but thats not the point. first time smut writer soooo that was fun! remember that feedback is always highly appreciated as well as like and reblogs! enjoy!!

You had dragged yourself to the party tonight in hopes of easing the heaviness that had settled in your stomach following the news delivered by your father that morning. It was hardly an appropriate conversation to have over the phone, yet your father could not give you the luxury of speaking about  it in person. His words had been pinging around in your head all day, so when your roommate and best friend, Dina, brought up the idea of going to a party— you jumped at it with no questions asked.

Getting ready had been a small distraction for the time being, the notion of getting all “prettied up” for the night seeming good enough. Pregaming with a couple shots of tequila each had you feeling a new kind of sexy as you did your makeup; black eyeshadow skillfully smudged around your eyes in a tasteful wing, a light layer of glitter swiped across your lids. You’d dressed yourself in your favourite pair of jeans—the ones that hugged your ass in the best way— and a black open back top. 

You and Dina were both a giggling mess on the bus ride over to the frat, earning a fair share of odd glances from a few of the other patrons. Had you not been buzzed already, you would have felt embarrassed and maybe even apologized to those around you, but alcohol was buzzing in your veins on the track to having a fun night out.

The music could be heard from outside the frat house, but as soon as the two set foot through the doorway, it pumped right through their chests, leaving them with a buzz different from the alcohol. Sweaty bodies packed together tightly throughout the main floor, spilling out into the backyard where the party continued. In the kitchen they found the counter littered with bottles of booze and plenty of snacks— which you had learned not to touch the hard way, when you caught a god-awful stomach bug during first year. 

Dina’s eyes scanned the labels, fingers dancing overtop the bottles as she searched for one in particular, “Aha!” She exclaimed, “This’ll do.”

“Dina, there’s like seven different bottles of whiskey. It’s all the same.”

“Nuh-uh,” Dina shook her head, pouring a shots worth into the two plastic cups you set out. “This is the good stuff, no wonder they had it at the back.”

You didn’t have a chance to see the label, and couldn’t find yourself caring about the brand as you clinked your cup against Dina’s, sending your friend a wink before throwing the shot back. Dina had been right, this was the good stuff; smooth but smokey, warming your chest on the way down yet still sent shivers up your spine. 

The pair were quick to down a second one, and it wasn’t long before the girls found themselves being joined by their friends Jesse and Kate. They celebrated their arrival with a third before mixing their fourth with some semi-flat ginger ale they’d found. Dina had managed to convince you, who wasn’t much of a dancer, to join her where the mass of sweaty bodies moved in tandem with the music pulsing through them. 

You stood behind Dina, a hand on her hip as she slightly swayed side to side. The girl in front of you seemed to let the music consume her, dancing back onto her friend unaware of the attention she attracted from those around them. A sheen layer of sweat began to perspire on your back, hair sticking to the exposed skin. The heat of the room and the alcohol bubbling in your veins had you loosening up, but as Dina encouraged her to dance more freely— you knew you’d need another drink to do so. 

“I’ll be back! Gonna get another drink.” you spoke into Dina’s ear, who smiled and turned to dance with Jesse and Kate.

Back in the kitchen, you grabbed a new cup and searched for the bottle of whiskey Dina had stashed away again. You were bumped from behind as you poured the shot, more of it ended up spilled on the counter than in the cup. You cursed and grabbed a rag from the sink to wipe it up. As you moved to bring the cup up to your mouth, you found yourself stopping once it touched your lips, catching sight of who stood just outside the sliding doors. 

Ellie Williams.

Dressed in black jeans and a white tank top with an unbuttoned red and brown flannel overtop, Ellie Williams stood with a small group on the back deck, occasionally smoking off a joint as it made its rounds. Even though Ellie no longer attended school, she was still the resident weed dealer on campus, and had quite the reputation for not only how good her stuff was, but also how quickly she made her way through the school's population of queer women. 

The two of you had been friends once, meeting through your mutual friend, Dina. You had developed a certain fondness for Ellie during the times you found yourselves together. Ellie’s quick witted responses and terrible jokes made you laugh even when nobody else found them funny. It was Ellie’s little touches here and there that had your skin buzzing with a fire that couldn’t be put out; grabbing your elbow to pull you back from crossing the street when you weren’t paying attention, interlocked fingers in crowded spaces, and a soothing hand on your back that time you emptied your stomach onto some poor ladies flower garden during homecoming week.

Ellie’s voice often had your stomach doing somersaults—low and raspy during morning classes, knowing the auburn haired girl had probably only rolled out of bed fifteen minutes prior. Silky smooth in the late hours of the night, where on occasion you found yourself sitting alone with Ellie in Dina’s living room long after she retired to bed. You would be buzzing with a high courtesy of Ellie’s weed paired with whatever alcohol you’d drank that night. Ellie would be speaking at no more than a murmur, flirty remarks falling past her lips that had you scooting to sit closer. Heart pounding in your chest at the feeling of Ellie’s body pressed against your side. Though, when it came to Ellie, it was hard to know whether or not the words coming out of her mouth held any merit. She was a serial flirt afterall. 

You two grew close, no longer needing Dina with them as an excuse to hangout. By then, your fondness for Ellie had grown into a full-blown crush. Ellie’s touchy side had become more apparent the more you hung out, always touching you in some way; whether it be a hand on your knee under the table while surrounded by friends, a hand in your back pocket while walking, lips brushing the shell of your ear as she whispered. It had even gone so far as a heated makeout on your couch. Ellie had insisted on walking you home after leaving Dina’s apartment, it was late and upon arriving at your place the two of you realized they didn’t want the night to end. 

It was under the orange glow of streetlights that you admired each other for what felt like an eternity. You took notice that the scar in Ellie’s right eyebrow that she’d always hide with her bangs was out in the open for the world to see. The freckles that littered her cheeks and nose were more noticeable in your close proximity, and you could just make out a small fleck of brown in Ellie’s green eyes. Just as you opened your mouth to invite Ellie inside, hand reaching out to trace a finger along the scar in her eyebrow did the auburn-haired girl quickly surge forward, moulding your lips together in a gentle yet somewhat sloppy kiss. 

You were buzzing, alight with so many feelings that all you could do was grab at Ellie with greedy hands and fumble backwards into your apartment. Close was not close enough as Ellie led you blindly to your couch, shoes haphazardly strewn in the entryway, accompanied by long forgotten jackets as hands pulled one another tighter. 

This was it, you thought. Solid evidence that the feelings you had for Ellie weren’t one sided, every touch, every locked gaze from across a crowded room, and every sweet endearment shared between you meant something. 

Ellie’s hands were in your hair, tangled in the strands keeping your lips married to each other as you found your place seated in her lap. There was a fire ignited between you two as your hips canted downwards into Ellie for some much needed friction. Ellie gasps into the kiss and you take that as a moment to catch your breath. It’s all droopy eyes and kiss-swollen lips as your eyes meet, giggles falling from both of you at the other's appearance. You’re both filled with such giddiness from heavy makeout. 

You’re playing with the hair at the back of her neck when you smile. “I really like you Ellie.”

It stings to watch her face fall, head slowly reeling back as if to get a better look at you somehow. Too soon is Ellie lifting you off her lap to stand from the couch, placing a fleeting kiss on your cheek and calling out a quick goodnight over her shoulder as she turned and made her way home.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?”

She’s at the door in the blink of an eye, tugging on her sneakers and grabbing her jacket, “I uh. . . Just remembered that I needed to help Joel out with this super important, uh, thing. Like really early in the morning. Yeah. And it’s pretty late so I should probably head out.”

Your shoulders deflate with the disappointment twisting between your ribs. “Oh, okay. . .” 

Ellie’s wringing her jacket in both her hands, struggling to maintain eye contact with you before she’s turning around and making her exit out your front door. “See ya soon! Goodnight!” She calls out over her shoulder.

That was the last time you spoke to Ellie Williams. 

The next time you saw Ellie—over a week later— she was wrapped up in the tattoo covered arms of a girl with short black hair. Later, Dina informed you that the girl with Ellie was her new girlfriend, Cat.

You were left confused and hurt for a long time after seeing Ellie with Cat, not knowing where along the way things between you two may have gone wrong. Ellie had avoided you and if she wasn’t going to talk, you would do just the same, never seeking out more of an explanation. The hurt and confusion you initially felt had turned to some form of hatred along the way, every time you saw Ellie and Cat it seemed to take over another part of you. At least that’s what you tried convincing yourself, and for some time disguising the feelings of adoration as disgust and hatred did work.

But avoiding each other altogether would be difficult.

Even after Ellie didn’t return to school for second year, and sharing a mutual friend in Dina, you could not seem to shake yourself free of Ellie. It felt like wherever you turned Ellie happened to be close by; whether that be walking on campus, or attending a party like tonight. For Dina’s sake, when you found yourself within unavoidable close proximity to Ellie, you kept things civil despite the slow boil rising in your blood and the pain that festered in your chest.

Ellie and Cat broke up after almost a year of dating, and her other flings never seemed to work for more than a few weeks, at most a couple months which had only happened one other time. You doubted that Ellie had any idea of the humiliation and grief her rejection had caused you.

It was as if Ellie could feel your gaze boring a hole into the side of her head, because in an instant she was turning to look inside where she found you standing at the kitchen counter. Ellie sent a slight smirk your way, continuing conversation with the people standing around her, never once letting her eyes move away from you. The smell of the whiskey suddenly had your stomach twisting unpleasantly when Ellie shot a wink your way, a wave of nausea rolling through you saw the cup  discarded in search for the nearest bathroom.

You skipped trying to find one in the crowded space of the main floor, quickly making your way up the stairs and to the second floor where you found yourself knocking on closed doors in search of an empty room. You had no luck on the second floor either, and dreaded the idea of having to climb another flight of stairs to the third. The only empty room happened to be at the end of the hall, and while it wasn’t a bathroom, the air in the bedroom helped in quelling the nausea, no longer heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol. Breathing deeply through your nose and out your mouth, you sat on the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

You blamed your intoxicated state for the reaction that seemed to spur as a result of the interaction with Ellie from across the kitchen. You thought you’d metabolized the idea that Ellie’s flirting with you had meant nothing and moved on. Having had a fair share of face to face interactions since, but either Dina or Jesse had been there with you.

God, you felt like such an idiot. All you’d done was make eye contact with Ellie and it had you hurtling towards a downward spiral you tried your hardest to stay afloat in. You hadn’t realized the chokehold Ellie seemed to have over you for the three years you’d known each other, and in your drunken state it had not fared well. You’d figured the feeling that grew in your stomach any time you saw Ellie with a new girl had just been disgust. Disgust in not knowing how Ellie could feel good about herself when she rotated through women like they were a picture book. But now, you had some idea that the feeling washing over you had not been disgust on its own, but paired alongside something akin to hurt.

Ellie was the bandaid you hesitated to rip off. 

There was no scale to measure how frustrated she was with herself. No scale to measure her disdain for the Williams girl. Deep down, you knew that she still harboured some feelings for Ellie that couldn't be disguised as hatred.

You must have sat there for a good five minutes, willing yourself to get up and rejoin the party, enjoy yourself and not let Ellie get to you. But you found that something was stopping you from leaving, wanting to stay in the solitude of the bedroom just a little longer. Sending a text to Dina, letting her know you were alright, you laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. 

You were startled awake no longer than fifteen minutes later by the door opening, the sounds of the party filtering into the room for a moment before drowning out again as the door shut. The person's back was to you as they took a deep breath, but you recognized the flannel they wore immediately. Your groan had Ellie turning around to face you fully, lips tipping up into a slight smirk.

“Hey.” Ellie greeted slyly. Hearing your name fall from Ellie’s lips had a flame flickering in your stomach. “Finally found ya.”

Your eyes narrow in Ellie’s direction, annoyance hanging onto your furrowed brows. Standing from the bed, weight shifting from one foot to the other as you think on your next move. You had left downstairs over twenty minutes ago, meaning Ellie had to have run through whether following you was a good idea or not. “So, what? You were lurking, followed me up here.”

“I didn’t follow you. Ran into an ex and needed a breather.” Ellie clarifies, lazily gesturing around the room, “And here we are. . .”

“Yeah, well, I came up here to be alone. You being here is the opposite of that.” came your snarky reply. Ellie would not be spared your hostilities. 

Ellie laughed, brushing her side swept bangs out of her eyes, “I saw the look on your face down there, almost barfed on the poor freshman beside you.” she shrugs her shoulders, “Didn’t see you come back downstairs so I took my chances with all the doors, this was the only one unlocked. Thought you could use someone to hold your hair back.”

“You wanted to help me?” You were baffled. That hot, stuffy feeling begins to creep its way back up your neck the longer Ellie’s presence lingers by the door. The air of confidence that clings to Ellie is suffocating as she stands there, biceps bulging in her flannel as her arms cross over her chest, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Ellie’s green eyes are intense as they hold your gaze; half lidded and filled with something you can’t decipher. 

“Well,” you clear your throat. “I’m feeling much better now, so if you’ll excuse me.” Making way to the door that Ellie is standing in front of. You hope of being able to make it out of the room before choking on your words—not wanting to say something you’ll inevitably regret. 

Ellie moves in front of the door handle, blocking your seeking grip. You reel back, perplexed that Ellie blocked you. Trying again, you reach around the left of Ellie, but the auburn-haired girl moves with you. Move to the right. So does Ellie.

Stepping back in frustration, your stare is burning, “Move.” You grit.

Ellie lifts her gaze to the ceiling, eyes darting around playfully as she whistles a low tune, rocking back and forth on her feet. She’s messing with you and you know it. Always the jokester, Ellie is never one to take things too seriously.

“Ellie.” You refrain from stomping your foot. Ellie would only tease you relentlessly for acting like such a brat, “Ellie, let me leave.”

A low hum comes from Ellie’s throat, “What’s the magic word?”

No longer wanting to deal with her infuriating presence, you surge forward and push Ellie to the side enough that she’s out of the way. Wrapping your hands around the cool metal of the doorknob is your first lick at freedom, awaiting the moment you step through that door and go home to curl up in bed. You’ll likely wallow in self deprecation, unable to think of anything other than your first interaction alone with Ellie in a while.

Your hope is squashed when the door doesn’t budge. No, this cannot be happening. Twisting the handle again, you give it a good tug, hand slipping off the doorknob as you stumble back a few steps.

“Did you lock it?” You ask Ellie without looking at her.

“No.” Ellie replies, coming to stand closer to you. “Must be jammed.”

You groan, a string of expletives rushing past grit teeth while you jostle the doorknob with all the force as you can muster. You twist and tugs and rattle but the door stays solidly in place, sealing you and Ellie together in the room.

Kicking the door has a laugh slipping past Ellie’s lips. She can’t help but think of how cute you look when frustrated—the pout of lips she just wants to sink her teeth into. The glare from over your shoulder has Ellie coughing to cover her laugh, scratching at her neck and cheeks blazing red like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

You bang your fist against the door in hopes that someone may be able to hear her pleas for help. The chances of that happening in the secluded corner of the third floor is unlikely, but you’d rather take your chances than be stuck in a room with Ellie. “Oh, just fuck me right?” you mumbles to yourself.

Behind you, Ellie fights the urge to respond. 

“Are you gonna help?” you sigh heavily, gesturing towards the door in an exhausted manner.

Ellie’s nodding, eyes dancing around the room for something she can use to try picking the lock. She doesn’t see a screwdriver or a pair of scissors on the desk, and she doubts that the frat boy this room belongs to owns any bobby pins. Ellie moves towards the door in the far corner of the room, opening it to reveal the small ensuite she’d hoped it would be. 

Rummaging through the medicine cabinet is a dead end, as is the first drawer of the vanity. In the second drawer her mission is made successful—finding a small pair of scissors that she waves in the air triumphantly as she passes you.

“There was a bathroom here the whole time. . .” you mutter to yourself in disbelief. 

Ellie drops down to her knees in front of the door, eye level with the small keyhole as she tries jimmying the scissors around. Her tongue is poking out the side of her mouth, one eye squeezed shut in concentration as she tries to unlatch the lock's inner mechanism. Had the circumstance been different, you may have let yourself linger on the thought of how good Ellie looked down on her knees before you. 

Ellie thinks she might have gotten it, but mistakenly looks up at you hovering close by— brows furrowed expectantly, and lips pouted slightly— that she’s fumbling and dropping the scissors while thinking about how much she likes the sight of you above her. She grabs them hastily, returning to her previous task while reminding herself not to look back at your expectant gaze. 

“Have you picked a lock before?” you accuse.

“Uh. . . yeah.”

“Well you’re kinda shit at it.”

“Never said I was any good.” Ellie twists the doorknob just when she thinks she hears the lock click, but it still doesn’t give. 

Standing to her full height, Ellie forgoes trying to pick the lock with the scissors and puts all of her weight into pulling the door open. She grunts as her muscles strain, jostling the handle in the same way you had. Both girls are left wide eyed and stunned when Ellie suddenly staggers back, catching herself before she can fall. A loud and heavy thud draws your eyes to the floor; where the doorknob rolls around at your feet. 

A deafening silence settles over the room as both of you watch it stop rolling. Ellie is the one to bend down and grab it, staring at the broken metal doorknob in disbelief, while your hands shoot to grip your hair.

When both of you realize the gravity of the situation you've found yourselves in together, you’re quick to panic. The headache that blossoms was unrelated to the copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed up until that point, and more so due to being stuck in a room with a busted door alongside the one person you tried your hardest to avoid. You eyed the broken off doorknob in Ellie’s hand, tugging at fistfuls of your hair. Ellie groans, head tossed back and eyes shut in annoyance before sitting on the bed.

“Fuck,” Ellie let out a breathy laugh, beginning to toss the doorknob in the air like a baseball. “These old houses are something, huh? Practically falling apart.” 

Holding Ellie’s gaze for a moment as you pull out your phone has a spark of hope flickering, but the screen remains black. Great, stuck in a room with Ellie Williams and your only chance is dead. Tossing your phone on the bed you turn to Ellie. “Dead. What about yours?”

Ellie nods and reaches for where she kept her phone in her back pocket, only to be met with emptiness. She let out a nervous laugh under your intense stare, patting at all her pockets in search of her phone, “I don’t have it on me.”  

You scoff, “Fucking great. Do you think this guy has a charger?” Moving to check the bundle of cords at the single bedside table has you throwing it back onto the floor in frustration when you come up empty handed. “Android.”

“What is it that they say about guys who have Androids. . .” Ellie made an attempt at a joke, but was only met with a glare, watching as you made quick strides towards the window, unlatching the lock and yanking it open.

You looked around outside to see that it was a straight drop down to the ground from the third floor window, no lattice to climb down or shrubs to cushion a fall, “No roof access and it's too far up to jump,” you stated. “Maybe if we just—” you stuck your upper body out the window, flailing your arms, “Hey! Up here! We’re locked in can someone help—”

Ellie was quick to pull you back inside. “Hey, would you stop that? You could have fallen! Everyone outside is too drunk to hear you.”

“Well someone has to be at least partly sober.” Now it was your turn to sit on the bed, head in your hands in a clear display of frustration. Ellie was hesitant to move from where she stood by the window, the feeling of your presence was somewhat suffocating, and she didn’t know what might set you off. 

“Ya know,” Ellie started. “We’re probably gonna be stuck in here for a while, so we could always try to enjoy our time rather than pout our way through it.”

You turned to look at Ellie over your shoulder, weary of what the auburn-haired girl might try suggesting. “And what is it that you have in mind?”

Reaching into her jacket pocket, Ellie produced a bag of pre-rolled joints, shrugging her shoulders in a playful manner. You could only roll your eyes, annoyed over the fact that Ellie managed to keep hold of her weed stash but not her phone. Smoking with Ellie would mean breaking down part of the barrier you had put up between the two of you, something you weren't so sure you were ready to explore quite yet. But, neither of you knew how long you’d be cooped up in that frat boy’s bedroom together, and you found yourself caving.

“Oh fuck it, sure.”

Ellie smiled and walked over to sit beside you, grabbing a single pre-roll and stashing the rest away. She placed the joint between her lips as she fished through the tight front pocket of her black jeans for her lighter. Flicking the lighter a few times to get it going, Ellie inhaled deeply as the end of it began to burn a bright red. She pulled the joint away from her lips as she breathed out the ghosted smoke, holding it out to you. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t smoked in a while—not since dropping your plug for getting too handsy on more than one occasion—and had been too proud to swing by Ellie to make a deal. You knew first hand and from the inner mumblings throughout the student body of just how good Ellie’s stuff was, so whatever was smoked tonight would have you ripped.

Inhaling shortly on the joint, and letting the smoke settle in your lungs before taking another, longer drag. On your second exhale, you sputtered, coughing on the smoke and releasing it in a dense cloud. You continued to cough into the crook of your elbow while passing it back to Ellie whose lips were pulled up into a slight smile.

“Too much?” Ellie teased, taking an easy five second drag.

Shaking your head, you rub at your chest to soothe the mild burning in your lungs, a light laugh falls from you, “Just been a while.”

Ellie gives a nod of her head, leaning back on her right hand to get a better look at you, watching the way hair falls in front of your face as you look down at your lap, or the way you would lightly snap the hair tie around your wrist. 

“Sooo. . .” Ellie brushes her long bangs out of her eyes. “What had you drinking whiskey like it was water?”

You shrugged, seeming to not know what to do with fidgeting hands as you contemplated telling Ellie the truth. Had you been having this conversation in a sober setting, you would have quickly shut down Ellie’s question. But in a hazy state of mind, you find herself letting the words slip easily, “Got a call from my dad today telling me mom filed for divorce after she found out he was fucking the book keeper at work.” you nod at Ellie’s shocked expression, “Yeah. Tried playing the victim card before mom had a chance to tell me herself. She’s better off without him anyway. He was a dick.”

Letting out a loud groan, you’re rubbing at your eyes in frustration as the phone call from that morning replays on a loop. Ellie didn’t grow up in a two-parent household, rather making her way through the foster care system ever since she could remember. Her behavioural issues saw her never being in one place for very long. Instability was something she grew used to at an early age, but she’d often imagine what it would be like to have two functioning parents who loved and adored her. Though she has never experienced family in the way you did— at least, not until Joel had come around— she knew no matter the age, a drastic shift in family dynamic like that wasn’t easy.

“It’s just me and my dad,” Ellie finds herself offering in an attempt at comfort. “Well, he’s not actually my dad. Joel he’s my. . . Joel. Took me in a while back when I found myself in a boatload of trouble, and it’s been the two of us ever since. Oh, and his brother Tommy.”

“And does your. . . your Joel, know that you, ya know, deal drugs to college students?”

“Not just college students, I’ve got some middle aged customers— a lawyer too if you can believe it.” Ellie laughs, and you follow by hiding a smile behind your hand. “But yeah, he knows. Wasn’t too keen on it at first, but the money has helped us through some tough times.”

A stale silence falls over the room, and it has a bitter taste flooding your mouth, saliva gathering under your tongue unpleasantly. Ellie seems so at ease that you wonder if she ever thinks about how things ended. You sure do; though it's lessened over the years, you still hold Ellie on some tightrope of contempt, a terrible balancing act teetering between holding on and letting it all go once and for all.

“I hope you know this changes nothing.” you admit quietly, rolling the joints filter between your thumb and forefinger. “Still don’t like you.”

Ellie looks up at you for a moment and she can feel her heart clench as she takes in your rigid shoulders and determined eyes. Her hand motions for the joint as she nods solemnly, eyes downcast while she takes a long drag. “Yeah I. . . I kinda figured it didn’t.”

As the joint continued to be passed back and forth, you could feel the haziness cloud your mind, eyes glazing over and the only thing you could do was stare at Ellie’s hands. Watching as her nimble fingers grabbed the joint from you, thumb rolling over the filter after she toked off it. How when she wasn’t the one holding the joint, Ellie had to keep her hands busy; whether that be running them over the top of her thighs, playing with the bedding, or watching the tip of her pinky finger turn purple as she wrapped a stray piece of thread around it tightly.

You had been so zoned out watching Ellie you’d almost forgotten about holding the short joint, or that no smoke filled your lungs when trying to take a pull off of it. It wasn’t until Ellie’s hand reached out into focus to grab the joint from you did you snap to it.

“You let it go out. Here,” with the joint now in Ellie’s hands, you watched as she held it between her thumb and middle finger, running the flame of her lighter over the tip of the joint before bringing it up to take a haul, keeping it lit. “There you go, babe.” 

The word must have fallen out of Ellie’s mouth so naturally that she didn’t notice it, but you sure as hell did— brain just about short circuiting. With one last pull off the finished joint, you stand up and make your way to the attached bathroom, turning on the tap and running the smouldering end under water to extinguish it before tossing it in the trash. You bend down to the height of the sink, hands cupped to greedily drink down the cold water to soothe your dry throat. When you stand up to be greeted with your reflection in the mirror— eyes red and glazed over, lids slightly droopy when you’re not pretending that Ellie’s stuff didn’t hit you as hard as it did, cheeks flush from the drinks earlier in the night, you know you’re fucked.

Ellie is standing by the desk on the far wall when you lean on the bathroom doorway, head craned as she scans over the trophies and picture frames decorating the shelves above it. With Ellie facing away, you now have the chance to stare at her unabashedly. Eyes trailing over Ellie’s shoulders, broad yet slim, and muscular arms that flex under her flannel with even the smallest of movements. Down to her taught hips hidden behind her relaxed jeans. Her auburn hair sits in a half up half down bun, and you want nothing more than to run your fingers through the strands; braid it, twirl it, pull it. . .

Your cheeks are burning hot again, but this time the alcohol  can’t be blamed for your flushed appearance. With hands still cold from the running water, pressing them against your cheeks in an attempt to cool off works as well as you’d expect it.

When you catch Ellie’s gaze, you’re tearing your eyes away impossibly fast, busying yourself with making it look like the football poster on the wall is the coolest thing ever, “Ya know, for a frat boys room this is surprisingly well organized.” you comment.

“Yeah, this is Ryan’s room.” Ellie fixes a crooked trophy. “Pretty chill dude.”

Humming, you make herself comfortable on the bed, laying down on the soft pillows. As you adjust yourself, a crackling noise comes from underneath the pillow that has you shifting to reach under to grab it. The last thing you expected to pull out was a mens porn magazine, decked out with a raunchy cover of an oiled up man in a tiny speedo. You let out a yelp as you’re tossing it to the other side of the room, wiping your hand off on your pants.

The yelp catches the attention of Ellie, who whips around concerned, “What?” 

“That!” you exclaim, pointing towards the end of the bed where the magazine sits on the floor. Ellie bends down to pick it up, but you’re calling out in protest, “No, don’t touch it!”

“Oh wow,” Ellie lets out a loud laugh as she scans over the front cover, moving to flop down on the bed beside you.

“Ellie, gross put it down!” 

Ellie leans away from you who tries swatting it out of her grasp. “Hold your horses! I wanna see what all the fuss is about.”

You groan, watching as Ellie flips through the pages. You don't think it can get any worse, but page after page proves to be more unpleasant when the next portrait of a man posing with nothing but a scrap of cloth to cover his junk comes up. Your lips are downturned in disgust, but your ears are in tune to the chuckles Ellie lets out at the pictures, and her dramatic reading of the explicitly detailed  little captions. 

The next page is folded in on itself a couple times, falling open when Ellie holds the magazine above your heads, “Oh man! How the hell does he even walk around with that thing?” She exclaims.

You turn your head away, fake gagging. “Dicks are so gross.”

Ellie snorts, “Don’t gotta tell me.” Eyeing your side profile from where your head is ducked into your hands, eyes shut. It’s then that Ellie decides to play a trick on you. “Uh. . .” she begins trailing off, ruffling the pages as if she were flipping through them, “Why are these pages all stuck together?”

Your head whips up to look at Ellie, “Gross!”

The laugh that Ellie lets out is straight from her belly, deep and contagious as she tosses the magazine away. “I’m just messing with you.”

When your eyes meet, Ellie’s hold their usual mischievous glint, slightly narrowed and crinkled at the corners where her smile pushes at them, and yours show nowhere near as much annoyance and malice that’s usually directed towards her. Ellie flips onto her back, hands going behind her head while you stay on your stomach. You’re still laughing quietly at the joke Ellie pulled on you, which has the smile on Ellie’s face pulling even higher as she looks at you, oblivious.

With you laying on your  stomach, Ellie was given a full view of your exposed back. It made the collar of her flannel suddenly feel itchy where it was rubbing against her neck. Ellie could feel the red hot flush that blossomed over her as she pictured teasing her fingers along your back. She could practically feel the shudder you’d let out, hear your complaints of being ticklish.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Ellie is snapped out of her daze when your voice cuts through. 

You’ve got your chin resting on your hand, leaning to the side to look up at Ellie who’s sitting taller. Your legs are bent at the knee, legs swaying in the air. The look in your eyes is smouldering; lids droopy as they buzz with something Ellie can only connect with so much need that it's beginning to overwhelm her.

“Like— like that! You’re giving me bedroom eyes.”

“Well,” Ellie sits up a little straighter on her elbows. “We are in a bedroom.”

Your forehead falls to lay on Ellie’s arm as you let out a howling laugh. Ellie’s skin burns through her flannel at the feeling of you on her. Ellie finds herself feeling reminiscent of a time three years ago when she might have found herself in such close proximity to you and it has her chest clenching with a raw ache, knowing she’d gone and fucked it all up.

“Hey,” Ellie begins with a laugh. “Remember that time your mom surprised you and caught you, me, and Dina all smoking—”

You remember in that instant why you’d been so determined to get out of being locked in a room with her. Although inebriated, it seemed that for a little while tonight you and Ellie had managed to slip back into something similar to that of your old friendship. As if you had almost looked past the last three years. Falling back into joking with each other like it was the most natural thing.

“No.” You’re firm, tone dripping with finality. “You don’t get to do this.” 

“Please—”

“Ellie. No.”

“I’m sorry.” 

It’s so quiet you almost don’t hear her. Ellie herself almost misses the words slipping past her lips, but she feels you go stiff, the sound of your sharp inhale rings in her ears. She can't help herself when her hand moves up to your head, brushing some of the strands behind your ear and twirling the ends.

Three years of waiting. Three years of wanting and avoiding, and the need to hear those words fall from her mouth, and all it took was getting locked in a room together and sharing a joint. You’d imagined the apology a few times. Ellie showing up on your doorstep, soaked to the bone in the rain, on her knees grovelling her apologies. Sending flowers. Some huge declaration of love.

But not in a frat boys bedroom, stoned with Ellie Williams.

“Do you remember how we first met?” Ellie continues when you don’t speak, still twirling your hair around her finger. “Homecoming freshman year. Dina said she had someone from her compsci class to introduce me to and I was ready to clam up because I’m terrible with new people. But then there you were—”

“Ellie—” you try cutting her off.

“—Vodka in your nalgene, and being around you just felt so easy. You were the prettiest girl I’d ever met. Even later that night when I held your hair as you puked all over that poor lady’s flower bush. She came out yelling and all you did was say something about fertilising her plants.” Ellie laughs as she recounts the day you two met.

Your headache from earlier is back as you pull away, your hair falling from Ellies fingers. Shutting your eyes in hopes to quell the splitting pain resting just between them, Ellie’s voice fades slightly to the background of your focus. God, you hoped to get out of there soon. It had already been long enough, and it had led to your guard being brought down.

Ellie’s still talking when your ears focus again,“—for the last three years I’ve been trying to work out how to apologize to you and make things right, but fuck, none of them are good enough. And I’m so incredibly sorry about how everything turned out.”

“Ellie.” you interject, sounding exhausted. “Please just stop.” 

She shakes her head, sitting up and moving closer to you, “No, please. If this is the only chance I get at this I need you to listen to me—”

“It won’t change anything, you know that. You still did what you did.” You rub at your eyes and shift away from her.

“And it was by far the worst thing I’ve ever done, and believe me there's been a lot of fuck ups on my part. If I could take it back and make it right I would. . . I will.” 

Ellie’s practically on her hands and knees begging you to hear her out for just a moment, but the hurt of her leaving you stings just as fresh as it had in the beginning. All you can do is shake your head and try putting some distance between the two of you, “Ellie, you’re being mean.” 

It seems that in your attempts at putting some much needed distance between you and Ellie, you failed to notice how close you were to the edge of the bed. You’re about to fall off when Ellie reaches out, her arm wrapping around you to keep you on the bed. The two of you are closer than ever before, her forehead is pressed against yours as she scoots back, bringing you further onto the bed with her arm still secure around you. Your breath stutters in your chest as Ellie’s eyes fall shut. 

“Baby just. . .” Ellie breathes out shakily, eyes opening again to meet yours. “I clammed up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You swallow down the lump that’s formed in your throat, voice just above a whisper as you speak, “Ellie why are you doing this?”

She shakes her head against yours, bringing the hand that she had around your back, up to cup your face, “I hope you’re willing to forgive me. . . or at least try to.”

To hear Ellie make this attempt after wanting nothing more for three years had your mind short circuiting in an electrifying blaze. You know that you shouldn’t give in to her, that this apology is probably no more than a half-assed attempt at easing whatever guilt she may hold. Why wait three years? Three years you had spent wondering what you had done wrong for her to throw away whatever it was you two shared.

Ellie watches your eyes glaze over slightly, and in what might be a lapse of judgement is quick to make her move while you’re still stunned, moving forward and kissing you. You grow stiff under the weight of Ellie’s lips on yours, eyes open and looking at Ellie’s shut eyes. With your face now sandwiched between both of Ellie’s hands, do your eyes fall shut and mind catches up to the fact that Ellie William’s is kissing you. 

You’re kissing Ellie Williams.

The kiss is all consuming, tasting of the tequila and whiskey on your tongue. It’s messy with the clashing of teeth, nipping of lips and hands tangled in hair. All rational thought is thrown out the window once you feel her body pressed against yours. Breathing is the last thing on either of your minds as one of Ellie’s hands splays out across your back to pull your body into hers solidly. The searing heat of Ellie’s hand on the exposed skin of your back has you shuddering,  arching into her to try moving away from the touch. 

Your lips stay moulded together as Ellie rolls onto her back, taking you with her, hands holding onto your hips. Ellie can’t get enough of you, her breathing is heavy as she pushes her lips a little harder against yours, a groan escaping the girl's throat as you fist at her flannel. You break apart for a moment so Ellie can shrug out of  her flannel, admiring the swirls of ink marking her right forearm before your lips are on her.

Your teeth are lightly nipping at the slim expanse of Ellie’s neck, hands wandering down the firm muscles of her arms. You’re sitting up together now, you seated in Ellie’s lap, legs on either side of her thighs. Your teeth are still working at Ellie’s neck, which you follow up with sloppy kisses to soothe the sting of making your mark. Ellie’s eyes fall shut at the feeling, but she has to stop before it gets too far. 

Tonight is all about you. 

Grabbing a fistful of hair and gently pulling your head out of her neck, Ellie leans into you, but doesn’t let her lips touch your skin, just letting her hot breath fan over you. Her nose is nudging the column of your throat up to the hook of your jaw. You’re whining, filled to the brim with impatience has you shifting in Ellie’s lap in the attempt to get closer, grinding your hips where the two of you meet.

Ellie groans, dropping her head fully into your neck, lips pressing firmly to your collarbone. Here, your perfume wafts up her nose, a sickly sweet and seductive twinge that has her mouthing at your neck in the same fashion done to her own. Lips dragging lazily up from collarbone to the pulsepoint where your heartbeat thumps erratically beneath the skin. 

With your head thrown back and hips starting a slow and steady drag, you’re all heavy pants and loose whines that never fully slip past your lips. The friction caused by your hips grinding down onto Ellie feels euphoric all the same as not being enough. One of her hands is still stationed on your hip, the other taking place at the small of your back to aid your movements against her. 

The breath in both yours and Ellie’s throats is choked out when the fabric of your jeans catches against your bundle of nerves in just the right way. It must feel just as good for Ellie as she’s grinding her hips up into you at the feeling, panting against your neck. 

“Ellie.” Her name slipping past your lips in a garbled mess of need, “Ellie, please. . .”

She only hums in response, finally kissing you again. It doesn't last as long as you’d have hoped as Ellie pulls away slightly to speak against you, “Mmh, what is it baby? C’mon.”

Your hips cant down into her again out of pure desperation as you pant out, “More.”

Suddenly, you’re being guided by Ellie’s capable hands to lay down on the bed. But in your still muddled mind it feels as if you’ve just gone down the slope of a rollercoaster, stomach dropping and heart in your throat. Ellie is situated above you, looking everything like a dream with her short hair falling around her face, eyes catching the light of the desk lamp and sparkling. She smiles down at you as you both take a moment, and your stomach somersaults, legs locked around her taught hips to pull her down closer to you. 

Dropping to her elbows, Ellie’s body is flush against you as she brings a hand up to grab your face, “What is it you need? Hmm, baby’s gone all needy on me.” The teasing lilt to her tone has you pushing your hips up against hers, lips searching for hers again. Ellie pulls back slightly, getting a better look at your flushed appearance, apples of your cheeks bursting a bright pink.  “Tell me what you want.”

“Need you to touch me.” You pant out.

A smirk pulls at her lips as she dips down to kiss your neck. “I am touching you baby.”

You groan, frustrated and needing for her to do something. “Want your mouth, your fingers. Anything. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

Ellie’s kisses trail down your neck to your still clothed chest, where she graces the swell of your breasts, followed by grazing her teeth over your nipples poking through the fabric. She continues her way down until she reaches the waistband of your jeans, eyes flickering up to yours for confirmation. When Ellie hears you breath out a wispy yes, she’s working at undoing your pants. You’re kicking off your shoes and aiding her in taking off your pants by lifting your hips, her fingers brush over the skin of your thighs in a hot trail.

Your pants and underwear are tossed to the ground with a dull thud, now laying before Ellie bare from the waist down. Her eyes are hungry, looking like a woman starved of everything she’s ever needed. The intensity of her eyes taking you in has you closing your legs self consciously, but Ellie tuts and spreads them open again, laying on her stomach between your legs.

“Look at you, so wet for me.” Ellie purrs, dragging her middle finger through your folds to collect some of your slick. You gasp at the touch, gaze locked on Ellie whose eyes roll back into her skull as she sucks your slick clean from her finger. “So fucking sweet baby, I knew it.”

“Ellie please. . .” you mewl, growing impatient.

Without another second wasted, Ellie’s head is level with your cunt as she licks a bold stripe from your hole up to your clit. Her mouth is hot against you, and even though you’ve just started the feeling is so overwhelming that your legs move to clamp around Ellie’s head. Her strong arms curl around your thighs, prying them away from her head, pinning them down against the bed as she moves your feet to rest over her shoulders. 

Something delightful burns in your stomach as Ellie’s tongue moves through your folds again, warm and wet. A pleasurable sigh leaves you, head thrown back and eyes shut. Your hands are trying to find hold of anything, one gripping at the bedspread and the other wrapped around Ellie’s forearm, feeling the ridges of muscle and tattoo beneath your fingers.

Ellie’s tongue passes through you a couple more times before she’s wrapping her lips around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into her mouth. “Mmm, tastes like heaven baby.”

You’re a needy, gasping mess beneath her. Your moans are music to her ears, and Ellie thinks they are the hottest thing she’s ever heard, encouraging her to keep going. Ellie releases your clit from her mouth with a pop, flicking her tongue over it has your hips bucking up into her face for more, “Fuck. . . right there Ellie.” 

Her groan vibrates through you, rustling the tightening coil that sits heavy in your belly. Ellie keeps giving you exactly what you wanted, working at your cunt like it’s her last meal. You pry your eyes open and the sight of Ellie between your legs pulls a loud moan from the back of your throat. Her pale veiny hands tighten their grip on your thighs, fingers pressing into your flesh deliciously. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt anything as good as this, with Ellie’s nose nudging at your clit as her mouth moves lower on your cunt, running her tongue along your entrance once, twice, before dipping in. She’s groaning into you, spurring you on. You release your grip on Ellie’s forearm to palm at your breasts, gaze locking with hers from over your mound. Ellie’s hand moves from your thigh to encase your hand with hers where you palm at yourself. 

Ellie takes this moment to catch a breath, leaning her head against your leg. The bottom half of her face is slick, glistening with your arousal that her tongue licks from her lips. She’s panting in a similar fashion to you. “Doing so good f’me baby.” The kiss she places to your inner thigh has you jostling into her touch. 

“Ellie. . . more, I need more.”

She smirks and moves the hand that was on yours back to your cunt, dragging her fingers through your folds and circling them around your clit lazily. It’s too soon that she’s abandoning her ministrations on your clit and moving down to your entrance, teasing her fingers along your opening before she’s pushing them into you.

They move in and out of you slowly at first, Ellie working them up to a steady pace, going as deep as she can,  “Oh god. . .”

“Nope, just Ellie, baby.” She sends you a wink that has you letting out a small chuckle, one that’s cut off by your own moan as her fingers curl against that sweet spot inside you. “My good girl. Lovin’ this, huh?”

You nod weakly, clenching around Ellie’s fingers. She knows you’re probably close, knows that soon, the coil that’s been building in your belly will snap. This has her leaning back down to kiss at your clit. Your hands leave your body and where it grips at the bed to thread through Ellie’s hair, moving the strands that have fallen in front of her face out of the way so you can see her fully. Ellie leaves a series of pecks on your clit before sucking it into her mouth, tongue flicking at it. 

The combined pleasure of having Ellie’s fingers buried deep inside your cunt and her mouth working your clit has the muscles in your legs clenching as you fight the urge to close your legs around her head once again. It’s all too much, your hips are rutting up into her mouth as she continues to lap at you, and you can feel your release hurdling towards you. 

“Ellie,” you whimper, head thrown back against the bed. Your chest is heaving erratically, but Ellie doesn’t let up. The feeling that’s been sitting so heavily in your belly finally lets up as your release hits you, thighs trembling. You twitch and moan as you fall apart against Ellie’s tongue and fingers. The room feels so unbearably warm as your fingers tighten in Ellie’s hair, eyes screwed shut as your mouth drops open in a loud moan. “Fuck! Oh god. . . fuck fuck fuck, Ellie!”

Ellie works you through it, lapping greedily at the arousal that gushes from you, fingers still working steadily as you clench tightly around them. The feeling of her flicking at your clit and fingers curling inside you becomes so overwhelming that you almost push Ellie away from you, but she’s pulling away on her own. 

Both of you are panting, your hands fall from her hair to brush back your own which you’re sure is an ugly tangled mess. You hiss at the loss of Ellie’s fingers as she pulls them out of you, breath  stuttering and catching in your chest as she maintains eye contact with you as she brings them up to her mouth like earlier. Ellie groans at the taste of you on her fingers, acting like a woman starved as if she wasn’t buried between your thighs just a moment ago. 

You hide behind your hands, slightly embarrassed as you let out a laugh. You feel the bed move and soon enough Ellie is above you again, moving your hands away from your face so she can see you properly. She’s smiling down at you, letting out a soft chuckle, “That what you wanted, pretty girl?”

The flush in your cheeks only deepens and you can’t find it in you to form any coherent words, only nodding in response. Ellie’s smile widens —as does yours— as her eyes dance around your face before she’s leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your lips. This kiss is unlike the others you’ve shared tonight, this one is slow, lethargic and full of something you can’t name. 

It’s over quicker than it lasts, a loud banging on the door has you and Ellie pulling away from each other. “Hey, is there someone in ‘ere?” calls out a slurring voice.

In an instant, any and all euphoria mulling about in your body is swept away as you come to your senses. The sounds from the party that still rages on outside filter through the open window, no longer muffled by your cross-faded state. 

Quickly, you’re rolling out from under Ellie, standing up so fast you almost give yourself a head rush. You’re pulling your underwear and pants back on as fast as you can, shoving your shoes on as you ignore Ellie who calls out to you to hang on a second, and the sounds of the door jostling against the frame. 

You need to get out of here as soon as possible. The weight you’re feeling in your chest right now is worse than when the door knob broke and you realized you’d be stuck in here with Ellie for god knows how long. Now, you don’t know how long it's been, but certainly long enough to have landed you in such a sticky situation you don’t know how you’ll recover from this lapse in your judgement. 

Ellie is still trying to get you to calm down when the door swings open on its hinges and in stumbles the drunkest frat boy you’ve ever seen.

“Ellie, what’re you doin’ in ‘ere?” He slurs, using the door to hold himself upright. Suddenly, his eyes light up, “You got any weed?”

She hesitates for a moment, before nodding, “Uh. . . yeah I’ve got some.” Ellie’s shrugging on her flannel and wiping at her mouth with the sleeve, looking between you and who you assume is Ryan. She looks like she wants to say something, brows furrowed deeply, but you don’t give her the chance as you’re squeezing past Ryan.

“Gotta go.” you call out over your shoulder. You hold onto the railing as you hurriedly make your way down the stairs, chest aching with an Ellie sized hole as you wonder what the fuck just happened.

[wolfstarhaven]

hello!!!! as autumn is beginning i have been craving some fall wolfstar fics so i would love recs :) specifically hogwarts era but honestly anything would be perfect

Hi anon🌸 You are so right for craving that! Here you have some fics to read, sitting under your blanket with a cup of tea🍂

Hogwarts era:

As Red As Hearts And Autumn (47k)

By: Rosie_Rues

It's the autumn of Sixth Year, there's a flu epidemic at Hogwarts, and the Blacks want their heir back.

Themes: Hogwarts era; slow burn; friends to lovers; epidemic (I read this during Covid but it was written in 2005 and that felt sort of wild I remember)

Fall, the Season of Love (14k)

By: IngeniumNoctuam

Fall is a surprising season and also, apparently, the season of love. Remus finds himself caught up in this seasonal parasite, despite his best efforts. An argument and a jumble of, mostly drunken, memories ensue.

Or, an ode to fall.

Themes: Hogwarts era; angst; Sirius is a bit cruel (but it’s done so well I promise!); self-esteem issues; happy ending.

Come In From the Cold (8k)

By: goodboylupin (somebetterwords)

The first Hogsmeade weekend of sixth year. Alternatively: In which Sirius frets and works to keep Remus warm, James argues it’s not that cold, Remus wishes the cold brought something more, and Peter just wishes everyone would get their heads out of their asses.

Themes: Hogwarts era; Hogsmeade date; misunderstanding; pining Remus; oblivious Sirius; meddling James; fluff.

Not hogwarts era:

ten reasons (to go to michigan) (59k)

By: greyeyedmonster18

A story of simple pleasures, love, and home.

Themes: muggle!au; adult!wolfstar; strangers to lovers; slow burn; grief; Sirius raises Harry; found family. (Will break your heart and then glue it back together)

Ullswater (31k)

By: eyra

A winter term at The Ullswater Institute: late-night rehearsals, dormitory karaoke, and secrets, kept in the labyrinthine corridors underneath the cavernous, frescoed auditorium.

Themes: muggle!au; university; music; friends to lovers; jealous Sirius; panic attacks; disabled remus; SO well-written. (Also: eyra has written many more autumnal fics!!)

On Edge (7k)

By: wannnabesuper

Every time they meet, Remus gives Sirius a new ridiculous reason for having been on the cliff where they met.

Themes: muggle!au; strangers to lovers; a misty cliffside; first fluff then some angst.

Harmonicas, Hinky-punks, and Heather (24k)

By: mblematic

Sirius and Remus get stranded in Scotland on Order business, and decide to walk to Hogwarts. Featuring the Brontës, a harmonica, a shrinking tent, and some self-discovery.

Themes: post-Hogwarts; first war era; rain; camping; friends to lovers; no angst.

Liebestraum (101k)

By: lunchbucket

“Do you still have a lot of friends in the area, then?”

“None,” Remus answered simply, which felt much easier than explaining at the level of detail that the question actually deserved.

Themes: muggle!au; post-break up; getting back together; slow burn; NYC; classical piano; musicians!wolfstar; adult!wolfstar; angst. (A classic. But if you’ve already read it, I think it’s time for a reread, don’t you?)

Degrees of Intersection (28k)

By: muse_in_absentia

Sometimes it takes two people who are a little broken coming together, not to heal, but to understand that being broken is okay.

Themes: muggle!au; strangers to lovers; writer!sirius; editor!remus; depression; suicidal thoughts and SH (read the tags!!!); angst with a happy ending. (I THINK this is set it autumn - but mainly it’s the angst in this that gives me autumn vibes)

Love,

Elliot🍂

[emryses]

Suo Gân — Part Two

Chapters: 2/4 Rating: M Relationship: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland Additional Relationships: Crystal Palace & Charles Rowland, Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace, Charles Rowland & Niko Sasaki Tags: Post-Season 1, Pining, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Religious Imagery & Symbolism

SUMMARY:

Charles tells her. He tells her of a boy who saved him, in one way or another. How Edwin came from hell on Earth and brought him light, brought him warmth. How Edwin read to him just so Charles wouldn’t feel scared, or alone. Who does that? Charles has always wondered. What kind of person escapes Hell, and the first thing they do is offer comfort to someone they don’t even know? He tells her about how Edwin is his best mate, that he is the best person Charles knows and will ever know. He tells her that Edwin was bullied, just like him, and those bullies led to his death, but if it makes her feel any better, those boys were probably sent to Hell, too. “He’s kind,” Charles tells her, head dipped low and he’s smiling as he looks into Bette’s eyes, recalling Edwin. “The nicest bloke I’ve ever met. And—and he’s good now. You know he went through a crock of shit but it somehow only just made him kind. You would be proud of him, yeah? You’d be so proud. So you don’t need to worry about him.” Charles smiles. Bette doesn’t say anything.

NOTES: I wasn’t planning on updating for a little while yet (I still have more writing to do) but with the news of the cancellation I felt the urge to connect with the fandom, and since this chapter was done I thought it was only right. I’m obviously very sad. I don’t have a lot of words, but this show means a great deal to me. I really connected with it and the characters in a way I haven’t to this level with any other show in a very, very long time. I was really hoping we’d get at least one more season with Edwin, Charles, Crystal and Niko. I’m trying to remind myself, so I will also remind you, that just because a show is gone does not mean the fandom goes with it. Writers, gifmakers, artists, etc. are all still here, and there is still so much we can play around with in this universe. Just because Netflix abandoned DBDA does not mean we have to. We are still here. As long as the red earth rolls. ♥️

Read Part Two on Ao3 | From the Beginning

[blush-and-books]

Also thoughts on finale!!!!!

AHHH OK I HAVE A LOT

1. Yes, felt a bit like a rushed finale, trying to tie up loose ends and whatnot. It is what it is, but in the 16-episode seasons the writers definitely were able to pace things insanely well, so you feel how clipped they are in this 10-episode season.

2. I was totally misled by fics and other posts that Harvey like pressured her into marrying him and that he had decided to move to Seattle without us getting to see them talk about it, but I was pleasantly surprised to not feel that way about how it went down!! When Donna brought up the concern that their families weren't there, he instantly said they'd do it again, and IDK something in Donna's vibe was just giving of crazy "yes I need to marry you right now" energy. The man she's been pining after for years is literally proposing to her with his grandmother's ring THAT HE WAS KEEPING IN HIS POCKET!!!! yeah i would fold and have an impulse wedding too. she got her bag!!

about Seattle, I made a post about this but lowkey it felt like an idea that Donna had, knowing that Harvey was leaving the firm and that with everything that's happened, they both needed a change of pace and a support system in Mike and Rachel. Huge bummer that we don't get to see how the decision was made, but her adamant behavior in telling Louis that they both want to leave and also her checking in with Harvey and asking HIM "are you sure you want to do this" felt very much like she was checking in because he had agreed to HER plan, not the other way around. She's very clearly comfortable and happy with the decision. We love to see it.

3. When Louis mentioned (before the Faye takedown) that him, Donna, and Harvey were all that was left of PEARSON HARDMAN, I fucking cried. I hadn't heard any of the characters call it PH in so long and it was a crazy realization that they really were the originals from before the series had even started.

4. Donna's dress was so beautiful at the wedding I kept looking at it like 🥹

5. Donna saying in her vows that 100 years would never be enough time with Harvey.... Yeah I felt that. They wasted so much time not being together that now, no amount of time is enough.

6. WE FINALLY GOT TWO FULL "I LOVE YOUs" FROM HARVEY TO DONNA LMAO

7. I wish after the wedding they were at least a little more affectionate with each other and we got one more "my wife"/"my husband" (DONNA DESERVES TO FLAUNT HER BAG!!!! (her bag is harvey <33)). Like I wish we just got a little more juice or something about them being excited to do this next chapter together or whatever. But oh well that's what fanfiction is for

8. When Donna instantly went to hold Lucy first and Harvey was just smiling at them.... Oh my mind was at WORK!!!

9. As iconic as it would have been for darvey to be walking out of the offices together, I actually really appreciated that last moment between Donna and Louis, because their friendship is incredibly strong and I liked that it was acknowledged!!! And having Harvey be the last one out was just very iconic like yeah I ate that up that's our man

10. name partner katrina bennett my beloved <333

Sorry for the long post!!! Thank you for asking about my thoughts I'd love to hear how you feel about any of the bits and just how the episode goes overall

(I also cannot wait for Netflix to finally drop season nine so I can get more darvey stills at last)

[evelandscripts]

Would it Kill You?

Ike Eveland x  gn!Reader

warnings: none!

genre: fluff, mutual pining, slow-ish burn

word count: 1.9k

a/n: this is my first time posting actual fanfic on this hellsite even though i have been an avid user since 2014. slightly embarrassed that i have the nerve to lose my tumblr fanfic author virginity to luxiem but honestly it’s what riku tazumi would have wanted. enjoy! or don’t!

Ike Eveland was one of, if not the most, frustratingly charming people you had ever had the honor of crossing paths with.

You didn’t know what was worse— that he was so unaware of his own capabilities of rendering you speechless with a seemingly innocent quip, or the fact that every time he noticed that his comments had made a warmth rise to your cheeks, a fuzzy blush running across your face, he’d only smile silently and swiftly move on with the conversation. He garnered such an audacity to toy with your heart, but didn’t appear to have any interest in taking accountability for his constant teasing; if you could even call it that.

It didn’t take long for this repetitive, yet wordless back and forth to catch up to you. The novelist was taciturn, but he didn’t have to say much to leave your mind relentlessly racing with thoughts; like the time he bashfully complimented the way your sweater hugged your shoulders.

“You look—“ he paused, taking the time to assess the dipping collar of your top, choosing his words a bit too carefully, “comfy.”

Comfy? That’s it? Was he just going to ignore that behind his gold tinted frames, he nearly undressed you with his eyes? But that was Ike, a man of few words, ironic considering his many accolades as an esteemed penman. You decided you had enough of this wordless play, that if Ike really had something to say, you wanted to hear him say it with all sincerity.

He had been sitting at his writing desk since the sun had fallen, only a candle fashioned next to his ink pot to light the way for his work. He was concentrated, his mantel sliding down his shoulder after continuously shifting on the writers bench. His thumb was coated in deep sapphire liquid, no doubt the solvent he was jotting on the parchment with. You could tell he had been at it for a while, wearing a calm but tired expression. As to not startle him, you quietly ambled to his side, bending at the waist to get a better look at the novelist and the manuscript in from of him. 

He didn’t move an inch. You admired the way that the flicker of the flame bounced off his glasses, hiding the glow of his eyes for a moment before the fire twitched again, revealing their grey hue once again. You watched as his face contorted slightly as he thought of his next sentence, his lips pursing and eyebrows sinking towards one another. He brought his free hand up to his chin, scratching it a bit before returning it to the page. You wondered if he had noticed your presence, or if he was too focused on his writing to have realized your place next to the desk. 

“Hi Ike—“ you whispered, once again trying to prevent disturbing the man at work. 

“You don’t have to be so hushed, I knew you were watching me.” He returned, chewing on his lip as he continued to ponder over what word to write next. 

Your mouth fell agape, searching for a response to such a confident claim. He saw you watching him, taking in the curves of his jaw and crescent of his mouth. He knew you were standing there, but chose to let you embarrass yourself as you fawned over how perfect he looked while writing. 

“Oh.” was all you could muster out defeatedly. Although your ego had been quelled, you still sat onlooking; he was clearly untroubled by you watching him. 

He let a quick breath escape, a curve appearing on his lips.

“Cute.”

Your heart immediately plummeted to your stomach. He was doing it again, the exact thing you had decidedly put your foot down against. You straightened out your back, passing your hands over your front to smooth your shirt. You were about to turn on your heel to exit the room, when the novelist began to rustle for a moment. He had moved ever slightly to the far side of the bench, leaving just enough room for you to fit snuggly next to him. He passed you a virtuous look, before inviting you with the wave of an ink covered hand. You’d be a fool to decline the offer.

So there you sat, legs pushed against to his, his mantel enveloping your shoulder that met his own. Warmth emanated from his side, a barrier of layers upon layers of clothes failing to break the contact between you and Ike. It’d be a lie to say you weren’t nervous, or excited, or a delirious mix of both as you gulped down a choke. But he stayed put, placid, back to scribbling on the page.

As you watched the pen dance on top of the paper, a curious idea slipped into your mind. Perhaps, this was a chance for you to make him regret toying with you all this time. Evil, yes, but not ill-mannered. If anything, it was deserved. 

You started slowly, craning your neck to the side so it lay in the nook between his head and shoulder comfortably. A shivered ran down Ike’s body in response to the sudden change of position, but he quickly returned to his focused writing. You sighed, knowing it’d take a lot more to get through to him. 

Thus began your calculated escapade of cracking the novelist. You moved your hand from its place resting in your lap, snaking it over his leg and cupping your fingers around the inside of his thigh. You allowed your thumb to move freely over his pant leg, tracing the the fibers with dangerously slow movements. 

Ike stiffened at your touch, his body tense as your fingers methodically pressed against him. Still, he put on an unwavering facade, holding a tighter grip on his fountain pen as a way to gain a false sense security. He let out a dry cough before continuing his work, ignoring your attempt to break his attention.

His lack of reaction did not put a damper on your plans, though. You turned your head positioned on his shoulder to face his neck, blowing a breath of hot hair against his exposed skin. A layer of goosebumps formed underneath the layer of condensation you imposed on his neck. You could tell there were wheels turning in his head, his once fast paced writing brought to a halt with one simple exhale; bringing a smile to your lips. You let your fingers trail a bit further up his pant leg, but not far enough that he’d get any satisfaction out of your doings. Your actions were innocent enough, simply enjoying his company as he paid attention to the open book ahead of him.

It wasn’t until you heard the metal clang of a pen dropping to the hard oak desktop that you realized you may have pushed the novelist past his breaking point. He was no longer engaged in his creative pastime, rather, he shifted his torso to you with a sudden jolt, your head forcibly snapping up to face him. 

His eyes, formerly cast with the warm candlelight, were now a smokey silver, a shadow engulfing the majority of his face besides a sharp glint of light off his glasses. This time it wasn’t you with a red hue painting their face, but instead Ike was adorning a beautiful shade crimson across the bridge of his nose and tips of his ears. He looked at you coldly before breaking the silence.

“Does someone need attention? Or are you done playing a game that you are sure to lose.” He spoke snidely, confident in each word that rolled from his tongue. 

“You speak very boldly for someone who hides behind false innocence, Mr. Eveland.” You retorted, knowing very well his tactics. Play dumb, deny any wrong doing, and repeat; there was no blame to accept if he simply protested doing anything at all. 

He left his gaze unbroken, but slid his hand to meet yours. You couldn’t remember if he had ever reached out to you like this, whether or not this was the first time he had so tenderly grazed his fingers over your skin. His hand traveled from your wrist, past your lowered forearm, and landed atop the dip of your waist. Your breath hitched, but you knew better than you let it show your defense was faltering. 

“If you were feeling needy, you could have just said something.” His voice dripped with anticipation, laced with uncertainty of just how far you were willing to take this. 

“Says the one who can hardly formulate a forward compliment…I expected a lot more from someone who has such a way with written word.” You spoke leveled and confidently, nodding your head towards the half written page atop the desk. He frowned slightly, but his stare persisted.

“It seems, though, that the messages were still relayed though…am I wrong?” 

He wasn’t. You knew with every quick remark the underlying notion that Ike was aiming to reach you. It didn’t make it any less frustrating, though.

“Would it kill you to tell me how you really felt instead of leaving me to put the pieces together?”

Alright, you were definitely losing your pride a bit. In fact, you were practically pleading with him to drop the act altogether. Your tolerance of his discreet way of flirting you was reaching its peak, and you were about ready to put an end to your charade. Ike had other ideas.

He didn’t respond with words, but rather his actions. He brought his free hand up towards your face, brushing the hair against your forehead towards the side, letting it fall after his touch. His hand stayed against your face, though, cupping your cheek and resting against the slant of your jaw. His eyes softened slightly before he finally spoke up.

“Alright then.” Within the brief moment it took for you to register what he had even said, he leaned forward to plant a kiss against your lips. You melted completely into his touch, tilting into the kiss and bringing your hands up to meet the sides of his face. 

He broke away first, leaving a small gap between the two of your faces, his eyes still closed as he processed the decision he just made. You used you gentle grip on his jaw to tilt his head upwards, meeting his eyes once again. This time it was you pressing your lips into his, returning the sentiment he had just graced you with. It was sweet, it was wordless, but it spoke more than any of his writings could ever hope to communicate.

When you finally pulled away, there was nothing but a devious, grinning Ike in front of you.

“Y’know, if I had known all I had to do was kiss you to tell you how I felt, I would have done it a lot sooner” He chuckled, taking a deep inhale to recover from the lost breath.

Your face relaxed, and instead of being offended by his mockery, you gave into his toying and wrapped your arms around his shoulder, letting your body weight press against his chest. He gladly excepted your embrace, clasping his arms around your resting form.

For a novelist, he spoke plainly and reserved. Still, he found ways to let it be known his feelings; and it seems as though you may have discovered a replacement for all those sly comments he had made in attempts to reach you. 

[reading-stains]

hello!!do you have skk fic recs?

Introduction

Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.

So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.

Canon Space

Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names. 

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer

Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.  

Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: Rattata is the best character. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo

Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out. 

Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly

Word Count: 52,127

Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.

A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals

Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore. 

Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst

Word Count: 45,288

Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.

On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation

Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?

Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling

Word Count: 71,848

Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a  Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion. 

Fanon Spaces

Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. 

I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu

Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?

Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius

Words: 197,090

Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.

music for our funeral by itotypes

Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.

Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)

Word Count: 67,723

Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process. 

Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)

Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. So as lips sink into his, and as he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.

Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings,  Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich

Word Count: 264,937

Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.

Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot

Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards. 

Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut

Word Count: 107,804

Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. You can feel the way they're in-tuned from the get go. Definitely recommend.

In Conclusion

Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we can talk about it. 

Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes

[emathyst9]

Hey bet you're shocked by this because I never share my writing but I like this one so have something I just wrote from my AU where William's a ghost

Be warned I'm not a fic writer or anything and definitely not a professional either so uhhh I don't know how to post this properly

The gist before you start reading is that he kind of goes into a dream like state since his soul keeps getting pulled back to UCN hell where it should be

Oh also it's not like a what if he wasn't Springtrap this is if he was a ghost after all of that and during the Security Breach time

But anyway he meets "himself" in the red lake in UCN and has a chat with him

Or is it himself?

Just a Burning Memory

A head slowly rose up out of the static, crimson water.

Then came the body it belonged to, held up by its arms, placing itself upright.

This figure was a contrasted purple to the unnatural scarlet scenery.

A gnarled hand clutched the mess of hair on its head, as the figure let out a near silent groan.

Emerald green, dead eyes skimmed the surface of the lake.

That body of water, as well, was red like the rest of this strange world. It did not ripple when anything touched its surface, but possessed all the other qualities that a liquid would.

The figure rigidly stood upright, looking down at this water in curiosity.

He leaned over and touched a pointed finger to it, then the tips of the rest of his fingers.

At first, it felt like nothing. Not hot, not cold. No temperature at all. No wet feeling on his hand either. Almost like it wasn't there.

Until the figure closed his empty eyes for a minute.

A jolt of pain shot up through every non-existent nerve in his arm, and he could perfectly visualize the path it traveled. He felt the air stolen from the lungs not in his chest. His apparition of skin burned intensely like it was on fire. Every last part of him that should have been long decomposed was in excruciating agony.

The figure panicked and withdrew his hand, clutching his wrist. The look on his face spelled extreme confusion and distress.

It was only for a split second that he touched that strange water and felt everything that he did.

But it seemed like an eternity. It was like every injury over a lifetime all came back at once. Certain incidents that wrought havoc upon him, every cut given to him by others and his own hand, every slap and punch to the face...

The figure looked around him, past the cursed lake.

There was a strange building. A house? No... A restaurant?

It seemed to change shape as he looked at it, as though it did not have one true form.

All around everything else were dense forests of scarlet pine trees. He couldn't see anything past or within them.

There was a shore around the lake he stood in the middle of.

But there was no one else around.

At long last, a realization hit him.

"...No.

No no no. I remember this. I can't be here again, no!"

The figure hurriedly splashed through the red water, scrambling to get free from it. Though every so steps would be a mere falter that nearly brought him crashing into the lake completely, he did not give up his fight.

Eventually, he leaped out and onto the red, grassy shore. Though he plummeted to the ground, he shakily lifted himself up again.

As his head turned upward, he found a pale white hand reaching out to him.

The modestly smiling person extending this assistance was strangely familiar.

His attire was rather fanciful, with a dress shirt and a star patterned bowtie, and a vest that had a coat tail on the back.

He was dressed in purple, rather than crimson. Waves of brown hair poured down from his head, tucked behind the ears and placed strangely across his forehead.

Though the lost soul on the grass knew precisely who this man was, he simply took the hand offered and allowed himself to be placed firm on his feet.

Only then, as he looked into the emerald eyes that mirrored his own, and noticed the uncharacteristic absence of gloves covering the stranger's hands, did his comprehension of this sight take hold.

"You...

You're... Me."

"Indeed.

The much better version, if I do say so myself."

The stranger placed a hand lightly on his broken self's shoulder.

"Just look at the mess the future has beaten you into.

You've become frozen into a distorted version of someone you pretended to be. Fitting of your nature, wouldn't you say so yourself?"

"...

Are you not already saying that?"

The ghostly figure was rather unimpressed with the remark. It was too close to a bad joke.

The other him was all but correct. The ghostly man was stuck in a tattered uniform that a security guard would have worn. It was loose fitted now, and there was even a giant bloodstain in the middle of the shirt. Though the badge on his chest was severely cracked and snapped, the name that nearly remained there was D. Miller. Dave.

But that was not his name.

Ignoring the question, he inquired to the one stood in front of him.

"So then, William.

Why do you think you have found yourself here?

... What a strange feeling, saying my own name to myself. That's not really something that could happen in reality, is it?"

His tone was calm, and even a bit light-hearted. As though he were just a friend the present him was speaking to.

"Pardon the satirical remark.

My question still stands."

The ghostly William crossed his arms.

"Whoever put me back in that god forsaken lake just wishes to torture me again, so I'll hazard the guess that it's for that.

Just for me to suffer for my actions.

Can't you forget the sarcasm or whatever that is? It's annoying."

William snapped back at his other self in exasperation.

Once again his request was ignored.

"How interesting that you speak of something 'godforsaken.'

You know yourself there is no god you worship.

...

Indeed, this place was crafted to serve as punishment to you. Or so that is what you believe.

Yes, all that happens whenever you find yourself here is nothing short of a form of torture.

But...

Is it truly something real and personal, or could it be a prison built by your hand? Perhaps even just fictitious?

That is another question I ask you."

The ghostly William snatched up the front of his other half's shirt.

"Oh, enough with your stupid questions! I don't care!!! All I want to know is why the bloody hell I have to be here yet again, and why I'm seeing myself as if I've absolutely lost my fucking mind!!"

But the other him only stared blankly.

"Answer me god damn it!"

"...

Do you understand where you belong? That you should not exist the way you do?

You're a dead man. Brought to ruin by your own destruction.

You're a dead man.

And yet you turn your gaze away from what you should have met long ago."

A smirk crept up on his mouth.

"Why don't you give it a good look?"

Somehow, William did not notice that with every spoken word, he was slowly backed up by the figure that stepped closer. And closer. He soon stood right at the water's edge.

Until a hand placed itself upon his chest.

It shoved him down.

He grasped the arm trying to force him into the red lake, gritting his teeth to exert force with the muscles he did not have anymore.

His green eyes burned bright with fury in their black sockets.

All while the other him simply looked on blankly.

"Give up, Afton. Go where you belong."

"No! Never!! You'll never take me back!!"

Something was strange about that term of address.

For whatever that shadow of the past was, just why would he refer to himself that way?

He continued to grip the arm, his feet slipping closer into the water.

He suddenly lifted his leg and delivered a swift kick to the knee of his other half. It caused that version of him to falter. William used the opportunity to take full hold of the arm grabbing him, whip around his other self, and shove him into the lake.

He practically leaped onto him, forcing him down far into the water, watching it flood into his airways. The other him struggled immensely against the forcefulness. He tried to push the arms back himself, splashing the water with his flailing legs.

"YOU. You are the one that's GONE.

You're just the past. You are DEAD. I AM THE ONE STILL HERE.

SO YOU WILL ACCEPT YOUR OWN FATE."

William yelled in fury and strenuation as he kept shoving himself down.

But he did not expect what came.

As if in the blink of an eye, the figure before him took on a new form.

It was crimson, blending into the water.

But the round face, the wide figure, the ringlets of hair.

All of it belonged to someone.

To a person he loved and loathed. To a person that had too much and lost it all.

This person that shaped the trajectory of his life like a god fashioning clay into a living being.

He let go as his own figure flashed to reflect the one that was in the water a moment before.

"...Henry?"

And for a second, the crimson took on color.

Vibrant warmth. Just like the warm complexion and darkened blonde hair he hadn't seen for ages.

Dressed in comfortable garments of black and brown and blue.

Only his hazel eyes did not appear. They appeared to have a shadow cast over them by the wire glasses he wore.

The figure gently caressed him.

It brought him close, distracting him from the fact that he was slowly being turned back towards the water.

But he only placed himself above, to prevent it from happening.

He stared longingly into the eyes he could not see.

Memories seemed to come to him as he felt the water this time.

Many were fond and warm, picturing the moments they shared in the light and in the dark.

But then the painful remembrance gripped him.

Arguments. Anger. Condemnations. Convictions.

Loathing.

A burning flame that singed the mechanical and organic body he once had. Vengeance. And one final knowing glare as he watched the flames consume this man.

Though he loved and hated and desired and wished to destroy this one he caressed, he almost forgot about all the pain, as he became a reflection of the humanity buried within his soul. In fact, he forgot the static red world he was trapped in, remembering one from ages ago.

He leaned closely to Henry's lips.

The figure wrapped his hands around him.

William received the signal, and began to carry out his action.

But he was fooled.

The figure dragged him down, and though it caused their lips to meet, William was plunged into the water with a splash.

...

The ghostly man simply manifested and found his presence lingering in the depths somewhere in reality.

He was at the base of a stairwell that winded up a high distance. The modern lights around him dimly flickered at inconsistent intervals.

The moment he was tricked into was only stolen away from him.

He did confront his thoughts in that chaotic space, but the one he spoke to was not truly himself.

Or at least, not just himself.

Whatever part of him that cared in any way for the blurred figure in whatever dream that was, was repressed now. If William ever found him again, he'd only shove him into that water and drink in any intoxicating fear he may have showed towards the situation.

But what was it exactly? Could one who did not sleep call it a dream?

William believed for certain he could not.

As he looked down, his apparition still held the disheveled appearance it had in the "dream".

He opened his raised right hand, and closed his eyes.

He concentrated for a moment, conjuring up the energy and emotion within his projection.

A bright and dark purple blame burst forth. It twirled and danced on his fingers and palm.

He clutched his hand and the flame flew out quickly as it came to life.

That was right. He was dead after all.

Just a lingering spirit that had no intention to release his grip upon the waking world.