#Off White x Ikea

[katsukistofu]

ikea meatballs before marriage?

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ touya todoroki x fem reader. fluff. cursing. slightly suggestive. ⭑ your fiancé and you get a little too into playing house when you’re supposed to be furniture shopping for your new apartment.

“you’re home early.” touya smirks. an apron you’re ninety-nine percent sure he stole from the aisle showcasing the ovens with ‘i cook as good as i look’ printed on it is tied around his waist.

“i’m home!” you say cheerfully, playing along with him. 

you take a moment to study “your” kitchen and droop in disappointment. 

it was a bit too dim for your liking, the lighting.

there’s no way you could read the recipe books rei had gifted you without touya having to stand there and hold a flashlight while you did.

but the deep forest green accented cabinets, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were beautiful.

perfect for storing fuyumi’s leftover snacks that her students gifted her yesterday.

she had complained to you over the phone about how there was no space at home since all the cupboards were full of soba noodles, courtesy of your fiancé and little brother-in-law.

touya nervously watches, until he sees as you visibly brighten up, and he lets a little huff out, half in pride, half in relief. 

he knew his pick couldn’t be that bad.

then you spot the fake plant hanging from overhead, and grimace as you see a cluster of even more potted plants under it near the toaster. 

cute in theory, but definitely a fire hazard.

touya notices the little way your eyebrows furrow with doubt, and casually leans against the edge of the sink to distract you from making any more keen observations. 

you giggle at the way he almost knocks off the price tag on it in the process, too busy staring at you to bother noticing. 

“how was work?” your favorite fire hazard asks, reaching out a hand to gently brush a stray lash you didn’t notice from your cheek. 

your face always feels hotter than usual when touya pulls away, even after all this time.

“ugh, so exhausting,” you fan yourself a bit, let out an exaggerated sigh. “the printer blew up and got toner all over my clothes, can you believe it?”

“aw.” there’s a playful sparkle in his eyes as touya innocently frowns in sugary sweet sympathy. “want me to run a bath for you later?”

you can feel your cheeks start to burn. you just took one with him yesterday!

but of course you find yourself stuttering out, “oh, um sure.” 

the memory of his fingers softly massaging your scalp as he helped you wash your hair. the gentlest of touches on your skin as he lathered you in suds, pressing a kiss to your forehead between rinses flood back to you. 

you remember trying to wash his hair one time, but he quickly stopped you by trapping you in his lap, insisting that he wanted to do yours first. like he does during every bath he runs for you when you stay over at the todoroki house.

and he would take just as good care of you, your heart knows, in your cozy new apartment that was waiting for you back in shizuoka too. 

not too far from home, so that everyone could still visit, but not too close either, so the both of you had your own space.

touya grins as a shy expression suddenly crosses over your face, knowing exactly what you’re thinking about. 

with amusement, he watches as you reach over to set your purse on the white marble counter. 

a pair of strong hands claim their usual spot on your waist, holding you in place, and then you’re pulled away until your back bumps against a familiar, firm chest.

“uh-uh, mrs. todoroki.” he murmurs softly in your ear. “i just cleaned that for you before you got home.”

your breath catches. mrs. todoroki?  

“my bad,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

his nose tickles your cheek in response and you giggle at the feeling of his piercings, cold and soothing against your warm skin.

“so. what do you want for dinner today?” touya says, leaning over you to open the fridge. he scans its empty contents with a face so serious that you have to bite back a laugh. 

“what do we have?”

“stale air—i mean,” touya coughs. “uh, salad.”

“that’s it? just salad?” you point an accusatory finger at him, and he snorts at the way you force your eyebrows to scrunch together to make an angry face. so cute.

“oh, you think this is funny? take that apron off right now, you big phony.” 

“yes ma’am.” he laughs airily, reaching behind him to undo the tie when his hands stop. 

touya turns to you with a pout. “can you do it for me? my fingers hurt from cooking and cleaning all day.”

he makes it so hard to stay mad at him, even as a joke. 

you bite your lip to suppress the fond grin growing on your face, but it's too late, touya’s already seen it and he knows you’ll give into him soon enough.

“aw, my poor husband all alone in the house, cooking air and salad. it must’ve been so hard for you.”

he pouts even more. “it really was.”

the giggle you’ve been holding back finally spills from your mouth. he was ridiculous, and you loved him for it. “okay you big baby, i’ll untie it for you.” you move to stand behind him, hands reaching for the back of his waist to untie the neat bow he did for himself earlier.

“i think you mean your big strong husband.” touya leans his weight back into you. 

not enough to hurt you or make you fall, but just enough to give you a hard time undoing the knot of his apron. 

“sewing machine was acting up like crazy today, had to teach it some manners.”

“i’m sure you did.” you fight back another laugh, which turns into a whine as his broad back leans into your face even more. 

“touya stop it! do you want this apron off of you or not?”

you can practically hear him smirk from in front of you.

“i’m okay with anything as long as it keeps your hands on me.”

you step away from him and he lets out a ‘oof!’ as his back thuds against the hard floor of the ikea showroom, taking down a fake plant with him.

touya is donning a new apron when the two of you find yourselves outside of another kitchen showroom. 

“‘relax, i’ll feed you bitches.’ it read in bold. 

you giggle hysterically as he stands there, hands on his hips and looking way too proud of his find, as you snap a pic to send to the groupchat with his siblings.

i’d rather eat poison, natsuo texts back. 

his message is hearted by fuyumi and shoto a few moments later. 

a miffed touya reaches over your shoulder to steal your phone, which you easily let go of and surrender like usual with a laugh.

 his chin rests on your head, your back pressed to his chest as he perches his upper arms on your shoulders to text back. 

after he hits send with a satisfied smirk, the both of you walk onto the set.

the kitchen this time was one with a less colorful theme, yet you hear a sharp intake of breath from touya and you feel your own breath catch in your throat.

the tall windows and generous lighting more than made up for it. 

framed paintings of cranes were hung on the slate gray wall behind the dining table, and the refrigerator was much, much larger than the one you saw touya open before.

familiar indigo petals catch your eye. there was a beautiful painting of rindou flowers next to the window in the kitchen, and you can’t help but stare.

“mom would love those.” touya murmurs from beside you. your fingers lace through his as you smile softly in agreement. 

“she would.”

still in the second showroom, touya’s rummaging inside the cabinets while you study the spice rack. 

imagine all the goodies you could fit in there, from sesame seeds to shichimi togarashi.

you drool thinking about all the miso soups and sweet potatoes you could put them on when he suddenly turns to you.

“i’ve been working on my cocktails while you were at work, by the way.” touya grins, handing you an empty, plastic wine glass from where you’re perched on the granite countertop. “wanna try?”

you raise it to your lips and take a delicate sip of nothing. 

“oh yum! what’d you put in it?”

“kale juice.” he snickers behind his hand. “your favorite.”

you make a disgusted face. “well that’d explain the kick to it.”

“right? i really, really think fuyumi and natsuo would like it.”

“touya todoroki, don’t you dare.”

“hey.” he raises both hands in innocence. “a little kale never hurt anyone.”

“you say that but you hate kale.”

“a little kale never hurt anyone unless it’s me.”

you roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. touya’s hands smoothly guide your legs to hug his waist, bringing you closer to him from where you’re sitting on the counter. he stays standing, towering over you. 

“can’t believe i’m marrying a hypocrite.” your voice is muffled against his shoulder, and he laughs.

suddenly, you gasp and point at the sink. “touya!”

his eyes widen at your raised voice, instinctively looking behind him for bugs to kill because that’s the only time your tone would sound that alarmed.

touya hugs you closer to him protectively. 

you can’t help but melt as his arms wrap even tighter around you, his serious turquoise eyes still scanning around the kitchen for any threats to you.

no bugs. 

no tacky “live, laugh, love”-esque sayings framed on the wall.

which he knows is your biggest interior design pet peeve after binging an insane amount of those house flipping shows with you.

“...what is it?” touya finally asks after a moment of hesitation. 

you giggle at the ticklish feeling of the cold silver of his lip piercing brushing against your forehead as he speaks.

“the dishes aren’t in alphabetical order!”

touya breathes a sigh of relief, then laughs into your neck. 

he pulls away to roll his eyes at you. “you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“what, why?” you laugh, fluttering your lashes at him. so utterly adorable, that he resists the urge to bite you.

touya fights back a blush and averts his eyes from your face, remembering his protective actions. they had been purely instinctive. he reaches up to cover his face with one hand.

“touuu!” you can’t help but laugh harder, reaching up to pry his fingers away from his face. “come on, look at me!”

touya shyly slides his gaze back to you, and lets you take his hand away from his face. 

you lace your fingers through his and lean in to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, which only makes him blush even harder. the chill of the ikea air conditioning did nothing to help.

his eyes trail in the direction of the spice rack you were dreamily looking at earlier.

“why is this crooked?” he frowns, reaching behind you to straighten it.

“pfft is it bothering you?” you take a glance at it. looked okay enough to you.

“yeah it is.” touya’s hands are on the shelf, trying to readjust it into the right position when suddenly—

snap!

the both of your eyes widen at the sound. 

the shelf was upright and more centered than before. 

except now it had a clean split down the middle of it.

of course, touya chooses to focus on the most important part.

“well at least it looks better now.”

and all he can think about as you laugh into his shoulder is that he can’t wait to stand hip to hip with you in your actual kitchen. 

sunshine peeking through the curtains as the two of you make soups, bake each other’s favorite pastries, and indulge in your random middle of the night cravings.

from now until forever.

after lunch in the restaurant, touya adds ikea meatballs to his list of favorite foods. 

you’re pretty sure that’s only because you fed them to him. 

because while you adore him to pieces, he is an unbelievably picky eater, much to fuyumi’s chagrin. 

luckily, he’ll eat anything as long as you’re the one giving it to him.

your sister-in-law thanks you for her lack of headaches when she makes dinner.

in the third kitchen showroom of today, you squint out the window behind the sink.

“i don’t know if i like it.”

“don’t know if you like what?” touya’s still washing his hand in the imaginary water under the faucet that’s clearly never going to start running. his silly self has been there for the past five minutes, at least. 

you hold back a laugh at how meticulous he is about it.

“the view.” 

he looks up and snorts at the wistful gaze you throw out the obviously fake window. 

it had a picture of city scenery taped on the wall outside of it, and the circular shape of a familiar building catches his eye. he recognizes it.

the meguro sky garden in tokyo.

the first place he ever took you out on a date to.

with a fond twitch of his lips, he remembers the way he almost tripped over his feet under the cherry blossom trees when you had suddenly pecked him on the cheek. all those years ago.

touya turns the faucet off, and comes up behind you to lean his head on your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. his eyes soften as you nuzzle against his chin. 

he knows that you know he can’t feel any sensations there anymore. 

but god, does touya love that you still touch him in the places where he can’t feel. 

the way you litter soft kisses under his eyes, stroke his forearms as you guide them to your waist. like they’re still a part of him, like he’s not broken.

like he’s always been whole to you, never any less. 

“but sweetheart,” touya muses. “think about how close it's close to the best schools.”

your face heats up as you realize what he’s talking about. like you haven’t thought about it a million times before.

a kid. with him.

his and your kid.

as if the universe read your mind, a very chubby baby being pushed in a cart passes by the opposite side of the window, covering the picture of tokyo’s scenery.

and it stares at touya and you with the judgiest look you’ve ever seen in your life.

the two of you glance sideways at each other and burst out laughing. 

“nevermind,” you giggle, feeling small and safe tucked in his strong arms. “maybe the view isn’t so bad.”

looking softly down at you, the beautiful color of your eyes meets his, and his heartbeat quickens.

touya can’t help but agree.

a familiar weight softly rests on your shoulder when you groggily open your eyes, and your fiancé is close to follow as he stirs beside you.

you flip around to face him from where he was spooning you, giggling at the little trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth as you watch his eyes flutter open.

you feel your breath catch in your throat as you gaze upon him.

his hair is starlight in the morning.

touya, still half-asleep, snuggles against you, completely drunk on your warmth. the soft feeling of your skin against his. 

he doesn’t even try to resist it.

the little giddy smile that tugs at his lips whenever the cool feeling silver of your sapphire embedded ring sparkles under the sunlight pooling through the curtains of your shared bedroom as he laces his fingers through yours.

his own ring softly clinking against the one he gave you.

after moving into the privacy of the apartment, with no prying eyes or nosy siblings randomly bursting into his room, touya loves to sleep with his lips just barely grazing your neck.

whenever you wake up from a  nightmare, he’s already kissing the nape of it, the protective hand he has on your hip smoothing circles into your bare skin.

when he wakes from his, you’re already quietly cradling him in your arms, running your hands through his midnight black hair. 

you really have no idea how hard you make it for him to get up.

but the idea of seeing you happily smile because of him is what gives him the final push to wriggle out of your embrace, and the adorable little pout you give him  almost breaks his heart.

“where you going, tou?”

he grins cheekily, placing a finger on his lips. “it’s a secret.”

there's a grumble from you in response and he smooths the crinkle between your furrowed brows with a gentle kiss.

“i’'ll be back soon, i promise.”

“you better or i’m eating your last pocky.”

he laughs at your threat, as if he wouldn’t give it up to you the moment you asked.

at the sight of your eyes already starting to droop, touya presses another kiss to your forehead. “go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“no.” you pout as his socks pad against the floor when he leaves the room with another laugh. 

huddled up in your floral patterned blankets, you drink in the faint scent of sweet cologne that lingers on them. 

it still smells like him. warm like him, too.

there’s an old photo of touya framed on your nightstand. you love to look at when you fold his and your clothes. 

rei had slipped it out of the family album for you to keep the moment she saw how much you liked it. 

it’s the one where he’s holding a baby shoto like a football in his arms. there’s an easy grin on his face.

you look at it for a little longer, letting a sleepy, content smile spread across your lips. 

until five more minutes pass, and you’re starting to feel impatient.

“shoto!” you call out the doorway in the direction of the guest room you set up for him the day before he came to visit. “what’s your brother doing?”

“cooking.” comes shoto’s soft voice floating down the hallway.

and that’s all it takes for you to get up and rush to the kitchen at lightning speed.

thankfully, the fire alarm hasn’t gone off yet by the time you get there. 

you find touya slicing peaches on the counter, in front of the painting of rindou flowers. there’s a plate of neatly assorted fruit next to him, and your eyes widen as you admire the rose-shaped strawberries. how’d he do that?

“hey.” touya’s eyes narrow playfully when he notices you, putting down the knife. “you’re supposed to be in bed.”

you place your hands on your hips. 

“and you’re supposed to not be burning our new apartment down.” 

throwing a cautious glance at the unmanned pancakes sizzling in the pan beside you, you add on. “with your little brother in it.”

he breathes a laugh and saunters over where you’re standing by the fridge, cornering you to the counter. 

your fiancé grins at your stammers when he leans closer. he can practically feel the heat from your cheeks from here, and touya thinks the tiny house plant overhead grows an inch taller from the sheer warmth you’re radiating.

“stove’s off, sweetheart. they’re not gonna burn.”

“o-oh.” you sigh in relief.

“you worry too much.” touya murmurs softly as holds you in place by the waist to hold up a spoonful of blueberries he forgot to add to the batter. 

your lips reluctantly part to let him feed you, and his heart skips a beat at the hint of a smile on your face.

“mmph!”

suddenly, touya’s lips are on yours and you taste the sweet tartness of the peach he must’ve had before you came over. 

the cold piercing of his tongue teases your mouth and he corners you even further against the cool marble of the counter to make out, just as you hear a pot start to boil and your eyes snap open. 

you’re breathless as you muster all your willpower and break away from him.

“touya, the pot!” 

“oops.” he glances at it, still caging you against the counter with his arms. 

“forgot about that.”

“found your necklace that fell behind the bed last week.” touya says later after breakfast. you’re both sitting on cushions fuyumi and natsuo gifted you at the coffee table in front of the tv, watching ponyo as sunlight seeps into the living room.

it swings it back and forth on his finger and your eyes widen in relief.

“i was looking everywhere for that to wear to shoto’s class party!” 

“i know.” he grins, and you sigh as he presses a soft kiss to your neck. of course he did. 

touya reaches around your neck to securely clasp the back of the necklace’s chain, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“i think i deserve a little reward.”

you giggle, he was so cute.

“thanks touya.” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he pouts.

“not there.” 

“where then?” you smooth your hands against his bedhead and he almost whines when this time, you press a kiss to his forehead. “here?” 

always such a tease, and he adores you for it. 

touya looks like a desperate puppy as he huffs, nudging your nose with his. 

like you didn’t spoil him with kisses yesterday when he fixed the washing machine that was acting up.

you’re still not totally sure how he did it, but that was probably because you zoned out while he was explaining it to you. 

too busy watching the way his forearms flexed as he fixed the pipes behind it and when he’d take whatever wrench or screwdriver he asked you to hand him from the toolbox.

finally, finally your lips find his and you kiss him, soft and sweet.

a cool breeze blows through the open window, and the both of you breathe it in, smelling dewdrops on grass from the rain last night and hints of sunshine. 

touya smiles against your mouth, arms pulling you into his lap so he can taste you better.

you’re stuck with him. 

from now until forever.

“or maybe home is just two arms wrapped around you when you’re at your worst.”

— danagray

[lovelytsunoda]

i saw mommy kissing santa claus // alex albon

summary: alex has to keep up the illusion that santa claus is real, and every year gets more extreme than the last. he's got footprints to put on the living room floor and cookies to eat and stocking to fill . . . and at this rate, he's going to wake up the whole house.

pairing: alex albon x wife! reader

warnings: set in the future, so alex is about 30, children ( their names are gabriel and isabella ), gabriel sees his mommy kissing santa claus (who's really just alex in a festive hat), honestly it's just fluff guys (aside from one joke about having george shove alex off a cliff if she left him to go out with santa claus)

it was the night before christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even alex albon's five cats. his wife was asleep in their bed upstairs, and the kids were down for the count, wrapped in layers of blankets as alexander tiptoes down to the living room, where the christmas tree was set up in the bay window.

he turned on the tree lights, slipping a santa hat over his dark heair and opening the walk-in closet to find the large canvas bag that he and his wife had filled with christmas presents.

above the fireplace hung four stockings. stockings that his wife had painstakingly bedazzeld for each member of the family: alex, y/n, gabriel and isabella.

he rubbed his palms together, looking at the pilsbury cookies on the coffee table.

he had some work to do.

meanwhile, y/n albon was stirring in bed, panic setting in as she groggily opened her eyes, finding her husband's side of the bed empty.

"alex?" she mumbled, slowly sitting up. a zit on her back had popped during the night, a small spattering of blood hardening on the back of her cotton nightdress.

she heard a crash coming from the basement, and she sprung out of the bed, her mama bear instincts kicking in and telling her to go and check on the kids.

first she checked on isabella, her youngest. she three-year-old had just migrated form crib to toddler bed, the small piece of ikea furniture made from stunning white wrought iron. the little girl was peacefully asleep, nestled under her snoopy blanket with a build a bear in her arms, three large stuffed animals watching over her from the foot of the bed.

she backed out of the room, closing the door before she moved further down the hall, past the sim room, to the white door decorated in glow-in-the-dark stars. gabriel was curled up in his twin bed, his head barely poking out from over his Spider-Man duvet, a stuffed reindeer clutches in his arms. a karting trophy sat on his dresser, next to a picture of him and his dad when he won his first race.

satisfied that both her kids were still soundly asleep, she set out to find her husband.

“alex?” she called out, pulling her bathrobe tight around her body as she made her way to the main floor. “alexander, what the hell are you doing?”

alex knelt in front of the couch, shaking flour over a card stock cutout of a boot print. “baby? what are you doing awake?”

“honey, you knocked the lamp over.” she chuckled, picking the ikea lamp up off the floor and setting back in the side table. “what are you doing?”

“setting the scene for Santa’s visit, obviously.” Alex chirped, yanking away the card stock. “see, snowy footprints!”

y/n laughed, fingertips against her temple. “you know that once isabella sees those presents she’s going to run right through all of the work you just put in to those footprints.”

“it’s all about the fun, love” one of the cats mewled, nuzzling against alex’s thigh as he leaned towards the coffee table, holding up the square plate. “cookie?”

"darling, it's four in the morning." she laughed, picking up a reindeer cookie from the plate. "you know that you'll eventually have to tell the kids that santa claus isn't real, right?"

"or i could let them figure it out for themselves." alex reasoned, getting to his feet and pulling his wife close. "isabella is smart, she'll figure it out before her brother does. she takes after you."

"and gabriel takes after his father. some days, it's like having three children in this house."

"hey!" alex feigned hurt. "give me a hand putting the presents under the tree? i've got springsteen."

she laughed, kissing him softly. "if you put the springsteen on, you're going to wake the kids."

"not if we use my airpods." he winked, tossing her the bluetooth case.

she let the airpods connect, putting one in her right ear before passing the case back to alexander. bruce springsteen's 'merry christmas baby' began to play as they started to empty out the canvas sack, stacking the beautifully wrapped presents underneath the white christmas tree. alex was dancing, shuffling around on the hardwood in his socks and messing up a few of the flour footprints, causing his wife to laugh.

"alex, you're going to wake the kids." she reminded, giggling as she reached for his hands, allowing him to pull her in for a dance.

she rested her head against his chest, allowing her husband to sway side to side with her, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"i'm so glad i met you. i love you, and i love our kids, and i love the life that i have created with you." alex whispered, still holding her close.

"i love you too." she hummed, leaning up to kiss him softly.

"mommy!"

alex and y/n startled, jumping and slipping apart, turning to face the stairs. gabriel stood in the middle of the staircase, white as a sheet as he clutched his stuffed reindeer.

"gabriel, honey, what are you doing awake?" y/n cooed, concerned as she walked over to her son.

"mommy, why were you kissing santa claus?"

she shot a glance at alex before taking her son's hand, walking up the stairs with gabriel as she tried to calm him down.

"sweetie, that wasn't santa claus. that was just your dad, he was tidying the living room for when santa comes to visit. we don't want santa claus tripping on any cat toys, do we?"

after she tucked gabriel back into bed, with his dinosaur nightlight switched on, she left the door open slightly, holding her robe tightly around her body as she watched him fall asleep through the crack in the door.

"who taught him that santa claus was a thirty year old thai man?" alex scoffed. "has he learned nothing from his aunties? do i look like i could eat eight billion plates of cookies in one night?"

y/n laughed, allowing her husband to hug her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. "didn't your brother try and teach him that santa claus was an alien?"

"yeah, he did, didn't he." alex chuckled. "what did you tell him?"

"that you were just moving gucci's cat toys out of the way so that santa wouldn't trip. he thought i was cheating on you with saint nick."

"baby, if you left me for an aging, overweight white man and went to go live in the arctic and bake cookies all day, i'd have george shove me off a cliff."

she tilted her head up to face alex, thumb rubbing circles over his knuckles. "we're doing a damn good job with these kids, aren't we?"

"yeah babe, we are. but soon they'll grow up, and then we'll be grandparents-"

"stop talking. you're going to make me feel old!"

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @cartierre @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @thatsdemko @twinkodium

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Lost in Ikea. || John Price x Reader

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

4. Lost in an IKEA

41. Price and Reader run into each other (literally)

48. A character tries to hide that they are crying or upset

Rating: E Words: 1.3K cw: period/menstruation + symptoms, feelings of inaddequacy?. Tags: afab!reader (bc menstruation), you/your pronouns but no Y/N, crying, hurt/comfort, strangers. Summary: Reader is just having a bad day and John is a kind stranger. a/n: I just needed a little hurt/comfort for the soul. This isn't too serious. Also the 'lost' part of Ikea is more emotional than physical. ALSO ALSO, OFC I HAD TO DO THIS PROMPT, my screen name is literally Ikea.

Should you have gone to Ikea while on your period, when you’re in pain and light-headed and in a mood to kill a man? No.

Here’s the thing, you wanted a specific little bear plush they sell there (DJUNGELSKOG). And a meal from the restaurant. And maybe a new lamp. And a new set of bed covers and pillows. And honestly, you could use a little trolley for your craft supplies. And since you’re there you might as well no longer postpone buying that shelf you need-

You walked around the store for over two hours just looking at everything and, steadily, filling up your card with more than you expected. Little knick-knacks, a new set of cups for the kitchen, a picture frame, etc. etc. 

You took your time, moved at your own pace, slowly observing all the room displays… Maybe got lost at one point, but that’s neither here nor there.

Once you found a storage trolley you liked, as well as a shelf, you advanced through the warehouse, pushing your large cart along.

The trolley came first. It was small and light enough and after checking that the box said White, you found yourself perfectly able to drag it onto the large metal warehouse platform cart.

But then the shelf- you crouched down and tried to get a grip on the box and pull, but the bitch was heavy. You huffed and struggled, but it wouldn’t budge. It probably didn’t help that both your womb and your lower back were throwing a rager of cramps and all your muscles were sore.

Maybe you shouldn’t have come on your period. Another weekend, any other weekend, and you’ve been strong enough to get the box with the disassembled shelf off its perch… But you wanted to do it today! 

You wanted to feel like you got something done. You wanted the sense of accomplishment… You wanted to feel like you persevered through the pain! 

You had the whole day planned out: You got out of bed, you showered, you had proper food and a desert, you cleaned your house, you went outside, and you finally completed something you had been putting off!

You couldn’t leave without the last one! You had to get it out! You wanted to take the stupid shelf home with you!!!!

Tears start pooling in your eyes, your lip beginning to tremble. You’ll blame it on the hormones and the frustration.

Stomping your feet, you walk down the aisle, abandoning your cart and turn the corner intent on pushing the box out from the other side-

Then you smack into a person and it knocks you so off balance (you were already sort of light-headed either way) that you drop onto the linoleum floor.

If the day wasn’t already bad enough and you weren’t already crying, taking a hard seat on the floor in front of a stranger only made you feel that much worse.

“Christ, you alright?” A man’s concerned voice comes from above you. You wince and close your eyes hard, trying to conceal the tears in them.

“Y-Yeah. Sorry. I was in a hurry and wasn’t paying attention.” You murmur and turn to the side, using the floor and the industrial shelf next to you to pull yourself up to your feet.

“No, I’m sorry, I was walking fast too.” He replies. “I wasn’t fast enough to catch you. Might be getting old. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.” His tone sounds playful, like he’s trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah, haha.” You try to laugh it off. You still haven’t properly glanced at him and he can tell that you’re trying to conceal your redened eyes as you look off to the side.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Didn’t hurt you, did I?” He checks, his voice a lot more gentle.

God, you feel pathetic. Crying in front of a stranger in the middle of an IKEA warehouse. 

“I’m fine… Just… having a bad day.” You reply and for a moment you finally look over at him.

Great. On top of making a fool of yourself in front of a stranger who happens to be super kind, said stranger is also older and hot, definitely a dilf. Great, just great. You really should’ve stayed at home today.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He replies softly as he peers at you with bright blue eyes under thick brown eyebrows.

“It’s fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make this whole thing awkward. I’m sorry.” You turn to return to your things. Fuck the damn shelf, you’re going home and never coming to this IKEA again.

“Wait. Hey!” He says as he calls after you. Turning to look at him, your face twists into an upset, embarrassed look.

“You don’t have to apologise for having a bad day or having a cry, it’s alright.” The man says as he approaches you again when you’re already at your cart.

As he speaks, you notice there’s no pity in his tone, or some sort of cringe-riddled sentiment of awkwardness that comes to normal people when a stranger suddenly overshares. He’s just… kind.

Your face softens a bit more and you quickly turn to look away. Instead, your eyes find the stupid box with the shelf you want, still on the industrial shelves, and you start crying more.

“I just want that bloody shelf and it’s… it’s too heavy and I can’t get it into the cart and- I can’t believe I’m crying over this!” You complain and gesture vaguely to the space in front of you as you find yourself sniffling.

“Alright. Hey, it’s alright.” He assures you and gives you a friendly tap on the back, on your shoulder, over your hoodie. “How about I get it for you?” He asks.

You find yourself looking up at him. “I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not at all!” He says with a friendly smile and a nod. “I’m plenty strong and I’m already here! Plus, imagine me walking away now after offering?” He jokes.

You can’t help the chuckle the escapes you amidst your broken sobs. “Would’ve been proper rude.”

“Of course it would. And my mum raised me right.” He adds playfully, causing another chuckle to rise out of you. “That’s the smile I wanted.” He cheers.

John moves forward and crouches, helping to slide the heavy box off the shelf with a mighty grip of his big hands, sliding it onto the bottom of the metal cart with the rest of your shopping. “There it is.”

“Thank you…” You murmur as you seek for tissues in your pockets, grabbing one to dab away your tears.

“It’s alright.” He assures you again. “And, for the record, there’s no shame in crying. If you would’ve asked me 3 days ago what I was doing, I’d tell you I was having a good sob in my car after going to the supermarket because I was so tired and overwhelmed.” He admits and chuckles.

“You?” You ask, not quite sure if he was being sincere.

“Oh, yeah. I cry all the time, me.” He tells you and winks one of those blue eyes at you, making you chuckle again.

“Well, thank you, erm…” You trail off, realizing you don’t know his name.

“John.” He says while reaching a hand forward for you to shake. You return the introduction with your own name.

“You think you’ve got this? Or are you gonna need help getting it into the car?” He gestures at your entire cart.

“Oh, shite, you’re right… Need to get this into the car…” You groan and facepalm yourself.

“Tell you what-” John says as he looks at you. “You wait for me while I get the rest of my things-” He takes a list of paper with scribbled reference numbers on it from his pocket. “And we’ll go through checkout together, and I’ll help load this up into your car?”

His offer is so sweet and sincere and kind, you find your eyes clouding with tears again. Then, you nod eagerly and dab away the tears with your crumpled up tissue again.

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

[maximotts]

𝙻𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛: 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

a/n: anddd we're back! I'm loving how this series is going so far and with this chapter posted, we're halfway through unless I decide to add a chapter or two, we'll see. Anyways, welcome to the Beginnings of Smutty Content for smol babie Wanda

✎— priest’s daughter!Wanda x college student!reader ✎— confessions AU; in which Wanda ponders over her growing feelings for you, tries her hardest to deal with them and, when asked out to a date night at the local Fall Festival, she tests out Agatha's advice ✎— warnings: this is an 18+ series, minors DNI; fluff, smut; morning after deep thoughts, brief-ish make outs, a lot of kisses bc Wanda said so; masturbation; ice cream debauchery; thigh kisses and our favorite soft, flustered Wands

✎— words: 6.2k

series masterlist. || main masterlist.

It was almost noon when you woke up the next morning, groggy and disoriented. As your brain caught up with your body, you registered warmth under your cheek, a gentle hand lazily stroking your hair; Wanda. The gentle rise and fall of her stomach could’ve lulled you back to sleep, might have too, if a traitorous yawn hadn’t given you away. “Look who’s awake.” 

You turned over with a groan, hiding your face in Wanda as she giggled at your display. “You could’ve woken me up if you weren’t sleeping.” 

Wanda pretended to think it over, not once planning on giving away that she’d be a fool to pass up the chance to commit the sight of you peacefully asleep on top of her to memory. “You needed your rest.” 

Quiet moments like these happened to be Wanda’s favorites; where anything was possible and she could pretend that when you finally did awaken, she’d smother you in kisses and the two of you could roll around in bed for a lazy Sunday morning together. Where eventually, when she somehow pries you off of her, she’d stroll to the kitchen on shaky legs and make the apple cinnamon pancakes she remembered you telling her your mother used to make you as a child; the breakfast you missed most. And after a quick shower, you, not wanting to be anywhere else in the world, would sit at her small IKEA kitchen table and tell her all about your alcohol induced dreams. 

All of that was possible until you woke up and you, the real you, sat up and stretched with an even louder yawn, casually reaching over her to grab the glass of water she knew last night you’d need right this minute. You drained the cup’s contents in one long gulp, setting it back on the nightstand before perching on the edge of the bed, one leg folded under you while the other dangled. 

Wanda wished she could be the type to coax you back to bed, insist you sleep more and if not that, at least lay with her a little while longer, but the words sounded silly in her head and your imagined rejection stung her heart enough not to chance it.

You regarded her properly after a few slow blinks, taking in the sight of Wanda still half propped against her pillows, blankets now askew after you got up and tossed them aside. She looked smaller now, nestled amongst her plush bedding and looking up at you expectantly. The previous night’s events came back to you in a flash; the party, the game, the kiss that ended it, and the other that started something new. You cast a risky glance downwards, spotted perfectly patterned silk shorts and wondered whether the night’s hours alleviated any of that ache Wanda had tried subtly rubbing away with her legs as you fell asleep. Instead when you opened your mouth, a completely different line of questioning came out. “I shouldn’t be surprised you wear matching pajama shorts to bed.”

She knew you didn’t mean anything by it, but you were also blissfully unaware of the skimpier white one-piece she’d originally planned on luring you to bed with. The further away it got, the more Wanda wanted to hit herself for thinking she could ever stage such an after-party for you, on your first night out together no less. “I like to match! I shouldn’t be surprised you wear your street clothes to bed.”

Wanda was referring to your wrinkled t-shirt, the outstretched fabric and your underwear being your chosen sleepwear. Typically you did only wear a shirt, some old things you’d retired from your wardrobe and relegated to being strictly house wear until you officially wore it to shreds, “Well I didn’t have much choice, did I? You’re the one who asked me to stay, or would you rather I sleep naked?” 

Laughter erupted from deep in your belly when the brunette’s jaw went slack, eyes wide as saucers, “You know that’s not what I meant! I don’t care what you wear!”

“Hey, your bed, your rules, princess. Just let me know for next time.” Next time, you’d said with a suggestive wink; if Wanda wasn’t already stunned into silence would surely send her rambling on.

Beside her earlier fantasies, she hadn’t factored in clothing, much less the absence of it. That train of thought sent her spiraling; she could see your legs in their entirety, goose pimpled from the cold air, but devilishly soft looking, but she was more curious to what lay under where you were covered— what you felt like, where you were most sensitive, if anywhere else made you shudder like Wanda discovered you did whenever she trailed her short nails over the nape of your neck. 

“Think any harder and steam will come out of your ears,” you chuckled, getting up to uncover wherever you’d tossed your jeans. Messing with Wanda never failed to be an impeccably funny start to your day, but here, now, you had to put a stop to it. If you continued, you worried Wanda really would blow a gasket or worse, you’d push her so hard you’d break. “Don’t worry, I’m going off to go shower. I’ll leave you alone in a minute.”

Curious as Wanda was, you were exponentially so, wanting to snatch her up and take her and discover every place that made her tick. But Wanda was still drowsy, evident in the tiny yawns she hid behind her hands and how her head lolled against the headboard once she’d calmed herself down, and you needed her wide awake for everything you wanted. 

So, admittedly, you were a little shocked to turn around after slipping on your shoes to find Wanda not only sitting fully upright, but with a very obvious forlorn look across her features. “You’re leaving?”

You shrugged, so casually her frown only deepened, “I know you like to clean on Sundays, don’t want to be in your way.” Not the real reason, but true enough to be believable. Wanda was notorious for her Sunday cleaning, preferring to start her week out as organized as possible. You told yourself to stop, not to tease her anymore, but she looked so akin to a kicked puppy you couldn’t help it, “What’s wrong, miss me already?”

Maybe she hadn’t fully coped with the loss of her fantasy day, or she’d lost her patience altogether, but whatever it was, Wanda wanted to cry. Again. She hated it, despised that instinctive response, and wanted to do anything to deflect that energy. So she picked up an unused pillow and launched it. The fluffy object flew at your face before you could catch it, smacking you with a dull thud. “Not with that attitude, I don’t.” 

Her outburst gave Wanda enough time to wipe her eyes, ensuring there weren’t any tears that couldn’t be passed off as sleepiness; by the time your vision returned, she was sitting with her arms folded defiantly over her chest, pointedly avoiding having to look at you. Wanda was strangely huffy, but instead of catching her genuine disappointment, you wrote it off as morning crankiness and tossed the pillow back to her side. “Just for that, you’ve forfeit your goodbye kiss.”

You were joking really, having not even thought about giving her another kiss because she’d had yet to mention the others, but Wanda didn’t know that. She shot up in an instant, shuffling over to where you stood at the end of her bed and flinging her arms around you in an apologetic hug. “No wait, I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me I just-”

One gentle finger pressed against Wanda’s mouth, silencing her until all she could do was gaze up at you with pleading eyes from where she’d planted her chin on your chest. “You don’t want a kiss right now anyways, I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Wanda shook her head, brushing off your excuse, “Neither have I…” If you were going to leave, she wouldn’t let you without the one thing she knew she could have. She’d make peace with her boring Sunday cleaning alone in her apartment, the lack of you, all of it, if she could face the day freshly kissed. 

“Just one. We’ll make it quick,” You couldn’t deny her, not when you felt envious of her own teeth, biting down on her pink lower lip like you’d briefly done last night. Your thumb pried the flesh away from her grip, promptly replacing it with your mouth. It was meant to be a simple peck, short and sweet, but when the tip of your tongue accidentally brushed Wanda, she gasped— a tiny, quiet thing that sucked you right in. 

Wanda parted her lips as you nudged against them once more, let the rough surface of your tongue slide over the straight row of her teeth and surrendered herself to whatever this new blissful feeling was. She could taste the last bits of alcohol on you, much less than the times previous, and having fully sobered up, your lead was more sure, more insistent, and it made Wanda’s legs tremble. 

Somewhere in your embrace, the brunette’s arms fell from around your midsection and you pulled away, allowing you both air and her to fall back to her seated position. She touched her fingers to her lips, tried to ignore the tingling in her core that begged her to press just a little bit harder into the mattress for the friction it so desperately craved. 

You had to leave Wanda there, her wildly lost expression too much for you to handle. “Text me when you’re free, princess.” You ruffled her already messy hair before leaving, the action coming across way too platonic for the intensity you’d just shared. 

She heard her apartment door click, signaling she really was alone, and she planned to get up, honestly. But as her legs parted to move, a thick fold of her comforter dragged over her clothed center and Wanda couldn’t talk herself out of doing it again.. and again… and again until the lace underwear she’d picked to hopefully show off to you when she got home were thoroughly soaked. 

It was all too easy to sink back into her fantasy land, the one where you hadn’t left, deciding instead to stay and waste the last half of your weekend kissing her instead. Eyes screwed shut, she imagined it was your bare leg she mounted instead, offering your thigh up to her as long as she let you have your way with her mouth. It was slightly uncomfortable, damp fabric pulled taut against her, but shaky fingers came to tug them to the side, pretending they were yours as her fingertips momentarily played with her clit before she forced her hips down swiftly. 

Wanda didn’t know what you’d say, if you’d say anything during her frenzied display, but she hoped you did; something less practiced than the videos she’d seen. You’re so gorgeous all worked up for me, princess, a name you’d called her before and each time her heart latched onto you a fraction more, I want to see you cum now, will you do that for me?

She nodded her head as if you were still right there with her, mouth falling open as she rut her bare cunt over her comforter at just the right angle. If she focused enough Wanda could see your sly grin, that look you gave when you knew you’d gotten her right where you wanted, pretended her fists were balled tight into your shirt instead of her wrinkled sheets, “Yes, yes… I’ll do it! I-I’m gonna…!” 

Wanda came with a whimper, weakly jerking her hips until she could no longer hold herself upright and fell forward. Dull aftershocks pulsed pleasantly through her body, but her pussy clenched around nothing, begging for something more Wanda never worked up the confidence to give it. The shame she felt having ruined not only her new undergarments, but also her shorts and sheets, laying limply in the cooling wet spot she’d made in her dalliance, was more than enough to leave her cheeks burning hot and she let out a loud, dramatic groan into her pillow. 

Luckily, it was already laundry day. 

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

That evening, once Wanda showered the last of yesterday’s events away, washed her dirty clothes, and carefully remade her bed with new sheets, she flopped down on her couch in exhaustion. She pondered texting you, but the mere thought made her brain fly back to earlier activities and she wasn’t quite ready to face you yet. Instead she pressed Agatha’s name, thumbs hovering over the keypad as she tried to figure out how to even start the conversation she wanted to have. 

So we kissed… three times…

The text barely read as delivered before Wanda’s phone buzzed, Agatha clearly having been on her device already, Three times where?

She fought the urge to toss her phone as she read the message punctuated with a suggestive emoji. Of course Agatha would think the worst. On the mouth, obviously! We’ve only been out once! 

Once is more than enough, even nuns like you have to know thatWhat happened?

Wanda detailed the last twenty-four hours as positively as possible, leaving out the game context for what was technically your first shared kiss. She smiled as she recalled your little bedroom fall, your sleepy scramble to rejoin her; maybe she’d be willing to face another party in the future if it meant spending the night with you.

She stayed over and she didn’t try anything? Did you scare her off or something? Wanda sunk deeper into the couch, having convinced herself your restraint was more because you were drunk than her putting you off. But she was well aware you’ve slept with Carol before, much more intoxicated than last night and haven’t spent even half the time together she had with you; it wasn’t the setting or the timing that was the problem. As her thoughts wandered again, Wanda hoped she wasn’t the issue.

Unfortunate turn of conversation aside, it gave Wanda the perfect opening she needed to talk about what she texted her friend about in the first place. I don’t know how to tell her I’m interested in her in.. that way…how we talked about? But I don’t want her to think I’m too forward.

So what if she thinks you’re a bit of a slut, that’s hot!

Aggie! Be serious!

Even as Agatha assured her that she would never joke about something as serious as someone’s awakening, Wanda groaned; maybe she should’ve texted Natasha… she’d tell her roommate anyways. Just tell me what to do.

Take the opportunity when it comes and when it does, go with it.

The advice was easier said than done, Wanda first needing to know what an opportunity looks like to even have a hope of seizing it. Trading her phone for a pillow, she dropped the plush object over her head, squishing it to her face just enough to muffle the anguished sigh she couldn’t hold in one second longer.

The two of you were… terribly normal after that weekend. Still inseparable in your classes, you continued to come over in your free time, flirted with her until she shook— now though, Wanda quickly grew addicted to your kisses. Never as intense as Sunday morning, but whenever there was a quiet moment, walking behind a building or before you went back to your respective rooms, if she tugged at your hand and waited, you’d give her what she was after. Anyone else, you’d call them childish or brush the behavior off after a while, but each time you felt that shy pull on your sweater, you melted. You were falling for her so fast, so hard; if you ever crashed, it’d hurt like a drop from a skyscraper.

It was always private though, Wanda treating each touch or smooch as illegal levels of scandal. You tried not to think about it too much; she wasn’t ashamed of you, just introverted. When you tried to think of a time where you’d been so intent on secrecy, you were thrown back to your first girlfriend; everything was so special that you’d been obsessively possessive with keeping those butterflies between you and your partner, where no one could ruin them. Considering Wanda and what she’s been through, you couldn’t blame her for hoarding her joy. Besides, there’s something undeniably hot about sneaking around.

Nonetheless, however much time you spent with her, you always wanted more. Maybe that was your own greed amidst Wanda’s; as long as she’d have you, you’d keep her. “So Wands,” you whispered to get her attention, not wanting to scare her or disrupt your professor’s impassioned monologue on the global impacts of the evolution of the written world, “do you have any plans this evening?”

Wanda looked up from her detailed notes long enough to let you know she was listening, her pen still writing, “You know I don’t.” 

“I’m just checking!” You nudged her gently, winding your arms around her until your head rested on her shoulder. “Since you’re not busy, would you be up for checking out the fall festival with me?”

Wanda stopped writing then, turning to you again as your lips kissed her shoulder. You were looking at her in that peculiar way again, where your eyes got so wide they started to shine, the barest hint of a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of your mouth; she doubted you knew how often you gave yourself away like that. “Is this a date? Do I need to dress up?”

“Yes to the date, no to dressing up.” Last weekend, she’d gone so far out of her comfort zone for you; now you wanted to take her somewhere she could hopefully relax and have a more familiar type of fun. Wanda mentioned in passing her dad used to bring her and Pietro to the fair nearly every year and while she hadn’t outright said she wanted to go, you were sure she’d want to go. 

“Hm..” When Wanda returned to her notetaking, you figured she was just thinking it over, but she didn’t write anything, held her pen too tight, and chancing another glance at her face, her teeth worried her bottom lip how she did whenever she fell too deep in her head. A few days after Carol’s comment, Wanda dressed differently; it started with her party outfit, black and fitted, and while she’d gone back to her patterns, her dresses now were shorter, thinner. Today’s choice was a dark pink slip dress, adorable but modern, and while you wouldn’t complain or tell her what to wear, her pointed refusal to bring her favorite cardigan to classes made you wonder if Wanda felt like she had to make a change. 

You thumbed over the curve of her hip, pulling her close enough to nuzzle into her neck. It was the furthest she’d let you go in class without pushing you away; as long as you could reassure her somehow. “Wear exactly what you are right now. I’m just excited to take you out, silly.” 

“You look very pretty today, sunshine.” Wanda sighed long and deep, relaxing her shoulders and trying to absorb your reassurance. She loved the fair, missed not going the past couple of years, and she knew she was bound to have a good time if you were there; her nerves just wanted to eat her alive. “I’ll win you something soft and get you all the fair food you want?”

“It’s really not smart to keep offering me things before I’ve even said no.” She turned quickly, pressing a small peck to your warm forehead before scribbling away yet again, “Now I’ll make you win me the biggest teddy we can find.”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The fair was pretty much how Wanda remembered it, same layout, same variety of vendors, same rigged carnival games. You were happy to let her show you around, not that this small county fair was anything innovative, but Wanda was so thrilled to point out her favorite booths, it was only polite to let her guide the way. 

True to your word, after a dozen tries you’d conquered the bean bag toss, winning the brunette a pink bunny rabbit who she immediately dubbed Carrot. You’d paid for that thing at least twice over by the time you won, but Wanda snuggled it so lovingly, cooed over the object so sweetly… money well spent. “He’s going to sit right on my bed all the time so I can remember your perseverance!”

“Oh I’m honored, a coveted bed post for my little thing!” Your gasp was way too dramatic, a few people close by turning their heads to find the source of the sound. Wanda swatted at your arm before pulling you along, but you stopped her as soon as you felt her chilly hand in yours. “Are you cold?”

Wanda shrugged, taking her hand back to fold her arms over her chest as a gust of wind blew by. “A little, but…well…”

“You didn’t bring a jacket.” Wanda’s sweater rejection strangely carried into your date and the further into the afternoon it got, the worse of a choice today’s dress was. Usually she’d pull on a sweatshirt as soon as she settled into her apartment or you could persuade her to bring an outer layer if it wasn’t during school, but tonight she’d insisted three times not to worry about her. “I’m starting to think you’ve stopped wearing sweaters just to steal my jackets.”

“Would you be mad if I did?” A playful grin grew on Wanda’s expression, teeth biting her lower lip as she waited for you to give in. If there was one thing she loved more than her own collection of thick cotton knits, it was your hoodies. None of them braced against the cold as much as hers, but the embedded smell of you kept Wanda plenty warm. 

You sighed and shed your jacket, momentarily taking Carrot from Wanda’s arms before helping her into the sleeves. It was a little too big for her small frame, extra material slouching over her shoulders and to her wrists, and as she took her precious stuffed animal back, snuggling it to her chest, your heart leapt. “Not when you look as good as you do in them.”

Wanda didn’t know where to go with the compliment, still painfully lost on how to reciprocate such a comment, but she knew she didn’t want you to spot her blushing from something so small. In a panic, Wanda spun around, darting to the nearest stall and practically leaving you in the dust. “Come on, I want ice cream!”

“Are you sure you want something that’s gonna make you colder right now?” You went after her of course, catching up only when she paused to take a spot in line. Wanda really could run fast when she wanted to.

She nodded, pretending to study the menu that only gave her three different choices of soft serve, “You promised all the fair food I wanted. Right now, it’s ice cream.” 

Once she’d gotten it, she only took a few licks, taking much more interest in walking and talking with you than eating. You noticed and, figuring she might be the type that prefers to sit and eat rather than realizing her diversion for what it was, found a set of hay bales just off the beaten path of fair traffic. 

Wanda didn’t mind, let you help her onto the middle row of the haystack and tried not to visibly stiffen when you sat below her… between her legs. It’s just a convenient place to sit, she tried reasoning, willing herself to focus on anything besides the warmth of your back on the inside of her calf. Lost in thought, she missed the small drip of ice cream over her fingers until it fell onto her knee, “Great…I forgot napkins.”

Without thinking, you ducked down and licked the melted mess, your tongue making quick work of where she’d spilled it. You should’ve been even a bit more ashamed for the forward action, but in your head it was harmless. An easy and helpful fix for a lack of napkins, was all. “Finish your ice cream quickly, Wands. You’ll make a mess.” 

The brunette was stunned at how casually you’d licked her, having gone straight back to mindlessly scrolling your phone without a care in the world. Meanwhile a thin coat of your saliva cooled on her leg, prickling at her skin and daring her to wonder what that same action would feel like elsewhere on her body. You weren’t paying her any extra attention, giving Wanda ample chance to run through her options: act outraged and warn you not to do it again, something that was so big of a lie Wanda wasn’t sure she could believably play it off, or allow herself a stint of not so innocent curiosity. 

Her hand tipped before she’d rationalized it any further, a larger drop above her knee this time.  Wanda needed to see if you’d do it again; what she would feel if you did it again. “I’m trying, but it’s cold..”

Her whine from above caught your attention, turning around to see Wanda’s once again sticky leg and sighing. “You’ll ruin your dress and then I won’t hear the end of it-” You licked it off, forcing away your suggestive thoughts… until you looked up. Her face gave her away instantly, cheeks pink and eyes alert; she did it on purpose. 

The current position wasn’t wasted on you, perched perfectly in between her legs, just above eye level to her bottom half. To what extent Wanda caught on, you didn’t know, but you’d be a fool not to at least try, “Careful…” You shifted enough to place both hands on her legs, sliding the hem of her dress a few inches up as a small test of her comfort. If she pushed you away, you wouldn’t have been surprised, the public setting making this all more scandalous than you ever thought Wanda would agree to. 

But she didn’t move a muscle, not one utterance of protest; Wanda kept her eyes locked on you. The hay bales were faced away from any crowds, far enough that nobody walked directly past you; if someone knew the back of Wanda’s head they could spot her, but whatever lust clouded her brain, that was enough security for now. Another set of drops fell, purposeful now that you both were on the same page. Wordlessly, she watched as your tongue made another appearance, licking away her self-made mess. 

Each time she spilled the cold treat, you lapped it up with a slow sweep, lingering longer the higher you got. Wanda doubted you noticed you’d begun a series of low groans, fully leant over as you kissed each area you cleaned. Everything she knew taught her to be ashamed of both of your behaviors, overtly passionate and so very inappropriate, but honestly it only turned Wanda on more. If she had to be penitent for the rest of her life over this, so be it.

You had none of the same moral dilemma Wanda had, more than willing to play this little game all night. You’d yet to speak aloud how much her legs lived in your head, every sighting of them driving you just that little bit further into the depths of your growing need for the girl now leaning back to let ice cream fall higher. When you’d slept on her, you’d done so with thoughts running wild of how to touch them again, how sensitive she’d be if she allowed you even five minutes to focus on her impossibly smooth skin; never in your wildest dreams did you think Wanda would offer herself up like she was now.

At mid thigh, she was visibly twitching, either from damp skin exposed to the cold, arousal, or a combination of the two. “You just had to go and get yourself all wet and sticky?” Her ice cream trick, yes, but as you spoke, your eyes were trained under Wanda’s hitched dress, the barest hint of her underwear visible in the dim light of dusk. It was torture to only just be able to see her, restraining your urge to dive closer and confirm what you’d bet money on was a dark spot on the white cotton fabric.

Wanda was breathing so heavily her chest heaved, both mortified and flattered by your shameless ogling. She nearly snapped her legs shut, instinct screaming to hide and deny the effect you had on her; a louder voice remembered Agatha’s go with it advice and she had to admit, this proved a lot more fun. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I swear…”

It was a fake apology, accented with the largest spill yet, a heavy glob of her near fully melted dessert landing on her inner thigh… right next to where you were already staring. Countless times she’s asked for kisses; same principle, different area. “First my jacket and then wasting my money on something you had no intention of eating properly, what a naughty girl you’ve been.”

She thought sure her eyes would roll back into her head as you cleaned her up again, your tongue making slow, languid strokes Wanda vowed to commit to memory. When the last of the chill was gone, Wanda assumed you’d pull away, but if you had to give something up today, you’d grant yourself the reward of adding your own piece to her game. Lips making noises Wanda would only ever describe as obscene, you sucked a hickey into the sensitive skin of her thigh; a not-so-gentle reminder of what you could do should the other girl let you. 

When you backed up, it was to sit straight on your knees, hands glued to Wanda’s hips where you still had her dress pinned. She looked terribly disheveled, poor thing, free hand clutching her stuffed rabbit for dear life while her mouth hung open far enough to let you know she was seconds away from outright panting. “Think you’ll bring napkins next time or will you let me lick you clean forever?” 

It was those devious circles your thumbs rubbed into the join of her hips that did her in, so close to where she was scared she was now dripping, an unexpected shudder forcing Wanda to drop the entire cone, the sugary mixture splattering across her dress and your jacket. “Oh! I promise I didn’t want to do that!”

You remained unfazed, one track mind set on kissing lips bit so hard they’re now slightly swollen. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” And you were so close too, less than an inch from the trembling girl in front of you— Carol calling your name was the one thing that ruined it all.

It took you a moment to register you were on the ground, Wanda having shoved you back as hard as she could the instant she heard. You watched from below as she righted her dress, your ass stinging from the heavy fall while Wanda tried looking as normal as possible. She turned to see Carol approaching with barely contained laughter, having witnessed Wanda knocking you off balance. The blonde only wanted to ruin your moment, she had no idea her classmate would actually push you; that just made it all the more funny. “Might be pushing your luck after that one kiss, buddy. Think that was it for a lifetime!”

Wanda shot you an apologetic look as Carol passed, the shock and confusion on your face darkening her mood further. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, I heard her and panicked and I…” She wasn’t ashamed to be with you, not in the slightest; she was forever in awe of you being so willing to be seen with her. Maybe not for much longer, if she kept up her habit of sneaking around and shoving you off, “What if she tells? Oh god, it’ll be awful-”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. I get it.” You cut her off before she could spiral out of control, jumping up a little too fast for how much your back hurt and brushing the dust off your pants. Truthfully, you didn’t get it, you’d never had to experience anywhere near what Wanda grew up with, couldn’t imagine the lasting impact that might have on someone. Reminding yourself to be patient was hard but doable, picking up Wanda’s stuffed rabbit and placing it into her shaking hands at the same time you pressed a comforting kiss to the crown of her head. “We should get you home anyways, it’s getting late.”

The sun was nearly completely gone now, far off on the horizon, a deep purple sky replacing its bright light. Wanda wanted to ask you to stay, to try again and see if she could revive the moment she and Carol broke, but large globs of ice cream were soaking into her dress, splattered from when she’d dropped her cone and darkening the pink color; both she and her outfit needed a wash. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry…”

“I didn’t ask you to apologize.” Wanda took your hand when you offered it, let you zip up your hoodie around her to somewhat cover the large stain; no matter how lighthearted your tone was, she couldn’t shake the embarrassment scratching at her, filling her head with now way too familiar thoughts of how stupid she’d been. 

You kept your arm around her the whole way to your car, constantly checking over to see if her slumped posture and shy mood improved; it didn’t. Every day you spent around Wanda, each time the two of you danced a little closer, your need for her grew. It was harder and harder not to just take her, especially when she came out of her bathroom freshly showered, shuffling over to her bed in yet another too sweet set of pajamas. 

She cuddled up to you wordlessly, choosing not to comment on how presumptively you’d settled into her bed because this time, it fit her needs. Natasha taught her the subtler way of flirting, close contact, small touches, things felt rather than seen. But even after wrapping her arms around your middle, fingering the edge of your shirt, letting her nails graze just barely over your hip, you didn’t make a move. In fact, you were notably less touchy than usual and Wanda hoped to god she hadn’t ruined her last chance back at the fair. 

In reality, you were just barely hanging on to the last bits of your restraint, rationalizing to yourself Wanda’s touches meant nothing more than absentminded fidgeting. You hadn’t bargained on how badly she could affect you, not her floral scented shampoo or whatever body wash she used that made her skin heavenly soft, but all of it was dangerous. You’d resolved not to try anything further tonight, wanting to give Wanda ample space to recover from whatever she felt with Carol’s sudden appearance; she made it nearly impossible to do the right thing. 

“So..about earlier?” You asked, giving in and pulling one of her legs until it lay over your lap, greedily demanding more closeness from her you didn’t know she was more than willing to give. 

“Yeah, I…I liked it.” Liked was a grave understatement, a laughable comparison considering how the mere reminder of it all made her thighs tense up all over again. This was where Wanda expected you to make some kind of move, anything really, some hint that gave her an ounce of reassurance that you wanted to try again. 

But your hand stayed still splayed over the curve of her hip, unmoving while a billion thoughts ran through your head. You didn’t even kiss her like she’d come to be accustomed to, what you knew full well she was expecting once you’d gotten her home. Whether she was aware you could feel every squeeze of her legs around your abdomen or not, you refused to speak up about it. If you had to be tormented by her fingers still scraping your warm side, Wanda could handle a little torture herself. No, you’d stay quiet as a mouse, just to see what leaving her wanting more would do. “Right, I’m glad.”

Wanda wanted to shake you, to sit on your lap, push you back, pin you down, and just… yell very explicit words until you understood how much she needed you to fuck her. Maybe it wouldn’t be the sexiest thing in the world to have to ask someone to take her virginity, but she’s never wanted it gone so badly. Something new had washed over Wanda in her time with you, some obsessive need whose intensity might’ve worried her if it didn’t always feel so damn good.

She knew you’d done it plenty of times before, last week you told her you’d have sex with her if she wanted to. Well, Wanda wanted it and she was determined to get it sooner rather than later, preferably before she exploded from sheer frustration.

[charseraph]

21 for the asks? :0

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

The first that comes to mind is Emily @dimetrodone

Hogg and Rome & Ally

Her style is addicting to look at. I have some serious respect for her color usage, and she works pure black like nobody’s business. The gesture of everything down to its gums and eyelids is awesome, and Emily has a signature way of drawing colored teeth and glowing parts. Her surreal designs particularly in her pantheon series is fun, with rows of incisors and bulky geometric flesh.

The second one I’m unsure of the name of.

x x x

I’m a huge fan of these plays between simple solid forms and fine mechanical detail.

I also love aggrogoth and adjacent genres with melted chrome.

x x x x

I also love statement street fashion, especially Off-White’s luxury industrial, Supreme’s kitsch, and IKEA’s KNORVA that I own.

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: part four! this is where we get unprofessional, but, you know, it's not just you. for all my new readers, know that my joey is soft joey first and foremost - if you were waiting for some filthy smut, im sorry to disappoint!

Wordcount: 4.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

At 6AM sharp you grabbed the remote control from Joe’s bedside table and turned his TV off before placing a cup of coffee down.

“Get up, Joe,”

You were still in pyjamas yourself, bedhead, barefooted, voice groggy and sleep still stuck in the corners of your eyes. On your way out of Joe’s bedroom, you said, “We’re leaving in about thirty minutes,” and then didn’t get a response.

You stopped in the doorway, looked back and couldn’t help but imagine what sleeping in that big bed with Joe would be like. The bed looked like it was a twelve-year-old Ikea piece that had been taken apart and put back together too many times - like it would wobble unsteadily any time someone in the bed would turn over. Good thing his new bed was coming in today.

You found the switch for the big light, slapped it, and flushed the room with bright white, hurting your own eyes as well as probably Joe’s.

“Joe?”

Then a thumbs up shot up from the big pile of white duvet, and you scoffed, huffed a laugh, and said “Coffee’s on your bedside table, we’re having breakfast at the shoot.”

In the car on the way over it was quiet. You were both freshly showered, and you’d even had the time to blow dry your hair, but it was still early, and the both of you were still tired. You imagined it was mostly because of the loud TV – there was no way Joe was getting any better sleep than you were with that thing blaring. At least your new earplugs worked just fine and you’d managed to get a lot more sleep than the night before.

The morning felt a little heavy, because with all the driving around London, getting to see so much of it, you had started thinking about why you hadn’t actually moved back yet. Memories of your ex wanting to move away, back to his hometown, his estranged nan dying and leaving him the house... it felt like you’d hit the jackpot at the time. And your family was relatively close too, so it was fine. But you’d had real withdrawal symptoms from leaving the city, and now that you were no longer actually with him, you tried to think of reasons why you’d bought a flat in his hometown after you broke up, but you came up empty.

“Are you all right?”

You looked at Joe whose eyebrows quirked, giving away a polite bit of worry.

“There’s going to be a lot of deliveries today, I’m doing mental math to figure out how I’m going to do this,” you lied in truths. “And I’m really hungry.”

Joe was asked to go to a workshop after the photoshoot, just for an encouraging word, nothing insane, but it meant you were going to be rushing a bit. After the appearance at the workshop, there’d be a phone interview, and then there’d be another screening.

Joe sighed.

“I don’t want to be rude and skip it, but, I kind of want to skip the film screenings today,”

“You’ll still have to go to be seen, talk to some people,”

“Yea, don’t really want to do that either,”

You paused, looked over Joe’s schedule, at how many things there were, saw that tomorrow was his film premiere with the Q&A straight after, and then the day after that, the awards ceremony. You understood the want for a short break, looked at Joe and said, “Let’s have breakfast first, before you make any rash decisions,”

But then Joe smiled wistfully, and you knew this wasn’t a rash decision at all.

Fine.

You could come up with a vague excuse for him, no problem.

A busy morning passed you by, and you'd made a deal with Joe’s driver. You said he could have the evening off if he would go back to Joe’s house to sign for furniture deliveries, and then you’d call if you needed him to come pick you up and bring you somewhere else.

A tricky deal because this was power you definitely didn’t yield. But Joe had said he didn’t want to go to the screenings, which effectively meant that he wouldn’t need to be brought anywhere from the workshop forward.

You were lucky the driver seemed to like you, with a sneaky wink and a small smile, the driver dropped you off, accepted the front door key you handed him and drove right back to Joe’s address.

And then you spent the whole photoshoot on the phone to him, because the men moving the furniture in had also been paid to place all pieces in the correct rooms, and then when you heard the driver walk up all the stairs, you felt like you were crossing a thousand boundaries letting all these people into Joe’s house without you or Joe being there.

“They want to take the big bed out of the master bedroom,”

“Yea sure, can they disassemble it and leave it in another room on the first floor? Just so it’s out of the way. We can maybe use it for another guest room, or whatever, don’t let them take it away. Wait. They can take the mattress; can they take the mattress? There’ll be new ones coming in. Not having to haul that thing off ourselves will be a huge help.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

You crossed your fingers that everything would work out fine, and that you weren’t going to walk into a huge unfixable mess of a house later that day.

Joe basically had a full day of picture taking. The shoot was obviously very camera heavy, but the appearance at the workshop was basically a fan meeting in and of itself. It was all teenagers who either already went to film school, or really wanted to go to film school, and Joe was the only big celebrity that people who weren’t into film would also recognize in a selfie. So, they all wanted selfies, and who was Joe to tell them no?

On the way back to Joe’s house in the late afternoon, you asked him if he wanted to do the scheduled phone interview, and just when Joe was about to say something snarky about you asking him if he wanted to, you had the phone already ringing for him.

Joe narrowed his eyes at you with a small sneaky smile, and started a mild insult, “You little– hello!” but wasn’t able to finish because someone picked up on the other end. You grinned, couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your throat, and this time, Joe didn’t grab your knee to squeeze, but his fingers found your forearm to scratch before he focused all his attention on the lady on the phone who asked him questions about previous and upcoming projects.

Deep breaths, everyone. It was just a scratch. One that made your belly somersault, but you know, t’was just a little scratch. Nothing major. Shit. You had to calm down.

When you rounded the corner into Joe’s street, it was time to face the music. See what state the house was left in by the delivery men.

Downstairs in the living room, there were three rolled up rugs, still in its plastic packaging, a new TV unit, another sideboard that was meant to become a little bar area for Joe, and there were large ceiling lights, still in their boxes – no sofa yet. In the dining room, next to the clothing racks, were ten dining room chairs, lights and a long shelf – no table yet.

You knew upstairs Joe’s new bed would’ve been delivered, and you were about to tell him about it, but stepping into the kitchen you could see Joe hunched over the counter, reading a script, and munching on a banana.

When he saw you, he looked up and asked, “Do you mind if I go sit in your room to read this?”

Your room.

“Of course not, go ahead, it’s your house.”

And Joe left you alone. Which was great actually. It’d give you time to unpack furniture, drag things into their right spots and, you know, see your vision come to life a little. You texted Joe’s management a weak excuse for Joe not going to the film screenings or the industry happy hour that day and got to work.

At 6PM you called, “Joe, you hungry? Should I order some food?” up the stairs. You heard movement, saw him appear at the top and he said, “I’ll cook us something,” as he made his way down.

You watched him jog all the way down, and when stood next to you at the bottom, he gave you a confused look, asked, “What?”

You looked down at his hands.

“How are your wrists doing?”

Joe looked down as well, rotated both hands, completely unsure of what you meant.

“Because you’ve got a lot of signing to do tonight,”

About two hours later, all furniture had been unpacked, all plastic and cardboard had been sorted and taken out, Joe’s clothing racks had found a new home in an empty room upstairs and you had both eaten a beautiful home-cooked meal.

Because there was no sofa and no dining table yet, the two of you found yourselves on the floor, laid out on one of Joe’s new rugs. You were passing Joe photographs of himself in costume, one by one, and Joe signed the same squiggly ‘Joe’ on all of them, laying on his side, hanging into one of his shoulders.

It was boring assembly line work. But there was wine. A lot of wine. And music. Although, you had real strong doubts about the playlist Joe’d put on, but whatever, people liked different things. It was fine.

“If someone had told you five years ago that you’d be signing five thousand pictures of yourself the night before your film would premier at the London Film Festival, would you have believed them?”

“The person I was five years ago was a lot more confident than you’d think,” Joe said, having a sip of wine, giving his hand a 5 second break from holding the sharpie before getting right back into the routine. Dangerous game this, having red wine on a brand-new rug.

“I probably wouldn’t have believed them, not deep down, but I would’ve definitely pretended they’d been right,” Joe continued.

“Sort of, blind confidence, you’d have been like, me? oh yeah,”

“Yea, me? famous in five years? yes, absolutely,”

You both laughed.

You had a nice rhythm going, working in a big triangle. You would slide a photo over to Joe from his left, Joe would sign it, and slide it away from him to your left, where they all gathered in a huge pile that you’d later organize into neat stacks to go back into the boxes. But there were so many photographs, you’d no idea how you were going to finish them all with tomorrow and the day after being busy days.

“You’re a fidgeter,” Joe suddenly said, and you immediately stilled your fingers and balled your hands into fists.

“I’m a fidgeter?” emphasis on the I, you reached for your wine and took a sip, giving Joe some accusatory eyes. You’d seen Joe fidget his way through his days – thumbs finding the underside of his rings, teeth biting into the skin of his lips, sweaty palms being rubbed over his knees, whatever there was left of his nails scratching into his scruff... you wondered if there was anything left of the confident Joe from five years ago he’d just described.

“I’m not saying that I’m not, I’m just saying that you clearly are too,”

You looked at your hand – at your ring, and kind of wished it would’ve just reminded you of your grandmother by now, but it didn’t. Of course, it didn’t. Would it ever?

“That’s a nice ring,” Joe observed, making polite conversation, but carefully, because your face would do this thing whenever you looked at it, or touched it, and Joe didn’t like how he’d lose you for a second.

“Thanks, it um... it used to belong to my grandmother,”

And that’s when Joe thought he understood.

“I’m so sorry,”

You looked up and saw two ridiculously empathetic eyes look at you, displaying far too much pure, raw emotion, especially because it was totally misplaced, too.

“Oh no, she’s alive still. Very alive. Probably making a poor kid behind a bar somewhere cry because he’s mixed her drink wrong,” you chuckled, but it died quick, got stuck in the back of your throat somewhere as it constricted. And Joe didn’t speak, which, honestly, if he’d really been this kind dude that he was portraying to be, he would’ve said something by now so you didn’t feel the need to fill the silence yourself.

But he didn’t. And now you were going to have to share personal information about yourself.

You waited a second longer, looked at Joe to see if maybe he was going to say something, but he’d stopped signing, even capped the sharpie, and just looked at you.

Fuck.

“No um, so, this used to belong to my grandmother, and then she gave it to my boyfriend to propose to me with it, and he did, but then, that... we didn’t work out, so, I’m not engaged anymore, but I can’t give the ring back to him, can I? It used to be my nan’s!”

You were rambling a little, not making eye contact as you reached for the bottle of wine to refill your glass. Surely Joe had left it out here because the expectation was that you were going to finish it, right?

“My nan’s, not his... so I turned it into a normal ring, started wearing it on another finger, and now I... I kind of wear it to prove to myself that it’s something that ties me and my nan closer together, and it's not, you know, the engagement ring my ex-boyfriend gave to me,”

You moved the bottle over to Joe’s glass, and he gave it a small nudge to get it closer to you for a top up.

“But it just, it obviously just reminds me of him all the time... I’ve convinced myself there’s going to be a moment where it won’t, and maybe that will actually be the case, at some point,” you were talking with your hands, waving the bottle around and it made Joe reach a fearful hand over. That was red wine, and you were on a new rug.

“Oh, sorry,”

You knew how expensive this rug was, too.

“Go on,” Joe said softly, as he silently slid your glass away from you a little too.

“No, um, yea...” You shook your head to get back on track. “It’s not been that long anyway, so who knows. I don’t want to give up on it yet, it’s just stupid that it was an engagement ring before it was anything else to me, you know?”

Joe nodded, asked, “How long has it been?”

“About a month and a half,”

“Since you broke up?”

“Um no, since I secretly bought myself my own flat.” You huffed out a laugh. You knew it wasn’t funny, but you also knew that you sounded like a clinically insane person.

Joe didn't look at you as if you were crazy, but he also didn't say anything.

“I knew,” you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. “I knew it wasn’t going to work out. I should’ve never said yes, I should’ve never – honestly, I should’ve never even moved out of London for him, but you know... things happen.”

You slid another photograph of Eddie over to Joe, and it prompted Joe to uncap this sharpie again, sign the one that was still in front of him before moving onto the next. Slower pace now though.

“I only ended the engagement last week,”

“You had your own flat for over a month and he didn’t know?”

“Yep. No clue.” you smiled a painful smile, then cleared your throat. “So, that’s why I’m single.”

Another photo for Joe. Another sip of wine for you.

“What about you?”

“Why am I single?” Joe’s eyes shot up at you, a little playful smile underneath.

“Why do you fidget, you idiot,”

Joe laughed.

“But sure, that too. What’s got you all fucked up inside?”

Joe then grinned, silently signed a few more photographs, then took a deep breath and closed his sharpie again before leaning down further, head now supported by his hand.

“At the risk of sounding like the biggest twat ever,”

“Okay wait,”

You moved, positioned yourself to lay on your stomach, feet up behind you, leaning heavily into your shoulders, ready to listen.

“I’m ready, go,”

Joe laughed silently, then nodded to himself, and said, “You know how fizzy drinks, sparkling drinks, how they go flat if you leave them out long enough?”

Fantastic. An actor using a metaphor.

“Yes,”

“That’s kind of... that’s kind of what tends to happen with me. I’ll really like something, or someone, and then... it loses the bubbles. And I don’t like coke without any bubbles in, you know? I’d rather not drink it, just, get something else instead.” Joe groaned as he heard himself say it. “I don’t mean, I don’t – you know, I don’t shove someone out and just get someone new in immediately, that’s not...” Joe didn't finish the sentence.

You looked at Joe for a second, then clicked your tongue.

“Easy fix, you’ve just got to stop going around and leaving bottles uncapped,”

And Joe laughed. Threw his head back and let the rest of his body follow, rolling onto his back, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. “What? Tell me I’m wrong!” you challenged him.

“Well, I can’t keep all the bottles closed the whole time either, can I? I’ve got to fill up some glasses,”

Joe was slowly losing you with this metaphor.

“Sure, so, fill up a glass, put the cap back on, and back in the fridge it goes!”

A more tentative silenced followed next. Joe flipped back onto his side and reached for his wine.

“Or maybe we could just have wine forever.”

Your conversation carried on, and you talked about all different kinds of things. Joe had you explain the full vision you had for the room you were in, had you dart around gesturing where the sofa would go, which light had to be hung where, what paint colours to use for each wall, which Joe had to get painters in for, because these ceiling are too high to do that safely yourself, buddy. And Joe said he loved it, but you didn’t believe him, because Joe didn’t seem like the guy who could visualize the way you could. He’d confessed being bad at that when it came to his outfits, how was he ever going to convince you that he could do it for his interior? But fine. You could accept a compliment, even if it didn’t mean anything. They were kind words anyway.

When you finished the bottle of wine, Joe asked what time you needed to wake up tomorrow, and it wasn’t until 10 that a stylist would come over with clothing for the premier, so you said 9AM and Joe promptly opened the second bottle before sitting back down and filled up both your glasses once more before getting back into signing.

There was a brief moment where Joe tried to teach you how to forge his signature so you could help, but it was very obvious which ones you’d done, so that plan was quickly given up on.

And when that second bottle was nearing its end as well, somehow, the conversation lulled back onto singledom, and you talked about how being single was actually really quite nice.

You had all this time to yourself, no one to answer to. The place would actually be quiet for once. No mess from other people to clean up after – fully ignoring your current temp job in the moment, you’d been cleaning up after Joe all evening – and no person to yell at you for making a mess.

But then it quickly took a turn, and you both became sarcastic.

“It’s great having dinner by yourself all the time,” Joe spoke into his glass.

“Waking up in empty beds is so fine,” you gulped your last sip down.

“Going out and being the only single one in your group of people is not weird at all,”

“13th wheeling is so fun, isn’t it?”

“Oh, the best,”

“It’s great reaching for a hand to hold in bed and finding that the only other hand in there is your own other hand,” you said, and Joe winced at that, laughed because that felt too real.

“And it’s easy to fight off any loneliness by just turning on the TV to pretend there’s people around and you’re not so fucking alone all of the time,”

And you gasped a sad breath, making Joe freeze just as he was about to take his last sip, and he pointed a finger.

“No, don’t,”

“Oh no... you have that TV blaring because...”

“Don’t,”

“Because you’re lonely?” Your eyebrows couldn’t possibly knit together any further. “Joe, that’s really sad,” you said, but you burst out laughing straight after.

“Yea, well,” Joe emptied his glass, let the last bit of red slide down his throat. “At least I don’t hold my own fucking hand in bed,”

You erupted into full belly laughter. Just, raw joy from the deepest pits within you. It all bubbled up and out, and you laughed until you couldn’t anymore because it started to hurt your stomach too much. You were tipsy, sure, but you hadn’t been able to laugh at yourself like this in ages. Felt great. Sort of cleansing, in a way.

You’d not even gotten through half a box of photographs.

Time for bed.

There was something nice about tidying up before bed, moving things into the kitchen, turning off all the lights and walking up the stairs together. You said goodnight as you walked into the guest room, and Joe made his way up another flight, but you’d only just taken your socks off when Joe called down for you.

“Um... I think we have a problem?”

Joe’s bed.

You ran up the stairs and found Joe, staring at his new bed. Flat-packed, still. There were dressers, nice armchairs, and bedside tables too. But all still in boxes. Wrapped in plastic. New mattresses nowhere to be found.

Shit.

You’d forgotten all about Joe’s bedroom, and the two of you just stared at it for a moment, trying to think of what to do.

“Take the guest room,” you suddenly said, opting a very sensible solution. “I’ll go... I don’t know, find a hotel to stay at for the night,” But then Joe was already scooping up his pillows that had been left in a pile on the side, and said, “Or, we could pillow-wall it?”  

After asking maybe fifteen times if you felt comfortable, if you were okay with this, if you really were fine, which, “Yes, Joe, shut up, this bed is massive, I won’t even feel it if you turn,” you were in bed together with Joe’s pillows strategically placed in between you underneath the covers. Like you were children who both thought the other was gross and touching each other in your sleep would be the death of you. It was fine. Cute even, but you kind of wished they weren’t there. They had to be. Obviously. You were his PA. Ew, gross. Were you getting paid to sleep in the same bed? Technically you were, weren’t you? Disgusting - that was a thought to push down immediately and to forget about forever.

You were right about the bed, though. It really was wide enough for you to move around freely and not have it be weird. But, you know, it was still a little weird. And you were both a little awkward about it, so you found solace in humour as you got comfortable in the dark.

“If someone had told you a five years ago,” Joe started, and already had you giggling. “That you’d be sleeping in the same bed with me, would you have believed them?” Joe asked, and you could hear how he tried to hold back his own giggles.

You were two ten-year-olds at a slumber party, that's exactly what this felt like.

“You were nobody five years ago,” you laughed. “I would’ve gone, who?”

“Who the fuck’s Joe Quinn?” Joe said in a high-pitched voice.

“I’d also probably say, that won’t ever happen, I would never let my boss talk me into bed with him,”

“Oi, fuck off,” Joe laughed. “I’m only here because you fucked up,”

Oof, shots fired over the pillow wall.

“I’m sorry there’s no TV in here for you to deafen your own sad thoughts with,” you fired right back.

“Good night,” Joe spoke sternly, and then you both laughed until silence took over.

“Good night,” you then said back in a softer tone of voice and turned over onto your side. Joe yawned, said good night in a nice way too, indicating that it really was time to sleep now. No more chatting, no more joking. Just silence, and sleep.

You didn’t know how much later it was when you suddenly snapped out of thought – one of those moments where you were like, oh I’m still awake? I could’ve sworn my thoughts were dreams – by something touching your wrist.

“Stop fidgeting,” you heard Joe whisper drowsily, his voice muffled by duvets and pillows. He’d snuck an arm over to your side and let his fingers wrap around your wrist. Almost in a reflex, you twisted in his grip and took hold of his wrist too.

You laid like that for a little while, until you had the thought that, if you were to fall asleep, your grip would loosen and you’d lose each other. You didn’t know why that pained your chest the way it did, but it was enough for you to move your hand down, fit it into his, and Joe followed your lead as your fingers laced together. You inhaled a sharp breath, and you felt Joe squeeze tightly. You could cry at how comforting this was.

“Don’t let go of it,” you whispered into the dark.

“I won’t.”

And without trying to overthink about how you’d gotten here, which steps you’d taken throughout the past three days that lead up to this moment, you fell into a deep sleep, sunk all the way into the plush softness of the bed, holding hands with Joe, with only fifty-six hours on the clock still.

—

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks

@figmentofquinn  @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie  @munsonmunster  @kellysimagines  @mybffjoe  @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost  @sherrylyn628  @bdpst-massacre  @05secondsofsexgods  @lovelyblueness  @adoreyouusugar  @nadixq  @prozacandnicotine  @munsonswhore86  @alwayslindie

@thefemininemystiquee  @hauntingbastille  @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland  @pepperstories  @phyllosilicate-s  @thebellenouvelle  @luvrsbian  @joesquinns  @choke-me-joey  @alizztor  @thelostmoonofpooosh  @did-it-work  @capricornrisingsstuff  @quinnsbower  @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[ereardon]

Part Two: The Wedding Day

Summary: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw has been your best friend for a decade. He’s also your fiancé’s best man. So when he shows up at your hotel room the night before your wedding, it’s just because he’s your friend, right? 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

Warnings: Angst, pining, weddings, cursing, smut, cheating 

WC: 5.2K

See part one here; series masterlist here

“Hold on, the back of your shoe is sliding off.” 

Anna crouched down in her pale pink silk dress and grabbed your ankle, pulling up the strap on your heels. 

“Is that better?” 

You nodded and she caught your gaze in the mirror, smiling. She straightened up and grabbed your arms with her tiny, cold hands. 

“You look beautiful.” 

You stared into the mirror. You saw what everyone else saw: a bride in a white dress. But you didn’t see what you should have seen.

A bride who couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle to the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. 

He was at the end of the aisle. They both were. 

That wasn’t the problem. 

You picked up your perfume and spritzed it on your exposed collarbones and wrists. Anna smiled. 

“That’s his favorite, isn’t it?” she asked, adjusting the one-shoulder tie of her silk gown. 

You looked down at the pink Chanel bottle in your hands. “Yeah, it is.” 

You remembered the first day you wore it. It was the day that you went to visit Jeremy and Bradley at Lemoore. They had been stationed there for four months after Pensacola. You were teeming with nervous energy as you got off the plane, tote bag hiked high on your shoulder, practically spilling out with housewarming gifts for the guys. At this point, Jeremy and Bradley had lived together for four years at the academy, and four years after in Florida. They were practically brothers. For all intents and purposes, you were their third wheel. 

You stepped off the plane and were already sweating. In the airport bathroom you fixed your hair and makeup, adjusted the sundress you were wearing that you knew Jeremy loved, and touched up your lipstick before pulling out your phone and calling him. 

“Hi baby, I’m here!” 

“Honey, I’m so sorry.” Jeremy’s deep voice rang through the phone and you felt your heart plummet. “I got called in for a watch. I’ll be home late. But I’m sending Bradshaw, he should already be there.” 

“Oh, OK,” you said, clearly dejected. 

“I love you and I’ll see you when I get home, OK? Keep the bed warm for me baby.” 

“I will.” 

You hung up the phone with a frown and exited the bathroom. You were looking down, peering inside of your ridiculously oversized tote that Jeremy always mocked you for because it seemed to swallow and lose every single one of your possessions, when you heard a familiar voice. “Y/N!” 

You looked up with a grin. Bradley was wearing his flight suit and a pair of aviator glasses, which he whipped off when he spotted you, not even hesitating before breaking out in a jog, pulling you seamlessly into his arms, one hand spread across your back. 

You breathed him in. Bradley. Just as Jeremy had become an integral part of your life, so had Bradley. He was there for all the important things: your graduation from Georgetown, when you bought your first car, he helped Jeremy build all of the shitty IKEA furniture in your crappy apartment, he was there when you got your GMAT scores back. Bradley had always been there. 

Even when Jeremy wasn’t. 

He pulled back, hands still resting on your waist, brown eyes drinking you in. “You look great, honey.” 

Your fingers gripped his forearms softly. “You too, Bradshaw.” 

He paused. There was so much that never needed to be said between you and Bradley. One look and you just knew. He understood you. “Let’s get your bag, OK?” 

You nodded, hiking your purse higher onto your shoulder and Bradley leaned over, guiding it off your arm seamlessly, holding it in his hand. With his other hand, he pressed against your lower back, propelling you forward toward baggage claim. 

In the Bronco, Bradley turned up the A/C. It was hot. Too fucking hot. You slipped out of your sandals and lifted your bare feet onto the dash, feeling the familiar warmth of the truck’s seats hugging your back. You looked at him with a smile, sliding on your sunglasses. 

“Missed you,” you said softly as Bradley took a right turn out of the airport terminal. 

He reached over, squeezing your hand. “Missed you more, Ace.” 

You turned back to the road, humming softly. 

Back at the apartment, you sighed. It was in clear need of a woman’s touch. There was a rough looking leather couch, a small four-person dining room table, a dirty lamp in one corner. Jeremy and Bradley were many things, but they were not homemakers. The two of them combined had about as much taste as a contestant who got cut in the first round of Queer Eye auditions. 

“I’ll put your stuff in Jer’s room,” Bradley said, carrying your luggage and purse into the room at the end of the hall. 

You scoped out the kitchen, already making a mental list of all the things you would need to buy for them. Maybe Bradley would let you borrow the Bronco, even though you knew he hated letting people drive it. 

Opening a cabinet next to the fridge you frowned. There was a small pepper grinder, a salt shaker and then up on a high shelf a bag that you could just barely make out. You stretched, letting out a small grunt as you reached for it, before a tall shadow enveloped you and you felt Bradley behind you, tanned muscular arm reaching up seamlessly and pulling the bag down. He set it on the counter. “It’s coffee.” 

You turned around, back against the counter, and smirked. “I can see that now.” 

Bradley kept one arm on the counter behind you, so you were trapped. “You smell great, Ace. What is that?” 

You grinned. “Coco Mademoiselle.” 

Bradley squinted. 

“Chanel perfume, Bradley,” you clarified and he nodded. You looked up at him. He was still close, so close you could smell him. Fresh, like grass after a rainstorm. “Brad?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Should we grab some dinner?” 

He took a step back. “Anything you want, Ace.” 

Later that night, you fell asleep on the couch waiting for Jeremy to come home. Bradley looked down. You were snoring softly, your head resting in his lap. He brushed hair out of your face and eased off of the couch gently, gathering you into his arms and carrying you down the hall to Jeremy’s room. He set you down on the bed softly, pulling the covers over your body. As he turned to leave, your fingers shot out, grabbing his wrist. “I love you, Brad,” you murmured. 

He leaned down, brushing a kiss over your forehead. “I love you, too.” 

Bradley laid down in his own room, fan blasting over his sweaty skin, waiting. Finally, he heard Jeremy unlocking the front door, heavy footsteps down the hall. He heard your giggle as Jeremy presumably woke you up, the not-so-muffled sounds of your excited reunion. 

He rolled over and pressed earplugs into his ears to drown out the sounds of your high pitched moans as Jeremy’s cock plunged into you over and over until you were practically wailing, your fingers gripping his muscular arms, your sweaty bare breasts slapping against his chiseled chest as you rode him so hard the bed knocked into the adjoining wall with Bradley’s. 

He groaned and buried his head under a pillow. 

And in the morning, he had to take a deep breath as he watched you make coffee in nothing more than a pair of lace panties and a ribbed tank top you had obviously stolen from Jeremy’s drawers, nipples prominently on display beneath the thin white fabric. You turned to him with a grin. “Hot as shit out, isn’t it?” you asked. 

Bradley nodded before turning around, exiting the kitchen empty handed. “Yeah, too hot.” 

Anna handed you the floral bouquet. The white satin ribbon was tight beneath your fingers as you fidgeted with it.

“Y/N?” Her voice rang out in the empty suite. You looked up. 

“Yeah?” 

“The photographer is waiting downstairs for the bridal portraits. Are you ready?” 

You smoothed your hands along the silky fabric of your dress. You remembered the day you bought it. 

Anna was supposed to come out and meet you in San Francisco but her grandmother had a stroke and the salon had only one available appointment. Moving the appointment date by even a week would be cutting it too close to get the tailoring done before the wedding. 

You were disappointed, but it happened. You knew what you wanted. Something simple. Silk or satin, no lace. No frills. Anna would just try to convince you to try on something insane anyway, like a fully beaded corset dress. Something outside of your comfort zone. 

You drove the four hours to the city from Lemoore and dropped your bags at the hotel. It was a long trip, and Jeremy had booked you a room knowing you wouldn’t want to make the drive there and back in the same day. 

At the salon, the woman at the front smiled and asked for your name. You gave it to her and she looked at the screen. “And is your maid of honor Anna still coming?” 

You shook your head, trying to hide your emotions. “No, um, it’s just me.” 

“Well then,” she said, “let’s get you back in the dressing area.” 

You nodded, following her along the plush white carpeted hallway. 

The bridal associate helped you pick out a few dresses. She measured your waist and hips and chest, and left the changing room after laying out a silk ballgown on the floor, creating a well in the middle for you to step into so she could clip you in. You tugged the curtain aside once you were in, and she re-entered, yanking up the dress and clipping you in. 

The associate held open the curtain and you stepped up gingerly onto the platform in front of the tri-paneled mirror. 

“You look beautiful.” 

Your eyes caught Bradley’s through the mirror. He stood a few feet back from the podium, hands at his sides, a genuine smile spread across his face. 

You whipped around, tossing yourself into his arms before leaning back and pounding on his muscular bicep with one hand. 

“Brad! What on Earth are you doing here!” 

“Your mom told me that Anna bailed,” he said softly. “And I knew you wouldn’t want to do this alone.” 

The associate raised her eyebrows. “It’s frowned upon for the groom to see the bride in her dress,” she said. “Let alone help pick the dress.” 

“Oh he’s not my fiancé,” you said, eyes still locked on Bradley’s. “He’s my best friend.” 

Bradley smiled. “Let’s find you a dress, princess.” 

“I’m going to check on the musicians, OK?” Anna stood at the door, one hand on the handle. “Will you be alright while I’m gone?” 

You gave her a weak smile. “It’s my wedding day. Of course I’ll be fine.” 

She grinned, slipping out of the door of the suite. 

You walked over to the wet bar and pulled a rocks glass from the cabinet, grabbing a bottle of Grey Goose and dumping it in with a splash. You lifted it to your lips. 

It burned going down. 

You were eight drinks deep and feeling it. You were still young, only twenty three, and open bar weddings were a novelty. A delightful novelty. 

You returned to the table and practically collapsed on the chair, the green satin bow adorning the back sliding to the ground. Bradley grinned at you from the next chair over, elbow leaning on the table. 

“You’re wasted,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

“Am not!” you cried and he laughed as you sent a glass flying onto its side, dribbling water all down the white tablecloth. 

“Fuck, Ace,” he said, “be careful.”

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, righting the glass which thankfully was not broken and taking a sip of water. You closed your eyes briefly. “OK fine, I’m drunk.” 

He nodded, standing up and tossing his suit jacket over one arm. “Come on, I’m taking you home.” 

You pouted and Bradley almost caved. You could get him to do practically anything with that look. But the one thing you couldn’t get him to do was ignore your safety. 

“Nope, not gonna work tonight, Y/N,” he said quietly. “Come on, I got you.”

He hauled you to your feet, your four inch stilettos doing nothing for your ability to look less than inebriated. The two of you pulled an Irish goodbye, not even stopping to talk to the bride and groom, friends of yours and Jeremy’s that you two had met once he and Bradley were stationed in Pensacola right after graduating from the academy. 

Jeremy was meant to be your date, but he got called up for a mission at the last second and called in Bradley as his reinforcement. Bradley drove the two of you in his Bronco to New Orleans for the wedding. 

You stumbled entering your hotel in the CBD. You had wanted to stay in the Quarter, but Jeremy had insisted the central business district had better, cleaner hotels. 

You plopped down on the king bed, pawing at the ankle straps of your heels, grunting when your fingers couldn’t quite grip them right. 

“Hey, hey, hold on a second.” 

Bradley locked the door behind him, crossing the room and coming to kneel in front of where you sat on the bed, his thick fingers easily working the clasps of your black heels, sliding them off of your feet. You looked down at him. “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

Bradley stayed kneeling between your legs. Unconsciously, you spread your thighs wider. His eyes turned to saucers and he started to stand but you reached out, pressing your hands to the tops of his shoulders. “Bradley?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?” 

A groan bubbled out of his throat. Bradley raised his hands to your bare legs, fingers slipping over your calves, up to behind your knees. Desire was practically burning him alive. “I’d say what about Jeremy.” 

Things with you and Jeremy were good, for the most part. But he was gone a lot. And you were young. Sometimes you wanted more than someone who was good on paper. Sometimes you wanted someone who was there. Someone who looked at you the way Bradley did when he thought you didn’t notice. 

“Y/N,” he whispered. “What are you doing?” 

“Testing a hypothesis,” you said, leaning down and pressing your lips against his. In an instant, Bradley’s hands were on your cheeks, cupping your neck, running down your sides, coming to grip your waist. 

“Fuck,” he grunted against your skin as you kissed him back, sliding further to the edge of the bed, wrapping your legs around his shoulders. 

His hands pushed up the black fabric of your dress around your hips, revealing the thin strip of lace between your legs. He practically salivated looking at it. You opened your legs wider and Bradley lunged forward, tearing it off with one hand, tossing the ripped lace over his shoulder onto the ground. He leaned in, licking up against your already wet folds, pulling a moan from your throat. One large hand pressed down on your hips, the other came to your core, nudging you apart, scissoring your entrance. And then Bradley plunged one thick finger inside of you, causing you to scream out in surprise and ecstasy as he immediately nudged against your g-spot with his thick, calloused fingertip, his tongue flicking perfectly against your clit, forcing you to clench down on him within seconds. 

“Fuck yes,” he muttered against your clit, tongue circling your swollen bud, adding another finger to your drenched cunt, fucking into you hard as you tried to lift your hips off the bed, desperate for more of him. 

“Yes, yes!” you moaned, your walls closing in on his fingers. “Gonna come, oh God!” 

And then you were coming around his fingers, Bradley’s face buried deep against your clit, his fingers thrusting up inside of you until you were screaming at the overstimulation. 

You wasted no time pulling him to you, fingers bunched on the fabric of his white button down shirt, desperate for the weight of his muscular body on top of yours. You slid out of the rest of your dress, fingers flying to Bradley’s belt. 

“Slow down, Ace,” he said, covering your hand with his, your fingers struggling with the zipper fly. 

“No,” you murmured against his neck, kissing him until he was purring in your ear. You slid your fingers under the waistband of his suit pants, pulling them down just enough to expose his boxers. You yanked those down, freeing his hard cock. Immediately, you wrapped your fingers around his length, moaning at how hard and thick he was. 

“Shit, baby, God that feels so good,” Bradley moaned into your neck as you pumped his length.

You opened your legs wide, feeling his hot, weeping tip sweep over your swollen and wet cunt. “Fuck me, now, Roo,” you whimpered and Bradley couldn’t control himself. With a single thrust he was pushing himself all of the way inside of you, your fingers coming out to clutch at his back, a scream rippling through your throat as you practically ripped in half to accommodate his size. “Oh my GOD,” you wept, legs shaking. “You’re huge.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured against your neck, stilling inside of you. Normally, Bradley was tender with girls. He knew he was large, he tried to make it as comfortable as he could. But with you, he was desperate. He was on fire. He was possessed. “Shit, baby, are you OK?” 

You nodded, a tear leaking down your cheek. “Yes, Roo, just fuck me, please?” 

That sent all of the blood back to his cock and he leaned onto his forearms, slamming his hips into yours, forcing a string of moans out of your mouth. You bit down on his shoulder through his shirt, leaving lipstick marks on the white fabric, as Bradley moaned in your ear. He was practically whimpering as you leaned down and grabbed behind your knees, pulling your own legs back, letting him angle even deeper inside of you. “Shit,” he hissed in your ear, “you like it rough don’t you? Want me to fuck you until you can’t walk.” 

“Yes!” you sobbed, feeling him brush so far inside of you that your eyes rolled back into your head. Your orgasm was a volcano moments before eruption. “Fuck, fuck, I’m going to come again.” 

“Come for me, princess,” he muttered against your chest, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking. He popped off with a loud suction. “Let me feel you coming on my cock. Been thinkin’ about this for so long, Jesus you feel so good.” 

“Fuck, Bradley!” And then you were crashing around him, your walls squeezing so tight Bradley could barely thrust his cock back inside of you. He watched your face, your eyes squeezed shut tightly, perfect mouth rounded in an “o” as you cried out his name. That sent him over the edge and he sat up, grabbing your hips with his large hands, lifting your ass slightly off the bed, fucking into you like a mad man, feeling your cum dripping around his cock as he pressed forward, collapsing against your chest with a cry, painting inside of you, making you his. 

The two of you laid there, sweaty, still attached. For a moment, neither of you said anything. 

And then your phone started to ring where it sat on the pillow. You looked at Bradley in horror. He pulled out of you quickly and you rolled over, grabbing for the phone, answering it and standing up. 

“Hello?” 

There was a muffled sound on the other end. Bradley watched as you walked to the closet, pulling a bathrobe off of the hanger and sliding it on. When you turned to him, he noted the way your mascara and eyeliner were smudged and running down your cheek from where your tears had slid. You looked on the verge of tears again. 

“Yeah, he’s here,” you whispered into the phone, looking directly at Bradley. “We had a good time at the wedding. I’ll call you tomorrow when we’re on the road?” 

Bradley slid on a pair of boxers and stood on the opposite side of the bed. He dragged a hand down his face in anguish. 

Your gaze was still locked on him. “I love you, too,” you said softly into the receiver. 

You hung up. Bradley opened his mouth. 

You cut him off. “This never happened.” And then you went into the en suite bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the floor and cried. 

“Everyone is downstairs, honey. Are you ready?”

You looked up at your dad. He felt tall. You felt like you were five years old again, playing dress up. It didn’t feel like your wedding day. None of it felt real. 

Where had all of the years gone? How had you gone from a little girl to a woman in the blink of an eye? It felt almost comical that they were letting you get married. You were thirty one, but you felt like a child wearing your mom’s shoes in her walk-in closet. 

Your father stood by the door in his black tux. Anna was next to him, carrying both her bouquet and yours. The wedding planner had her clipboard out, foot tapping nervously on the plush carpet of the suite. 

You nodded. 

“Let’s go.” 

“Get out!” 

“Baby.”

“Leave!” You practically threw yourself at the door closing it behind you. Jeremy stood on the other side of the bedroom door, his bedroom door. You slid to the ground, tears streaming down your face. After a moment, you heard Jeremy’s exasperated sigh. There was a minute or so of chatter as he obviously conveyed his frustrations to Bradley in the living room before the distinct slam of the front door rang out through the rental house. 

You crawled away from the door, unlocking it and peering out into the hallway. Bradley stood at the end of it, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Is he gone?” you asked, pulling yourself to standing, arm shaky as you braced yourself against the doorway. 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Good.” You walked out into the living room and made your way into the kitchen, grabbing for a wine glass and the bottle of white that sat out on the counter, splashing some into the glass and downing it in a single gulp. Bradley followed you wordlessly into the kitchen. 

“You gonna tell me what happened, Ace?” 

“What did he tell you?” you asked, turning toward him. He looked good, wearing a tight black shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and a pair of athletic shorts that ended higher on the thighs than you’d expect. 

Bradley shook his head. “Not going to play games with you tonight, Y/N. He’s my best friend and you’re his girlfriend.”

“I thought I was your best friend, too,” you whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. “Or did that stop when we slept together?” 

Bradley paled. It had been almost two years since that night in New Orleans, but he still thought about it every time he reached down and tugged on his cock, bringing himself to orgasm thinking of the way your face had contorted as he slid inside of you. It was torture listening to you make love with Jeremy in the room next to his when he knew exactly what sounds could be dripping out of your mouth, if it was his bed you were in. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

The two of you had never talked about New Orleans again. It was an agreement. Practically law. The two of you could only exist if you refused to ever bring it up again. 

Bradley crossed his arms over his chest. 

“He’s going to the bar,” he said after a moment. “Not sure how long he’ll be gone. That’s all he told me.” 

You poured yourself another glass of wine and brushed past Bradley into the living room, settling down on the couch. “He doesn’t listen to me,” you muttered. “He loves to hear himself. He thinks he’s God sometimes and I swear, I don’t know whether or not he even realizes I’m there half the time.” 

Bradley took a seat on the ottoman in front of the couch, leaning his elbows against his legs, thighs spread wide. “He loves you, Ace.” 

You raised your eyes to his, filled with tears. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Bradley. Two people can love each other but not be right for each other.” 

He looked at you with a grimace. “I know that.” 

Of course he did. He loved you. He had always loved you. But he had also convinced himself he wasn’t right for you.  

What if he was wrong? 

“What am I doing?” you whispered. 

You had moved to Pensacola a year ago, after your MBA program at Georgetown ended. You had given up your dreams to follow Bradley and Jeremy as they moved from base to base. They had just gotten the call that their next assignment was Lemoore. You had accepted a six-month placement with a firm in Atlanta that would overlap with their first few months in California. You were still young, only twenty five, but you wanted clarity. You wanted a promise that Jeremy wasn’t willing to give you. 

That was the fight. You wanted the promise of a ring when you joined him in Lemoore. He hadn’t been sure. After four years, he still wasn’t sure. 

“You’re doing your best, Ace,” Bradley said quietly. “It’s all any of us can do.” 

“He doesn’t want to marry me,” you cried. “He said he’s not ready. That he’s not sure.” You raised your eyes to his. “Why isn’t he sure?” 

“Honey.” 

You shook your head. “He should be sure, right? That’s a red flag, right? If he loved me, he’d want to marry me.” 

“Y/N, it’s not that simple,” Bradley said, leaning forward and taking your hands into his. You tipped your head to the side, sniffling. Bradley reached one hand up and cupped your chin, tilting it up, forcing you to look at him. “Jer loves you. But he’s just scared. You’re not like him. You’re a planner. You know what you want and you go after it immediately. Jeremy? He needs more time on things. Remember how long it took him to pick out his truck?” 

You laughed. The three of you had spent five weekends in a row at the car dealership until finally you tossed your hands in the air in exasperation. Get the damn car, Jer! you had shouted. In the end, he walked away with the exact one the three of you had decided was best before you even stepped foot on the lot. 

Bradley was right. Jeremy needed time. He wasn’t a risk taker. He wasn’t quick to make decisions. But he was practical and he was strong and he held you together when you felt like falling apart. 

He was all of the things that Bradley wasn’t. 

And Bradley was all of the things Jeremy lacked. 

You needed them. Both of them. 

You could hear the musicians playing. The doors to the ballroom were closed. You had opted not to have Anna and Bradley walk down the aisle as bridesmaid and groomsman. They were already at the altar, waiting. 

With Jeremy. 

Your father looked down at you with a smile. “Are you ready princess?” 

You gripped your bouquet in one hand, your father’s arm supporting you on the other side. 

You looked up at him with a nod and the wedding planner tossed open the doors. Everyone rose to their feet but you couldn’t focus on anyone except the two guys at the front of the room. 

Bradley and Jeremy stood so close they were almost touching. You took in Jeremy’s dark hair, slicked back in a perfect coif, bright white smile, hazel eyes sweeping over you. 

Behind him was Bradley. You could feel the weight of his stare from the end of the aisle. 

You tightened your grip on your father’s arm. It was like you were floating toward them. 

Both of them. 

Your mouth was open in shock. “What did you just say?” 

“Does he make you as happy as I would make you?” 

You felt the tears start to stream down your face. “Bradley, don’t do this,” you begged. “Not now, not tonight.” 

“If not tonight then when, Y/N?” he demanded, fingers gripping your arms tighter. “I love you and I have always loved you and I promise if you say yes I’ll spend the rest of my life doing anything I can to give you everything you could ever want.” 

“It’s too late!” you sobbed. “I’m getting married tomorrow, Bradley. What about that do you not understand?” 

He backed away. You practically sagged against the wall separating the living room from the bedroom of the suite. His brown eyes were hard, relentless. They never left yours. “You didn’t answer my question, Y/N.” 

You opened your mouth to reply.

“Do you, Y/N, take Jeremy to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, to have and to hold, for better or for worse?” 

You raised your eyes, flooded with tears, over Jeremy’s shoulder. They locked onto Bradley’s chocolatey warm ones. 

He felt his heart speed up in his chest. There was a buzzing, all around him, drowning out all the noise. It was just your eyes on his. Your hands in Jeremy’s. 

He waited. 

He thought back to the way you had smiled at him in that dirty college bar that humid June night. 

He thought about the way you had looked at him in the bridal suite less than twenty-four hours before. 

He thought about the way you smelled as he picked you up at the airport the first time you visited Lemoore. 

He thought about how you had felt under his fingertips in that New Orleans hotel room.

Bradley thought about all of the times he should have told you, but didn’t. He thought about all of the I love yous he had missed out on. The goodnight kisses. The desperate, intimate moans that could have been for him. He thought about how much his mother had loved you. How your laugh sounded like a symphony and the fact that he would fall asleep with a smile on his face if you were just in the house with him, even if it meant you were asleep in Jeremy’s arms. Bradley looked into your eyes and thought about all of the times that you had smiled for him and him alone. He felt his heart catch in his throat. 

A single tear slipped down your cheek. 

“I do,” you whispered. 

The buzzing stopped. Everything was suddenly, overwhelmingly, irrevocably silent. 

Please remember to turn on notifications on my library page @ereardonlibrary as I will likely be moving to that system instead of a tag list like below. Thanks!!

Tag list: @double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @brehonodea @babyminghao @crthurston @angelbabyangee @secretsicanthideanymorey

@taytaylala12 @mizzzpinkink @wkndwlff @mygyn @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @rosewritesitout @atarmychick007 @khaylin27

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[sugarsfics]

Messing Around In IKEA

Summary: Your pregnant with your second child, with your husband Steve. You have recently moved into a new house. Time to get furniture at the best store there is IKEA. 

Trope: Dad!Steve x Mom!reader 

A/N: I have never been in an IKEA store before :/ so bare with me. Also sorry I thought this posted yesterday and it didn't

Warning: BIG FLUFF, kissing 

Word count: 1.0k 

30 Day Challenge: Day 4 Send Request <3

The Harrington Clan pulled into the big blue store IKEA. “blue” your son Grayson said “Yes baby it is blue good job” your husband said. Grayson squealed at the praise his dad gave him. Steve pulled into a parking spot, turn off the car then quickly got his carbon copy, Grayson out, “no I want to go with mommy” Even though he was Steve’s twin he is the biggest mommy boy there is, that scared you and Steve a little bit because you weren’t sure how he was going to reattract when the baby comes. After he put Grayson into the cart, he helped you out of the car “My wife” he said taking your hand to help you out “My husband” you said back giving him a kiss, even after years of being with each other your kisses still make him blush. “hi mommy” Grayson chirped “Hi my baby” you said kisses his forehand “My boys ready” you asked “Yes” Grayson eyes went huge coming closer to the store “big” he mumbled. The store was huge, long, tall aisles, many displays, many colors. This was going to be hard.  

“Ok where should we start first” Steve asks “Ummm......let’s look for the living room” You had in mind what you wanted a nice big couch to fit all your friends and family, you and Steve want a big family and the house you just brought was going to be your family house. It was a beautiful house it was a light gray with white windows and a lovely porch, 2 story house with 5 bedrooms, a nice big backyard with a pool. It was on the outside of Hawkins, Steve wanted a fresh start and a clean slate to his name, but always wanted to be near his friends just in case they need anything. The gang love coming over at your old place, the harrington house was always so cozy and welcoming, and Grayson loved his aunts and Uncles, especially Uncle Will.  

You had some furniture from your old place but the living room is ten times bigger so you need a new couch to match with your old lounge chairs. Grayson was getting fussy in the cart “down Grayson wants down” he started talking in third person a month ago “Ok hang on "Steve told him as he stopped the cart and brought him down “Hold mommy’s hand ok” he nodded and grabbed your hand “mommy hand” you kept walking till you were met with couches “wow that is a lot” you said row and rows of couches were in front of you, so many colors, shapes, and size. “This is going to be harder than I thought” after spending a good 20 minutes looking at couches “Ok this is not working” Steve said “We need a new strategy” he continued. He grabbed Grayson and walked up to a couch and plopped down on it “STEVE” you pointed at the sign Please no seating on the displays “It says no sitting we are laying down” “Steve” “We need to find out of comfortable the couches are because it will be in our house forever and I don’t want an uncomfortable couch so” he patted the spot next to him “Come sit let's find our couch” 

Every couch you sat on Steve and Grayson made a pros and cons list “This one is very big, but it feels like carboard” “This one is cool but as sharp corners, and we don’t need them hurting you or the baby” “blue” Grayson said for every blue couch he sat on. At about the hour mark of sitting on couches there was a light gray big couch that got your eye “Let’s try this one” Steve helped you off the yellow couch you were sitting on the you waddle on to the light gray one. “Oh, this one is nice” he said “Just imagine movies nights on this” “I am going to 100% fall asleep on this” “It goes with our chair too” “I think we found it” he said smiling at you. Grayson wasn’t making a sound which scared both of you so you quickly looked over at him “Just like his daddy” you whispered he had fallen asleep mouth open on the couch “I think he likes this one” Steve giggled “He looks so comfortable makes me want to take a nap” you leaned your head on Steve admiring you son as he rubbed your belly “I can’t wait to have our house be filled with little Harringtons” he whispered into your ear while kissing your temple “Me too” you sigh  

You don’t remember how it happened, but you were suddenly woken up by a worker “Excuse me um... You're not supposed to be sleeping let alone on the displays” “I'm so sorry it was just such a nice couch and-” “Don’t worry about it this happens all the time would you like to purchase the couch” “Yes please let me wake up my husband” you shook Steve which startled him “What happened” you nodded toward the work “Time to buy the couch” “Oh ok” They wrote down our information and were going to deliver the couch to the house. After paying Steve scooped up Grayson and brought him to the car, he buckled him in then kissed his forehead. He walked over to your side seeing you struggling to get in “I told you, you can’t be getting up and down on things without help” “But you were busy with Grayson and I didn’t want to be a burden” “Babe you are my wife the mother of my kids literally carrying my second child into you there is no way that you are a burden you are my everything” he said sweetly kissing your lips then bring you into the car “Now let's go home I am beat from couch finding” You walked into the house and remember “Babe we didn’t find a dinning set or anything else we needed” 

Tag list: @thefreak0fhawkinshigh let me know if you want to be added

[avocado-writing]

I Know That I Should Let Go, But I Can’t (Pt 3)

pt1, pt2.

GN!Reader x Tangerine  

CW: Mentions of animal abuse.

tags:   @honestlywtfisgoingon​ @white-wolf-buckaroo @felhomaly​ @venusthepirate @lunarpansexual @wanderedaway​​ @georgiee-riviere @mushywutty​​ @apieceoffabulousshit @4ng3l-0n-34rth @minjaz @starl1g4t @earth-elemental18 @luhvbot​ @underratedboogeyman @july-is-summer @vocalvixen20cp @northerngalxy​ @tangerinesgf @chaoticroaddreamerpasta​ @rxcently​ @skrrten​ @nightmarefeast​ @lost-lila​ @hardcore-flower​  @kalli0pes​ @insanitia​  @tvngerinescoat​ @assmaster37​ @soojinroze​ @oldyellowbricks2​  

Tangerine first sees the inside of your flat with a bullet in his shoulder and blood dripping down his chest. This is, honestly, about how he expected it to go. Par for the course with your relationship so far.

Your penchant for popping up during his jobs hasn’t died down. Though, for the first time, he’s truly thankful for it - if you hadn't arrived in the nick of time to cover him from the gunfire, the bullet might have ended up in a far more dire place.

He’s half slung over you, his good arm wrapped around your shoulder while you awkwardly unlock your front door. Clearly neither of you are ecstatic he’s ending up here, but he's injured and it will have to do.

“Come on, let’s plonk you on the couch,” you say, kicking the door closed behind you and manoeuvring him over to the loveseat. It’s quite old and worn and you’ve thrown some IKEA blankets over to try and hide how knackered it is. Tangerine tries to ignore the fact he’s about to add to the shabby-chic nature by bleeding all over it.

“Fucking hell, easy. I’ve been shot,” he snaps, as you indelicately deposit him onto the seat.

“You sound fine to me,” you reply as you head over to your kitchenette to grab a first aid kit from one of the cabinets. When you return, you nod to the hole in his shoulder. “I need to see it.”

For a moment, he falters.

“You want me to…”

“Take your shirt off,” you finish, then look at him from the corner of your eye, “or shall I take you out to dinner first? You not that kind of boy, Tan?”

Tangerine obliges quickly. He can’t have you think you’re flustering him. But, when you gently take his shoulder in your hand so you can check if the bullet has gone all the way through, he finds himself swallowing hard.

“Right, it’s still in there I’m afraid. I’ll dig it out and patch it for you.”

“You know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve de-bulleted myself before.”

Yeah. Both him and Lemon have been there before. Half the people in the business have, probably.

You seem to know your stuff, cleaning the wound carefully before you start to lay out a professional-looking set of tools which would be more at home in an operating theatre than in an east London flat.

“What are those, surgical tweezers?” Tangerine asks, surprised. You don’t look him in the eye as you go to start extracting the bullet.

“They’re actually a matterlad.”

Tangerine furrows his brow.

“What’s a matterlad?”

“Nothing lad, what’s a matter with you?” you ask, deadpan, and he’s so immediately furious to have fallen for such an obvious trick he barely feels you reaching into his shoulder to pull the shrapnel out.

“You really boil my piss sometimes.”

“I certainly do my best,” you reply, leaving the bloody scrap of metal on top of a coaster on your coffee table. Once more you disinfect the wound, then carefully start the process of stitching him up. Tangerine winces a bit as the needle bites his skin but says nothing.

Across your flat, a door is bumped open. Tangerine goes for his gun, expecting a pursuer to have followed him here…

… then he sees the cat plodding its way into your living room. It’s white, and fluffy, and only has three legs. It regards him with utter contempt before heading over to its empty food bowl and starts shrieking at you.

“Yes, I know,” you call. It meows again.

“Of course you have a fucking cat.”

“Don’t you bring my cat into this, she’s not done anything to you. If you hate me, you hate me.”

Tangerine is about to bite back about cats being one of the most entitled creatures on God’s green earth, but your words give him pause.

“I don’t hate you.”

You open your mouth to say something back, but just close it instead. You settle on bandaging the wound in silence. Tangerine takes the time to look around your home. There’s prints crowded together on the wall, probably by some poncy artist who he’s never heard of. A couple of vintage movie posters are blu-tacked up, too, with the corners beginning to look a bit tattered; like you’ve taken them down and put them up over and over. There’s a woven rug underneath your coffee table, and you’ve shoved a folded up magazine under one of its legs to correct a wonkiness. In the corner of the room is a record player. Of course. Of course you have a fucking record player.

Eventually the quiet is overbearing. Tangerine feels like he might have said something to upset you, which is stupid because he hasn’t, and even if he did he shouldn’t care… but he finds himself trying to make up for it anyway.

“What’s your cat’s name, then?”

You glance over your shoulder, and the cat meows again, as if indignant you have someone else in your flat.

“... You can’t laugh.”

“I’m not promising that.”

You purse your lips, and consider this for a moment, before quietly admitting:

“Amélie.”

Tangerine immediately bursts out laughing.

“Oh, fuck off - !”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you!”

Finished with your work patching him up, you head over and scoop Amélie up in your arms, burying your face in her fur.

“Don’t listen to the bastard man, darling. You’re perfect.”

As if she can tell what you’re saying, she begins to purr. Tangerine has to squash down the tiny bit of himself feeling jealousy because a cat gets to press up against you.

“Didn’t peg you for a pet owner.”

You shrug.

“I found her while I was finishing a job up in Manchester. They’d locked her in a cupboard. She was so skinny…”

You trail off, a sort of odd, faraway look in your eyes. You play with one of her paws.

“Took ages to get the blood out of her fur,” you sigh, and just for a moment Tangerine is struck with just how human you can be, how kind, and how rare that is with people in this profession. Even himself.

His phone buzzes, and he checks it immediately, hoping to hide the redness his face has taken on. It’s Lemon, checking he’s okay. He fires off a text to reassure his brother that he’s fine, give or take some gunfire; and doesn’t mention whose apartment he’s at.

“So now what?” you ask, having given Amélie her dinner and come to sit down on the sofa next to him. “You heading off?”

He takes a long look at you. The way white cat fur has stuck to your shirt. The remnants of his blood under your fingernails.

“What else would I do?”

You lick your lips.

“You could stay.”

And when he leans in to kiss you, you kiss him right back.

[idolatrybarbie]

lbs!marcus masterlist

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 1.9k | explicit - minor free zone!

summary: marcus loves you. you love him.

warnings: smut - oral sex (f receiving), sweetness, it's pretty straightforward. thee final installment of you and marcus in fairfax county, va.

You unstrap yourself from your shoes before you even get out of the car. Heels in hand, you pad across the still-frozen ground to the front door. It’s already unlocked, letting you twist the knob and open the door easily. The low buzz of a power drill whines from the shadowy living room, lamps casting a white-yellow glow down the hall to make up for the lack of an overhead fixture.

You left Marcus this morning with a couple pieces of unbuilt Ikea furniture. He decided that a Wednesday in mid-January was the perfect time to use a vacation day and build it all for you. Clearly, he’s still at it. You leave the skyscraper stilettos on the floor beside the coat rack, walking down the hall as a smile paints itself across your face. He is still in his Houston Astros shirt, grey sweatpants shifting as Marcus moves from sitting to kneeling over the small shelf he’s working on.

The floor creaks beneath you, alerting him to your presence.

“Hey babe,” he says, turning to look at you.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Almost done with this. I’ve got a few more screws, and she’ll be all done.”

You love that Marcus refers to things as if they were some grand sea ship, calling everything from the air fryer to this cheap hunk of plywood ‘she.’

“How was work?” Marcus asks.

“Fine. Same old.” Taking another step towards him, you wince. Marcus’ face morphs into a look of concern. “Those heels did a number on me, though.”

You haven’t worn much other than athletic footwear for the last nine months. Comfortable sneakers, supportive running shoes. High heels are the exact opposite of both those things. Not to mention, that specific pair is on the brink of falling apart. But they look so cute, you couldn’t help yourself.

Marcus stands, taking you into his arms. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Let me make you feel better,” he says.

“Marcus, you’ve been working all day,” you say.

“I sat on my ass for two hours watching that political fixer show of yours, which is why I’m not done yet,” Marcus tells you, shaking his head. “I’m fine. You’re not.”

“I’m fine, too.” Yet when you step back, a hiss slithers past your lips.

“You’re not,” he says again. “It’s no trouble. I want to.”

He’s already in your head, reading all the thoughts that pass through. You don’t want to hassle him. It’s no big deal. So on and so forth. He gives you a heart-melting stare, eyes round with softness.

You say, “Okay, yeah,” and he’s practically scooping you into his arms.

Marcus leads you up the stairs to your room with instructions to get on the bed. Laying flat on the mattress takes the pressure off your spine, your body flooding with relief. Marcus gets on his knees, kneeling at the end. He takes one of your feet into his hands, resting it in his lap before he starts to rub at the skin.

He gently works his fingers over your foot, thumb digging into your arch. You sigh at his touch, relaxing further into the pillows. Marcus soothes the ache in your first metatarsal with easy pressure. Standing at an incline for almost ten hours has done a number on your joints, the pain melting away as he continues his massage. You roll your ankle when he moves onto the next foot.

Opening your eyes, you’re quick to notice how Marcus stares at you. Your legs, specifically, thighs wrapped in sheer brown nylon. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning, enraptured, ready to tear you open.

“Like what you see, handsome?” you ask.

“Hmm?” Marcus hums, eyes back on your face in an instant.

“You’re staring at my thigh highs.”

“A man can’t appreciate his girl’s excellent taste in fashion?” he asks.

You remove your foot from his grasp, pressing your toes into the center of his chest. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Marcus Pike has a bit of a stocking fetish.”

At your words, Marcus’ ears grow pink. His whole face is flushed, eyes crinkling as he smiles awkwardly. Realization dawns on you as he reaches to scratch the back of his neck, the conversation effectively dying. He does. You’ve caught him in a net of terrible awkwardness, laying here at an impasse.

“Marcus…”

“I know it’s weird,” he says.

“What? No,” you say. Sitting up, you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You’re alright.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” you assure him.

“Seriously?” Marcus asks.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

Both kneeling before each other, you take his hand and drag it to the side of your leg. The synthetic fabric slips under his fingers. Feeling the texture of the nylon and your soft skin just beneath it stirs something in him. Pressing closer, you feel him hard against your hip.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him deep and slow. His hands take their place at either side of you, sliding from the stockings up beneath your skirt. Marcus squeezes your ass, palming at you for a moment. Then he slips a finger beneath your underwear, pulling the elastic away from your body only to have it snap in place again.

“What do you want?” you ask, lips right by his ear.

“You,” he whispers. Hands at your waist now, he hugs you impossibly closer. Marcus ruts his hips into yours, breathing heavy. “Fuck…please.”

“If you want me, you have me,” you say.

Marcus pushes you back onto the bed with a little force, following you down. He meets you at the mouth, kissing you before trailing off to your cheek. He presses his lips against your jaw, down to your neck and collarbone. Through the material of your top, he kisses at your chest. Marcus bypasses your torso to mouth at the place where the bottom hem of your shirt and the cotton waistline of your skirt meet. He pulls your shirt up where it’s tucked against your stomach, kissing your belly. You giggle when he licks at the skin, tongue warm.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your new job?” he mumbles into your stomach.

“Hmmm. A little bit,” you say. Marcus nips at the skin over your ribs, making his way up your chest. You gasp quietly, continuing, “Said something about…you like seeing me happy at work.”

“Only part of it,” he says. Marcus has your shirt pushed up to your throat, bra on display for him. He slides a hand beneath you to unclasp the back. It releases from your body easily, letting him push it up and away from your breasts. You’re sure you look ridiculous swamped with clothes at the neck, but Marcus doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s mesmerized with the pattern of your skin.

“What’s the other part, then?” you ask, trying to keep a straight face as he gently pinches at one of your nipples.

“You wear all these cute little outfits…the skirts, the stockings, the heels.” Leaning over, Marcus takes that nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly.

“You like the clothes?”

“You look so good. I can’t help myself. Just wanna—” He interrupts himself, resting his face in the valley between your breasts. Marcus takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of you. “Just wanna bend you over the kitchen counter when I see you get home, take you right then and there.”

“Yeah?” you ask. Rubbing your thighs together does little to relieve the growing ache between them. Picturing your cheek laying against the cool countertop as Marcus hikes up your skirt at a moment’s notice is dangerous. “We should try it out sometime.”

Marcus pauses for a split second, brain registering what you’ve said.

“You’re going to kill me,” he says.

His fingers work to find the clasp of your skirt, unlatching it. Marcus pulls down the zipper at the side of your hip, bringing your underwear down with the other fabric. He follows the line of your leg with his nose as the bottoms slide off your body, getting all the way off the bed and onto the floor with your discarded clothes.

You sit up, both to watch him and to rid yourself of your shirt and bra. Fully undressed now, you note the contrast between his clothed body and yours, starkly nude. Heat creeps through your tummy, wetness reaching the inside of your thighs. You feel like a gift freshly unwrapped; a gourmet cake too good to eat as he regards you with that look. Marcus stares up almost reverently. This man would worship at your altar. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

He leaves your stockings on, nosing against your tibia. Light licks against the skin of your ankle make you shiver. Marcus kisses his way up your left leg, nuzzling the crook of your knee. He rests his chin against your kneecap, eyes focused as he watches you watch him.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?”

“Today, or in general?”

“Every day,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh. “All day, all of the time.”

His hands inch closer to the middle of your body, fingers feather-light across the swell of skin. Marcus rejoins you on the bed, kisses getting firmer as he reaches level with your cunt. He leaves another kiss to your pelvis, readjusting to drag his tongue against your cunt.

You rub at his shoulders absently, one hand moving sidelong up his neck before fingers twine in his hair. You gasp when he nips at you, catching you off guard with a hint of teeth. You pull at his dark brown strands; Marcus groans against at the feeling. He pushes you further with the slip of a finger inside, gentle but insistent alongside his laps at your clit.

It doesn’t take long for him to have you twisting in bed, gasps stuttering as you tighten your thighs around the sides of his head. He brings you to the very edge before pulling back. Marcus noses at the crease of your thigh, finger smearing against the outer part of your hip as he holds you.

“I thought you were supposed to be making me feel better,” you sigh.

“What if I just like to take my time?” Marcus asks.

“Then I’d have to tell you to hurry it up.”

It’s all in fun. Any sense of pain from earlier has disappeared, Marcus’ soft touch drawing it from you easily. Still, your words spur him on. His finger slips back inside you, middle finger joining Marcus’ index. That little bit more, the faster pace he sets along with the slide of his tongue has you at the edge again in minutes.

He stops when you push him away, thighs twitching, breath ragged. In the time you’ve been with Marcus, you have learned that this is his favourite part. Still hard in his sweatpants, sure, but sated and satisfied. He mouths gently at the slope of your stomach, your hand at the nape of his neck.

Marcus sticks his tongue in your belly button, making you groan.

“You’re so weird,” you say.

“You weren’t complaining like, three minutes ago.”

“Different. You know it’s different.”

“Hmmm,” Marcus hums. He keeps his head halfway between your gut and your lap, breathing slow. “I love you.”

“I know.” He flicks you, hip smarting with the scratch. “I love you too.”

“That’s good.”

He’s right. It is.

[melrosing]

GOT low-points for Jaime

ok I don’t like complaining about GOT too much cos it gets boring and I am here for the books. but this is kind of fun so

Telling Brienne the one secret he has never told anyone, the biggest secret of his entire story…. and then telling Qyburn shortly afterwards just to have a comeback

Getting essentially murderered by pound shop Euron Greyjoy bc….??? the actors are both Danish??

Hearing Cersei has tried to kill him and going back to her approx. 10 mins later to raise a child w her x

Hanging around Dorne with Bronn in the most Naruto filler episodes of all time

That scene where he and Tyrion are making fun of their disabled cousin crushing beetles by imitating his voice for like a painfully long period of screen time. Yes I know the backstory as to why this ‘joke’ got written but I honestly don’t care, I only saw it once back in whatever year it aired and it was just excruciating

‘I never really cared about the innocent’ - absolutely iconic

Pursuing Brienne cos he heard she’s a virgin (A: obviously B: you literally already knew that), then never saying another word to her onscreen before dumping her in the snow and forgetting she exists x

Hearing Cersei is replicating Aerys’ worst instincts, going 🫤 and then hanging around King’s Landing for another season fucking Cersei and building IKEA furniture for a baby bc what else is he supposed to be doing I guess

Angrily crying over the fact Tyrion murdered Tywin as Tyrion explains in the background ‘you remember how he abused me and tried to kill me too right’

Planning atrocities till Brienne physically appears to say ‘hey remember your entire story arc? aren’t we supposed to be making more complex decisions now?’ Then jaime looking briefly inspired before explaining to Edmure he’ll kill his baby because he likes to fuck his own sister so don’t push it

Getting fired from the Kingsguard and then never thinking about it again

Killing his cousin for no real reason in season 2, then forgetting how he even did it when citing his list of sins to Brienne in season 8

Telling Joffrey there’s still time for him to fill the White Book with his deeds in season 4, then shoving it off the table to fuck his sister later in the same season

Brienne completing his entry in the same book desperately trying to frame a single act of Jaime’s as having had a point

[spidervee]

in which you and Bob celebrate the little things 🌻Bob Floyd x reader; 18+ only; implied sex

“I’m starting to think IKEA is just one big social experiment,” you huff, a thin sheen of sweat gathered on your hairline, the consequence of having to use a tiny hex key to tighten a dozen screws.

Bob makes a noise of agreement in his throat as he heaves the bulk of your brand new tabletop into an upright position. His arms bulge beneath the thin white cotton of his t-shirt and you’re struck by the thought that you didn’t specify exactly what kind of social experiment. To see how many relationships were furniture-building-proof? To see how turned on the sight of a man lifting a piece of furniture could make you? Check and check.

“Done,” Bob sighs, letting his arms fall to his sides after he readjusts his glasses. You both take a moment to admire the new fixture in your dining nook.

“This calls for champagne,” you giggle, hopping off the counter toward the fridge. You only make it two steps before Bob intercepts you with an arm slung around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“I think you deserve a reward for your efforts, baby,” he coos into your ear, making your legs quiver. “Something better than that cheap champagne.”

“What did you have in mind?” Bob replies by nipping gently at your collarbone, letting his fingers slip up your shirt and splay wide across your belly. He begins to tug you back toward the table but you dig your heels in. “Robby,” you laugh, “That’s not going to support our weight—not once you get going, hm?”

Bob contemplates your words for a moment before he’s lifting you as if you’re weightless and carrying you toward the bedroom, leaving the sound of your laughter echoing throughout the house.

[londonfoginacup]

Hello! Based on your fics I consider you to be someone well-versed in the arts of coziness and comfort and as it is now the cold and dark part of the year where I live I wanted to ask you, do you have any recommendations?? Favorite brand of leggings? Slippers? Best candle? Best fairy lights? Coziest foods and drinks? Wishing you much warmth and light! X

ohhhhh my god OH MY GOD what a SWEET ASK! And also you are sending this very sincere ask to someone whose main mode of being cozy is burrowing under her roommates for warmth and then yelling at said roommates for turning the temperature up, so i dunno if i'm deserved but here's my best cozy shot--

first of all -- hot chocolate with lucky charms. I'm usually a strictly white chocolate hot chocolate person, but the JOY at being able to eat the melty delicious lucky charms out of it cannot be comprehended. 10/10 warm and cozy and sweet.

Second-- get rid of the heated blanket. Heated blankets are not it. Get yourself heated mattress pad!!!! This bitch makes you toasty like you would not BELIEVE, PLUS if you're someone who tends to kick off blankets in the night, at least half your body is still toasty warm! 1000/10 cozy plus cats will love to snuggle u also dont use this at the same time as a heated blanket bc u will die i think

Now in terms of candles, I think that scents are very personal! I'm a slut for bath and bodyworks because I can be a bit basic, BUT there's something more important than what kind of candle you get -- and that's to have a CANDLE WARMER LAMP! You see, unless you're getting a very expensive candle, most candles, especially ones from the drug store or target, have mOST OF THEIR SCENT in the top like half an inch! SO they smell really good when you buy them but you barely smell them after you light them! But if you get a CANDLE WARMER LAMP, then you can stick your good good smelling candle in there and it will heat it FROM THE TOP and you will get some LONG LASTING GOOD GOOD COZY SMELL

holy shit wait hold up scratch that, I DO have candle recommendations. Cantrip Candles makes candles for like, D&D games to set the mood. But I don't play D&D and just burn the candles instead. The Library candle and the Bakery candle are my FAVORITE, but you can get a sampler pack and try them yourself to see which scents you like. 10/10 cozy bakery scent fuck yes

I don't really have cozy clothes because I wear business casual 24/7 i am DRESSED TO FUCKING IMPRESS (no im not, im just lazy and only own 5 pairs of the same pants), and tbh if I want to be cozy I just throw on a hoodie. I own five and they are ALL Louis Tomlinson.

And for blankets -- the coziest blanket is the one you can steal from someone else. The old crochet blanket that your mom had since before you were born? Snatch it. The blankets your roommates left when they moved out and got married? They're yours now. The blanket someone loaned you at a fireworks show and you accidentally went home with? Coziness factor goes up 1000%. BARRING STOLEN GOODS THOUGH, every blanket I've ever bought is from ikea. I'm not joking. I have one in my car and one in my office and two on my bed and two in my living room.

Okay FINALLY. The SECRET to my uber cozy lifestyle.

It's having a lot of roommates, and forcing them all to cuddle with me.

but if you dont have homemade roommates, storebought are fine

ANYWAY THERE'S MY COZY GUIDE, THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENTS ALSO TO BE REAL EATING A WHOLE LOAF OF SOURDOUGH FEELS COZY BUT YOUR TUMMY WILL BE MAD SO DONT DO IT

[harlowarchives]

Can you write something with Jack Harlow where they have a date in ikea, maybe like the reader is not from the U.S., (she could be from somewhere in Latinamerica) and she always wanted to go to ikea, and it could be like a cute montage like in the film 500 days of summer

international, ⁱ 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰.

jack harlow x latina reader!

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 <𝟑𝟑𝟑𝟑𝟑 + ilysmmm ty for my first request boo also such a cute concept

You & Jack met at a concert he was doing in the Dominican Republic, you stood out to him because you were the only fan who knew every lyric to every song not to mention you were insanely beautiful, he interacted with you the entire show dedicating his love songs to you. After the show, he built up the courage to greet you. “Hi, I'm Jack.” He said giving you a nervous smile and then lowering his eyes to meet yours you looked slightly confused but you were just dumbfounded he assumed you must’ve only known Spanish because he followed with “Hola, soy Jack?” you broke into laughter at his rehearsed introduction as he laughed with you “I'm y/n.” you spoke. The rest of the night the two of you bonded & Jack confessed how he was crushing on you all night & that you were the most beautiful girl in the crowd.

For the rest of his trip, you two were constantly together because after his performance he was free to explore & he did that with you. Goodbyes were too harsh for both of you so he scheduled a trip to come to visit him in the US & today happens to be your first date together in the US one twist though because when he was in your country you toured him, you made him promise he'd do the same. “Ready?” He questioned looking over at you before you began to nod eagerly he opened his door and walked to your side to help you down. You and Jack walked into the store and then you began looking around in amazement, taking in Ikea & all its glory. Your mouth was in an O shape & Jack just stood and watched your wandering eyes. The two of you walked down the aisles for a bit before you came to an abrupt stop letting go of his hand you took off flopping onto a white bed with silky sheets and a mattress that felt like a cloud. “Y/N!” Jack called running towards the bed & laying down.

You had your head buried in the covers just as comfortable as can be, after 15 minutes Jack started to bore. “Y/N! I wanna show you something.” He said with a wide grin as you groaned “I wanna stay Jack! Please Jack can we stay?” you pleaded as he shook his head. “Baby, I promise it's much better than this.” He said smiling “Fine!” you submitted.

After Jack had led you blind you heard his voice “Ok, open.” You opened your eyes to a children’s circus tent, you glared at him before rolling your eyes and crawling in the tent as he followed behind you. “My baby brother & I had one of these!” He said pressing on the walls before staring off into the distance then his eyes landed on you who was staring out the window of the tent mesmerized.

“Y/N! You want to go back to bed that bad?” he asked as you eagerly nodded not listening but indulging in the bed.

“Actually J, let’s play hide & seek,” you suggested as he nodded “See! That sucky bed isn't the only fun thing to do in here.” he smiled getting giddy. You two got out of the tent and set the rules, he would hide and you’d seek. You began counting as he ran away back inside the tent with a cheesy smile on his face sitting with his feet pressed together thinking she’ll never find me in here.

You counted walking off into the distance testing out every bed in the store like Goldilocks except all the beds were just right, and employees just stared at you like the nutjob you are. You caught yourself falling asleep forgetting about Jack, but he hadn't forgotten about you. He started getting bored and looked out the window seeing a short curvy curly-headed figure asleep on the bed outside the window & then it clicked. He stormed out of the tent & walked toward you so you wouldn't blow your cover you shouted “I found you.” You said smiling looking around, as he just looked at you annoyed “You’re a great hider!” You lied, you knew exactly where he was the entire time. You had actually taken multiple pictures of him in the tent giggling, he then sat on you suffocating you “SOMEONE HELP! PLEASE!” You called.

He didn't stop he just sat kicking his feet and singing “Lalalala!” as he listened to you wheeze “Ok Amor! I'm sorry please.” You pleaded feeling a weight lift off you. You got back on your feet slumping before Jack quickly threw you over his shoulder “Ok this is the best part.” He said while the blood in your body just shifted around, you began to smell a familiar meaty scent it was strange but in a good way.

Jack placed you down and let you take in your surroundings “You mean they have food AND BEDS?!” you said your face lighting up, your beautiful accent shining through. “J, what's a Swedish meatball?” you said looking up at him “Delicious.” He said.

You two finally got the food you ordered and Jack took you to sit down in their cafeteria but you quickly pulled him from his seat, you led him back to the tent, and his eyes visibly lit up he wrapped his arms around you and the two of you munched on your meatballs and he played with your hair. You were finally ready to go about then you looked across the street “Jack! MATTRESS KING.” You ran as he chased after you.

[schvmacher47]

Rumour Has It (Pedri x artist! protagonist)

part 1!

view part 2 here ;)

read rumour has it on wattpad!

summary: Being dragged along to the studio of Sira's favourite artist, Pedri never thought he would find himself falling in love with this place or even the owner... He quickly found himself looking forward to hearing about the process of the commission his friend placed, dropping by after practice to pick up Ferran's commission and place his own, just to get another reason to see Ana again. [...]

It was a warm, bright day in early February, the clock was about to hit four in the afternoon. Ana's pants and the sleeves of her sweatshirt were covered in old, dried-off paint. She stared at the blank canvas in front of her, twisting the big paint brush between her fingers. The white canvas slowly but surely blurred with the curtained window front of her studio.

Ana sat with her back to the front door. It was a quiet day, not many people found their way into one of Barcelona's many, narrow, secluded alleys. And if they did, it was only with a certain goal in mind.Whether it was to take photos of the picturesque alleys, to go to one of the cosy cafés, restaurants or bars, or to visit her studio.

But it wasn't one of those days. And that was okay. She found the peace and quiet extremely pleasant. A welcome change from the stressful city and university life.

Sighing, Ana dipped the brush into the brown acrylic paint diluted with water. The liquid paint dripped onto the floor when she applied the brush to the canvas and spread the paint over a large area.

The former white of the canvas disappeared, the canvas was now tinted in a light brown colour. Satisfied with the new starting position, Ana reached for the magazines beside her and tore up article after article. She dipped another brush into the container filled with glue and began to randomly paste the torn articles on the canvas.

She did what she did best, let her creativity run wild. The randomly placed newspaper articles created a new depth to the canvas, creating the perfect starting point for an abstract portrait.

Even though art was a passion that required patience, patience was exactly what Ana never had when it came to waiting. Spending hours working out details on paintings? No problem. Waiting for the thin layer of paint and glue to dry? Big problem. That's why she always had a hairdryer at hand, in most cases she didn't want to deal with her impatience - The hairdryer thus became her little helper, speeding up the drying process in no time. She loved it, so she didn't lose any time and could start almost immediately with the actual sketch.

Lost in her thoughts, Ana let her pencil run over the canvas, and the initially confused lines quickly formed the shape of a female face. Carelessly, she dropped the pencil back into the bowl on her cart, which she now pulled towards her. The three-tier Ikea trolley looked like one big mess - or even a battlefield. The once white paint was adorned with colourful blobs of paint - oil and acrylic - apart from the new aluminium foil on the top surface - a kind of improvised colour palette. The lower two floors were crammed with paint tubes, sorted by oil and acrylic paint despite the chaos, containers of thinner for the oil paints and all the brushes.

Soft music accompanied the calm atmosphere in her studio as she mixed different acrylic colours and diluted them with water. The paint dripped again, on the floor, trousers, sleeves, as she spread the liquid paint with a soft brush along her sketch and on the newspaper articles.

Without a precise idea, she taped random spots on the canvas and exchanged her soft brush for a large spatula, which she generously covered with white and red acrylic paint and dragged it across the canvas.

The clock was about to hit five in the afternoon when Ana reached for the hairdryer again to dry the acrylic paint faster when she heard the door to her studio open. She rolled up her sleeves and fixed her hair before rising and walking towards the two young men that had just entered the studio.

»How can I help you?« she asked with a friendly smile on her lips. The taller of the two began to speak. »I would like to commission a painting.« – »Sure, would you like to sit down over there to discuss the details?« He nodded in agreement and dragged his buddy with him to the table in the corner.

»What do you have in mind?« she asked as she also sat down at the table and crossed her legs. She pulled a sketchpad and pencil from a drawer, placing the utensils on the table in front of her. »The whole thing is supposed to be a gift for my girlfriend, I brought you some pictures to use as templates...« He told her, spreading out some printed photos on the table. The photos showed a young woman with her horse.

»Sira adores your work! She's been talking non stop about wanting a painting of yours for ages...« he finally continued. »Oh, I'm glad to hear that.... Looking at these photos, I think we have two options here, option one would be, we keep it completely realistic, no frills, just a realistic oil painting. Option two would be a mixed media version...« She explained, meanwhile feeling the interested gaze of the other man, who had remained quiet until now, on her. »Mixed media is what?«, the aforementioned man inquired. »Mixed media is, as the name suggests, a work of art made from many different media.«

»Well, if you're saying that Sira loves her art style, then this 'mixed media' thing would probably be the best choice, right?« – »Gee, you do have brains, Pedri. Who would have thought.« – »You obviously didn't think of it yourself. At least one of us can think straight...« Ana grinned in amusement as she overheard the conversation. »I think your friend is right.« – »Ferran.« – »I think he's right, Ferran. I'd go for the mixed media version too.... Especially if she likes the style as much,« Ana said with a grin.

»I'd trust the female advice if I were you, Ferran« – »Are you questioning my decision-making ability when it comes to gifts for my girlfriend right now?« – »No, I'm just saying that you should trust the female intuition, I guess she knows what she's recommending,« Pedri gestured wildly to clarify his statement. »I can also just make a sketch and then you can still decide...« – »That sounds great, let's do it that way.«

Ana picked up her pencil, immediately starting a sketch of one of the photos that Ferran brought along. Whilst her main focus was now on the sketch, she still continued her questions regarding the painting. »How big do you want the canvas to be?« – »There's literally no need to ask Ferran that, out of all the people I know, he's the one with the worst spatial imagination.« Ana raised her head, the sketch suddenly not as important anymore. Pedri looked at his friend from the side, a wry grin on his face. Ferran just shook his head. »That's so not true!« »Oh yeah? May I remind you of the Christmas tree which was way too tall for your apartment? Or the wardrobe, which didn't fit through the front door?« – »There was literally no need to bring that up.« Ana grinned as she overheard the conversation.

She continued to run the pencil in her hand across the piece of paper, the lines slowly forming an image of the reference photo. »Sounds like a problem we can solve in no time...How about we finish setting up the order portfolio and then look at different canvases with different dimensions?« Both young men nodded in agreement, leaving Ana satisfied working on the final touches of the sketch.

»You know, this is just insane, right?« – »What?« – »This!«, he pointed at the sketch. »You did this in what? Barely five minutes.« Ana just shrugged. »It's my job, it would be very inconvenient if I wasn't able to sketch this quickly.« she mumbled and quickly put her pencil away, being satisfied with the outcome of the sketch. »So I'm right in thinking, that I'm doing a painting based on this sketch?« Ferran simply nodded, being at a loss of words.

Ana took a folder from the shelf behind her. Rummaging in her drawer, she took a ballpoint pen and started filling out her portfolio template. »Since we already have the sketch and reference photos, I'd only need your name and the date by which you need the painting. We'll discuss the price later, once we've decided on the size of the canvas.«, Ferran nodded in agreement, still having a surprised look on his face.

»It'd be great if I could pick the painting up by the end of March.« »Should we agree on the 29th?« – »That's perfect.« Ana nodded and noted the date down. »For how long have you been doing this?« »What?« – »Painting. When did you start?« – »There are photos of me painting at just the age of two, so probably even long before I could really talk. My parents told me that I'd always wanted to destroy the house... As far as I know they had to paint at least a few walls white again after I've decided to paint on them..« – »Sounds a lot like us, don't you think Ferran?« – »The destroying the house part definitely!« A wide grin spread across his face. »Care to explain?« »You don't know?« Both young men looked surprised at her. »Am I supposed to?« – »Given the fact that you live here in Barcelona, I'd say yes. At least the majority of women around your age would definitely know who we are.«, Ferran explained. »That sounds very...cocky.« – »Believe me, I wish it was different...« Pedri shook his head. »You can't have it all I guess..« – »Well I think there are a lot of guys who would enjoy all the female attention you apparently get.« – »I know, but that's just not the point of being a professional footballer...« – »Oh yeah right, I think I know who you are... At least if you're the guys my sister's boyfriend keeps talking about. And that one guy that looks like he could still be in highschool, supposedly forming the new greatest duo of all time with you, just like Xavi and Iniesta once were... I'm not much of a football fan though. Actually I’m one of those who just watches it when it's the Euros or the World Cup, so it's just what I picked up from my soon to be brother in law.« She explained, remembering how Catalina and Carlos had dragged her along to the group stage matches of the Spanish national team in Seville.

Ana just shook her head, twisting her ballpoint pen between her index and middle finger. She indeed never has been really into football, just then recognising the two young men that have found their way into her studio from all the billboards. »So your full name is?« – »Ferran Torres García.« – »Alright, we’re all set. I’d say we can have a look at the canvases now.« Ana quickly tidied up her desk, putting the order portfolio neatly away into her drawer, before she stood up and indicated them to follow her.

»I would probably opt for a rectangular format, as it kind of stretches out the painting rather than compromising it. Which is great in this case, as a square format would just compress it, it wouldn’t look great.« Ana explained, while she led the two men to her hidden storage room. »Now coming back to the spatial imagination, do you have an idea of how much wallspace you want to cover?« she asked, while she already picked out a few canvases she in general always recommended to clients. »I took a photo, we have this wall in our hallway, pretty empty so I figured we could put it there.« said Ferran, unlocking his phone to show Ana the photo he took of his hallway. She had a quick look at it, immediately getting a feeling for the space that should be covered. »How about something like this?« she grabbed a canvas from her storage shelf, putting it on her spare easel. »This is 1,40 metres wide and 1,20 metres tall. Normal wall height is at least 2,50 metres, so it’s not taking up too much space, while still covering up the empty space without being too bulky. « »Sounds… great?« – »I told you he has literally no idea!«, exclaimed Pedri from the other end of the small storage room. He had subconsciously moved off to the other hand and found himself looking at paintings which Ana had stored for her next exhibition. Still amazed by the works of art he’d just seen, he slowly returned, slightly shaking his head in disbelief.

»This is just insane…«

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ When We Meet Chapter 3 ˎˊ˗

synopsis: there is only so much forgiving and forgetting you can do when you end up getting stood up by your date over and over again. so when you're stuck between the best friend, the first crush, and their mysterious roommate whose existence seemed like a myth, you can only hope the decision you've been making is the right one.

pairing: kmg x reader

chapter tags: food mention, present-day, mingyu's first appearance

wc: 2k

message from nu: :-) mingoo finally here but also not really. - nu

previous | masterlist | taglist | next chapter

A crash sounds from the floor above you, and a muffled voice yelling he’s okay quickly follows. The crash isn’t big enough to cause a reverberation large enough to wobble one of the paintings hanging above the television in front of you, so you ignore it and continue vacuuming the thin red textile rug under your feet.

The living room space is tiny, but it feels like the interior came straight out of an Ikea showroom — and to be fair, most of the interior did thanks to Minghao’s job at a commercial bank. There is the grey sleeper sofa with the outstretched chaise that ends so close to the white lacquer television storage cabinet that you could reach over for the remote instead of standing up. Framed photos and paintings form a gallery wall above the television, the photos picturing memories made since university. There is a photo of DK, Minghao, and you grinning together at graduation, each clutching empty diploma books in your hands. Cast off to the side is a paid photo from an amusement park rollercoaster ride with the fourth person’s face — an ex —covered and replaced with a picture of a famous actor that the three of you all agree to be charming. A blue fortune teller and two origami frogs sit on the windowsill next to the row of fake plants in their pots and vases.

Maneuvering the vacuum back to its corner, you’re careful not to knock over the two rolled yoga mats leaning against the wall when you pull its plug. While looping and retracting the long vacuum cord, your eyes wander to the hanging calendar to the side of the staircase. It’s a calendar of some random family that made it to the shelves of a nearby thrift store that the guys thought was funny enough to buy and hang in their home as if they were a part of the photographed family. Important dates are marked with red permanent marker: utility bill due, rent due, Wi-Fi bill due, company dinner… Then there’s a date circled many times over and then crossed out and drawn on the correct date. Mingyu is coming back.

It’s been about two years since graduation. You’ve managed to not fall out of contact with your college friends — even regularly grabbing brunch at fancy hotels with those who stayed in the area. Work is near your childhood home. The only thing that seemed to change is DK — or at least his name.

DK, or rather Seokmin now as stated on his business cards, thumps down the stairs with a giant cardboard box in his arms. He sets it on the sofa and collapses on open the spot next to it, sighing loudly with his arms stretched out like he’s making a snow angel.

If it hadn’t hit you then, then it surely hits you now: Mingyu is coming back. All this preparatory work for someone whom you don’t know, for someone whose humidifier sits in the corner of the hallway closet collecting dust, for someone who clearly makes your friends happy…you can’t help but feel excited for your friends. And you can’t help but feel excited yourself.

Kim Mingyu’s stuff sits in their tiny townhouse like the objects on display in a museum after only being used for about a month or two. The owner, who couldn’t give up an opportunity for working abroad after graduation, is finally able to transfer back. For good this time. You’re sure you’ve memorized every single photo in that household, especially those of Mingyu and the stories behind them. How he towers over his two roommates, holding up bunny ears behind his friends’ heads. How his shiny silver braces catch the light when he stops what he’s doing to smile for a photo. How he made them take a picture together that first day they met in the dorms. In just a few days you’ll be able to meet him in person. And maybe tell him sorry for accidentally breaking one of his ceramic plates.

Minghao quickly follows after his friend, bounding down the stairs, car keys jingling in his pockets. He stops in front of Seokmin and pulls his keys out of his pocket, waving them in front of his face.

“Let’s go.” He lightly slaps his friend’s knee twice. “I’m driving.”

Seokmin groans in response, letting his body slide down the sofa like a piece of butter on a hot skillet. He lands with a thud in between his friend’s legs, and the friend simply crosses over his friend’s body to make his way to the kitchen where you’re standing behind the island sink with an amused look on your face.  

Minghao places his arm on your right shoulder and leans into you, his floral cologne engulfing your senses, “Promise me your next boyfriend won’t be as lazy as he is.”

“I heard that,” Seokmin calls from the floor. “You can’t hide anything in our place. Not even your snacks that your friend brought back from China for you. It’s too small.”

The man standing next to you sighs and pats you on the shoulder twice before making his way to the front door. He tells you to text him your lunch order. Lunch will be on him today.

“Are you going to tell him he’s still wearing his froggy headband?” you ask Seokmin after Minghao closes the front door behind him.

“No.” Seokmin finally pushes himself off the floor and stares downwards at his old stained t-shirt. He frowns while lifting up the hem up his large tee past his bellybutton, inspecting all of his various stains, kind of embarrassed to venture in public wearing old clothes next to Minghao (even while he’s sporting the bright green cartoon froggy headband). Turning to you, he tells you that he’s going to run upstairs to quickly change before heading out. “Answer my phone on the counter if Mingyu calls. Hang up if Hao calls,” he instructs you from the top of the bannisters.

The sound of Seokmin’s soon to be shared bedroom door closing rings throughout the townhouse, and you are alone to yourself. Picking up his abandoned cellphone, you bring it to the living room area so you can look through the box of unwanted items the guys are thinking about donating. You know you wouldn’t mind taking a couple of Minghao’s old clothes — he would probably even give you styling tips if he had time. However, in the cardboard box are old second-hand college textbooks that they bought from a friend of a friend of a friend and a couple of hand-made tie blankets and gifts from exes. To be honest, the thought of throwing away that paid amusement park rollercoaster photo is extremely tempting, but the guys insist that the memories that the three of you share (and the price of that photo…amusement park items are heavily overpriced, but it works because people will pay for them) heavily overweigh a stupid ex whose face could easily be taped over by someone better looking.

Plus, the guys reassure you, your self-worth is much higher than whatever you lowered yourself to with that last ex. It’s about a year since you last dated anybody and even you know to never settle for less.

Fingers gloss over the knots and fringes on the fleece tie blankets, feeling the smooth fabric that’s slowly falling apart at its hand-tied knots. It’s a shame the guys are throwing away the projects, but the blankets don’t, as Marie Kondo says, spark joy. And to be honest, you don’t think the guys ever enjoyed receiving the blankets with the tacky and bright patterns. It was a weird time: both Seokmin and Minghao coincidentally dated best friends.

A familiar marimba ringtone plays from the phone in your lap and you bring the phone up to your face. Mingyu’s name flashes on the phone owner’s lockscreen and there’s a picture of him from probably his first year to go along with it. Freshman Mingyu, baby-faced and only eighteen, smiles back at you, awkward and thin-lipped, waiting for somebody to answer the video call.

It’s exhilarating thinking about meeting Mingyu for the first time. It would be no worries at all, a chill call. At least that’s what you assume from your fragmented idea of Mingyu composed of the different stories you’ve heard about him. You were also pretty sure you could recognize that man anywhere because of all of the pictures and videos of him that you’ve seen over the course of the last few years. And with a large breath in, you answer the call.

“Seok,” a deep and tired voice immediately mumbles from offscreen. There’s a slight lisp present, just as the guys have described. “Did you double-check to see if my humidifier still works? If it doesn’t then I have to find a way to ship the one I’m currently using over to our place within the next few days. Or do you think if I bought an extra checked luggage it would be cheaper?”

The room is dark, most likely because the owner lives on the other side of the world. You can assume his phone is leaning against something on his desk. There’s not a lot to see — most of Mingyu’s stuff is already being shipped back home on a plane or a boat. A lit table lamp sits on the floor next to his bed, the nightstand probably sold or gifted to somebody else. You hear the familiar rumble of a closing desk drawer and then see a hand reach for the phone.

“Seok?” The audio crackles when Mingyu picks up the phone and brings the phone up to his face.

Then you see him for the first time. Kim Mingyu. His tanned face glows under his dimmed bedroom lights. Black hair damp, dripping, and pushed back from his shower. The man who wears a navy blue silk top with a pearly white trim, who quickly adjusts his thick wire glasses to see you better, looks nothing like the young man from Seokmin’s Mingyu contact photo.

“Oh? Hi, you must be-”

You instinctively end the call before he could greet you, slamming the phone onto the couch like you’re using a fly swatter, feeling like you accidentally stumbled upon something you weren’t supposed to see. Heart beating fast, you sit there wide-eyed in shock.

If this Mingyu is the same person Seokmin and Minghao have been referencing to for years, then they have some serious explaining to do.

Seokmin walks into the living room while adjusting the baseball cap on his head, asking if Gyu called. He trades places with his cellphone, sitting down where you slammed it on the couch and unlocks his phone to look at the follow-up text that Mingyu sent.

“You hung up on him?” your friend snorts while reading his friend’s message. “Did he say something stupid?”

“No,” you mumble to nobody in particular, “just stupidly handsome.”

“Hmm.” Seokmin tilts his head side-by-side as if he’s weighing his options. “Not sure about the handsome part. But ‘stupid’ I can agree with.”

You see him again when Seokmin returns his call, clearly this time. Plump rosy pink lips and deep smile lines that dimple his cheeks even with the laziest smile. Eyes are always looking at the center of his screen, never in the corner. They widen then shrink into comfortable semi-circles when Seokmin casually adds that you’re single after suggesting that the two of you meet when Mingyu comes back.

“Great.” Mingyu smiles while waving goodbye to the two of you. “It’s a date.”

You, awfully dumbfounded after the call and who is now stumbling towards a fuming Minghao’s car, cannot comprehend how that man is single. You just can’t.

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