#When he does shit like this && he isn’t even /40/?!

[silvcrignis]

Since she's 5'1, what would she theoretically do if someone were to use the top of her head as an armrest. How much of them might be left

Ask Random Questions About These Shiteheads || FOREVER & A DAY ACCEPTING || Also hey @markedbytheuniverse ur lil OC’s mentioned here 🥰

Oh. Oh Greyface 💕. It depends on who does it. Claude & Sevina do that shit or just flat out hold onto her head to her alllll the time & Keira loves it, gets this bigass grin on her face while her arms loop around the one on her head, if she really likes or trusts someone they are allowed to touch her head/hair anytime she gets really happy. Sirens & Siren bloods are very receptive to physical touch & VERY protective of their hair because vanity is very much a thing for them so they fold™️ when someone they favour touches them anywhere, even their soft & pretty™️ hair.

Now… If she doesn’t like you. She’s doing the same thing Claude did to Alistair Triton back when the two had beef (they’ve made up since this fight, dude finally came around & stopped calling Amadis & Alaine gross abominations & shit, finally started being a GOOD grandfather to them)

But yeah you touch her head & Keira doesn’t know you know you or L ike that you might indeed die of blood loss or from the sheer BRUTALITY of being beaten to a bloody pulp by your own appendage. Beelzebub learned this the HARD way once but unfortunately he did survive the arm slappening. *sigh*

[solarmorrigan]

For the angst prompt thing: Steddie and "Don't fucking touch me."

Hello! Thank you very much for sending a prompt, I'm sorry it took me so long to post, but I do think this one is my favorite out of all the fills I've done for this prompt list <3

[No warnings; Unnamed Freak (who apparently got a name in the most recent novel, but I didn't know that at the time) is named Oliver]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

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“I’m gonna step outside for a minute,” Steve leans in to murmur in Eddie’s ear, even though the music isn’t that loud.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Eddie nods, and only just keeps himself from turning to catch Steve’s mouth in a kiss when he feels the brush of his lips against his ear; it’s not his fault he’s developed some kind of Pavlovian association between having Steve’s mouth anywhere near his skin and receiving kisses – but they do have company.

Said company is just Gareth, Jeff, and Oliver, but still. Eddie has some decorum.

Steve stands from the couch and the arm he’d had slung around Eddie’s shoulders slides away slowly, his hand brushing warm and heavy over the back of Eddie’s neck, thumb stroking once, familiarly, along the side of his throat before disappearing entirely as Steve moves towards the front door. He doesn’t do so great with groups of people in small spaces anymore; the noise gets to him, and the heat generated by so many bodies in close proximity tends to give him a headache, so he takes breaks now and then, just to give his brain a few minutes to unbend.

The door swings open on silent hinges (Steve had attacked it with a can of WD-40 and a look of determination earlier today, insisting he couldn’t stand the squeaking anymore; he’s always doing things like that around the house – little repairs, organizing, picking things up, even though Eddie insists he doesn’t have to. He says he wants to, the endearing little weirdo) and Steve steps out into the cool evening, leaving Eddie and the boys behind in the warm light of the trailer’s main room.

“So,” Jeff says, looking up from his spot on the floor and gesturing vaguely at Eddie with his beer can, “how’s that going for you guys?”

Eddie blinks at him. “How’s what going?”

“The whole thing between you two,” Jeff clarifies, and Eddie raises a skeptical brow at him.

“You wanna talk about me and Steve having sex?” Eddie asks.

Jeff’s nose scrunches in distaste. “What? No.”

“Not ever,” Gareth jumps in.

“I mean…” Oliver says with a shrug, flinching when Gareth pelts him with a balled-up napkin.

“No,” Gareth reiterates.

“I refuse to apologize for simple curiosity,” Oliver sniffs, and Eddie, seated next to him on the couch, gives him a shove.

He’s glad his friends are accepting – supportive, even (he’d like to say he wouldn’t hang out with them if they weren’t, but let’s be real: nerds could be hard to come by in their neck of the woods, and as long as they were the quiet type of homophobic, Eddie would probably still play D&D with them. But he’s glad they’re not), but he does have some boundaries.

Like, one or two, maybe.

“I just meant the whole… dating thing,” Jeff says, taking a sip from his beer. “Because I’ll be honest, I really didn’t see it at first, but it actually seems to be working out.”

“Dating?” Eddie parrots blankly.

“Yeah. You guys are in, like, some kind of never-ending honeymoon phase or some shit,” Gareth says. “Hasn’t it been over two months?”

“Uhhh, no, I think you gentlemen are confused,” Eddie drawls. “Steve and I are not dating.”

This declaration is met with a moment of silence.

“Seriously?” Oliver finally says.

“Yep,” Eddie replies easily. “No relationship shit here. Strictly a friends-with-benefits-type deal.”

“Seriously,” Olver says again, flatly this time.

“Yes, Oliver, seriously,” Eddie huffs, reaching over to give him another shove, only to have his hand pushed away.

“Eddie, he was practically sitting in your lap just now,” Jeff says. “You two are all over each other.”

“Constantly,” Gareth adds.

Eddie shrugs. “It’s not like this is a big couch; we gotta squish. Anyway, Steve’s just a touchy kind of guy.”

“He doesn’t sit like that with any of us,” Gareth points out.

“Yeah, well, you guys aren’t the ones receiving benefits,” Eddie says. “You want him to sit on your lap? You could ask.”

Gareth lets his head hang back with a noise of frustration. “That’s not the point, and you know it.”

“Don’t you two go on dates?” Jeff asks. “I’ve seen you at the movies. You talk about going out to eat, doing other shit…”

“Yeah, see, that’s the friends part of friends with benefits,” Eddie snarks. “Friends hang out sometimes, I’ve been told. We are all, in fact, hanging out right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m dating any of you.”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you?” Oliver asks, and Eddie can’t help but scoff.

He appreciates the fact that Oliver is passionate about pretty much anything he does, but it also means he’s given to romanticizing. He doesn’t usually manage to drag Jeff or Gareth in with him, though.

“Pretty sure he looks at me like a friend, because that’s what we are.” Eddie rolls his eyes before offering a smarmy little grin. “I mean, I’m sure he looks at me as an exceptionally attractive friend, but that’s it.”

“Genuinely can’t tell if you’re fucking with us, man,” Jeff says, rolling his eyes.

“Genuinely, I am not,” Eddie promises, taking the last viable swallow from his beer before getting up and heading for the kitchen, wiggling his empty can at the others with a raised eyebrow in question. Gareth raises his own near-empty can with a shrug and Eddie nods. “Look,” he says as he ducks towards the fridge, “Steve isn’t the kinda guy you have a relationship with, anyway, you know?”

Eddie doesn’t mean this in a negative way, just as a matter of fact. Steve just doesn’t seem to be a relationship kind of guy. Nancy had been something of an outlier, in how long she and Steve had lasted, and it had become clear after the dust from the Upside Down had settled that he really doesn’t have any interest in pursuing her further. Just the other day, he’d mentioned to Eddie how difficult relationships can be, and about how glad he is they have their thing together instead.

“Being with you is just��� easy,” Steve had said; he hadn’t been looking at Eddie at the time, his face instead pillowed on Eddie’s chest, hair sticking to his naked skin where the sweat was still cooling from their last round, but Eddie could see the edge of a smile on his lips.

And Eddie doesn’t have much experience with relationships himself, but he knows that being friends with Steve is easy and that the sex feels equally easy and that the way he’d agreed with Steve and carded his fingers through his hair had sent Steve right to sleep with that same smile still in place.

Easy.

Now, Eddie shoves his head into the fridge and reaches for the beers that have somehow gotten pushed to the back. “It’s nothing major, okay?” he calls back towards the living room.

“Eddie…” Gareth calls back, an edge to his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” Eddie waves vaguely, making sure to grab a second beer. “Anyway, Steve’s a good friend, and he’s really hot, and we’re just having fun.”

The bang of the front door against the frame startles Eddie so badly he nearly smacks his head on the underside of the freezer as he stands, a beer clutched in each hand like he might be able to use them as projectiles.

There is no threat, though – just Steve, who had apparently failed to catch the screen door before it had shut too quickly behind him. He doesn’t seem to have noticed; he’s just standing there, staring at Eddie, color rising high in his cheeks, eyes wide and shocked, like he’s just been slapped.

Concern wells up from Eddie’s gut, and he opens to his mouth to ask what’s wrong when Steve finally speaks.

“Yeah,” he croaks, “I’m not having fun.”

Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion, the beginnings of cold dread trickling into his veins well ahead of any conscious thought.

“I think I– I think I should go,” Steve says.

He grabs his keys from the side table by the door, where they’ve lived next to Eddie’s and Wayne’s for the last few months whenever he’s been at the house, and then he’s gone again, the screen door banging shut once more behind him.

And Eddie has no idea what just happened, but he knows it wasn’t good. He drops the beers on the counter and bolts out the door after Steve.

Steve is nearly to his car by the time Eddie scrambles down the front steps, and he’s paying absolutely no attention when Eddie calls after him.

“Steve,” Eddie tries again, stumbling to a stop right behind him as he jams his keys into the driver’s side lock. “Steve, for fuck’s sake, what–” he reaches out, wrapping one hand around Steve’s bicep, and Steve jerks out of his grip.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Steve snaps.

Eddie pulls his hand back, but doesn’t step away, entirely baffled by the sudden turn the evening has taken. “What the hell happened back there?”

Steve goes still, grip going lax on his keys. “I heard what you said, Eddie.”

“About – about what? Are you mad I was talking to them about us sleeping together? Because, Steve, they already knew,” Eddie insists, a little incredulous. “You said you were fine with them knowing! You were practically feeling me up in front of them!”

“I don’t give a shit if they know we’re having sex!” Steve hisses, finally whirling around to look at Eddie. “I meant the rest. About how I’m not the kind of guy you have a relationship with.”

Eddie’s stomach sinks. He hadn’t realized that was such a sensitive subject. “I – shit, I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings, I just didn’t think you wanted–”

“About how we’re just having fun,” Steve cuts in, and if he’d sounded raw before, his voice is practically ground down to nothing now.

That brings Eddie up short. “…aren’t we?” he asks after a moment.

Steve says nothing.

“I mean, shit, Steve, it’s not like we’re in a relationship,” Eddie says, offering a little laugh, because even Steve would have to admit that the idea is a little silly.

Except.

Except Steve just glances away, staring at the ground beside Eddie’s feet, and – oh, shit.

“Oh, shit.”

Steve is still unnervingly silent, one arm curled around his middle while the other hand comes up to pinch briefly at the bridge of his nose. He still won’t look at Eddie.

“You… you thought we were,” Eddie says dumbly, and Steve shrugs.

“Can you blame me? We spend all our time together, Eddie. I’m here more than I’m at my own house, I think I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve slept in my own bed in the last month. We go out and do things together, I try to keep things nice around the house because I want Wayne to like me, we have, like, a lot of sex, and– we… I mean, we kiss and touch and just – do shit like that even when it doesn’t lead anywhere.” Steve shrugs helplessly, finally looking up. “I mean, Christ, Eddie, what did you think we were doing?”

“I thought we were friends!” Eddie insists. Steve throws him an incredulous look and Eddie amends, “With benefits!”

“Right.” Steve’s expression flattens back out, going cold and hard and unlike anything Eddie’s become used to from him. “Because I’m not the kind of guy you’d want to have a relationship with.”

“I said that because I thought you didn’t want to be in a relationship!” Eddie snaps. “It’s not like you stay with anyone for very long, so I just assumed you didn’t want to be with anyone.”

Some of the ice retreats from Steve’s face, leaving a watering kind of hurt in its stead. “Do you listen to me at all when I talk?”

“What? Of course I do!” Eddie might have gotten turned around in certain respects, but he will not have his merits as a friend called into question; of course he listens to Steve.

“Are you sure? Because I talk about you an awful lot. I talk about doing things with you, about doing things in the future with you,” Steve says pointedly, “about how I want to stay with you.”

And Eddie had wanted Steve to stay with him, too. He’s just been thinking – well, he’d thought it was because they get along so well, that Steve had wanted to stick around. That it had only made sense.

“We never talked about… being anything else,” Eddie says, the protest a little weak even to his own ears. “I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.”

Steve pulls a sharp breath in, pinching at the bridge of his nose again; he leaves his hand there this time, eyes scrunched shut. “Just a few days ago, I told you how much I liked being with you. How good and how easy it felt compared to anyone else I’ve ever been with,” he says, barely more than a rough whisper. “And you said…”

I like being with you, too.

Eddie had said that.

He’d meant that he likes being around Steve, likes being his friend, definitely likes having sex with him, but he’d said it while combing his fingers through Steve’s hair, while cuddled up with him in bed, and – okay, yes, he can see the mixed signals there. He can see where Steve might have gotten the idea that they didn’t have an arrangement, that they were just together.

“I– I didn’t mean–”

“Obviously,” Steve snaps, dropping his hand from his face and turning back towards his car.

Eddie tsks, frustrated, and reaches out to grab Steve’s wrist – not pulling, just trying to keep his attention.

“Don’t,” Steve warns him, pulling back from his grasp for a second time.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” Eddie tries desperately. “I really… I really didn’t.”

“Yeah. I can see that. But Eddie…” Steve is quiet for a moment, posture so tense and still that Eddie suspects he’s not even breathing. “I’m probably the best-qualified asshole around to tell you that you really have to fucking think about how what you’re doing affects the people around you.”

Somehow, that stings more than any screamed insult Steve could have thrown at him.

“Steve…”

“I’ll come get my shit out of your place tomorrow,” Steve says, low and sharp, before getting into his car and slamming the door behind him.

After that, Eddie has no choice but to step back or get run over, and he watches until Steve’s taillights are no longer visible.

He can hear the hissing of some whispered conversation just beyond the door as he trudges back up the front steps, but his friends fall conspicuously quiet the moment he steps inside.

“…hey,” Gareth finally ventures after several seconds of awkward, sticky silence.

“Hey,” Eddie says flatly.

“Do you… want us to stay?” Jeff asks.

Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “I think I should… I need to– think about shit.”

The boys all nod, throwing him variously sympathetic glances and clapping him on the shoulder on their way out. Oliver pauses, as if he’s going to say something, but Gareth gives him a shove and gets him out the door before he has the chance. Probably for the best.

Eddie feels numb as he trudges back towards his room, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

He flops down on his bed, face landing in a pillow that smells entirely too much like Steve’s shampoo. Probably because it’s on the side of the bed that Steve always takes. Next to the nightstand with the small stack of sports magazines that definitely aren’t Eddie’s. And the spare pair of glasses that also isn’t Eddie’s.

With a low tug in his gut, Eddie realizes how much of Steve’s stuff has crept into his room, into the trailer, into his life – how much Steve has become a part of his life, how much of Eddie’s day has been built around him, how much he’s come to lean on his presence, has come to want him there.

And Steve is going to take it all back sometime soon. Take all of his things away before he removes himself from Eddie’s life, too, because Eddie hadn’t been thinking and he hadn’t been careful and he hadn’t realized–

Eddie’s pretty sure he just broke up with Steve.

He’s also pretty sure he hadn’t wanted to.

His main consolation, as he curls up on his side, nose still buried in Steve’s pillow, is that as soon as Robin hears what happened (and she will hear, he has no doubt), she’ll probably come murder him.

At least he won’t have to wallow for long.

Part 2

[delaware-lemme-smash]

Could we have some hcs of reader referring to some of the older MHA men (coughAizawacough) as "beekeeping age" and then they make her explain it? LMAO.

For those who don’t spend all their time on TikTok like I do, ‘beekeeping age’ refers to an attractive older man, usually in 40s/50s. Some of these guys technically don’t apply but we’re putting them in anyway!

Characters: Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead, Yagi Toshinori/All Might, Maijima Higari/Power Loader, Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Contents: The existential struggle of trying to explain a meme to people who aren't chronically online.

Aizawa Shouta/Eraserhead

Age: 31

Yes, he’s only in his thirties, but Aizawa has the vibe of a retiree. He looks like someone who should be muttering “I’m too old for this shit��� at any minor inconvenience. In fact, he often does. He’s said it several times today. 

Most especially when you looked over at him and told him that he looks like he’s ‘beekeeping age’. Now, as a teacher, Aizawa isn’t as out of step with popular culture as he might like you to think he is. Even if he doesn’t really bother with social media himself, he has twenty students who are all hooked to their phones like it’s a dialysis machine. He picks stuff up just by proximity, and it’s not the first time he’s heard the phrase ‘beekeeping age’. And while he might have a vague idea of what it means, he’s not just going to let you get away with calling him that. 

He looks straight at you, lifts an eyebrow and asks, “What does that mean?”

Which leaves you floundering a little, because you have to explain to Aizawa that it means you think of him as an attractive ‘older’ man. 

While he’s the furthest thing from vain, he finds himself a little bit offended.

“What the hell do you mean ‘older’? I’m thirty-one.”

“You have to admit, Shouta, you do give off the vibe of a grizzled older man.”

“I’m too old for this shit.”

Yagi Toshinori/All Might

Age: 55+

Toshinori’s the only one who really qualifies for this trope, and naturally, he has absolutely no idea what you’re referring to when you tell him that he’s beekeeping age. He grins uncertainly at you.

“I’m…not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but I’ve always thought that beekeeping looks like a relaxing hobby! As long as you’re not allergic!”

Of course, you take a little pity on him and explain that it means he’s a hot older guy. 

“Oh, are you referring to a DILF?”

Once you’re done spraying your coffee or whatever you were drinking everywhere, you demand to know where Toshinori heard that word and if he knows what it means. Let’s be real, Toshinori doesn’t run his own social media and doesn’t know squat about memes.

“Oh, a charming young lady walked up to me at a signing once and informed me I am what the young people call a DILF. Still can’t get anyone to tell me what it means! Slang these days! Ha!”

I dare you to try and get Toshinori to refer to himself as a DILF in front of Aizawa. Just for the hell of it. 

Maijima Higari/Power Loader

Age: 41

Higari can’t catch a break. Not only is he very short and look a couple decades younger than he actually is, leading to a lot of unfortunate misunderstandings, now he has some whippersnapper calling telling him to go start a beehive. 

He’s probably the only one on this list that actually knows what it means. I feel like because he’s so in line with cutting edge technology that he’s pretty on top of social media as well? He doesn’t seem like the type to lose step with the rest of the world when it comes to these things. So you don’t even have to explain what you mean when you tell him he’s beekeeping age. 

“Buzz off.” 

Sasaki Mirai/Sir Nighteye

Age: 38 

At first Sir Nighteye thinks you’re making some kind of joke. He stares you down, looking rather menacing even while his mind is turning over the phrase ‘beekeeping age’, looking for the pun or the play on words. When he can’t find it, he finally has to admit defeat and ask you gravely: 

“What does that mean?”

Sir Nighteye’s a little put out when you tell him it’s about good looking older men, because he doesn’t consider himself particularly old. Pacify him by telling him that he just gives off the dignified air of a mature man. He might scoff, but he’ll be somewhat more mollified. 

“I suppose I can accept that as a compliment. Although I think you ought to come up with better jokes. That one didn’t even contain a pun.”

[blueninjablade3]

Yandere Frollo Alphabet

Real quick for my regular readers who are waiting for the Hades Angst I’m working on it at a snails pace but it’s shaping up nicely. I’m publishing this solely because it’s been in my drafts taunting me.

TW: Yandere themes, Slurs/ talks about slurs, genocide, medieval torture, isolation, abuse, gaslight, lack of right, racism, and religious themes.

If you are uncomfortable with any of this scroll on. I won’t be offended. If you are in a bad mental state I don’t recommend reading this Yandere relationships are extremely toxic and dangerous. If you or someone you love are in an abusive relationship, please remember you have resources to help you. I believe I’ve covered most of my bases so without further ado Yandere Frollo alphabet. Ps, left a little music if anyone wants to listen to that while they read.

Affection: how do they show you love and affection? How intense can It get?

I view Frollo somewhat like “I never quite learned to verbalize my feelings so I’m going to do very small things to tell you I love you.” Also, he brings you grapes. It’s every day he brings you grapes. (Unless you’re getting punished.) He does do the traditional kiss-your-cheek and forehead tho.

Blood: How dirty is he willing to get when it comes to you?

He’s willing to burn down all of Paris to find you. You and Esmeralda are gonna be best friends and shit talk Frollo together.

Cruelty: how will they treat you once kidnapped will he mock you?

Yes. Wtf do you think I would say “No he’s an angel” Brother has no problem calling someone a slur. Hell, I’d put money on the fact that he’d call a black person the N word hard R to their face. (He’s seriously the worst tho. Get y’all a man like… uh Prince Naveen. He’ll treat you better)

Darling: besides kidnapping you would he do anything else against your will?

Being an active part of the Romani people’s slaughter, being horrible to Quasi, and whipping people are the ones that are off the top of my head. I’m probably missing others but the point is he absolutely would.

Exposed: How much of his heart do you bear?

I think you actually bear 40%. The other 60 goes to the Bible and Christ. Don’t worry that’s still more than his family ever got.

Fight: How would he feel if you fought back?

CHOOSE ME OR YOUR PYRE BE MINE OR YOU WILL BURN~! But in all seriousness, he’s going to be so upset and do the same thing that he does to Quasi.

Game: Is this a Game to them? Would he like watching his darling try to escape?

No! This isn’t a game! Those filthy gypsies can’t be trusted! (it feels wrong even typing that 😭) They’ll harm you! You need to stay safe. In the bell tower.

I also don’t think he’d enjoy you escaping. He wants you at arm’s length at all times.

Hell: Your worst experience with him.

After one of your little “stunts” he had you flogged for a few hours and then you didn’t get lunch for a few days. (like three)

Ideals: what he sees in the future with you.

He sees a traditional Christian marriage (pretend male x male relationships were most of the time accepted by the church), a couple of NORMAL kids (he is the worst), and all the Romani people dead. (ICK)

Jealousy: does he get jealous and if he does, does he find a way to cope or will he lash out?

He gets very jealous and never controls it. He always lashes out. At this point, don’t even look at a fly anymore. He’ll get jealous of it.

Kisses: How does he act around you?

He’s possessive, creepy, and lustful. Think about how he behaves with Esma and multiply by two.

Love letters: how would he go about courting/approaching you?

He’s very traditional. He’s the type who’d buy a goat to give to your dad and then just be like “Gimme.” But he would approach you beforehand and have some small talk in passing.

Mask: Are his truth colors different from what people think?

No. He’s very publicly creepy and weird it seems. People also fear him and view him as dangerous which you can say firsthand is true. Creepy bitch.

Naughty: how would he punish you?

He’s the type to flog you for a little, isolate you, and then limit food consumption. You’re extremely afraid of acting out or acting against him for fear of his reaction.

Oppression: what rights did he take away from you:

Freedom, religion (if you’re anything other than Roman Catholic you’ll have to practice and pray in secret.), privacy, and if you’re American the right to bear arms. Really any weapons he’ll take away. (Maybe see if you can hide a dagger?)

Regret: does he regret kidnapping you? Will he ever let you go?

Haha! You’re so funny if you think he’d let you go or think he’d regret kidnapping you! The Lord brought you two together! You two were meant to be! Now stop struggling unless you wanna go back to the palace of justice.

Sigma: what brought this side of him?

I think his lust, pride, and lack of getting any bitches over his years all contributed. He got lustful for you, and he didn’t know how to react, then instead of admitting that he was in the wrong his pride got the best of him, and blamed you. When his lust won caused his Yandere actions.

Tears: how would he feel if you cried screamed or Isolated yourself?

He doesn’t care! You’ll learn to love him eventually. If you don’t… you won’t like what’s gonna happen. But do go ahead.

Unique: is there anything different from a normal Yandere

He has a massive superiority complex? He also can have people flogged and not be questioned.

Vice: what can you use to escape him?

I’m not quite sure. I guess maybe you could hide in the court of miracles?

Witts end: would he ever hurt you

Without a second thought.

Xoanon: how much does he revere/worship you and to what extent is he willing to go to win you over

He’s willing to go to extreme lengths. I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about him in this but in all seriousness, he views you as a gift from the heavens. An angel sent to him. His angel.

Yearn: How long before he snapped and kidnapped you?

He’s a patient man. I’m going to say if you play your cards right and Quasi is still young about 1.5 years till he snaps.

Zenith: would he ever break you?

Oh definitely.

Thank you for reading! Please remember that rebloging, likes and comments are much appreciated! ❤️

[elliespassagerprincess]

Headcannons: Milf!abby anderson x reader (part 2)

Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

☆ Milf Abby who tries really hard to talk to you but you’re making it so fucking difficult.

☆ Milf Abby who tries calling, texting, literally all forms of communication but you leave her on read and you don’t even pick up.

☆ Milf Abby who’s frustrated but she knows she deserves it.

☆ Milf Abby who wakes up one morning to see you sent her a text.

With shaky hands she clicked on the message. The simple text read 4 words:

“me, you this Friday?”

Abby blinked, and she sat in silence for a while.

Holy shit this was happening.

She responded with a simple “ok ill pick you up at six”.

☆ Milf Abby who jumps up from her bed and yells “I got the girl!” But soon regrets it when Aubrey walks in and tells her to shut up.

☆ Milf Abby who was on cloud nine all week.

☆ Milf Abby who tells her coworkers about the pretty girl she’s going on a date with on Friday.

☆ Milf Abby who smiles at you, when she picks up Aubrey, and her heart feels like it could explode when you give her a little wave.

☆ Milf Abby who asks Aubrey what your favorite color is because she wants to wear an outfit in that color, because she read in an article it’ll increase her chances.

“C’mon baby tell me” Abby groaned.

“Give me chocolate first”

Abby’s jaw dropped.  “Aubrey its 9pm, you know you can’t eat chocolate at this time”

“No chocolate, no color”

Abby let out a sigh as she walked out of Aubrey’s room to her secret chocolate stash. She pulled out a chocolate bar, and she gave it to the little girl. Aubrey immediately opened the bar and she took a big bite.

“ok talk”

“she likes green” Aubrey spoke with a mouth full of chocolate.

☆ Milf Abby who takes her daughter to bed, and orders a custom suit in green.

☆ Milf Abby who goes to work the next day and finds out they hired someone new.

“Who is he?” she asked while looking at Nora.

“I don’t know man”

“as long as she doesn’t break my record”

Nora rolled her eyes “of course he won’t abs, you’ve won the most cases in this whole firm”

☆ Milf Abby who tenses when she sees who was hired.

☆ Milf Abby who felt sick when he walked towards her.

“hi I’m- “

“heaters dad”

“Yeah” he chuckled “my name is actually Jason”

“I’m Abby”

The air was tense.

“what do you want dude” Abby said irritated.

“Look are you and the new teacher together?” He asked. Abby felt her eye twitch at his question.

“It’s none of your business”

☆ Milf Abby who thought her week was ruined, but when she got home her suit had arrived.

☆ Milf Abby who almost pees herself on Friday morning because today is the day.

☆ Milf Abby who takes the day off to get away from Jason and to relax.

☆ Milf Abby who spends hours on Pintrest to look for the perfect hairstyle.

☆ Milf Abby who’s ready by 3 in the afternoon.

☆ Milf Abby who asks Aubrey and her dad how she looks before she walks out.

“So how do I look?” she watched her dad smile at her.

“you look perfect Abby”

“now go get your girl!” she heard Aubrey yell.

☆ Milf Abby who made you a bracelet, and flowers out of paper.

☆ Milf Abby who sees Jason’s car outside the school.

☆ Milf Abby whose heart shatters when she hears your conversation.

“I’m going on a date with Abby” she heard your voice.

“Isn’t she too old for you? She’s in her 40s isn’t she?”

“what does age have to with anything?”

“she’s old”

yeah she was.

fuck, Abby knew too old. She didn’t even stay to listen to the conversation.

Abby ran out the school and she sobbed in her car. She should’ve know this would never work.

If only she stayed behind to hear how you defended her. If only she waited for you.

☆ Milf Abby who came home crying.

“Mommy what’s wrong- “Abby walked right past her daughter

“it’s ok let her go” she heard her dad say.

☆ Milf Abby who fell asleep crying.

☆ Milf Abby who wakes up with multiple texts from you.

“Hey where are you?”

“Abby?”

“are you ok?”

“I’m waiting for you”

“I’m home now”

“did you change your mind”

“Abby?”

With a shaky breath Abby blocked your number.

☆ Milf Abby who ignores your existence once again.

☆ Milf Abby who sees you smiling at her, but she just nods back at you.

☆ Milf Abby who tells you have no future together.

Aubrey climbed into the car, and before Abby could drive away she heard a knock on her window. It was you.

“Hey” Abby said after lowering the window.

“Hi Abby- “

“call me Mrs. Anderson” she watched as your face dropped.

You cleared your throat “I’m sorry Mrs. Anderson, I just wanted to ask what happened the other night?”

“I realized that this wasn’t going to work”

“why?”

“because you’re too young. I need someone more mature”

“Oh”

Abby could feel the sadness radiating off you.

“You should go for someone your own age”

“Ok Mrs. Anderson, I understand. Thank you for your time”

☆ Milf Abby who feels bad after her daughter calls her stupid.

☆ Milf Abby who makes a realization by the help of her daughter.

“You made my teacher sad”

“Aubrey I don’t care stop telling me- “

“you do care. I see the way you look at her” Abby sighed at her daughter’s answers.

She does care. She downloaded social media to stalk you. She stared learning internet slang for you.

“Heathers dad said that he wants to ask her on a date-”

“what?”

“I heard him say that he’s going to ask her out but then I said no because you wanted to go on a date with her”

Then it clicked.

He was there that day to cause trouble.

fuck.

He wanted to get into Abby’s head. And he did. He started working at Abby’s law firm to watch her. To figure out her moves. Her weaknesses.

He must’ve heard her and Nora talk about the age gap. She made a mistake.

☆ Milf Abby who runs to unblock your number and calls you.

☆ Milf Abby who felt like she could cry when you didn’t pick up.

☆ Milf Abby who whimpers your name when you eventually pick up the phone.

“what do you want Mrs. Anderson?”

“No look I made a mistake, please listen- “

“you can’t keep doing this….You say you like me then you ghost me- I’m sick of your shit Abby”

“look I heard Jason say that you deserve someone younger- “

“well maybe I do”

Abby went quite at that.

You spoke up again: “I need someone who’s mature, someone who can communicate but what do I know Abby I’m immature, am I not? Because apparently you know what that maturity means”

“Please” she sighed.

“Please I’m begging you” Abby begged again.

The line went quite for a while.

“Come to my class tomorrow so we can talk”

☆ Milf Abby who goes to work the next day and she goes to Jason’s office.

☆ Milf Abby who confronts him, and almost beats the shit out of him when he calls her a grandma.

☆ Milf Abby who gets into trouble but it was worth it.

☆ Milf Abby who goes to your class later that day.

She watched as you sat behind your desk. “Sit” you commanded and she did.

☆ Milf Abby who tells you the whole story.

“sorry won’t cut it Abby, you said the same thing the last time”

“Just because he said that doesn’t mean you have the right to ghost me”

“I’m sorry”

“Look just one more chance please”

“why should I trust you?”

“because I’m me”

You rolled your eyes at Abby’s response.

Abby reached out to grab your head, and your head snapped in the direction of you interlocked fingers.

“words mean nothing” you spoke.

“just trust me please and-” but before she could finish you leaned in to kiss her.

It was slow, passionate, and it was filled with so much love. Abby pulled away, only to get up and walk to side of the desk where you sat. She went on knees and she and put her hands on your waist. The two of you started at each other.

“Fuck” she breathed before you kissed her again.

☆ Milf Abby who jumps up when she heard Aubrey yell “ew!”

☆ Milf Abby who was really embarrassed.

☆ Milf Abby who turned as red as a tomato, she felt like a teenager being caught in the act.

“Why did you go on your knees?” you asked, still heavily breathing.

“it’s a way of showing submission” she shrugs.

“I’m trying to show you that you have me, despite our age difference” Abby explained.

“I’d let you do anything to me” she confessed.

☆ Milf Abby who goes home that night and smile the whole time.

☆ Milf Abby who keeps touching her lips, because yours were there.

☆ Milf Abby who apologizes to Aubrey for seeing such an act.

“It’s ok” the little girl reassured her.

“Now go get her before Heathers dad does”

☆ Milf Abby who shows up to school the next day to bring you lunch.

☆ Milf Abby who spells out the words “May i be your girlfriend?” with different fruit in the lunch box. All you did was smile at the sight.

☆ Milf Abby who was chewing her nails, waiting for your response.

“This is very romantic Anderson” you spoke. She watched as you but the lunch box on the table, you walked towards her.

“Get on your knees Abby” and she did so immediately.

“Why?” she asked while being on her knees.

“you’re too tall, I can’t kiss you when you’re standing”

The two of you shared a quick kiss.

“So is it a yes?” Abby asked, her lips inches away from yours.

“Yeah”

“Fuck yes” she breathed as she got up, picking you up and placing you on your desk. The two of you shared another kiss before you pulled away.

“Promise me something”

“What?”

“No more ghosting”

“yes ma’am”

“you’ll tell me if you feel insecure”

“yes”

“and one more thing Abby”

“what?”

“you aren’t too old for me. I like my women mature” you added as you wrapped your arms around her neck. Abby chuckled.

☆ Milf Abby who wanted to kiss you again before she heard your daughter yell “fucking finally” as she stood at the door.

“Who taught you that word?”

“grandpa did”

“of course he did”

☆ Milf Abby who was the happiest women ever, since that moment.

☆ Milf Abby who knew you were the one.

☆ Milf Abby who already goes wedding ring shopping and who plans your future together despite only dating you for 2 days at that point.  

My pookies (the tag list): @mousymaven @lia-winther @zombholic

[da-man-si]

Some people are hating on Li Rong after episode 12, saying she is a vicious and vile woman who deserves to be used by Su Rongqing…and that she doesn’t deserve Pei Wenxuan.

I strongly disagree. In fact, I like her character. She has flaws, many flaws and sometimes I have shouted “girl no” at the screen because she does jump to the wrong conclusions a lot. Her personality has been moulded by the palace environment. She is proud, privileged, a hardcore skeptic and keeps her emotions reserved. Imagine a princess (mind you, she’s an eldest daughter) growing up in a palace where almost every person she’s interacted with is power hungry, even her mother and father. The treachery and bloodshed she must have witnessed. All over power. In her past life, she bent to all that. She would do what the powerful people wanted. She would convince her brother, the crown prince, to do what those people wanted.

She desperately wanted to find a trusted companion in Pei Wenxuan because she thought he is not from the palace and won’t go after power. She thought he will choose her and love her for her, Li Rong and not The Princess Royal. But in comes the trust issues when she sees him with Zhenzhen in his arms. She had taken one step forward in trusting him but then she took three steps back. Because trusting and communicating isn’t her forte. Those who have dared to trust in the palace have met with disappointment leading to death. Did her trust issues come in the way of Pei Wenxuan loving her? Yes. Do I hate her for it? No.

She does not become vicious or vile because she is unable to trust people. It is very tempting and easy it is to follow your fears and overthink shit all the time. She spent 40 years living this way so it will take some time for her to rewire her brain and resist and reject the urges to doubt.

I get that people are mad because Pei Wenxuan has put his heart out to her and she is still doubting him. But, that’s why I like her character. Because when she slams open the doors to herself and lets him in, that would be character development moment.

I don’t know what choice she will make in episode 13 but despite whatever choice she makes, I just want to put it out there that her trust issues come from complex, dark emotions and memories and not because the writer wrote a stupid and cruel female lead. Let’s not let the love for the male lead blind us to the point of hating the female lead because she doesn’t reciprocate his trust and feelings.

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween!!! More Lady Mo? I love your writings!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Lan Zhan doesn’t want their baby.

Not their baby, he forces himself to think through the blood pounding in his ears. This body doesn’t belong to him. He’s just borrowing it, and the child he’s carrying no more belongs to him than the body he’s wearing. It’s Lan Zhan’s baby. And he doesn’t want it.

For the first time, he’s grateful that Mo Xuanyu didn’t stick around. It’s breaking his heart, and the baby isn’t even his. This would have killed her.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have. She didn’t want to be a bride, maybe she didn’t want to be a mother either, and she and Lan Zhan would have just been in perfect agreement about any child they would have created, and what had to be done about it.

I’m sorry.

I never intended –

This is for the best.

He can complete the mission that Mo Xuanyu died to give him. He doesn’t have to try and stretch it out or leave Lan Zhan behind to raise a child alone. What a mess that would have been, for him to have the kid and leave it behind with a father that didn’t want him. He wouldn’t wish that on any child, especially his ow – especially any child he helped create. It would have just been another terrible, bitter legacy of his to leave behind, an unloved child and a disinterested father.

This is better. This is a good thing.

“Oh, Meimei.”

Wei Wuxian blinks and sees Jiang Yanli kneeling in front of him, rubbing her sleeve over his cheeks for some reason. They come away damp and it takes him raising a hand to his own face to realize he’s crying.

Stupid. There’s nothing to cry over. This is the best thing that could have happened. A baby makes things complicated. Now they can be simple.

“We’ll take care of you,” Jiang Yanli says, pulling him into her arms, and he lets her, because he’s weak and she’s his sister and he feels that familiar roll of nausea even though there’s nothing in his stomach to upset it. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of everything. You won’t have to – you know, you barely got a chance to see Jin Tower the first time, you should stay past the cultivation conference. Or, hm, I know there’s, well there’s also Lotus Pier. You’ve never been have you? A-Cheng could escort you there and you could see the ponds. We can think of a reason. A-Yao will help.”

Most of what she’s saying doesn’t make any sense, but it’s so comforting to be held by her that he just goes with it. He looks over her shoulder, expecting to see Jiang Cheng awkwardly hovering in the doorway, but it’s empty.

It’s. Empty.

“Where’s Jiang Cheng?” he rasps, even though he thinks he already knows.

She stiffens, her voice taking on a tone that reminds him of Madame Yu. “He went to talk to Lan Wangji. He’ll be back.”

He remembers Jiang Cheng’s reaction when he thought that Lan Zhan had hurt him, and now here he is, crying, and even though it’s stupid, he’s, well, it’s easy to see how Jiang Cheng could look at him and think him hurt, even though it’s not his baby and it’s for the best. But he doesn’t know that.

“Shit,” he curses, pushing himself away and stumbling to his feet. “Oh, no, he’ll kill him.”

He’s spared against Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng has his core in his chest. Maybe he can’t actually kill him, but blood will be spilled, and both of them are stubborn enough to keep at it until someone does die. Fuck.

Jiang Yanli shrugs, then winces, like she knows that wasn’t the appropriate response. In other circumstances, that would be enough to goad him to laughter, but now he just rushes for the door.

“Meimei!” she calls out, but Wei Wuxian ignores her.

He doesn’t get far, running into Jin Guangyao almost as soon as he steps into the hallway. His eyes flicker to Jiang Yanli behind him, his frown deepens, and then he looks Wei Wuxian up and down once, then does it again, except this time he stops at his stomach. “Ah.”

How does he do that? He’s so lucky they didn’t know each other during the war and that he didn’t know his sister at all, otherwise he would have been made the first time the two of them had a conversation. “Where’d they go?”

“Perhaps it’s best if we leave them to it,” he suggests.

Wei Wuxian stares. “Have you lost it? Jiang Cheng is pissed and he’s going to take that anger out on Wangji. How many more whip scars do you want him to have?”

Jin Guangyao presses his lips together. “He is A-Huan’s brother. In different circumstances, that would entitle him to my protection. But you’re my sister.”

The warmth rushes through him and causes his eyes to sting. It’s all borrowed, all a lie, because he’s not Mo Xuanyu, but his stupid heart is really doing a terrible job of remember that right now. “A-Yao, please.”

He sighs. “All right. Follow me.”

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 42

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 39, part 40, part 41

“And I know he doesn’t mean any of it,” Wayne explains, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “I’m just tired of it.”

Hopper scoffs. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Wayne needed to get out of the house. Do something other than go to work. Go somewhere where he can just calm down from it all. Not have to get in the middle of a fight or have one.

Eddie doesn’t fight with Wayne as much as he does with Steve, but it’s there. Wayne’s just used to it. Knows how to bite back enough to get Eddie to stop. Has the history where Eddie knows where to draw the line. Where to stop.

But Steve just lets him yell. Lets him scream and insult and hurt. Does it right back, not giving a shit what happens afterward. It’s giving Eddie exactly what he wants.

“I know why he does it. He’s angry and in pain, so he takes it out on us. I just wish he would stop. It’s not helping anything.”

“Hey, dad,” Jim’s kid pops her head out of the doorway. “Can I go over to Max’s?”

“Yeah, see if Jonathan can take you.”

Jim’s kid, who Wayne knows by at least three different names and can’t for the life of him figure out which one is the real one, shakes her head. “He already said that he is busy.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Course he is. Give me like twenty minutes and I’ll drive you over.”

“Ok.” She lets the door swing back shut.

“Jonathan Joyce’s son?” Wayne asks. Willing to take a moment off from dealing with his own stuff.

Jim nods. “Her oldest. He hasn’t been busy since Wheeler broke up with him. Probably just getting high in his room.”

Wayne scoffs. “You let him do that?”

“He’s an adult, he can make his own decisions. As long as I don’t catch him while on the clock, I won’t do anything. I’m more worried about him.”

Wayne doesn’t know much about Jim’s personal life. Other than before he met Joyce, back when his kid was in the hospital. He knows that him and Joyce have been together for a few months now, and that they merged families. But he doesn’t know about his relationship with Joyce’s kids. Jim doesn’t talk about them a lot.

He’s pretty reserved, Wayne realized. Which isn’t a problem, Wayne can be reserved most of the time as well. But it was nice to have someone to relate to. Someone his age, who can understand his viewpoint more. They’re on the same understanding level.

Wayne’s never been the type of person to make and keep a friend. There were the people he grew up with in high school. People he worked with. His neighbors. But beyond basic friendliness, there really wasn’t a bond. It was different with Jim. Their understandings turning into camaraderie. Maybe turning into friendship.

It’s almost stupid to think of it that way. Two men in their fifties becoming friends. For some reason, it doesn’t sound right. But Wayne has liked being able to lean on someone during this. Someone that isn’t the twenty year old that he lives with.

He sees the kids all rally around each other. They way that they are there for each other. Adapting with their new lives and moving forward, together. Able to cope with the changes of their lives as a group, rather than the individual.

It would be nice to have something like that.

“What do you mean?” Wayne offers, hoping Jim will open up.

Jim exhales a line of smoke. “He doesn’t have many friends. Only this one kid that he met out in California. But no one here. Other than Wheeler, he just had his family. I just wish he had someone to talk to about all of this. But he just shuts himself in his room and gets high. And don’t even get me started when I try to ask, he just snaps and pushes me out.”

“I have some experience with that.” He flicks his cigarette. “Honestly, it just takes time. If you keep showing up for them, they eventually start to open up to you.”

“I guess.” Jim stubs out his cigarette.

“Mr. Munson,” Jim’s kid calls out the door again. “There’s someone one the phone for you.”

Wayne tosses his bud into the ash tray, nodding. He heads inside, following the kid to the phone. “Hello.”

“Hey, it’s Steve. Sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, that’s ok. What’s happening?”

Steve sighs. “Eddie hasn’t come out of his room all day. He’s locked the door and I can’t get him to come out. I thought maybe he might for you.”

Wayne rubs a hand down his face. “I’m heading back. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Ok. See you soon.”

He hangs the phone back on the receiver. Double checking that he has everything.

“That was Steve, wasn’t it?” A voice Wayne doesn’t recognize comes from behind him.

When he turns, he sees what he is assuming is Jonathan. Wearing clothes that look like they’ve been slept in. “It was.”

Jonathan scoffs. “So he calls our house now, great.”

“Jonathan,” Jim tries to scold. His voice rounding around the edges, trying not to be too harsh.

“No, I’m sick of this. It’s always Steve this and Steve that. I don’t get why he’s so great now. After all that he did. After that shit he pulled over spring break with Nancy. I don’t get what’s so great about the guy that he’s suddenly revered.”

“Oh my god, not again,” another voice comes from the living room. “You need to give it a rest, Jonathan.”

Wayne makes his way toward the door, feeling very out of place right now.

“Will, you don’t know what he said.”

“But I know what he’s done since then. You haven’t heard the things he’s done to protect the rest of us. You’re so blinded by the shit that happened three years ago to think that he could have changed.”

He hears a door slam as he makes his way to the porch. Letting out a long breath when he makes his way to his car.

“Sorry about that,” Jim apologizes.

“Do you know what that was about?”

He wants to know. Surprisingly. He’s living in Steve’s house. Trusting him with Eddie. If there was something that happened, especially whatever it was with Nancy. Considering that she and Steve seem to be really close now. With all that flirting he’s been doing with Eddie.

He needs to know that whatever Steve’s intentions are, they’re not going to screw Eddie over.

“Not really. I think it’s just an old grudge that he’s let fester.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Thanks for the smoke. I hope things get better for you.”

“Same goes for you. See you around.”

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

[envy-of-the-apple]

Oh my goodness I adored Sun eats Moon. It was such a well-put together story! Cannot stop thinking about it as well as your other works. Even though the trilogy ended, I was thinking about Satoru’s reaction to if he caught the reader cheating? How would he take it?

!!!!!!!!!

ik i said no more sem asks buuuuut omg?? such SUCH a good question

i personally feel this is the only situation where cheating is excusable. i mean, youre stuck in an abusive relationship with no way out, i dont blame you. since satoru has basically stopped all communication with your friends/family and youre stuck in a penthouse all alone and pregnant, maybe you turn to the internet as a last ditch effort to feel something other than despair???

and that's when you meet him.

you two have never sent eachother pictures. you dont know what he looks like. you dont care about any of that. the things you two talk about feel so real. passions, favorite hobbies, etc etc. soon it moves onto fantasies: where he'd take you out on the first date, where he'd propose, where you two would get married.

it's so pathetic, but it's the only out you have.at least until Gojo finds out. when he does. It’s CHAOS. He’d loose his mind. Just the thought of you LOOKING at another man is enough to make him go insane but now he’s reading these chats and you’re talking about marriage, kids, a fucking pet dog

using his super richguy status he’d track down the IP and find the guy relatively quickly. And this person is probably the exact opposite of what he described himself as: a 40 year old man who still lives with his mom and lives vicariously through his internet persona….but so are you…it’s equally pathetic. still Gojo is furious. He’d probably force you to look at he kicks the shit out of this poor nobody. Maybe he’d ask one of his bodyguards to pitch in. And when that’s over he’ll order you to strip and suck him off in front of your AP so he can humiliate you even further. after that whole fiasco he’ll just get that guy blacklisted from every company in the city, but your punishment isn’t done.

even less freedom, even more supervision. youre basically just trapped in his penthouse. he doesn't trust bodyguards anymore, what if you start cheating on him with them too?? cameras are the only solution. you arent given real clothes anymore. your entire wardrobe of designer that he thought you'd be grateful for is ripped away in place of lingerie. its all youre given. and if you dont want to wear that, you could always just walk around naked since you're so insistent on being a little slut

from now on, its only rough sex. youre still gonna finish but hell make sure its torture. for weeks he'll refer to you as 'slut' 'whore' 'prositute'. no matter how many times you apologize.

he'd forgive you eventually, but until he does....oh boy

[ellethespaceunicorn]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need. 

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-” 

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers. 

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

[amazingmsme]

So just imagine Ted meeting the rest of the Lords in Black. That man has no idea what the hell is going on, where the hell he is, or who the hell they are. But he doesn’t appreciate it & really isn’t all that impressed so I think he’d resort to being very snarky & defensive. Like they introduce themselves as the lords in black & legit do the whole song & dance. He just stands there swaying along & waits for them to finish & then goes “for the “lords in black” you sure are a bunch of rainbow lookin’ motherfuckers” complete with air quotes & everything

Chaos ensues when Tinky tries to keep his brothers from killing his new kidnapped boyfriend while Ted just keeps pissing them off on purpose

Shit like making fun of their full names in a teasey asshole way, which leads to informal introductions with their nicknames. & y’all he straight up bullies Wiggly & calls his ass out. Like “Wiggly? No relation to tickle me wiggly I suppose” & laughs at his own joke & Wiggly is quietly seething & goes “actually, yes” & Ted, lovable bastard that he is, doubles over in laughter like “oh my god, really? Fuckin’ A! So what, I just tickle your tummy and we’re friends or some shit?”

& Wiggly snatches his wrist & is like “don’t you even think about trying that again” & yeah it’s a little scary, but he’s pretty sure Tinky will protect him. So he just smirks & rolls his eyes like “ok riddle me this wise guy: why make a tickle doll of yourself if you don’t wanna get tickled?” & does that fucking shrug from tgwdlm (where he’s like I say we go & beg for the king’s help around 4:40 in the video) but he basically renders him speechless as he’s getting ready to lash out & make Ted eat those words. But Blinky’s like “we’ve all been thinking it, haven’t we?”

Ted is just enjoying the show as Wiggly’s all pissy & defensive like “I’ve told you it wasn’t even my idea!” But the rest of the lib are like “yeah suuuure” because they never pass up an opportunity to tease the shit out of him. & Ted just keeps stirring the pot & Wiggly decides to wreck him since he thinks this is all just so funny

[auckie]

Neil gaiman is such a fucking hack. All he does is ride off Terry pratchets coattails, gets. I really hate the word cuck but idk how else to describe the Amanda Palmer situation. Cucked by women and regurgitates that into flat one dimensional characters. Queer baits and panders to trashy online YA level drivel types. He’s the definition of the word fandom. If men like his garbage they’re always the kind of guy who has a beard and lets you know he has a beard. He probably owns a kilt despite not being remotely Scottish. Funko pop owner for sure, has a mini tardis and probably that dr who scarf. A pentagram tattoo, maybe some runes.

And like. Neil gaiman is a capable writer do not get me wrong. But his idea of creative writing is theorizing about how the afterlife is all bureaucracy bc that’s never been done by a bitter atheist. It’s always secularly Christian too isn’t it? I mean i guess that’s what he knows.

So im saying this knowing that he’s not solely responsible for it, really, and having read the comics and not enjoyed them at all but continued to have done so out of some weird sense of obligation, I’m very angry to admit that I’m enjoying the stupid Netflix production of dead boy detectives. It is absolutely a mishmash of other similar cw-type shows, but that’s just the thing. I eat that shit up. Riverdale, Sabrina, teen dramas with obnoxious editing and low brow production value. I even liked the second season of good omens despite like, hating a solid 40% of the secondary character and plot direction. It’s sorta like eating little Debbie cakes yknow? Or binging reality tv.

DBDA is better than all that, like it��s a crust above but it’s wrapped in the trappings of really shitty things, and whenever it manages to be a bit better it’ll sink a smidge lower by referencing its ilk or doing exactly what you’d expect of it.

Whenever I see the ‘two skinny whitish boys with obvious sexual tension and an annoying women in the middle’ I stop and ask myself— does this writer have a track record of making the same dynamic.

An obnoxious woman is not a bad thing. She can be a good thing even, but if she’s a mirror image of a million other toxic characters that indicates two things: projection, or a formula. Especially when paired between two male characters that clearly interact in ways that urge the audience to say ‘they should kiss!’

Then she becomes an obstacle. It’s rare for a character in this role to rise above the narrative, and even rarer for authors to try and write one capable of that.

A lot of fans will see people hating on her and cry ‘misogyny!’ Instead of asking why she was written, and why hundreds of other past iterations and future clones of her continue to be written. A similar character is the empty lesbian who stands in both popular media and fanfiction to prove that the author is not just obsessing over gay men and throws a bone to the supposed lesbian audience as well.

And then you have the flat poc or other LBT, sometimes disabled characters who serve to act as a tick mark off a checklist. It’s lazy, it’s annoying. But that’s a whole different can of vaguely related worms

[stolenslumber]

though the stars walk backward (sjy) (part 1)

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

PAIRING: sim jaeyun x female reader GENRE: college au, one-sided enemies-to-lovers (the e2l part is short-lived lol sry), friends-to-lovers, he fell first but then they both fell harder? lmao, soooooo much mutual pining, fluff, romance, jake as a star soccer player but also loser physics nerd, mc is an assistant manager on the soccer team because of Convoluted Reasons WARNINGS: swearing, familial angst/generational trauma WORD COUNT: ~11.8k a/n: lol (said with no humor whatsoever) i decided to post the first half rn and when i say "first half" what i mean is that i intended for this to come out as a complete fic instead of in parts however school is slamming me so hard and i'm contributing by ruining my own life SOOOO who was to say when this would ever see the light of day if it had to be a full fic..... anyways part 2 is like 30-40% written but i probably won't be able to work on the rest until after my semester ends so maybe may? lol (once again w/ no humor)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got nervous!” Jake exclaims. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if sensing his eyes on you, you twist around fully to catch him staring. Jake blinks deer-in-headlights eyes at you; if this was a cartoon, there would be a ?! above his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re going to the same place!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still. A win is a win.

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

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

sunghoon: ur preaching to the choir ketchup boy

sunghoon: yizhuo told me i was hotter with blonde hair

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

jake: ????? did i ask

jake: i’m talking about MY day

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

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

sunghoon: hop off my dick tf????

heeseung: so what happened jake

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

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

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

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

jake: OR maybe she wants to be friends

jake: to lovers&lt;3

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

jake: take me out… oh my god LIKE ON A DATE?????

jay: no like

jay: lethally

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

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

yizhuo: yeah i heard that went poorly

yizhuo: sunghoon said something about ketchup????

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

minjeong: cool

somi: noooooo he’s hot

you: HE RUINED MY BROTHER’S LIFE

somi: girl u have to let that go

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

somi: i think he’ll be fine

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

somi: he actually has like insane puppy dog eyes

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

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

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

For reasons you cannot fathom, the men’s varsity soccer team has practice on Monday mornings, at the crack of dawn. You’re beginning to regret giving up your reasonably timed library shifts where you basically got paid to sit there and do your homework and check out computer chargers to students every now and then, but these are the things you do when you’re trying to be a good sister.

Autumn has arrived abruptly— almost overnight, if the smattering of ambers and ochres falling from the trees lining the soccer field is anything to go by. You realize you’re dressed entirely inappropriately for the weather when your teeth are chattering and your eyes are watering from the sting of the cold. The dress you’d picked out last night for today seems laughable now. 

“What are you doing here?” Jake’s voice, so unexpectedly close, makes you jolt and flail around a bit before turning to meet his confused expression— head tilted, eyes wide, and damn it, Somi’s right, he does have insane puppy dog eyes.

You gesture vaguely at the field. “I’m one of the new assistant managers. Surprise! Told you I’d be in touch.”

“Speaking of— did you get home alright the other day?” 

“Yeah, of course, I just walked.”

He wants to be concerned about that answer— the closest student accommodations are at least a thirty minute walk away from the dry cleaner’s— but then he sees you hop from one foot to the other while rubbing your arms. You look so out of place with your heeled mary janes sinking into the dew-damp field with every hop, but it’s so cute that he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from grinning too widely. In a move that now feels familiar, he digs around in his bag before pulling out a spare sweatshirt and handing it to you. 

Appreciation for his kindness and irritation at his kindness play tug-of-war inside of you for all of two seconds before a particularly brisk gust of wind hits you, and then you’re yanking the sweatshirt over your head and breathing in clean soap and something else unfairly cozy. “Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Sure thing. Here, take this, too.” Jake digs around in his bag some more and emerges triumphant with a thermos. He twists the cap off and pours some liquid into the cap before offering it to you. 

It smells like… “Hot chocolate?” 

“With two espresso shots, because we have intro to Python right after practice today.”

You grimace in unison at that reminder, and you’re kind of glad that that’s the last expression on your face before you sip at the drink, because it’s perfect, and you have to refrain from letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. So he’s practical, makes delicious hot drinks, and, because you’re not immune to those big brown eyes, attractive. It’s a pity he was such a jerk to your brother, because otherwise you’d be swooning. 

But he must have seen something change in your face, because he lets out a giggle— oh no, it’s so cute— and hands you the entire thermos. “I think you need it more than me,” he explains. 

You try to remind yourself of your brother’s disappointment after club soccer try-outs last week, which you had seen from your totally not-creepy position, brooding inside your stepdad’s car over how to best connect with this 10-year-old kid who was just old enough to recognize that girls had cooties and not old enough to share any genuine interests with you. It was less creepy because you were there to pick your brother up, but you feel like you’re not any closer to him than a stranger (in fairness, you hadn’t known that he existed before last year). You’ve tried, in fits and starts, to get to know MJ better, to actually form some sort of sibling bond with him, but most of the time, you’re his glorified chauffeur. He tries, too, and your heart goes all fuzzy when you notice it, but there’s only so far that a 10-year-old whose greatest joys in life are cookies ‘n cream ice cream (understandable), and soccer (more confounding) can get before he decides that his Nintendo is more readily enjoyable.

The look on MJ’s face after try-outs last week had spurred you to apply for the assistant manager position. He was so sad about the B team, and you did the whole comforting, cajoling song-and-dance as best as you could, but he had just snapped at you that you didn’t get it, that you couldn’t get it. And then he had burst into frustrated tears, and you vowed at that moment to learn everything you could about soccer, as well as to give Jake Sim a piece of your mind. 

Jake Sim, whom you had only known as the guy that finished the first lab faster than anyone else in your extrasolar research methods class, until you saw him blowing a whistle on the sidelines of MJ’s soccer try-outs, looking like he had some sort of authority as he directed a group of kids, including MJ, in a series of drills. Later, you found out from Minjeong that Jake is a star player on your school’s soccer team, so he presumably has some basis for helping out with the local club soccer team, but you hadn’t been all that interested in finding out more. You’d seen enough from the way he took MJ aside after the teams had been announced, and MJ’s subsequent tears in the car, and you knew vengeance would be yours. 

Unfortunately, vengeance is currently offering you hot chocolate with two espresso shots, and he is distressingly earnest when he wraps your hands around the thermos and points you in the direction of the other assistant managers who are supposed to onboard you. So, you bid Jake a stiff goodbye as you try to ignore the warmth spreading from the tip of your nose down into your throat. It’s definitely the hot chocolate, but you’re annoyed at even the possibility that it could be connected to Jake. 

women’s rights and wrongs

yizhuo: so how’s world domination (ruining jake’s life) going?

you: hard to say. he gave me a sweatshirt and hot chocolate bc i’m wearing a stupid ass outfit and it’s cold as hell out here

minjeong: he said that?!

you: no I’M saying that

you: i need to change my entire wardrobe so i’m never caught unawares like this ever again. i let my guard down and this is what happens. 

somi: a guy is nice to u? yeah god forbid

you: HE IS BESMIRCHING MY HONOR (AVENGING MJ)

minjeong: jeez you get so victorian when you’re distressed 

somi: sorry are we ignoring the fact that he gave her a sweatshirt and hot chocolate????

minjeong: omfg YEAH that’s like. bf behavior

you: oh fuck there’s some sort of commotion going on out there in the field

you: omg they’re bringing a STRETCHER out

you: i gotta go guys ttyl xoxo etc. 

yizhuo: notice how she never responded to the bf behavior allegations

Jung Sungchan, team captain, is down and out for the count after being wheeled out of practice on a stretcher with a torn ACL. This is reasonably concerning to everyone on the team, but none more so than to Jake, who finds himself at the receiving end of a Serious Talk about leadership qualities and such from his coach that ends with, “... and that’s why we want you to fill in for Sungchan while he’s recovering.”

“Huh?” Jake tilts his head at his coach. He must have misheard; there’s no way they want him to fill in for Sungchan.  

“The seniors love you, the underclassmen look up to you, your peers respect you, and all the coaches agree. Sungchan will come back as soon as he’s able, but he won’t be able to actually play this season, so you’ll have to keep up the leadership on the field and off. We’re confident in your abilities. Good man.” His coach claps him on the shoulder, and that’s the end of it. 

Jake is still staring dumbly in his coach’s departing direction when you approach him with his cardigan, sweatshirt, and thermos. 

You had planned to just give him his stuff and leave, but curiosity gets the better of you after having witnessed the spectacle out on the field. “Everything alright? Who got carried out on that stretcher?”

Still a bit shell-shocked, Jake speaks without thinking: “Worried it was me?”

You look at him like he’s an alien species. “It clearly wasn’t, because whoever it was is much taller than you.”

Jake frowns up at you. “Okay, no need to go for the height. That was my captain, who’s gonna be out for the rest of the season, so now Coach wants me to fill in for him… I don’t know what he’s thinking. I mean, I get that seniority isn’t everything, but this feels kinda unfair to any of the seniors who could’ve stepped in for Sungchan.”

“How convenient to have everything handed to you on a silver platter,” you mutter. It’s an entirely unjustified thing to say— you barely know Jake or anything about his background, but then MJ’s tear-stained face flashes across your mind, and you don’t feel so bad about it. 

Genuine hurt and a hint of actual anger sparks in Jake’s eyes. “Okay, what’s your problem? I get that I didn’t make the best of first impressions the other day, but I apologized and tried to make up for it— you can just text me the bill from the dry cleaner’s, by the way— and I don’t know what else I’ve done to upset you, but I’m sorry for whatever that is, too. Are we good, or is there something else you’ve got against me?” His last question comes out almost aggressively as he stands up, bringing him not quite chest-to-chest with you, but close enough that you notice the perfectly defined cupid’s bow of his lips, and then you’re disgusted with yourself. College hormones have made you fallible; it shouldn’t sway you that he’s cute (and kind, and smart, and considerate, your brain reminds you unhelpfully). 

“We’re good,” you snap. “Here’s your stuff.” You shove the things he gave you into his arms before whipping around sharply to walk (stomp) away, pointedly ignoring his surprised yelp when your hair hits him in the face. Childishly, you think that it serves him right.

Sadly, your conscience comes back to haunt you approximately 18 hours later, at which point you’re pulling out ingredients and clanging whisks against bowls. 

Minjeong sticks her head into the kitchen to ask, “What are you doing?” 

You freeze in your movements, letting a particularly clumpy spot of brownie batter fall from your raised spatula back into the mixing bowl. “Cleaning,” you lie baldly. One unimpressed eyebrow raise from her gets you to clear your throat and put down your spatula. “Making brownies,” you amend.

“At midnight?”

“Yeah, I just had… a craving.”

Minjeong seems to consider pushing you on this, but the smell of the brownie batter wins her over. “Awesome, can I have some?” She moves to dip her finger into the batter.

“No!” You shriek, covering the bowl with your arms crossed on top of each other in an X.

Minjeong pulls her hand back and looks at you with alarm. “Why? What’s wrong?”

You sigh and retreat from the bowl. “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. Um, I’m making brownies… for Jake—”

“For who now?”

“—’s soccer team,” you finish, turning to glare at Somi and her untimely entrance.

She only waves slyly at you from where she’s leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. “Y’know, it’s not really his soccer team. It’s the school’s soccer team, or maybe Jung Sungchan’s, but sure, let’s call it Jake’s, too.” She tsks. “Pretty privilege.” You give her a pointed up-and-down, to which she just shrugs.

Minjeong seizes you by the shoulders and peers aggressively into your eyes, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Why are you making guilt brownies for Jake Sim?”

“They’re not guilt brownies!” You splutter, waving your hands in front of her face as if that will stave off the gleam of interrogatory insanity in her eyes.

Drawn by her nose and her ears, Yizhuo chooses that point to wander into the kitchen, as well. “Who are the guilt brownies for?”

You groan and drop your face into your hands. Somi and Minjeong exclaim “Jake Sim!” in gleeful unison before dissolving into giggles.

Yizhuo decides to show you mercy, bless her heart, because all she does is come over to inspect the brownie batter and hum noncommittally. Of course, she ruins it when she spots what’s on the stove and gasps dramatically, “Guys, she made ganache! These are, like, mega guilt brownies!”

Back when the four of you first started living together last year, you were a mid-year transfer student whose sudden appearance had forced Somi, Minjeong, and Yizhuo’s two-room triple to turn into a two-room quad, and your guilt about disrupting their living arrangements had led you to bake them brownies from scratch— cocoa powder, chopped chocolate, browned butter, espresso, and everything. The girls had clamored for the recipe (your mother’s). Since then, you have happily moved out of the dorms and into a subsidized student apartment, but you each continue to make variations of the brownies for each other as peace offerings after a spat, or celebrations, or gestures of comfort.

And now, as an apology for being mean to Jake Sim, which is how you summarize it to your still-giggling roommates.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll like them,” Yizhuo offers, with a poorly-concealed smirk. 

“They’re for the team,” you repeat.

“Riiiiiight, and is the team with us in the room right now?” Somi wiggles her eyebrows at you, then her shoulders, then her entire body, and it’s so absurd that you tear up from laughing too hard. You had moved across the country for your brother, and you hadn’t expected anything else would come out of it, but now you have the best of friends, who hold a piece of your heart, and you, theirs. The thought makes you unexpectedly emotional, so much so that you begin making another batch of brownies.

“These are just I’m really glad we’re friends brownies,” you sniffle. 

Somi exchanges a look with Minjeong and Ningning, and then they’re all descending upon you in a hug; one big mess of limbs and love. It’s absolutely wonderful. 

The next day, you carry multiple containers of brownies around with you all day, looking for a chance to offload them (and your guilty conscience) onto Jake. It shouldn’t be this hard— you share four out of five classes with him this semester, and you’re supposed to be at two soccer practices a week in rotation with the other assistant managers, as well as every other game. But everywhere you turn, Jake is either slipping out of class before you can get to him, or he arrives just before the professor starts lecturing and you’re already seated with your pencil poised over paper. 

You’re not on rotation for practice today, so you spend a rather agitated handful of hours doing schoolwork after classes, until you get a last-minute text from your stepdad asking if you can pick MJ up.

Of course, you get the shock of your life when you get to the address your stepdad sent you and see Jake Sim playing soccer with your brother at some local park. You’re not alone in your surprise; Jake makes a full stop upon catching sight of you and gets a soccer ball to the head for it, knocking him fully down to the ground. Thankfully, he pops back up immediately, just in time to catch you speeding past him to fuss over MJ. 

“What on earth are you doing here alone?!” You exclaim to your brother, looking around as if the rest of his soccer team will materialize out of thin air. “Did that bad man lure you out here?”

Jake’s eyes bulge out of his head as he looks around at the zero other people on the field before pointing to himself and mouthing Me? at you. 

MJ just shrugs and points at Jake. “Practicing with Jake hyung.”

“Jake hyung?” You squint at the offender in question.

“Yeah, he’s been helping me get ready for next season’s tryouts.” MJ scuffs the toe of his shoe against the grass, clearly embarrassed by your fretting. 

“Hey, Minjae, is this your… sister?” Jake asks tentatively. The question itself is innocent enough, but irritation and jealousy set your blood buzzing; MJ rarely lets you call him Minjae. He claims MJ is cooler, and he doesn’t let your mother call him Minjae, either, but your stepdad calls him Minjae freely and with an abundance of returned affection.

“Yep.” MJ pops the p as he looks between the two of you, now sensing that whatever is going on here is larger than him. “Uh, can I go to the bathroom?”

“Sure.” You and Jake respond in unison, which makes you glare and him blush.

“Okay, cool. See ya.” MJ races off to the porta-potties with unusual enthusiasm, but you suppose he’d rather be there than here to witness the breakdown of normal social interaction between you and Jake.

The instant MJ is out of earshot, you whirl on Jake and demand, “How do you know my brother?” 

Instinctually, he puts his hands up in surrender. “He looked like he was pretty down on himself after club try-outs last week, so I talked to him and offered to run drills with him, like, once a week, okay? I’m not some…. bad man!”

“Oh.” You deflate in front of his eyes as you realize the depths of your misunderstanding. “Well… okay.”

He eyes you apprehensively. “We’re good?” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’re… good.” The words remind you of the acerbic encounter you had with him the day before, which reminds you of the guilt brownies, which reminds you of the guilt. Like everything else in your life, you decide to get over this with clinical efficiency. “Listen, I owe you an apology. Probably several. I was picking up MJ from try-outs last week, and I saw him with you, and then he was crying in the car, so I jumped to conclusions about you and your role in the try-outs. That’s why I came over to you at lunch the other day, to tell you off.” You take a deep breath and barrel on, mindful of your brother’s likely imminent return. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I���m sorry, Jake.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, really, don’t worry about it.” Jake rubs the back of his neck and looks anywhere but at you. He’s never seen you like this before— contrite, sincere, and concentrating so fully on him that he wants to either hide his face from you or do something even stupider, like ask you out. Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “I think the dry cleaning is ready, if you want to go pick it up right now. With me. Or without me, I guess. I can just, like, be there. And you’ll be there, too. But we’ll be there separately. Wow, should I stop talking?”

That prompts laughter from you, and his breath catches in his throat at the wonder of watching delight unfold across your face. In that moment, sunlight emerges from behind a patchwork of clouds, but it’s your laughter that warms him from head to toe.

“Let me just drop MJ off at home, and then I’ll come with you to the dry cleaner. Together, not separately.” Your eyes twinkle in residual amusement at him, and he lets himself break out into a goofy grin.

MJ makes his presence known by loudly asking why the two of you are just standing there smiling at each other, and if Jake can walk home with you all. Jake manufactures a coughing fit and you ignore MJ’s first question, but you say yes to the second one. 

MJ cheers and starts tugging Jake along in the direction of your mother and stepdad’s house. You trail behind them in bemused amusement; they talk about soccer the whole time, and Jake is playful and patient but never condescending with the boy that clearly idolizes him. Watching Jake interact with your brother is bittersweet— it’s so easy between them, in a way that you’ve never experienced yourself. By the time you reach the house, MJ has extracted a promise from you both that he can attend Jake’s next home game.

At the door, MJ fist-bumps Jake and is magnanimous enough to allow you to kiss his cheek goodbye. You send him off with a, “Be kind!” and he hollers back, “I know!”

And then it’s just you and Jake, who’s looking at you with a newfound curiosity that makes you nervous. “What?” You snap, and then you instantly backtrack. “Sorry, I, uh, I’m still a little wound up from—” thinking you were a jerk— “… earlier.”

“All good.” Jake tips his head towards the sidewalk, and you realize you’re still on the doorstep of MJ’s house. You follow Jake onto the sidewalk, where he asks, “Do you always tell him to be kind?” 

It’s the last thing you expected him to ask. “Um, yeah. Not that he’s a mean kid or anything, but my mother always told me to be good, and I’ve heard her say the same thing to him, so I just… want him to hear something different.” Because be good just means be quiet and perform well, and you already go to therapy every other week for that. 

Jake beams at you. “That’s awesome. You’re a great sister.”

He’s saying all the things that would be right for someone else, but for you, they’re all the wrong things. Still, there’s no way he could know that, and it’s not his fault, so you try to tone down your wince. “Thanks, but I barely know how to talk to MJ. He’s old enough to find it lame to just hang out with his sister, and we don’t have a lot in common. That’s why I applied to be an assistant manager, actually— I’m trying to learn more about soccer.”

“Sounds like best-sibling-of-the-year behavior to me. Seriously, I have an older brother— he’s the one who introduced me to soccer— and we have a great relationship, but he never joined the orchestra for me, or anything like that.” Jake nudges your shoulder with his. “And hey, if you want to learn more about soccer, you can ask me anything, anytime.” 

He turns eyes so kind and earnest on you that your thought process halts and then restarts like a broken record. You have to grab onto the closest coherent thought before you stare at him for too long. “You were in the orchestra?”

Jake wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, but I was pretty average with a violin. Dumb jock, you know?” He smiles at you to let you know he’s joking. 

Thankfully, you smile right back. “Soooo true. Remind me how long the first extrasolar research methods lab took you?”

He blushes and waves you off. “Ah, well, that’s the kind of stuff I want to do in the future, so I better get good at it, right?” He lowers his voice, even though there’s no one around who could possibly overhear his nerdy confession. “Honestly, I cried a little when the first images from the James Webb telescope came out.” 

In equally hushed tones, you respond, “Me, too.”

Jake grins. “Aerospace engineering, right? Your brother did say that his sister loves machines and stars.”

The fact that MJ talked about you at all is enough to have you floating on air. “Yeah, that’s me. And hey, this is us.” You point to the sign for the dry cleaner. 

“Oh. We got here fast.” Jake tries— and likely fails— not to sound too disappointed. But you’ve already gone ahead into the store, so he leaves behind his foolish desires (walking back to where you’d dropped your brother off and then here again, if only to spend more time with you) at the door. 

In the store, Jake gives Jay’s pants a perfunctory once-over to check that they’re fine, but his attention is mainly focused on your dress— it comes back perfectly clear of any ketchup stains, to which he lets out a loud, relieved sigh.

You eye him strangely for that reaction. “I know I was a bit high-strung about it at the time, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if my dress was ruined. I wouldn’t, like, come after you with a pitchfork.”

He pauses for a second to let that image play out in his mind. “Y’know, I didn’t think you would, but now that you’ve brought up the possibility…” He grins when you laugh and shove lightly at his shoulder. “But seriously, it would have been a shame. You looked really nice in that dress.” The words tumble thoughtlessly out of his mouth, but he can’t bring himself to regret it when he sees your mouth part in surprise before flattening into a tiny, pleased smile. 

“I would hope so. I have excellent taste,” you say, trying to sound haughty and ending up somewhere near flustered. There’s heat in your cheeks; you’re stuck between wanting to wipe that boyish smirk off of his face and wanting to frame the way it looks. 

“So… are you headed back to your house?” Jake tries out what he wants to say next in his head, first: And would you mind if I walked you there?

“Oh, yeah. It’s getting kind of late. I think your friend— Sunghoon? Yizhuo invited him over for dinner tonight, actually, if you… also want to come.” You cringe at how awkward that sounded. “I mean, not that it’s going to be a big thing, or anything. Minjeong and Somi are making an insane amount of mac ‘n cheese, because there was a really good sale at the grocery store, so we’re just trying to offload it, really. There’s gonna be a bunch of people there.”

Jake’s head tilts in confusion. “Your friends live with your family?”

“What? No, we’re in an apartment on Maplewood. MJ lives with his parents, but I don’t live there.” You grimace. “I go there for family dinner once a week, so that’s where I went after we came to the dry cleaner for the first time. But that’s only on Wednesdays, thank god.”

Jake hums noncommittally. There’s more he’d like to ask, to know, to understand, but then his stomach growls, and he laughs sheepishly. “I’ll gladly take you up on the mac ‘n cheese. I need some fodder to tease Sunghoon with, anyways. Seeing him with Yizhuo always does it.”

“The will-they-won’t-they childhood-menaces-to-who-knows show?”

“Exactly. So, tell me about aerospace engineering…”

The walk to your apartment is long by any measurement, but it passes by quickly. Jake asks you genuine questions about propulsion systems and your friends, and you learn that he loves superhero movies, his family dog, and poetry, of all things. He’s endearingly bashful about the last one.

“Physics is pretty dry at the undergraduate level, even when it’s astrophysics. But the way that poets talk about the stars… It takes my breath away, a little bit. Reminds me that it’s a marvel to just look heavenward, I guess.” He rubs the tip of his reddening nose. “Silly, right?”

“Not at all.” Romantic, actually, is what you want to tell him. Romantic, because he talks about space like it’s a reverential thing, like a telescope can be a paintbrush through the night sky, like constellations are more than just sets of stars connected by the human eye. But you’ve reached your apartment, so all you say is, “Hold on, let me get my keys.”

“Oh, hey, I can help you with that—”

“No, it’s okay, I got it—”

In the fumble of dry cleaning, backpacks, sports duffels, and totes between you two, somehow every single container of brownies tumbles out of your bag. Jake’s eyes catch on the hasty letters you’d scrawled on duct tape on the lids of each container last night to distinguish between the brownies you ended up making for your roommates: FOR JS & TEAM. His eyebrows shoot up as your face burns; he doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but…

“There was also a sale on baking supplies at the grocery store,” you lie. Then, you shake your head. “Okay, no, that’s not true. I made these last night and I meant to give them to you today but I never got you at the right moment during classes, and then there was the whole thing with MJ, so I almost forgot… Anyways. You said you were worried about the seniors on the team being upset about you for stepping in as interim captain, and I’m sure they’re not so easily swayed by just baked goods, but I thought maybe you could give these to them, as a way to, like, soften the beaches, or something. It’s not much, but I promise, they’re really good.”

Jake’s jaw drops. “You made these… for me? Even when you hated me?”

“I made them for you to give to the team,” you insist. “But, yeah… I did.” You frown at the ground. “Look, I really am sorry about the way I treated you before. I wasn’t going to, like, trauma-dump on you, but I guess I will, now, because I want you to know that I never hated you.” You take a deep breath. “MJ’s mom is my mother, too, but she left my dad and I when I was in elementary school. I didn’t hear from her for a decade, until last year, when she reached out and told me I had a brother on the other side of the country, and she had been pregnant with him when she left my dad and I.” 

You chance a glance at Jake. “Please don’t look at me with pity. My dad’s a great guy, and so is my step-dad. I moved out here to be closer to MJ, and you can see how that’s going, but I love him purely, without complication. It’s just my mother who’s… complicated. Anyways, I just got MJ, so I’m a bit overprotective over him, and I was quick to paint you as the bad guy, but that’s no excuse. These are I’m-sorry-for-jumping-to-conclusions brownies. And bribe-your-team brownies.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not looking at you with pity.” It’s awe, he thinks. Awe for your heart, loyal to the point of changing schools and moving across the country for a brother you had never met. Awe for your diligence in making enough brownies to feed an entire team. And most of all, awe at your goodness, for doing all of this because you knew you were in the wrong.

“Can you look at her somewhere where you’re not blocking the doorway?” Sunghoon’s voice pierces through the strange moment. You and Jake move into action all at once, collecting containers of brownies while juggling your other things.

“Thanks for the help, dude.” Jake punches Sunghoon’s shoulder sarcastically. 

Sunghoon shrugs and holds up the shopping bags in his hands. “Precious goods, my man.”

Jake peers into one of the bags. “Tiramisu?”

“Yeah, Yizhuo was on my ass about contributing to dinner.” Sunghoon rolls his eyes fondly. “She also told me to marshall the troops for the mac ‘n cheese, so Heeseung and Jay are a couple minutes behind me. Seriously, did you guys buy out the entire grocery store, or something?”

You laugh as you unlock the door and usher them inside. “Or something.” You had heard that the sale really was quite good, but truthfully, you suspect there’s more to it than that. Based on the way Somi exaggeratedly darts her eyes between you and Jake, you think you’re probably right. You get the sense that even if you hadn’t invited him for dinner, he would have shown up with Sunghoon’s contingent anyways.

“Ladies, you are so not slick,” you mutter to your friends when it’s just the four of you in the kitchen.

Minjeong smiles beatifically at you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is just an impromptu but no less lovely dinner party for our friends… oh, there’s the door! I’ll get it.” 

In a sense, you suppose she’s right. It’s not like Jake is the only other person at this semi-spontaneous gathering; eventually, there are almost 20 people eating mac ‘n cheese on various surfaces in your apartment. It’s an eclectic bunch— pretty much anyone you or your friends knew who was available to come eat mac ‘n cheese. But Minjeong insists that you and Jake share an armchair in the living room because there’s nowhere else to eat, even though there is clearly an open chair next to Heeseung and a free spot on the rug next to some kid from your programming class last year.

“This is really good!” Jake enthuses. He says it while shoveling food into his mouth, so it sounds more like Vif iv weally good! He’s also eating with his non-dominant hand to keep from spilling anything on you where you’re pressed up against each other in the armchair, though that turns out to be fairly counterproductive because he keeps missing his mouth with the fork.

Your head tips back in a fit of giggles. “You look ridiculous,” you inform him. He just grins at you with chipmunk cheeks stuffed with tiramisu. “Here, let me.” You take the fork from his hand and feed him a mouthful; it’s much more efficient this way, you reason to yourself.

He’s so startled by this that he starts choking on the dusting of cocoa powder atop the dessert. You end up thumping him on the back until his airway is clear again, and he hopes you chalk up the redness of his face to the choking. 

“Um, you have a little…” You motion to a spot of cocoa powder at the corner of his mouth. He wipes at entirely the wrong corner, and you’d think he was doing this on purpose, except he starts choking again when you use your thumb to wipe the powder away.

He gets over it much more quickly this time, though. Once he’s finally back to normal, he wills himself to summon all— or any— of the charm he has ever possessed to turn warm eyes on you. “Thanks for inviting me here tonight,” he says. There’s a slight rasp to his voice that is probably due to all the choking, but he hopes you think it’s sexy, or something.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Thanks for helping us eat the food, and for, uh, coaching MJ, I guess?” Your voice is approaching a squeak, which makes you want to die, a little bit. He’s just looking at you so sincerely.

His gaze holds yours. “Easy day. And hey, you’re totally welcome to come join us whenever you want. I was just gonna keep meeting him at that park, so you know where to find us.”

“Thank you,” you repeat, quieter this time. “My mother… she’s hard on him. Always be good, be the best, you know? So he was pretty torn up about not making the A team.”

“I kinda sensed that he was tense during try-outs. Not that it’s bad to try hard, or to want to be on a certain team, but at his age, he could benefit from just… having fun, I think. If you don’t mind me saying that.”

You nod. “Believe me, I agree. MJ’s way too serious for his own good.”

“Some may say he gets it from you,” Jake teases lightly. 

“Some may say that’s not how genetics work, but we’ll leave that to the pre-meds.” You tip your head toward Yizhuo, who is arguing about some memory from hers and Sunghoon’s childhood with him. Your heart glows with contentment as you look around the room; all of your favorite people (plus or minus miscellaneous others) gathered in one place on a random Monday night. 

Jake carves out a piece of his tiramisu and holds it up to you like a toast. “To the pre-meds. And old friends, and new ones.” 

“And new ones,” you echo.  

As it turns out, the soccer team is exactly as easily swayed as a container of brownies. 

You’re at practice when it winds down and Jake holds up your stack of containers like Simba in that one scene in The Lion King. “A gift from the lady,” he intones grandly to the team gathered in front of him. You nudge him with your hip. “Okay, and me, I guess, but seriously, she did all the work. Listen, guys, I’m not gonna lie— it’s gonna be rough without Sungchan. But I believe in us, and I believe in these brownies!”

“Brownies!” The team roars back. Said brownies are demolished in a matter of minutes, and then every player makes it a point to sing your praises and give Jake a hug or a fist-bump on their way out. 

You’re still gaping by the time it’s just you and Jake left on the field. “That’s all it took?” 

Jake turns to you with his arms crossed smugly over his chest. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. The way to the heart is through the stomach, and all that.”

“Otherwise known as: men are so easy.” You bemoan all the fancy ingredients and time you put into those brownies; you’re sure the team would have been just as happy with boxed Betty Crocker. 

“Yeah, but these taste like care and love,” he insists. 

“Alright, buddy, I wouldn’t go that far. And how would you know? You haven’t even tried one yet.”

“Oh my god. You’re right.” Jake looks aghast. “Are there any left?!” 

You make a show of looking around at all the empty containers around you. Jake’s face falls so comically and he pouts so fervently that you can’t keep up the ruse for long. Laughing, you pull out one last ziplock bag of brownies from behind your back and present it to him. “Saved one just in case.”

He plucks the bag out of your hands with exaggerated delicacy, which vanishes when he bites into the brownie and lets out an honest to god moan. Heat floods your face immediately. 

His eyes are closed when he tells you, quite seriously, that you are a goddess amongst mortals. “Did you drug this? I feel like I’ve ascended to a new plane of existence.” He moans, again, eyes still closed.

“Hello, stop making that sound, you weirdo,” you hiss. 

He cracks one eye open to wink at you. “Where is your mind? Get out of the gutter, ma’am. Ow, okay, I get it!” He jumps away from your jabbing elbows. “Seriously, these are incredible. You could make money off of them.” 

“You’re just saying that because you want me to make them again, for free.” 

“Will you?”

“... Maybe if you let me look at how you got to your answer on number 89 on page 151.”

Jake’s hoot of delight carries you all the way to the library, where he shows you his usual spot and apologizes for ever making you uncomfortable with his staring— it’s just that you used to occupy the spot to which his eyes zoned out.

You give him a blank stare of your own. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never noticed that you sat here. Or that you stared.”

Jake’s blush starts from the bridge of his nose and spreads out across his cheeks. “Oh, well, that’s good, I guess.”

“But I can sit next to you now, and you can stare all you want,” you offer jokingly.

His blush only intensifies. “Nope, that’s fine, I’ll just keep zoning out at whoever they replaced you with at the reference desk. Great, it’s… Huening.” He waves unenthusiastically at the lanky boy.

“Who?” You squint at your replacement.

“Huening Kai. He’s on the basketball team with Heeseung.” 

“Are all of your friends athletes?”

“Not all, but most of them, yeah. Sunghoon and Jay are doubles partners on the tennis team, and they were roommates with Heeseung and I, respectively, so that’s how we all became friends. But I’ve got other friends in the physics department. And now, you.” Jake smiles softly at you, letting the words linger in the air for so long that your pulse starts to pick up speed.

“So, this is the famous staring, huh?” You mean for the words to come out friendly and light, but instead they come out low and musing.

“The one and only.”

“Hmm. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, if that’s what you’re wondering.” And you mean it. His gaze is warm and easy, like the blanket a loved one draws up over your shoulders when you’re half-asleep.

Confidence returns to him like a boomerang as the corner of his mouth tips up in a smirk. “Are you giving me permission to stare at you?”

“Five minutes of staring for every problem you let me look at in your notebook.”

“We’re bargaining now?” He tsks and pulls out his work, though his shoulders are shaking with laughter. “How about this: you can look at my notebook for as long as you want, if you let me do the same for yours.”

“That’s just called working together, Jake.”

“Sure, but I also get to stare at you.”

“Tough deal for me.” But you’re staring at him, too, and there’s something hesitant and wanting brewing in your chest. It goes away when you clear your throat. “I’m feeling benevolent today, so I’ll allow it.”

Two hours pass by as you work on problem sets in companionable silence. He does stare at you more often than is perhaps necessary, but half of the time it’s because he really is zoning out. The other half… well, just because you’re friends now doesn’t mean you stopped being pretty.

When you finally decide to call it quits, it’s almost 8pm, and both of your stomachs are growling loudly. Jake yawns and stretches leisurely, like a large puppy. You’d laugh at the sight if you weren’t so transfixed by the ripple of a toned stomach exposed by his stretching. Suddenly, you remember that the soccer team does strength training for an hour every other day, and Jake is no exception.

Thankfully, he’s too busy complaining about being hungry to notice your wandering eyes. “Ugh, I think the dining hall is closing now. I have ramen back at my place, if you wanna—” Jake cuts himself off abruptly as he realizes the innuendo behind his words. “I mean, not like that. You probably have food at your apartment, what am I even saying, haha!” His voice goes high-pitched towards the end. 

Mercifully, you ignore his slip-up. “Yeah, actually, we still have mac ‘n cheese left, so I’m probably going to microwave some of that. You’re welcome to take some home with you, if you want.” You shake your head immediately after the words come out of your mouth. “What am I even saying? You have ramen back at your place.”

And then you’re back at square one, both staring at each other with wide eyes and heat creeping up your necks.

Jake is the first to break the silence with peals of laughter that dissolve into giggles. You’re not far behind, and it isn’t long before Huening is glaring at the two of you and miming zipping his lips shut.

The two of you make your way out of the library still giggling, but right outside the library doors, Jake asks if he can walk you home. There’s a shy, boyish look on his face when he asks; it stirs up that strange, stumbling desire in you again. 

“I really don’t live that far,” you murmur. 

“I’m trying to get my steps in,” he jokes. He knows you saw him running back and forth across the field for two hours during practice today.

“I really don’t live that far,” you repeat, already starting in the direction of your apartment. When you don’t hear him follow, you turn around and quirk an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you coming? Can’t have the star player missing his steps.”

He grins and catches up to you quickly, and then he spends the next ten minutes badgering you for more compliments. You have never felt so warm on the walk home.

Just as promised, you let MJ come to the next home game. It’s your first game as an assistant manager, so between keeping an eye on MJ and keeping an eye on your actual responsibilities, you’re pretty frazzled before the game even starts. 

You’re settling MJ into a spot on the bleachers when someone taps your shoulder. You turn around to gasp at the sight of Jake. “Your hair!” The jet-black strands are no more; his hair is now a silvery-tinged blonde.

His smirks as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Team bonding thing we do every year. Jay did it for me this time, though, so it looks better than it normally does.” He crouches down to MJ’s seated level. “Hey, buddy, be kind and stay put for your sister, alright? She’s got a big job today.”

MJ stands up and nods solemnly, then salutes Jake with two fingers that turn into finger guns. The whole display is so ridiculously adorable that everyone around you in the bleachers laughs.

Jake repeats the gesture back at MJ through his own giggles before straightening up and turning to you. “Feeling nervous?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Nah, the playing is easy. Well, it’s not easy, but it’s second nature. I actually find it harder watching from the sidelines, not having any control over the action.” He peers closer at you. “Are you nervous, assistant manager?”

“A little,” you admit. “I still feel like I don’t know much about soccer.”

“MJ could explain everything to you, right?” Jake high-fives your brother. “Sadly, he can’t be with you on the sidelines, but do you see that cat-looking guy over there?”

You squint in the direction Jake points in— a group of his teammates milling around on the sidelines. The cat-looking guy sports amateur-ish frosted tips which make you suppress a chuckle, but he’s easy enough to spot. “Yep, I see him. And the consequences of not having Jay around to dye your hair.”

Jake lets loose a burst of tiny giggles. “He tried his best, okay? And his name is Jungwon. Freshman with a lot of potential, but he sprained his ankle yesterday, so he’s sitting a few games out. He can tell you anything you want to know during the game.” Jake holds his pinky out to you. “You’ll be just fine. I’ll see you after the game, yeah?”

You’re speechless as you nod and wrap your pinky around his. It’s not clear to whose benefit this promise is, but your heart is tap-dancing in your chest at the realization that he came up to the bleachers just to reassure you about the game and ask to see you later. 

He releases your pinky and is halfway down the bleachers before you muster up your words to yell at his back, “Good luck!”

When he turns around, he’s beaming. “Don’t need it! You’re here, aren’t you?” Then he’s off to be with his team, and there are people whispering all around you, but all you can do is smile stupidly after him.

“You guys are acting weird,” MJ declares. 

“So weird,” Sunghoon agrees.

His sudden appearance makes you yelp. “Sunghoon? When did you get here?”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Just in time to see that whole display.” He points his thumb behind him. “Yizhuo’s just getting snacks from the car. I know you wanted her to watch MJ during the game— do you mind if I tag along? I wanted to see Jake exercise authority as captain, anyways. It’s gonna be hilarious.”

“Knock yourself out. Hey, MJ, this is Sunghoon, one of Jake and Yizhuo’s friends. He’s on the tennis team, so don’t give him too much of a hard time for doing that instead of soccer, okay?” You ruffle MJ’s hair. “I’m gonna go, but I’ll see you after the game. Be kind!”

“I know!”

Down at the sidelines, you meet Jungwon and the rest of the players not in the field today. You’re tentative at first about asking Jungwon questions, but you find that he’s an enthusiastic— and entertaining— commentator. It isn’t long before the other players are clamoring to give you the low-down on what’s happening out on the field, as well as all the latest team gossip.

“... and that’s why Jisung’s girlfriend is ignoring him,” Sohee explains as the first half of the game comes to an end.

“Should you be telling me this?” You laugh, but the question is somewhat genuine.

Beomgyu pats your shoulder. “There are no secrets on the team, and you’re part of the team now!”

“There are no secrets on the team because everyone is a nosy little shit,” Jake says loudly from behind you.

As one, you and the other players turn to face him.

“Heeeeeeey, cap’n!” Jungwon salutes him with a cheeky grin. 

Jake eyes him with suspicion. “You’re not scaring off our new assistant manager, are you? We just got her.”

Mischief glints in Jungwon’s eyes. “Absolutely not. We were just telling her about Jisung’s girlfriend. We can move on to talking about the girl you stare at in the library, instead, if that’s better—”

Jake shuts him up with a (light) slap over the head. “No need, thanks!” The blush blooming over his cheeks is not lost on the team, who giggle like schoolchildren. 

“The staring really is famous,” you muse out loud.

“I just came over here to make some substitutions,” Jake huffs. Then, like he can’t help it, he shoots you a small smile. “You doing alright?”

You salute him like Jungwon did. “No complaints, captain.” To your delight, he appears flustered by the title coming out of your mouth.

“O-Okay, so Beomgyu, you’re gonna sub in. Wonbin, too, and…” 

The second half of the game goes by in a flash; before you know it, Jake has assisted Beomgyu in scoring the final goal, and your team wins 2-1. The crowd is jubilant, and you’re more animated about the win than you had expected. You join in on all the cheering and applauding with enthusiasm to rival that of MJ, whose screeches of delight you can hear all the way down the bleachers.

You can’t even try to look for Jake at first— every player seems to have welcomed you into their hearts now, so you’re bombarded with a chorus of congratulatory hollers and See you tomorrow! and Thanks for the advice! as they gradually leave the field. 

You’re reassuring Anton that it’s not embarrassing to go to the writing tutors at the library for help when Sunghoon and Yizhuo approach with MJ skipping in between them. Anton thanks you profusely before running off to the locker room, and then MJ is talking your ear off about how cool the game was. In between his exclamations, you thank Sunghoon and Yizhuo for staying with him.

“MJ’s pretty cool. Text me anytime you need someone to hang with him during a game,” Sunghoon offers. “Or Heeseung or Jay. We come to these pretty often, since we’re all on our off seasons right now, so there’s usually one of us here.”

You smile genuinely at him. “That’s really nice of you, Sunghoon. Thank you.”

Yizhuo tsks. “Men do the bare minimum.” She ignores Sunghoon’s half-hearted protests and kisses your cheek in farewell. “We have to go— double date. I’ll see you at home!”

You wave goodbye with equal parts amusement and bemusement, and then you turn to the field. At this point, MJ has run off to play with the few stragglers still kicking a ball around, so you watch them for a few minutes with a content smile on your face. 

“Hey.” Jake sidles up to you without a sound and then chuckles when you jump in surprise. 

You swat at his shoulder halfheartedly. “You just missed Sunghoon. He and Yizhuo are going on a… double date.”

“With each other? Or, like, they’re each going with someone else?”

“Y’know, it wasn’t clear.” 

“Man, I’ll have to interrogate him when he gets back. But besides that… how’d you like the game, lucky?” Jake looks expectantly at you. 

“I think I understood, like, 60 percent of the game, which is pretty good if you consider that I was probably at 10 percent before today.” You give him the same look. “What does ‘lucky’ refer to? Is that some kind of soccer slang?”

He looks away and runs a hand through his hair, suddenly bashful and bambi-eyed. “No, it’s just me being dumb, I guess. This is the first game we won this season, and it’s the first one you were at, so you’re like… a lucky charm.”

There are many things you could say. Correlation doesn’t equal causation, for one; every fledgling scientist knows this. And there has only been one other game this season, so your data set is quite sparse to begin with. Instead, all that comes out of your mouth is a slightly skeptical but mostly teasing: “I thought you said you didn’t need luck. And what if I was here and you lost instead?”

“Then I would’ve been lucky just to see you on the sidelines,” Jake murmurs. 

You are not usually moved by sentiment. But this one is so sweet and sincere tripping off his tongue, delivered with those warm brown eyes; once again, you’re rendered speechless by Jake Sim.

Beomgyu coughs loudly, thoroughly dispersing the pink clouds you half expect to see floating around you and Jake. “Sorry to interrupt,” Beomgyu snickers. “But I think your brother is ready to go home.” He points to where MJ is slumped over on a bench, eyes droopy and hair sticking to his forehead. 

The sight makes you smile fondly. “He’s had a big day. We’ll get going, then. Bye, guys!” You wave to the rest of the players on the field and get a few hollers in return as you and Jake walk over to MJ, who seems to have nodded off completely by now. 

He looks so young like this— and so peaceful that you don’t want to wake him. You’re debating how to get MJ home with the least amount of disturbance possible when Jake solves the problem for you by crouching down and putting MJ on his back.

“Did you drive here?” Jake asks you in a whisper.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

Jake hoists MJ further up on his back and secures his arms under the little boy’s legs. “C’mon, I’ll take him to your car.”

He starts walking in the direction of the parking lot, but you’re stuck in place, struck by the sight of Jake moving so slowly, careful not to disturb MJ’s sleep. Here is this guy you lambasted endlessly in your mind and multiple times to his face, all because of an assumption you made, and he’s holding your brother like a treasure. The sight makes your heart ache with inexplicable tenderness. 

Dusk bleeds into night as the stars peek out across a velvet sky, and the poets would say that the stars bear witness to this— the moment when that stumbling, hesitant desire in you begins to bloom into full-bodied love.

But you will not realize this until much later, because the heavens are fickle, and there is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

[hockeynoses]

Sick!Steve: A College AU, Part 2

Summary: A sequel to this fic. Steve is sick again. This time he's in class with Eddie, but they don't know each other yet. Eddie has the fetish and it's from his POV. This is set in the Spring semester, following the last fic which was in the Fall.

Warnings: Mess, contagion. 3.2k words.

Notes: I finally finished it! I started this last July and let it sit for far too long. It's one of my favorites that I've written in a while.

I imagine the professor to look like Jaime Cam/il from Schm/igadoon, but that's neither here nor there. The snippets of his lecture are directly taken from the Wikipedia entry on the Renaissance.

One tiny scene was inspired by this post by gemsden.

I hope you all enjoy! 💖

~*~

At five minutes to the hour, Eddie strolls into class as though he has all the time in the world. He’s learned from years of being punctually challenged that it’s easier to fly under the radar if you don’t appear rushed and frazzled when you make your entrance. There are only a few seats left in the large lecture hall, and they’re all up at the front. Reluctantly, he chooses one on the very end of the curved row, the seats in the hall forming a semi-circle that fan out like those ancient Greek theaters the professor had mentioned last week.

World History 101 – the most basic of basic history classes. Almost everyone here, Eddie included, is taking it as a required core class. But it isn’t the worst thing in the world; Eddie makes a game of it, searching for little tidbits he can add to his D&D games when he’s in need of inspiration.

The eye-candy isn’t half bad either. The professor, Mr. Smith, is actually pretty hot. Dark hair, a well-trimmed beard, glasses… Eddie can get on board. And halfway through his lecture, without fail, he’d take off his suit-jacket, loosen his tie, and roll up his sleeves, drawing the undivided attention of half the class. Aged to perfection, he can’t be more than in his early 40s, his hair just starting to get that salt and pepper color to it.

Unfortunately, he’s also known for being kind of a hardass. One of those guys with lots of chili peppers on RateMyProfessor, tempered by lots of comments about what a stickler he is for the rules.

The doors at the top of the hall open just as the professor is about to get started, and Eddie looks up.

Speaking of eye-candy, he thinks. It’s the guy that he’s had his eye on for half the semester. Hot-prof doesn’t hold a candle to this guy.  Steve. The name floats through his mind and his heart gives a little kick.

He hasn’t managed to talk to him yet, or even figure out how to covertly snag a seat near him. This class is pretty much just lectures and tests, no group projects – which doesn’t offer a lot of openings for an introduction. Eddie only knows his first name because he’d heard Mr. Smith use it once or twice. He may be an asshole about the rules, but he does try to learn their names. As much as one can with a class of 100+ students.

Steve hurries down the steps to the first row of seats. The only open desk is in the dead center, about 10 feet away from Mr. Smith’s podium.

“Shit,” Steve says under his breath, looking embarrassed. Eddie’s glad he’s not in his shoes. Even though he’s in the front row himself, he’s somewhat hidden off to the side. The curvature of the row gives him a great view of Steve without it being obvious he’s looking at him.

The professor greets Steve with a firm nod as Steve sits and pulls his notebook out of his backpack, settling in. Eddie sees his nose scrunch up in a sniff. Probably just from the run over here to make it on time.

“Welcome, everyone,” Mr. Smith pulls up a PowerPoint on the screen behind him, “Today’s lesson is going to cover the Renaissance, which is a period in time ranging from the 1400s to the 1600s. The Renaissance was a cultural movement that profoundly affected European intellectual life in the early modern period.”

A sound crackles through the air, and Eddie’s eyes snap back to Steve. He’s got his face buried in a tissue, eyes closed, blowing his nose for all he’s worth. Heat sparks to life low in Eddie’s belly. Oh god…is he-?

Mr. Smith shoots Steve a look over his glasses, waiting for him to finish. Steve sighs and swipes at his nose, managing to find a dry section of the ruined tissue. When he notices the professor’s gaze, he looks sheepish and whispers, “Sorry.”

Steve hides the crumpled tissue away in a pocket of his backpack and then pulls out a fresh one from – Is that a fucking car pack of Kleenex? Eddie wonders. Leave it to pretty-boy Steve to go out and buy the perfect size tissue box to fit in his backpack. Eddie would’ve just brought a roll of toilet paper.

With a nose that beautiful, he deserves the best, he can’t stop himself from thinking. Then he chastises himself for being so gone on this guy. He focuses back on his own notes, or rather, the doodle he’s already started, and tries not to be too much of a creep.

Mr. Smith drones on for several minutes, punctuated every so often by Steve’s wet sniffles. Eddie can see him rubbing the bridge of his nose out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if the whole class can hear him – auditoriums are designed to carry sound, after all – or if Eddie’s just hyper-aware.

The sniffles turn ominous, and Steve reaches for a tissue just as his breath starts to hitch. He holds it at the ready, splayed over both hands, inches from his face.

“Ha... ehh…hih…hih’AEESSHH’IUE!” The sneeze bursts from him as he snaps forward and buries his face in the waiting tissue. The sound ricochets throughout the room and lightning pulses through Eddie’s veins, white-hot. Oh fuck.

“’Scuse be,” Steve mumbles, his eyes glazed over as he snuffles up the loosened congestion.

Jesus, he’s actually really sick, Eddie thinks, his own elation at the sight at war with the pity he feels for the guy.

Mr. Smith gives a small, put-upon sigh. “Where was I? Oh yes - The unique political structures of Italy during the Late Middle Ages have led some to theorize that its unusual social climate allowed the emergence of a rare cultural efflorescence.”

Now that Eddie knows for sure that Steve is sick, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes off him. He doesn’t want to miss a moment; his gaze darts across the room without his permission, tracking every movement of those busy hands, the fluttering eyes, the flaring nostrils.

As the minutes tick by, anticipation curls warm through Eddie’s gut. Steve is holding a Kleenex in his hand, wiping his nose with it as subtly as he can, forced to breathe through his mouth due to the congestion that has taken up permanent residence deep in his sinuses.

Eddie wonders how long he’s been sick. If these are brand new symptoms or if he’s been suffering for the better part of a week. He looks contagious as hell, red nose constantly dripping into the tissue that he presses to his septum. Eddie feels for the students who were unlucky enough to sit next to him, but he would also happily take their place.

His thoughts are interrupted by a hitch in Steve’s breath, no doubt building to something more obscene and uncontrolled than the first go-round.

“Ehh… Oh god, haa-… hih-EETSSHHOO! Ha’AEESHHah!  Uhh…huh…ITTSCHHuh!” He groans, low and pained. “Oh bmy god. SNF. Sorry.” Eddie watches as Steve holds the destroyed tissue to his nose while fumbling in his bag for a fresh one. There’s no way that abused tissue contained all those haphazard sneezes. If the students next to him have to sit through an entire hour of that, they’re definitely screwed. Hell, Mr. Smith is probably screwed too, being directly in front of him, albeit several feet away.

“Are you quite finished?” Mr. Smith says primly.

“Ugh.” Steve gives a liquid sniffle and swipes under his nose with his bare hand. “I hobe so.”

Jesus Christ, Eddie is going to pop a semi in the middle of class. He slides his jacket off - it’s getting fucking hot in here anyway - and sets it over his lap.

The professor clears his throat and continues. “As I was saying, one theory is that the devastation in Florence caused by the Black Death, which hit Europe between 1348 and 1350, resulted in a shift in the world view of people in 14th century Italy.”

“Ha….HA’EHSSHHOO!” Steve’s whole body shakes with the strength of the sneeze, drenching his fistful of Kleenex. Oblivious to the teacher’s glare, Steve’s eyes flutter, his brows inching higher and higher with each sharp inhale, fighting against the prickling itch deep in his nose that’s begging for release.

“Italy was particularly badly hit by the plague,” Mr. Smith continues, pausing to direct a stern, pointed look at Steve. “And it has been speculated that the resulting familiarity with death caused thinkers to dwell more on their lives on Earth, rather than on spirituality and the afterlife.”

“Huh-ITTSSH’IEW!” The relentless barrage continues, Steve struggling helplessly against it. “uh…huh’GGKSSHH’IUE!”

Eddie stares, entranced. He can hear how wet they are, thick with mess that’s barely contained in the clump of increasingly soggy tissues Steve’s got a death grip on. Eddie gets another glimpse of Steve’s disobedient nose - pink, wet, and sore - as he pulls back from the tissues with a wobbly inhale, clearly not done. A flush darts up Eddie’s neck, his toes curling in his sneakers.

“It has also been argued that the Black Death prompted a new wave of piety, manifested in the sponsorship of religious works of art.” Mr. Smith soldiers on, agitation clear in his voice. “However, this does not fully explain why the Renaissance occurred specifically in Italy in the 14th centu-”

“Ahh…ihh…hih…HIH’EERRRSHH’IUE!” The last one tears through Steve in the middle of an attempt to grab a new batch of tissues. He curls into himself, unleashing the spraying sneeze across his lap and part of his desk. There’s a visible sheen on his cupid’s bow that he desperately swipes at with the back of his hand.

“Steve!” Mr. Smith says sharply. “I do not appreciate these interruptions!”

“I’b sigk, dude!” Steve argues, as if that isn’t obvious by the gurgling, cold-ridden noseblow that immediately follows. His features are a tired mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Please don’t call me dude, Steve.” Mr. Smith pins him with a flat look, clearly exasperated but unwilling to kick him out just yet. Steve glares at him.

“I’b sigk, professor – hih…ha’AESSHH’IEW!” The sneeze erupts from Steve, forceful and clearing. He puts much less effort into covering this one, holding the tissue inches away from his face and releasing a huge, spraying sneeze openly down onto it. Eddie can see the escaped stray droplets misting the air.

This motherfucker better not make me come in my pants, I swear to god, Eddie thinks as he adjusts himself, trying to find some kind of relief. He feels too hot in his own skin.

The students nearest Steve are leaning away from him in mounting horror, trapped without any open seats to flee to.

“If you’re feeling so poorly, why did you come to class today?” Mr. Smith radiates disapproval.

“Idt’s your attendance policy, bman.” Steve scrubs a finger back and forth under his raw nose. “I didn’t thigk it wa-aah…hah–Ha’ERRSHH’IUE!” The sneeze is only half-muffled against his fist, the rest scatters free into the air. “Ugh. Allowed.”

Mr. Smith’s mouth pulls into a frown. “Exceptions can be granted when there are legitimate… health reasons.” He eyes the growing pile of tissues on Steve’s desk with disgust, calculating the odds of how likely he is to catch his cold, no doubt increasing with every one of Steve’s careless, pathetic attempts at covering, with every slimy tissue added to the pile, cluttering up the desk, creating a foreboding minefield of germs.

Steve snorts up the clogged mess in his nose and clears his throat. He’s so congested that even his throat sounds thick with it. Pulling a tissue from his pack, he lays it across his cupped palms, ready, waiting.

“I didn’t thigk this would count. Idt’s just – heh – just a c-cold – Ha’GGSHT’CHUH!” His head snaps forward as he unleashes the sneeze vaguely downwards toward the tissue spread across his hands. Eddie can see the unrestrained spray of it swirling around in the several inches of open air between his agitated, rebellious nose and his hands.

He folds the splattered tissue up to release a crackling blow, so loud that Eddie thinks he must be doing it on purpose. When he’s done, Steve offers a pointed, “’Scuse mbe,” with a telling twist to his lips. Now apparently fully committed to his appearance as a plague rat, he breathes through his mouth, dabbing at his sore, chapped nose with the tattered remnants of the tissue. When he pulls it away, he has no shame – his red, glistening, contagious nose is on full display.

Oh, Eddie likes this one. A buzzy warmth fills him down to his toes, and he has to stop himself from shivering with it. His cock is rock-hard in his jeans. Has anyone ever died of blue balls? he wonders, shifting in his seat.

Rather than hiding it away in his backpack, Steve adds the sodden tissue to the pile on his desk like a challenge, trying to get a rise out of Mr. Smith. The brazen audacity of it is doing nothing to help the heat under Eddie’s skin.

“If you’re ill to the point of being a distraction in class, you should have emailed me, and I would have given my approval,” Mr. Smith says in a tense, clipped voice.

“I didn’t thigk I felt that ba-hah… bad – hih - odn the way over h-here,” he argues, quickly scrambling for a fresh tissue, “but I – huh… I cadn’t stob – ihh… s-sneeziihh… Ha-iih’ERRSSHH’IUE!” His brow furrows with the strength of it, shoulders curling in. He’s crumpled the tissue under his nose, anticipating the sheer amount of mess, which unfortunately leaves his mouth uncovered. The sneeze forces the breath from him in a violent gust that causes the used tissues on his desk to flutter and threaten to topple over the edge.

Eddie’s pulse jumps and he almost snaps his pencil in half, tapping his foot on the ground in an effort to not shake out of his skin with want. He tries not to openly stare as Steve pulls back the Kleenex from his face, having to pinch off the mess that still clings to him, wiping the spit from his lips with his other hand.

“Ugh, what a bmess.” Steve says, really playing it up. “Sorry. I’b trying to stob but they’re too strogg.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Smith grinds the words out between his teeth.

“I thigk I’b really contagious.” Steve presses the tissue to the underside of his tender, dripping nose. “I already godt all of mby roobmates sihh-sigk. Heh…Huh-HA’IIGGGHHH’SHOO! Ughhh. Trust mbe, you don’t want this…” He punctuates his warning with a truly miserable-sounding noseblow.

“I agree. We don’t need you getting the whole class sick.” Mr. Smith takes a few careful steps back, looking like he’d rather be running from the room entirely. “You can get the notes from one of your classmates.”

“Are you s-sure?” His nostrils flair and he cups a hand several inches from his face in a sluggish attempt to cover another impending outburst. “ihh – hih’iiiiGGHH’shue!” It scrapes from his throat, the last syllable drawn out into a pained exhale.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mr. Smith says. Having reached the end of his rope, he points to the door. “Go. Before you infect us all with your pestilence.”

Satisfied, Steve gathers his things, touching them all with his germy hands in the process. The used tissues are scooped up and crammed into an open pocket in his backpack. The car-pack of tissues stays out. Clinging to it like a lifeline, Steve pulls two fresh ones from the cylinder.

“Thaggs, professor.” He quickly bunches the tissues to his face, his chest heaving with every hitch of his breath. “ahh… hiiiih… Hih’AAIIGH’shoo! SNF. I’ll see you next weegk.”

With that, he turns and makes his way up the stairs, pausing every few steps to shudder with a wrenching sneeze, barely contained in his damp fistful of Kleenex. Now that he’s not even trying to control them, it seems he’s completely at their mercy, pitching forward in several small fits, trying to cover as much ground as he can between them until he finally makes it to the door. Fumbling the clump of tissues into his pocket, he pulls at the door handle, finally making his escape into the hallway as an awkward hush settles over the rest of the class.

Mr. Smith attempts a joke and tries to refocus everyone’s attention. Eddie doesn’t hear any of it. His head feels all floaty and he’s trying not to come in his pants. That was insane. He blinks, trying to shake himself out of it.

By the time he’s managed to bring himself back to reality, Mr. Smith is making a show of marking off Steve’s excused absence. “Steve Harrington,” he announces as he notes it down, enunciating clearly as if to let the entire class know who’s to blame when half of them come down with this cold from hell.

Harrington. Something clicks in Eddie’s mind at that. Chrissy’s knowing smile flashes through the haze. A months-old memory washes over him in waves – she was telling him about some guy she made friends with in class… going on and on about him. About how one time he’d shown up for class sick as a dog, and how she wished Eddie could have been there - he’s just his type. She had wanted to introduce them.

At the time, Eddie’s interest had been piqued, how could it not? But this guy sounded like a Grade-A jock, and although he trusted Chrissy, Eddie dating a jock went against practically every facet of the Munson Doctrine. He had filed it directly under “Never Gonna Happen” in his brain, and they’d both forgotten about it, buried in finals, before heading off for winter break.

Since then, Chrissy might’ve mentioned her and Steve meeting up for coffee once or twice since they didn’t have a class together this semester, but her hopes of introducing them got lost in the throes of a busy Spring semester. If Eddie had known this was Chrissy’s Steve – a bit of a jock, sure, but still sweet and smart and with sneezes straight out of Eddie’s wildest fantasies – he sure as fuck would’ve made that introduction more of a priority.

Fuck. Now Eddie has to see if there’s still a shot. If Chrissy was going to introduce them, that means there’s a slim chance Steve might be into him, right? He’s going to text her as soon as class gets out and tell her he’s seen the light.

Eddie wonders if he could give Steve his notes from class. Didn’t the professor say something about that? Yeah, he’ll get his number from Chrissy, then bring him the notes… maybe some tea…

Shit, he’s got to get ahold of himself.

For once in his life, Eddie tries to take flawless notes. He’s only partially successful. It’s almost impossible to focus with replays of Steve’s little spectacle parading through his head. And if that wasn’t distracting enough, he can’t stop himself from imagining scenes from their future together like some kind of lovesick fool. He taps his pencil to the page, daring to hope.

He’ll start with notes and some tea.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Hi! I love your writing soo much! Especially your" Better" series. Do you think you could write something where Lip is a single, teen dad who has a daughter? I really want to see him as a girl dad!

Hii!!! Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying! I appreciate this so much. He is very girl dad coded to me so I love this. I also think being a dad, particularly a teen one would bring out some complex feelings in Lip. Also there's a bonus at the end that people who don't like Charlotte (the OC from Better) should skip. It's short and sweet, but let me know if you guys want more from Phoebe Gallagher.

warning: strong language

“I’m fucked.”

That was the first thing Lip said to his little brother Ian, blowing smoke into the air of their shared bedroom when he got home from seeing his…girlfriend…bestfriend…? Babymama. 

When Karen had invited him over to her house earlier that day, he’d assumed he was gonna get to fuck. Or at least get some head. He’d had a long day in the two classes he’d attended, a blowie was exactly what he’d needed. And to her credit, that’s what he’d gotten. Except immediately after she spit into one of her mother’s doilies and got off of her knees she unenthusiastically announced to him, ‘I’m pregnant.’ And then she started flipping through a magazine. 

Lip sat on the edge of her bed for a solid twenty minutes just opening and closing his mouth. Finally swallowing down the lump that immediately formed in his throat and fixed his wide blue eyes on her.  “You…gonna keep it?”

It’s fair. That Karen kicked him out. He understood. 

But shit. He was just a kid. He wasn’t ready to be a fucking dad, he’d been carrying around the same $30 for the past week in an attempt to replenish he and Ian’s weed supply. Fiona was gonna fucking kill him. He was gonna fucking kill himself.

Lip dragged himself home from Karen’s, ran upstairs, ignoring the calls from Debbie to help her with her homework and slammed the door. Ian had made his way in a lit a blunt for them to share, pushing open their rickety window, sitting with him in silence until the dam finally burst and Lip started confessing. 

“Yeah, you are.” Ian blows a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, snorting as Lip kicks his leg with his own. “I don’t know why you’re so worried man, there’s no way Karen’ll keep it. Even if she does, any person with a dick within a 40 mile radius could be the dad.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You’re gonna have to clean up that language when the baby gets here.” 

After Lip climbed over the bed and kicked Ian’s ass, he rolled back into his, gritting his teeth to himself. He was at an impasse. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up like this. Sure he’d hit raw a couple of times, but he’d thought they were good. He mostly pulls out. And Isn’t Karen supposed to handle that? And he’s not a fucking idiot. He knows Karen is a hoe. But the intimacy he’d had with her, he can’t believe she shares with everyone else. They’re best friends, and they love each other. There’s no way she’d let him believe the baby was his if it wasn’t.

So he’s having a baby. So what? Lip is living in a modern era. There are…options. Before the baby is born and after. If Karen keeps it, they can put it up for adoption. They could give it to a family who really wants it, who will take care of it. They could give it a good home, away from it’s shitty parents. It wouldn’t get stuck being a Gallagher with an addict and bum for a father. His baby…the baby…it could be loved and cared for. And Lip could go about his business. He could live up to his potential, without any baggage holding him back. 

He’d really believed that to be true, too. He thought he’d be able to see that baby one good time, and pass them off without any regret, content to know that any responsibility he had for it had dissipated. 

But then he saw her. 

Lip was standing there, in oversized scrubs, and clutching Karen’s hand when he first heard her take her first breath. She’d let out a wail so loud and Lip felt his heart ache at the sound. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of Karen’s hand. His feet moved without his permission, guiding him over to the sinks where the nurses were washing her off. He trailed after her to get a good glimpse, and when he did, the world changed. 

Large blue eyes. Little wisps of hair. Her cries slow to small hiccups. 

Lip was in love. 

The older nurse rocks the newly swaddled baby slowly, smiling brightly as she makes her way back to where Karen lies in the bed. “Well, Mom, your beautiful baby girl has arrived. Let me let you hold her-”

“No.” Karen cut in sharply, her tone startles Lip and all off the nurses. The teen girl grips the railing of the bed, grunting as she scoots up, looking at everyone but the little angel squirming in the nurse’s arms. “I…don’t wanna hold her. I don’t want to see her. Give her to the agency lady.” 

“But-” the nurse stammers, looking between her and Lip.

“Honey,” the doctor lowers her mask, bending to make herself level with Karen. “You can change your mind. You can still decide that you’d like to keep your baby.”

“She’s not my baby.” Karen breathes, screwing her face up in determination. 

Lip doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. How could she be here, in the room, with that baby…hell, carry her for 9 months, and choose not to even look at her. Even hold her. He could respect not wanting to be a mom yet, not being ready. But right now, the way Karen was acting, she’s never reminded him of his own parents more. 

That little girl deserves better. She deserves love. She deserves someone who would love her more than anything.

“Um, excuse me,” He hears himself say. His hands extend toward the nurse as everything else in the room becomes blurry except the new little human that was half of him but just that fast, all his. “I’d…um…I’d like to hold her.”

“Phoebe, baby, it’s good. Watch, Daddy likes it.” 

Lip brings the pink rubber spoon to his mouth, spooning a small scoop of his daughter’s turkey puree baby food into his mouth. As soon as the taste hits his tongue he gags, dropping the spoon to the table and shooting up. “Motherfucker!”

Phoebe squeals, giggling as her father darts over to the sink, sticking his head under the faucet and attempts to flush out the foul taste. 

“That shit is fucking nasty, Daddy’s sorry he tried to give you that.” He coughs, lifting the girl out of her highchair and into his arms. The blond buries his face into his daughter’s chubby cheeks, nosing her golden curls out of the way before kissing her cheek repeatedly. 

“Are you still here?” Fiona asks, tilting her head and crossing her arms in disapproval as she watches their display. She’d been surprised when her brother had stopped his ex-girlfriend from putting their baby up for adoption last year. He’d been determined, filling out the necessary paperwork for full custody before completely ex-communicating Karen. He'd not asked Fiona about moving the newborn into their home when he asserted he’d be raising her himself. He was undeterred by her declaration that he’d be on his own, and the baby would not at all be her responsibility. He’d simply adjusted the baby carrier on his hip, flipping her off before carrying the little girl up to his room. 

His academic excellence was the only thing that encouraged teachers to be understanding about his almost constant absences. “I, uh, I gotta skip today, Phoebe has a doctor’s appointment.” He says, smoothing a hand over his daughter’s cherub cheeks, brushing away remains of the baby cheese puffs he gave her while he’d gotten her food out. 

“This is the third time this week.” Fiona sighs, crossing her arms. “Lip-”

“It’s fine, fuck it, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s your senior year. There’s limits on how many days you can miss before they stop you from graduating.” Fiona nods to herself, mumbling an ‘okay’ under her breath. “I can watch her today. I don’t work until tonight, alright, I’ll take the baby, you go to school, we’ll figure out a schedule later.”

Lip wants to accept. He does. He’s done a year of being a father without accepting any help, mainly because no one was fuckin’ offering, but also because no one would take care of his baby quite like he would. He stops by the school and picks up his work. Hell, some days, he brings her with him, the ghetto ass district he lives in isn’t exactly strict, how could they tell their most promising student he couldn’t bring his very well behaved baby with him.  He glances down at the baby girl in his arms and feels his heart grow with the innocent little smile he receives back. 

And the thought of leaving her feels unappealing as ever. 

“Nah, I got it, thanks though.”

Something about Lip being a dad shocked the whole neighborhood. No one was surprised that he’d knocked someone up, it was only a matter of time the way he was going. And only a few had raised a brow at the fact that he’d promptly told Karen to fuck off and kept the baby to raise himself. With how he grew up, anyone could guess he’d have a thing about abandonment. No, what shocked them was the way that suddenly, Lip Gallagher was some kind of family man. 

No parties. No weed. No dealing. 

No hookups.

Lip got hit on way more than he did back before Phoebe took over his life. When he was at the store or in the park, his baby cooed broken words as he carried her on his shoulders, pointing at small trinkets that she whined for. Easily pocketable things that occasionally magically appeared in his pocket to give her when they got home. Girls would come up to them, fingers in their hair, chests as pushed forward as they squawk about how adorable Phoebe is, how sweet it is that Lip is actually taking the time to raise his own daughter, and how they’d like to help him in any way they can. 

Usually, he would just leave it at no thank you before turning away. The more persistent ones would get a curl of the lip and head shake before adjusting his baby and pushing past. 

See, Lip was fucking strict as a dad. He didn’t give a fuck what other people thought about him and the life he lived before, everything changed when Phoebe showed up. 

“Hey, I uh, really don’t give a fuck what you do, but keep that hoe shit to a minimum when you’re over here, okay? My fuckin’ daughter can see you.” 

More than a few neighborhood girls had stormed their way out of the Gallagher house with hot, fat tears of embarrassment streaming down their face as they declared they’d never talk to Debbie again. Because…you know… her brother’s an asshole.

By the time Lip is 17 and Phoebe is 2 it’s a well known fact that the Gallagher Princess is spoiled rotten. She’s clingy, and whiny, traits that the blond teen had never been known to tolerate but suddenly had all of the patience in the world for. She barely could stand to be held by anyone else, constantly in her father’s arms or wrapped around one of his legs, holding on as he walks for them both.  The only people he really let's watch Phoebe are Ian and Mickey. For some reason, Mickey seemed to have a soft spot for Phoebe. Maybe it was because they understood each other. They're both cute, and bratty, and bite. It was ironic considering who Mickey is, and his distain for Lip but when the blond teen had been overwhelmed one day and passed out on the couch with his books after school, his brother's boyfriend had been the one who stepped up. He'd been in the Gallagher home in search of some cheap weed Ian had promised him, but he saw the little girl whining and after a failed attempt wake Lip, made her a bottle his damn self. When Lip had woken, he found Mickey rocking the squirming little girl in his arms, trying to pretend he wasn't enamored with her. After that day, Mickey proclaimed himself the girl's favorite uncle, and got damn near violent if anyone even tried to so much as give her a tap on the wrist. Lip appreciated it considering he felt the same.

Other parents fucking dread when they see the father-daughter duo making their way to the park because it immediately means that play was over for all of the other kids.

Timmy Keeves had learned the hard way. The little boy was all but 5 when he first encountered the terror that was Phoebe Gallagher. She was a 3 year old terror and loud and bossy as ever. Her blonde curls and bright blue eyes gave her the appearance of an angel, so Timmy hadn’t been alarmed when she’d walked slowly, but confidently over to the swing, his swing at the little run down park a couple streets over from his house. She was holding hands with a little black boy who looked a little older than her, but not by much.

Timmy had waited his turn, really. The other kid before him had swung five whole minutes before he had climbed on with great effort. “Hi!” He’d chirped down at the kids in front of him. 

“Hi.” the little boy said back.

Not the little girl. No, she pointed at the swing with her free hand, mouth spreading into a wide smile, revealing one missing tooth.”My turn!”

Timmy’s eyes had grown wide and he gripped the chains a little tighter. “No! I just got on it!”

It happened fast.

In a matter of seconds. Timmy hadn’t meant to nudge her out of the way with his foot. Really. He’d already been swinging and she’d moved in his way. But before he knew it Phoebe Gallagher had plopped onto the rocks and clay in front of him, and suddenly he felt his back hitting the ground.

“Hey!” Timmy wails as his own father storms his way over and some young blond guy comes running up. “Gallagher, your fuckin’ kid just pushed mine off the swing!”

The blond man flicks his cigarette on the ground and shrugs. “I didn’t see it. You push him Liam?”

“He pushed Phoebe first!” 

“It was an accident!” Timmy hollers.

“Sounds like the little fucker deserved it. Don’t push girls, kid. Or next time I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“Are you threatening my kid?”

“What’re you, gonna hit me?” Lip snorts, picking his daughter up and brushing off her skirt. “I’m a minor.”

“You need to get those hoodrat kids of yours in order!” 

“What you need to do is stop whining like a little bitch, it’s rubbin’ off on your kid.” The teen adjusts the girl on his hip, grabbing his little brother’s hand on the other side and guiding them away. 

So, Lip wasn’t a great disciplinarian. As far he was concerned, his daughter was still a good kid. She’s fuckin’ smart like him. And sweet, like Debbie and Ian. Funny like Carl. Determined like Fiona. She makes him want to be better. He finished high school so she could see how important learning is. He put off college a little bit, just because he’d rather use that time to make money to take care of her. Besides, when it came to Phoebe, there was nothing more important. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Daddy?” Phoebe whispered from her spot between his legs. She was watching Little Bear on the tv as Lip rested the book he was reading atop of her head, sloppy pigtails that he’d forced into her blond mop that morning. “How come there’s three?”

“Three what, angel?” he asks without looking up from the pages, snorting to himself at the philosophy of Thoreau in Walden. 

“Three bears.” Little fingers push at his face, trying to force him to look at the screen. “Look.”

“Okay, shit, okay. What?” He asks, leaning forward to rest his head on top of hers and dropping the book to the couch. 

“Th-there’s a daddy bear, a baby bear, and a mommy bear. We only have two. Daddy,” she places her hand on his stomach, turning in his grasp, “and I’m the baby. Except I’m a big girl.” 

Lip’s heart squeezes at where he knows this conversation is going. His baby is smart. She’s always been smart. He should’ve seen this coming. But for some reason he hadn’t prepared yet for this question. “We uh, we have more than two. We’re Gallagher’s, there’s too many of us. Like, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, Carl and Liam. There’s a lot of us.”

“But no mommy, right?” Phoebe’s little brows furrow as she runs through the list in her head. 

All Lip could do was open and close his mouth as he searched for words. He was only 18 when this conversation came. Still a kid himself, he’d just stopped giving a fuck that the closest thing he’d had to a mom was his own older sister. Sometimes he still felt bitter. Unwanted. Cheated. That was the last thing that he wanted his baby to feel. He’d spent the first two years of her life trying to ensure she wouldn’t notice. To do everything he could. Fill every space. She didn’t need anyone but him, because he was so fucking here. Every girly dance, every beauty salon, every tea party, he took the time to do. Because he didn’t want her to feel the sting of having a parent that didn’t give a fuck about you. He didn’t want the look in her eyes that he saw in his siblings, the one he refused to acknowledge reflecting back at him in the mirror. Going above and beyond what an adult man could do as a child himself. All for her.

Yet here she was. Wondering where mommy was.  

Lip could fucking kill Karen. If she wasn’t the one who gave him Phoebe.

He must’ve not hidden his face well. Because as advanced as his daughter was, the face that slipped onto her own was nothing but that of a child. Her eyes widened as she observed him and little hands squeezed his forearms. “It’s okay, Daddy. I like just two. It’s okay.”

Lip could kill Karen. But for now, he was going to focus on his daughter.

Bonus: Lip: 20yrs Phoebe: 5yrs

“And if someone fucks with you?”

“My dad will kick your ass.” Phoebe smiles, swinging Lip’s hand as she holds it in her own. “But no one is gonna be mean to me, Daddy. I’m a pretty girl.”

“Yeah, well I’ll kick their ass if they’re too nice too. Hold on, angel lemme get the keys from Kev.” 

“Kay!”

It was Phoebe’s first day of school and to say they were both nervous and excited was an understatement. Lip had saved up for three months for new clothes for Phoebe to wear to school. They’d used the flashcards at the library for the past year to give her a head start. Lip was finally starting college too. He’d do two years at community college to save up more money until he could transfer his credits and get a place for him and Phoebe closer to the university. But all of that was the future. Right now, he just had to survive dropping his baby off to school. He’d always been stingy with Phoebe. She was something that was his alone. Yes, they had family but he kept her far away from Frank and left the house altogether whenever Monica tumbled into town. He never offered for Karen to see her, even when she came back, only accepting the occasional child support check from Sheila and spending it solely on Phoebe. Now he’d have to share her with the world and ask (demand) for it to be kind to her.

“I wanna ring it!” Phoebe hollers, lifting her arms for Lip to hoist her up to ring Kev and V’s doorbell. He grunts dramatically as he lifts her, cherishing her giggles as she presses the bell over and over again.

Lip’s brows furrow when he hears a sweet voice calling from inside of the house, ‘I’m coming, I-jeez I’m coming!” 

Phoebe’s gasp echoes Lip’s inner thoughts as the door swings open, revealing a young woman who is definitely fucking not Kev or V. The girl smiles brightly, keys to Kev’s truck dangling around her dainty, manicured finger. Long lashes flutter around pretty brown eyes that glance at him politely before focusing on his daughter.

“Daddy! A princess!” Phoebe grins, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

The girl just smiles wider, brow lifting as she places her hands on her hips. “Well I was just about to say the same thing. Pleasure to meet you, your highness.” she dips into a brief curtsy, causing his daughter to squeal and kick her little legs. Those same pretty brown eyes lift to meet Lip’s again and he realizes he’d just been staring at the exchange, mouth agape, like a fucking idiot. “I’m Charlotte.”

Lip knows scientifically he doesn't have ovaries, but if they did, the way his daughter was looking at this girl would’ve made his burst. 

“Lip.”

[dogstarmoonheart]

Im pissed here ⬇️ This is a rant made mid-rage

written after an encounter with one of those bloggers who hate everything that isn’t canon and dislikes Wolfstar and throws up from the thought of Jegulus (?).

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

First of all, there are a lot of tropes I don't really like and that I don't take part of. I, for one, like my Lupin awkward and scrawny, not like a cool casanova. I struggle to see the beauty of making Regulus all soft and dovy, as his personality from the start has been based on the fact that he's cold, hurt and uptight. I have never read Y/N as I feel conflicted with the arrangement. WITH THAT SAID, I feel no bloody need to point out, complain or talk poorly about those who do enjoy these things.

I'm a big jily fan. I was 13 (isch??) when I entered the fandom and back then “jegulus” wasn’t a thing. (I've grown to enjoy the "jegulus ship" though, and some of my favorite fics are jegulus-centered.)

I get people being like:

“huh jegulus? how would that even???”

and I also get people who hold onto jily like a life jacket.

BUT for the love of the gods, that doesn't mean people need to be such c*nts.

“This fandom has gotten out of hand”

“I don’t like it when people make ships that aren’t canon” (????? why are you here then?????)

and also people who are so butt-hurt bc. of adaptions and interpretations, like??? what do you think a fandom does???

“That character would never act like that” DO YOU FUCKING KNOW THEM PERSONALLY??

“that’s not realistic at all” your mom’s not realistic at all.

“rosekiller is so offensive” YOU ARE OFFENSIVE

you’re literally 40 go AWAY.

If you want it to be 100% accurate to the books, read. the. fucking. books??????

I’m not speaking for those who change a character to unrecognition, but I stumble upon people who are still mad about Wolfstar??? And it pisses me off dawg. It pisses me off.

Don’t attack people who enjoy non-canon queerness or a cool Remus Lupin or (gods forbid) a kind ratboy (you know he’s my everything)

Kindly piss off Karen (of course not if ur lovely, and happen to be named Karen, you stay right where you are <3)

Sorry, I had to get that out of mi system. Just think it’s bollocks that people can’t just sit back and shut up.

FYI: This house (blog) is safe to all and I hope ye kno’ that nasty hags are just hiding their weird ass values behind the statement “it’s not canon”. They themselves are mucky. They are a bad joke with a borin' punchline ;)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •• • • • • • • •

I wanted to share this cuz even if it might not make complete sense (as I wrote it in fury at 3 am) it’s a good enough reminder that yeh should stay gay, stay loud, and keep making old angry people mad. Ship weird shit and idk..make James an emo just to piss somebody off, who gives a shit.

kisses my sweets